Shaking his head stiffly, Rhif scrapes a hand through his dishelved hair, "Don't call me a Lord. I ain't one yet." He grins ferally with humor, "And Master Starmir's a good man, he'll treat you well. He was always fair and kind to my step-father. You don't need to leave. I was just concerned when it looked like you was begg'n food, is all."

Rhiforath glances north, expected to report to the barracks and not wanting to be late... but also not wishing to be rude when he's honestly concerned about this fellow.

Kydner shakes his head "Nay Sir, I am not begging for food, I have been" He seems to stand a bit proudly "earning it so far." He then nods "That is what I have heard of Master Starmir, I only wait for his word." Though he does lower his head, a youthfull smile brightens his face, as he peers at the man before him.

The sun sets as the day draws to an end, leaving the night sky dark save but the twinkling of stars.

Chuckling at Kydner's treatment of him when they are the same age, Rhiforath splits a grin, "Good then. I can't stay... I'm expected at the barracks. What's your name?"

Kydner with now a firm voice "I am Kydner, sir." He raises his head, but still peers at the man before him from behind his hair that hangs infornt of his eyes.

Rhiforath nods curtly and although he doesn't act this way around adults at all, leans forward and takes Kydner's limp hand to shake it, "I'm Rhif. Rhiforath... I really gotta run or I'll be flayed, but I wish ya luck with Master Starmir. I'll find ya later and we can chat, ok?" He grins warmly, ready to sprint.

Kydner finds his hand suddenly taken into the mans before he can react, then firming up his hand he sakes hands "I do so hope we can, and nay do not get flayed, go and I shall look forward to seeing ye again Sir."

Rhiforath grins even broader, dropping the hand after giving it a few good shakes, "Ya sure talk funny. Must be from Dol Amroth. Them's all strange in the head." He chuckles and then turns to start jogging up through the gate.

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

Sirion across the fields a lone rider approaches the gates dressed in the livery of the Men of Dol Amroth. As he nears the gate he holds up his empty palm in a gesture of greeting.

Kydner watches the man head for the gates, he looks longingly at the bowl of stew at his side. Sitting down he picks it up and with the wooden spoon picked up, begins to eat the now just warm meal.

Rhiforath turns to run towards the gates and runs smack dab into the rump of a horse that has come up while he was distracted...

                                **THUMP!**

The young man stumples back as Sirion's horse is startled. Before the young man knew what happened, he's sitting on the ground blinking.

Long distance to Rhiforath: Analdin chuckles, "I'm in no hurry.. Run into horses all ya want." :)

Sirion pulls the reigns on his horse. He looks at the man and cries, "Prithee sir, I fear my horse has met thee all too well. Art thou in need of succour?"

Kydner looks up from his stew, and watching the antics before him, begins to chuckles. His eyes going from Rider to fallen, a smile remains on his face as he tries not to laugh anylouder than he has already.

Rhiforath shakes his head, the scruffy young guardsman a moment without his wits, "Did I bloody run into what I think I did... and..." He holds a hand to the side of his head, "Did I just hear what I think I did? Wind save me from bad dreams if I'm in Dol Amroth!" Rhif spits out a strand of the horse's tail hair, looking slightly dazed.

Sirion leaps off his horse and removes his tall helm, his white hair flows loose in the evening shade as he looks with keen grey eyes upon the fallen. He glances up at the gate and calls, "Men of Gondor, is there aught amiss that Men would so run heedless of hound, hare or horse into the ground eating the taile of fair Celenor." Sirion takes the arm of Rhiforath and helps him to stand, "Now tell me sirrah, what be thy name? Thy wit seems as fast as thine legs!"

Kydner quickly puts the spoon into the bowl that is craddled in his lap, the free hand comes to his mouth trying to hold back the laughter that now shakes his body, yet a few sounds to come from him, red faced. His shoulders are now shaking from the slient laughter that comes to him.

The fallen young man gazes back with equally silvery grey eyes, a likenss to the elder man almost of kinship.... though, Rhif has more the rougher ways of his step-father about him and less crisp of attire. More so with dirt now on his buttocks. LIcking his split lip, the young man blinks and wipes his face, muttering, "Sorry. Didn't see ya... and I'll be late. The Lieutenant will have my hide, he will." A hand goes about attempting to rearrange his clothing and remove the dirt.

Sirion smiles and then says, "Your lieutenant say you? Ah this is well, I see you are in the livery of the guard and to that I commend you for you seem to me to be a Man of worth. I am called Sirion."

