Analdin steps from the fortress into the decieving sunshine the late morning. His dark cloak, rough though it may be, trails behind him in the cool weather, and he makes no move to use it to remain warm. Bright eyes glittering to match the rays of the sun, he looks about into the activity of the camp.

Elidran steps from the fortress, almost in Analdin's footsteps, stretching indolently. Clearly, he's just woken from a nap. He favours his lieutenant with a grin, "Analdin, sir, I wish to report that I have been cleared for duty by the nurses!"

Malahir lays his head upon a bed roll, his gaze heavenward, breathing in the eraly morning air. His cloak is held tightly around him. You may notice he turns his head to listen to the activity around him.

Xever sits on the edge of a low piece of a ruined wall, his sword out in front of him. He seems to be cleaning off some black blood from the long blade with an oiled rag. He looks up as he hears others come near him. Standing he asks, "What is the word today, friends? Have we any tasks to complete?"

Analdin turns at the sound of Elidran's voice and footsteps behind him, smiling gently at the guardsman's words. "And so soon? Well, good to have you back and fit for duty, then, Elidran." Yet, upon almost walking past Xever, he pulls to a halt and looks to the man, down at his sword, and back up. The smile falls from his face, and a hint of rememberance shows in his eyes. "Good morning to you," he says, voice a bit quieter than before but eyes no less cheerful. "Do I hear right? You are looking for and anxious for work?" the twinkle in his blue eyes turns mischevious.

Malahir trains his sleepy eyes on the activity surrounding the Rohir, and the exchange of voices between him and the Lieutenant. Gathering the bedroll behind him, he readjusts himeself into a sitting position. Listening intently.

The tall man nods his head. "Indeed, yes. I feel I have not been put to much use here. The only thing I have done of value was to almost cleave an orc in two," he says with a smug smile and a gesture to his soiled blade. "I am eager to help repay my debt to you."

Elidran glances at Xever curiously, frank and open thoughtfulness in his eyes as he regards the man he still doesn't know terribly well, listening.

Analdin coughs lightly at the mention of a couple orcs, and the smile almost returns to his face - if not to his features, his eyes hold it quite well. "Truely? Perhaps there is something I can find... we have no lack of tasks to be finished around here, certainly, but it is hard enough to bring any to mind." Pausing a few moments, he looks the Rohir up and down, then flashes him a tight smile. "Tell me, how good are you at cooking?"

A light hearted sigh is heard from the direction of a small campfire, where Malahir had been resting next to. Breaking a twig with a quick snap before flicking the halves into the fire. He considers the conversation, wishing to add to it, but keeping his anxious lips stiff, and his chin mischieviously up.

Xever's regal face is open and pleasant. Eager almost. At the mention of cooking, the dark man almost laughs. "Well, if your men fear not being poisoned...I have kept myself alive on the roads. I assume I could do the same for a group of men, tho I am more used to chopping at foes than carrots and potatoes." He picks up his sword and slides it back onto his back, then puts the cleaning rag in his pocket. "Just direct me to the supplies and I shall see what I can do."

Raising a brow, the young officer smiles, "I was hoping there might be someone around who could, knowing how the food around here tastes. Of course, we have some around here quite good at it. But with Malahir tending the cooking fire tonight, I was hoping I could find good help for him." Leaning a bit closer, he winks, "I would honestly prefer any possible poisoning to the indigestion I am positive about." With that, he casts the lazing Malahir a grinning glare.

Xever rubs his chin and smiles ruefully. "Doubtful you will find my cooking much to your liking. I did once use dirt for seasoning in a pinch," he chortles. "Tho I do not wish to repeat that incident, especially with a few hundred armed men about."

As the conversation and those conversing, comes his way, a terribly long yawn spread across Malahir's face. Standing up groggily he acts on his que, making for a cup of cider and offering it to the blonde young officer, "Good morning sir, I've collected some apples, and did my best. Thought you might want to try this out for me", shrugging, "give me your honest opinion sir".

Elidran peers at Malahir's jug curiously, "Whatever is it, Malahir?"

Analdin chuckles lightly, "Dirt for seasoning? Sounds like quite a dish you must have been preparing. How did it turn out, if I may ask?" Yet he is cut off at Malahir's approach. Taking the cup in one hand, he looks into it, smelling the aroma, he glances back up and over to his aide. "Smells delicious, Malahir. Cider, is it?"

