Dric rushes up from the general direction of the inns and stables, eyes wide. Bareheaded in the light rain, the boy literally runs, ducking between citizens and merchants, guardsmen and farmers. His short legs move quickly and his breath comes shortly as he rushes towards the guardhouse.

Torelin comes up from the inns to the south, following a narrow dirt track.
Torelin has arrived.

Elidran comes up from the inns to the south, following a narrow dirt track.
Elidran has arrived.

Malahir stands inside the gatehouse, his helm and shield resting on the side of the doorway. He spots a little boy run in and out of the crowd and gathers his helm in his hand and flips it over his head as he steps out into the rain. Intercepting the running child, Malahir takes the boy by the shirt tail, "Ho there. Does the lieutenant know you are playing in the rain today?".

Elidran wanders up from the tavern, looking contented, as if he's just eaten. Which he probably has.

The young lad stops short as he is yanked almost off his feet by his shirttail. The uniform, downsized considerably, of a Minas Tirith Guard hangs over his small frame, and he looks up proudly at Malahir, "Nope, sir," he asnwers, a hint of mischief in his voice, "Th' Lieutenan' wouldn' let me play in th' rain. Y'know that!" The guilty grin on his face gives proof to his insolent words.

Malahir releases the young guards soaking wet uniform apoligetically, "It's not a problem Master Dric. As long as you report to him this morning, you can say that I was with you. Could you step inside the gatehouse, the rain may do some good shrinking your uniform, but I don't think it will do me any good at all", motioning to how his overstuffed belly and mammoth arms fills out his black uniform.

Elidran steps closer to the group, eyeing Dric skeptically for one moment before chuckling to himself.

Dric shakes his head quickly, eyes roving over the crowd still in front of the gates for all the rain. Eyes glittering, he says, "No, sir, I've work t' do.. The L't'nant told me t' bring this t' ya..." Casting his eyes guiltily down toward the stones as he begins a slow walk toward the dry gatehouse, he adds, "But t'was over an hour ago." Catching Elidran's glare out of the corner of his eye, the young man's smirk grows.

Elidran rolls his eyes at the lad's smirk. Youth.

It is a wet, dreary day. The sun has all but vanished behind a cold blanket of looming gray clouds. A slow drizzle steadily makes its way down upon the fair city -- running off roofs and onto the road, collecting in pools here and there.

As the rain continues to beat down on the cobble streets and tinging off the metal gate, a black-cloaked person slowly walks along the wall of the city, careful to avoid the various people heading for cover from the weather. Within 30 feet of Malahir and a young boy in conversation, the figure hestitates and turns slightly as if he or she has found a dry area from which to wait out the storm.

Greets Elidran with a nod, and motions him to follow as well. Walking with the young guard toward the safety of the gatehouse, Malahir smiles, "As I said young Dric, you have nothing to worry about, I'll tell the Lieutenant that you got her on time", his eyes shifting to Elidran for support, then back to Dric, "what it is that you have for me?".

Elidran nods steadily to Malahir, joining the man at his side.

Analdin steps down from the city, eyes dark and mood obviously darker than the clouded sky. Gaze skimming the crowd angrily, he continues his measured steps towards a couple familiar faces. Lips tight, he walks almost stiffly, as if to relax his posture would be to allow his anger free reign.

(Logger/Editor's note: <OOC> Elidran says, "Is Analdin EVER in a good mood? ;)" Just gotta love that comment. :)

Down the road from Pelargir, the marine blue form of Serin makes his way before the great gate of Gondor. His mood is most keen on this uncheerful morn, and he looks with steely indifference through his ever narrowing, grayed eyes upon those people present, and furtively to those scattering into the shelters of quaint houses.

Dric grins up at Malahir, nodding quickly, and slipping the corporal a piece of rolled up parchment. With that, he ducks behind the larger man, keeping out of Elidran's sight.

While inside the metalic proetection of the guardhouse, Malahir takes the parchment from the blonde boy and carefully removes the seal. He pat's Drics head while he shucks the scroll open with his other and begins to mouth the words of the letter. Nodding, he turns to Elidran and speaks under the tumult of a light rain. "I wish to speak with you as well, let me take care of our young drummer boy first tho."

Elidran nods his head patiently, hands tucked into his pocket. "I await you, sir."

Analdin continues his stiff march down the road, coming to a halt just outside the guardhouse, hearing voices within. He gives a slow rap on the building's open door, stepping in out of the rain. The guardhouse is rather larger than it appears from the outside, large enough to comfortably house at least a dozen on-duty men, with windows that peer out onto the road, allowing the resting men to keep an eye on the traffic. Standing just inside the doorway, he looks over those inside with a silent, dark eye.

As Analdin comes into view, the cloaked figure turns around completely, his back to the man as he nears the guardhouse.

Malahir, his back to the door of the gatehouse rolls up the scroll and places it in his cloak, where it disappears like magicians handy work. Patting the boys shoulder again he asks, "I would assume your drumming practice is canceled because of the rain?".

With a shake of his head, the young lad's eyes glitter, "Nay, they'd 'ave me practice in the barracks, of all places! Why else d'ya think I'm wanderin' 'bout?" Chuckling lightly, he stands facing the door, though the large Corporal is between him and the entrance, blocking his view.

Analdin pays small attention to a black-clad figure near the guardhouse, though his eyes flicker curiously to the dark cloaked one as he passes by. Returning his attention to the scene before him, a hint of a smile, cold and dark as it may be, at the young lad's words. His eyes drill into Malahir's back, and he clears his throat with a quiet cough.

Elidran glances to Analdin, his attention politely on his commander as he coughs meaningfully.

