End of Stonewright's Street -- The Barracks
The end of Stonewright's Street runs right up against the side of the mountain here at this sheltered location. The long low buildings of the garrison stationed here take up most of the available space around this square, with the soldiers' quarters to the outer edge, sheltering the officers' houses from the brisk winds. The sounds of drilling and sword practice drift up from behind one of the myriad building - the commanders' voices yelling above the noise of the trampling feet. Now and again, some soldier or another dashes across the cobbled square on errand to or from the Citadel and the higher officers stationed there.
 

Contents:
Rhiforath
Guard Squadron
Obvious exits:
Officers' Quarters, Training Ground, Barracks, and Down

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Weather:            Stormy
Time:                Late Afternoon <about 5 PM >
Season:              Spring
Date:               Sunday - May 13, 3014

Real Time:          Wed May 06 17:41:32 1998
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Rhiforath
        This young man, perhaps in his late teens, stands tall and lanky promising by his bones to continue growing into a large man. A shock of wild black hair hangs down long over the lad's shoulders with strands falling over his pale grey eyes. A wide but well featured face is fair skinned and unscarred.
        Wearing an odd mix of old worn homespun off white shirt and stained grey trews with much used old boots, the lad also wears a long black cloak with a hood made of fine wool. On the cloak's left breast there is the darker shadow left behind from embroidary that has been picked out... it resembles the White Tree vaguely. Infact, the whole cloak looks like a discard from the Minas Tirith Guard.

Analdin
        With his relatively short, boyishly cut blond hair, a twinkle in his eyes, and an entire six feet, this young man seems to almost blend into any group of boys that could be playing in the street. However, upon closer inspection, the glacier cool look behind those ocean-deep blue eyes and the straight posture show him to be no child, but a man of some responsibility. An air of strength, mental as well as physical, shines about him. His hands, when they can be seen, are rough and hard from work, and his muscles are far more than slight.
        The uniform of the Minas Tirith Guard seems to go quite well with his features, giving him a more mature look than most might see at first. The black tabard with the emblem of Minas Tirith upon it, the Tree embriodered on the breast in silver, the dark trousers tucked into black, polished-to-a-shine boots, all of it adds to the feeling of responsibility about him. Upon his shoulder can be seen company insignia, the Silver Ship set against the Gates of Minas Tirith. Bars of rank also adorn his uniform, Lieutenant's bars, and company commander's. A well cared for longsword hangs from his side at most times, and a shining helm with raven's wings sweeping back oftimes covers his head.
        His posture is that of a trained soldier, though rather friendly for it. Even though black is the dominant color in his clothing, his light, almost Rohirric features give him no appearance of darkness. An air of purpose surrounds him like a light mist.
 

Coming up the road in the warm afternoon light, the slim form of a young guardsman can be seen weaving between others walking about. As he draws nearer to the barracks it can be seen that this isn't actually a guardsman though the cloak looks enough like those worn by the guard to fool. It is merely Rhiforath, wandering the streets and making his way towards the barracks as he has been several times the past few days, incessantly.

Standing just outside the barracks, cloak pulled up about his shoulders to fend off the rain, Analdin quietly speaks with a younger guardsman. The tall, fair-yet-drenched-haired young officer nods every now and again at the motions of the other guardsman, his words hard to hear through the precipitation. Though he looks a tad impatient, he listens with a quietly resigned look.

Rhiforath tucks some stray strands of his overly long hair back from his damp face, his hood keeping most of the warm rain from his pale eyes. Noticing the Lieutenant, RRhif subtly alters his direction and comes nearer but slows up, his steps light and causual in a very well learned attempt to not be noticed. The youth draws rather near though he takes his time at it, being very patient. Seems that when he draws near to the Lt. and the other man he is speaking to, Rhiforath makes no attempt to interrupt, but stands quietly looking out over the street and seemingly ignoring the guardsmen. However... he easedrops as he continues to get rained on, uncaring.

Giving the younger guardsman a hard look, Analdin shakes his head once. The words "Carry on" float out into the rain, and, with a stiff salute, the other steps off down the road. Whike turning about on his heel, the lieutenant catches sight of Rhiforath, a hint of a smile playing on the corners of his mouth as he does so. "Good afternoon," he greets the young man, glancing about. "Is there something I can help you with...?" his question trails off as he gives Rhiforath a quiet, questioning look.

