Sitting next to the bed where Malahir rests is Juthilon, the scrappy scretcher barrier that rescued him from the streets of Pelargir. He holds a cup in his hand, busying himself by sipping the contents

Analdin ducks inside the healer's tent, eyes darting about as he does so. The white of his bandages reflect brightly from the small lights within the tent, rather causing him to stand out as he steps inside. Stride long, purposefull, and rather too fast, he makes his way towards one of the beds, and quietly sets himself down in it, glancing once more furtively about as if to make sure no one has noticed his entrance.

Kerowyn steps into the quiet warmth of the Healer's tent, her eyes automatically scanning the men laid out in cots, and the women and compatriots who sit quietly beside them. It is towards Jythilor that she goes, with the hushed whispering of skirts. She lays a hand upon the man's shoulder, offering him another of her trademark warm smiles, "Sir, how does he fare?"

Kylier walks in, the smell of the place almost drives him back out, as do the moans of those fallen. But he only looks at the men in the cots as he goes to one of his Eored and kneels by the cot and speaks softly to him, grasping his hand as he does. As the words are spoken he stands and sees the one that has fallen by his side, a Gondorian. He goes to his side as if he knew the man well and kneels beside the man.

Juthilor, startled at the touch on his shoulders, suddenly stands up and wheels on the lady healess. He searches her face for recognition, "Are you the lady that saved his life?"

Kerowyn shakes her head, "Sir, I am not. T'was the Lady herself who came to your captain's aide that night."

Analdin, sitting quietly on the side of a bed perhaps ment for his wounded self, looks quietly, perhaps all too quietly, at Malahir, the soldier in the bed next to him. Across from the Healess and the stretcher bearer, he glances worriedly up at the two of them and back down at the Guard.

Juthilor nods and considers the eyes of the visitor. "Aye, she spoke of a lady too. Who is it that you speak of, this lady?"

Kerowyn shakes her head, "Oh, sir, the lady I speak of is the Lady Aelspeth, Master over all of us who serve the Lady as she does, the Lady of Healing, that would be. She who first gathered together herb and stitch to care for the wounded men of her Lord." Her voice is matter of fact, soft, but hardly reverent.

Malahir stirs, kicking at his bed covers, revealing his bandaged midsection. The blood stained linen wrap that holds the wound that bested him is somewhere underneath the layers. On his brow, beads of sweat roll down into his eyes, causing them to blink rapidly.

Kylier looks at the sleeping man and speaks softly to him "I tried to help, yet our foe went after ye, father Seriden, would not have been pleased of my actions. Live young man, for it means much to me. Ye are brave and a good fighter. I know ye sleep now, but let me say a Rohir prayer now...Helm, tis a good man, if ye can find it in ye grace, spare his life, for truth lies in his heart and foe he fights. Now find it in ye strength to to help one that does good." He bows his head softly.

Juthilon nods as the story of the master healess is told, but the stirring of the wounded soldier carries his attention to the bedside, standing at the foot of the bed, watching the event with reverent curiousity.

Analdin's solemn eyes remain gently on the Guard, for the most part ignoring Kerowyn and the stretcher-bearer's conversation. As Malahir stirs, his own hand strays gently to the clean, white bandages that cover his shoulder. Noticing Kylier, he gives him a peculiar look, yet says nothing, as though it were not within his power to speak.

Malahir's eyes suddenly open, his jaw is clenched tight. Like he was taking his first gulp of air after a long dive under the water, he gasps. Like a drowning man, he grasps the man's forearm near him, the man with a bowed headm holding onto it for dear life.

Kerowyn's attention as well is drawn to the man on the cot beside her as he stirs in his sleep, a slight frown creasing her brow. She wastes no time in kneeling beside him, laying both gentle hands upon his shoulders to still any motion he may attempt to make. "Sir," She speaks, looking up wards at Juthilor. "he knows you well, do speak, and aid me here, for he should not be allowed to move."

Kylier feels the grasp about his forearm, a grimace comes to his face as the grab is about his own wound. Though in pain he does not move "sir, ye awqaken." He looks up at Kerowyn, almost pleading to help him, yet he does not move.

