(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 17 - Promotions

Time: Early morning

Track--Along Foothills

The Sun settles in Her bed as the Moon shines forth and brings the stars with

Him...Evening lanterns are lit, bathing the land with pools of light.

You stand just south of the foothills of the Misty Mountains. To the south and

the east lie the rolling plains of Rohan. To the west lies the Gap of Rohan,

along with Isengard, and the River Isen.

contents:

Amano

Arnafel

Faengor

Mathollor

Rowaen

Scene:

Brittle and keen, morning comes swiftly this winter\'s day -- and the camp of the Fellowship of the Sword bestirs itself, here at the feet of the might Hithaeglir where the world is a vision clear and sharp as crystal, and veiled in a blanket of white.

And even as the questers begin to awake and make ready for the day\'s journey which lies ahead, there is one who sits alone upon a log before a small fire -- the Lord of the Isilrim, hands clasped upon the pommel of the blade before him, seemingly heedless of the melted snow which stains his cloak.

Mathollor stamps his feet as he emerges from a tent. He pause to stretch and yawn before before buckeling on his sword belt, pulling his cloak tighter about himself and approaching the fire. \"Good morning My Lord\". As he finishes speaking he shivers and adds more fuel to the fire.

\"It would have been one perhaps, if it had not snowed in the night. Again.\"

A different answer perhaps, from the one the Squire may have looked for -- and Arnafel\'s gaze lifts from the leaping flames then, to settle upon Mathollor, \"We have an unsettled matter between us, do we not?\"

Mathollor tilts his head lightly to one side \" You have said as much my Lord though I find I am at a loss to recollect what it might be \" As he finishes speaking he draws himself straighter and his face takes on a keener more alert look, one the suggests wariness even.

\"Are you?\"

His visage unfathomable, the Silver Knight regards Mathollor over the hilt of mighty Inalantadil -- but there are not a few Knights who will remember with discomfort such silences from the days of their Squirehood. Thus long moments pass, ere he stirs:

\"You spoke of the Firstborn before the Steward.\"

Ere the entire camp is astir, one among the young White-Squires makes his way from his tent, eyes still veiled with sleep, though his carriage is straight and his steps sure enough in the crystalline glimmer of the snow. A slight grimace mars his countenance before he stretches his gaze to the lowering sky, drear but for the cold glitter of the winter sun shading his glance with a long hand, he stands for a long moment, his attention riveted to the mountains in the north, as though straining to see the trail they would follow for many more long leagues.

The hum of conversation comes to Amano\'s ears, and with the barest pause, he turns, essaying a greeting to the Lord Isilrim and a nod to his fellow Squire. \"Good morning, sir.\" The sleep seems to vanish from his gaze, as he looks about the snow-covered camp, approaching the twain. \"I did say,\" he remarks wryly to himself, \"that we would wish for fur coats ere long..\" Though what other words he might have to speak are abruptly cut off, as what they discuss finally makes itself clear. Silence takes him for a moment.

Mathollor face clouds over looking surprised and empty of comprehension \"Yes My Lord, I thought his reaction at the time strange but I had no understanding of it. I knew not that I should hold my tongue over such \" As he finishes speaking he shifts lightly to balance himself better his face now more wary at the Lords calm manner.

\"The cloaks the Steward gave us were meant for such weather, Amano. There is a power in them to ward their wearers against even the direst chill, I deem.\"

And yet, it is upon Mathollor than the Knight-Admiral remains intent -- and when he speaks to him, it is calmly yet but the stern command in his voice is as clear as the Star of Hope on a cloudless summer\'s night.

\"His reaction was fitting. You, Squire, know naught of the Firstborn it would seem. You spoke lightly of a grave matter, and in a manner which was not seemly. You will not do so again.\"

Mathollor leans back on his heels then nods his head his face cold and his eyes alight \"Aye My Lord as you will it \".

And so another arrives at the now three men gathered. Finding his way through the tents, weapon in hand, tightly wrapped in his cloak, comes Rowaen, drawing near to the fire. A shiver seems to pass his features as he stands silent. Yet perhaps noting the graveness of the ongoing converse, Rowaen keeps his distance, setting himself down silently, rubbing his hands near the dancing flames. A relieving sigh leaves his lips, his eyes swiftly going over the Lord of Isendrim and his two fellow squires, granting two nods and a one greeting.