Glancing at the Lieutenant as though he -just- happened to be there and just then noticing Analdin, Rhif smiles very fleatingly in a shy manner, "Ehm, actually, I was keeping an eye out for you, Lieutenant. I expect you know why."

Analdin nods quietly, "I have a feeling I do.." Looking the lad over, the youngm officer takes a couple steps towards the entrance to the officer's quarters, "But whatever the reason may be, do you think we could speak of it out of the rain?"

Rhiforath nods once, curtly, "Certainly, sir." Then begins to follow the Lieutenant towards the Quarters.

You push the door open.
Officers' Quarters
Once a guesthouse to favored guests of the Kings and Stewards of Gondor, these converted quarters stubbornly retain the pride and artistry of that past, doggedly refusing to give up its last measure of elegance. Finely engraved wooden arches span the doorway in twisting patterns, cascading down to the floor to be met by a magnificent rug tightly hugging the floor, wood peeking out from the tassles at the corners of the room. Extravagent in comparison to the purely untilitarian barracks, the lavishness of this room seems to be a reluctant acession to the privileges that accompany rank. Darkly stained chairs randomly dot the room, and enviously large oak trunks loom at the foot of each bed. Favor of rank end here, however, as recognition of duty prevents the officers from relaxing the stringent demands they have placed on the guardsmen and abusing their surroundings. Despite the relative splendor of the quarters, the room remains neat and crisply ordered, uncluttered by belongings. A black banner hangs prominently against the far wall.
 

Analdin steps through the door into the officer's quarters, falling silent and not looking behind him as he leads the way inside. Not hesitating a moment, he continues on his way until reaching another door, the name "Lieutenant Analdin" printed on the front. Opening it, he strides in, holding the door for the young man.

Coming in not far behind the fair haired officer, Rhiforath is a contrasting dark as many of Gondor are, though light of skin and not at all the dark of his reknown step-father. Looking about, the lad watches Analding for cues on where to settle... chairs or office. As the Lieutenant goes towards a specific back office, there is a hint of recognition in Rhiforath's eyes, the barest hesitation in his walk. Then he draws in a breath and continues on through the doorway into the once familar office.

Rhiforath walks through the open door and into Analdin's Office.

        You walk in through the open door leading into Analdin's office.

Analdin's Office

        Upon entering this room, you immediatly catch sight of a rather plain, wooden desk. It stands not too far from the door, leaving only enough room between itself and the entrance for a pair or so of uncomfortable-looking chairs. Situated upon the desk are many sheets of parchment, a few loose scrolls, red sealing wax, a quill pen and fountain of black ink, and a couple pieces of iron, forged into various shapes, though apparently good paperholders. A window is situated on the far wall behind the desk, allowing the sounds of the training grounds below to filter through with any light at times.
        Beneath the window, against the left wall when you enter, is a plain cot, not too unlike those in the officers' quarters, with a trunk at the foot. Against the other wall is a bookshelve, rather impersonal looking, though the scrolls and books upon it are well organized - first alphabetically, then by dates. Across from the desk and pinned to the final wall, is a carefully drawn map of Gondor, inked upon a thin sheet of finely tanned and bleached leather.
 

Finally reaching his office, Analdin lets the door swing shut after Rhiforath enters. Stepping behind a wooden desk, he takes a seat in the chair behind it, motioning to one of the chairs before it, obviously telling the young man to sit as well. "Now, Rhiforath, if I remember your name right, tell me what it was you wished to speak with me about." A knowing twinkle shines in the officer's bright blue eyes but, reclining back, he waits patiently for the other to explain.

Rhiforath walks in through the door the Lieutenant is holding for him and glances around at the furnishings... obviously overlaying another man's things here and there as he pauses to look. The map of Gondor on the near wall catches his eye, the very one made by his step-father's hand, "You kept this." He says it in surprise.

Allowing the door to fall shut behind him, Analdin makes his way behind the desk, taking a seat. Watching the young man's reaction to the office, he nods quietly, "That I did.. I saw no point in wasting good work." His reply is rather short, however, as he motions for Rhiforath to sit down in one of the other chairs.

