(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 54 - Brothers

*Note - Thanks to Ori for this log*

Real time is: Jan 16, 2001 Elendor time is: Late Night (0200) on Sunday, 28 April 3022. In the snowy Spring sky, The full moon drifts among the firmament like an iridescent ship.

North Port Here is a small stretch of gravelly shingle-beach at the foot of a great stone crag, one of Thror\'s Twins that guard the gates of the Celduin, which rushes by to join the deeper waters of the lake. A small group of buildings and dockworks are built along the shore, usually quiet. Because the river becomes too shallow to navigate a few miles north, here many goods bound for Dale or Erebor or beyond are offloaded and transfered to caravans--and vice versa, from caravans into sturdy knorrs or rafts going the other way. Although the docks handle trade, they were also built to acommodate the ships of Esgaroth in times of war, when the weakfolk needs be sent to Dale or into the Mountain for safety. Besides the actual wharves and utility outbuildings, there are a few small warehouses, the dockmasters place, and an inn, the Twin\'s Toe, built up against the crag itself. There is also a raft service here that will taxi those who wish to go across the rivers mouth to the road on the east side.

[Faengor] Tonight, the full moon stands high in the cloudless sky like an omen of doom, casting it\'s omnious light about the camp of the fellowship. Silence seems to prevail tonight, not even the sinister sounds that the night brings with him are present and the camp is in deep rest. Yet, between the pavillions and tents of the fellowship, a small yet cozy fire burns and before it, Faengor Nimothan is seated, gazing at the moon with pensive eyes and bitter lips. Before him, his sword shimmers in the moonlight, embedded deeply in the dirt under his feet.

[Rowaen] And tis so, in the almost dreaded silence of the night, that another makes his way. Yet the way is rather difficult, for the figure does not move swift... not keeping a steady pace. He rises from one of the tent\'s, presence announced at first by cloth being thrown aside, then a low grunt comes.... Jet-black hair is revealed, a grave young lad clad in clothes of a Blue Squire of the order of the Swan, rises from his tent. Tis Rowaen... younger brother of the lonely soul that sits at the fire. yet his figure is different then common thought of him. For the younger Nimothan still clearly bears the marks of his short-lived capture by acursed. Still his left arm is rendered quite useless, hanging limp alongside his body, also the right leg of the lad seems quite unwilling to move. If t\'was not for a crutch held in the right hand, then Rowaen would not have been on his feet at this hour. For tis almost sad to see him struggle, not to speak the least of what it might cause the young lad himself, for is he naught a member of a proud House? Those of the Nimothan? Strong in will, though frequently stubborn in their ways. Still Rowaen tries his best, moving forward slowly, crutching guiding his every step. Not with ease it goes, that betrayed by the pain-staken expression upon the squire\'s fair complexion. Many is the time he simply has to halt, surpressing an agonizing grunt, eyes closed tight, as if to think away the pain. Perhaps tis of such distraction Rowaen does not notice his brother... only when he is so near to the fire. And what else can he do then but to set himself quietly, even nodding towards Faengor. Though the nod is rather grim, eyes flickering at the glow of the burning fire... Or perhaps tis something else that rises so fiercely within?

At first, Faengor\'s eyes remain turned towards the moon, shimmering, twinkling with love as they gaze at the beauty and for the barest of moments Faengor seems to lose the bitterness that has marked him. Finally then, the Errand-Rider turns his eyes to Rowaen, yet they show no love or affection. Nay, anger and bitterness surges and the elder brother\'s greeting to Rowaen is a broad sneer. \"Why have you come here Brother?\" the Errand Rider immediately begins, \"Why can I not spend a single night under the beauty of the sun without your agonizing presence to torment me?\"

He could be mistaken as a rock, as the lonly dwarf sits by the lake. It is Jormun Hraefanskegg, chirurgeon of clan Bundazanul.. One could wonder what he is doing on a night like this... with eyes glances into the darkness... listening to the soft song of the lake... And yes, a rock he looks like, sitting there, the only revealed by the wind, playing with his raven-black hair and beard and the light of the moon makes his eyes shine back... But filled with sorrow those eyes are... seeking the past like they have lost something. He keeps still, not a word spoken, not a sound comes from his throat as the night tires to comfort him.

\"Very well...\" And Rowaen rises once more, sincere pain being his part, though he seems to care naught. Silent, yet slow, he removes himself from the fire, crutch a steady companion, lightening somewhat of the difficulty the younger Nimothan finds on his path. After ten steps he halts however, almost helpless he gazes round, eyes twinkling mysteriously, for a moment not as solid as are them common. Only brief, cause one blink and once more blue turns cold and steady, calmth returning, before being disturbed again by the agony of another step...