Malahir frowns, his expression rather curious, yet touched with anticipation. "Drumming in the barracks, I'm glad I don't have to hear that. Though Elidran must be estatic", smiling wryly. "Say Dric, when the lieutenant gave you this letter--", suddenly he is interupted by a cough behind him, and the flush on his face is plainly visable as he overhears a familiar forced cough. Turning slowly to answer his assumptions that it is the lieutenant, Malahir has only a stutturing "G'day L'Lieut'nant".

Dric looks up frightened at Analdin, shrinking back from the lieutenant's obvious wrath. After a moment of it, however, he takes a step forward bravely, but remains silent.

Analdin smoothly responds to his corporal's stuttered greeting with a quiet, "Good day, Corporal Malahir. I see you found my vagrant messanger..." Trailing off, he looks to the small one behind Malahir, eyes shining disaprovingly at both of them, ignoring the others around. "I take it you've recieved my message." he states dryly, lips tight.

Elidran glances from Malahir to Analdin, wisely silent, listening, arms crossed over his chest.

Malahir bows his head respectfully, stepping up to meet the smooth talker at the door, "Sir, it wasn't Dric's fault. You see, the rain had gotten to the letter, it seems as if Dric found a pot hole in the streets and seeing as he doesn't have any water tight sachtels, the letter ink ran. I could not make out the writing. I was just about to come to you just as soon as Elidran came to releave me at watch duty, right Elidran?".

Elidran nods his head, "That's correct, sir..."

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

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

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

Analdin lets out a light sigh, shaking his head slowly, "If I may ask, Malahir," he says sharply and rather towards Malahir's back where hides the young lad. "Why it is, then, that there's not a spot of water on our little drummer?" He folds his arms over his chest, looking from Elidran to Malahir and back again, eyes blazing.

Beladan sweeps in from the inner city area and halts, obviously pleased to see the figures before him. He approaches the small group and clears his throat loudly.

Hadrian rides on his steed, looking upon the crowds by the gate with his clear grey eyes.

Coradh looks to Hadrian with an unspoken question in his eyes as the two approach the band of soldiers. Nonetheless, he Courteously salutes all present, aking an especially deferential gesture to the man who seems to be in charge.

Malahir looks past the lieutenant and at the man standing just outside the guard house, "May I help you sir?", he asks bela gratefully

Beladan smiles wanly at Malahir. "No thank you, son. I'll speak with thy commander when he is of a mind."

Hadrian urges his horse behind Beladan, looking rather threatening in a virtuous sort of way.

Analdin turns sharply on his heel as people approach from behind, turning from the guardhouse doorway and frowning deeply at the newcomers. With a final warning glare to Malahir, he gives a quiet nod, though remains silent. Yet, at Beladan's remark, he says, "Then may I help you," he asks, apparently trying hard to keep the anger from his tone.

Serin emerges from beneath the great gate. He is expression is now fiery with the tumult of indignancy and his skin has flushed red.

A small head peaks out from behind Malahir as the lieutenant's attention is turned elsewhere. Talking a few bold steps, the young lad in a downsized Minas Tirith Guard's uniform watches with a serious expression to match Analdin's.

Beladan stiffens to a formal salute, and presents it with crispness and severity. "I am Beladan Girithlin-Tarnost, Lord of aforementione fief, Knight Of Amroth, Banner Bearer to the Prince and Agent on Imrahil in this City. I know of thee, of course, and must needs speak with thee of a matter concerning thy guardsmen. I have with me, Hadrian Bragollach, Knight of the Swan; Coradh, also Swan Knight and a companion I have yet to meet formally, Serin."

Serin passes past the men and the guard house and continues on toward the street that leads down to the crossroads.

Coradh watches the developments with interest. He whispers to Hadrian. "Know ye who yet administers the guard of the citadel in this city?"

Beladan speaks to Serin. "Thou mayst find me within the embassy or the Tavern of the White Tree shouldst thou ahve a need to address the Prince."

Hadrian inclines his head to Malahir his expressive eyes examining him slowly, "Hail noble Guardsman." He says this merely as a statement and his looming presence shadows Beladan as if a falcon Beladan is ready to release in a sudden torrent of flame.

Malahir peers down at Dric and gives him a slight wink. Looking up at the familiar old knight, he grins, "Mighty long name you have sir. Please excuse my interuption, but could I be excused from guard duty to escort the young lad to the barracks for his drum practice, Lieutenant?".

Serin halts his feet, gazes over his shoulder at Beladan, and sets them walking again toward the Inn.

Analdin straightens a tad, giving a formal nod to each as introduced. Muttering something resembling a curse beneath his breath, he speaks a bit louder, "Welcome Beladan, Lord of Gitithlin-Tarnost," he says in a quiet tone, "And your companions. I am Analdin, Lieutenant of the Minas Tirith Guard and commander of the Company of the Silver Ship. What have you to say concerning my guardsmen?" At Malahir's words, the young officer gives him a nod, "Aye, return the lad to his lessons."

Beladan steps close to Malahir and whispers to him.

Leaning on the outer wall of Minas Tirith, the cloaked man continues to watch the soldiers gather outside the city.

Beladan +whispers to Malahir, "... ... ... ... ... ... wall, .... ... ... wish ... ... his ...."

Coradh calms his steed, who appears to be growing nervous and impatient. He jests to Serin in a low voice. "At least you don't need to worry about feeding your ship or giving rests after a long day." Coradh's lapse into commoner's discourse seems most unusual.

Hadrian pushes back his cape and reveals a long deadly blade. On the scabbard, etchings of living fire are traced in intricate patterns. At length he looks to Coradh and says softly, "A cold welcome have the thanes of Minas Tirith chosen to greet the servants of Imrahil."

Malahir motions to Dric to follow him, nodding to all those present on his way out. Stopped by the middle aged fellow, he listens closely to his whisper, and nods, "It shall be done, thank you good sir". And he takes his leave of the crowded guardhouse, with Dric in tow.

