(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 4 - Banditry on the Road

[Arnafel(#29017)]

The blush of dawn limns the Eastern skies with a rosy hue -- a new day has come to Lebennin, and the rolling plains rejoice in it. But here, the light has yet to reach in full measure -- the morning mists lie heavy upon the path, and the last shadows of night lurk at its edges.

And onward through this silent world they ride -- the Knights Silver and White, and the Prince\'s squires, outriders of the company which will follow them ere long.

\"Pelargir behind us,\" speaks a voice clear and fair, \"and Minas Tirith ahead. White walls and the White Tower, and the Gate that has never been broached. Not all the craft of Numenor is lost.\"

It is the Lord Thorondur, the White Knight who speaks these words, looking now to the dawn and the eternal hope of Men. \"Not all. Take heart, Men of Gondor! For another day rises anew!\"

Riding a tall bay horse the lean form of Amano is silhouetted in the morning, horse and rider silent but for the soft jingle of harness and the steady beat of hoofs the youth\'s grey eyes gaze at the stretch of road far ahead, to the city, a dark blur against the horizon. Unwearied he seems, his glance bright even with the sunlight about him, and the hand that guides his steed\'s reins is steady and calm.

\"I am glad for the morning, at the very least,\" he murmurs, unashamedly, as though the journey through the night had been more wearying than the leagues of travel. \"Ah, if I had an eagle\'s eyes, even now I might see the sun shining upon the white walls of the city. But I see naught but the road, and a spot that might at this distance be anything.\" He sighs, lifting a hand from the reins to the water canteen at his belt.

[Arnafel(#29017)]

\"And may the dawn\'s light vanquish the darkness which lies upon the path we must take\", speaks another in reply -- the Lord of the Isilrim upon his great steed of grey, and he is no stranger to perilous quests and wonderous journies.

\"But it is the cliffs of fair Belfalas by the Sea, and the alabaster walls of the Marble Citadel which hold my heart.\"

[Arnafel(#29017)]

To the youthful Squire -- Amano of the Isilrim -- the Knight-Admiral casts a glance over his shoulder, \"Many leagues lie yet between Minas Tirith and us, kinsman. The road from Calembel to Dol Amroth is but a trifle before it.\"

\"Your heart and mine, Arnafel,\" agrees the Lord Girithlin, \"but does yours not soar as my own, upon sight of those fair distant walls? What you see, young Amano,\" he adds in turn, \"is Mindolluin, last of the mountains, on whose hoary slopes the City of Gondor is built.\"

Smiling to himself, his face warmed by the light of a new day, Thorondur ventures, \"When you truly see the city, lad, you will know it well. For upon the face of Arda, Minas Tirith is the foremost jewel -- a white stone of seven fair facets.\"

Only briefly does Rowaen look up from his thoughts, to see that of what the others speak. A grin is all he gives, before the distant gazes returns to his eyes, riding the brown mare he sits upon, with automatism alone, as it seems. Calmly his hands hold the reins, a loose grip, leather crackling of the few moves he makes.

Upon hearing another talk of Minas Tirith, again briefly does the white squire look up, facing north, a faint glimmering in the icy blue of his eyes. Though again the gaze wanders... and seemingly thoughts return to cloud his mental presence.

[Arnafel(#29017)]

\"There are few sights more fair...or daunting...than Minas Tirith upon its mighty perch\", the Silver Knight inclines his head to Thorondur. \"And yet...\"

\"And yet Girithlin\" -- measured and evenly spoken his words, as they ever are, \"the untroubled vales of the North, bereft of mighty realms of Men, are a more soothing balm to troubled hearts.\"

\"For there is no shadow to darken their brightness, but only light.\"

Gratefully the squire drinks of the clear water from his canteen, finishing and taking both reins once more a quiet look he casts, toward the glimmering line of the horizon, as though seeking that distant sight. \"Then let the wind lend wings to our horses\' feet,\" Amano muses, \"for if the road that lies before us is many times that of what we have just traveled, then a long distance it must be, truly. How many mornings, if we ride in this same pace, before we come before its walls?\" He glances aside at Rowaen, noting the other\'s silence, though he says nothing as yet to him.