\"And do not return!\" Faengor commands with a savage gesture as Rowaen raises and departs with slow, painfull steps. Fueled by his bitterness and unreasonable anger Faengor scowls at Rowaen as he departs. Rising to his feet the Nimothan calls out, \"You are a failure Rowaen! Never will you attain knighthood! Look at you! You have to walk with a crutch and you had to rely on your peers to save you.\" he sneers and shakes his head, turning his back to Rowaen.

And then.... pride is lost and likely not easy regained. For how unlucky Rowaen seems to find himself, placing crutch not on steady soil, yet on a large stone, causing his fall... Still how much pain it would cause him, not a single stirr comes from the squire, not granting his brother the pleasure of such \'shame\'. Nay... pride and stubborn is he now, almost resembling that of the one near the fire, for he falls flat, right arm quite late to catch the blow. So when he connects with the soil, a agonizing grimace curls around Rowaen\'s lips, eyes shut, a hiss coming from his lips. And for moments he moves not... not a single stirr at all... Was it mere clumsiness? A careless eyes? Or perhaps indeed Faengor is to blame, for his comments towards the person of Rowaen...

Hearing the harsh tones of Faengor, makes Jormun forget whatever he was drifting away into. Quickly he stands up, and without a word he walks to Rowaen\'s side and with careful but strong hands, he helps him to stand... Only looking at Faengor for a short moment, eyes revealing anger, he then goes back, concentrating on Rowaen.

Faengor sighs deeply and hisses between his teeth, \"Fool.\" With aggravated steps he grasps the hilt of his sword and with a heavy tug he pulls the sword out of the dirt, returning the blade to it\'s resting place in his scabbard. Immediately afterwards Faengor turns to Rowaen with heavy steps, yet finds himself bested by the dwarf in speed arriving moments later.

\"Away...\" Tis a calm phrase muttered, Rowaen not looking about, unwilling is he indeed to be titled as a fool and receive help from the one granting him the pleasure in saying so. Nay... all he does is closing his eyes, heavy grasps of breath being taken, the tensioned expression upon his face relaxes... Yet at the one granting him no foul words, only a helping hand, even to him Rowaen does not speak a single word...\"The crutch, if you please...\" so speaks he, eyes still closed.

Still supporting Rowaen, Jormun bends down and get the crutch... with a smile he gives it to Rowaen. Then he turns to Faengor, \"And who are ye, who speaks such words to this Lad?!... \'Fool\'... \'A failure\'... And yet your brother ye say! ... Who are ye then?... A fool?\" The voice of the dwarf is angry and harsh, and the eyes looking at Faengor is filled with temper, \"Is this the way ye treat your brother... Stonelundings?\"

Overwhelmed by Jormun\'s temper, the Errand-Rider shrinks back, taking a couple of steps backwards, grasping the hilt of his sword securely. \"It is how I treat my brother yes ... dwarf.\" Faengor replies after several moments of contemplation, glancing once at Rowaen ere fixing his eyes upon the dwarf and studying him with concentrated eyes as he slowly recomposes himself. \"Yet, as much as I respect the dwarves for their wisdom and craftmanship, who are you that you dare judge me?\" Faengor retorts.

Quite rejective, Rowaen reaches out his free hand, grabbing hold of the crutch, and so reassuming his mocking \'weak\' pose. Like a criple unable to do alot on his own strength. Tis quite clear mentally such injury does more to a young lad then physically. \"Thank you...\" a soft word towards the dwarf, before the younger Nimothan takes another step, away from both dwarf and brother. Is he indeed so dark then, having lost all sharpness in mind and words? For does Rowaen not normally reply his brother in the same manner, thriving him towards a far greater anger? Perhaps t\'was as the Lord Girithlin hat spoken earlier, of lad\'s changing, regretfully not to the better...\"Brother, make not of yourself of how you spoke to me, leave our matter between us and not rebuke another. If you are that eager in seeing me weak and in a downfall, then I sincerely wonder why I still live? For could you not easily end my, in your eyes, pathetic existence here? Why not relieve yourself, -brother-, and use that sword you hold so dear... dearer then your own kin, or so it seems...\" Ah and once more Rowaen proves not fully lifeless and turned inwards, for their sharpness returns to his words! Treating Faengor on bitterness of his own, eyes turning cold as ice, turning the lad\'s so normally fair complexion somewhat frightfull...

\"Jormun Hraefanskegg, chirurgeon of clan Bundazanul, Baruk Zirak Warder!\", Jormun replies in a proud, yet angry tone, then looking at Faengor\'s hand on his sword, and hearing Rowaen\'s reply he quickly says, \"If ye draw that sword, then I will call the warders, and ye will either find yerself tied up in ropes or dead, Stonelunding!!\". Then a more calm look comes on his face as he points to the fire, \"Now let us get seated around this fire and be friends like we rightfully should!\" His words almost sounds like a threat, and with a stone expression on his face, and eyes cold as ice, he looks first at Faengor, then at Rowaen..

