Boromir purses his lips in a frown, he looks again at the man maybe to see if somehow he has forgotten a face he ought to know. He says rather brusquely, "And who might your master be and what is this message? Those will be what decides if I have time."

Harald nods quickly and apologetically saying, "forgive me lord, My master is the Master Merchant Arax Rykoffe, He has been invited to an audience with King Theoden of Rohan and begs your leave to attend."

Boromir shakes his hand and his right hand reaches up and rubs his brow. "The merchent Arax has sent you to the front lines of the battlefield to ask my leave so that he might travel to Rohan? Is there more to this tale then you have told me or have I missed something?"

Harald furrows his brow, scratches his head and says, "begging your pardon my lord, I know little of the reasons for the message, My master simply bid me to Tell you that King Theoden wishes to talk to my master about the relations between our realms, he expressly told me to speak directly to you."

Boromir laughs out loud at the man's response, 'It seems Minas Tirith has replaced a thief of a Merchant chief with a man who fears to scratch his arse without permission! Is this an improvement on the situtation? Tell your master that instead of sending you to the front lines of our constant war he should consult my father's pen pushers in the Citadel."

Harald looks blank and says, "does he have your approval then?"

The Rohirric swordsman called Xever steps into the area, his eyes turned upwards examining the defenses and nodding to himself. He stops short as he stumbles upon the discussion. "My pardon," he says with a regal bow. "I did not mean to intrude, merely admiring the rebuilding of this fortress."

Boromir shakes his head, no longer laughing, "No he does not have my approval. How can I make you understand that he neither needs my approval and that even were I to give it to him it would avail him nothing." Boromir pauses in his tirad at the messanger and looks at the man who has approached them. Bluntly he asks, "And who are you to be wandering about our fortress?"

Harald puffs out his broad chest and states, "My lord, I am Harald son of Harlune, Messenger to The Master Merchant and loyal citizen of Gondor. If my presence displeases you I shall get me hence with your message."

Analdin strides into the fortress, cloak flowing loosly behind him, yet spotted with the morning's downpour of rain. As he steps inside, he glances furtively about, keeping his strong gaze in the infirmary's general direction. However, upon making sure of something, he straightens his posture a good bit and continues on his way into the fortress, head held high and his eyes, darker than normal and more like a stormy sea than anything else, straight ahead.

Xever says with some deference, "I am Xever, sir. I am he who did escape from the forces of the Dark Lord." He gestures Eastwards with a long hand. "The men of Gondor have tended my wounds and in turn I did tell them the location of the Enemy's forces, along with information that could help you defeat these forces," he says smoothly. "I am recovered now from my ordeal and only wish to help and serve as I am able," he says with a quiet authority. "I am good with my blade. It is what kept me alive in the capture of Mordor."

Boromir says to Harald, "I have not doubted your allegience to Gondor, nor said that your meer precense displeases me. What I have said is that your master has sent you on a fruitless journey. I have no authority to give permission in such matters. Speak to my father or his advisors about this." He turns to Xever and nodding says, "And yes....now I recall your name. I had not realized that you were still inside the protection of our fortress."

Harald bows and says, "Thank you my lord, I shall speed your message direct to the ear of my master as if thy had told him thyself."

Xever nods his head, his dark eyes examining the man before him. A shade of recognition passes over his face as he registers just who the man is at his mention of his father. He replies politely, "I have not been given leave to go anywhere but this fortress, sir. I could not go East or West, so here I remain," he says apologetically.

Analdin continues in his way a few moments before veering off towards the group of conversing men. Stopping, rather abruptly, just near by, and clasping his hands behind him. Remaining silent, as though not wanting to interrupt, he stays on the outskirts of the conversation, looking from one man to another with scant interest in his stormy eyes.

Boromir points in the direction of Harald, 'Well if you wished to leave the fortress you could travel back to Minas Tirith with Harald. He might welcome the protection of your blade....."

The swordsman turns his eyes to the messenger and nods slowly. "If that is what you wish, I shall do that. But if you care to have me stay, there are debts I could repay with my blade." Xever smiles grimly. "As well as the debt I owe your men for finding me and allowing me to recover amongst them." His thumbs hook into his belt. "Whatever you find necessary. I am not a part of your military, to be sure."