Yet Rowaen\'s distant gazes do not go unnoticed. The merry Herald, for one, so often bright of spirit, puts a question to the squire, with laughter. \"Do you miss, perhaps, your lady-love, young squire?\"

The sly tone of his inquiry is unmistakable, yet when he looks back to Arnafel, it is fled as surely as the night. \"No shadow, Lord Isilrim? I would not agree, I fear.\"

\"Three sunsets at the least we will see ere the Rammas Echor welcomes us\", the Silver Knight replies to Amano. \"It is a mighty work indeed, and it has warded this realm well through the years.\"

And to Thorondur he casts a fleeting glance -- and a nod -- but his answer is slow in coming, \"Shadows lie everywhere in these latter days, Girithlin. And yet, there are places which the passing ages have left untouched -- dreaming meres and vales, where time holds no sway.\"

And he turns away then, his voice grown quieter, \"But they are perilous to Mortal Men.\"

A startled look at first, is what Rowaen gives the Herald in return, yet swiftly a grave expression forms. \"No.. I do not miss her. Let me say our bonds... loosened recently. Tis was mere memories I have concerning my first travel.. and the ones til this one here at hand. It occured to me none showed to be pleasant and misery always founds it\'s way to my person. So, if you are in search of a shadow, then look no further, for one is covering my soul and spirit at this moment.\"

His gaze reaches out, facing directly north, another distant look appears, yet this one seems different then before. Somewhat.. more peacefull. \"Yet, no worries, for I am sure it is mere my mind playing tricks on me, the feeling called fear seems evident, fear that things will go horribly wrong. I guess too much attention I gave to those gossips, silly rumors.. my apologies for my darkness... I am sure it will be gone by tomorrow..\" And so the lad falls silent once more.

\"Then keep the the Codex ever in mind, Rowaen of the Nimothan\" -- and the Silver Knight glances to the Squire with arched brow -- \"for is Hope not one of the virtues set down thither?\"

Words, words, words -- first the Silver Knight, then a faithful squire\'s -- the Herald lends all an ear. And yet this talk of perils from one side, and shadowed hearts on another? His answer is laughter, bright and delighted.

\"There is peril in beauty, aye, and in paths seldom tread. I know this too well. But perhaps down these roads shall our young Rowaen find his healing.\"

Smiling wryly, Thorondur tells Rowaen, \"Best put these thoughts from your mind, lad, like your fellow Amano,\" to whom he gestures vaguely. \"It will be many months ere you see fair Dol Amroth again, and much will change.\"

\"Much will change,\" adds the knight into the quiet, \"And you will, as well.\"

\"I have my own shadows, lord, but veil them for the moment. I suppose I battle them now and then, yet I wish not to bare my heart before all.. but if during this ride, I will learn to banish them, then more than hope lies in this quest indeed.\"

\"And in my mind it is, my Lord,\" is the reply to the Lord of Isilrim. \"Yet sometimes to find the virtue of Hope, one must first seek to find it within... Events can bury the virtue and make it more difficult to access, yet it is as I said, I am positive I will retrieve my Hope before the next day.\"

As the Herald adresses him, Rowaen turns to face the man, raising one brow in question. \"My Lord? The trouble lies not in Dol Amroth, my thoughts are not occupied by my.. Lady, with travels and travels alone.. My apologies if it might have shown otherwise..\"

At the words of Amano, all Rowaen does is to nod, as if agreeing upon every word spoken.

[Arnafel(#29017)]

And now, the warmth of the day burns away the tattered veil of the morning mists, and slender fingers of sunlight reach forth to drive the winter chill from the travelers. To that golden glow the Isilrim raises his face with closed eyes, and the austere lines etched upon his brow in days past are smoothed away -- Arnafel the Fair they named him, and in the youthful day, it can be seen why.