At Malahir's even more sudden movements, Analdin's gaze snaps up from the wounded man to Kerowyn, "M'lady, is there anything I can do?" Through obvious attempts to hide it, a slight quiver comes out in his voice, and the worried look in his darkened and rest-deprived eyes emerges.

Juthilor leaps into action, like any combat healer can do. Practically running down the rohir kneeling beside the man, he steadies Malahir with the pressure of his hands, speaking in hushed relaxed tones, "Peace my friend, peace"

Kerowyn rises, nodding absently as Juthilor's practiced skill takes over. Quietly, she whispers a word or two to one of the apprentices drawn by the suddon comotion. The girl nods, scurrying off to do the elder healer's bidding, and allowing Kerowyn to move to teh cot behind Kylier, to Analdin, "Aye sir, there is aught you can do. You can rest, as you should have done these past days." commanding, is that still soft voice, and one eyebrow arches upwards as she speaks, regarding thre all too well made and unslept in cot.

You can feel that Malahir's tense awakening has abated some, his panting slowing down to deep, raged breaths. His eyes search the faces above and to the side of him, a lost expression overcoming his face as he attempts to speak.

Sanos, still fully awake and aware, looks over at his wounded comrades and looks them over with sorrow, as he sighs and lays back down, not saying a word.

Analdin shakes his head gently, though a hint of wounded pride shows through his attempts at a simple negative, "I cannot rest, even should I try, with my men as wounded as Malahir... Is there nothing I can do to help him?" His eyes, surrounded by marks of fatigue from wounds and too little sleep though they be, looks pleadingly at the healess.

Kylier watches as the grasp about his arm receides. He looks up supprised, even pleading to those about. A small trickle of blood begins to form again on his arm as the fresh stitches are pulled loose." His eyes settel on the healer before finding Kerowyn's, confusion spreads across his face "I...I...only ment to ..By Helm." His vice trickles off as he stands and looks at the man. The pain shown in is eyes are not of his own, but his feeling for the man laying on the cot.

Sanos looks back up with a sence of readyness. Addresing his attention to Analdin, he replies in a soft voice looking back down to Malahir. "Sir, I am only partialy at unease, and will be more than able to help these least unfortunate if you commend that."

Kerowyn sighs softly, glancing first down at Analdin, and then at Kylier, her own eyes dark and unreadable, though rimmed with dark circles of weariness, "Sir, you do your men no aid if you are not well enough to lead them, truly. Heed the words of your man, here," She gestures towards Sanos, granting him the barest briefest of smiles, before her gaze finds Kylier's blood stained bandaged. "Oh." is her only comment as she takes the arm in her hands , tearing at the bandaged with a practiced sort of viciousness.

Juth relaxed his own grip on the man, turning his attention to the man below him, "I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to bump into you like that." He offers a hand to help him up.

Galain enters the healer's tent his normal grin on his face he has no visible bandages or wounds, he looks about the tent and moves to a corner and letting his eyes adjust.

Analdin's attention is drawn to the side, where Sanos crept up on him. His eyes, pleading look replaced for a few moments with raw determination, go once more to the wounded man before him. "Perhaps what you say is best," he sighs, leaning back just slightly. "But rest will not come, not with the pained cries of my soldiers assulting my ears." Shaking his head once more, he adds, "Perhaps there is aught I can do 'til rest catches up with me?"

Kylier jerks his arm from Kerowyn, he takes a step back, falling over the empty cot behind him. With a loud thump and legs in the air he scrambles to his feet quickly as his eyes scan those before him "I swear, I hand only to pray for a man that fought bravely."

Sanos looks on to Kerowyn with a stern stare than a smile emrges from his mouth. "I will happily help my fellow Guards Men, and all of the wounded folk here." After the small words, Sanos views the wounded and just looks at each with a pale face. "I will just like to have some word with the wounded if they are well enough, Sir."