Harald nods and says, "with your leave sir, I shall depart"

Harald has left.

Xever smiles and rubs his chin with a knuckle. "Seems your messenger is in a bit of a hurry to be off. I do not blame him really," he says looking around. "I am yours to command. I can follow him and be off. I am faster than I look," he says with another small grin.

Boromir is about to say something when the messanger takes his leave and departs. Dismissing the matter from his mind he says, " Well then...it seems that he does not care for your company after all. Of course you are welcome to stay here then. You mentioned a desire to seek revenge.....how would you do so? Have you not told my men all the information that you hold already?"

Watching the faces of both Boromir and Xever, Analdin yet remains silent, though every so often he casts a quiet - and almost worried, it seems - look toward the infirmary. His posture is relatively relaxed, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders straight and head upright. As he shifts his weight, though, a shadow of pain crosses his features and, with it, a hint of impatience that does not shine in his eyes any other time.

"I have told them as much as I was able to, without taking them to the camp directly, which I was forbidden to do." The slightest of edge is in his voice for a moment, then it vanishes. "But I an assist in any assults you may wish to carry out in the near future." Xever looks over his shoulder towards the west. "I do need to eventually make it back to Rohan. I need to let some know that I am alive still. You may use me as you see fit, whether it be to point out further weaknesses of the camp, or as a simple guard. It matters little to me how I repay my debts."

Boromir condsiders this and although he has not acknowledged the precense of the Lieutenant til now turns and says, 'What is your opinion on this matter Analdin? Can you find a use for this man so eager to serve? We are not so many that we can afford to reject an offer of a blade swung willingly."

Analdin raises a light brow, looking Xever over a few moments before replying to Boromir's question. With a light shrug, he says in a harsh voice, "Can I find use for him, m'lord?" he asks, repeating the inquiry, and pausing another few moments before going on, "I can find nothing the use for anyone, not at the time, at least. Certainly it would be unwise to reject such an offer but..." trailing off and shaking his head, the young officer adds in a much softer tone, dripping with comptempt, "I am in no position at the moment to do anything about it."

The tall man's eye flicker for a second at being spoken about thus, but he says nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line, his face otherwise unreadable.

Boromir is taken aback at the obvious venom exuding from Analdin, in a surprisingly soft tone he asks, "What ails you this day Analdin? Never have I seen you so."

Analdin looks up from studying Xever and returns his gaze to Boromir, looking into his eyes, the lieutenant's own dark blue orbs sparkling with anger, "'Tis what I was wishing to speak with you about, Lord Boromir, when you have the time. Nothing ails me... not any more, in the least. But the healers seem to believe so..." Shaking his head once more, his normally quiet voice changed into one hard of anger. "Pray, forgive my intrusion into this conference." He finishes off, drawing back a step, obviously trying to gain control of his temper.

Boromir snaps at Analdin, "Did I give you leave to withdraw? Stay here and explain what you mean. If you deem yourself well then leave the care of the healers on my word. Right now I need your opinion as to what use we can put this man of the Mark."

Xever steps back himself. "I shall leave you two," he says calmly in his low voice, "to decide what is to be done to me. I do not wish to become a point of contention," he says with look at Analdin. "I shall be down with the other men, preparing my blade, should you wish to employ my services against the Enemy." With that he bows and steps away quickly.

Elidran steps quietly into the main area, eyes darting about him, fixing on the men inside. He salutes in silence, stepping closer, and not interrupting.

Xever heads out of the building and into the camp of the Gondorian Guard.

Xever has left.

Analdin's gaze snaps up to the Captain-General's face once more, ignoring the retreat of the other man, his eyes flashing brighter than before. With the rigid lines of his face close toappearing rebellios, he stands where he has stepped, not moving back forward or any more back. After a moment of hard staring, almost as though he is contesting will with the other man, he lowers his head just a tad, breaking off his gaze and redirecting it. "Forgive me, Lord," he says, voice once again quiet, yet not at all repentant. "I deem myself well... but they say quite the opposite, and that broken ribs heal slowly." Looking back to his commander, the young man adds, "As for the matter of this man, well, having been kept from my duties so long, I do not deem myself at all in a position to offer advice."

Menion has arrived.