Turning back to Analdin, Beladan speaks. "On an occasion some two days past, two of thy guards, under thy authority didst with scant respect for any set upon each other in battle. One was wounded mightily, yet will live. The other hast fled. He struck me and I wouldst bring this vagabond to trial. I know of him and he is called by name of Torelin."

Coradh returns his attention to Hadrian. "Aye, 'tis unlike our own custom in Dol Amroth. But should we be disappointed at something so common?"

Serin stops in front of the guard house near where the knights have gathered. Coradh's voice is heard, and he laugh a little from the sentiment, breaking for once his cold demeanor. "Too true, too true.", he replies almost friendly.

Hadrian smiles and says, "It only shows the decay of Gondor. If they cannot greet nobles of a land far away in a manner of kin long sundered, then surely the shadow of the Black Land looms even larger."

Beladan hides a quick smile at the words behind him, yet raises a gauntleted fist in a call for restraint.

Sensing Malahir's immenent exit, the figure on the wall, starts to move forward slowly, limping slightly as he walks.

Coradh chuckles harshly. "Perhaps Our Prince's faith is misplaced, and these "scions of the steward" grow soft, as some of the officers in our own order. Nonetheless, not shall say that Coradh shirks his duty."

Hadrian is silent but cold he looks at Coradh. In his eyes, the mirth that was there mere hours before when they arrived in Minas Tirith had evaporated like so many shallow pools in a wasteland.

Analdin's brows knit together, "My men, you say? Torelin, of them all?" Spitting a curse, quietly as he does so, he falls silent a moment. "And you wish to bring him to trial? Tell me, Lors Beladan, what happened other than a soldiers' fight which would cause him to stand trial?" Overhearing nothing of those whispers, he remains grim and quiet in awaiting a response.

Coradh assumes the demanor of stone, and waits, solemnly, for Beladan's response.

Stepping into the rain again, the nobleman and guard shakes his head. Beads of sweat run down his forehead, washed by the light rain that falls. Looking around the near empty streets he begins to walk down lampwright Street, seemingly in conversation with Dric. Looking over his shoulder only once, back at the wall, and the shadow by it.

Hadrian barks what can be called by some laughter. He then says, "For all the noble fountains and courts of this city of stone, what good shall it be when our race fails?"

Serin approaches the midst of the dense crowd. His arms are folded one over the other and he stares coldly at a few of the members there, though once his expression lifts for a moment upon Analdin before passing away into solemness.

Beladan snorts, the derision obvious. "Art thou truly in command of men and cannot recieve a report? He struck me a blow. This is an offence even in this citadel of coarse and base fellows. He dids't endanger the life of another by attempting his murder, and thou dost ask me whytofore he shouldst stand trial? Nay, gentle sir, why shoulst not such a one as this be hanged from the gallows this very moment is the question before us."

Coradh nods at Hadrian's words. "And yet the rot grows within us, and stone shall not preserve what hot blood decays."

Hadrian nods and says, "Such it was even before the line of the Kings failed. Or so the soothsayers say. Yet hark my friend! The Lord Beladan now says that a guard of this city struck him. Should not such a matter be brought to the Steward? If this cur was before me - one who dared to strike one of my sword-brothers - he would loathe the day he heard of the name Bragollach, or for that matter, Girithlin."

Analdin's face grows colder every moment, and the struggle to retain his temper more so. "I have recieved reports, sir," he says in answer to the other's challenging words, "But it is one thing to hear from drunkards and quite another from a nobleman. I asked you not what he did, it is obviouse he drew his blade on another, but what do you know of his reasons? Do they not take reason into account in your Prince's citadel?"

Matching Malahir's pace, the cloaked man begins to follow. He moves into a crowd of merchants making their way along Lampwright until they turn off. The limp now gone, the man starts to gain on Malahir and his young charge.

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

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

Hadrian now says to Analdin sharply, "Do you not know your own law guardsman? To draw such a blade deserves death! Such is the law of this land as well as my own!"

Coradh trots his horse to position it alongside Hadrian's, oblivious to any of the guardsmen whom he needs must force out of his path. "The name of kith and kin is as little compared to the distinction of knighthood, something these "soldiers" plainly forget. Who shelters them as they sit behind their walls of stone, as the Southron raids unto our very coasts? And this is our thanks."

Beladan's face sets into stone. "Soldier, it is not your place to decide whether the circumstances surrounding the offence merit clemancy. That is for the judge. As to my nobility, I dost assure thee that I am a Knight of High Hand in the court of Imrahil the Splendid shouldst thou wish to but set a time for a duel. Now I urge thee not to risk thy commission in defending a man from the law through thy loyalty to thy men, commendable as it is. I am a noble, and entitled to redress. I am an officer of Gondor and entitled to redress. I am the agent of the Prince himself and entitled to redress, and I wilt have it."

Analdin glares heavily at the horsed men, "I know my own laws well enough, sir." he says coldly, eyes blazing as he returns his gaze to Beladan, "I care not whether you be a Knight of the High Hand in the court of Imrahil the Splendid or a scullion, sir!" Fuming now, true colors showing, the young officer stands his ground, "Do as you will, then, but why consult me on the behavior of my men when you clearly show no regard for how I think of them and their actions?"

Hadrian scoffs, "Let us go to the Steward and report this knave for his own high handedness. The Steward would not be pleased to know that his lieutenants protect such vagrants who by some stroke of fortune bear the livery of the guard."

Coradh grows red in the face, plainly incensed at the disrespect the officer shows to the Knight. "Sirrah, thou floutest the hallowed and time-honored conventions of our land. Rank hath its place, but the scullion's sense plainly has blocked out the counsel of sense within thine thick noggin. Shall we see if the Steward supports thee or the Knight, who, as all, know shines as a paragon of virtue?"

