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Weather:            Clear
Time:                Mid Afternoon <about 4 PM >
Season:              Summer
Date:               Hevensday - August 28, 3014

Real Time:          Thu Jun 11 17:25:07 1998
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        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.

Analdin:
        Dark blue eyes, the color of the stormy sea, shine glacially cool from this clean shaven young man's face. Dark blond hair cut short, short to hanging just abover his ears in a clean wave, covers his head. His cheekbones are chisled and his features are sharp, though the lines of his mouth are those of one used to smiling - if only slightly. His hands, when they can be seen, are rough and large. His left hand, however, sports a black glove at all times. He is a man of muscle, espicially with strong arms. Though not extremely large, he rises to six feet and is of meduim build.
        He wears the black talbard of the Minas Tirith Guard, with the Tree embriodered in silver on the breast. Simple black trousers are tucked into boots, black and polished to a shine. Upon his shoulder is company insignia, a Silver Ship set against the Gates of Minas Tirith, along with Lieutenant's bars and Company Commander's. A longsword hangs from his belt, perhaps not old, but well forged and well used. No special adornment can be seen on it save the marks of much use. A shining helm with raven's wings sometimes adorns his head, though more often, when in the city, is nowhere to be seen.
        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.

Malahir:
        Immediately, you are captured by the honest brown eyes of a young man, who is scantly an adult. There is inner solace in his eyes, which almond shape and youthful glint, show to the viewer his true emotion. Framing his amiable round face are wild brown curls that extend down to his broad shoulders. His smooth face is clean shaven, but not by choice. His leather tanned skin displays the strength he bears in his arms. On his left forearm is a nasty scar, and if he is not wearing his armor, another long scare can be seen on his right shoulder. His impressive stature measures six feet, one inch and he weighs in excess of 210 lbs. Although he has a well toned muscularture and broad frame, he sports a slightly convex belly.
        He appears to blend in with a moonless night. He wears a black tabard emblazened with the city crest of Minas Tirith: the white tree and seven stars, in silver embroidary. He is robed in a long black satin cloak. On the left lapel is a silver brooch of a ship, and on the right part of the cloak, above his heart is a crest of white and blue, with a sword and two horses rearing to meet at the center. Loose black pants are tucked into black boots and a broad black leather belt slims down the tabard at the waist. A silver buckle, also with the etching of a ship, hangs dead center. His black helm is winged at the crown with long cheeck guards, close fitting to the face. Lazily, his sheath hangs below his waist, where the gold pommel of his sword sticks out from his cloak by his hip. Occasionally, he brandishes an antique wooden cane, the handle being carved into a falcon's head. But while on duty, he grips a small leather buckler that proudly displays the crest of purple and gold, three wreaths, a sigil of his ancient family line. Adding to his massy bulk are the heavy chain mail bodice he wears under the tabard. The metalic links of his armor show little wear, but his leather buckler shows signs of numerous survived battles. His sword his well polished and the gold gleams from a half hidden sheath.
 

Malahir abruptly opens the door, taking one step into the room. As an afterthought, he raps his knuckles on the wooden planks of the door. Stopping there, he takes in the appearance of the room, noting with a visual linger the helm and uniform neatly layed upon the cot in the far corner and then his gaze goeas to the location of the re-instated Lieutenant of the company, seated at his paper laden desk. To him he inquires, "Sir, may I speak with you about matters of the company?".

The uniform is on him, not on the cot. (My note there)

Analdin continues in his work, ignoring the intruding Corporal. His shoulders are hunched over, and his quill is scratching incessently on a paper on the desk, writing in short, controlled strokes. He pays no attention to the opening door, nor the man entering, only continues in his work, eyes not leaving the desk.

Malahir coughs forcefully, almost threatening. He enters the room and closes the door beyind him. Taking off his helm, letting long curls fall about his shoulders, the corporal and aide de camp of the company keeps his stand by the door, tucking his helm under his arm. He speaks up once more, "Sir, when you are done, I'd like to speak about the direction this company is going?", his tone as serious as his youthful voice can muster.

With a quiet, controlled, almost flourish, the young officer at the desk signs the parchment, setting it aside. Laying his quill down on the desk beside the next paper in the stack, Analdin slowly leans back in his chair, his gaze rising to meet Malahir's eyes as he does so. When he finally reaches a somewhat relaxed position in his chair, he glances at the already closed door, "I would appriciate it, Malahir, if you would knock before entering," is all he says to the young man before him, face calm, eyes intent on whatever purpose he may be heading towards.

Flushed and figity, Malahir bows slightly, keeping his eyes on the lieutenant's. He walks up to the desk and sits down, placing his helm on his lap, and taking out a peice of parchment. He slaps it down on the table. With a look of indignation, he speaks, "We will get to this letter after we talk, but I want it out in the open", looking at it omninously and taking a deep breath before he continues, "Morale is low in the company sir. And it has effected every one of us. I speak for the company when I ask you what occured and why, to get you two weeks on the streets?".

