Minas Tirith: Before the Great Gate
Rising up before and tappering off towards the great moutains behind them, a walls of Minas Tirith climb into the air. Here, at the roadside a small hill rises to the entryway of the city where guards stand before the gate. These men are known as the Doorwardens. Currently the gate is withdrawn into its housing and the doors before it opened wide. The great Gate itself is housed between the two Doortowers before you, standing some 100 feet tall and nearly 50 feet wide. The gate to is made up of a pure steel bounded about the trunks of an unknown wood. The gate is said to able to withstand anything, as even the most strongest blows will just make the gate bend slightly and then return to shape.

Men and women enter and leave the city being stopped, most pass without contest others pass over weapons they carry or have them peaceknotted. Others are turned back as they approach with a horse or a cart. Only the horses of the Stewards errandriders are allowed in the city. Off to the south are the stables and inn houses outside the walls. To the east lie the crossroads of Great West Road and the Great North Road.

The stars glitter overhead in the clear Autumn sky.

Rhiforath:
        This young man, perhaps in his late teens, stands slim at about 5 foot 11 inches and still growing. His normally loose and wild black hair is now combed and neatly tied back to lie in a single smooth tail of straight hair bound by a black silk ribbon. Pale grey eyes set wide and deep into a face of regular features with marked jawline and cheek bones in an unscarred face, set this young man to be of true Gondorian descent. For those who are familar with him, gone are his nervousness and sly ways and suddenly, as though overnight, his whole bearing has changed to one more self confident and open. The change is so strong in his posture and character it is as if a great weight has been removed from the brooding boy leaving him healed of old inner scars and fears.
        Sporting a newer uniform tabard than his last, he is clothed in the typical black pants, tall riding style boots and tabard with the Minas Tirith crest. His upper left front shoulder bears the Silver Ship of his Company and his other shoulder the rank of Man at Arms. A longsword completes his uniform attire, strapped to hang at his left hip.
Torelin:
 At first glance you are only aware of Torelin's most prominant features--his height (well over 6'5"), his bearlike size and his pleasant, boyish face. His apparell is fairly typical of most squires in Dol Amroth, with his white tabald displaying the swan and the ship, overtop his leather armour. What becomes more obvious on a closer inspection is his stern eyes and constant troubled look. It is obvious that his life has not always been pleasant and from the scars on his exposed flesh, he has seen his share of battle for one of only 21 years.

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 left shoulder is company insignia, a Silver Ship set against the Gates of Minas Tirith, and on his right the cabled silver bars of a Lieutenant and Company Commander. 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.

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Weather:            Clear
Time:                Early Night <about 9 PM >
Season:              Autumn
Date:               Monday - October 1, 3014

Real Time:          Mon Jun 22 19:14:06 1998
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The night's air is cool but not too chilly, the sky clear and darkened. Crisply flags over the Great Gate flutter and snap in the stronger winds higher upon the ancient stone walls. Rhiforath himself stands snuggly wrapped in his black cloak with the hood down, on duty. There is no sign of his helm or shield as he stands there, a slim figure against the flickering torchlight. Others stand about speaking in low voices but they are to themselves, ignoring Rhif.

A cloaked man, his hood drawn below his brow, stooped over slightly and moving at a steady pace towards the gates of Minas Tirith, approaches. The blackness of the cloak against the dark walls of the city mask his approach somewhat, although he appears to not be attempting to avoid detection. It is more likely that he is lost in thought and concentrating on the ground before him.

The flickering lights of the lamps just outside the Gates shine through the darkness, looking warm, but shedding no heat on those standing or walking out at this hour. Analdin paces beside the guardhouse, almost oblivious to all around him, eyes on the ground at his feet.

Rhiforath stands his palce and studies the stranger in the dark cloak, reassured by the glimpses of Dol Amroth blue between the darker cloak's fabric. He does not move to stop the other but nods to him, "Evening." Rhif shares a glance in his Lieutenant's direction as well.