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

Rhiforath blinks and looks hard at this man, then again, "You can't be. You're too old and he's dead." A defiant look of challenge makes the lad's back stiff and raises his chin.

Kydner taking a deep breath to slowely alow the Laughter escape him, setting the bowel down he stands. A tilt of his head as the two speak just before him, of being to old and dead. Not understanding he remains silent. But his keen eyes remain locked on the two, perhaps more on Riforath's split lip but ...

Sirion smiles, but it is the smile of a grim man and wrinkles of wear stretch over his face, "You then knew my son, for we shared that name, though he has passed the world ere he knew I yet lived. In prouder times I may have been angry at such words that would rouse from my soul the troubled past." Sirion's voice lingers as if on the edge of a thought, "Yet it is not so now for with age comes wisdom, and I desire only to serve Gondor and maintain the strength of our longfathers. Yet I am Sirion the Elder, and my father was named Tirion, and of the House of the Isilrim from the shores of Belfalas come I at the behest of my Lord the Prince. Yet perhaps you may not think it rude of me to ask you, your name young master? For you were afterall the person who bumped into my steed."

The darkness of twilight's fading slowly enfolds the land and road around them into night's cloak making the many torches in their scones all the brighter around the Gate as they cast their illumination. With it comes a cooler air from the day's previous humidity and heat. A lighter, more refreshing presance.

Although the older man holds him by his arm, the young Guardsman remains stiff with some anger. Listening to the calm, cultured words of the elder man seems to melt that fierce young pride as the other speaks of a son lost. Rhif licks his lips again and eases his posture, "I'm sorry, m'Lord. I meant no offence, Sir. Your name took me by surprise is all... and I'm called Rhif. Rhiforath, son of Dunirk, adopted son of Ravenwyr." Suddenly frowning slightly at himself, not certain why he said so much to this man, he softly adds, "Nevermind. They're both dead too."

Sirion nods and says, "That is a strange name, Dunirk... was he of the Rohirrim?"

Kydner looks in awe at the older man before him, for the names of places he speaks are only words told to him in stories. blurting out, well outside his place "You...You have been to those places M'Lord?" But as his new found friend speaks He quickly shuts his mouth and lowers his head.

Dusty hands straighten his tabbard carefully. Rhiforath jerks his chin up when asked of his sire, "No. He was an Officer of the Minas Tirith Guard, son of a minor Noble House and slayn at the Siege of Pelargir."

Sirion glances over at Kydner and smiles saying, "Well, my folk are from Calembel in the fief of Lamedon but my line has dwelt oft in the Land of Belfalas by the citadel of the Prince, I have come to Gondor solely on a mission of import from the Prince bearing tidings to the Lord Steward. It is a long road from Dol Amroth where the crystalline waters of the bay lap at the cliffs of the Ost-in-Ernil and their set like myriad jewels as if the dream of Numenor in waking life and scions of Elros are yet living." Sirion frowns, "Forgive my speech, it is the habit of the worn and elderly, and I have been on long dark roads where fickle fortune hath chosen to pass me, yet who can not pass by the river Gilrain and not hearken to the merry speech of the waters lapping upon the rocks?"

Biting his upper lip for a moment, the young rascal glances past the Lord towards the Gate, all the more aware that with every passing minute he's later and later to report for duty, only... surely he can not be rude to this man. A thought, sharp and clean, comes to his young mind and he suddenly relaxes as his concern for his tardiness melts. Listening to the older man speak to the other lad, Rhif blinks and looks... baffled.

Elidran walks up the road. His sword's nowhere to be seen and he's not wearing his guard's uniform. HE's clearly off duty.

Kydner's eyes widen even more, it that were possible. Looking at the man his mouth opens, closes, then opens again "I...I have never seen the river ye speak of." He lowers his head, now his uncomfortableness is very appariant in his stance and face. "I did not think such existed, M'Lord. Only stories I had thought such were."

Rhiforath's voice comes out hesitantly, "Ehm... my apologies, m'Lord, but I must go. I'm very late, Sir." Casting a glance for the other youth who he recently had shared a joke with on this very topic, Rhiforath tries to slip past.

Sirion waves at the gates, "Yet account yourself of good fortune sir, for here is the pinnacle of the might of Gondor. The Gates of Minas Anor are accounted a marvel of the world and ne'er shall you see its like in all the wide world."