Beladan turns his back on Analdin and address the Knights. "Thou seest for thyselvs the manner of men of this land. One dost them great courtesy by seeking to involve them in the process, following chain of command, allowing them involvement in all facets of law and chivalry, and they spurn the very basis of their civilization. Knowest now why thou recieve no courtesy in this land, for thou are dealing with churlish brutes who think it mete to solve all things in fisticuffs and self determinative action." Turning back to Analdin, he adds "I assume, sir, that I hereby hath thy permission to arrest this criminal?"

Coradh laughs. "Why needest thou his permission? Plainly he understands the nature of authority as a pig understands Sindarin."

Beladan says, "nay say it not so, Coradh. All men may learn if they are but willing to humble themselves to instruction."

Coradh nods. "I defer to thine counsel, brother."

Serin walks silently around the knights and on toward the other side of the group near the guard house. SUddenly hearing Hadrian, he whispers to himself in a voice purely annoyed with the pomp of the knights, "Come you to slay men, or free them!" He broods ever still in silence, watching the tumult between the two parties.

As the others speak, Analdin's eyes, deep blue as the stormy sea, shine brightly, "Torelin is a hot-headed young man," he ignores the accusations of Beladan's companions, keeping his attention on that knight. "And he needs a firm hand to guide him, not a rope about his neck." Clenching his teeth in anger, however, he adds to those on horse, "Return to your lives of comfort and nobility, if you will, and leave the honest soldiers to do their work. There are those of us without the luck of having been born with honor and money such as you, but have had to make an honest living through a day's hard work." Pausing a moment, swollowing hard, he adds in a much quieter tone, "Take my man if you must, and try him as you will, but you shall find nothing beneath his surface but a young man in need of a father and of companions, not chains."

Coradh mutters to himself. "Thou hadst the right of it, Beladan, it *is* possible to teach a beast new tricks."

Beladan gazes at Analdin. "Thou hast shown my brethren wrong, and done the sensible thing. I now ask thee for a squad of thy men to be under my command and wilt press also for Malahir to head them. He will answer to me until this criminal is caught and delivered of the justice he deserves."

Hadrian dismounts and the flames in his eyes grow to an blaze, "Comfort? Comfort you say. Say that to the wailing women of the shores whose children are now bound in slavery to the Corsairs. Say that to the houses of Men burned on Erui whose bodies are not buried for none lived to bury them. Is this ease? Is this a high tower of handedness as you would say? Nay foolish one! You speak with a serpant's vile that only becomes those who have been ensnared by the teachings of the Dark Lord! When my tears shed a thousand times as great as the Bay of Belfalas and the great sea should overflow, then will only the tears of our people be equalled to the measure of woe which they have drank so deeply in the rank fortunes of time! Therefore, be silent and do your duty, for there are those of greater wit than you."

Melgond has arrived.

Analdin lowers his head, like a beast tamed, but the spark of defiance in his eyes does not die. Gaze on the ground for a few moments, he finally looks back up, shaking his head, "No... no men of mine shall you have for your hunt, least of all my aide to lead them." Quiet strength shines in his voice, stern and almost noble sounding. "Find Lieutenant Vorlain if you must, as it was his man who was injured. He may help you, but you will recieve no such aide from me." At Hadrian's tirade, the young officer just gives him a long, almost patient look, "Sir, I suffered the loss of my family, and almost that of my small brother, the one you have seen here this day, forced early into man hood. He was held slave on a corsair ship for many months... speak not to me of loss and wailing women."

Coradh guides his steed through the crowd. Without pretense to decorum, he bellows out "Out of the way, we've a criminal to catch!"

Beladan nods. "Well I hear thee. I wilt consult with my Leige and if needs be, flood these streets with every Man at Arms Dol Amroth can spare within the week." Beladan leans close and speaks softly yet his words carry with aclairity. "Thou hast best deliver up this wretch shouldst thou uncover him, or you will join his dance at the end of a gallows rope!" He turns back to Coradh and nodding, turns to move off with him.

Hadrian says to Analdin, "Guardsman. Your refusal to aid us in executing the law will result in your own chastisment. For that there is no succour you may seek from us, for it is not your place to cast judgement, and this you know."

Melgond stands to the side, resilient, watching the madness. He reaches to his forehead to plaster his hair under his neatly strung helm. Hearing the roaring man, he takes a step back and leans on a wall,.

Analdin eyes the noblemen insolently, "I have not seen the man you seek since two days ago, when it is said he drew his blade in the tavern. My men have already been scouring the city for him, as I have the justice of a commanding officer to mete out. I shall order them to stop, however, since you have chosen to take this matter from me and into your own hands." With that, he turns on his heel, back rigid and anger surrounding him, making to walk into the city.

Coradh raises his head to the sound of Hadrian's words. Heedless to those who lie in his path, he go back again towards the crowd. "Do not presume to humble those honored with the spurs, Sirrah, for they shall be thine undoing."

Hadrian simply smiles lightly, "Oh Man of Gondor. I am sorry that I have pricked your pride. Surely you have reported this to the Steward?"

Beladan laughs, a cold and bitter sound. "Foolish is as foolish does. Thou hast set thine own course. I hope thou hast the mettle to see thy course to it's port."

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

Analdin does not turn around on his course for the gates, not even when spoken to, but only continues his stiff strides until he reaches the gates, there whispering something to the guardsmen on duty before entering them.

Melgond reddens slightly with anger and makes his way unheard yet rapidly to Analdin's side, taking one long look at him. " Melgond, whom you've met before." he wispers in short, and turns to face Hadrian, looking quite hard upon his countenance, " I am Melgond, of the House Palanllach, and before this mighty city you shame yourself sire !" he cries. Momentarilly he glances at Analdin again, with an expectant look, " Be you in need of aid ?" he asks, and smiles briefly, perhaps realizing he's asked the first question last.