The youth raises a hand to trace the lines drawn on the white goatskin but does not touch the smooth surface. Instead he blinks, suddenly remebering where he is and who is here, lowering his hand to his side akwardly. Rhif licks his lips and looks back at the officer as he is told to take a seat, slipping into the nearest one with more grace than moments before. The hand comes up to strip back his hair from his eyes and then he sits quietly, waiting.

Analdin folds his hands, leaning forward a bit on the desk. "You mentioned the other day," he says, looking closely at the young man, "That you wished to enter the Guard? Or so you told Lord Boromir." After pausing a moment, he continues. "I take it you have considered all that may come with it? Espicially after what he told you then?"

Rhiforath raises his pointed chin, "Yes, of course, sir. I've grown up with the life of the Guard all around me. I know what it's like and have always intended to join when I was old enough. Now I am."

Malahir has arrived.

A feirce knocking can be hard upon the door to the lieutenant's office. Followed by what appears to be a whining eleven year old, "ah comon' corp'rol".

Reflexively, the young man sitting facing Lt Analdin's desk immeadiately stands and steps aside from his chair when there is a loud knocking upon the door. It may be that he's jumpy or just very cautious about strangers. A glance is cast towards Analdin as Rhif makes to causually lean against the wall as though nothing unsual happened.

Analdin tilts his head just a bit, listening to the young man. Shrugging a bit, he nods, "How old are you then," he asks, "That is old enough?" However, at the loud knock, he breaks off what would appear to be a longer speech with a glare at the door. "Come on in, Malahir," he raises his voice tiredly.

Rhiforath's pale grey eyes narrow at the Lietenant's tone as he slips his gaze to he who enters the Office.

Malahir throws the door open, dragging in tow the young drummer boy like a rag doll. Together they bust into the room with the fanfair of a rained out parade. The corporal bows quickly, "I apoligize sirs, but there is an urgent matter to discuss Lieutenant".

Rhiforath backs up to give the new arrivals room, light upon his feet and watchful. He keeps silent, coming to stand again near another wall by the trunk, waiting and listening.

Shaking his head slowly, Analdin emits a light sigh. "Forgive me, Rhiforath," he says, eyes turning toward the skulking young man. Standing, he looks down at the boy then up to Malahir, "What is it, Corporal?" he asks, his tone one of some annoyance.

Malahir takes a careful glance at the stranger in the room and becomes silent, speaking to Analdin in hushed tones, "Sir, shall we take this matter to a more private place? I have caught young Dric skipping practice again. Playing with the kids down the street again, weren't you?", he suddenly becomes red with anger, looking down at Dric with a hint of disapointment in his eyes.

Rhiforath looks as though he has some sharp retort to this stranger when it wasn't so long ago he used to know every man here in the barracks. But he clamps his mouth shut and decides to merely watch, not drawing any further attention to himself than need be.

Analdin, taking something of a deep breath, shakes his head once more. "Tell me here and now, Corporal, or take care of it. Honestly," The anger in his gaze breaks off a moment as he looks down at the indignant boy, "I can't say I blame him for skipping out on practice." However, seriousness returns, and he looks back to Malahir, casting an apoligetic glance to Rhiforath. "What has he done, besides that, to make you so angry at him?"

While the man reports on the errors of the boy to his Lieutenant causing more aggitation to rise in Analdin, Rhiforath glances down at the trunk at the foot of the cot he stands next too. One hand lightly runs over the pale golden wood to the brass latch in filigree of two stallions meeting over a shield shape for the tumbler. His thumb nail finds the rut of a familar knick and he bites his lower lip. Now ignoring the others, Rhif sits down on the trunk and looks over at the scrolls and books on the shelves.

Malahir equals the annoyance that his lieutenant displays and adds a bit of sarcasm to his responce, "Sir, is he not supposed to follow the same rules as all guards or not?", straitening out his agitation along with his cloak, "he has done nothing but play with that smithy's daughter, and it's not the first time the man has come to me and asked for his removal. You know I would deal with him personally, but you have put me on double shifts at the gates, remember?".

Rhiforath now completely ignores the conversation, one he's heard a thousand times himself though he was always the one to be disciplined. He slips from the trunk he was running his hands over to very quietly step over to the shelves. Without invitation he begins looking at the titles of the few books that are so labled but is careful not to touch anything. He stands at an angle so that his back is presented to the bunk and not the window, door or officers so that he can see them at a glance.

