Osgiliath: Western Ruins - Gondorian Garrison

        Amidst the ruins of the former splendour that was Gondor's capital of old is a fully-operational battle camp. At least a dozen tents are scattered around the ruins of the city here, each flying a small pennon of the White Tree on a black field that flaps in the daytime breeze. Guards in similar livery patrol the area here, dressed at all times in shining silver mail and with Halberds on their shoulders.
        The guards here seem very uneasy, though they try to hide it...their gazes cannot help but hover eastwards, to the black wall of the Ephel Duath and the dark land that those mountains enclose..
        Even on a cloudless, sun-filled day such as this, a dim haze seems to hover over the mountains to the east...a haze that darkens as you look further and further into the skies of the black land. Perhaps it is your imagination, but you fancy you see a dull red glimmer on the eastern horizon...

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Weather:            Rainy
Time:                Dawn <about 6 AM >
Season:              Winter
Date:               Trewsday - January 15, 3015

Real Time:          Thu Jul 30 18:10:46 1998
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Fanathir shakes at the sound of the arriving men, obviously he was sleeping when the scout did his foul deed. Glancing upon him he removes his cawl and a pair of small grey eyes, sorrounded with black marks of insomnia, tries to give an angry look. But his mouth says nothing, only points to the nearby log as the Ranger leans forward to get himself another cup.

Though it is dawn and the sun should be rising, shedding its brilliant rays upon the land, the fortress in Osgiliath seems exempt from the early light, for the darkness that clouds the east causes the sun to come belatedly to the ruined city. Darkness, with only a hint of natural light touching the edges of the cloud cover above, yet holds the camp. Even so, a man fully decked in polished mail and a perfectly cleaned and pressed uniform ducks out of the fortress. Whether it be the lack of light or simple carelessness, the Guardsman manages to run smack dab into a figure standing foolishly before the doorway, and mumbles a curse as he makes ready to chew the man out for carelessness.

Keleir chuckles silently at Fanathir's back as he moves around to take the seat pointed out so wordlessly to him. "You rise late, brother.", he comments, hunching down to sit on the log and huddle over the small warmth the cup provides him with. Returning the man's gaze, he notes the lack of sleep visible in his eyes, but adds no comment to it. "Do you still the Lord Faramir?", he asks, following it with another deep sip of black drink.

The parted doors to the fort stand aside to reveal Faramir in his full garb. Donning his green camoflauge wear over a light mail shirt, his hands covered by green gauntlets. As he looks down upon the sight of the many tents and small fires littered before him he feels a sudden and solid thump to his back and he whirls with an unexpected suddeness. Ringing out clearly to be heard his blade seems to jump into this mans hand, his eyes glare coldly to his aggressor his visage grim and fearsome. Yet, with as much suddeness his face softens and his grip wanes upon the hilt.."Lieutenant Analdin...good morning " he offers as he raises an eyebrow.

The black-clad Guardsman is visibly taken aback by the sight of steel in the man's hand, for his eyes first go to the man's hand before seeking his face. Yet, as the Lieutenant glances up, the harsh words he was about to speak die unsaid and, taking a step back, he gives a quiet bow. "Good morning to you as well, Lord Faramir," he says, a hint of amusement in his voice and sparking in his dark blue eyes, "And I feel all the more awake to enjoy it, having been greeted at the door with live steel."

Moving the cup closer to his lips Fanathir takes a slight sip from it only to burn his mouth with almost burning liquid. A small black line can be seen in the snow as he spits the drink to the flames and grumping places the mug to the ground. Shaking from the cold he exstends his hands forward, "Late depends upon the hour of going to bed, Keleir", he comments roughly, "and I've been taking a tour around these ruins last night." Looking over the guards he tries to spot someone to confirm his story, but as the night shift already removed itself to their tents he continues, "As for your other question.. aye, still have not spotted our Captian till our last meeting"

Faramir turns the corner of his mouth into a friendly smile and looking to the blade neatly places it back into its scabbard, "I'm afraid my nerves seem to be more on edge of late, so much has happened and I think more to come. With the questfellows and my own travels..well anyway. Tell me Lieutenant, are you in party with my brother? or does he hold his head guardsmen to stay in his place whilst he is away?"