Hadrian turns to Lord Beladan, "Lord, shall I go and report these matters to the Steward?"

From the great gate of Minas Tirith, Torelin, his hood now off, approaches the company of knights. His steps are slow and methodical, almost like he is in a semi-trance or perhaps sleep-walking. His eyes are hollow and his face is drawn, with a look of utter futility.

The mariner had stood silent a long while, his arms folded, eyes wide, and face growing somewhat pale in disgust. There was his friend Analdin, a man whom he had come to admire in days past, only to hear the shrill cacophony of words from the lips of these noblemen slander him in their self-righteous sermons. For the most parts his lips were parted, though nary a word escaped them, and his hardened expression began steadily to ebb away in place of a madness dimly growing within his soul. Finally, a word breaks, "Dead man shall learn nothing, and the noble have ne'er at all." He throws his grey cloak around his muscular figure, and walks softly away down the rainy path.

Analdin stops as Melgond speaks to him, only quietly shaking his head, and continuing his silent walk in the rain, past the gates and the black cloaked Torelin, and up into the city.
 
Analdin enters the fair city of Minas Tirith through the gate, beneath the watching eyes of the guards.
Analdin has left.

Beladan considers the guardsman before the gate for a long moment. "Nay, Even yet I feel that does no interest to the Prince. I will hold for now but charge thee to act as witnessess shouldst the need arise." Beladan turns to leave and espies Torelin. "There is the man so charged, noble Knights. Let us secure him forthwith!" With that, Beladan begins to move with rapidity towards the pointed out guardsman.

Coradh ignores Melgond's impetuous reproach, other than to speak to Hadrian. "So the child of Palanllach doth cast his lot with the rabble. No surprise, so it seems to me."

Hadrian leaps atop his steed and gallops toward Torelin.

Hadrian calls back to Coradh saying, "Nay, that is no Palanllach. The Palanllach are fairer tongued and courteous!"

Coradh draws his blade and keeps a watchful eye about the crowd, wary of any foolhardy actions by the city-dwellers.

Beladan runs through the assemblage, nearing Torelin and shouting, "Hold, Torelin. Thou shalt hold and will recieve no hurt."

[Torelin(#28151)] As the knights approach Torelin merely stops, his hands remaining at his side. He shouts out to Beladan, "There is no need to worry, Lord. I come of my own volition."

Coradh nods to Hadrian, though he still keeps his guard up. "Aye, thou hast the right of it assuredly."

Melgond looks a bit bewildered unto what is happening, and and overhears the two nobles talk, " What matters do forked tongued nobles have in these parts, who are they to know what my House stands for, and to speak of manners, I pray Lord, you know well whom you've battered so prior to this, Analdin, a man who's the lover of many !" he cries, and angrilly casts his hood off his head.

Hadrian pauses his horse as he circles around Torelin.

Beladan slows his pace and resheaths his blade. "Then thou shalt have as my bondword that no harm shalt come to thee under my care." Beladan finally nears Torelin and lays a hand on his wrist. "But know that I wilt see thee prosecuted myself. I suggest thee find thyself one to speak for thee. I hath a cousin..."

Coradh ignores the man claiming noble heritage and adds his might to the ring of steel around Torelin.

Torelin stops Beladan quickly with the words, "I need no one to speak for me" and gives a look not of defiance but of utter defeat. "Is he...the man I struck..."

Melgond spits in anger, and casts his piercing glance upon Coradh, " And who might you be, tis a shame to see men as you, sleeping in their beds while truer folk fight for their land, why do you not allow this man into our military, though it is not my right to seek an answer of his crime by all accounts, yet in this time, all men are needed !" he says.

Hadrian pauses his horse and nods to Beladan, "Virtue then lives for the Man who remorses."

Serin stops at the edge of the path leading to the field and crossroad, watching as Torelin is taken by the knights. He grimaces, and turns with a long ceaseless sigh that fades away as he vanishes totally out of sight.

Coradh laughs at the spitting man. "I am Coradh, of House Silithlin and Knight of the Swan, regent of the Southern Marches of Belfalas. I sleep daily in the face of enemy harassments, I have dueled Grurg the Troll of Morgul and emerged victorious, and I have manners, Cur. I fear thee not, thine catcalls fall on deaf ears."

For the briefest of moments a look of pride flashes through Beladan's eyes and is gone again. "Nay, thou wilt face a charge of murder. He dost live. I fear that the outlook for thee is not quite so fortuitous." He turns to Hadrian. "Art thou sure that thou art of the House Bragollach? Yet thy words are true enough. Still, even the penitent my yet do all pennace directed unto them."

Torelin merely stares at Beladan as he speaks. When the knight has finished he quickly turns to Hadrian and his glare is suddenly one of cold rage.

Hadrian laughs and says, "I know of the tale of Aearion and his woe. His pride overtook him, and whilst we are quick to anger, all of my house will forever serve the prince, and the knights that serve Imrahil are as if brothers to me."

Hadrian suddenly looks grim, the emotions changing on him like a swift fire, and sighs, "Aearion... Aearion."

Melgond smiles grimly, " Then Coradh, so mighty a warrior to be, wherefore thy in need of so many a man to capture one criminal may I dare ask ?" and in a jesting mood he looks upon you Coradh, leaning on his bow of yew.

Beladan looks curiously at Hadrian. "Then thou hast my apologies and my respect. He was valiant, even if ... unbalanced in that valor."

Hadrian nods and says, "Yet, what shall we do with this Man? We must hand him over to the authorities."

