Lebennin: South Road - North of Pelargir
        The battered street here before the city walls of Pelargir shows the signs of heavy traffic into the city and out to the principalities that surround the port city. Men and women afoot, on horseback, or totting a wagon full of goods for the market, stream by. The walls themselves, complete with guard towers are an imposing sight of numenorean architechture. The passage of time and the circumstances of their initial construction have worn the behemoth down, and there are parts of the wall in need of repair.
        To the west, small buildings have cropped up outside the protective walls of the city. To the south, through the opening of the walls, stand a few guards in an open square. To the north lie the plush green hills of southern Lebennin.
 

An older man, carrying a brown leather blanket, trudges down the road south. He spots a member of the Minas Tirith guard and heads towards him. His step is slow and he seems quite fatigued but something seems to move him forward.

Analdin stands quietly a bit away from the din and cheerful noise of the fairegrounds. His bright eyes watch the road leading to and from the gates of Pelargir with something boardering on... worry? His posture straightens upon the sight of a weary traveller, and he watches closely as the man begins approaching.

Stopping for a moment to readjust his satchel, Thelagal puts the blanket on the ground briefly. After a minor shifting of this belongings he again picks up his burden and continues on. As he approaches the Lieutenant he waves his hand and shouts over the noise of the fair, "Lieutenant. Lieutenant!"

Analdin nods calmly as the man shouts at him. Taking a few steps closer, he gives the older man a half-smile, "That would be me, I believe, friend. With what can I help you?" The smile fades a bit from Analdin's face, but his eyes retain the friendlyness as he awats a response.

Thelagal coughs slightly and places his parcel on the ground once again. He chuckles as he says, "Ha ha, I still remember how to read the bars of a Minas Tirith guard. Been going on 10 years since I seen 'em. Glad I found you, Lieutenant. I don't think I could have walked much further; gettin' on now."

Analdin raises an eyebrow, and tilts his head ever so slightly to the side, causing a stray piece of sandy hair to fall into his eyes. Brushing it back and tucking it behind his ear with a smooth movement, the Lieutenant nods, "Would you like to have a seat, then?" he motions to the few logs and such around the place, "Is there any particular reason, friend, that you were walking so fast and far to figure out the bars on a Guard's shoulder?" He adds with a twinkle to his bright eyes, "Or is there something I can help you with?"

Thelagal takes the offered log and places himself on it with great difficulty. He breathes wheezily for about thirty seconds and then speaks rapidly. "I was told that most of the officers of the guard were down in Pelagir so I made the trip down to find one. I am pleased to find an officer so quickly or I might not have had the strength to journey back." He removes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his brow. "I have come to ask a rather tall favour of you."

Analdin watches Thelagal lower himself onto the log, and seems about to reach out and give him a hand at one moment, but holds back. Remaining standing himself, with his arms folded across his chest and somewhat solemn appearance at the request of a favor, he gives a slow nod, "A favour, you say? Might I ask whom I would be granting this to, supposing it is something I can do?" No hint of intentional rudeness enters his light and quiet voice, though curiousity does seem to play a major part in his tone.

Realizing that he has neglected to state his name, Thelagal rises. "My apologies. I am Thelagal. I own a small tailor shop in Minas Tirith. The favour is actually for my nephew, Torelin and for his father, in a way." The words "in a way" have a ring of solemness to them.

Analdin's eyebrow rises another small bit, and he looks intently at the older man for a few moments before saying slowly, "'Tis an honor to meet you, Thelagal. As for myself, I am Analdin, Lieutenant of the Guard. Now, pray, tell me what it is that I can help you, your nephew, and his father with?"

Thelagal reaches down and slowly opens his parcel. Inside he reveals a battle axe of remarkable craftsmanship. The handle is gripped to allow two large hands to wield it and though obviously marked by frequent use it appears in excellent shape. The blade itself is polished to bright shine and carefully hand carved etchings flow around the outside of the edge. "This was Torelin's father's axe when he served with the guard. Silvalrist is her name. Beautiful is it not?"