Sirion does not seem to heed the pratings of Rhiforath, "Indeed! A mighty bulwark it is, a testament to the strength of the heirs of Anarion. Tell me, Rhiforath, do you not when you look upon these gates think that even the very storm of the Black Land will come to naught?"

Kydner looks at the gates before him, now in a different light as the man speaks, a look of awe comes to him as he catches the movements of Riforath are cought in the corner of his eyes.

Elidran looks the crowd over, stopping nearby.

Sirion nods and says to Kydner, "Never my friend forget who you are. Man of Gondor, take you heart for you are of the high Men of the world and it is your place to hold the West with the rest of our kindred, for most assuredly, the war of our Age shall come within at least your life, if not mine."

Although he tried to slip away and out of the older man's grasp as he speaks of the history of the Great Gate, Rhiforath is unsuccessful to escape and stands akwardly with his left armd still held by Sirion. Glancing at the very gates that have always been here in his short life, Rhif's mouth opens without sound.

Then his mouth closes since he had nothing to say. Instead he rather resembles a rag doll captured by a large dog who might shake him who is little mor than youthful bones. Overly long black hair falls over his eyes, "Ehm, how could it Sir? They have stood so long and were built by Eldar, weren't they?"

Sirion laughs, "The Eldar? Nay, the fair folk did not build these walls. Tis said in some lore that the Men of Numenor employed giants to build them, yet perhaps it was not so and the mastery of that stone craft has been lost in the dwindling of the ages. Yet that is why this land is called Gondor, for the aboriginals thought we ate stone, so much did our folk quarry in those days."

Looking distinctly at a loss and completely out of his element to know how to deal with it, the Pirvate just stands there with a slightly worried look. Rhiforath decides he's been captured by a mad-man by his expression, perhaps. The youth says nothing else, afraid to. Intead he scrapes a hand through his hair in a habbit simular to another man.

Sirion sighs, "Tell me Rhiforath, do you know any songs?"

Rhiforath blinks again, looking cautiously at the older man who still holds his arm or else he would have bolted already, "Ehm... I do. Why d'ya ask, Sir? I just know a few my step-father taught me, mostly. I know stories better though." Immeadiately Rhif senses a trap he has carelessly sunk his foot into past his knee and tries to step back again, "But they'd bore you m'Lord." He smiles feebly, "Barbaric, they are... "

Sirion sighs and says, "Well, then, you do not seem willing to please an old man who would care to hear a song. And you seem eager to be away, my speech must be tiring you."

Kydner has disconnected.

Opening his mouth, Rhif pauses, then hesitates again when he would have said something less than tactful. Very uncomfortable he tries to smooth over his akwardness, "Please forgive me, Sir, I'm only recently returned to Minas Tirith and Gondor. I've been away. I mean no disrespect ... but, you confuse me." Almost, Rhiforath looks hurt, "But I really should go. I had orders." He swallows, trachea bobbing in his throat with nervousness. "I really don't want to get into any trouble, not so soon."

Sirion waves, "Then go, I shan't keep you from your errand."

Rhiforath nods as his arm is released, "I didn't know your son, m'Lord, but I know that he was a very highly valued and much morned friend to my step-father. I am pleased to make your aquaintance and perhaps I will be able to sing you that song later, yes?" He tries to smile.

Sirion nods, "Fare you well Guardsman. May fortune smile upon thee."

The young man bites his lip and nods again, mumbling his thanks. Then he turns (pausing to check for horses or people in his path this time) and then begins to run into the city as though the orcs of Barad-Dur themselves were upon his tail!

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

End of Stonewright's Street -- The Barracks
The end of Stonewright's Street runs right up against the side of the mountain here at this sheltered location. The long low buildings of the garrison stationed here take up most of the available space around this square, with the soldiers' quarters to the outer edge, sheltering the officers' houses from the brisk winds. The sounds of drilling and sword practice drift up from behind one of the myriad building - the commanders' voices yelling above the noise of the trampling feet. Now and again, some soldier or another dashes across the cobbled square on errand to or from the Citadel and the higher officers stationed there.

Rhiforath comes up the road, trudging along.
Rhiforath has arrived.

Analdin stands outside the barracks, almost leaning against the wall. Lips pursed, he looks around the area of the barracks, watching the soldiers walk back and forth, running errands, going on or returning from duty, and other things of the sort. A knapsack sits on the ground beside him, its cloth crusted well with mud, grime, and age. Every so often, his bright gaze flickers expectantly to the road coming up towards the buildings, though each time the look in his eyes grows more impatient.