Malahir glances a hurt look at his fellow guardsman, "It's apple cider ofcourse. How hard can it be", shrugging once more. Turning back to his Lieutenant, "Aye sir. I've taken matters in my own hand. It seems like the caravans haven't come yet with Chrysalis' own cider...", drifting off into a glazed look, "try it sir".

The swordsman eyes the brew and bends forward, smelling the aroma through his hawk-like nose. "Let us hope it tastes as good as it smells," Xever says. "For it will be quite good indeed and hit the spot today. I know not when the last time something warm reached my stomach."

Elidran looks thoughtful, 'Well, one cannot really go wrong with cider, can one? I've yet to have any trly aweful cider.' He grins.

Logan enters the camp moving towards the fire and sits down warming his hands until he is satisfied before he pulls out his knife and begins whittling keeping to himself.

The ad hoc cider maker winks at Elidran, "I've spent the night brewing this up. I /hope/ it passes the test", motioning toward Analdin, who holds the first cup of the creation.

Analdin takes a careful sip, letting it roll around in his mouth before swollowing. Drinking a bit more, he nods slowly, "Not too bad, Malahir, I must admit." Yet, eyes shining, he adds, "Though you have quite some way to go before you match that of the White Tree Inn." As he finishes off the glass, covering his mouth as he coughs slightly, his eyes widen. Looking suspiciously to Malahir, he inquires, "Along with the apples, what exactly did you put into this, if I may ask?"

Elidran glances to Malahir at Analdin's reaction, curious.

Xever folds his arms and watches as the man drinks, a bemused smile on his face. As the brew is pronounced drinkable, he bobs his head and smiles. "Well done," he says, clapping the cidermaker on the shoulder. "Mayhaps I will not have to help you after all."

Malahir's delighful smile breaks into a light chuckle. "Aye sir. It would be beginner's luck to match the greatness of our home tavern. I cannot tell you any secrets, although, if you get me to drinking some...", grinning mischievously. Turning to the Rohir, "Nay sir, I have much to learn. And Lunch to be prepared. Breakfast to be dished out as well", and he motions toward the roasted ham and scrambled eggs in the skillets placed around the camp fire.

Elidran licks his lips, his expression hungry as he eyes the pan, "Eggs and ham. Now /that/ is a breakfast."

Analdin breaks out into a light chuckle, shaking his head slowly. Holding onto the cup, he sniffs at it once more, a funny look coming across his features for a few moments before they return to normal. "What would the camp do without you here, Malahir..." Trailing off, he mumbles something under his breath, though keeps his smiling eyes on Malahir, Elidran, and the tall man the whole time.

The dark man grins. "I can take a hint," Xever says, rolling up his sleeves and heading towards the fire. There, he stoops down with his tall frame and begins dishing out the breakfast with a long ladle, slopping it onto plates with little grace and no presenatation.

Elidran takes the first plate he can get his hands on as Xever dishes them out, and begins eating with all the haste of a starving wolf.

Malahir pats his superior on the back, and he moves around to his side, watching the dishing out of the grub he has prepared earlier this morning, "I had to beat the early to rise guards away with that laddle.", motioning to the Rohir, "bigger portions, we got hungry men here", shaking his head and smirking at Analdin.

Analdin flinches a bit as Malahir pats him on the back, taking a rather long step to the side as he walks with his aide to where the tall man stands. Though the smile does not break from his eyes, obviously a good morning, he does sober up a bit. "With the ladle? I seem to remember a few complaints about that... and comments to keep you at your work than in the mess hall." Winking, he takes a couple long steps, and makes his way to the fire, though he does not touch the food.

Hungry troops form a line that ends with Xever, and the man does his best to slop food on their plates. There are a few grumbles at the runnyness of the eggs and the toughness of the ham, but the tall swordsman just shrugs. Glancing at the man's sword still on his back, few are prone to argue for long.

Malahir picks up a spare ladle that had been hooked on the fire spit. He dishes out a plate and stabs his fingers into a basket of rolls, "Here sir, you look famished. Course, maybe this outdoor cooking is not such a great idea", squinting as he looks toward the sunny horizon, "I wonder if orcs have good sense of smell".

Xever looks over to Malahir and snorts. "If they do, they can only smell themselves, assuredly." He spoons another glop onto someone's plate. "Tho tis said there are smaller, smelling orcs that are like bloodhounds, that will track down a man by scent alone." He shrugs. "I will kill them no matter what the size of their nose is."