Malahir breaths get spaced farther and farther apart, and his half closed eyes begin to reveal more of the energy inside the brown iris'. He looks down to where his hand was griping, and spots the triping man. He attempts a smile, but only winces instead.."you sir, please. Don't make me laugh"

Kerowyn sighs softly, giving no notice to the stern look she recieves in this, her own place, moving instead to settle on the edge of the cot Kylier has so conveniently tumbled into, taking once again the wounded arm in her gentle hands. "Sir, you've had the stitching torn, please, be still, so I might look to it properly." Her gaze drifts up to Analdin, briefly, and she nods, "Very well then, perhaps you could fetch me some clean linens, and water so that I might tend this properly?"

Analdin nods, a touch of a smile lighting his face breifly. Standing, he walks slowly to one side of the tent, picking up an empty container. Using his right arm, however bandaged it is, he carries it over to a bucket of water, and fills it up quite to the top before carting it, even more slowly and gently, back to the bedside. He pauses, spends a few minutes staring down at the finally awakened face of Malahir, before moving off again.

Kylier sits on the next cot in line, his eyes rivited as he flips back his cloak, revealing a broach of silver denoteing his house. His eyes search out Kerowyns intently as he slowely shakes his head "I..I only wanted to pay homage to a great fighter. I swear Kerowyn, perhaps I should go, to let ye tend to those that need" his eyes glance at the man, now two cots away "ye help more than I" Though shaken, his voice remains fairly firm.

Juthilor stands back, adroitfully avoiding getting pulled over with the man falling over the cot. He stumbles into a nightstand by the head of Malahir's bed, knocking of an item. He bends to pick it up, and come up with a something made of silver.

Kerowyn sighs softly once more, and shakes her head, "T'was not your words sir, simply," she pauses, frowning at the re-opened gash a moment before reaching for the freshly brought water and linens, "that you were there, and something to be held. Surely, you have been in such a place before, and unknowing as he?" She nods, perhaps in answer to her own question, or in affirmation. "And there are others to tend them, sir, now. Be still."

Malahir clutches his the side of his neck where another large gash is bandaged, as if he just realized there is a pain there as well. The action around him causes him to close his eyes, attempting to stay valiant through the pain. however, the tiny ping of an metal item dropping catches his attention and he looks over to see what has just fallen.

Turning to see his Lieutenant enter the tent, Torelin nods and gazes at Malahir. If he is concerned at the state of a fellow guard his eyes do not reveal such. He remains in the background and tries to be as inconspicuous

Kylier continues to stare at the man laying on the cot, confusion comes to him as he shakes his head "Nay, I am fine, tend to the young warrior, for he needs it more than I." He gbigins to stand, and then notices the silver broach knocked off the table. He pauses and shakes his head "Tis my fathers banner!" He speaks, hand pointed at the broach picked up by the stranger.

Galain still stands at a corner of the tent well away from the others. He watches as the injured, at least some are tended too. He sighs slightly and looks about finally taking a seat on an empty cot.

Analdin returns from a corner, a small bunch of linens and bandages in his hands, and a worried look again on his face. Glancing around, the sound of small metal contacting the floor, he holds the bandages out to Kerowyn, "Are these what you wanted, m'lady?" Keeping his gaze rather away from Kylier at his exclamation, the lieutenant only looks once more to Malahir.

Juthilon holds the silver item in his hand, turning it about. Looking to the wounded man beside him he asks, "Is this yours sir? It was lying on the nightstand here...", trailing off, as if he is uncomfortable being in the crowded healer's tent.

Kylier shakes his head "nay tis not his, it musht have been stolen from my family"

Malahir spies the object held in the hands of the scrappy looking field healer and attempts to reach for it. A loud cry is issued forth as he clutches his side and rolls back to his prone postion.

Obviously unused to a healer's tent, Torelin sees Galain sitting and quietly takes a seat beside him. He looks over to the sailor and whispers, "I heard that Corsairs attacked. How fairs Malahir?"

Kerowyn nods at Analdin, offering him a slight smile as the linens are taken, and used to bind Kylier's arm, quite tightly, it would seem, from the concentration on her face. she nods absently to him, rising, "I would not see you in need of care sir. Selfish though it may make me, I will not." Her voice is firm, though her attention is turned now to Malahir.

Galain shrugs "I fear that I know not. I heard of the attack but myself, I ywas not there. I came here to see if anyone needed to be tended to but it seems there is already a healer here and I know not what to do. It has been some time since I last a saw a sailor, nor have I had time enough to return to the ship. I belive ye would know more about the past happenings than I." he chuckles softly as if there were an unknown humor in his words.

