The field is nearly empty, most of the attendants having retired to the hall for a time of feasting. Many of those no longer here number amongst the Guardsmen of Minas Tirith: those who were once friends of Torelin's, or Aiesha's while she did her stint as cook for the men. Others are, of course, in the celebratory mood.

One of the men in particular remains behind on the nearly empty field, leaning against a railing and looking over the citadel. He shakes his head periodically, may take a step away, then move back, indecisiveness overtaking him.

Seperating himself from the crowd of overzealous celebrators, Malahir walks steadily toward the empty field. When the others call after him, he politely declines with a wave of his hand and after a spin of his cane, returns to his stroll out into the countryside. Spotting the commander of the guard named Ingold, the Lieutenant halts and stares at him curiously. He approached him from behind, but makes plenty noise to be heard, "Excuse me sir. I had no idea this field was so popular", sensing his previous discomfort he adds, "I could leave you alone sir, if you wish".

Heaving a heavy sigh, the Commander does not even look up at Malahir approaches... His eyes are half shut, and he leans heavily upon the post behind him. Yet finally, some long moments after the Lieutenant speaks, he shakes his head slowly. Pulling off his conical helm to reveal unkempt, black hair, he smiles softly, "No... No, this field is quite large enough for two, Lieutenant. There is much to be taken care of... Banquet or no, I needed time to think." Shrugging finally, he looks with calm eyes up at the other offier. "What think you of this fine city?"

Malahir keeps his distance and settles next to a fense, placing his booted foot on the bottom rung and leaning his elbow up against his leg. He doesn't look at Ingold nor the city when he responds, "I've visited the fair city before sir. I can take it or leave it as it is. I've got all I really need back in that wagon. By now they are settled in their rooms I hope. I'm sorry, I don't think you've meet them have you", being as nondiscript about his fiancee and Arya.

Raising a brow with some interest, the Commander inquires, "They, Lieutenant? Might I ask who "they" are?" He glances up at the sky, the sun beginning to move westward on its downward slope. "I do remember a few supply wagons accompanying us... Were there any others I was not priveledged enough to be told of?"

Clouds gather, coming in from the west, disapointing those who would wish to see a beautiful sunset tonight. Yet the light flashes through the clouds occasionally... once, in particular, it shines off something on the other side of the fence as if off gold in a leprachaun's pot.. Then the gold appearance disapears, leaving simple foliage as it was.

Malahir sighs inwardly and slips off his helm to wipe the sweat from his forehead, "I brought along my fiancee ofcourse. I didn't think it was a burden to give her a free ride in the forward supply wagon. Fortunately..oh, her name is Mirabelle sir, we coxed an older guard in the company to watch after her daughter while we are away", just then he catches the view of the sunset light playing through the gathering clouds and he pauses, "would you look at that sir, why If that isn't a sign of good fortune", he points to the trees that catch the light.

Ingold glances to the trees, but shakes his head, his brows coming together in confusion. "I see nothing, Lieutenant." Yet the sun breaks through once more, and the golden light shines... And somewhere, nearby, quite loud, a young voice curses roughly. The Commander, taken aback for a moment, draws his blade and looks accusingly into the foliage...

From which a small figure in large boots emerges. His face is very dirty, his mouth in a perpetual sneer yet his eyes have a look of innocence. "I got words for you, Corp'ral! What'd I 'ear, you actin' jus' like the ol' 'Ten'nt? I'll make ye sleep on a cold rock iff'n I 'ave t', Corp'ral!" Yet he turns around and curses once more, a word heard not even often in the barracks... "Iff'n I can get this pesky li'l gal off m' tracks."

A brown-topped head pokes out of the foliage as well, smiling eyes and laughing smile. "What's wrong with a bit o' company, boy?" She emerges, and her dress and apron are about as dirty as the lad's face.

Peering hard into the foliage now, Malahir shakes his head in order to clear his head. He double takes as the familiar form appears from under them. Sighing heavily now, he climbs down from his position on the fense and walks inbetween Dric and Ingold, "Dric..you look absolutely aweful. If your brother saw you in these clothes..", staring behind him at the girl in rags, "and who is this master Dric?", he adds with heavy suspiscion.

Ingold stifles a laugh at the boy's behavior, and, more importantly, Malahir's reaction. "Do you happen to be aquainted with this raggamuffin, Malahir? He does seem to know you, though.." Turning to Dric, the Commander bows, "Good day there, Lad! I fear you mistake Malahir. Rough as he may look, the good man has been promoted. A Lieutenant now, you understand."