\"Morning, sir...\"

There his gaze is locked in the fire for a moment, yet suddenly finding his way to the face of Amano, a look of wondering adressed to his figure.

\"See that it is so...for we will meet the Firstborn more than once ere this quest is done, I deem.\"

For a moment longer, the Knight-Admiral\'s gaze holds Mathollor fast -- and then he leans back, nudging a faggot closer to the fire with his foot, \"Greetings, Squire. Have all of you healed fully from the wounds you took at the battle of the fords?\"

Mathollor shrugs lightly his stiff posture relaxing only slightly \"I am suffering no ill affects still My Lord, sadly I was rather late in joining the fray and missed out on most of the entertainment.\" as he speaks his face twists up into a wry smile and he turns towards the other squires.

Now remembered at the battle fought, Rowaen lifts his right arm, closely examining his hand.

\"The deep cut I took, is almost fully healed, when wielding my sword, I hardly are reminded of the wound\'s presence. Other damage I took, were mere bruises and scratches, so indeed, my Lord, I am fully healed and again ready for sudden encounters...\"

As Mathollor speaks, a frown comes upon the features of the young Nimothan, words of entertainment clearly not finding concurrence with his person.

\"I would not say entertainment... take an example at Morrandir...\"

And so he falls silent again, eyes locked within the majestical dance of the flames.

Perhaps to hide his discomfort at the deepening chill, or the conversation that had come earlier, the young Isilrim turns to his friend, grinning, his words quiet. \"Tis cold, is it not, Rowaen?\" he inquires by way of greeting, his speech soft as if unwilling to be a nuisance this early in the morn. Yet at the question of the knight, he turns quickly, nodding, though he says little more other than, \"I had nothing grievous, sire, but a few scratches that did not bleed long.\" It may be that he speaks the truth, for unlike some of the other men who limp and are bandaged, he bears no visible mark.

Mathollor raise one eyebrow slightly then pauses before speaking as if choosing his words carefully \"I look on such matters in a different way My Lord , I am the third son My Lord and Valar permitting I will not inherit anything. My only means of advancement is to serve the Prince well and valiantly\"

Mathollor\'s luck has turned ill this day, it would seem -- for he earns yet another rebuke from the Lord Isilrim:

\"Rowaen has learned the lesson better than you, it would seem. Battle is no play, Squire. Men die in it.\"

And over the three standing before him his gaze sweeps -- grave now, as is his tone, \"But listen now, and mark me well. Curunir has counselled us to go north to Erebor, and so we will. But ere that, I mean to ride to the Golden Wood, thither to take counsel with its Lord and Lady -- alone if need be. If not...if the Fellowship chooses to do likewise...then you must choose. It is a perilous place, Squires -- if not in the manner that people may think -- and none may go into it lightly, or come out unchanged. If there is doubt or fear in your hearts, then you would be better counselled to remain at its borders and not enter.\"

Mathollor tails of his speaking before quickly shaking his head \" I fear nothing enough to drive me from my sworn duty My Lord, I\'m sure we squires are united in this. \" as he finishes speaking he turns his head to cast his eyes over the other two squires, as roguish grin is upon his face.

Despite the grave words spoken by the Knight before, a wry grin comes upon the Nimothan\'s face, eyes for a moment seemingly to light up, a fierce fire burning. \"Nor fear, nor doubt have I to reach my goals, or keep promises made. Sworn I have to my Knight to serve you, Lord of the Isilrim, in the same manner I would serve him. Aswell a promise made to go and seek salvation for his lost son. Never have I broken a promise, or ran away from obstacles in my future. I go forward, determant and with courage... For not only will there be peril on our way, for that I am sure off. Let us not forget what wonders might aswell await us, what joy we may witness when returning the lost son.. Those moments, make it worth all the efforts...\"

Silence overcomes Rowaen, staring blankly into the fire before him. And then the lad speaks again, words clear.