Analdin shakes his head at Malahir's offer, intent upon watching the troops file through, munching on what breakfast they have. Soon enough, his eyes go to the east, and his face turns grim for a moment. Shaking his head once more, the young officer turns once more grinning to Malahir. "They know where we are camped. If nothing else, I believe this..." trailing off, he pauses a moment, "breakfast would be the last thing to draw them toward our camp. If naught else, my friend, I think you may have just provided us with another line of defense." He pats Malahir on the shoulder and gives him a boyish grin before picking up and roll and biting into it.

Xever finally scrapes the bottom of the pot and dishes out the last of the eggs. He exhales and wipes his brow with the back of his sleeve. Sighing, he picks up the last piece of ham and chews on it.

Malahir hands the tin plate of sweet smelling ham and eggs, passing it off to a random guard, while keeping his eye on the young officer. Taking the man's wry compliment in stride, "Aye sir, I try my best. Is there any news about the movement of the orc's main camp?".

Xever goes from squatting down to fully sitting on the cold ground. "That orc spy last night assuredly told of our position and our numbers," he says.

Analdin takes a seat on a nearby rock, relaxing slightly to munch on his roll. Biting into it, he calmly fields Malahir's question after chewing and swollowing. Shaking his head in an almost imperceptable way, he says quietly, "None that needs be discussed over breakfast, Malahir." The tone of his voice is quiet, probably the most solemn he has spoken all day. It passes, though, after a moment, and he turns back to the tall Xever. "I hear you are quite good with your sword, at least as good as with the ladle, I should hope..." he trails off, as if looking for confirmation.

The dark man nods. "Aye, I am good to have in a fight, tis no boast. Tis how I make my living, training young fellows in the art of the blade." Xever pats the pommel over his shoulder. "My sword did keep me alive through orc camps and in the arena of Nurn. Tis how I live to be here now."

Elidran finishies his meal and puts the plate aside. He covers his lips as he belches softly and beams at his fellows, "A satisfying breakfast. I feel I can face the day now." He grins wryly.

Malahir nods, motioning toward the ravaged skillets at the stone around the camp fire, and the upturned plates littering the camp, "Excuse me sirs, I better make the camp tidy before we have any important visitors show up", nudging his lieutenant before heading toward a nearby stash of dirty plates.

Analdin nods slowly, a hint of impressment showing in his eyes. Finishing off his roll, he leans forward on the rock he is using for a seat, and begins to ask a question. However, he is interrupted by a nudge from Malahir, to whom he gives a nod, "Have fun at it Malahir," he says, a light smile on his face, "And be sure to give those visitors my regards, espicially if they be important ones from the east." Turning back to Xever, he again takes a breath and asks, "How long, may I ask, did your sword keep you alive there?"

Elidran takes up a roll from the basket and cuts it open, eating it slowly as he glances from Analdin to the others.

Xever sighs and climbs back up to clean the pot of eggs, rinsing it out with water from a bucket, then turns it upside down to dry. "I was there a few months," he says. "Tis hard to tell, as your days and nights there are all the same. I did work in the slave fields of Nurn, then when it was learned of my prowess in fighting, I was taken to the Arena to battle for the pleasure of the Nobles. From there, I was taken by the Great Troll Tarnok with his camp for sport, and twas from there I did escape," he explains matter of factly.

Malahir passes by Elidran, motioning toward the cider, "Don't forget to wash it down with some cider", winking as he makes his way toward the mess hall, a tall cumbersome stack of dirty skillets and plates lilting as he gambles to and fro.

Elidran's eyes alight, "Ah, Malahir, I /had/ forgotten." Half-eaten roll in hand, he makes his way to the cider jug and measures himself a cupfull, "Let us see if Analdin has the right of your cider, th en..." he takes a judicious slurp.

Analdin nods, paying close attention to the other man's words. As he finishes, the lieutenant leans back once more, and folds his arms over his chest. "How did you come to be there? You need not answer, if you would rather not of course." He smiles, taking the jug after Elidran has finished with it and pours himself another cup of Malahir's cider. "Just my curiousity here."

Xever smiles. "If I am to talk so much, I shall need something to keep my tongue wet," he says, ladling some cider into a metal cup. He takes a tenative sip and smacks his lips. "Interesting," he says judiciously. "Well, where was I? Ah, how I was captured. An orc raiding party did come upon me on the road to Gondor. I was an easy capture, I'm afraid." The dark man smiles ruefully. "I am a good swordsman, but not that good."

Malahir disappears into the mess hall, the tent flap being opened from the inside to let him in without disturbing the tenous balance of used flatware. A few seconds later though, a loud crash, followed by many smaller rattlings and clammerings. Bursting from the tent, Malahir is easily overheard berating the unknown occupant within, "Big Lug! You have the grace of a Troll. Clean that mess up, I have more for you to clean, and I wont those done before I get back".