And thus, with eyes still closed, he speaks of a sudden, \"Tell me of your homes, Squires -- of the mighty halls of Barad Nimothan and the Keep of the Isilrim.\"

To Arnafel, Thorondur casts a glance -- fleeting, yet curious. But in silence for the moment he rides on, taking a more passive role in the discussion.

A wry smile forms around Rowaen\'s lips, as the Lord of Isilrim speaks his question. Grave he looks, his voice bitter and accompanied by sincere regret. \"Aye... my Lord... on that I can be fairly short, short indeed.. My youth I spent many hours near the mighty halls of our House.. til the age of seventeen was reached, then I was so foolish to go and sail the sea. In a storm our ship was lost and all were lost... Still I survived and washed ashore, amnesia being the one thing I suffered. Three years I lived in ignorance of my own person and past. And when my memory finally returned... many seemed lost..\" Here the squire saddly shakes his head, closing his eyes in apparent embarrassment.

A deep sigh announces more words to come, leaving Rowaen\'s lips swiftly and almost emotionless.. \"I seek many of my past still, many have I already retrieved, yet many aswell is lost.. So honestly, no memory I have of the halls of our house, only the knowledge I spent my youth in Minas Tirith... A month ago I was in Minas Tirith, even then.. when I finally set foot in those halls.. finally after four years returned home, even then no recognition pierced my mind. So if you seek a well-thought answer and one of knowledge then I fear you will find it not with me..\"

The profile of Amano, turned away to lands unseen, is distant, graven, his reply slow in coming as though his thought lay a far flight from where they rode. \"My home.. I was only a stripling of fifteen when I left, but I remember most of all my brothers, and riding in hills and vales, the grass green beneath our horses\' hooves. In the halls laughter would echo, and bright tapestries adorned the walls. There were grand feasts to celebrate many a holiday, and often at night there would be coloured lamps in the courtyards, their light shimmering upon ladies in their finery and tall, regal lords. My brothers and I would pretend to be knights..\" He gives a quiet smile at that, spurring his horse forward slightly. \"and in our play often we would knock over random things, a vase, a statuette that Mother adored.\" His words trail off into the breeze, as though the memory had silenced him.

Yet he adds, \"I have missed my home much, yet I do not regret leaving. Many would call me strange for that... but that is what I have felt, since coming into the Palace once more.\"

[Arnafel(#29017)]

All this the Lord Isilrim hears in silence, with closed eyes turned to the warmth of the day -- content, it would seem, to let his steed guide him whither it will. Until, in reply:

\"You have found hope, kinsman\" -- and to Amano he glances now, with a sudden, fleeting smile one which would make him seem younger far than his two score less ten years -- \"Guard those memories well, for they are the flint which will kindle a fire in your heart to drive away the chill of despair. And you, Rowaen of the Nimothan...\"

To the other Squire he turns then, grown grave again, \"A dark Doom indeed has haunted your footsteps. But perhaps you will find Hope on this journey. Or perhaps\" -- and the faintest hint of that smile again -- \"you will learn it from the Lord Thorondur. He has enough to spare, I deem.\"

\"Hope?\" Thorondur laughs. \"Why, I have that in spades, Arnafel. Here--\" and the knight reaches for a wineskin, holding it out to his fellow.

\"Have a sip.\"

Not able to surpress his merriment, a broad smile appears on Rowaen\'s face, as he eyes the Herald, a queer twinkle in his eyes. And for a brief moment, none of the darkness, clouding his spirit, remains.. \"So it seems, my Lord, so it seems.\"

At the offer of wine, a hand is raised by the young squire, kindly refusing the offer. \"No wine for me, my Lord, I prefer a clear mind, my wits are one of the virtues I treasure the most.\" is his answer, his voice carrying more merriment then before. And so it seems, with the beginning of the day, a new light shines upon Rowaen of Nimothan..

And the smile grows into a laugh -- rare indeed for the Silver Knight, and heard by none save those he names friends. The wineskin is accepted, raised in a salute to the Knight-Herald, and quaffed from.