Coming up the steep hill, a very exhausted and sore young man staggers up as though he ran all the way from Great Gate itself... and looks it too, sweaty and dishelved. Rhif stops and gasps for breath, hand pressed hard to his cramping side. Finally he bends over a moment, looking like he might be sick.

As a familiar, and somewhat expected figure, comes up the hill at a snail's pace, the young Lieutenant's eyes catch sight of him, and the corners of his mouth turn down in a frown. Straightening his appearance somewhat, standing straight at the least, Analdin places folds his hands behind his back and, turning in the general direction of the approaching youth, the one more disheveled than most, he waits patiently for the young man's arrival.

The summer night air is somewhat humid but cooling... with the sun's setting and the breath of the mountains upon them it promises to grow into a very pleasant evening if a storm does not come in.

Straightening, Rhiforath didn't throw up but still heaves for breath. Not yet noticing Analdin already watching him, he skims hands through his hair repeatedly and then spits on them, trying to look presentable. He then settles his uniform and takes a long deep breath to try and settle his stomach. This little self ritual completed, he steels himself and begins to walk calmly towards the barracks to confront his doom.... only then he espies his Lieutenant and stops cold.

Remaining where he is, near the door of the barracks, Analdin makes no move towards Rhiforath, only stands there, as though keeping a troubled watch. The patience in his appearance is almost something of a suprise, considering standing in the night air waiting on a vagrant youth is not the usual for an officer.. Meanwhile, the flash of anger in his eyes is not. Even as Rhif stops he says nothing, still waiting quietly and in a relaxed position, gaze slowly examining the approaching man.

Rhiforath opens his mouth, then shuts it and walks up to his Officer. He bites his lower lip and then lets out a breath, "I'm sorry, Sir." He says nothing more, making no excuses.

Analdin glances over at the lit torches casting dancing shadows on Analdin's back. "I rather expected you a bit earlier, Rhiforath. Weren't you supposed to report, ah, about half an hour ago? Or was it earlier?" All is said in a completly cool tone, no hint of the annoyance and anger in his bright eyes, blue cast with an orange tint, showing up in his voice.

Looking properly abashed, Rhiforath drops his head a moment, "Yes, almost an hour ago, Sir." He raises his chin, "I was slightly late, then was further detained twice. The first was my own fault, the second..." He shrugs, "Write me up, Sir."

Rhiforath still breaths hard from his run but meets Analdin's eyes. Almost defiant, he expects to be punished and is used to it. Almost there is a hint of challenge to his posture, but it's very subtle and unconcious on his part.

"I would certainly like to know what kept you.." the young officer begins, speaking slowly and tone almost measured. "But if that is something, ah, personal, I shan't ask." He casually unclasps his hands from behind him and brings them forward, folding his thick arms over his chest. A tear can be seen in the black cloth of his sleeve, and the torches glint red off the skin there. Actually, his whole complexion seems rather red, almost burnt. "This is the point where I should tell you to get along to work, then go to my office and write you up, I suppose.." he says this almost hesitantly, as though still deciding what to do.

Rhiforath starts to say something but pauses, looking more carefully at his Lieutenant. Then he decides to drop what was on his tongue and says something else, "I ran into Sirion the Elder. Well, his horse actually." A flush comes up in the young man's pale face, "He wouldn't let me go. I wasn't sure what to do." Ashamed, Rhif quickly adds, "I wasn't watching were I was going, Sir. It won't happen again."

So saying his light colored eyes narrow further as he notices more and more, "Sir, are you alright?"

Analdin shakes his head, "Sirion the Elder? I don't know him, I fear.. though, if he kept you, or was it his horse? nevermind, if he was able to detain you from duty.." Trailing off, he shakes his head, as though to clear it. "I had something I wished to -" he is interrupted by Rhiforath's question, at which he raises a brow. "I am quite alright, Rhiforath," he says a bit more harshly than the rest of his words so far. Coughing slightly, he raises a fist to his mouth, and the light hits the black glove on his hand - the leather seems stained and almost wet.

Cocking his head the young man steps boldly forward and reaches out a hand with rather enough quickness that you might not be able to react, but he reaches to touch the other man's brow, "Do you have a fever? My step-mother's a Healer, you know. You really don't look well, Sir."

Analdin takes a quick step back as Rhiforath reaches for his forhead, though is not quite quick enough to escape his hand, startled as the young officer is by the youth's boldness. "Dont' touch me," he almost growls, straightening his composure. "As I said, I am quite alright. 'Tis no concern of yours, soldier. Every man has his accidents, as you've deomnstrated today if you truely ran into a horse." With that rather curious statment, he motions gruffly towards the knapsack near his feet. "I was going to give you the sword I had promised, along with the other gear you may need on duty.. Even tardy as you were." His tone, however, seems a bit dubious.