Analdin nods, watching the sword all the way back to its sheath. "Nerves are tight of late, sir, 'tis true. And the events of the quest have not helped them at all." Leaving the subject at that, he glances past Faramir in the doorway and shakes his head at the snow on the ground. "Aye, I travel with Lord Boromir. I do believe Captain Elbarad is holding things, to my knowledge. Though I rather hope to check back at the city before we head off once more. But in weather such as this..." He trails off with a shrug."

Keleir raises a sole eyebrow oddly at Fanathir's most recent mishap of the day and shakes his head with a resigned and fond tolerance. "He is still here at the garrison, brother, have you not tried to gain audience with him?", he asks with a frown. But why were you taking a tour of the ruins? It is not so scenic as it once was.. still it possesses it's own nobility.", he answers in return as his gaze strays across the rubble of the ancient city and slowly comes around back to the grey eyes of Fanathir.

Footfalls upon the newly fallen snow can be heard from the north. With the river distant gurgling behind him, Malahir appears before the fort as buggle calls ring from the sentries anouncing the arrival of his patrol. Inching his gloves off one at a time, the acting Lieutenant strides toward the doorway of the fort, when he happens on Analdin. Saluting awkwardly, he says gruffly, "Good morning sirs, Analdin. You wished to speak with me as soon as my patrol reported back?".

"As fortune would have it, not a long trail for goodfolk, a swift horse and you'll make short of such a journey. " Faramir looks once again to the gathered tents, prehaps looking for one in particular, prehaps for one sole man, but nonetheless he does not search long and turns back to Analdin his gaze only broken by the appearance of another soldier. Turning to Malahir he returns the mans salute, fist clenched and folded across his chest, Gondorian style.(I think)

"Captian Faramir here?", Fanathir asks surprisingly, rubbing his eyes as he speaks, "but why have I not heard of that earlier." Taking another snowball to clear his face his skin turns from palish to red and seems to have gained consciounsness. "Let's find the man then, Keleir.. for our bidding might be interesting to your ears even." He quickly stands up and glances about the area, "could you lead my friend, this snow is more than my eyes can handle in this morning." Caughing some he awaits for the Scout.

Even at Malahir's approach, the young officer of the Guard makes no move to aknowledge the Acting Lieutenant's presence until he has finished his reply to Faramir, "I have gone once since we arrived, but there are a few issues I wish to put in order before we leave for another long stint." Finally, however, he returns the salute almost lazily, "Aye, that I did, Malahir. But first, report on your patrol. Anything of significance?"

Keleir rises quickly with Fanathir, mildly surprised at the sudden animation in the Ranger, "To the garrison then, brother!", he announces, dashing the last of the black liquid onto the fire and dropping the cup into the snow by the log. Stepping towards the man, he turns him by the shoulders and directs him forward, heading to where Analdin, Malahir and Lord Faramir stand together in conversation. "A fine Soldier of Gondor you make, my friend. Bleary eyed, unready for the day and unable to track down your own Captain...", he murmurs in jest to him as he strides alongside. "What news is this?", he asks.

Malahir waits patiently for his commanders attention, standing at rigid attention, "There is nothing to report sir. The visibility is very low, you could hardly see the fort from the river. I have spent much of the early morning following up false leads actually", he remains at the doorway, calm and at ease even in the falling snow.

Brehir has arrived.

Walking alongside Keleir, the Ranger slowly approaches the conversating men, his boots turning whiter with rach step he takes. His long hair cover his ears just like a cap and he replies to the Scout with a rough voice, "It seem that my eyes got struck with a sort of blindness from my patrol... hard to keep focus when there's nothing but whitenees everywhere around, Keleir." Reaching the assembled group Fanathir walks towards his Lord and bows deeply, "It was your father's desire that I report to your company my Lord!", he states.