Yet, he sets it down with a faint shiver then, and draws his cloak close -- for the riders pass beneath the spreading limbs of a wood which lies before them, and the warmth of the day is lost.

Amano grins, the melancholy gone from his countenance without a trace of a lingering shadow. \"Ah, that hope came in skins of wine! All doubt and sorrow should have been lifted from my shoulders long ago if it were so..yet going without wine for a long journey is like depriving a man of water.\" With that he falls silent, the company now nigh to the wood and an eye he keeps on the lofty trees and the shadows that fall beneath them.

\"Ah, trees,\" muses the Herald, looking about himself at the wood as their party canters through it. \"Givers of shade, and warmth, and comfort. By leaf or wood, we owe trees a great deal.\"

Now eyeing the squires oddly, Thorondur says, \"You will see many trees, if in truth we go north and leave this land. There are woods beyond our borders, older than time we will be lucky, if a chill is all they have for us.\"

A mere grins is given in reply by Rowaen, quickly looking away again. His eyes fixed upon the trees, searching intensively, perhaps in search hidden dangers lurking amongst the shadows.

Through the silent, green world, the Knights and the Squires ride -- following a beaten trail which winds between great-limbed trees, and upon which the dappled shadows of day lie thickly.

Fair and ancient, this wood -- and yet, ere long has passed, the Isilrim\'s brow furrows. And brief moments later, he murmurs, \"Passing strange. We pass through a wood and hear no birdsong.\"

\"Perhaps another of the lads\' bears has scared them away,\" remarks Thorondur, ever light of heart -- though true knight he is, he keeps a sword as handy as a smile. That blade, so casually, is loosened in its sheath.

\"I would not spend a night more than would be necessary in woods so ancient, nor wish to wait for morning near its borders..\" The young Isilrim whispers as if on impulse. \"Somehow one feels, in such a forest, that he is trespassing in a land that rightfully belongs to beasts and what creatures walk in that green darkness...\"

At the words of the Lord Arnafel, however, he falls silent, keeping a strong and tight hand on the rein, grey eyes fixed ahead as though seeking an end to the passage through the woods.

[Arnafel(#29017)]

\"Perhaps. And perhaps not\", the Silver Knight replies -- he says no more, and if his hand does not stray to his sword hilt, it yet gathers the reins of his steed more securely.

And around these intruders in the ancient woodlands, the wind whispers through the rustling leaves...

\"HALT!\"

[Rowaen(#16595)]

As the command reaches Rowaen, immediatly his hand pulls the reins tight and forces his mare to stand fast. Neighing somewhat the mare halts, the squire avoiding the animal to stagger, the horse breathing nervously, perhaps aware of something his rider is not... Inquiringly Rowaen looks at both the Herald and the Lord of Isilrim and then a quick glance at Amano, tension clearly reflected upon his features... Whatever it is, Rowaen seems unaware of it, though his attempts are made..

Skittishly the stallion Amano rides lays its ears flat on its head, at the sudden word that shatters the air, cleaving the silence like the bright flash of steel. The tall youth flinches slightly, yet quick he is to haul his bay steed close, bringing the frightened creature under control by dint of a mighty pull at the reins.

His eyes flash from the path to the trees gathering close and the space between their knotted boles, seeking what he knows not as yet and his hand falls to the pommel of the sword at his hip, more unconsciously than not.

\"Who...?\" he queries, his voice strange and cutting in the sudden tension, a single syllable that seems to echo in the dark wood.

[Arnafel(#29017)]

But it is not the Isilrim who has spoken, nor the Girithlin. And the silence in the woods grows breathless now, in the wake of that sudden cry which came from nowhere -- and everywhere.

And sharply Arnafel draws rein, a hand resting upon the pommel of his blade -- around the silent woods his gaze sweeps, and he motions to the Squires to stay their steeds.

The squires may hesitate, their steeds skittish the Lord Girithlin, however, and his legendary white charger, great Amrandir, react as one. Steel is bared, and the horse snorts loudly, mount and rider casting about themselves, silent, searching for answers.