A young man hurries down the street, looking hither and thither. His face is drawn up tight as he peers into each of the night's dark corners, and upon his tabard is drawn the crest of the House of Denethor, the Steward's Own.

"Rhiforath!" he calls each time he sees a band of guardsmen. "Rhiforath! You are summoned!"

Malahir comes downhill from inside the city.
Malahir has arrived.

Stars are dim overhead in the hazy, humid but cool night, dew collecting thick already upon the cobbles, making them slick underfoot. Wiping at his cloak as beads of water, like tiny jewels, have begun to gather upon it, Rhif looks up when he name is called out loudly. "Summoned? Me?" He looks confused.

As a voice, louder than most, makes itself heard in the little light, Analdin looks up from his pacing, and in the general direction of the Gates, taking a step in that way. His eyes are dark, and ringed, as if from lack of sleep, but he looks almost awake enough to be confused at the summoning of Rhiforath, for whatever reason.

Torelin lifts up his head as he slows his gate down to assess to whom he should say 'good evening to. Before he can speak he is interupted by a boy calling out. He looks about him to see if he should wait to see what is going on.

The youth, hearing himself addressed at last, charges over and nearly falls down before the young guard in his haste. "You are Rhiforath?" he asks. "I am sent by Lord Faramir, son of Denethor the Steward, to bid you come even now to his study in the Seventh Circle. Will you come anon?"

A dark figure makes it's way down from the city wall. His silhuette can be seen, a winged helm markingly black against the grayish haze of night. The moonlight casts an erie glow to the cloudy climes. This figure touches ground by the gates where stairs from the top are connected to the inside of the courtyard. He keeps his stand by the gatehouse, alone, looking out toward the road.

Looking startled a breath at the odd summons, but then composes himself to answer, "Ehm... yes, yes, certainly. I'll come." But he looks to his Lieutenant with hope the other knows what is going on, then back to the courior, "I have to report before leaving my post but I'll come right up. Thank you."

With the generally quiet night, nothing much of importance happening, the young officer of the Guard begins his silent, worried walking beside the guardhouse. His eyes on the ground, almost as if studying it, he doesn't notice the black clad figure standing by the gatehouse, and manages to run into him. "Watch--" he breaks off, realizeing he was the one doing the moving, and mutters am "excuse me" instead.

As the courier moves to hurry back from wence he came, the Man at Arms he addressed resettles his woolen cloak and begins to walk towards his Lieutenant, "Hmmm, Sir?" Rhifoarth salutes Analdin, "Sir, I have been summoned to the Citadel. Do I have permission to be excused?" Pale grey eyes look to his Officer, hoping for an explanation as he softly adds, "If I've done something to anger you sir, I wish you'd tell me to my face instead of having Lord Faramir summon me."

His quiet night becoming a good bit more eventful, if only for the moment, the tired Lieutenant looks up at Rhiforath, "What's that, Rhif?" he begins, but what the young man says suddenly registers, and he shakes his head, "I've no clue why Lord Faramir wishes to speak with you... I have not spoken to him since his return to the city. Go on.. you're excused. Don't keep him waiting." A touch of anger enters his voice, slight, only a little, but there nonetheless.

Torelin continues up toward the gate, again seeming lost in his own thoughts while guards scurry around in the dark. Had he been in a better mood perhaps he would have wondered at all the commotion for such a seemingly quiet evening.

Malahir, preoccupied with movement on the side of the road, that he saw when he was up above on watch, is completely suprised by the bump from Analdin. Catching himself on the Lieutenant, Malahir turns and begins to berate the insolant fool that distrupted his watch, "Why you...", then noticing the guard uniformed men behind him, and Analdin's voice, the corporal hushes, and resettles his cloak.

Rhiforath glances at Malahir and then glances again, recognizing him, then looks back to Analdin and nods, "Yes Sir." He salutes again, then turns away and lifts his hood to walk towards the coach.