Juthilon looks around nervously, and mentions the the heads turned his way, "I promise, I didn't steal it. I'm innocent I tell you. Here, I give it back to the nightstand", and he places the broach of a silver ship back here it layed before he stumbled upon it.

Analdin, stepping out of Kerowyn's way, makes his own way to stand next to Kylier. Glancing down at the silver object recently layed back on the on the ground, he looks over to the Rohir he stands beside, "You recognise it?" he asks quietly, his voice almost measuredly neutral, though his gaze flickers to Malahir.

Kylier glares at the silver pendent in the mans hands. He lets the arm be bandagaed before he grasps for it. for those that look closesly it can be seen that is is a small image of the clasp about his claok. "tis my Famlies sign, where this, once thought of noble fighter come of it, I know not. But I claim it for my own."He looks at analdin and shows him a larger image that keeps his cloak closed. "surrly this man has stollen it. I demand justice.

Malahir shakes his head, clenching the sheets around him. Sweat rolls down his forehead as he attempts to speak, "Lord Kylier, that *is* mine. I demand you give it back to me"

Torelin shakes his head at Galain and places his hand on his medallion. He speaks in a low tone but he also watches intently the scene unfolding before him, "I have just arrived after hearing news of the attack. I fear that another may be hurt but I have not seen her. It is good to see Malahir alive, though. I would have been a sad day to lose a fine sold..." He stops as Kylier's agitation grows. He reaches for his axe but then, remembering he had left it at his uncle's, clenches his fists instead.

Analdin shakes his head, brows kniting together. "Hold, friend..." he says quietly at Kylier's justice-demanding tone, "Can you not at least allow a wounded man to heal before accusing him of crimes? Perhaps when he awakens more fully..." trailing off, his worried glance at Malahir turns even more so. "Malahir.." he begins, but trails off once more, shaking his head slowly.

Kerowyn pauses at Malahir's bedside, to look back to Kylier and Analdin, her haggard, overused voice rising a bit as she speaks, affixing Kylier with a look. "Sir, if you seek such a thing, now is not the moment. Please, let it lie, I will not have my patients accosted while in my care." Her voice is hard, despite its hoarseness, lacking in the carefree brightness it ever holds, especially for this man. She turns, and looks down at Malahir. "Rest, and quiet sir. Do not strain yourself overmuch, I beseach you."

Galain just nods at Torelin's words as his own hands slides down to the peaceknot on his sword. He watches curiously at what is unfolding.

Kylier looks at Kerowyn first then to Analdin. His look is stern as he reaches over his shoulder wiht his right hand and grasps his shield. It is thrown down on the ground beteeen them. The emblem that he now holds, and the one that closes his cloak, and the one that adorains his shield are one of the same. He looks up from the shield "I shall hold, but ye can see, tis my famlies sign that I have carried for as long as I was born. Doubt me not." His finger points to the shield emblem.

The words of the healess soothes Malahir, recognition as to who the lady is that tends him so gently. "Aye m'lady. My side pains me. I cannot move to defend myself against him. Please help me rise."

Analdin gives Kylier a slow nod, "I doubted not that 'twas your family's sign, friend," he pauses a while, the long pause accompanied by a thoughtful glance toward the ceiling of the tent and another down at Malahir. "Was this particular working, then," he nods to the brooch in dispute, "misplaced or missing at some point?" Question asked, his head turns quickly at Malahir's request, and he casts Kerowyn a careful look as the wounded Guardsman asks her assistance.

Kerowyn sighs softly, her voice once more soft, though hoarse and lacking its usual warmth, "I shall not sir. You shall rest. Perhaps when you have recovered, you may do so, but not before." Steely edged that voice is, holding the command she is used to giving by both station and heritage.

Malahir pleads with the healess, fleetingly looking past her to catch the attention of his lieutenant, "Lady Kerowyn, please help me up, or I shall have to try on my...", wincing the ending

Torelin seems to want to rise as Malahir begs to be upright. It seems to take all his will not to push all aside and help him up.