Rhiforath almost laughs, "You sound just like me." He chuckles, shedding his previous mood as though a skin he has already forgotten. He presses, ignoring the distraction of gear presented, not falling for the diversion, "You do seem to have a fever Sir. I'll walk you to the Healing House or call a coach for ya." he smiles, "Unless of course you are going to make me go around behind your back and make a superior Officer of your own order you to bed." Teeth flash in the bold rascal's face, daring you.

"Bah." the young officer shakes his head. "I would rather fall on my own sword than go to the Healing House." His patient mood of before has disapeared like a puff of smoke at the idea that he may perhaps be sick. Yet, even as he speaks thus, he leans slightly against the wall of the barracks with one hand, muttering about being "out of practice." Motioning once more to the knapsack by his feet, he growls, features darkening with visible anger. "There's your gear, take it and get on with you. Late enough already."

Rhiforath bends and does pick up the gear but does not go or even look at it. Instead his smile is gone and he too is now serious, "No, I take that back. You sound just like Ravenwyr." He pauses and addes, "But then, he's -dead-." The last is said with emphasis.

The bitterness in his voice almost leaves a palatable taste upon the night's air. Rhiforath shoulders the bag and begins to turn away, towards the Officer's Quarters.

Analdin's face brightens a tad as he is compared to his former commander, then grows even darker at the jab. "That he is, and I'd expect a bit of respect for him from his own." he shoots back at the youth, voice as sharp as the sword in his scabard. Yet, as Rhiforath turns away, Analdin calls out a bit louder though not his tone not any less hard, "I don't remember dismissing you, soldier."

Rhiforath stops and curiously enough, wipes his eyes for he almost had tears in them. He bites his lower lip hard and composes his face as he turns back and stands quietly.

Stepping away from the wall, and closer to the returned youth, Analdin meets Rhiforath's gaze quietly. "Go on, Rhiforath, get back to duty. A day spent away from my office and duties ought have done better than worsen my temper..." Shaking his head, he places a rough hand on the younger man's shoulder. "That sword there.. it's not normal issue. Take good care of it.." he trails off with something about "a whole day to make," turns around, and heads for the officer's quarters, eyes square in front of him.

The young man's breathing has picked up though it had quieted after his long run up the tiers from before. For a moment he has composed his face to an unreadable expression as he waits. His slim body is rigid with the emotions he struggles to contain. He listens to his Lieutenant but involventarily flinches when you put your hand on his shoulder. As the other turns away from him this time he finally speaks up, "Sir," Rhif hesitates, uncertain, "Sir... don't do this."

Rhiforath drops the pack, "I don't want any special treatment, least of all from you. If you won't go, I most certainly will not take it." He steps away from the sack to leave it on the cobbles.

Turning back around, Analdin raises a brow, "Don't do what, Rhiforath?" he asks, seeming to have composed himself a bit in the past few moments. A slight twinkle gleams in his eyes for a moment, as though he is about to laugh. "Special treatment? For you, of all people, Rhiforath? Oh no.." Trailing off, a stern smile beginning to form at the corners of his mouth, he adds, "As I said, it's not standard issue. It's probably much worse than those they normally hand out.." however, the first part of the young man's sentence finally registers, and he adds in a more serious tone, "Go where?"

Rhiforath doesn't touch the bag though he did look at it as his Lieutenant spoke. He bites his lower lip again and draws a breath, "To see a healer." His voice is very low and almost inaudible. Then he grinds his teeth and throws up his hands, turning to walk away, "Why do I care if you are ill?! If I start to care you'll just die anyway, like the others." Stomping off and not caring the least that he's left the gear or isn't dismissed, Rhiforath fumes, "Go ahead and be sick!"

"Yes suh!" Analdin replies to Rhiforath, giving him a stiff salute. "Thank you for your permission, sir!" he adds, gaze delving into the back of the young man's head. His tone sounds almost sincere, though the hint of sarcasm is evident. With that and a hard shake of his head, looking back in amazement at the young man, he almost smiles. "You sound almost like Dric, you know.." he adds as an afterthought.

Rhiforath keeps right on walking and doesn't look back, furious and ashamed of hismelf.

Rhiforath sets off down the road.
Rhiforath has left.