Analdin casts a hopeless gaze at the pile of work on his desk before returning his calm eyes to Malahir, "I suppose I won't be getting very much work done in the next little while, will I, Corporal?" he asks, heaving a light sigh of regret. But he doesn't leave much space open for an answer as he glances at the letter slammed onto his desk, mumbling quietly, "Not much at all..." in mid-sigh.

Malahir shakes his head, looking downcast, "No sir, those can wait I assure you the morale of the company is more important. The last two weeks while you were away, I kept the company running as best I could. It's not too difficult to keep the posts manned when the fellows are as loyal to the company as they are. But afterward, the talk of losing face fills the barracks. I had no explanation to give them, no words of support. I could only keep the men together until you came back. I was hoping you could have a talk with them", pausing, "and a talk with me", he sits up high, and as uncomfortable looking as a person can look in a chair.

Waving his hand over the piles of paperwrk stacked on his desk, Analdin gives the young man a helpless look, "I've been trying to catch up on the most important of the work I missed." This he offers in quiet explination, but only half-heartedly. Leaning forward, folding his hands together and leaning his elbows on the wooden desk, the light from the window shining on half his face as he does it, the young officer studies the desk top for a few long, silent minutes. When he looks up, he speaks, his words coming slow and measured, "If what you say is true, Corporal, I suppose I had best speak with them, and soon." His bright eyes are tinged with worry. "Relax," he says quietly to the Corporal. "And lets get this over with. I take it I won't have peace to work in until we do."

Malahir sighs lightly, but remains unsettled in his chair. He gazes at the work load in front of Analdin, nodding, "I see you have alot of work to do. But if I could only have an explanation of your, forgive my term, what seems like irrational behavior to the men", he stops and shakes his head, going on faster than before as he recalls the past, "I was among the first wave of new recruits that you ever had as a lieutenant. I was shipped out to foriegn lands and discovered my responsibility to my own country and myself, there in Rohan with you. The company was regrowing, and I've seen it flurish and stand against the Corsairs in Pelargir, and the Mordain in numerous bloody skirmishes in Osgiliarth. Only now, it is from the inside that this company begins to deteriorate. If only you would see it from my point of view sir. Is there something on your mind that you can't tell me?", leaving the question up in the air.

Analdin's expression grows heavier at Malahir's every word, and he finally shakes his head. "From your point of view..." he speaks quietly, as though to himself, "Something on my mind? Not at the moment, Malahir. Other than this," he once again motions at the stacks of work on his desk. "You held together well in my absence, and there's not so much here as I had expected there to be. But it piles up." The young man rambles on like this for a few more minutes until he finally casts his gaze to the Corporal, "But something on my mind that I can't tell you? No, not now."

Malahir looks at the piles again and smiles, "Yes sir, I am sorry I could not do more for you, but some things my current rank do not permit me to do. Which I would like to address another matter of the guard. I have talked to the other corporals of the silver ship, and they believe", moving around in his chair uncomfortably, and then adding, "and i believe that the current Drill Sergeant is not motivating the men to the standards we believe should be demanded of the position. How do you wish to address this matter sir?".

At the sudden change of subject, Analdin seems to relax a bit, leaning back slightly in his chair, "Get me a full report on it, complete, with what the other Corporals think. I'll give it a look over, and talk to him." He shoots off the reply as though there were nothing unusual about the situation, with the ease of some accustomed to such things. "Was there something else, then?" This he brings up tenatively, something approaching hope entering his tone.

Malahir looks at the parchment still lying on the desk, his face sullen. "I have said my peace. I feel it is my duty to come to you before I make any rash decisions", he gulps nervously, "I see you are too busy to help, so I must go while I'm still off duty", he begins to raise and takes the letter in his hand. "There is someone I must see. Good day sir", he turns around slowly.

Analdin stands suddenly and, in a rather sharp tone says, "Malahir!" trying to get the man to stop. "Hold on just a second, Corporal," he adds, less ruffled, "I know you had something else, something having to do with that letter. Bring it here, will you?" he holds out a hand, palm up, expecting the paper to be placed in it, eyes shining brightly, "And being on duty is no excuse with me, soldier, so just sit back down there."

The corporal's broad shoulders rise and fall before he turns around and looks at Analdin frightfully. Nodding impishly, the big man sits down once more, this time placing his helm on the desk and the letter in his lap. He looks down at it. Softly he speaks, "Sir, this is a letter, encouraged by my father, to ask for a transfer from the silver ship", pain etched in the wrinkles in his eyes as he looks up at the lieutenant, "it remains unsigned", and he says no more than that.

Analdin's brow rises only slightly, his face falling a good bit, relaxed expression replaced with one etched with worry, "Transfer? From the Silver Ship?" These few words are asked in a tone of disbelief, and he shakes his head, as though to clear it if he didn't hear right, "Your father..." This is added, however, with a knowing tone. The young officer shakes his head once more, looking questioningly to the Corporal across from him, adding but one single word: "Why?"