Sighing much more heavily than before, Analdin clears his throat. "He's just a lad, Malahir, and I doubt he could be expected to follow all the rules." An obvious soft spot for young Dric shows as the lieutenant continues, "I don't think a heavy punishment should be set on him for being a little boy, but..." Trailing off, eyes sparkling, he finally says, "If it doesn't interfere with your duty, Corporal, I should have you take Dric down to the smith... and ask if he can do anything to help out while he has nothing better to do. He knows his way around a smithy better than you may think."

The sounds of practice out on the training grounds on the other side of the wall behind the window subtly alter with the descent of the sun and the fade of it's last light. The twilight shifts to torchlight as a few on late shift finish their work.

Somewhere in the barracks a man's cheerful baritone takes up a baudy drinking song that quickly shifts into an older, more anbiguous tune. The sound is soft and does not intrude, but lends a flavor to the coming night.

Malahir's eyes divert to the young lad by the book shelf, then back to the face of Analdin, "But sir. The smithy complains to me that he has enough trouble looking after his daughter, much less take another child in his house. Fine, I guess I'll have to take matters into my own hand then?", peering down at Dric questionably.

Rhiforath turns where he stands and speaks up, "I can speak to the smith. Assuming he's the same smith on this tier that's been around for years, I know him. Maybe something useful can be found for the boy to do for a few coppers."

Malahir looks up at the stranger with the homespun clothes, whose facination with the intricacies of the room has not gone unnoticed, "Yes it is...

"He needs not take care of Dric," Analdin says with a tone of finality. "For Dric will behave himself and make himself as useful as possible. Right?" the last question is adressed to the young lad. At Rhiforath's speach, the lieutenant looks his way once more. "The boy is the son of a smith," he almost smiles. "And I would appriciate it if you would speak to this man, Rhiforath, perhaps after we have finished speaking?"

Rhiforath nods, glancing at the Lt. to gauge Analdin's reaction, "I used to pick up a few coppers a month there myself, running errands and messages." Hearing Analding he only nods again, considering it done.

Malahir looks from face to face and appears confused, "Excuse me, I don't think we were proporly introduced", settling a not so kind stare on the lieutenant. Taking a step into the room and closer to the stranger.

Looking back to the book shelf stacked with referances, records and scrap odds and ends, Rhiforath finally selects on thin folder bound in faded maroon leather and opens it, apparently glancing over or possibly even reading it. He ignores Malahir's question, absorbed in the file he has discovered.

Analdin finally turns back to absorbed Rhiforath, shaking his head once more. "Forgive the interruption," he interrupts his reading. "The boy is a rowdy one." With that in the way of explantion, and most of his anger at the intrusion over, the lieutenant retakes his seat. When Malahir speaks up, however, the young officer returns a look with a touch of a smile to Malahir for the stare. "This is Rhiforath, Malahir, a young man of the city.." however, his reply trails off some, as though he is rather unsure about it.

At the nearing step, Rhif glances up and steps back, closing the folder to glance quickly towards the Lietenant, then back to this stranger, "Ehm, I'm nobody. Who are you?" Hearing the Lt. the young man nods once more, "Malahir." and repeats the name as it not to forget it. He then only stands with the folio in hand and waits, watching each man.

Analdin finally turns back to absorbed Rhiforath, shaking his head once more. "Forgive the interruption," he interrupts his reading. "The boy is a rowdy one." With that in the way of explantion, and most of his anger at the intrusion over, the lieutenant retakes his seat. When Malahir speaks up, however, the young officer returns a look with a touch of a smile to Malahir for the stare. "This is Rhiforath, Malahir, a young man of the city.." however, his reply trails off some, as though he is rather unsure about it.

Rhiforath quickly slips the old training ledger back onto the shelf and stands still, hands folded behind his back.

Malahir nods, "Alright then Rhiforath, well meet I presume?", dripping with sarcasm. Turning back to the lieutenant, "I shall take the lad back to the barracks now, sir?".

Analdin nods to Malahir, "If you would, Corporal." Leaning forward again, placing his elbows on his desk, his bright eyes - rather like those of the still indignant lad - watching the younger guardsman.