The boy stomps a foot. "Doesn' matter, Malahir, sah! M'brudder ain' gonna see me, no sah, no' ever iff'n I c'n 'elp it. These, these be m' Guardsman clothes, they are. 'E'd be proud to see me still in 'em." He shrugs his small shoulders with a look of disgust at the girl. "I dunno. Followin' me 'round for the last couple hours. Strange kid, I do say. Looks sorta familiah, but I ain't ne'er seen 'er like in this city."

The girl, who has been mostly quiet, gives Dric a glare and comes to a Guard-like attention. Half a smile yet upon her face, she gives a perfect salute, "Why, Arya, sir, of your own Guard! Ye couldn'.." she catches herself and corrects her speech. "You could not leave your own personal Guard home now, could you?"

The Commander gives Malahir a quizzical look. "You know these children, Lieutenant?"

Malahir rubs his temples and huffs angrily. He gives Arya a glance that could only be interpreted as disappointment in his eyes, but turns away quickly to face Ingold, "Commander, I'm...", he sighs and draws closer, "I'm embarrased to say that I know both of them sir.", he turns around on them, "Both of you will come with me, you have some explaining to do Arya", he points his finger at her.

The young boy raises his head, wiping tawny hair from his face, and looks the Commander in the eyes, "Sah," he says, pulling a purse from his pocket and placing it in Ingold's hand, "Would ye like yer gold? I see yer a Guardsman, an' I ask ye t' forgive me fer takin' it.. 'Ad I known ye were wi' Cor... 'Tenant Malahir 'ere I would ne'er 'ave stole it." With that he lowers his head a bit and sweeps a bow before looking to Malahir, his face stone. "Sah, I won'. I'll talk t' ye, bu' I won' go 'ome, if tha's wha' ye want me t' do."

Arya nods sharply in agreement with Dric, "Aye, 'Tenant. I won' go 'ome. I like it 'ere!" With an embaressed look, she clears her throat, "And my mama would skin me if she knew."

Ingold takes the purse from the lad's hand, laughing. "Why, I thank you, young sir. Such honest lads are lacking these days. Please! Have a seat. There is room enough." Looking once more to Malahir, casting him a raised eyebrow, "Will you not introduce me to your friends?"

Malahir scowls at all three individuals surrounding him. Shaking his head at Ingold, he inquires, "Are you insane? This boy just /stole/ from you, there's no honesty in that", he then lays into Dric, "I've told you that it isn't right to steal. I'd have every right to drag you home this instant Dric, if it's the last thing I do", looking at him discrediously before walking over to Arya and taking her hand, "And you! Your mother and I left you with Mathirion. And since when do you call here home? And don't even think I'll let you off this time Arya", he starts to drag her away from Dric.

Ingold belts out with a loud gust of laughter. "Lieutenant, I do say! You are better suited for fatherhood than Lieutenantship." Shaking his head, he approaches the boy and runs a hand through the hay-colored hair. "Honest. Many lads would never return a stolen purse, whether they stole it or no." He shakes his head slowly, mumbling.

Stomping a foot, Dric glares at Malahir, "Sah, ye've no right t' drag me 'ome. M' 'ome's 'ere, sah, an' if ye want me t' leave an go back t' m' brudder, well I say, 'e'd 'ave t' come 'ere 'imself. Not even for you, sah. M'boys need me." He casts a wistful glance at the poor young lass, being dragged away so. "She didn't do nothin', 'Tenant! Jus' was followin' me 'round! Let 'er go, wil ya?"

Arya smiles at Dric pleads her case, though the smile disapears as she realizes that Malahir is lecturing her. She remains silent, however, and simply glares about.

"Do I get no introduction to these illustrious children, Lieutenant?" Ingold asks with a calm voice, no hint of his previous laughter.

Malahir looks down at the child he is holding and sighs deeply. Regaining his calm demeanor he looks up to Ingold, "A hundred apoliges sir. They circumstance of seeing your fiancee's daughter here, when she is supposed to be safe in Minas Tirith tends to rack ones nerves, and politeness is the first thing forgoten.", he waves toward the gaminesque lad and grins sheepishly, "the honest lad over yonder is Dric, younger brother of Commander Analdin", and then he presents Arya, "and this is Arya. She will soon be my daughter, when I marry her mother", he actually breaks a smile. "Children, I would like you to meet the guardsmen of Ramos Echor, Commander Ingold", remaining inside the circle of the three as he introduces everyone to each other.

