(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 5

Night has fallen upon the Knights of the Quest, here beside the South Road where they make their camp for the evening. Some sleep, already, the long miles behind and ahead of them heavy on their conscience -- while others stay wakeful, circling campfires, laughing and singing.

Among this latter group is the Lord Girithlin, playing upon a harp for a handful of listeners.

Sitting keenly by the edge of the Herald\'s fire, Drenlyn stares into the dancing flames as they jump and flare with the Herald\'s music. A smile upon his face, the blue squire has shed his riding garb, and enjoys what pleasures he can after the hard hours in the saddle.

With a final flourish of the subtle strings, Thorondur the Elf-Friend concludes his song. The story is done, and still does the melody dance on the edge of memory, like the afterimage of the firelight burned into the eyes when the gaze strays away from the hearth.

Of the Fall of Gondolin he sang.

\"And let us buy another fate, with our lives if need be,\" the Herald says, \"for another white city of seven tiers. For though Gondolin fell, Minas Tirith yet stands -- may it ever be so.\"

Slowly appearing in the distance is a flickering light, it grows larger at a pace too fast for an unmounted figure. The figure grows larger untill a white and blue figure can be seen on a horse. He cries, \"Ho! Have I found the camp the men of fair Belfalas and moreso of fairest Amroth?\"

Still smiling, Drenlyn turns to his knight with eyes glowing with the image of the fallen city, \"We shall my lord, but I fear...\"Stopping short Drenlyn stands at the voice of the rider.

Jogging swiftly Drenlyn makes to take the reigns of the horse, smiling \"Indeed you have good sir, now perhaps you can enjoy some comfort after you tell your name to a humble squire, and perhaps the reason that you seek us.\"

\"Nay,\" calls a voice in response, \"We are Orcs! Have at \'im, lads!\"

Raucous laughter greets the jape, and the speaker -- Sir Dirhavel -- raises a skin of something, in toast. \"Have a seat, boy. We can stew you for dinner,\" he jests.

Laughter arises in return to the knights. \"If you were orcs I\'d already be dead.\" He rides into the camp, \"I am the Squire Maernus Calgar, the squire of Sir Durandir Nimothan.\" The white clothes of Maernus bare a lot of dust, he swings off of his horse. The sounds of his feet hitting the ground strange, he bows slightly to Sir Dirhavel, \"I\'d be honoured, Sir, but I doubt I\'d taste very good.\"

\"We broiled a recalcitrant squire, once...\" begins Dirhavel --

The Herald cuts his friend off with a wave of his hand, which -- perhaps surprisingly -- succeeds brilliantly. \"Enough, Dir,\" Thorondur says with a smile. \"The lad must surely be tired. Drenlyn, do you this fellow? I daresay we\'ve got an entire battalion of you squires underfoot by now.\"

Nodding to the squire\'s introduction, Drenlyn hands the reigns of Maernus\' horse to a passing squire and returns to his seat. Eyeing the visage of the rider carefully Drenlyn replies, \"Nay Thorondur, I do not know this squire, though I may have seen him about.\"

\"Nay do I know...Drenlyn is your name?\" Maernus says nodding to Drenlyn. \"I have been gone the more public aspects of Dol Amroth for some time and have missed meeting some of the newer squires, Sir Thorondur. I am sorry that I have had the most unfortunate of circumstances keeping me away from Dol Amroth for quite some time.\"

\"I believe that I have seen him, however,\" the Herald says to his comrades -- only moments ago, his audience -- as he motions for Maernus to come into the light. \"Calgar, yes, I\'ve seen you about. I understand that young Durandir has been... ill.\" The word takes on a grim meaning, when he phrases it so.

Still, Thorondur smiles again, and quickly. \"Yet you are with us now,\" he says. \"It will be a long road, and hard. Are you sure of your desire to join with us?\"

\"It is good squire, and your absence would explain why your face is not in the least familiar,\" replies Drenlyn, scanning the face of Maernus carefully, his own filled with silent questions.

\"Unfortunately so, Sir.\" Maernus says forlornly. \"However, I have never strayed from any road for which I can serve my Lord Prince on, be it marching south to Harad or north against the goblins and their foul wargs.\" He kneels towards Thorondur, \"Upon this road I shall walk until I return to Dol Amroth or my path leaves for the stars.\"

A thin smile touches the Lord Girithlin\'s lips as the squire kneels, but for himself Thorondur stands. \"Rise, lad,\" he insists. \"I am not the Lord Bragollach, to stand on protocol at the side of a wild road. Though I am sure Drenlyn could say far more of such things. I sleep now, and you would be wise to follow suit -- we\'ve a long road ahead.\"

And with that, the Herald turns, and slips off to his tent.