Scowling deeply, Faengor\'s steel eyes turn to Rowaen. Angered eyes and fiery pupils stare at Rowaen. Growling, Faengor speaks, with a fiery voice and heavy temper, \"No Rowaen! I hold no love for you, yet never shall I allow anyone of my kin to perish!\" Menacingly, Faengor takes a step hither and continues, bending himself towards his brother dear, \"I carry great resentment towards you, brother, you are a failure and a fool! But murder, never!\" Jormun seems to be forgotten, for now.

And lo! This laughter coming now from Rowaen, head turning half-way. \"Faengor and friends? My, Master Dwarf I did not know such joking words could be your part. T\'does you well to have such a sense of humor, so please let me, and my brother save you alot of time and useless bother... for do you not hear his words? He holds no love for me, since I choose to follow mine own dream and seek to become a knight, instead of becoming a men of guard... Let him charish his silly ideals... My heart is sincere and true in all my actings, I need no more then peace with myself. And such peace is mine, tis a shame I cannot share it with... him,\" deadly calm the younger brother does his speech, only glancing directly at Faengor as he ends his words. The blue... quite uncommon it flicker fiercely, a lad normally so full of reason, seems to become quite more furious with the day... \"Ah, there a promise! One I will make you keep, Faengor! Let us see what happens in future encounters with the acursed, let us see if t\'is indeed you aswell coming to rescue the life of one of your kin! For were you not unwilling to go, as the Lord Arnafel organized his plans of rescue? So let me be a failure and a fool... t\'is always more then a mere... coward..\" Indeed Rowaen seems to have darkened, both in mood and words, for does he not reflect the same hatred towards his brother, as his brother holds for him? And then... then the young lad simply walks off, not looking up or round, for he cares not, only has eyes for his difficult path. A path leading him away from the other two, to a silent, quiet place... Tis there Rowaen attempts to find the inner-peace he spoke off, an expression of regret already coming upon his face. Once more the ice is broken, more emotion relfected within the blue sullenness. Though none of it is shown towards Faengor, not ever, or not....yet?

Growling, Faengor shuffles his feet restraining himself from giving in to his anger. Eyes, burning with fire and fueled by fueds glare at Rowaen. Finally he lashes out with heavy words as Rowaen turns his back to him and he hurls with a fierce voice, \"You do not know what you speak of Rowaen Nimothan! I was there and not a single word passed my lips as the rescue plan was unfolded!\" a deep growl raises from the back of his throat and the Errand Rider sets another step forward, \"Never ever call me a coward again! I have stood where you would not even dare to thread! I have always held true to my father and I did not flee to Dol Amroth!\" One more menacing scowl is aimed at Rowaen\'s turned back and then Faengor too turns his back in anger.

Not happy about being \'overlooked\' by the Stonelundings, the tempered dwarf steps back looking up at Faengor, his eyes does however follow Rowaen as he leave, before looking back at Faengor, \"I didnt know, ye Stonelundings, could act like kids.. And grown up for a human, ye seems... could I be mistaken?\" Jormun is now really angry, \"Ye have never lost yer family... Have ye?!\" Almost shouting the dwarf graps Faengor\'s arm, revealing that his hand is strong like iron, \"Let him be, or ye can be sure that I will wake up this camp and tell yer surpiriors about this\". The dwarf\'s breathe heavily, like he have difficulties controlling his temper...

[Faengor] A heavy step is taken in Rowaen\'s direction and the Errand Rider seems to make signs of following Rowaen obviously not done with the conversation. Yet, a heavy hand and an iron grip clenched itself About Faengor\'s left arm. Amazed, Faengor halts in his tracks and turns to Jormun with steel eyes and stern lips curled in a dark scowl. \"I warn you dwarf,\" Faengor speaks with a dark voice, \"Let go of me, unless ...\" Faengor\'s grip around the hilt of his sword strengtens and his cloak is shrugged back by his elbow.

Quickly letting go on Faengor\'s arm, Jormun steps back, suspicion and anger is seen in his eyes, \"I warned ye!\" he says, now in a calm voice. \"Draw this sword, and I will call the warders...!!\" Jormun now seems to control his anger, but his eyes is hooked on the sword, stepping back, he prepares to defend himself if needed...