Boromir's teeth grind together in an attempt to not lose his temper. "Surely you are well enough to give orders and advise me at my request."

Analdin looks for a few moments, glancing around quietly, before replying to Boromir. Muttering something beneath his breath, he manages to hold the anger from his voice as he answers, "If you say so, m'lord.." his opinion obviously differing. "I believe, if this man did actually escape from the East, we cannot trust him too far. Perhaps in some task, one which needs a good blade, but that would have plenty of other about... Unless my mistrust is misplaced."

Boromir deigns not to notice how the young man before him struggles to hold his temper. Instead he says, "In this I think you have the right of it. No man was as trusted to my father then Ravenwyr and yet even he did not emerge whole from his time as captive of the Enemy. But still....I place him in your care. But be forewarned.....I hold you responsible for this man's actions."

Analdin stiffens, a protest on the tip of his tongue. Beginning to speak, he takes one look at the Captain-General before him, and it dies unsaid. Blinking once, angrily, but giving no other outward sign of it, he nods, "I will find something he can do." This short statement is followed by a short mutter, after which comes, "And if you wish to place such a responsibility upon me, Lord Boromir, 'tis your choice. I can do naught but as you order in this matter. Let it be known, though, that I would rather not shoulder this."

Menion walks out of the infirmary with a bead of sweat running down his temple. As he emerges into the garrison he lifts his head up high and tips it back. With a loud sucking noise he inhales a lungful of the fresh air. As he exhales he looks about and notices that he has interupted a conversation. With a slight smile he walks up to the two and nonchalantly interupts. "Good day sirs." He makes a slight bow, and hopes not to get pummled for interupting the tense situation.

Boromir curses, "By the Valar Analdin! I care not wether you like an order or not I simply want to see it obeyed! I have given you full charge of this man. If you wish him thrown in chains and into the deepest dungeon you can find it is up to you. Nay....nay...I mean that not. Until he has proven himself false I would not see one of the Mark treated so. But if you wish to give him no duties amoung us then simply send him on his way.

Elidran stops in the doorway and gulps quietly, watching the argument ensue while hanging back and trying very hard not to be noticeable.

Analdin keeps his ground, though seems almost inclined to flinch back. Straightening a bit, he gives a stiff salute, "And obeyed it will be, m'lord," the young man says, voice tightly controlled, face forced into passivity, "Though I will throw now man into a dungeon until he is proven false, as you say. I have done that under orders once... and wish not to repeat the act." Lowering his head slightly, he adds something in a very low voice, his control stressed a bit more apparent than before.

Boromir makes to ask about the muttered words but pauses, almost as if senseing he might push the lad too far. Instead he rounds on Menion, "And you sir! Are you the man who has ordered my officer to remain inside the fortress? Do you think I can spare him from all duties? This venture is not herb gathering in the vales of Lossanarch as it seems you think. I need him to lead the men by word even if he is unable to do so by deed yet."

Menion clears his throat loudly, trying to stop this conflict. With a voice that is manly, for him, "Sirs....have we not enough fights on the borders, can we not keep them there?" As Boromir RAGES, he looks at him, with a step back, he shoots back. "Aye sir, If you would prefer? Then, I could just admit him to the ground after you have your irrational way. What know thee of the healing arts?" A slight pause is here, but not enough for an answer. "Not so much as I, but if you choose to send him, then hear this....I hold YOU, no-one else, responsible for his welbeing!"

Analdin remains rigid as his commander's wrath is turned away from himself, keeping a wary, if slightly angry, eye on him. Drawing in a breath, a tight, amused smile alights on the young officer's face as the healer charges Boromir with almost the same as he has charged his lieutenant. Coughing barely, raising a hand to his mouth to cover it, Analdin watches closely, without interrupting, the new exchange.

Boromir laughs long and loud as the healer contests will with him. "Is that supposed to be a threat to me? Do you not know that I already hold myself responsible for the well being of all men that serve under me at all times? "

As the big man laughs, the face of Menion grows cold. "Aye, thee may hold thy self responsible for their well being, but, how oft do you send them to the grave without need." He waves his hand over at Analdin cassually, "N'er mind sir, it matters not to me. If nothing else, I have oneless soul to look after due to your irrationality."

