(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 14 - Bickering Brothers

Time: Early morning

Track--Along Foothills

Clouds scutter across the Winter sky...

Your freezing breath turns to smoke in the air.

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.

Participants:

Faengor:

Faengor wears the typical uniform of the Minas Tirith Guard over his leather armor. Long black pants are used to protect his legs from the climate, complimented with a black longsleeved shirt. Over this, a black tabard is worn with the silver crest of Minas Tirith, the White tree embroidered onto it. Two golden and black cables are worn over on the right breast of the tabard showing his rank of Sergeant. A broad leather belt is worn around his waist. A richly ornated scabbard is attached to the right side of his belt, with a sword sheeted in it. The hilt of the sword is likewise richly ornated.

Mathollor:

The man before you is tall and lithe, he moves with an easy grace and an almost lazy manner. He is fine featured with black hair giving him a sharp piercing look heightened by his pale grey eyes. A large diamond shaped scar marrs his face running from his left eyebrow down onto his cheek He is dressed in the uniform of a white Squire, his clothing is simple in style though they fit in the way only personally tailored clothes do. The only parts of his clothing that bear any colour are his high black riding boots and his tabbard, which bears the ship and swan isignia of the Knightly Order. Fastened around his waist is a thick leather belt bearing a sword, counter balanced by a dagger and large pouch on his left hand side. The weapons themselves seem unremarkable except for the dagger which is worked with silver in a black scabbard.A large black and silver furlined cloak is fastened over this by the only obvious piece of jewellery which is a silver rayed broach in the shape of the Isilrim star.

Rowaen:

A tall and grave young man, with jet-black hair and sullen blue eyes which radiates a coolness as they stare out into the world around him. A lean, warrior frame, his arched dark eyebrows crown his long-lashed eyes. His strong features do not diminish the youthful aura he has about him. One can indeed say that this young man is rather attractive, despite his reserved looks and sometimes an expression of respite that he wears, as if hiding a hidden torment.

He is clad in a tunic of the purest white, covering most of his lean upper body. Upon it, in shimmering silver, two proud signs of the Silver Ship and the Swan of Dol Amroth adorn the otherwise plain material. Beneath his tunic he wears a white shirt, almost seeming like velvet, and so do his trousers, being spotless and pure, common to a White-squire of Dol Amroth. They end in black leather boots, smooth and shining. A glimmering, a plain, thin silver chain laying lazily around his neck, descending to his chest, seeming to further providing light to his form, besides his fair complexion. However, should one notices with a greater care, a unique silver ring is on his fourth finger, that seems to be carefully taken care of.

Scene:

Early morning... still no clear sign of it\'s beauty visible at this place, with the mountains so near. Coldness, a gentle breeze stroking the cold on all within reach. A faint glimpse of the sun can be charished, in these here barren lands. It is in this gloom, deserted place, the fellowship of the sword had set up camp. Tents covered with a thin layer of frost, the white substance not seemingly to have missed but a single spot... Whiteness prevails...

In clear harmony with the dominating colour, is the garment of the lad, stepping out of one of the tents. It is Rowaen of Nimothan, clad in clothes common to those being a white Squire of Dol Amroth. Yet upon his back he wears a cloak, one to keep him warm and these cold days and nights. His head bent low Rowaen walks forward to a place were black ash seems to have it\'s home. And there on that very spot, the young squire sinks down on his knees, preparing a fire, in search for warmth. No others then this single white figure find their way near and around the camp at this hour.

Mathollor mutters as he closes back in towards the camp his first creating trails scuffed through into mud, stark against the whiteness. His cloak is gathered tightly around and yet he seems to shivereven through it and the heavy gauntlets with which he grips a spear.

Mathollor says, \"I\'m glad there is someone else awake apart from myself. Standing guard is a cruel duty in this cold.\"

A crystal clear laughter comes in reply, though it is not long-lived. At the approach of Mathollor, the squire by the, now almost set up, fire, looks up from his actions, stick in hand. A merry twinkle is reflected in his eyes as his gaze wanders to meet with that of Mathollor. \"And a good morning to you aswell, my friend!\"

Nodding gravely, the young lad speaks some more. \"Tis indeed not pleasant to stand guard in such a cold. Yet keep in mind what -can- happen if we do not take such measures of precaution. I would not sleep to peacefull, knowing there was none to keep an eye out for our safety. No worries, though, I am sure all will get our just deservings concerning guard duty in not to favourable weather conditions, before our journey is even half done...\" His eyes suddenly go skywards, the youth narrowing his eyes, seemingly to pierce the layer of frost, blurring the vision.