\"So yes... I will go, til the quest ends, or til I end myself...\"

Gruffly the white flap of Faengor\'s tent is shoved aside, pushing away any branch or heap of leaves that may have found it\'s way in front of the entrance during the night Silently, Faengor stands in the opening, holding a can of water in his hands as his gaze moves trough the camp, surveying the countryside and it\'s inhabitants as they wake up After several moments, the sergeant nods approvingly to the tree before him then he steps outside his tent, the flap immediately falling back to block the entrance

Immediately a breeze whistles by him, sending a quivering chill trough his spine which is received by stilled muttering, and an ugly grimace from Faengor, who quickly places the can down and kneels before it, wasting aslittle time in possibly. Nimbly he takes his razor, plunging it in his can and beginning his usual morning ritual of cleaning himself...

No words there would be that his kinsman could speak, that would bear more dread to those craven of heart, the superstitious, or those young and with little wisdom in the reckoning of the lords of Gondor. Yet Amano speaks not, silent for long moments, perhaps hearing once more half-whispered tales, of the Golden Wood, the magics that were wrought thither and the power that walked therein. For noble as he was born, he had walked streets where such stories were the stuff of legend, and not lore.

But for all that he speaks not while his fellow squires tell of their own resolution, bravado as it seems to him, and blanched as his brow is, his grey eyes unveiled, surprise and shock in their depths, he falters not, gazing steadily at the Knight.

Awe shines openly in his expression, as though he were a child faced with a dim and mysterious shadow. \"Sire,\" he speaks at last, his voice grave, \"When I rode on this quest, I pledged I would follow where you led. So it shall be.\"

Speech, noble and clear as a silent river is often reserved but to those of high standings and thus, Faengor\'s gaze slowly moves to the campfire as he steadily nears to finishing razing himself. Curious eyes dart towards the Knight-Admiral and then to the squires, narrowing once when they cross with Rowaen. \"I should have known..\" the errand rider grouses to himself, before throwing the razor in the can of water with a splash.

Mathollor shrugs his shoulders lightly his face serene, calm and smiling slightly. \"Glory and adventure to those who go. \"

\"Glory\", the Isilrim replies, \"...oft flits along the path like a will o\' wisp before he who seeks it -- a fair vision, but one which cannot be captured. Do not make it your only goal, squire.\"

No change registers in the young Squire Amano\'s gaze, but his disquiet seems to settle, his shoulders to lose their tension. \"I at least will take that time to dwell upon such a decision,\" he mutters, partly to himself. More clearly, he states, slowly, \"I would not wish to go headlong blindly into something I had not given careful thought to, Sire, in this matter, so I shall heed your advice. But twas truly a surprise for me,\" he adds, as though in afterthought. \"One can only dream, or behold legends in tales spun by bards. Or so I thought, before I came on this quest.\"

\"You will think otherwise\" -- and a sudden smile fleets across the Isilrim\'s visage as he glances to his kinsman -- \"...ere this quest is done.\"

\"Time offered, and clearly with a reason... Very well, my Lord, I will busy my thoughts with that you ask off, though I deem my decision will not change, for long have I charished the wish to see one of the First-Born... As for the change you speak off... what would be life without change? It is part of it, and many changes have I already undergone... most not too pleasant..\"

Graveness returns to his features, as Rowaen stops there. Blinking once... twice... and only then looking there, where his brother sits. The sighting even more darkening his expression, though back he turns, eying Mathollor with care and intens.

\"Dear friend... not all seek glory and adventure.. my main reason to be here present, is to serve my Knight in best ways, to seek his lost son... If we succeed, what else could I wish for then that? To see a father be reunited with his son... such events weigh more heavily then the search for glory and adventure... Yet I spoke of change and am willing to undergo just that.\"

Mathollor speaks quietly though with power and conviction in his voice \"Glory can always be found My Lord if one is but ready to pay the price sometimes demanded.\" His eyes shine as he speaks before laughing. Mathollor smiles broadly at the two others squires before shaking his head with a ruefull grin.. \"I know my duty to my Prince rest assured I will not fail him\"

Eyes shine, bright and clear, directed at Amano, so sits Rowaen. He nods to his friend, adressing him softly. \"Aye, it is indeed cold this here day... and may I praise your words spoken, for those legends... indeed it would seem all a dream to me... perhaps I even had to pinch myself several times to make sure all was real, and will be real in the future near to come.\"

Silently, Faengor\'s gaze rests upon the party that is seated near the fire on this loyal morning. Grimly he watches them as they converse and discuss their travelplans, all the while plunging his hands in the can of water and washing them idly, splashing some water on his face on in a while. Finally he raises from his knelt position near the tree, grabbing the can and returning to his tent with quick steps.