Kylier listens to Keroyns words and nods, before looking at Analdin. "I shaoll let the man heal before he needs to answer to the crimes of theft. No if ye shall, I shall leave here, for one I had held in honor, now seems to be of of theif. I know not of any missing, but alas my father Seridan nor I speak well. But sir, you can see tis of my own family, yes?"

Galain rests a hand on Torelin's shoulder and shakes his head lightly "There shall be no fighting in this tent, this is a place to recover not injure. I shall see to that." Then adding more softly "It tis a crime to draw a weapon in anger, they should know that and I doubt either care to fight."

Analdin seems about to open his mouth in reply to Malahir's request, though closes it, trusting in Kerowyn's ability to keep the man down and off his feet. He shakes his head warningly at Malahir, giving his a hard look to accompany it. Turning back to Kylier, he looks it over once more, "Aye, I can tell 'tis of your own family... but having heard my aide's tale of how he came about it," another glance to Malahir, this one almost apoligetic, "I can tell you that, according to his words, 'twas not stolen by him."

Shakes her head, "I will not, nor shall you do so sir. I and my Lady have not toiled over thee these past days to have you rise and ruin our workings in a moment of error and anger." She settles herself at malahir's side, gentle touches upon his houlder backing up her words.

Torelin remains seated and nods to Galain's words. His fist however stays clenched.

Kylier turns to look at Analdinm, friend he knows "Oh, and how would of Gondor come to hold something so dear to me, and my family, but to steal?" His eyebrows raise as if he has cought Analdin is a trap.

The sun sinks slowly behind the majestic Ered Nimrais, casting the plains of fair Lebennin into darkness.

Analdin returns Kylier's challanging gaze, his eyes remaining rather light to match the calmness on his face, "Ask Malahir of his tale, sir, for 'tis not mine to tell. But," he adds almost warningly, "I know this man to be honest. There may very well be another way for a Gondorian to come about it... did your father, and yourself, perhaps, never travel through our lands?"

Malahir struggles under the pressure of a lady, assisted by the hands of Juthilor. He resigns to keeping down, grunting like an angry croaker fish. "Have it your way, but I demand my mother's broach be returned in my position at once"

Kylier stares at Analdin, then looking at the man laying on the cot. He watches him as the sudden impact of the mans words strike him. In almost anger, yet tempered "Mother's? Mother's? I think not, tis my familes sign." He shakes his head, yet some of the color drains from his face before he chuckles "Rest well before ye can answer to the charges of theft." He turns to head out of the tent, the fallen cot catches his feet, as does the down shield.

Analdin holds out a hand, his quick if somewhat limping strides catching him up with Kylier before he falls, and helps steady the man. "Think on it, my friend... be not so quick to accuse the man, think on what he has said." With that, he steps back, bandaged arms folded across a relatively unhurt chest, looking like a stern schoolmaster.

Kylier feels the strong arms of his friend. His eyes meet his friend's before looking at Kerowyn, almost pleading at her.

Malahir lies still, looking for the healess for support. "Lady Kerowyn, we spoke in Rohan, breifly I know, but do you think I could have done such act to your husband?"

Dark, grey eyes, and a stern look are all that Kylier receives from the healer lass, rimmed in the dark circles of weariness. She turns to Malahir, and blinks, "Sir, I know not what to think, save that this place is not suitable for such accusations, nor this time. If you will, please, speak of where you came by the symbol, for I would know, if the Aethelwigend willnot."

Analdin meets Kylier's gaze with his own, his eyes seeming to have gained strength from defending his friend against the accusations of another friend. A hint of a simle gently touches his face as Kerowyn asks Malahir of his tale. He remains not too far from Kylier, a tired and weary look briefly touching his features.

Malahir reaches for the hands of the lady that speaks so fairly to him. He graps her hand in his, "Lady Kerowyn. I did not have my Mother's broach at the time I was on tour of duty in Rohan. She gave it to me long ago, and told me never to reveal it. However, after she took ill this winter, I decided it was best to honor her by wearing it.

Malahir shakes his head somberly, wincing as he moves his free hand up to his bandaged neck, "Gwenneth would not have wanted me too wear it in public. I was wrong to bring it out of the estate."