Mathollor mutters as he stamps his feet and after propping the spear against a tree waves his arms. \"I dont doubt we will all get our turn , and that it in needful. I only wish it was not needful in this weather.\"As he finishes speaking Mathollor grins broadly and stretches, his cloak flapping around him like the tattered wings of a crow.

Grinning broadly, while casting a glance at Mathollor, Rowaen resumes his efforts on the fire. \"Aye, friend, it seems you got quite numb there alone at night... Perhaps a fire will do you some good. Or you might continue your efforts and flapping around some more, in effort to gain some heat. I can assure you it is a delight for eyes to see.\" A wink is added before the squire redirects his fullest attention on the fire, with one hand pulling his cloak round himself a bit tighter.

With a great push one flap of the officer\'s tent is shoved aside opening and trough the exit, Faengor Nimothan apears, noble and proud, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Clear eyes survey the surroundings near the tent, before a step is place, cracking a twig beneath it\'s sole. The Errand Rider bends his back slightly to avoid hitting the top of the tentopening as he moves trough, casting the flap aside once having exited the tent.

Oncemore his carefull gaze roams about the camp and the countryside, the right hand forever the resting on the pommel of his sword. As the cool breeze orf the morning greets his face, Faengor flexes his shoulders and stretches his limb, pulling his face in a strange grimace for the barest of moments before turning his attention to the fire.

Mathollor turns as the tent opens and stops his arm waving long enough to greet Faengor. He waves briefly before returning to stamping his feet his face twisted into a scowl. \"This is certainly not fun, I would rather be fighting than freezing Row.\"

\"Well, dear Mathollor, I did not say it was fun for the reasons, you flap, mere the sighting of your efforts, proving quite comical. And aye, I agree doing something else rather then freezing, would indeed be nice, though not sure if it is fighting I wish for...\" Finally the young squire seems to end his actions, a tiny flame igniting under his hands. A brief glance Rowaen gives his brother, stepping into the cold, a firm nod meant as greeting, before he returns his eyes to the fire. Kneeling on his hands, carefull Rowaen starts to blow, the flame growing larger and larger. More wood is added, til a crackling fire burns...

Red-faced Rowaen rises back to his feet, taking distance of the flames, setting himself down with ease. \"Here is your fire, Mathollor, come and sit with it, so you can stop your meaningless flapping..\"

The Errand rider frowns curiously as Mathollor waves towards him, turning his stern gaze towards the squire, gazing at him for a long period, before turning towards him and Rowaen, not even giving his brother a decent look or acknowledging his presence. His hand rests firmly on the pommel of his sword as Faengor\'s feet take him towards Mathollor, thumping heavily on the ground beneath him.

In reply to his brother\'s rejecting behavior, all Rowaen seems to do is to raise his shoulder\'s, directing a stern, grim look in Faengor\'s direction. Yet no word he speaks, mere sitting silent at the fire, occasionally throwing a lump of wood onto the dancing flames.

After reaching the fire, Faengor unbuckles his weaponbelt, placing it next to him in the dirt as he sinks to his knees next to Mathollor and relaxes, closing his eyes for a mere moment before turning to Rowaen, gazing at with stern and piercing eyes, his lips gruff and stern. \"Did any brave deeds for your knight lately Rowaen?\" Faengor finally questions with a biting tongue.

And so the grim look upon the young Nimotan\'s face returns, frowning his brows, replying bitterly and stern. \"Are you perhaps blind my brother? Haven\'t I been around the same days as you, when we left from Minas Tirith... This quest is done to serve my knight... in a way we serve him all, yes even... -you-. It surprises me you went along, I sincerely believed you preferred drinking with your friends above duty... my mistake..\" Eyes downwards, Rowaen pokes fiercely into the flames, several sparkles finding their freedom, slowly whirling to the soil... their tiny lights fading out.

\"Service to the Stewards and the Citizens of Minas Tirith has always been of prime importance to me and my father. So was it of prime importance to my grandfather and his father.\" He sneers and speaks with a biting tongue, spitting his words in rowaen\'s face like acid, \"That is, .. until you were born, the thorn in my eye, stubborn and foolish.\" He snarls and rips his gaze away from Rowaen, letting it roam about the countryside.