Boromir spares no further words for the healer, instead he meerly says, "Analdin, the man is in your charge. Do with him as you will. On the morrow I shall speak to you further on this matter when both of us have had a time to control our tempers. Think not that I have misread you in this." Without another word he pushes past the two men and out the door of the fortress.

Analdin glances once to Menion, throwing him a hard glare, though keeps his mouth shut. Giving a short bow, "Tommorow, then, m'lord," he says upon Boromir's departure, watching the Captain-General's back until he has disapeared before visibly relaxing and allowing the frown to touch on his face.

Elidran watches Boromir storm out, and directs a questioning gaze to Analdin, knowing better than to ask what just transpired.

Menion shouts after the departing man...."Fool, think yee that you have the men to kill.....?" As he notices that his words go unheard, he spins on his heal and turns to walk over to sit by himself and mull over what has just transpired.

Analdin draws a sharp breath and slams a fist into his open right hand. Spitting out a curse beneath his breath, he turns to leave, to storm out rather in the fashion of the day, but nigh on runs full into Elidran on his way. Holding in another explitave, he stares at the man before him, dark blue eyes almost as hot as coals.

Menion looks over at the departing figure of the Lieutenant, "FINE, do what you will!" he shouts at the back of the stubborn officer.

Elidran shrinks back before the wrathful gaze of his Lieutenant, and smiles sheepishly at the man.

Analdin turns on his heel, hot eyes staring into the healer almost as hard as the Lord Boromir's. "That I will, with the word of my commander." Breath still coming shortly, like that of a winded stallion, he tosses the shrinking Elidran a hard gaze as well, "Was there something you were looking for, Elidran?" he asks, almost spitting out the words.

Menion shakes his head and sits there in silence.

Elidran shakes his head rapidly, "Nay, sir! I was not looking for you sir, I assure you!"

Nials walks into the camp from the old part of the city. Seeing the Lieutenant and the healer, he makes his way towards the with a merry bounce in his step. He stops when he sees Analdin turn and shout at Menion. Walks up to the group and sits down off to the side with a worried look on his face.

Analdin nods sharply, "Then move, soldier, and let me get to my buisness." About to mutter something beneath his breath, he looks up at the man before him, as though considering something. Shaking his head, however, he turns to Menion, adding quietly to Elidran, though in no less angry a tone, "Belay that... Just find something to do, not stand here idle and listen in on the conversations of your superiors." Finishing his turn, he strides to stand before the healer, "As for you..." trailing off, he shakes his head, looking the man over.

Elidran's face falls at Analdin's rebuke, "I..am sorry sir, I did not mean to evesdrop." he steps out of Analdin's way, his manner somewhat awkward after being chastized.

Menion looks up with nothing but pitty on his face..."Sir?" He says nothing else, instead he waits for the foolish fanatic to finish his statement.

Elidran... Having some fun yelling, and just making sure you know what to expect before walking in. :)'.

A snarl begins to form on the Lieutenant's face, though he stops it before it appears fully. "I would appriciate a release from the infirmary, healer," he says, voice tightly controlled and almost formal. "Though you realize I will leave whether I have permission or not. I would rather go out with it than be accused of insubordination twice in a day."

As the poor, helpless fledgling of a person. "Sir, it seems that what we say here means naught to you, and that what we do is of little importance." Menion shrugs his shoulders at him...."I fear that what I say carries no weight with you because you are to foolishly involved in your own inner war." He looks up at Analdin, and then spits on the ground in disgust. "I shall NOT release you, and if you leave, then I shall report you!"

A hard, heavy step is heard coming down the cobblestone path. A person appears before the camp, his gait determined and resolute in manner. At first you see the marine blue of a sailor's uniform, next you notice a large sword hanging from a sheath on his back, a pair of steel-shod boots, and at last an indifferent expression upon a square chin, piercing eyes, and subtle nose. The man suddenly erupts with greeting as he becomes fully visible throught the doorway. "Hail warriors of Osgiliath!"

Analdin spits a curse at Menion, shaking his head, and glaring. "Report me, then, but make note that I have the Lord Boromir's full permission to be up and about... whether he knows of healing, I care not. He does know, however, the importance of duty and its being fulfilled." With that, he hears the shout of the sailor, and turns on a heal to greet him with a cold stare, "What do you need, man?" he asks, managing to hold his temper a few moments.