Kylier watches Kerowyn, listening to her words before he turns back at the man. With restraint he looks and speaks "Tell me then, where do ye come by my fathers sign?" He sruggs before Analdin and listens to the mans tale, almost quickly to disbleave it. After hearing the small story he turns to look at the two that he holds dear "See, such a weak story, yes, hide it...Hrmmm if a thief, that is what I would have done!" He turns back to look at the man on the cot...Then hearing the name Gwenneth, more of his color drains from his face. He blurts out "Tis my fathers favorite horse.

Kerowyn blinks, "Gwenneth, that is your mother's name sir?" Her voice has lost some of the rough hoarseness of before, perhaps due to the softness with which she speaks, allowing her hands to remain clasped in the wounded man's own, giving her attention to him fully.

Analdin's eyes grow brighter at Kylier's loss of color, not a gloating brightness, but one of cheerfulness that comes about when two people start to believe each other. Remaining silent, however, for his part, the lieutenant simply stands by and listens to the story unfolds.

Malahir eyes begins to glaze over, a tear beginning its fall down his ashen cheek. His grasp of the lady's hand grows stronger, and he speaks to her, "Gwenneth is my mother. She grew sicker as the winter got colder. Upon my return to Gondor, I spoke with her at her bedside. She mentioned something about the silver ship. And reminded my not to show my father. You see, the company I'm in is called the silver ship, and I thought it fitting to honor her this way. How would I have known it was cause me such trouble, till I saw the etching on the back."

Analdin, silent as anything, nods quietly at Malahir's speach of his company. Other than that, however, he remains almost absolutly still, except for the occasional step to keep his wounds from bothering him, and listens to the tale.

Kylier turns over the small silver emblem and looks at it. There in plain etching is his faters words that match his own on his cloak. He drops the silver clasp that was held in his hand, startled He makes to leave the tent without a word. Now all color have left him.

Kerowyn's gaze from Malahir up to Kylier and back, a deep frown creasing her brow inconcern as the latter makes to leave the tent. And yet she speaks not, neither to this man beside her, nor Kylier himself.

Malahir shakes his head, obvlious to pain he can cause with his words. His brown eyes bore deep into Kerowyn's, "Recently, I've discovered that the emblem of the raised hand is foreign to Gondor. And I've searched for the meaning of it, driving myself crazy about it, and the words scribbled in foriegn tongue below. The only thing I could remember, is that you and Kylier wear similar silver broaches", watching the concerned healess with his own concernation, "I'm so terribly sorry lady Kerowyn. Will he ever forgive me?"

As Kylier exits the tent, Analdin slowly makes his way to Malahir's bedside, and places a hand on the wounded man's shoulder, "Rest, my friend..." he says quietly, "The sooner you heal, the sooner all shall be resolved. Forgive me for leaving you, but there is buisness I must take care of." With that, and a slow nod of farewell to Kerowyn, he strides towards the tent flaps himself. Motioning to Torelin to follow him on the way, he steps slowly out into the moonlit night.

Kerowyn nods. "I shall speak with him, later, sir. You've my word." She rises, with another soft slight smile, "And...I would have alook at those words, if you will allow it? Though now, rest is in order, I believe."

Malahir releases his firm grip of the soft rohirian hand, "Aye m'lady", nodding slowly toward Analdin, "I will see you both in better shape tomorrow"

Leaving as silently as he came in, Torelin exits the tent. He looks back to check on Malahir and looks as if to say something, but instead he shakes his head and walks through the flaps of the tent.

(Editor/Logger's note:  At this point, Torelin and I (Analdin) left the healers' tent to conduct some buisness.)

Analdin steps quietly past the activity around the fairgrounds, and into the Minas Tirith Pavillion, his shoulders on the verge of a slouch, perhaps from tiredness, perhaps from the wounds covered by bandages.

(Another note: Here we enter the Minas Tirith Pavillion.)

Analdin walks quietly to the back of the tent, his limp becoming more noticeable the more he walks. Finally reaching the chair in the corner of the pavillion he has called his own, he waves Torelin into another seat, "How goes it, Torelin?" he asks, rummaging for something beneath the small "desk" in the corner.