Sweeping an excellent bow, one such as is taught the nobility of Minas Tirith, Ingold removes his helm from the crook of his arm and places it upon Arya's mop of brown hair. Taking a step back, he appears to study it seriously. He nods. "Perfect. You will make an excellent Guards...lady, m'Lady Arya." With a smile he turns to the boy and presents him with a trinket pulled from a pocket somewhere - steel shaped into a tower. "I notice, fine sir, that you have no buckle for your belt. Consider this a gift from the Rammas Echor... good lads are always welcomed there." Straightening into somewhat more dignified posture - if such a thing can be - he casts Malahir a smile. "Go easy on them, Lieutenant. They are but children."

Dric looks over the shining buckle with awe and tucks it away, forming a bow of his own. "Thankee, sah! 'Tis a beautiful piece o' work!" He gives Malahir a triumphant smile and then kicks the heels of his boots at the ground.

Dropping a curtsey, Arya pushes the helm up on her head, though only smiles shyly, looking up at Malahir as if for permission to talk to this stranger.

Malahir watches the display of gracious nobility and is stired when he is tugged by the motion of Arya courtseying, bending down to position the helm on her head just right, "Do you like Ingold's helm Arry?", smiling at her and then looking up to Ingold, his eyes saying thanks. Looking back at Arya he asks fatherly, "what is it you say to the commander?"

Sideglancing over to Dric he notices the boots he wears as indeed standard guard issue. He shakes his head, "You've worn them through again master Dric. When will you stop growing enough for me to put you in perminant boots?".

Arya chews on her lower lip a moment before brightly saying, "'Tis a finely wraught helm, Commander... I thankee for letting me wear it. But.." Almost indecisive, she finally says in a rush, "The wing on the left is lopsided!" After which she ducks behind Malahir sheepishly.

The lad focuses upon his shoes and grins, his growing shoulders shaking in a silent chuckle. "Jus' gimme a pair o' ol' Din's an' I'll be set 'till I'm grown. I'll be taller than 'im someday, I will." Straightening his posture and standing as straight as he possibly can, the boy still doesn't look his eleven years. "And 'tis a pleasure to meetcha, C'mander. My brudder got a promoshun? 'E deserves it. Ye work on th' wall? Th' one towards Osgiliath?" He shows off his knowledge of the Gondorian fortifications.

The Commander chuckles slightly at Arya's behavior, and reaches out to ruffle Dric's hair once more. "Your quite welcome, m' young lady. But I expect you to behave, and obey the Lieutenant now, you understand? A good Guard always follows orders. Always." Turning to the boy, "And as for you, young man... What right do you have to standard issue boots?" He gives Malahir a half questioning/half dissaproving look.

The din of the celebration in the list has died down considerably, enough so that a woman's shrill voice can be overheard, "I 'av'nt the fog'est where I am", the echo of the heavy emphasis on the end of every sentence reaches Malahir's ears.

Looking at Arya sheepishly, the lieutenant points over to the tree the two children once hid in, "Arya, be a good soldier and hid in that shrubbery for me. If your mom catches you, we will both never see the light of day". He stands up to block the girls view from the direction of the lists and motions to get Ingold's and Dric's attention, "Here she comes, act naturally", he hisses to them both before calling out, "Over here hun!".

The young lass gasps sharply upon hearing her mother's voice and, with surprising agility and ease, hops the fence to duck into the shrubbery behind it. Amazingly enough, she does this with the helm still akwardly situated upon her head.

Even as Malahir stands right in front of the fence at the very spot which hides Arya, Dric leans easily against the wooden rail, his feet crossed as he leans with arms folded and generally vagrant look about him. The handle of a wooden sword peeks up from over his shoulders, and he has the look of a small warrior.

The Commander does nothing more than relax his shoulders a bit, needing to do no more to look natural. There is an appearance about him, a natural grace and ease, which somehow flows off onto the air about him. He looks expectantly towards the direction of the voice.