Continuing to remain silent again now that he has nothing further to say, Rhiforath waits patiently to resume his previous conversation with the Lieutenant. His pale eyes never cease to roam the room, coming to rest on things he's not seen before, but lingering on those he has.

Malahir bows twice to the persons in the room and heel turns. On his way to the door he takes the hand of the younger version of the lieutenant and whispers harshly, "You understand what this means master Dric? They'll be no more nice corporal for you mister!", bearly heard over the slamming of the door, booted feet walk through the officers quarters and out into the cobblestone street.

Shaking his head as Malahir drags the lad out, a quiet chuckle can be heard from Analdin. Mumbling something about some interruption, he turns to the young man standing quietly, "I ask you again, please forgive the interruption. Dric is something of a problem at times.." Trailing off, he motions again to the chairs, "Take a seat if you wish. I believe we were speaking of age..?"

Rhiforath speaks up only after the door has come to a close, "He's not going to beat the kid, is he? I 'member being beaten enough never to forget it." Suddenly Rhif stops speaking, having said more than he wished. He licks his lips and cautiously retakes his prevous seat, "I'm seventeen this summer. I was told I could join up when I was sixteen but I was in Rohan and ... somewhere else for the past year. I lost track of time."

Analdin raises a brow a bit, but only says, "No, Malahir loves the boy almost as much as I myself. He may give him a good scare, but wouldn't touch a hair on his head." Returning to the subject at hand, the young officer nods quietly at Rhiforath's explination of his absense, curiousity shining in his eyes yet he says nothing of it. "Certainly old enough, then. But, perhaps you remember what Lord Boromir said not so long ago? There are many, espicially in the Guard, who still believe Ravenwyr guilty of that which he was eventually proven innocent. I have no doubt they'll give you a hard time."

The sounds of evening arms practice and gives way to lesser exercises as the men turn to other duties for the hours of darkness. The mess noises indicate it's use and occational relapses of singing can be heard from the barracks interspurced with an Officer's role or orders. These dimly lay a background to the conversation within this Office. Faintly there is the smell of pipe smoke.

The young man grinds his teeth and is slow to respond, taking a moment to cool his tongue. Then he tries to shrug causually, "I'll have to learn to live with that, but any man, even if he be larger than I, who wrongfully but willfully slanders my step-father will be brought up on charges. That and he'll get a good beating in a friendly alley." Rhif smiles, "None of my doing, of course. I still know almost everyone in this city."

A light chuckle can be heard from the lieutenant, and he looks rather amused at the young man. "I should certainly hope it wouldn't be any of your doing. For, though those men and I have never gotten along well..." he trails off, shaking his head with serious meaning.

Rhiforath blinks, "You never did raise an ill word against him. I remembered that." There is a slight pause, "I was very, very angry when I left. But I wanted to return because of you, Lietenant. You were only a Corporal then, but I remember. There were others who believed in him. I haven't forgotten their names either."

The young man is rather sober and quiet for his age, acting somewhat like life has already had more than a few years to be unkind. But as seen earlier, at times he's still just another street urchin getting underfoot and getting yelled at. Or atleast it's easy to recall those days... they weren't long ago.

Analdin leans back somewhat in his chair, all seriousness having returned to his features. "I always admired your step-father," he admits, "But I do hope it was not simply because of me you wanted to return..." Seeming out of words, he shakes his head rather hard, once, looking for the first time in some while more like the simple smith's son who sat nervously on the other side of the same desk few years ago. "Rhiforath," he begins, "I would take your oath now, if you are prepared to give it."

Rhiforath stands carefully, his movements economical, "No, certainly not, but thinking about those who were still here who believed in him, made it easier to come back. Perhaps it merely gives me hope that there are still men who serve the White Tree for the King who shall return, as Ravenwyr did. Vitue, maybe." The youth pauses a breath and then nods, "If you will do me the honor, sir, yes please."

Nodding, Analdin stands as well. Drawing his sword out of its sheath with the tell-tale whisper of metal rushing against air, he lays it on the desk. "Then, if you would swear on this blade and repeat the words after me." With that, he begins in a measured voice, slowly, "Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor and to the Lord and Steward of the realm. To speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or in plenty, in time of peace or war, in living or dying.." he pauses, allowing the youth to catch up, though the look in his eyes show he obviously expects his speaking it first is not needed.