Menion stands up and turns towards the infirmary. As he walks through the door he mumbles something about thick skulled officers and disappears.

Nials glances from the angry lieutenant to the newly arrived sailor with a look of hope in his eyes.

The mariner notices the strong feelings and shouts going on; even unto the fire kindled in Analdin's eye. Yet he treats it all as though it was common to the war, and replies steadily in a depricated tone, "Analdin, we have met." He slowly edges forward and continues. "I come with a message from my captain. Is Boromir present?"

Analdin watches Menion disapear, and mutters beneath his breath something in return about healers. Returning his gaze to the sailor, he gives him a nod, though his eyes are still bright and angry as live coals, espicially being sparked at the mention of Boromir. "The Captain-General has retired to an important meeting," he says, voice dripping with something boardering on regret for it. "I can deliver any message into his hands, though, should you wish. Or you may remain here until he reappears."

The sailor makes an appropriate nod, and replies with due exasperation. "I shall wait then." After looking the dark room over, from stone roof to floor, he marches to Analdin -- observing his fury as if studied it under a glass. He stares at remorsefully at Analdin's fit and remarks in subtle pity, "Analdin, why, praytell, are you so angry?"

Analdin shoots a glare at Serin, shaking his head, "No buisness of yours, Serin." He says shortly, motioning in the general direction of one of the meeting rooms, "Lord Boromir is in there, if you wish to wait, I suggest you make yourself comfortable..." Trailing off, he adds something beneath his breath to the effect of, "He'd best be in there some long time."

Nials glances at the approaching women, then notices the white lock at her brow, his eyes squint in concentration, the casualy glances back to the argument going on between the lieutenant and the sailor. "Good sir, it seems that our angry lieutenant is upset over the standing order that he isn't to leave the infirmary due to his recently recieved wounds," he say, then realizing that he may have overstepped his bounds he glances nervously at Analdin

Aiesha makes her way towards the infirmary, her cloak hugged close to her, as it is a bit cold outside. She pauses a moment, to warm herself up, when she notices several others in the area arguing.

Serin absorbs Analdin's glare as if it were a compliment-- returning it to him in a similar manner, though not quite with fury. Just as Serin is about to say something rash for Analdin's curtness, Nials' voice rings out in his ears. Serin's eyes seem to be clear from all grudge and pretense, and he relinquishes his glare to a smile. A very unique smile it is; not gawky or mawkish, but very genuine and warming. "I see."

Aiesha smiles at all those present, her gaze resting on Analdin. "It seems they've decided to let you out of your restraints, my friend," she laughs.

Analdin tosses Nials a dangerous glare, one that seems to be aimed at everyone today. Voice low, though able to be heard throughout the room, he says, "Were I you, good sir, I would keep my information to myself." His tone is flat, and hard, as he turns back to Serin. His face is just the opposite of the sailor's, though no extra color has entered his cheeks with rage, his bright blue eyes twinkle dangerously. At Aiesha's smile as well, the Lieutenant blows it, "Can a man not be left alone, I ask, to preform his duty as he will without the interferance of those who know no better than he about his health??"

Aiesha blinks, wondering what she could have done this time. She glances at the faces of those around her, her brown eyes showing confusion and not a little curiousity. She bites her lower lip for a few moments, deciding whether or not she should say anything.

Nials stands in anger at Analdin remark, "Have you no care that these people have mayhaps come to see that you are well given your recent injury." Nials spits the words at the lt. "If all you care for is solitude then maybe you should have stayed and died on the battlefield." With an offend look in his eyes, Nials storms over to a broken section of the wall and plops down beside it.

The sailor pauses, considering Analdin's words with cunning regard. A grinding sound of dirt and metal emanates as Serin twists his boot into the ground, stirring up trouble on the floor. He looks on at Analdin, without sympathy or subtlety, and thunders in his rich voice:
        "I do not suppose anyone has the right to your business Analdin. So much less even do they have right to restrain you from leaving." He now looks heavily into his friends mordant eyes, rhetorical in his tone, "But pray, oh Analdin, I ask you in truth. Who has more wisdom of things, a swordmaker or a warrior? For amid a battle one says it is the warrior, yet when the steel be broken, niether lord nor warrior will hold such claims. Likewise, who shall hold such claim to our bodies, The healer or the wounded?"