"My word, what 'n the name o'the Valar 're ye doin o'er thar", Arya's mother calls out to the three men as she nears them, "why..you jus 'bout stuck in th'ickets. Mal'hir, good kin' sir, help me", she reaches out her arm to her betroved, who quickly does anything he can to get her eyes off the fleeing Arya. Moving her around the thorny brambles, the lieutenant brings her to face commander Ingold and Dric, "Mirabelle, my darling, I would like for you to meet Commander Ingold, guardsmen of Ramos Echor", offering the man her hand as noblemen often do. After the pause he motions to Dric, "And may I present Commander Analdin's younger brother, Dric. He's a resident of Dol Amroth now", he forces a smile on Dric as he moves Mirabelle forward, "Sirs, this is my fiancee", and no sooner does Mirabelle chime in, "M'name is Mirabelle, 'course. Big lug head only said m'name three times. It's a charmin lil' place, aye it is. A flo'er girl like me appr'eciates the beauty of the countr'side".

Reaching up to touch his helm and finding it no longer there, Ingold covers his slip with a smooth yet somewhat cool bow. "Good eve, m'Lady," he says calmly, casting Malahir a somewhat chilling look before turning back to the flower woman and taking her hand. "'Tis my pleasure to meet you." He takes a step back, perhaps a bit quickly, but otherwise absolutly smooth.

The lad, however, doesn't manage Ingold's cold seperation. Instead, he bows deeply, light blue eyes sparkling, "G'day Mirabelle. I think I 'member ye from th' city, when I was yet a drumm'r boy." Shooting the Lieutenant an accusing glance, he continues, "Welcome t' Dol Amroth, then, ma'am. I'll tell me boys to keep off o' ye."

A pair of brown eyes peek out from behind the railings, though none can see them for Malahir's bulk....

Stammering, the lieutenant attempts to explain the gathering outside the clearing, "You see my dear. You've missed the opening ceremonies, which I do apoligize, um..for. I myself had to rush to see the end. And you see, well, the commander and I both, well, not at the same time mind you, we took a walk away from, well, you know", he looks as pathetic as he sounds and Mirabelle could see through it all, but she patiently waits for her turn to ask, "So whe'ere goin' to pick me up from the inn, aye?", and she cranes her neck past Malahir to speak to Dric, "Aye laddy, I do 'member ya, the lot of you laddies trampled my tulips."

A hint of a smile touches Ingold's face, but Dric grins openly. "Aye, ma'am, I do s'pose I did at that. And I am very much 'poligizing for 't... If ye want, I c'n pay ye back now. 'Ave a salary o' my own, ye know." He stands rather proudly while the Commander covers out laughter with a cough.

Malahir eyes the young lad suspiciously and mutters, "You don't have to do that Dric. And since when do you get a salary?", he turns fully around to view him. Meanwhile, Mirabelle is looking down at Dric's feet, "Aye, 'e will I say, twas him and 'is lackeys that stomped out my lov'ily tulips with those vary same boots he did", but she catching some movement down in the bushes where Dric stands and she bends down to investigate, a very loud, very frightful shreik is hard as Mirabelle looks into the innocent eyes of a kneeling Arya.

With a quick motion, the heavily booted figure of Dric draws his wooden sword from its sheath on his back and holds it up to the woman as she reaches for Arya. "'S 'gainst m' principles, ma'am, t' strike a lady w'out prov'cashun. Bu' if ye do anythin' to that li'l lady, well, I may 'ave t', the 'Tenant's betroth'd or no." After recieving a peculiar look from Arya, he adds with a shrug, "She's really not a bad sort, not aftah she foll'ws ye 'round fer a bit."

Ingold's hand snakes out and catches the lad's shoulder. He says no words, but his eyes blaze like a fire of mist. "No." is all that comes from him. Arya, however, shrinks back a bit, a chargrined look upon her face.

Shaking with anger, the frail flower girl curses unladylike, and ignores the two men's protests as she stands up, looking down to where Arya no doubt still hides, "Young lady, get out here this instant or so help me I'll tan your hide till there's none left", she stabs a glance at Malahir, "This is what you call discplining her", noticably, her argot has disappeared.

The boy almost shakes, and his swordpoint wavers, but he wrenches away from Ingold. "I tell ye, ma'am, if ye lay a finger on 'er, I'll 'ave me boys set 'pon ye. Then ye'll wish we'd just tromped yer tulips!"