Analdin silently sips at his glass of cider, though his expression is definitly one of curiousity. Casting a glance to Malahir as he takes a drink, eyes questioning, he turns back arouns with a light shrug. "Raiding parties of any kind are no good, espicially the orc kind." he comments, interest shining in his eyes. At the sound behind him, he turns once more, looking to Malahir, "What now, Malahir?" he calls.

Malahir stomps over toward Analdin, and places his hand upon the rock he rests on while motioning with his other, "That kid is going to bring me to an early death. Clumsiest guard I ever seen, save my own graceful self. You'd think after I hefted all those plates without dropping them, but after three seconds in that tent with him, they all fly out of my hands some how", hurumphing as he shakes his head.

Xever finishes his cider, then puts his cup down. Suddenly a pained expression comes on his face and he struggles to his feet. "My pardons," he says staggering away. "But I believe I am going to be sick." He clutches his stomach and stumbles over the uneven ground to behind a large boulder. Then the sounds of a sick man can be heard.

Analdin laughs, shaking his head. Though he opens his mouth to speak, he quickly closes it again, and the smile fades from his face. Setting down his untouched cider cup, he looks intently at Xever, concern mounting on his face. Turning back to Malahir, eyes narrowing slightly, he asks in a low voice, "What is in this, Malahir?" His tone gives no room for complaints or secrets.

Xever has disconnected.

Malahir frantic huffing stops abruptly, and a concerned look replaces it. He watches the doubled over man curiously, "Maybe he is having adverse reactions to the cinnamin?", shaking his head, "The brewing was at safe temperatures sir, givin the outdoors ofcourse and it twas only over a two nights, so it's not very strong".

Analdin's brows knit together, and he looks at the retching man then back to Malahir, "Are you sure that is all there is too it?" The joviality of the earlier morning seems to have up and evaporated. "I would rather not have to answer to Lord Boromir that it was your cider as gave him this..." trailing off, he mutters something else about already being in trouble with the Captain-General. Voice rising again, he adds, "You have any other ideas as to what may have caused it?"

Elidran smacks his lips as he puts his cup aside, "Excellent cider." he pronounces.

Malahir offers his open hands in a confussled stance, "It may not be the cider at all sir, we shall have to let the healers determine the ailment. The ground water may be tainted", offering the last suggestion with a shiver.

Calling an idling guardsman over, Analdin asks him quietly to go get the healers. They come, and escort the tall, if rather sick, man to the infirmary. The young officer watches all this before shrugging to Malahir, "I certainly hope not. Whatever it is, I do hope the healers find what is the matter with him..." trailing off, he coughs shortly into his hand, mumbling something more about trouble, and looking at the yet untouched glass of cider beside him.

Malahir shakes his head, "I was hoping to at least not get any one sick. Now I feel aweful. I better leave the cooking to someone else.", leaning against the very same rock, his back turned to the camp.

Elidran frowns as the man is shown out, looking concerned, "Let us hope it is merely indigestion."

Elidran looks sympathetic, "Now, Malahir, we don't know it was your cider..."

Analdin shakes his head, "Aye, that we do not know. We only hope it wasn't. And even if that was what made the man sick, it was certainly not intentional on your part..." pausing just the slightest, he adds, eyes twinkling, "was it?" Placing a hand on Malahir's shoulder, he shakes his head once more.

Malahir's downcast mood is only worsened by the comments made behind his back. He shakes his head once more, "Sir, he is our ally. At least by appearance, or so he claims. It doesn't matter. No, I made the cider to the best of my ability. I probably has indigestion from my failed attmept.

Analdin stands, removing his hand from his aide's shoulder. Looking down, appraising the other man's face, the lieutenant snaps an order, "Stand up, Malahir." His sharp tone sounds in the camp around them as he pays no attention to keeping quiet. "Get your chin off your chest, soldier, and wake up to the possibility that it was most probably not your fault, willingly or no."

Malahir stands slowly, his shoulders drawn forward. "Yes sir. I'll send you a copy of the report of the incident tonight", his eyes flash with fear.

Analdin nods once, sharply, "You do that." Taking a step back, he adds, face loosening a small bit, "Speaking of reports, I have one to deliver at the moment, though was sidetracked by an annoying reminder of responsibility." Turning, he makes his way towards the fortification.

Malahir remains at the rock, his gaze arching across the camp at the scattered flatware. "Aye sir, Good day".