Coradh raises his voice. "Know that I answer thee out of whimsy, knave, and no compulsion of thine can drive me. To teach a lesson to all those who would follow the criminal's example I stand, and to preserve the honor of my Prince's vassals 'gainst the jeers of the baseborn."

Torelin continues to stare in the hills that surround his home, while Beladan and the mounted knight continue to speak.

Beladan turns to Coradh. "Gut him or leave him, brother. His kind litter the streets like refuse. We can find another of his ilk but ten steps from here. Pass me a rope and I shalt bind his hands."

Melgond smiles as if beholding a fool and not a lord, " Noble thy blood surely cannot be, as thou art such a flimsy man in word and deed, I would take any man's word, but thou's, who battled not a troll in living but solely in a dream perhaps, you paint a stain upon your house's name, knave !" he says, stressing upon the word knave, and continuing to smile in an annoying way.

Torelin glares to Beladan. "A rope is unnecessary, sir," he says. "As I said before, I come willingly."

Coradh nods to Beladan. "Sound counsel, brother." Coradh disappears down the street a short distance. He can be seen talking to a passing vendor. A coin flies through the air, and

Coradh shorty returns with a goodly length of hempen rope. "Brother, I lend this to you."

Coradh turns to address his verbal assailant. "Thou calleth mine honor into question, Oh baseborn one. Hast thou the mettle to duel with me?"

Beladan nods to Torelin. "Thou art charged with a crime most capital, I will bind thee unless thou canst assure me that thou art of noble bith. Then thou bond shall suffice to stay me."

Melgond looks at the two nobles as he would at clowns, " Fasten him well, he may yet evade all your pompous armies, chain upon chain dress upon his sould, o' proud nobles of the far west, with your blades, and talbards, and colorful dress !" he says and takes a swig of water from a metallic cup.

Coradh asks Melgond again: "Leave thine taunts aside: Wilt thou duel with me like the man you pretend to be?"

Torelin shakes his head and then lets it drop, holding out his hands. "Were I of nobler blood then perhaps I would not be here talking to you at all."

[Boromir(#17969)] A murmer passes from the back of those folk gathered round in the gates watching what transpires. Those in the back can be seen making way for a tall figure and the murmered voices all say one word. "Boromir...Boromir..." Finally the man makes his way through the crowd. Hands crossed over his chest he says loudly, "What goes on here? "

Melgond lifts his hand up in the air, and presents his noble ring, as well as the brooch of his house upon his lapel, " Look upon a house, that you doth not deserve fluster, for I am cousin dear to the Lord, Byringlor, and dishonor me no further for our vengeance shall be swift and cruel, go now while you may, I wish not to fight you, my arrows only write upon the chest's of orcs, and not lowly men such as you are !"

Hadrian says to Beladan and with his hand points, "Behold Lord Beladan! The son of Denethor hath come!"

Melgond shakes his head in agreement with Hadrian, " Thou folly has reached the topmost stair of mine country, be proud of yourselves, jesters of Gondor !"

Beladan turns and bows deeply before Boromir. He speaks with a tinge of awe and a great deal of respect coloring his voice. "Well met, my Lord, though on a matter most regretful. A soldier under thy command has surrendered his liberty to myself that we may deliver him unto justice, noble Lord."

Coradh watches with some measure of pleasure as Melgond's foolish words spill out into the open. "I see thine valor falls well short of thine skill at feeble mockery. Let all know that Melgond of the Palanllach refused a duel justly challenged! Ever Craven shall be the repute of thine name."

Coradh composes himself as the Steward's son comes into view.

Melgond laughs, " Hah !" he says, " Coradh, you value you not your life to seek duel with one that fights the enemy, I've no wish to kill dishonorable men such as you, but perhaps I should teach thee a lesson, if thou art be set in thought, then step forward now and draw, but folly it is upon us, to fight amongs ourselves when a greater enemy stands ready to assail us when weak !" he says.

[Boromir(#17969)] With the barest nod of his head Boromir recognizes Beladan when he speaks, his eyes move from face to face of those gathered round. Finally he returns his gaze to Beladan and asks, "Which of these men here has done so. And what crime has he commited that such an action is required? Are not all of you in the service of my father?"

Hadrian dismounts his horse and bows low to Boromir, but he says not a word.

Torelin remains quiet, his chin still on his chest.

Coradh dismounts, and bows to Boromir. "I regret to burden thee with a separate matter Lord, and thus shall I not." With that, he walks some measure down the street, bidding Melogond to silently follow him.

Melgond looks long upon a foolish invitation by one known as Coradh inviting him to follow. Remaining quiet before the Steward's son he mutters under his breath, " This proud army be here to imporse arrest upon one man !" and somehow that comes out louder than perchance he had expected. Wondering if Boromir has heard him, he begins to slowly move towards Coradh, his keen eyes however spying upon the Captain-General as he makes his way.

Beladan nods. "Thou hast thy right grasp of affairs, my Lord. I am come unto thy father's court as an agent of Imrahil, me sworn leige." Beladan motions to Torelin to come forwards, drawing him with the hand still upon his wrist. "This man didst strike another guard of thy citadel unprovoked, opening his chest and wounding him sore. He then struck me a blow and fled. I wish to deliver him to the justice thy city is fabled for. Yet if thou hast another design, my lord..." The words trail away.

Boromir turns toward the scout who has spoken aloud for a moment before Beladan leads Torelin forward. For a long moment he stares at the man brought before him, saying nothing. Finally he sighs deeply, recognizing the man. "Torelin? Though I doubt not the word of a knight of my fair cousin I must ask you....is what this man says true? Is this how you repay the honor and trust I bestowed upon you not so long ago at the faire of Pelargir?"

Coradh addresses Melgond in a very even and low tone. "Know, Melgond of the Palanllach, that thou hast been offered a challenge, a dual of honor. Shouldst thou accept, I agree to meet thee at a time and place of thine own choosing."