Rhiforath enters the fair city of Minas Tirith through the gate, beneath the watching eyes of the guards.
Rhiforath has left.

At Rhiforath's disapearance, the watch goes even slower, and the Lieutenant, eyes ringed with tiredness as they are, assumes the youth's position in watching the Gates. However, he remains near the guardhouse, casting Malahir a quick look as the angry voice registers, though he shakes his head slowly, almost as if to clear it.

Smoke pours from Mt. Doom as the Dark One's evil sorcery lags the game.
The smoke clears as good triumphs and the database saves.

From the mighty throne of Dol Amroth, Imrahil says, "For those of you not on com... Goodnight!"

Malahir, happy that his cloak is now back to it's prestine order, turns and looks onto Analdin, peering at the man's blonde strays that fall unto his forehead. "Sir, are you alright, I'm sorry I bumped you", placing his arm on the officer's shoulder, "Have you been at the library for all hours again, sir?".

As Torelin gains ground on the gates, he looks up and stops, staring at the two before him. From the twenty yards or so away, he clearly knows who the two guards are. Hesitating he looks about him.

Analdin shakes his head slowly, "No, I apoligise, Malahir. Wasn't watching my path." He shrugs the corporal's hand off his shoulder, rubbing his temples with his own large hand, "Been a long day.. Too long, and I haven't touched a book the whole time." In his state, hardly able to keep his eyes open, the young officer does about as much good on guard duty as the absent Rhiforath, being just as absent.

Malahir removes his hand from the lieutenant and goes for his own helm. Removing it, he places it under his armpit. Looking back to the road, he inquires of the lieutenant, "Sir, I came down to investigate some movement along the road. Slight as it was, I was wondering if you heard or seen anything?".

Torelin begins to again walk forward, drawing his hood even further down his face. He keeps a steady gait as he approaches the two guards.

"Eh? What's that, Corporal? A movement along the road, you say?" With another shake of his head, something he seems to be doing often this night, he says in a bit more "present" tone, "No... nothing so far, not since nightfall. That is, nothing of importance," However, while looking away into the thin crowd at the Gates, he catches sight of a figure approaching the guardhouse, and his absent attention only leaves him staring blankly at the figure, as though looking through him.

Malahir relaxes, trusting the Lieutenant's words as he leaves his back to the road to face Analdin. Malahir looks sympathetic when he says, "Lieutenant, you look aweful, maybe you should get some rest?".

Torelin reaches the gate, letting his trajectory fall slightly behind them. He continues along, his head turned away but finds himself fairly alone as the crowds entering the city at this time of night are rather sparse.

Without looking at all to Malahir, he says, "No... I'm off duty when Lieutenant Rolan arrives, shouldn't be all that long now. And the fresh air is doing me good, or so I was told by a healer this afternoon." His gaze, however, sharpens on the figure entering the Gates, and he adds in a questioning tone, "You recognise that figure there at all, Malahir, or am I becoming delierous as well as overworked?"

Malahir coughs suggestively, but turns without commenting. He squints, as the lighting affords nothing to the eye, "It certainly is a tall fellow. Big and strong like I, erm..and yourself sir. But the hood of his cloak hides his face. Do you recognize this person sir?".

Eyes yet on the figure, he strides out a few steps. as if for a closer look, "No... He looks familiar, though, I can't seem to place him. Maybe if his face was visible." He speaks softly enough so that only Malahir can hear, or so he thinks, though his voice is a bit louder than he apparently believes, if from tiredness.

Torelin enters the fair city of Minas Tirith through the gate, beneath the watching eyes of the guards.

Torelin has left.

Malahir nods to the officer, with a sneaking suspicion that the stranger does look a bit familiar. He walks to the guardhouse, sticking his arm inside the open frame window and removes a lantern from inside. Turning tho, he espies that the stranger is no longer in sight, nearly shouting to Analdin, "where did he go sir?".