Rhiforath takes a breath and gingerly holds his bare right hand over the steel of the blade, careful not to touch and mar the finish, his voice soft with eyes intent on Analdin's. He speaks the Oath he has heard others swear to all his young life though with a very slight change, "Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, to the Lord and Steward of the realm until our King shall return. To speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or in plenty, in time of peace or war, in living or dying..."

Analdin continues without faltering, only looking oddly at the young man as he adds to the oath. However, he continues on, not mentioning it. "From this hour henceforth until my lord release me or death take me or the world end. So say I, <insert name here>, son of <insert father's name here>, of <insert city or town here>." With that, he relaxes slightly, watching Rhiforath all the more carefully.

Rhiforath does not break eye contact nor does he falter inthe rhythm, "From this hour henceforth until my Lord release me or death take me or the world end; So say I, Rhiforath Dunirk Correl, son of Sergeant Dunirk Stevor, adopted son of Commander Ravenwyr Correl, of Minas Tirith." Then he removes his hand from over the blade and sketches the outline of the White Tree over his breast before standing still and quiet again.

The young man corrects himself belatedly, "Er, excuse me... Lord, not Commander." then wipes at his face and eyes to hide the tears that threaten him.

A hint of a smile, soft as it is, touches the lieutenant's eyes as he places his own hand on the blade. "And this do I hear, Analdin, son of Analdin of Eroch, Lieutenant of the Company of the Silver Ship of the Minas Tirith Guard, a servant and represenative of the Lord Steward, Denethor. We shall not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: fealty with love, valour with honour, oathbreaking with vengance." he says smoothly, almost with polish, after the youth's correction. Picking up the sword, he sheathes it easily, though remains standing. "Welcome to the Guard, Rhiforath, though I've a feeling you've been in it far longer than myself."

Rhiforath puts his hand behind his back and lifts his chin, long strands of his dark hair falling freely over his eyes, "Of course not, don't be silly. I used to be a scribe for the Merchant Guild, not a tag-a-long like little Dric. The only times I was allowed up here was to sit in this office and practice writing or take care of Wyr's things. That and arms practice, but I don't have a blade. His was lost."
Rhiforath quickly adds, "Sir."

Analdin shakes his head, shrugging, "Silly? I'm afraid that is one of the few things people don't call me around here.. at least, one I have not yet heard." He takes it in good humor anyway, retaking his seat and jotting something down on a sheet of paper. "Moreover, I suppose, I should welcome you to the Company of the Silver Ship. Find yourself somewhere to sleep in the barracks, and I shall find you a blade - somewhere."

At this late hour those without have long since gone quite to rest. Only now at the center of the night does the sound of the street patrol coming up to change shift with new watchemen remind one that the singing and mess have also fallen silent. The cool of the spring night brings with it a hint of moisture from the peak above.

Looking rather abashed at his choice in words, Rhiforath is slow to comment, "Silver Ship? I don't recall a company called that, sir. It's new? And I don't need a bunk. I went back to the Row House on the second Tier, unless you want me to stay here instead. I don't really have any things, just what I'm wearing." He holds his hands out from his side... and truely, he owns nothing except for the dim glint of a partcially concealed ornate knife under his left arm. Without knowing he showed it, he lowers his arms, "I know a longsword is terribly expensive. I know how to care for one and will do so well. I'll pay it back.

Looking up from his hurried writing, Analdin nods, "Aye, the Silver Ship. My company, it is, and, yes, a new one since..." he trails off once more. "Stay at the row house, then, if you so wish. It is close by, if I remember rightly. Haven't have a chance to stop there in some time." Writing another moment before speaking up again, he finally says, "You can pay back for the sword by using it, and learning how, if you have not yet. But, for now, I have work I must get done."

Taking that as a clear dismissal, the young man nods curtly and turns immeadiately to go. Reaching the door Rhiforath hesitates and looks back, "Thank you, Lieutenant, for ..." He slips a glance at the old trunk he used to sit on for hours and hours, then back to Analdin, "Everything." Then he quietly leaves the Office and closes the door softly behind himself.

Rhiforath walks through the open doorway and into the Officer's Quarters.

Rhiforath has left.