Melgond shakes his head in agreement, " I am a scout, proud to give my life for my Steward, I serve my country and those that command it, you perhaps shan't ever see me again for I dwell in lands tho may only read about while feasting in your halls west, if thou takest to heart this duel, then I say unto you, that it is your decision, I look not for blood on this day, but let us fight to please our Enemy if that is you will." he yells, and realizes once more his resounding tone.

Boromir hears the words spoken to the scout and says loudly, interupting his questioning, "There shall be no duals of honor or anyother sort. If you must draw your blade there are better foes to stike at. If either of you are so eager to draw blood I assure you I can find an outpost on the border that has need of another man or two..... If words or deeds have been done that ought not then that man wronged should accept a simple but honest apology. And the man in the wrong should not be so base as to refuse to give such." This said he returns his gazes upon Torelin, awaiting his answer.

Torelin looks around him, surrounded by men of high office, he appears insignificant and forlorn. He manages to raise his head slightly and look into Boromir's eyes. Finally finding his voice, he says weakly, "My honour came before yours, my lord. You should not have put your trust in me for I was doomed to betray it." He stops and looks to the ground before speaking again, "I have committed the crime Beladan spoke of and thus failed my duty."

Beladan frowns at the familiarity of being named so, yet awaits the reply of Boromir.

Melgond turns, stricken as if by thunder, and spies the greatest lord here glancing at him. He bows graciously, hand over breast, " Thank be to thee Lord, I am late to serve my brothers east as we speak and seek to make for the border, but lessons need be taught even at the base of the proudest city, I ask thee, Lord Boromir, for forgivness, and no other man, I belive I justly acted in the defense of Minas Tirith, its Lieutenant, and Men !" he cries, and turns with a hard look at Coradh.

Coradh turns immediately at the sound of Boromir's voice. Fuming, he sheaths his blade and grunts a response through his reddening cheeks. "I have challenged this man according to the laws of the land, your most worthy grace, and I crave satisfaction. If thou would have it to deny me thus, I humbly submit to thine better judgment."

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

Analdin steps out through the gates of the city, his strides long and purposeful. Stopping just outside the gates, he pauses, dark eyes wandering over those nearby. An anger not often seen in his young face radiates from his countinance.

Boromir raises a hand as if to ward off the words of the accused, "Nay...say no more. You shall allow yourself to be taken to the Citadel by Sir Beladan or those whose care he places you in. There you shall await a court martial, where your actions shall be judged and punishment meted out if need be. " Then he turns to once again speak to those others who address him. "You claim a point of law? Though not one to spend his hours wasting time with his nose a tome of law even I know that the man challanged may request a champion. Wouldst thou face me on a field of honor sir? For if you persue the matter I will make my own blade available to this man. And you, Scout of Cair Andros...if you have wronged this knight admit it and crave his forgiveness. Prideful folly is not valued here."

Elidran steps back into the space, looking about him. HE salutes Boromir respectfully upon spotting the man.

Coradh looks around to his peers. "Milord, If Melgond should retract his unseemly comments regarding my battlefield deeds, I would withdraw my challenge. If he persists, however, I will press my case, the the Dark Lord himself stand in as his champion. Knowing thine own prowess, my gracious lord, I humbly place my life in Melgond's hands"

Beladan nods to Analdin. "Here is thy soldier, Lieutenant. I deliver him unto thy charge and bid thee secure him in thy citadel to await trial."

Torelin bows his head once more at Boromir's words. He seems to merely await someone to take him away from all the attention he is receiving.

Melgond shakes his head, " Lord Boromir, I've exalted your servant, and honorable man of Minas Tirith, Analdin's name in front of these foreign Lords who come from afar, proud may they be, slayers of trolls, but I ask myself, whyfore, a great man such as Coradh organize a party to capture a man, this be not an animal we speak of, and there would have been honor to their names if their actions would have been nobler, than had they not spoken no love for Lieutenant Analdin !" he says, " I believe all men deserve respect, esspecially those of rank, men such as Analdin ought not be judged by visitors,...I apologize for allowing myself to sink to their level, for that I apologize, yet I strained myself, proud of this here city, not allowing Lords from lands afar, badmouth its name !"

Analdin approaches the small group, keeping to himself and silent until spoken to by Beladan. He only nods slightly, lips pressed tight, and eyes shining angrily. Hearing his name, recognising only that from Melgond's words, he turns his eyes to the man speaking long, brows knitting curiously. His attention remains on Torelin long enough to place a hand on his arm.

Beladan frowns again. "My Lord Boromir, I must protest."

Melgond grunts, " And I must take my leave if that I may, Lord Boromir, enemy breathes upon our land east of here, and its black breath dissolves life, I am far from where my duty should be sire !" he says and bows his head, expecting approval.

Coradh scoffs at Melgond's words. "Lord Boromir, as Beladan and Hadrian stand witness, Analdin himself sought to waylay the laws of this land. I too humbly apologize for allowing affairs to degenerate as they have, but I organized no party to terrorize the men of Minas Tirith. I serve Lord Beladan and the rightful prosecution of justice, which others have sought to thwart."

Boromir's mein turns to stone at the Scout's words. "Those words sound not like an apology to me. Though we may be surrounded by men of the fair court of Dol Amroth we are not in those stately halls. Speak plainly and to the point. Do you retract the words spoken or do you not. A backhanded insult mixed with an apology is an action that would not suit the meanest stable hand let alone a man of noble birth."

Analdin speaks up at Coradh's words, the first the young man has spoken since coming from the city. "I sought not to waylay the laws, sir," he argues, "I uphold the law, and have sworn my life to do so." However, his voice is soft and quiet, not loud enough to be heard fully over the Captain-General's.