With a shrug, Analdin looks once more towards the Gate, rubbing his eyes, "No... must have been muy imagination again. Or little sleep catching up with me. Or maybe..." his voice trails off, and he mutters "the ale" beneath his breath.

Malahir replaces the lantern from whence it came and strolls over to the tired officer. "But I saw the strangely cloaked dark figure myself, he was no figment of your imagination sir. I'll put out a bulletin from what we got to the men. He'll turn up eventually", he approaches Analdin and offers him company toward the barracks, "Sir, seeing as your so tired, let's say we head toward the officer's quarters. Give Sergeant Mulani the reigns of the post, and he can be relieved when Lt. Rolan comes".

Analdin growls at the Corporal, glaring at him, and dodging him as he approaches, "By the Valar, Malahir, you're almost as bad as the healers! I can finish off my watch without a nursemaid, thank you, Corporal. The Lieutenant will be here shortly. I'm not so bad as that." Straightening his posture, he mumbles something else to himself, and stands straight against the guardhouse, eyes on the crowd.

Rhiforath comes downhill from inside the city.
Rhiforath has arrived.

Malahir stands for a long moment, staring at the ground, until he cautiously begins to walks up to the guardhouse. He places his helm inside the open window, on a wooden ledge situated there. He leans up against the wall of the building alongside the Lieutenant. Softly he speaks, "Look sir, I'm only trying to help. I am apart of your staff. So don't get offended when I sense you need to get rest, or see a healer for your wounds. But no more of this, you have spoke your mind, so let us finish out this watch without annoying eachother any further".

The coach arrives in the darkness upon the damp cobbles of the street just inside the Great Gate and a man of the Guard of slim built departs it and comes through the gate looking for someone... it is Rhiforath, returned.

Analdin nods quietly at Malahir's words, and his gaze turns once more to his aide, "I thank you for your concern, Malahir," he says, the growl gone from his voice, yet the hard, if tired, determination remaining. As if at a loss for words after that, he falls silent, eyes returning to the crowd, and a brow rising as he sees a familiar form exiting the coach.

Rhiforath walks purposefully towards his Lieutenant and then pauses until he's certain that he's not interrupting, giving both Analdin and Corporal Malahir a salute, "Sirs... " he looks to Analdin, "I have new orders and only a few hours to pack. I wished to tell you... well," He glances at Malahir a moment, then back to his Lieutenant, "That I wasn't going to be able to help with the extra paperwork in the office after all, Sir. I'm leaving in the morning with Lord Faramir and Mithrandir. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to discuss it so I presume I am to refer you to the Captain."

Rhif pauses, uncertain what to say. He looks to the Corporal and bites his lip, then tries to smile in a friendly fashion, "Take care of our Lieutenant, will you, Malahir, sir? You know how he's as bull headed as my step-father was." He smiles but then recovers his seriousness. "I don't know how long I'll be gone from Minas Tirith... but if I get back, it'll be months, Sir."

Malahir raises his hand toward the Lieutenant's shoulder but lowers it without patting the officer. He meerly looks at him thoughtfully. Yet as he follows his glare, he squints at the figure exiting a coach in the courtyard. As the figure rounds the great gate, Malahir recognizes it as Rhiforath. He props himself from the wall he was leaning and stands at attention beside Analdin, hoping the young guard did not see the slackening of discipline.       Malahir returns the salute and remains pensive during the guards report. However, after hearing his name he looks the youth square in the face, "I will do my duty sir, you have my word on that", sensing more needs to be said in the lieutenant's haggardly state, "When is it you are leaving Rhif?".

The young man blinks as the Corporal calls him 'sir' when he is of lower rank than Malahir, but says nothing. Instead he glances at Analdin and chews his lip, "In a few hours. Dawn. I haven't spoken with my family yet... but I haven't much to pack."