Muttering to himself seems to have preoccupied Torelin's mind as he enters the Minas Tirith pavilion. He looks up to see Analdin speaking to him and salutes as he has seen other guards do, though his motions are alittle awkward. He sits and looks at his commander with tired eyes.

Giving the younger man an approving nod at his salute, the Lieutenant yet raises an brow at the unanswered question. Ignoring it, however, he favors Torelin with a tired smile, "You appear tired, Torelin... what is it that causes your fatigue?"

Torelin frowns as he seems to have not heard Analdin's previous question. "Tired? Yes, sir. I heard about the attack here and I ran from my uncle's to help but I came too late." He stutters quietly, "Will...will he...I mean Malahir..be alright?"

Analdin shrugs, wincing as his bandaged shoulders move. "I believe he will survive, yes, though his pride... 'tis a different matter." Stifling a yawn and another wince, the lieutenant gazes tiredly at Torelin, "I am glad you thought to run to our aide, but the battle was short, yet all too deadly. I lost a few very good men down there..." trailing off, he shakes his head slowly, "It was other buisness I wish to speak with you about, however."

Though his eyes show fatigue his body remains alert and he rises in his chair at the word "business". He waits patiently for Analdin to speak, unfolding his cloak as he does. "Have I done something wrong?" he questions impertantly.

With another shake of his head, Analdin places both hands on the arms of his chair, as if to stand, though he makes no move to rise, "No, nothing wrong. Rather right, however..." A hint of a smile touches his face, and he remains mysteriously silent for a few moments, "Come here, will you? My shoulder will not allow me to lift anything..."

Torelin moves toward Analdin, his eyes are questioning and his brow moves lower at what awaits him.

Analdin motions with one arm under the desk, his hand pointing at a pile of armor, "This is yours, my friend... A Guard is given equiptment when he is deemed ready to use it properly. And, well, to keep a long lecture on duty short, you have proven yourself." Chuckling tiredly, he adds, "I would hand it to you myself, but..." he motions to his shoulder.

Torelin cannot avoid the smile that appears on his face. For a brief moment his attempts to be grown-up leave him and he looks at the equipment like he has never seen anything so precious. Leaning down to inspect it he whistles. "Like my father once had, long ago. He kept it around even though it was well past it's usefullness. May I put it on?"

Analdin nods slowly, "If you so wish... it might need some cleaning, but I am certain you can take care of that." he favors the lad with a smile, "Just be sure you remember that this equipment could be the factor between life and death in battle... Keep it well tended."

Torelin straps on the armor and looks over his shield. "I will take very good care, sir. My father taught me when my mother was not around." Realising then that he had let down his wall Torelin holstered his smile and flushed slightly. "It will serve me fine, sir."

Analdin laughs lightly, nodding once, "Glad you approve of it," he says, his voice quiet and almost pained. "I have a weapon for you also..." he pulls this one out himself, a standard and average Guardsman's axe. "For training, my friend." he adds, his eyes sparkling with unspoken secret.
 
Torelin takes the axe from his commander and twirls it in his hands once to see the balance. "If only I had had this axe at the single combat I may have faired better. The one I used was far too light." He concentrates on the axes metal blade and looks indignant, "You think I will need training?"

Analdin nods, "I am certain you will need training... Almost everyone does, no matter how good they are with their weapon when they enter the Guard." Stifling a yawn, Analdin adds, voice quieting a bit, "Though I probably cannot train you myself, especially in my state, there is someone around who can."

Torelin raises his eyebrows questioningly and swings the axe slowly, lost in some inner thought. "Who might that be?" he asks with a slight tone of petulance.

Analdin shrugs once more, hiding a wince of pain as he does so, "Of that I am not sure at the moment, Torelin. I shall let you know soon enough, however.. For the time being, though, I believe I must finally succumb to the healers' commands and get some rest."

Torelin lies the weapon at his side and looks to Analdin. "May you heal quickly, sir," Torelin offers, already walking to the edge of the tent. "I shall go find a quiet spot to swing this around some, and get used to its feel."

Analdin nods quietly, already begining to stand, and slowly makes his way towards the tent flaps as well.