Serin says, "Does it satisfy you to know the answer?"

Analdin spares Nials barely a glance, only glaring at him, and mumbling loud enough to be heard, "If you choose to wish me dead... so be it. But I am well, and have no need to be in the informary, and would very much appriciate you leaving my buisness alone." Moving his head, turning back to Serin, he swollows once... "I am a swordmaker, Serin. And proud of my swords. But 'tis not my point... I have been injured three weeks ago now, and am quite well enough to be about my duty, whether a healer says so or not. I have my commander's permission to be up and about, and my own duty to preform, as well as orders to follow which I could not do from a bed."

Aiesha watches all this, and timidly adds her own. "Even though I probably shouldn't say anything..." She falters, pauses then falls silent, her courage fleeing her like a mouse before a hungry cat.

Serin walks back toward the fortification wall, and leans upon it heavily. He slowly pulls out his sword from his sheath, gazes at it with unwavering interest, and hastily drives it back in its place. He remains silent for a few seconds, before falling his stare back upon Analdin.

Nials allows his anger to subside, and looks up with a twinkle in his eye. Looks to the women with mysterious white lock on her brow, stands and walks over to where she is sitting. Kneels and takes her hand in his and kisses it, "Good day my Lady." he says with reverence. "I am Nials, a simple man and vagabond." He looks into her eyes and smiles, "Might I have the pleasure of your name?" he asked earnestly. Glances at Analdin, "There is no need for certain people's temper to make the whole day a bad one."

Analdin watches from under half-shut eyelids, dark blue of a raging sea peering out. Keeping his eye on Serin's moves, he places his own hand on the hilt of his sword, keeping it carefully there for a few moments. "What is it you want of me, Serin?" he asks, voice low, "Do you have a point, r are you simply trying to make my day more of a downward spiral than it has been already?"

Aiesha looks at Nials, a wide grin speading across her face. "I am called Aiesha, my frind," she giggles, "..wanderer, apprentice healer and annoyer of the merchant, Arax." She laughs, her glance going to Analdin occasionally.

Elidran glances at Aiesha, grinning as the cheerful nurse giggles.

Nials smiles at the giggling nurse, "Tell me of your friend Arax the Merchant," he says with a twinkle in his eye, "and what do you do to make his life, shall we say, more fun?" Nials looks about for a comfortable spot and then sits next to Aiesha.

The sailor now seems more subdued in manner. Even as Analdin bursts into another fit of rage, he carelessly regards him. In that moment, Serin draws once again his sword and holds it aloft; as if stretching his arms for some unknown reason. He narrows his stare straightaway upon Analdin, and smiles almost defiantly as he placidly replies, "Believe you truly that I would have come here, many leagues afar, on a errand to confound your mirth? 'Tis a bitter jest, best in story not in life. Your wrath deceives you my friend. I am here neither in service of malice, nor to malign. Your judgement might teach you better of -that-. Keep yoru fury Analdin, for I have never earned it, despite the haze that surrounds you. But if truly my words are but a poison from my lips, then I forswear them all and beg your mercy."

Aiesha grins at Elidran, then back at Nials, her face merry and cheerful. Her brown eyes twinkle with mischief. "Arax is a bit, well...." She twirls her index finger in circles near her head to make her point, then laughs. "He hired me, didn't he??" She smiles brightly. "My job is to basically follow him around..and make his job a bit more difficult!" She tries to conceal a smirk at some of her private thoughts.

Serin pulls a large silven blade from his sheath. The sword rings out in the stillness of the air as it sparkles in the light. Serin holds it high aloft with both hands and wields it in cold defiance.

Analdin takes a few deep breaths, his hand resting on his sword hilt. Somehow regaining his calm, though his breathing remains heavy. Shaking his head, once, he looks back to the sailor. "I only wish to have greeted you in better spirits, Serin. You caught be at a very bad" this he stresses "moment. Forgive my wrath, if you will," though his anger is still obviously evident, he seems to have rememberied its direction, "and allow me to attend my duties." With that, he pushes his way out the door, eyes on the ground, as though trying to burn it as he departs.