Analdin listens closely to the young man's report, nodding every now and again, eyes shining with exhaustion. "Leaving, Rhiforath?" even the youth's explination doesn't quite hit him until a few moments later, "Alright, I didn't think you could survive the paperwork too long anyway." A touch of a smile lights on his face, amd he adds, "You'd best get on and speak with your family, then. I'll speak with whoever needs be spoken with when I can get away from my work. And, ah, when I'm not resting." He adds the later with a quiet look in Malahir's direction, before returning his gaze to the younger man and nodding once more.

Malahir looks to his lieutenant to supply the rest of the conversation and then nods as he crossed his arms, "I wish you fair travel sir, I speak for the entire company when I say I wish you well Rhif".

Rhiforath opens his mouth to say something to his Lieutenant but nothing comes out. He hesitates, looking for what words are best but as Malahir speaks, the youth looks back at the Corporal square in the eye, "You may youself, Malahir, and I thank you if it's true, but you needn't speak falsely for the others. They'll be glad to see me go, tainted as many think I am by my step-father's supposedly evil influences." A touch of bitterness creeps into his voice, "I didn't need to be beaten half to death to know what they think of me, Sir."

Analdin shakes his head slowly at the youth's bitter speech, but says nothing to the Rhiforath's words, only keeps his silence, eyes glittering in the light from the lamps.

Malahir lowers his eyes, and looks at his crossed arms, softely he says to Rhif, "I apoligize sir, but I speak on behalf of myself. As I have no qualms with half truths, only the truths I know", he raises his eyes and offers his hand, "Fair thee well Rhif".

Rhiforath accepts the hand and shakes it in a good arm clasp, "Watch over Dric too... he's smarter than most of you think. I'd forgotten the past two weeks that I hadn't seen him about, but I'm sure he's up to some mischief." And so saying he looks back to Analdin one last time, uncertain what to say. Finally he sighs, "My father was very fond of you, Lieutenant. I was dreadfully jealious, when I was younger. I bet you didn't know that." He offers his hand to his Officer, "Please take better care of yourself than he did, will you?"

Elidran walks towards the gate at an easy, loping stride, "Good evening to you all, gentlemen!" He cries out amiably, as he closes on those he knows.

Analdin lowers his eyes as his young brother is mentioned, shaking his head, mumbling something. Returning his gaze to the young guardsman at the rest of his words, he forces a smile, "It was more than an honor to serve under your father, Rhiforath, and an interesting time with you in my company. Take care of yourself as well, and try not to get that old man too angry at you. He carries a mean stick, I can attest to it." A twinkle, only a hint of that which used to be there some while ago, touches his bright blue eyes, and he falls silent once more, taking the younger man's hand in his own strong grip, "I'll expect you back on duty in some months." He doesn't seem to notice Elidran's approach right off, the darnkess perhaps, or his lack of attention to the streets keeping him from noticing much.

The youngest man of the group blinks several times and looks away a breath, then nods curtly, "Thank you, Sir. Good bye." Then Rhiforath nods a greeting to Elidran as that man comes up to join the group, then turns on his heal to head back towards the coach to speak to his kin.

Elidran smiles at the Rhiforath brightly, and runs a hand through his sandy hair as he looks about at the others, "Good eve, Analdin, Malahir..."

Rhiforath enters the fair city of Minas Tirith through the gate, beneath the watching eyes of the guards.
Rhiforath has left.

Analdin's gaze lingers on the disapearing young man, and he shakes his head quietly, "We're losing a good man, Malahir," he says softly, somehow awake at the moment when not so much before. Yet, as Elidran addresses him and the Corporal, he corrects the guardsman, "That'd be Lieutenant, Elidran, but 'tis a good evening."

Elidran smiles at Analdin, "Sorry sir."

Analdin nods quietly, though starts as another man, with a good many years on the young officer, approaches him from the side and salutes. "Good eve to you as well, Lieutenant Rolan," Analdin smiles with relief as his long shift ends, and, stifling a yawn, he gives a relazed salute, "The watch is yours." With that, and a quiet nod to Elidran, he follows everyone's advice and, stepping quietly though the gates, makes his way to his office and bed.