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.

Daelin:
He has a powerful build, with thick legs and arms and large hands, and his deep bass voice booms from a barrel chest. His weathered, chiseled features are accentuated by a neatly-trimmed dark beard lining his jaw and mouth. His dark brown eyes are expressive, even fierce, making his entire face seem somewhat grim. The severity of his face is heightened by his black, short cropped hair. But the wrinkles radiating from the corners of his eyes suggest a smile comes as quickly as a scowl. His clothing is practical, but well-made. Dark grey breeches tuck into knee-high black leather boots. A green tunic covers his large torso, and a grey cloak hangs from his broad shoulders.

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Weather:            Rainy
Time:                Midday <about 12 Noon (lunch time) >
Season:              Winter
Date:               Sterday - January 26, 3015

Real Time:          Mon Aug 03 20:51:14 1998
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The rain beats down upon the heads of the Guardsmen who rush back and forth about the square. At noon, it is one of the buisiest times of day for the area that houses the main Guard Barracks, for the watch is changing and the midday meal is being served. Those men who are just off shift and hungry hurry to get inside the barracks and out of the rain, ready to shovel in the food. Others who are already late for their posts rush about and nearly slip on the paving stones in their haste.

A man, rather short compared to those about him, and clad in the black of the Guard stands just outside the barracks itself and underneath the overhanging, keeping dry. He wears no cloak against the cold of the winter's day, but watches the men rush about with amusement.

A man stumps toward the barracks, his booted feet splashing noisily in the water collecting on the street. staying close to the sides of buildings in a futile effort to remain dry. He keeps his grey cloak wrapped tightly about his hunched frame as the rain patters and slides off his hood, underneath which a scowling face can be seen. He narrowly avoids a guardsman who rushes past him, stepping quickly to the side into an even larger puddle. A disgusted sigh blasts from beneath the hood, and he walks quickly toward the barracks, taking shelter on the side opposite that of the unmoving guardsman. He mutters to anyone who would hear, "Bah. This cloak doesn't do me any good - I'll catch my death for certain."

A hint of a smile, very small as it may be, upturns the corners of the stationary Guardsman's mouth at the deep-voiced man's muttering. His black eyes remain almost intently upon the scurrying men, many of whom are not much more than boys, and he shakes his head slowly, "Terrible weather to be short a cloak," he says, though to no one in particular. Yet his dark gaze flickers to the side, to the man obviously not of the Guard who takes shelter under the eaves of the barracks.

Daelin remains under the eave, squinting gloomily as the rain cascades off the edge. Beneath his damp hood his face turns first to one direction and then to another, his dark eyes darting about. He begins to tap his foot, and although it is a small movement it makes a noticeable splashing sound on the wet ground. He grunts to the guardsman's comment. "Or a poorly made one," he rumbles. His eyes stray to the guardsman, catching the strange look. Immediately he clears his throat and searches for a spot on the street to gaze upon.

As if amused by the strangers grumblings, the dark-featured Guardsman's smile widens a bit. "Aye, that too," he comments, though keeps his eyes on the busy street. Actually, after a few long minutes, the square outside the barracks calms down. Those who had been rushing make it to their destination, and others, cloak hoods pulled well up to keep out the rain, just meander slowly along the way. "Though 'tis most certainly the weather to keep inside and write reports, cloak or no," he tries a hand in grumbling.

Daelin seems to grow slightly more restless as the activity on the street diminishes. The dark-haired man purses his lips, brow furrowing slightly. Then, as the guardsman offers up his own complaint, Daelin smiles and looks once again to the guardsman with a slightly appraising look, as if pleased by the man's own grumbling. Quickly he clears his throat and makes a vague gesture toward the guard's black uniform as he says, "You been with the Guard long?"

Garen steps down from the coach and glares around at anyone close to him and hands the coach driver a tip before he drives away. It seems as if a dark cloud has attached itself to him and is seeping into the area around him, growing further out the longer he stays in one place.

Mathirion nods quietly, looking the stranger over finally with something of a critical eye. "Aye, nearly nine years now," the black-clad Guardsman answers with a shrug. Glancing once more out into the square, watching the rain quietly for a long moment, he looks back to the stranger quietly, question in his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but as he does so the clatter of the coach brings more noise to the damp square. Catching sight of Garen, the words drop from his mouth and he falls silent once more, watching the young man.

Garen starts to walk into the officers' quarters but turns around just before his hand falls upon the door latch and looks over at the other two who are nearby, "Is it too much to ask that people leave your personal belongings alone?"