Moments pass and Faengor reapears, clean and shaven and in decent clothing. His belt defyingly wrapped about his waist and his scabbard bungling about his leg, a black cloak resting on his shoulders. With strong steps he moves towards the campfire ...

\"Very well then...\"

And in the Knight-Admiral\'s voice is the weight of decisions made paths chosen, \"So be it.\" A moment longer he sits in silence -- one in which that weigh tseem sto grow ever heavier -- the glittering light of Inalantadil\'s diamond pommel shining in his eyes.

And then, he stirs, and the moment is past. And as if dismissing the matter, he calls to Faengor, \"Are the Guards ready to set forth, Sergeant?\"

A sigh falls from Amano\'s lips. \"Glory may come later, but if it does not, I would not be less glad. So long as we will,\" he concurs with Mathollor, \"succeed. My father used to say that often the most noble deeds oft were not given their due.\" He trails off, as if stirred by some memory he did not wish to speak of.

Yet given a respite from his thoughts by his friend, he tilts his gaze at the young Nimothan, jesting quietly, \"Perhaps you need not a pinch, Rowaen, but the approaching gloom of another wild wood, or the glimpse of a bear perhaps. That would wake ye soon enough.\"

\"The Guards that have been entrusted in our care by the Steward are ready Lord.\" Faengor speaks affirmingly to Arnafel upon arrival, inclining his head grimly in respect and acknowledgement to the knight, placing his hand on the pommel of his sword as sign of readyness. \"Our tents are being packed up and placed on our horses, it won\'t be much longer.\" he continues, ere letting his gaze stray towards the squires.

Mathollor inclines his head towards Faengor before turning backtowards Lord Arnafel.

A swift smile passes at the words spoken by Amano, Rowaen surpressing the clear sound of his laughter. Instead he nods, a grin upon his face, answering in soft reply. \"Aye... and so it would wake you..\" Yet hear he stops a moment, before continuing on a more grave tone.

\"And still... both encounters we survived Amano, let it be some hope for our future, relying on those small successes... and keep backing each other up. At least should something or somewhat fail, then at least we could share the pain of failure, as true friends indeed..\"

Oh how the graveness makes place for bitterness, as Rowaen comes face to face with his brother, the one tormenting him so! Despite their feud, still a nod is given, short, with eyes burning...

\"That is well. We will begin the day\'s journey in half an hour.\"

And reaching absently for the pouch kept beside him upon the log, the Silver Knight takes out -- an apple. Small and wrinkled, yet firm, it\'s sweet smell drifts through the chill air tempting indeed after weeks spent eating little save dried meat.

And eyeing it thoughtfully, Arnafel murmurs, \"The last one...\"

Recognition there is in the young Isilrim\'s glance, and though little love there is between the two brothers of which the younger is his friend, he offers a nod of greeting to the Guard, in a not unfriendly fashion. \"It seems we shall be moving along the trail shortly,\" he says easily to everyone in general, shifting his cloak tighter about him as the bitter bite of the weather is felt with the breeze. And at the sight of the tiny apple, a remnant of a season far more fruitful, and the waning days of summer and autumn, he falls silent, his breath misting on the icy air.

Slowly Faengor returns Mathollor\'s nod, with an own, solemn inclination of his head, yet no words are spoken. Rowaen he ignores, except for a quick and bitter glance which is cast towards him, and a quickly hidden snarl as his younger brother nods at him.

\"Let us hope the day will pass without too much troubles, for the clouds have been packing up.\" He finally speaks, in reverance before turning to Arnafel and his apple.

In reaction to the rejecting manner of the one he calls his brother, Rowaen\'s expression darkens, a weary sigh leaving his lips, dissolving into smoke before him.

\"Let us hope so indeed...\"

Soft are the words spoken by the younger Nimothan, eyes downwards.