[Arnafel] \"What...\" And silently as a wraith formed of the darkling shadows of night, a man raises the flap of the white pavilion and steps out -- yet, argent glitters upon his raiment as if wrought of Tilion\'s cool fire, and his voice, calm and low in the silence though it may be, bears a note of command which cannot be mistaken. \"...passes here?\"

\"You are quick in judgement and prone to jump to conclusions, Dwarf.\" Faengor speaks calmly, taking a step back from the dwarf. With his hand still firmly clenched about the hilt of his sword, Faengor regards Jormun, studying the dwarf extensively with dark, black eyes. Now, the Errand Rider turns to Arnafel with bitter eyes, yet his lips remain sealed.

Jormun bows deeply for Arnafel, \"I am sorry, I didnt mean to wake you up, Stonelunding!\" And yes the dwarf looks sorry, but quickly anger returns in his eyes, as he nods toward Faengor, \"I will belive this man could tell you what have been happening here... I could too, but I would belive he would rather tell you about his brother himself..\" Then the dwarf keep quiet and look at Faengor with suspicious eyes.

[Arnafel] Courteously, the Lord of the Isilrim inclines his brow to the dwarf, and hears him out in silence -- to the Man of Minas Tirith he turns then, with arched brow: \"Well, Sergeant-at-Arms?\"

[Faengor] Turning to Arnafel, the Nimothan inclines his head respectfully and with grace. \"There is little to say, Lord\" the Sergeant-at-Arms speaks. \"I apologise for the intrusion of your rest, it will not happen again.\" Lowering his eyes Faengor takes a step back.

[Arnafel] \"My rest matters little\" -- the Knight-Admiral dismisses Faengor\'s words with a curt wave of his hand, his clear gaze studying Man and Dwarf if turn -- \"And I do not doubt that it will not happen again. Yet, I would still know what came to pass here.\"

Jormun opens his eyes wide.. and a surprised expression comes over his face, \'little to say!\' he mumbles to himself, low enough so that others cant hear. His face shows well enough that there is more than little to say... Then he looks up at Arnafel, \"Again, I am sorry about waking you up this night\", the dwarf says, looking down, \"I hope you will accept my apology.\" Then Jormun looks up again, \"He just made me very angry about the way he treated his brother... calling him \'Fool\'... and.. \'A faliure\' ... that his brother had to \'rely on his peers to save him\'...\" Jormun\'s eyes looks angry again, \"This is not the way we speak to our families here...\" And an expression of sorrow crosses his face... One could wonder if something have happened to this dwarfs family.

[Amano] Yet another stirs in the sleeping shadows, and darkness falls not entirely from him as he steps forth from the fringes of the camp, this youth clad in sable and grey. No apparition is this, ragged with sleep but Amano, pale profile turned to the firelight as if seeking what had roused him from slumber, grey eyes sharp upon the three figures thither. Surprise is mirrored in his gaze at the sight, and the words that come only faintly to his ears. So he approaches, tilting his brow to the Lord Isilrim yet his voice, quiet and still, carries doubt as he gazes upon the errand-rider and the Dwarf. \"Surely, twas not just this that stirred many from slumber?\"

[Arnafel] Save for shaking his head faintly and even that seems but half-imagined in the calm night, shrouded in deceiving shadows Arnafel says naught to the Man of Minas Tirith save, \"We will speak of this later, Faengor. For now, seek your rest, and do naught to begin a quarrel with your brother. And indeed Amano\" -- he glances to his kinsman -- \"...it would seem to be naught save this.\"

To the dwarf he turns then, inclining his brow -- once again -- in farewell, coolly courteous as ever commanding as ever, \"It is indeed a troubling matter when the ties of blood are soured. Yet, Master Dwarf, I deem it would be wiser if this matter were left to the Men of Gondor to see to...for indeed, is it not among them that this discord took place? But for now, I bid you good night.\"

Jormun smiles back at Arnafel as he takes his leave, \"Good night Stonelunding\", he says... then he looks back at Faengor, there is still a spot of anger in his eyes, but as he turns away and starts walking back toward the lake, they are filled with sorrow. And finding the place he was sitting before the trouble began. Here he once again glares at the darkness in front of him, and the whisper of the lake brings him a little comfort, but not much. He bend his head and the sorrow of those now lost forever flow through his eyes.

Silently, Faengor nods in understanding and bittered he adds, \"As you wish, Lord Isilrim, I bid thee goodnight.\" With the grace of a shadow, lurking about the walls Faengor turns away from the party, draping his dark cloak around him as he moves to his tent in perfect silence.

Naught does Amano give but nod to the Silver Knight as he takes his leave, for just as he came all seemed to vanish, each to their own musings. And as though loathe to return to slumber, he takes a seat beside the fire, a lone figure dark, in firelight limned, with the moon casting its cold beams over his countenance and bent head.