Keleir nods intently at the explanation, casting a short glance sideways at Fanathir as they reach the three. The scout drops to a knee before Lord Faramir, head bent forward in homage, and then quickly rising to take a small step backwards and allow the men to address one another.

Faramir turns his head so to look upon Fanathir clearly, his inquisitive gaze taking note of the mans dress. The green hues and familiar gauntlets and weaponry. Stepping away from the twin guardsmen he halts before the man and his companion, "And so you have my friend. And with you I see you have brought the good scout Keleir. So Fanathir, soldier of Gondor, have you determined that you should castv aside your previous company for mine?..Should you wish to longer serve upon the Anduin?"

Analdin's light brow rises questioningly, "False leads? Nothing of importance, then?" As the Scout and Ranger approach, the officer takes a step aside, casting Faramir a quick glance, "Excuse me a few minutes, m'lord," he says in a quiet tone, one almost so quiet as to not be heard from where he stands... But loud enough that it is. Turning once more to Malahir, the blond headed Lieutenant says sternly, "I do believe we have some unfinished buisness to take care of, Lieutenant?"

Malahir nods slowly, "Aye sir, as for the false leads, I did not include the herd of deer that awoke the men sir in the reports. And as for the unfinished business, I was hoping we would clear it up here and now sir", he says resolutely.

"My Lord and Captian.. ", Fanathir begins, a slight caugh pausing him for a moment, "..there could be no grater pleasure for a warrior of Gondor as it would to serve in your company, and no greater honour, too". Glancing into Faramirs eyes he sets his posture straight and his hands join in front of him. Then he looks at the Scout beside him and then back at the Captian he continues with a slightly darker voice, "Yet, my departure from Cair Andros will not be a joyfull one, for I have met many brave and loyal friends there, and my heart overwhelms with sorrow at the thought of leaving them."

A slight scuffling of feet can be heard from just inside the fortress, for the doorway is blocked somewhat. A small shadow is cast upon the snow outside, not quite the size of a man's. Suddenly, and almost silently, a small figure darts out from the fortification and right past those standing in the doorway, one tall, noble-looking, green-clad man in particular. A mop of blond hair and black clothing is all that can be seen of the figure who begins dashing away to the west. In his hand, against his chest, he holds a small pouch... And, were a certain Steward's son to glance down that moment, he would see a pouch of the same appearance missing from his belt.

A lady is seen walking towards the group of men leading a horse. She looks to be searching for someone.

Analdin's light brow rises questioningly, "False leads? Nothing of importance, then?" As the Scout and Ranger approach, the officer takes a step aside, casting Faramir a quick glance, "Excuse me a few minutes, m'lord," he says in a quiet tone, one almost so quiet as to not be heard from where he stands... But loud enough that it is. Turning once more to Malahir, the blond headed Lieutenant says sternly, "I do believe we have some unfinished buisness to take care of, Lieutenant?"

Malahir nods slowly, "Aye sir, as for the false leads, I did not include the herd of deer that awoke the men sir in the reports. And as for the unfinished business, I was hoping we would clear it up here and now sir", he says resolutely.

"My Lord and Captian.. ", Fanarthir begins, a slight caugh pausing him for a moment, "..there could be no grater pleasure for a warrior of Gondor as it would to serve in your company, and no greater honour, too". Glancing into Faramirs eyes he sets his posture straight and his hands join in front of him. Then he looks at the Scout beside him and then back at the Captian he continues with a slightly darker voice, "Yet, my departure from Cair Andros will not be a joyfull one, for I have met many brave and loyal friends there, and my heart overwhelms with sorrow at the thought of leaving them."

A slight scuffling of feet can be heard from just inside the fortress, for the doorway is blocked somewhat. A small shadow is cast upon the snow outside, not quite the size of a man's. Suddenly, and almost silently, a small figure darts out from the fortification and right past those standing in the doorway, one tall, noble-looking, green-clad man in particular. A mop of blond hair and black clothing is all that can be seen of the figure who begins dashing away to the west. In his hand, against his chest, he holds a small pouch... And, were a certain Steward's son to glance down that moment, he would see a pouch of the same appearance missing from his belt.