If Arnafel notices the bitterness between the two brothers, he gives no sign of it -- from the apple to the Squires, he glances and of a sudden, he casts it into a nearby snowbank. A flurry of white flakes, and that last reminder of happier climes is lost to sight, buried deep in the broad stretch of snow.

\"Find the apple and bring it to me\", he says to the three Squires -- here is a strange command indeed! -- \"The one who finds it will have his next watch stood by the other two. And...\" the Knight adds as an afterthought, \"...he may keep the apple.\"

A queer glance comes upon the face of Rowaen, as the Lord of the Isilrim speaks his strange request... A bit bewildered the lad looks up from his ponderings, through the fire at the Lord. \"My Lord? May I inquire the thought behind such a request... for it seems rather... out of place? I know I have sworn to serve you as I would serve the Prince himself, yet to get an.. apple? Besides.. I do not know if my brother, here, will let me do such a thing, likely he will see it as -another- attempt of me to dishonour our family.\"

\"Find the apple, Squire...and perhaps you will learn why you do so. And\", he draws his cloak closer, stretching his feet to the fire, \"...you do this because I ask you to. There is no dishonour in it.\"

A fiery glance is cast at Rowaen, his cold eyes piercing towards Rowaen as the noble features of his face twist and show his anger. Cold eyes attempt to stab Rowaen to death from a distance as grim lips and a quick angered snort show his displeasure with Rowaen. \"Loyalty you have sworn, no dishonour can there be found in obeyance.\" he snarls, to himself, barely audible to any.

\"And no other reason I would need, my Lord.\" comes the swift reply, Rowaen rising to his feet. A brief glance is casted at his brother, the lad standing ready to speak more, yet refraining from doing so. Instead he turns to face Amano, grinning somewhat.

\"Well, my friend, seems another obstacle is at hand. First we fought a bear together, then made fun of brigands and now... we seek an apple! Let it be a fair contest and may the best squire win..\"

Surprise flickers a mere moment on the youth Amano\'s face, before he glances at Rowaen and his fellow squire of the Isilrim though the temptation is indeed great, combined with his natural instinct to obey, he scrambles not for it, instead walking with great strides to the snowbank. Taking a large branch from a stand of brush nearby, he begins sweeping away the snow from where he had watched the apple fall, even taking his sheathed sword and using the scabbarded blade as a makeshift shovel. Too used to labour to question or complain, he soon amasses piles of snow beside him, his eyes searching the white ground for that tiny object.

Seeing his friend and the swift start he undertakes, Rowaen aswell makes way for the bank of snow, plunging himself down on his knees. Yet instead of moving the snow with heaps, no more then glancing Rowaen does, looking from the place where Arnafel sits, and back to the snowbank, eyes searching with care...

\"Perhaps, Sergeant...\" -- to Faengor the Silver Knight glances with arched brow -- is it merely the light of the fire dancing in his eyes? -- ere turning back to the snowbank and the Squires who labour thither.

\"...you would care to search for it yourself?\"

\"I carry little love to plod away in the snow, searching for a lost apple Lord,\" Faengor speaks, raising his chin high as his gaze turns to the Knight-Admiral. \"Yet, I shall carry out your orders to the best of my possiblities Lord, for I have pledged loyalty to Gondor.\"

Silently he turns his gaze to the snowbank, \"and if I understand the meaning behind the search for an apple Lord, I wait but for your command.\"

\"I do not command you, Sergeant. I merely asked you. You may do as you wish.\"

\"But it was\", the Knight-Admiral adds mildly even as he turns away, \"..a very sweet apple.

Eyes sparkling, perhaps with mirth, Rowaen for a moment sits silently watching and following the converse of the Lord of Isilrim with his brother. A smirk passes his face, as the Knight makes his request, his brother ordered aswell to search for the apple..

\"Ah, brothers reunited on the quest in search for the fallen apple... perhaps a nice example for the future..\" are the lightly spoken words of Rowaen, before suddenly taking a sort of leap at the large pile of snow next to Amano.

Those who pass by the fire, pause to stare in startlement upon the Squires amidst the flying snow -- but Arnafel says naught. And the apple is not found yet.