Analdin's eyes widen as the older man shows the great axe. Silence reigns as the lieutenant's mouth opens once or twice, but nothing comes out, and he simply looks from the polished and well-made axe to Thelangal. "She is beyond beautiful, my friend. That blade... it looks of the work of my own father, if not better than his." Holding out a hand, slowly, almost revently, he touches the polished silver. "So Torelin's father was in the guard, and you are now showing me his weapon... was, though, you say. Is he retured now, or...?" he trails off, with a sad questioning in his eyes.

A faint sadness enters Thelagal's expression. "He retired from the guard ten years ago, but my brother passed away two months prior. I have been looking after the boy since but that is where we come to the favour. " He stops briefly and sighs; his hands a clenched. "Torelin has had a difficult life. My love for my brother does not excuse his treatment of his son. Though he was a great soldier, Brinmaen was a not a very good father." He stops and ponders his own words.

A feint hint of a sad smile enters the lieutenant's eyes, and a light sigh escapes his lips. Not one too heavy, though, it could be passed as simply a heavy breath were it not for the recognisable sadness in his expression, "I understand.." he begins, though trails off for a few moments before picking back up, "A difficult life, then, that you believe may be turned about by something having to do with the Guard, then?"

Thelagal looks surprised. "You are quick for one so young. Torelin is...how shall I say...in need of some discipline. I am too old and leniant with him to save him from the path he is heading down. I though perhaps the guard might encourage him in another direction, if you take my meaning."

Analdin shrugs quickly, "In my buisness, youth has nothing to do with quickness, sir. From what you have said, I believe I know, firsthand perhaps, the sort of thing young Torelin needs.." Trailing off, he adds with another sweep of his hand, bringing a few stray strands of hair back behind his ear, "So you wish me to allow the youth into the Guard in the chance that the discipline we demand may change his road?"

Though up to now Thelagal's face has shown signs of exhaustion, with Analdin's last question his expression becomes one of grave seriousness. "Torelin has the proudest heart you could ever find and I have lived long enough to tell. He could be, given proper guidance, a man of enviable character and strength. But he has no one to teach him now and with my health I am not much longer for this world."

With a slow, almost contemplative nod, Analdin brings his gaze to match Thelagal's, just as serious though perhaps a bit apprehensive. "I shall be here in Pelargir yet some time, sir, before we return to Minas Tirith. Allow me to meet the lad, at least speak with him. I cannot make any promises, however," he adds this in a warning tone, "Though I shall try my best to do what I can. From my own experiences, I believe you may have a point."

A smile crosses Thelagal's lips. "That is most generous of you Lieutenant. I have talked it over with Torelin and though he will never admit openly right now, he is willing to join. I have told him to come down to Pelargir to join me after his chores so he should be here eventually-as long as he has not wandered off somewheres. Thank you again." He offers his hand to Analdin.

Analdin, with a clasp of the older man's hand, gives a steady nod of finality. "Perhaps we shall meet again soon then, friend. For you have made me curious about this young man." A friendly, if rather small, smile touches his face, "However, I have work I must be attending all too soon."

After shaking Analdin's hand, Thelagal motions to the axe. "Please sir, would you mind keeping this safe for me. I can not carry it back and nor should Torelin be allowed something so valuable until he has earned it."

Eyes widening slightly, the look on Analdin's face akin to that of a schoolboy allowed out of class early, he reaches down and grasps the axe almost revently by the handle. "I would be honored to do so, sir. And be you assured that Torelin will most certainly be made to earn it. Hard work never made a man go wrong, my fatehr always said."

Thelagal picks himself up and nods. "Aye, your father has a point. Good day to you. I will have Torelin get in touch with you shortly." He begins to make his way slowly back towards Minas Tirith, whistling some indistinguishable tune.

Analdin nods, and, carrying the axe in one hand, begins towards the faire grounds and the noise coming from them. "Farewell, friend Thelagal."