A lady is seen walking towards the group of men leading a horse. She looks to be searching for someone.

Analdin nods, a hint of a smile touching upturning his lips, "Deer? In this season?" Shrugging lightly, the smile fades as swiftly as it came. "Then let it be settled, my friend. If you speak of the same matter I do, 'twas no more than the howlings of a wounded and fatigued man. Your position is well secure, and well earned for, were there to be any change of rank for you..." he trails off a moment, speaking a bit more softly, "'Twould be most definitly upwards." His back is angled towards Lord Faramir and those he is speaking with... the small black-clad figure goes unnoticed by the Lieutenant.

Malahir blushes insanely, recongnizing the blur that commited the act of theivery on the Steward's younger son. Attracting the Lieutenant's attention away from the departing thief, he grabs his shoulder, "Lieutenant, it seems as if that young lady", and he points to the girl that leads a horse almost twice as tall as she, "is in need of help". Conveniently, this newcomer is coming from the opposite direction of where the robber took off to. He begins to lead Analdin to Brehir and her horse.

"Tis well indeed you state such Fanathir and so I shall not have you leave the men you covet, nor the post you protect. So now I shall place you...Commander..in charge of Cair Andros and the garrison upon the isle and..." And at that his speech is broken for the slightest brush upon his self gone almost unhindered draws his eyes downward and he frowns as he looks to his waist and the belt set about it.

Faramir looks aside from the Ranger and glances about him slowly, his keen grey eyes scanning the faces nearby. Halting upon the rear of analdin he interrupts the man, "Lieutenant!"

Glancing over at the lady leading a horse into the Garrison, Analdin looks back to the Acting Lieutenant, "Why so red all a sudden, Malahir?" Yet, even as he takes a single step in the direction of the lass, Faramir's exclamation causes him to turn swiftly around, "Assist her, Malahir," he says sharply before adressing Faramir, "Yes, m'lord?"

The small thief dodges a corner, where, from his position, he would seem to be unobserved. Yet he is still in view of those gathered at the doorway to the fortification as he opens the pouch, digging slender, almost akward fingers inside.

Captain Faramirs face looks hardened as he looks to Analdin, his brow deep, gesturing to his belt he says in a low but stern voice, "My purse...it his been lifted from its place upon my belt. We have a thief in our midst."

No expression reflects outward on the face of Keleir as he stands quietly back from Captain and Ranger. Grey eyes look steady forward as Lord Faramir makes declaration known to Fanathir, but his attention is diverted by the passing of a small blonde-headed figure, pouch in hand and disappearing around the corner. Lips turn downward in a small disfavour of the act and he turns back towards the men around him, clearing his throat and motioning with a nod of his head towards the small thief.

Malahir backs away slowly at first, attempting to speak. However, words decieve him. Turning, he approached the lady, but his attention is on the events in his periphery vision. A concerned look on his face as he spots the theif hiding out around just around the corner.

As the young woman sees on of the men start to walk away from the group and towards her a bit, she starts walking towards him.

Analdin blinks a few times, "A thief? Here? Did any see where he-" he breaks off as he catches Kelier's slight nod, and blazing blue eyes follow the Scout's motion to where the thief's hands can be seen holding a pouch - obviously Captain Faramir's purse. "Follow me," he says to Kelier as he steps almost silently to where the small figure has hidden himself.

Astonished at Faramir's words and recognising his wisdom and grace Fanathir bows deeply before his Captian and a small tear enters his ill eyes. Not raising his look he tries to express his thankfullness yet his mought can not find the words worthy of such emotions. Hardly noticing the events around him he turns over to Keleir he gives a slight a slight wink, "well Keleir, it seems our path stays in our both common for a while, through life o..", then a sudden caugh shakes his body and Fanathir falls to his knees, red dots appear in snow in front of him.