\"Sergeant over here!\" A Man-at-Arms quickly comes hurried towards the Sergeant. \"The horses are packed and ready Sergeant, but we need your immediate attention.\" Swiftly Faengor turns to Arnafel, bowing deeply in apologize before rnning off with the Man-at-Arms

Behind the Isilrim, the flap to a tent is pushed aside, and a youthful Knight steps out eyes misty with sleep, trying to hold back a yawn -- Thingil of the Isilrim, merry and carefree, youngest of those among the Order of the Swan who go on this quest. And as his gaze comes to rest upon the Squires, he comes to a startled halt.

\"What\", he asks in mild astonishment, \"...are they doing?\"

Amano gives pause to his great labour, his breath coming in great clouds of frost yet not wearied yet is he, nor grudgingly does he return to the work at hand. Indeed, he seems to be enjoying the unorthodox task in his own fashion, sometimes tossing snow at Rowaen with a seemingly routine motion of the branch he holds. Halting though, he glances at his fellow squire, and back at where the Knight stands, with a laugh, as he himself realized how odd a sight it must have seemed.

Yet how the young Nimothan gets his revenge on his friend! By his leap, Amano now stands off guard, for a moment standing silent... And only now the true intensions are revealed as Rowaen grabs a large amount of snow, packs it into a ball and sends it.... right in the squire\'s face...

A twitch at the sighting of his friend, before laughter comes from his lips. \"Perhaps some snow will get rid of the heat caused by your efforts!\"

Then the question of the young knight seems to reach his ears, Rowaen looking away now from Amano, grinning at Thingil, words accompanied with apparent amusement. \"Good Knight, we are in search of the lost apple! A grave task indeed..\" Adding a wink Rowaen turns slowly...

\"An apple!\" -- and Thingil\'s face brightens. Stooping, he takes a burning brand from the fire and strides to the snowbank, whistling merrily -- thither he carves a watery path through the snow with the faggot, until he is standing in the midst of a pool of water. And there, revealed now that the snow covering it has been melted, lies the apple.

And taking it, the youthful Knight strolls back to his tent, munching contentedly.

How Rowaen stands in awe as the young knight cleverly makes use of the fire at hand, walking away with content. \"And so the quest ends...\" is all he speaks, shaking his head in apperent mirth.

\"Ironical how we seek warmth in these cold days, yet when on a quest we overlook the thing we could use the most... the same warmth. A good lesson learned today, to have in mind all things usable for our means...\"

Amano wipes the snow from his face, disclosing a countenance grimacing with disgust and irritation. \"Rowaen!\" he rebukes the Nimothan, grumbling as he sights Thingil walking away with the prize. Shaking his head, he drops the branch which he holds, stepping forth from the snowbank and flicking the frost from his garb. \"Alas, only foolish do we seem now, and we needed not your aid my friend,\" he addresses the other squire, \"to make us seem even more laughable.\" Ruefully, he sighs, making his way back to where his kinsman stands.

Rising from the log, the Knight-Admiral brushes snow off his cloak, \"Both of you will stand watch in the night at your appointed hours. Sir Thingil gets the apple. And you learn...perhaps...to use your minds to do a task.\"

Striding to his tent, he pauses thither for a moment, regarding the Squires thoughtfully, \"And add blue stripes to your tunics. White tunics while riding through snow are easy to get lost in.\"

In somewhat surprised silence the Isilrim stands awhile, the words of the Lord not fully registering in his mind. Once they do, however, he turns to the Nimothan, his mouth a wide \'O\' before he remembers to shut it. \"Do you realize what this means, Rowaen?\" he grins, the snowball fight forgotten. \"Realize what has happened? We shall be wearing the blue tomorrow!\" He looks for a moment too happy for words, or as if he would caper in the snow the next moment. But he does not, seating himself by the fire to dry his somewhat wet clothing. \"As for the watch, nay, I will take my own alloted hours, for I should have thought of that solution.. that not everything can be solved by force or brawn,\" he chuckles, warming his hands.