An expression of curiosity traces Drenlyn\'s face at Maernus\' reply, \"You unfortunately desire to join with us fellow squire? I am curious how the desire for such a duty and honor can be unfortunate, even if it leads to darkness unknown.\"

Shaking his head, Drenlyn stares into the nearby fire not waiting for an answer, but quickly returns his gaze to Maernus, \"I question not your bravery, nor your desire good squire, but please tell of why you come as you do, and so jubilant to find the camp of the Swan Knights.\"

Getting to his feet, laughing again. \"I am unfortunate for the illness of Sir Durandir...\" He stops laughing rather quickly, \"He has been rather sickly as of late.\" Maernus looks around at the various knights, \"Why I come as I do? What ever do you mean by that...and why should one not be jubilant at finding men of his land upon the dark of the road?\"

Smiling up at the standing squire Drenlyn offers the seat next to him, \"Come sit squire, or shall I stand. Such talk is useless unless we be on the same level, no? But as to my inquiries, I saw you not in our group yesterday, and you seemed as one on an errand when you rode up to the camp.\"

Now in deep thought Drenlyn\'s eyes wander to the dancing flames, as they flicker and release a wisp of smoke into the night sky. His eyes stare up at the stars, but his thought is broken and he returns his friendly gaze to Maernus, \"You seemed as if one who has found what he has searched for, so I guess that you came a great distance with haste by the look of your garments.\"

Taking a seat around the fire, \"No, I have no great errand but to serve the Lord Prince and to do that I must find the camp of Dol Amroth. As for some great distance, I left Dol Amroth behind the Knights so I had to make haste to find them.\" Maernus smiles, \"But what do you find wrong with my garments? They are cleaner now then ever they were in Harad you know.\"

Smiling as Maernus sits down Drenlyn says, \"It is good that no errand drove you, but only your duty, for that you have my apologies for the questioning of your desire earlier.\"

Gazing down at his clean tunic, Drenlyn smiles, \"As to the condition of your garments, I find no wrong. I only read the signs that are given to me, which are vague and few. But I do agree that they must be better than in Harad, for I too know of the havoc the southern lands wreak on our garments.\"

\"Sir Thorondur spoke of a battalion of squires? Have that many actually been squired recently?\" Maernus says, he brushes some of the dust off of his clothes. \"Where you among the men of Amroth in the last venture into Harad, then?\" His eyes seem to glow of their own, \"I remember the first time I was in Harad, the land holds surreal beauty, but has too many pests in need of extermination for my liking.\"

Nodding Drenlyn answers with a warm chuckle, \"There have been many that have been squired recently. I am often confused as to which white squire is which, and am no longer surprised by a face that I do not know.\"

Frowning as his eyes stray to the fire, Drenlyn continues, \"I was among the men of that journey, for it was one of the first tasks assigned to me as a squire. But alas that the beauty of the south must be marred by the vulgarness of the Umbarian swine.\" His eyes alike to the fire in front of him, Drenlyn tenses with anger. Yet a light breeze blows from the west and he relaxes.

\"But tell good squire, how long have you been in the service of the Prince? For you seem to have years about you that I can no longer find about the cubs of squirehood that learn in the courts of Dol Amroth.\"

A caloused hand raised to rub his chin, \"Well...I have been a blue squire for, well...let\'s see.\" He begins to mutter to himself, \"I was made a blue squire when Durandir was knighted....and I was squired on a day like this, well...when was that...on the way to face the wargs?\" Maernus shakes his mantle of black hair, \"Oh, no it was during the haradrim invasion...I think. And I was a Man at Arms since Mordor tried to take Osgilith...two, no three...maybe two times ago.\" He continues on like this for a few minutes. He looks at Drenlyn, \"After much consideration, I think I have been in the service of the Lord Prince for around three winters. But I\'ve forgotten much of what has happened in that time, all the fighting has blended into one extended battle in my memory...each campaign as a battle and each battle as if just a skirmish.\"

\"Ah, a real campaigner of a squire. It is good that I met you, for from you I could learn much I deem.\" Gazing blankly at the fire, Drenlyn\'s eyes begin to droop. Shaking himself Drenlyn turns to Maernus, \"It appears that I must follow my knight\'s advice and find some strength for the coming journey. I have much to learn and train for before I am a good campaigner, or so I fear.\"

\"Train?\" Maernus laughs, \"All I ever got was some luck.\" He grins, \"However, training is good, because even my luck runs out from time to time.\" He begins to rub his eyes, \"I agree, some sleep could be useful right now.\" He stands and yawns, \"But I need to get my horse some feed and make sure he doesn\'t run away before I fall asleep.\"

And so the two squires, one new to the task, and one old, wander in there own distinctive paths each to his own task and his own fate. As the squire\'s depart to seek heavenly bliss in the forgetfulness of sleep, the camp of the Swan begins to quiet as both weary and rejoicing embrace the blessed rest offered to them under the bright gems of Varda in the night sky.