Heading toward eachother, Malahir joins up with the lady leading the horse, midswhile, the activity at the fort becomes visually unbearable for Malahir to watch, and he turns his attention, or at least outwardly, toward the newcomer. Greeting her with a preoccupied smile he takes the other side of her horses reins, "Good morrow M'lady. How may a humble guard, such as myself, help you? You look as though you are lost perhaps", his word trailing off as he looks under the horse's muzzle at Brehir.

Looking at the guard and then the other men the woman wonders what all is happening. She looks again at the guard next to her. "No, I'm not lost, but I am looking for someone. I am Brehir and I am looking for my cousin Araloth." She pats the horse's neck and says, "I am to deliver this horse to her. Might you know where I can find her, sir?"

Keleir grins back at Fanathir and makes to step after the Lieutenant on his command, but stops short as Fanathir sinks down onto the snow beside him. A short catch of the breath and he tries to reach out and catch him, "Fanathir?!", he exclaims with a whisper and drops to his knees beside him, the bright blood on snow catching his eye, "Call for a healer!", he orders aloud, keeping his voice calm and even, "What ails you, brother?", he leans forward and asks, strong arms trying to persuade the man to ease down on the snow.

Even without the Scout at his back as he had asked, Analdin strides almost silently, save for the crunching of his boots in the snow, towards the near corner behind which hides the small figure. Suddenly, his large hand strikes out and clamps down upon the bony shoulder, giving the lad no means of escape. Hardly even looking at the thief, dark blue eyes ablaze with anger, he almost throws the boy around and towards the doorway. Yet his eyes fall upon Fanathir, and, almost forgetting his clenching grip on the thief's shoulder, he makes his return quickly, concern shining brightly in his face, dragging the as of yet unidentified boy along.

A bright twinkle flashes in the tall guard's eyes. Perhaps too preoccupied with the lady now, or not wishing to see the outcome of the thief's discovery, Malahir pays full attention to Brehir, looking her up and down her small frame. "Why, you must be /the/ Brehir! From Rohan that is. We meet at last my cousin. Have I been away from home so long that I can't even be at the estate to welcome you into the family", he asks rhetorically. "Come, let's take this horse to the watering hole and let", he sneaks a peak, "him rest right now. Our dear cousin Araloth seems to be stranded at the fort without a horse. She will be pleased to see a replacement for now", he says while he leads them to a post where other horses are tied up, eating oats or drinking from troughs.

Rattling in the ground Fanathir tries to speak but his mouth just gargles as more blood falls on the virgin snow. His whole body trembles with every cough he produces and after a few he falls down to the ground, laying on his side, shaking some as he still coughs.

Keleir's brow presses together as he gazes down on the fallen Ranger, "Sir, I beg you...", he says, looking up to the Lieutenant, "...please find us a healer.", he asks as he tries to cradle the shaking body of Fanathir into his arms and rest against his knees. "He bleeds..", he says as voice trembles and betrays his worry, one hand going to cup the man's chin and disregarding the blood that drops across his knuckles.

After feeling around his treasure a moment, obviously checking to make sure the reward was worth the risk he had taken, the boy-thief closes up the purse and tucks it away in a dark pocket in his dark shirt. Casting a glance around the corner of the wall, light blue eyes widen at large figures so close. A loud, audible groan is heard from the lad as the Lieutenant's hand closes hard over his shoulder. This groan changes quickly into grumbling and complaining as he is dragged along back.

Malahir stands aside the horse as the young Rovacil skillfully takes care of her horse. He stops stroking the mares nape to greet Brehir again, "It is a pleasure to meet Aranta's cousin. I am indeed Malahir Agendir. If I am the last to greet you into the family, let me be the most humble to welcome you", he bows gracefully for a big man. Once upright he points toward a group of tents by a large campfire, "I believe Araloth is sleeping now, perhaps we can sit by the campfire by her tent till she rises?".