Daelin nods to Mathirion's reply, his dark eyes following the coach as it rolls along the street and halts before the barracks. He straigthens, peering closely at the figure who emerges. The air of watchful expectancy continues to grow about him. He frowns as Garen turns and speaks, glancing at Mathirion with a puzzled look. "What's that you say?" he calls out to Garen.

Folding his arms over his chest, amused smile widening, Mathirion meets the stranger's puzzled look with another shrug of his nearly stiff shoulders. He holds his silence, leaning back against the wall on the outside of the barracks, watching with an interested eye as Daelin calls to the Lieutenant for clearification.

Garen shrugs his hands upward in frustration, "Its a matter of respect. It seems that none of the low ranking guardsmen have ANY respect for thier superiors. I was on the practice field earlier today and had to remove my sword for exercises and one of the other guardsmen walked off with it. I can't see HOW anyone could have mistaken my sword for thiers. It is a family heirloom and totally unique. It looks absolutly nothing like the standard issue weapons." He then walks over and stands directly in front of Mathirion, "Speaking of respect Corporal, where is your salute to a superior officer?"

Garen pulls the edges of his cloak back to reveal the Lt. insignia.

Daelin's brow slowly rises as Garen delivers his angry tirade. He lets out a "Hmph!" and his broad chest expands rapidly with the exclamation and is about to offer up his own opinion on the subject when Garen's confrontation of Mathirion makes him freeze in his place. His dark eyes widen slightly upon recognizing the Lieutenant insigina Garen exposes, and a brief smile flashes across his face. But he remains silent.

As Garen tells his tale, Mathirion's look of amusement turns to something near shock. Yet, as he opens his mouth to speak and before he can get any words out, the Lieutenant is standing in front of him. His expression remains calm and, standing a bit straighter, he brings his arm slowly across his chest in salute, "Forgive me, Lieutenant," he says almost lazily, casting a humorous glance in Daelin's direction as he does so.

Garen gives a harumph grips the air at his side with his fists and starts off toward the officers' quarters again and turns around again just before his hand reaches the door latch, "If I find out who has had the gall to do such a thing they will wish they had never been born. If they are smart it will be on my desk in the morning with a note of apology." He then turns and grabs the door open this time, smacking himself in the side of the head. He tenses for a moment then goes on in through the door.

Daelin squints, watching the strange interchange between Corporal and Lieutenant with a guardedly curious expression. He shifts uncomfortably on his feet and is about to call out to Garen as he swings about and storms toward the officer's quarters. He watches with astonishment as Garen almost manages to brain himself with the door before disappearing. Then Daelin shakes his head and sighs, muttering to himself, "...Probably wouldn't have been the best time to speak to him, anyway..."

Mathirion watches the young Lieutenant disapear through the door to the officer's quarters with a rather startled look, "I suppose it is safe to assume," he says slowly, allowing the attention-like position he had assumed to relax once more, "That the good Lieutenant isn't exactly happy about this." Casting the stranger a curious glance and a hint of a smile, he adds, "I'd suggest not getting in his way for a while.. It seems to be the case with a a couple the Lieutenants around here. One small thing sets them off, and you want to keep the city between you and them for the rest of the day."

"Hmmm." Daelin gazes speculatively at the closed door of the officer's quarters for a moment before turning to Mathirion. He regards the guardsman with a frowning, curious expression before his face breaks into a wide smile, and he lets out a loud, rumbling laugh which echoes off the surrounding buildings. "It certainly seems that way!" He continues chuckling, though quietly, before saying, "Although it is unfortunate." Then he shakes his head quickly, scowling to himself. Throwing up a hand he declares, "I am acting as if I were born in an alleyway!" Drawing himself up before giving the guard a quick, short bow he says, "My name is Daelin, friend."

The stranger-no-longer's actions bring a light chuckle from the older-looking Guardsman. "Meaning there is something wrong with being born in an alleyway? I do hope none of the boys hear you say that... For they might well take it as an insult to them or their mothers." Though the chuckle has faded, the small smile remains in Mathirion's face as he returns the short, quick bow. "Mathirion, Acting Corporal of the Guard and pretending to command the Company of the Silver Ship in the absence of any and all superiors. Well met, Daelin."

Daelin nearly barks out a quick laugh. Indeed, at first glance many of the large man's movements seem almost explosive. "Bah. I might know some of their mothers." He gives Mathirion another quick nod, smiling broadly. "Well met, Corporal." Then he tilts his head, squinting thoughtfully before murmuring, "Perhaps you might be the one to talk to, then. Pretending to command, you say?"