As Amano speaks his reply, Rowaen continues his awe, blinking once...twice...thrice... and only then the words spoken by the Lord of Isilrim seems to pierce the cloud surrounding his mind, at this early hour. \"Blue...stripes...?\"

His hand he lifts, ready to smack himself in the face, yet he refrains from doing so. \"It seems... I am not fully awake yet?\" A hand reaches down to the whiteness of the snow, Rowaen smacking some of it in his own face. Drops now dripping alongside his face, falling to the ground below, back to becoming snow again, the lad steps towards the fire aswell. His eyes sparkle as they find the gaze of Amano, his lips slightly curving upwards, a grin forming, growing larger and larger.. \"Blue Squires! We made it to become Blue squires! My congrats to you, my friend! What pleasant event indeed to start the day!\"

Full laughter now, from Amano, unhindered and glad as the warm flames on this winter day. \"My congratulations to you as well now it seems to me, even should I be assigned watch a whole night it shall not dampen my mood! If we were in Dol Amroth it would occasion for a celebration of sorts, and the food and wine at my expense! Not that I have much in the way of gold,\" he snickers, now unheeding the bite of the wind, as though his happiness were warming him enough.

The tall raven-haired youth now takes what seems a flask of cordial or wine, made to warm one\'s throat in the cold wilds. \"A toast then,\" he says with mock gravity, handing the Nimothan a wooden cup, and holding his own, pouring for both. \"A toast for this day, though scant it might be, and for table and board we have but this..\" he gestures to the fire and the stones set about it. \"For this, and the journey that lies beyond, for courage, if our hearts be lacking, though I deem we shall not blench from the path we have set for ourselves.\"

The cup is taken by the other squire, eyes still reflecting some of disbelief. While his friend speaks his toast, Rowaen stands silent, gazing about, and as he speaks his words are somewhat soft, yet filled with mirth. \"And so again I wonder if I should pinch myself, to wake up in my own bed, in peacefull Dol Amroth! Yet the cup in hand feels real enough..\" Here he brings it to his lips, taking a sip of the wine. \"And the wine has it\'s usual taste indeed! The same taste that prevents me from drinking it so many times, still this here special occassion will do nicely to have some wine again!\"

The cup is lifted in the air, in gesture to the squire before him, speaking a toast of his own. \"I fully concurr with the toast you make and rest assured, when we arrive back in Dol Amroth, of which I am sure we will! Then a celebration -shall- be given! Money I lack aswell, so perhaps we would be wise and have one feast in general... So let us toast for the wonders ahaed! Face them all head high, and wits at hand, ready to serve as we have sworn!\" A merry smile shines brightly upon the young Nimothan\'s face, all gloom forgotten, the feud with his brother of non-importance, the speakings of dangers ahead for a moment forgotten, so he stands cup raised ready to empty it in a single gulp.

\"So we shall toast,\" concurs the Isilrim, his eyes glittering grey, seeming in a rash and confident mood. He drinks of the wine, tilting his head back and emptying the wooden cup expelling a sigh of satisfaction, with his now warmed fingers he conceals the flask once more in his cloak pocket. \"Alas, tis but a warming draught made for travel, friend, and not one to be drunk often,\" he chuckles. \"So but a drop for tonight, it is, and moreover we have a watch to keep. I do not wish to be inebriated when the dawn comes stealing over the east and illumines yonder mountains.\" He gestures at the faraway northern mountain range with his empty cup. \"Our trail leads thither it seems..\"

\"Blue-Squires,\" he adds with a grin, \"ought not to fail in their simplest duties. Shall we toss a coin for the first hour?\"

A kind gesture is made, before Rowaen follows the example of his fellow Blue-squire and empties his cup aswell. Smacking his lips he speaks. \"Still it does one good, brings warmth at this cold early hour..\"

A keen gaze goes out, as Amano speaks of the way to come, the travel... taking them to the Golden Wood... Dreamily he stands there for a moment, gaze focused on nothing in particular. \"North... so it seems, my friend, so it seems..\" The cup suddenly escapes Rowaen\'s grip, the wooden object burrying itself half into the whiteness of the snow. Blinking Rowaen kneels down to retrieve the fallen cup, setting it down on a log instead.