Malahir's eyes dart toward the letter, seemingly looking for strength in it. He looks up, avoiding the lieutenant's crystal blue eyes, "My father has encouraged me to transfer to the silver guard. All those times I've been meeting people off duty, I've been hobnobbing with the elite merchants, which makes my family giddy with anticipation. They've wanted control over the markets for awhile. It's politics you see my friend", but his once easy going tone becomes soft, "it's been easy to keep them satisfied, but it hasn't been easy to satisfy me of late. I almost signed this and turned this in to Lord captain Boromir this week. That is the how serious the matter is sir".

Dark blue eyes darknening slightly as the young officer closes them for a few moments before looking back at the man before him, Analdin nods quietly, slowly, "Politics," he says softly, the only word he speaks for a number of moments. "Well, do as you must, Malahir. If you turn that," he nods towards the letter in the Corporal's hands, "in to Lord Boromir, the Silver Ship will miss you sorely. But I cannot stop you from doing as you wish to, or as your family wishes, you to do." With this tight, obviously forced, little speach, the Lieutenant leans back in his chair, gazing at his desk thoughtfully.

A dazed look comes across Malahir's features, and several seconds of silence passes as he looks dumbfounded at the lieutenant's sun stricken desk. The shadow that a pile of reports befalls his gaze, fitting that this shadow exists. Folding up the letter, the corporal places it inside his cloak, "It was my intention to have the conscience to tear this up right here, but I d not. I did not come here to ask you to stop me", looking into his friends eyes, "but to facilitate my understanding of where I stand in this company of men. If there are no more words to say, possibly our actions will determine what happens next sir", the words said with a hint of forboding.

A frown lights on Analdin's face, and he nods quietly, "Perhaps our actions..." he repeats Malahir's words with a grimace, "And I suppose mine haven't been all that great to judge by these past few weeks. Your standing, Malahir... In this company, there are none quite so respected as you, amongst the corporals at the least. Probably throughout the whole company." The grimace remains and he shrugs heavily, sighing as he does so. "As for stopping you, that is one thing I have no power over."

Malahir affirms his superior's words with a nod, running his hand across the edge of the desk, "I'm very thankful for the responsibility you have given to me. I'm proud to serve for you, and for every battle we fought side by side. I'm not giving this up so easily sir. Don't get me wrong, I wish to stay with the silver ship, but I must with a clear concience. You understand how doubt can make a man do irrational things", smirking slightly at Analdin.

Analdin lowers his gaze slightly, Malahir's words bringing a hint of an embaressed smile to his face, "Ah, well, yes I know that much, Malahir. From experience, if nothing else." He shakes his head quietly, something almost like a hint of a smile touching his the corners of his face, "Even if you do leave us, don't get me wrong, I will certainly feel the loss if you do..." Trailing off, he pauses before picking up his origional train of thought, "Even if you leave, I will make sure you don't forget what you are leaving behind."

An amiable smile comes to the big man's face, a sparkle hinting in his eye, "Aye sir. I do believe I'd miss this office incredibly. The memories I have of this place, no matter what happens", making the previous statement losely, "I will always hold the experiences as your loyal aide dear to me sir".

Analdin slams a fist down hard on his desk, dislodging a number of papers, quills, an ink bottle, and an iron paper holder forged roughly into the shape of a ship and polished gold with bees wax. "Malahir," he growls, though the look to his eye is anything but angry, "You're going to get me speaking fondly of memories again. 'Tis not something I had planned this afternoon," He lets out a light chuckle, something not heard from this man in many weeks, "Nor do I need to. Not at the moment..." Trailing off, he shakes his head, mumbling something about quite a man.

Malahir jolts back in his chair, almost taking his seat to the floor. Gulping down the surpise, he smiles again at his friend. Trying to hold his smile he asks, "what did you say sir, I'm sorry I didn't hear that last part", raising a brow after questioning the lieutenant.

Analdin allows the grin to remain on his face, shaking his head once more, "Said you're quite a man, Malahir. I'd hate to lose you... And I..." Trailing off once more, he shakes his head again, as though what he was going to say is of no importance, "You mentioned having someone to meet with?" The grin drops from his expression like a stone as he remembers this small fact, and he pulls his chair out to retake his seat.

Malahir looks at the window excitedly, and nods, "I see the sun begins to set, I am late for the merchants community meeting. Silly snobs have tabled an amendment that will strengthen their straggle hold on the city, at the expense of the smaller street urchins. I must take my leave sir, please excuse me?", looking at Analdin questionably.

Analdin nods, once more taking his seat at the desk and arranging those papers made out of order by his sudden pounding on his desk. "You're dismissed, Malahir." he says quietly, sighing lightly at the stacks of papers on his desk. Glancing once more to Malahir, he adds, "And, please, Corporal... Let me know before you hand that letter over to Lord Boromir, if it happens."

Malahir stand up and takes his helm in his hand, "Yes sir", looking sullenly at the papers and turning to leave. At the door he adds, "and thank you Analdin. I will have that report of our drill sergeant tomorrow", and he steps out the door.