Analdin shakes his head, "Let us take him into the infirmary, if 'tis no danger to move him. I doubt the snow and cold is doing anything good." Handing control of the lad over to a nearby by-stander, a soldier of some sort, he pays no attention, the officer looks down, "If you can, take his legs. The infirmary is nearby." With that, he picks up the shoulders of the ailing Ranger, concern written deeply over his face.

Fanathir has disconnected.

Keleir eases Fanathir over into the arms of Analdin and moves himself around to take up his legs. Circling his arms around them, he gives a nod to the Lieutenant and then together they lift the Ranger's limp body up off the blood speckled snow. Face stone-set, the young scout looks upon the pale face of his brother and takes care in being gentle with his movements. A guard pulls open the doors of the garrison, stepping aside to allow them passage as they bear the body of Fanathir inside to the infirmary.

Brehir feels honored with the bow of the man more than two feet taller than herself. She curtsy's in return and thanks him for the welcome. "A campfire, that would be nice. How is Araloth doing now? I just got a message to bring this horse, but without any more details."

After a few long minutes, the Lieutenant returns, looking around for the suddenly disapeared Faramir. On not finding him, he waves over the man who is currently holding on to the little thief, a Guardsman of the Company of the Silver Ship nonetheless, and gives him detailed instructions as what to do with the boy... Where to confine him. Still not looking closely at the ragged fugitive, the officer turns away and, with a very tired look to him, returns once more to the fortification.

Malahir walks along side his shorter cousin toward the campfire. Admiring her beautiful long brown hair as the camp fire radiates its glow upon it before answering, "She bodes well, even after the fight in the caves. It seems my brother had an accident, and she was delivering the message at a very inappropriate time. I was forced to take her along, inside the lost treasury of Osgiliath", he says with a serious tone, like a sailor telling a fish story.

Brehir's face becomes a little stern upon hearing the news, but then changes to a neutral look. "It's not very good to here that, although I am glad she fairs well." She looks into the fire. Her look turns into a gaze and she almost becomes lost in thought.

Malahir joins his cousin, also being captured by the campfire's luring quality. The stiring of horses by the falling snow breaks the silence and the soldiers reverie, "Aye M'lady. He both faired well in the face of danger. The quest continues, despite the losses and setbacks", he looks at her suddenly, "I'm sorry, I'm boring you about quests and battles. Pardon me Brehir", he squints at her in the morning light, "I haven't been to preoccupied with the affairs of the house, I've had a falling out of sorts with my father. As if you haven't heard", he stops awkwardly and settles back down and looks into the fire again.

Brehir glances up at the horses abit surprised at being lost in the fire with her gaze. "I've heard, but only a little. It can't be that bad. I mean, family is important not to lose touch with right?" As she says this, her eyes fall back to Malahir and fix on his eyes.

Malahir seems lost in his cousins gaze, the penetrating question freezing him more so than the chill in the air. Rubbing his larger than average nose, and sniffling, he responds, "Pardon me, this miserable weather. This miserable place", he mutters. Then settles his tempor down, "Perhaps you are right Brehir. I cherish my noble birthrite, the tradition and carry my sigil with pride. But you are new to the family, in an every day sense. You don't know the politics behind it. I assume you do not. How long has it been now, since you arrived in Minas Tirith?".

Brehir says, "Perhaps you are right. Politics can be a rather persuasive thing, but it isn't everything. Perhaps you'll tell me about it sometime. Not now, but sometime."

Malahir nods, smiling pleasantly at the young woman, "Perhaps we can talk about it later, when the weather is more suited for long winded conversation", he winks, showing signs of his jovial personality. Sighing, "I believe our dear cousin has overslept, and I must get back to duty. If you don't mind, could you go to her tent and wake her?". And he stands to leave for the fort, giving Brehir a wave, "I'll talk to you later my cousin".

Brehir nods to Malahir and sits for a short while looking into the fire as he walks off. She then stands and walks toward the tent.