Mathirion moves with a grace that almost belies his soldierly appearance, such as those graces taught at court, "'Tis a large city, but I wouldn't put it past any man to know anyone here. Why, I heard that my own Lieutenant's young brother knows Lord Faramir himself almost personally... That is, if one can from lifting a man's purse." Smile widening almost imperceptably, the older man wipes a stray strand of raven black hair from his face, "I might be, depending on what you wished to speak about. I pretend to command, since my officer, his aide, and the only other Corporal in the company have gone off on Lord Boromir's orders. I've got the power of second in command, I suppose. What do you need, sir?"

Daelin chuckles, his easy smile flashing back onto his weathered face. "I think perhaps it is I who should call you sir." Flinging a scowling glance at the rain still falling beyond the overhang he says, "I came here not because I enjoy being soaked underneath a poorly-woven cloak, but for a more specific purpose. I have, you could say, an interest in the life of a guardsman."

Mathirion raises a single greying brow, "Oh really? I had wondered who would venture up here during the change of watch in the rain. Nearly the whole city knows the chaos that can be viewed here that time of day." Once more wiping the vagrant strand of hair from his face and mumbling a curse at it as he wipes a hand over his damp hair. "Tell me, Daelin, what brings you to have such an interest in the Guard? For, after seeing what chaos we have in the rain, are you brave enough a soul to see it when the weather is better?" A bit of a twinkle lights in his black eyes.

A twinkle emerges in Daelin's own dark eyes, taking pleasure in the banter. With an expansive gesture he says, "Oh, I have seen my own share of chaos, though in different forms. Having folk running around my father's forge, waving glowing brands about, trying to complete an order which was to be done the day before." He pauses, squinting thoughtfull. "I have encountered a good share of ruffians both in and out of the city." His mouth twists scornfully. "Some folk thing purchasing good metal tools and weapons is far more difficult than stealing them."

Mathirion's brow arches a bit higher, "Your father's forge? Was he a smith, then? I know a man who was a smith, has a temper to match his forge, too. I've been on the bad end of it once or twice, he's worse than Lieutenant Garen there." he nods in the general direction of the officers' quarters. Nearly sighing, he speaks up once more, "Well, stealing them is easier sometimes, depending on the weight of your purse. Though I do believe 'tis the Guard's duty to discourage that behavior... it strikes me as odd that one of our men would have taken a weapon, especially one that will get him more than he bargained for should he be caught."

Daelin nods, grunting. He follows Mathirion's gaze as he says, "Although most of the Guards I have met have much more sense. I would wager there is some other explanation apart from bald theft." His brow furrows as he adds darkly, "I would hate to think a Guard would actually steal." His mouth curls with distaste at the final word.

With a quiet, almost sad nod, Mathirion finally lets out that light sigh, "The thought of it strikes me as wrong. And, if one of our ranks did so, believe me, he most likely shan't be there much longer." Shaking his head, the older Guardsman turns from the subject, "Tell me, Daelin, what makes you wish to join up?"

Daelin gazes steadily at the Corproral, nodding slightly as if expecting the query. "As I mentioned, I have had my share of encounters with those who don't respect the law, nor even common decency." Then his gaze turns, his eyes moving vaguely about the street as if seeking to view the entire great city as a whole. "One does not need to be a wise man to understand it takes much effort to maintain peace and order in such a vast city - and a vast countryside." He chuckles wryly. "And I was often the one who would take care of those vagabonds who thought to take what was not theirs from my father's smithy. And after spending time within these walls, I have learned the value of that order, and of those who protected it."

Mathirion listens with interest to Daelin's words, nodding occasionally, "We can always use a good man with a sense of order and justice in the Guard, you knwo. What would you say to me speaking with the Lieutenant in there," he nods towards the officers' quarters once more, "And seeing what can't be done?"

Daelin's face, which had become firm of jaw while giving voice to his thoughts, now breaks into another broad smile. "I would thank you kindly, sir," he says with a nod. "Very kindly indeed."

Mathirion nods once, finally, "I will, then.. Though I have a few matters of buisness to take care of as well, now that" he sticks a hand out from beneath the shelter of the barracks's roof, "The rain has stopped." Stepping away from the wall, he tilts his head in farewell and steps off almost hesitantly across the square and ducks inside the officers' quarters, making sure not to bang his head.

Daelin nods to the departing guardsman, well pleased. He then peers distrustfully at the sky before stepping onto the street, making his way around pools of water which shimmer on the roadway.