\"Oh?! And pray tell... what if that little thorn in your -eye-, had only the intention to do as you say? Yet in a different way? Do I not serve my knight, Prince Imrahil, serve the people of Gondor, and all in good example of my father. Is it that vague for you...\'brother\'?\" His words come in swift reply to those of Faengor, not bearing the bitterness of somewhat earlier, mere calm spoken, a slight trace of annoyance perhaps shimmering through.

A glance is cast to his side, to the place were Mathollor sits, then his eyes find rest at the sight of the fire, following the flames with care. \"Really, Faengor, sometimes you can be so.... utterly... ignorant!\" To strengthen his words, or so it seems, Rowaen picks up another piece of wood, poking with it into the glowing ashes.

\"Ignorant, ...\" Faengor growls, flexing his muscles in utter concentration as he lets the words resound in his head, over and over ... Slowly his gaze returns to rowaen, though his right hand seeks the hilt of his sword, clasping it tightly. \"The bittered and angered often fall prey to ignorance. Perhaps finding the tradition of my family broken does make me ignorant for I carry a deep wound in my heart.\" Oncemore, Faengor\'s eyes are fixed upon Rowaen, \"Do not get me wrong brother, I am not ignorant and know very well what you do for the prince. Your actions are well and you do but good, yet you could also have done this in the service of the guard without bringing deep grieve to father.\" He leans closer towards Rowaen and hisses, yet loud enough for everyone to hear, \"I know you very well Rowaen, granted I spent little time with you during childhood, but I know you well enough. The only loyalty you carry is towards yourself and your wife! If fullfilling the sole wish of your familly was too little, I am curious to your loyalties with the knights of the Swan.\"

he scowls and raises from the dirt, buckling his belt around his waist.

Mathollor shakes his head and stands quickly \"I think I should leave you gentlemen to your argument\"

\"No, stay and enjoy the fire, Mathollor, it will do you good, pay no heed to this argument, for it goes on since I was born..\" is Rowaen\'s gentle reply, nodding assuringly to the squire near him. Yet then slowly his eyes venture towards the one known as his brother, the very same speaking and thinking so low of his person.... Almost fiercely is the jump to his feet, Rowaen eying his brother, eyes shining a fierce fire, lips formed in a bitter smile.

How different is the sound of his voice, as it pierces the cold once more. Nothing remains of the pleasantness in it before, bitter is every word he speaks. \"Wife? You speak in such manner about another of our House? Even dare calling her so low, without her being PRESENT! I could not care -less- what \'you\' think of me! For I -know- myself aswell and know I did it aswell for father -and- mother, well...even... even for YOU!\" The fire in his eyes seems to largen, as the lad takes a deep breath, speaking more of his apparent torment, every word turning into smoke as soon as they leave his lips.

\"Do -yourself- and -me- a great favor.... BROTHER! And refrain from judging, it seems you are not to good in that... Never have I bothered you about you being the oldest son, demanding all attention of our father! Not a -single- word, Faengor, not one! What future would I had? Following you, no place to develop, mere having to do exactly as you do, hah! Frankly I do not see the fun of that, if one can not be in charge of his own future, planning his every step!\"

\"I am indeed the first born Rowaen!\" Faengor speaks arrogantly, throwing Rowaen\'s words back at him as he takes a step forwards and leans towards him, with eyes blazing. \"And that is exactly my place on the ladder! First!\" He growls and clenches the hilt of his sword tightly, as if trying to shatter it under his grip. \"No, you continue to resist! You need to know where your place is Rowaen! You come second to me!\" He growls and turns around, stepping away from Rowaen.

\"Why, in the one\'s name, do you think I left! You wanted your first place so bad, well I gave it to you! Keep in mind brother, I was thought dead for three years and when I returned... realizing the shortness of life, and all I wanted was to do as I wished. To try and find a new challenge, one to refind myself... many of my past remains hidden from me, brother. So I spoke with our father! And recieved his blessing... Knighthood, one of the greatest challenges indeed, thats what father called it! His own words... and to think I am here to go for my own glory? Afraid I have to disappoint you there... since I am not like..-you-! I do not seek to pleasure father every second, demanding all attention and more. All I do is in name of our family, to go and upkeep the good name of the Nimothan! And all glory that might fall upon me, will be reflected to the name of our House!\" Still the fire in Rowaen\'s eyes had not died out, his voice raising in volume even more, as his brother walks away from him.