The Commander behind him gives Malahir a short look, unreadable, but clamps his hand all the tighter upon the street boy's shoulder and yanks him back. "Lad, I swear upon my oath of the Minas Tirith Guard, if you touch this woman you will be dead within the instant." There is a cold, detachedness to his voice... And the boy shied away from it. It is a powerful oath, to swear on that of the Guard.

Malahir just shakes his head. "Do you blame her Belle, I told you we should have just taken her with", he backs Mirabelle away from Dric, and gives Ingold a thankful nod, then turns to Dric, "You are not to see my daughter again, do you hear? You have become a violent young brat now haven't you?", he scowls.

Dric glares up at Malahir, sheathing his sword immediatly upon Ingold's order and lowering his head a moment. Blue eyes ablaze, he says slowly, slipping a wee bit from his argot as he does so, "I protect they as need protectin', 'Tenant. I take gold from them as 'ave 'nuff o' it, and give it to them as don't. Ye call me violent, now, yer the one as fights and kills." He spits on the ground, a sneer coming to his face. "Find yerself a gentleman t' court yer girl. I don' care. Maybe Din was right. Maybe ye nobles aren't so great as ye all look." With another disgusted look up at the Commander, whose eyes soften slightly at the boy's tirade, he takes off down the dusty road and disapears into the sunset.

Malahir squints hard at the young lad he once thought he knew, possibly holding back pained tears. He climbs the fence and occupies the space Dric held and reaches for Arya's hand, "Come now Arry. It's time to get you some supper aye?".

Arya steps out between the fence railings, eyes warily upon her mother. She lowers her head and heaves a sigh.. Taking the helm from her head, she hands it to the Commander who immediatly places it in the crook of his arm once more... the arm opposite the hand he has hoovering about his sword hilt. "I'm sorry, sir, mama... I won't ever do it again." She sounds thuroughly chastized, but still looks longingly in the direction Dric ranted off.

Mirabelle raises her hand to and begins to chastise the girl, "I've never seen you act like this. Don't look for your lieutenant to save you", she looks at him severely hurt, "Ever since you've been around him, you've gotten into trouble. Perhaps I should just raise you on my own". It is all Malahir could do to stop Mirabelle from hitting Arya, "You will never hit her in front of me, hear? And she is old enough to decide on her own". Eyeing the hate in her eyes he stammers backwards, "Arya, it's up for you to decide. Stay with me in Dol Amroth, or go back home with your mother".

Ingold remains stoic, straight faced and clear eyed as he watches the young girl. He seems to tactfully avoid hearing the arguement, and simply keeps his cool eyes upon Arya, who shrinks back slightly from them. She lowers her head once more, sniffling somewhat, but gets up the courage to look upward... Keeping her eyes on the hilt of Malahir's sword, she says slowly, having to swollow every few words, "I... I'd like t'.. t' stay 'ere.." she trails off, coughs, and begins once more, "I'd like to stay here with you, 'Tenant, sir, if I may. 'Tis beautiful country..." She trails off once more, looking in the direction the boy took.

Malahir nods slowly at Arya, not trusting her entirely, but giving her the benefit of the doubt. "You see Belle, she wishes to stay, and stay she will. I expect you will be going back to Minas Tirith, and you need not worry about Arya until I return home. Perhaps you will see the error in your judgment", Mirabelle, becoming faint, turns to leave, "I'll be at the inn if you need me Mal'hir. I know her far better than you. We'll see who learns what", she hurumphs at Arya and turns her back on all three and walks away.

An amused smile touches Ingold's face, but it disapears soon after, and he places his helm upon his head. After tucking the last bits of raven hair up under the silvery helm, he gives Malahir a nod, "Good eve, Lieutenant. I do hope you fare well, and shall expect to see you about the city."

Yet even as he strides off, Arya looks up at Malahir with an unusually shy gaze, "I... thankee, sir. 'Tenant, sir." she calls him by the same name as Dric, admiration lighting on her face. "For lettin' me stay.. and keepin' me from my mama."

Malahir salutes Ingold and gives him a nod before taking Arya by the hand, "You don't have to call me Lieutenant when your not on duty Arry. We're going to have alot of fun at the fair, aye?", he begins to lead her toward the pasture and not toward the inn, "Would you like to see Prince Imrahil's stables. I believe he has a few we could get you on tonight", he winks.

Arya smiles, though not as brightly as it could have been. "I'd be honored to 'company you t' the stables, 'Tenant, sir." Taking his hand, she begins walking quickly towards the smell of horses.