\"Hmm seems a thought came by to remind me of what I left behind in Dol Amroth... Tis a shame Dania is not here to take note of this news. I do know how she longs for having a Knight at her side, and... in our hour of argument, this news would proof of great value..\" A sigh escapes his lips, \"If there was only a way to get her informed...\" Head shaking in discomfort, Rowaen casts down his eyes. Yet as they open once more, the gloomy look is gone, a grin curling around his lips. \"Toss? If that pleases you, Amano, then we shall toss.\"

And so a coin is brought forth from the Nimothan\'s pocket. \"One of the few valuable things I brought,\" speaks the squire, laying ready the coin upon his hand. Inquiringly his gaze rests upon Amano. \"Head or Tails?\"

As Rowaen\'s words are uttered, the young Isilrim hesitates, his fierce profile now lost in grave thought even as the coin is held in the other\'s hand. \"It would be not within my business to inquire much about what passed between you, Rowaen, but Dania is a friend I hold in esteem and care for, and I do not wish you both to be melancholy due to what arguments you may have.. often pride leads to one\'s downfall, indeed.\"

Whether he means the Lady, or his friend, or even himself, he says naught of, but instead, clear and untroubled comes his voice, free now of worries or care, strong and sure of the morrow.

\"An attitude and opinion I respect, my friend.. Our troubles, yet go deeper then pride alone, no pride will ever stand in way of my love towards her... Still I will not deny some words spoken were ill and brings to me regret and remorse... In regard to that, the quest came convenient for me to leave and sort out my thoughts and wishes, though not a single hour passes me thinking of her. And that I will see as a good sign...\" In thoughts speaks Rowaen, turning the coin around in his fingers, a sigh follows. \"Let us leave it at that, I promise to sort it out as soon as the chance occurs...\"

The sullen blue seems to return to the present at hand, staring for several seconds at the coin in his hand. \"Tails you say, very well..\" With grace the coin flies upwards, piercing it\'s way to the falling frost, several turns it makes, before landing on the ground with a soft sound...

\"I trust in your judgement of the coin, Rowaen,\" replies Amano, gravely, yet with a touch of a wry grin, gesturing toward the fallen coin. \"I have a premonition.. a feeling, if you may, that ere long, we shall have to rely on much more than chance or fate to steer our course. The Golden Wood.. now.. that truly took me off guard I expected it not, though what would you rather have: the legends of sorcery that are rumoured to abound in that land, and the Lady, whose power walks dreams, and who is terrible fair? Or Mirkwood, where tis said, the trees themselves strangle and crush, and darkness holds over it an eternal night? Stories they may be, wildly blown out of proportion in keeping with the fantasies of folks\' minds, or the tale-hungry tavern patrons, gazing in fascination upon a bard who knows but backwater rumours. But as with all rumours a seed must have been planted and now we go not to where this seed was spun, but the tree which bore the first fruit. And there find the truth.

We shall be faced with that soon enough, and oft truth has the greater power, and these legends are but pale shades, copies of the original. I am much too intrigued to be truly afraid. But that is now. We shall see if faced with truth, we shall endure.\" He falls silent and heavy lies upon him the weight of his speech ere he continues again.

\"Our road is longer than I had thought it to be.. it shall be many long months ere we turn back, and even reach the borders of our own land again.\"

Gravely Rowaen nods in concurrence to the words spoken by his comrad. \"Wise words indeed, and yes we shall see in time, though I strongly believe we -shall- endure the truth, belief in our sincerity to serve as we have sworn. As for your speech of the elven-realms, not a real choice I am willing to take, obvious both bring danger aswell as wonders. No first-born have I ever seen, none of their realm\'s, so no clear judgement I would be able to give, let alone choose between The Golden Wood or Mirkwood. A trip to either of these would come as a blessing to me, a blessing which shall be fully enjoyed..\" The eagerness reflected in his eyes, now vanishes, eyes becoming graver once more.

\"And yes, long it will be before we reach our home... a home of which I seem to have forgotten quite some memories off. Still I long to return and see Dania once more... Til that time, I will be here, to do as I promised, to go and find a way to return the lost son, assured in my task, knowing there are other\'s like me, not far away, such as you.\"

Those are the words the young one speaks, while kneeling down, a hand reaching for the copper between the white. A faint trace of displeasement crosses Rowaen\'s face as he grabs the coin.

\"Tails...\"

And so Rowaen rises, walking away to attend the first hour of guard.