\"Walk away, brother! Refuse to face the truth, cling to those falsehoods in your mind, charish them, deceive yourself, I will have none of it!\" And so come the last words, spoken by the younger of the brothers, both enraged, their feud still not resolved, after all those years...

Mathollor clears his throat and fidgets looking uncomfortable as he half stands, hestating slightly before sitting back down a pained look upon his face.

Muttering softly to himself, undoubtly more ill-words directed at the person of Faengor, Rowaen turns back to face the fire, noting with slight displeasement, the fire had decreased in size.. \"Bickering, what a waste of time indeed.. see what it causes.. more cold and less warmth, let me fix that this very instant.\" Trying a faint smile, failing in the worst way, Rowaen puts some more logs of woods on the flickering flames, taking a stick to poke into the ashes. The results are immediate, the flames seemingly to be revived, rising, increasing their dancing movements.

\"That is more like it...\" Silently the young Nimothan sets himself, rubbing his hands near the flame, letting out a single cough.

Mathollor sighs \" Feuds are not wise to enter into my friend for in their own way they hurt both parties equally\"

As he speaks Mathollors hand touches the scar across his forehead and cheek absently.

And there, finally a smile comes through! Yet... it is not one of pleasure... mere one bitter and of mockery. \"I fear you are right my friend, right indeed... Many is the time we had such converses, every time resulting in the same, one of us walking away..angered, or both hurt and stubborn... Hah!\" With force Rowaen throws a tiny piece of wood, after picking it from the ground, into the flames. \"Tis almost a curse! Why, why can he just not see his wrongs... never would I do or be as he thinks and speaks. Never! How could I hurt my father, do I not still have a heart? One that loves his family...friends.. tis truly sad..\" Like the air leaving the squires\' lips dissolves into smoke, so vanishes the bitterness on Rowaen\'s face, his expression softening, eyes standing sad and distant...

\"Yet you were wise, Mathollor, not to enter the useless discussion me and my brother had... Madness, nothing more I can say of it.\"

Mathollor says, \"such madness affected me before, and over a woman no less. I won this scar over a silly point of rivalry that our stubborness turned into a feud. Of course incited by a silly girl who delighted in being fought over, to this day I am wary of any entanglements.\"

A sigh escapes Rowaen, as he turns sidewards, glancing at the squire next to him. \"So, more people can become victim of such madness... Tis a pity I always think, yet every time I am dragged into it, the harder I try and tell myself to end it this time, the more the words he speak oppose me, causing a fiercer response... Ah, I have faith, though... that one day this all -will- be resolved, finally both aware of the other\'s points and feelings.. like you became aware... Let us only hope, I will not have to be subjected to a fight to settle the matter, as had you. It will be a dread indeed, should my brother and I ever cross blades... how mother would faint at such news indeed. Mathollor, I..\"

Directly Rowaen faces his fellow-squire now, the sullen blue still bearing some sadness, a grim around his lips. \"as a friend, I would ask you a favor.. Should, should I ever have the intention to draw blades on Faengorn and you are near, then... be wise as you were today and prevent me from doing so. Even.. even if it is he who draws blade first. Foolish it would be to fight over a thing such as this, and nothing good will come of it.. Will your promise me that?\" Inquiring, is the look the lad gives Mathollor, his hands resting calmly on his knees.

Mathollor nods his head slowly his face grim \"I will ... and gladly I was nearly exiled for my foolisness, I would not wish either of you to experience that uncertainty.\"

\"And a true friend you are!\" speaks Rowaen, rising to his feet, giving Mathollor a pat on the shoulder. \"And as a friend, always you can count on my support, advice and help.... It grieves me to hear you were exiled, or more that it had to come that far, and glad would I be indeed, were you to keep me and my brother away from such fate as that. What shame would we bring to our House...\" For a moment the squire gazes up into the sky, his eyes meeting nothing more then the whiteness of frost..

As his eyes return to the soil he stands on, a turn is made, the white-squire walking towards his tent. \"For now we must depart, Mathollor, there are some duties I still have to attend... and some hours of guard-duty after that. Seeing your cold return, I be best wise and dress warmly for that task... A pleasant day to you!\" Rising the flap, Rowaen enters the tent before him, his figure disappearing from sight.