And now they are revealed -- those who have presumed to bar the path of the Prince\'s Champions. Forth from between the trees they step, clad all in green, and the foremost is a man great of limb and stature.

And a dozen bows are nocked, a dozen shafts trained upon the company of four.

Amazed he sits silent upon the brown mare carrying him, a blink Rowaen makes, surprised by ones he did not see until they revealed themselves... Quietly he lets his gaze go over the men gathered, with bows in hand, still his own hand stays near his sword, ready to act when needed. The other hand, firmly holds the reins, keeping his mare under control, the horse now even more nervous.

\"Archers,\" says Thorondur, stern and without fear as he stares down upon these men who would waylay the Knights of Dol Amroth. With his sword, he gestures boldly, sweeping the road with the blade. \"Stand aside, if you be loyal Men of Gondor,\" he commands them.

Reckless as oft youth may be, yet the immediate danger before them stills the fiery Amano to stone, his hand still resting on his sword-hilt though his eyes, sharp suddenly with steely light. Yet wise enough not to move inadvertently, he directs his gaze to the Lord of the Isilrim, questioning. Even as the Knight-Herald speaks, he refrains from speaking what words he might have, sitting upon his steed unmoving.

And in reply to the Knight-Herald, the leader of the brigands -- for surely, they can be naught else -- lets forth a great booming laugh.

\"Loyal men of Gondor? Indeed we are! Else, we would have slain you even as you rode through the woods all unaware!\"

[Arnafel(#29017)]

\"Hold, Squires.\"

Quiet and low, the Knight-Admiral\'s voice -- and he does not bare steel, nor urge his steed forth, but casts a glance fraught with silent meaning to the White Knight.

To the waylayers he turns then, and his voice is calm and measured -- even now! -- as ever is his wont, \"And what do you seek, men of the woods, if not our lives?\"

\"Why, your purses!\" replies the captain of the brigands with yet another laugh.

At the mentioning of purses, Rowaen can not help but to smirk bitterly. Like he would carry a purse with him on such a quest. Yet no words leave his lips, perhaps afraid ill-words might be spoken and lead to .. \'unpleasant\' actions in return.

But lo! What is this? A mumur runs through the brigands at the Knight-Herald\'s words, and one among them steps forth, \"Knight?\"

And \"Knight\", the Lord Isilrim agrees courteously, \"But I deem Thorondur would be most ill pleased to surrender his purse. Would you not, Girithlin?\" And he casts a glance to the two youths beside him then, \"What think you, Squires...will he?\"

\"Nay, my Lord,\" speaks Rowaen, smiling more openly now, still keeping a sharp gaze. \"I think he will most certainly do no such thing... not if his ... purse is as dear to him as his \'hope\'!\"

At the laughter of the rogue before them Amano\'s teeth bare, not in a smile, but a grimace, as though he had in his short span of years come across such men before and a cold gaze it is that he turns to the men barring the path, his frustration plainly writ upon his face. Indeed it might seem, if not for the arrows aimed for all four, he might have resorted to angry words. Yet with a forced patience he sits upon his steed, and at Arnafel\'s question, he replies, \"Tis said all men have their honor, and I would think it most unfitting for the Lord Girithlin to give up his purse, with a score of arrows threatening to pincushion us all. Not quite fair, it would be, nor lawful.\" A wry smirk twitches his mouth slightly.

Still smiling -- a dangerous light sparking bright in his sapphirine eyes -- the Lord Girithlin bends the weight of his gaze upon the bandit-leader. \"I would be more pleased, I think, to see these fellows learn the laws of the Prince,\" he says coolly.

\"Enough of this! Hand over your purses, and swiftly!\" the captain of the brigands cries -- his reply to Thorondur. And no more does he laugh merrily, nor bluster. But wait, for one of his men speaks now.

\"Thorondur? Thorondur Girithlin?\" the one who has stepped forth repeats -- pale now he seems, and the murmuring among the brigands rises yet more, in despite of their scowling Captain.