Melgond nods his head at Boromir and turns to Coradh, " Then let there be peace beetwen us Man of Dol Amroth, I hold no quarrel with thee, for I am of more peaceful ways though my life be not." and then returning his glance to Boromir he says, " Excuse my folly sire, I must now depart, I ask forgivness of all whom I've insulted !"

Boromir nods, accepting it seems the words of the scout this time.

Coradh nods, vindicated. "'tis no lust of my breast to shed the blood of men of Gondor, though even our own customs differ. To reiterate, let no quarrel exist between myself and the scion of Palanllach."

Melgond bows his head, taking a turn to glance at everybody, he lifts his head proudly and departs quickly, fading into the crowd milling not many paces from this gathering. " Let us be friends then, and fight not with each other, but alongside to vanquish our enemy !" he calls, and his voice resounds from the crowd he dissappears in not to be seen again.

One problem averted Boromir once again looks upon Torelin. Waving a hand vaguely in the direction of the Citadel he says only, "Analdin, take this man from my sight. Place him in a secure room there where he shall await a trial."

Beladan shakes his head as Analdin is addressed. "One moment, my Lord, by your leave. Lieutenant, thou didst quibble with poor sense against the law, yet relented in the end to common sense. Yet thou standeth here with no regard to my rank nor title, let alone that of the Steward's son. A curt nod is not a bow of respect, Lieutenant, and a soldiers concern for his men is no virtue when it threatens his sworn alliegence to his Lord. I suggest caution and defference, and some time in the great Library."

Despite his fair words, Coradh seethes with barely controlled frustration as the scout turns to go.

Torelin awaits the commander to lead him where he will. He does not speak or even look around him now, even as Beladan begins to speak to Analdin.

Analdin looks almost blankly at Boromir, though nods slowly at last, and about turns to leave as Beladan speaks. Returning to his stance, he gives a low bow, though a silent and harsh one, a soldier's bow, to Lord Boromir, but to no other. Eyes almost calm in the center of his rage, the lieutenant speaks once more, "My Lord Boromir," he says, "Forgive my disrespect." However, turning to Beladan, he shakes his head, "Forgive me, sir, but I cannot bring myself to regard your rank or title." Finally, grasping Torelin's arm, he says softly to the man, "Come," and begins off, though there is a hesitation in his step.

Elidran watches Torelin and Analdin, his eyebrows raised.

Beladan looks sadly as Analdin turns to go. He speaks to Coradh. "And thus Gondor deepens in decline."

Coradh reins in his restive mount. "Aye, brother."

Boromir shakes his head slowly at the scene before him and can be heard to mutter under his breath, "I have seen two bands of orcs behave in a more brotherly fashion towards one another...'

Beladan bows before Boromir. "My Lord, I mean no disrepect to thy city, but would crave thine indulgence to prosecute this man myself."

Coradh bows to Boromir, but holds his tongue.

Finally, hearing no summons to return, Analdin nods towards the gates. Leading his charge towards the city, he turns only once to call down to those behind him, "I have jailed a comrade once, and this shall be a second time. Let there not be a third because of your noble" venom drips from his voice on this word, "squabbles." With that, and a determined nod of finality, he leads Torelin inside the gates.

Beladan stamps. "My Lord! He dost slight thee as surely as I? Hath the lost control of thine own city?"

Coradh shakes his head and sighs at the Lieutenant's parting catcall.

Boromir stirs from his thoughts, "No, this can not be allowed. By your own words you have issue with this man. As such you will be called as witness at his trial. To be bother prosecutor and witniss would not be fair. But fear not....by his own words he has confessed to all. I shall appoint someone to do so...." Boromir stops what he is saying to glare at both Beladan and Analdin, his voice crackles with anger as he shouts, "Are you all infants? Can neither of you hold your tongue? Be silent before I send you both to your rooms without supper!!"

Beladan looks grim "And art thou all so bereft of what shreds of honor once clung to this place that thou dost deny me the right to ask for what is mine by virtue of all law? That is to say, defference and respect. Set aside thine own, steward's son, yet not mine, for in so doing you hasten the work of the dark one and sully Imrahil. Send me with yon guardsman if being entitled is a crime."

Analdin seems to shudder at Boromir's call, stopping not too far from the gates once more, "My lord," he asks quietly, "Do you wish me to take this man to the cell that has been awarded him for his acts, or would you have me stand and listen to a man who comes to lecture me of law in my own city? I will do as you command, but either allow me continue on my duty of escorting this" he pauses, "prisoner, or order me to remain."

Coradh scoffs. ""The City of the Lieutenant?' What has happened to the rule of the House of Hurin? do common officers now rule where once Kings and Descendent of Numenor held sway?"

Boromir fights down another outburst before he fully loses his own temper. Slowly and distinctly he says loud enough for all to hear. "All three of you are acting in a manner that belittles the trust you have been given by those you have sworn solomn oath to. Were the Prince here he would not seek to press these so called 'entitlements' to such a degree though his own blood be as noble as a King. You are all as prideful as those traitors who dwell now in Umbar. Men who by their pride split our land and allowed the Enemy to regain his strength. Seek you to reenact such a sad hour in our history? Think you that such does not serve Him well? Get from my sight all of you. "

Coradh grows purple in his face. He puts spur to steed, and carries out his Lord's orders in a state of rage. "So be it."

Beladan lays a hand or Coradh, warning him to silence and turns, leaving the area.

Analdin lowers his head in deference to Lord Boromir, and finally enters the gates with his prisoner, leaving the arguments of the nobility behind him. Were any of the party at his back able to see his face, the smile mounted there would have shocked the all of them.
 
To see what happened between Malahir and Torelin inside the Gates, go here.

To see what happened between Analdin and Malahir inside the Gates, go here.