With a shrug, the knight so named replies, \"The same.\"

Slightly now Rowaen raises a brow, eying the brigands with growing amusement, his smile mocking them even further. \"What clever brigands indeed, to go and ambush two great knights...\"

And to Thorondur\'s answer is added Arnafel\'s.

\"Indeed\", he replies mildly -- perilously so. \"Knight-Herald to the Prince of Dol Amroth, Champion of Gondor, and\" -- he eyes the brigands thoughtfully, \"...slayer of many men.\"

\"Hold your tongue!\" the captain of the brigands cries -- but to little avail. For a cry goes up now from his men, \"This is madness! He will slay us and call the wrath of the Prince down upon those who survive!\"

[Thorondur(#23126)]

To all this, the Lord Girithlin never flinches. The tight, hard smile remains on his lips, and his handsome face regards the outlaws with a certain lack of fear. Only does he regard each of them, slowly -- making the effort to meet their eyes with his own.

Surpressing apparent laughter, Rowaen speaks again, perhaps encouraged by the risen fear... \"Listen to your men, and look carefully into the Herald\'s eyes... perhaps you will see truth and run while still unharmed?\"

\"The wrath of the Prince is, in truth, about three miles behind us,\" Thorondur quips, tapping his sword upon the toe of his boot. \"A good score of knights, with Indilzar hir Bragollach, the Black Flame, at their head. When I sound this horn,\" he says, indicating the horn that sits verily in his hand, \"he will ride you down to justice.\"

\"Assuming I don\'t kill you first.\"

And there is not a one among the brigands who will meet the Knight-Herald\'s gaze -- bows are lowered, arrows dropped. And at the Squire\'s words, their eyes widen, and they draw back.

And Thorondur\'s comment proves to be more than they can bear -- in that instant their courage fails them, and the turn and flee as swiftly as rabbits chased by hounds!

But one remains yet -- the Captain of the brigands, standing before the company with drawn blade, in sullen defiance.

Until, at least, Arnafel speaks again -- and now, there is a hint of bared steel in those even cadences -- \"And I am the Lord of the Isilrim, known to some as the Silver Knight.\"

For a moment yet the captain holds his ground, widened eyes turning from one Knight to the other -- and then, he too is gone into the shadowed woods, swifter even than his followers.

No longer can he refrain from laughing and loudly he does... Nothing remains of the darkness Rowaen started this day, mirth reflected in the blue of his eyes, a merry voice adressing the Lord of Isilrim. \"My Lord? Should we pursue them?\" Laughing somewhat more Rowaen looks at the Herald and speaks some more words.

\"My thanks, Lord, we owe your.. \'scary\' appaerence our lives perhaps? My sincerest gratitude! Perhaps we could over such as them, some of your.. \'hope\', my Lord?\" And again the squire bursts into laughter.

[Thorondur(#23126)]

\"I suppose we ought pursue them,\" says Thorondur, grimly, \"for they might otherwise return to trouble others.\" Sheathing his sword, he tells the squires, \"A knight\'s work is never done, lads.\"

\"So it seems, my Lord, so it seems..\" is the answer of Rowaen, finally moving his hand away of his sword, returning it next to the other, holding the reins. The squire loosens his grip, and lets his mare step around a bit, to ease it in it\'s ways.

Amano shakes his head in disbelief, as though at a loss. Blinking, the tall Squire mutters, \"I didn\'t think they\'d run so soon. Or so quickly. I wager they will be too far ahead to catch if we do not do so as you say, Lord Girithlin... \" He suppresses his own laughter at now solemn, though mirth still dances in his gaze. \"Ah, I must salute you both, lords. That your fearsome reputation should earn for us safety.\" He spurs his horse a pace forward. \"Then, we shall pursue them after all?\"

\"Indeed we shall. Though\", Arnafel replies dryly, \"if we will find them where they hide in the fear that the Prince will sweep down upon them with all his hosts, is another matter\" -- deeper into the woods the company rides, their voices fading into its silence.

And around them, the birdsong begins again.