Ale and Sympathy-

It\'s a chilly morning midway through November, the time of year when the

harvest has already been cut from the fields and stored. In this small

town off the main road to Minas Tirith, farmers and locals -should- be

tending to other business on their farms, but instead this morning they are

off to bring a portion of their precious harvest to the wagons that have

arrived in the village. The process will take some time--now that it is

finally under way--and the Scout of Ithilien whose job it was this day

to requisition food for the gathering military force in Osgiliath is now

waiting for farmers and locals to start arriving with their carts.

And so, Ceredir sits in the tiny local building that passes for a tavern,

eating a small breakfast of bread, cheese and ale. His ledger--which

seems to be ever-present these days--is before him, and he notes

something in it with a quill that scratches on the paper.

A darkly clad figure, seemingly one of the local residents, sits at a small

table joined by a few farmers and and other locals. He had watched the

scout\'s entrance with concealed curiosity, though he seems to notice him

little now, despite being seated not far away. There is little merriment

in the public house this day, and many of the men here appear to be

merely biding their time and exchanging news. The war outside can be

seen in every face and heard in every word.

\"Bragollach again...\" Ceredir\'s sneer as he reads through something in his

ledger carries a bit louder than he has intended it to, and he looks up

quickly, scanning the room to see who, if anyone, has noticed. His

expression cluods somewhat at the sight of that dark figure, but as the

man seems not to be noticing him at the moment, the Scout\'s eyes drop

back down to his ledger.

[Endaerion(#30487)]

\"That\'s right lad, curses to \'em, the lot o\'em!\" another man - a farmer -

replies, as he slides between Ceredir\'s chair and another. He slaps the

scout on the shoulder and spills a bit of the mug unto his uniform.

\"Many pardons, lad.\" The farmer, rather round and a bit gruff in

appearance, takes the seat next to the scout. \"What ails ya, now?\"

\"Hey, watch it...\" Ceredir grumbles, brushing uselessly at the spilled ale.

\"I\'ll catch it for certain if I come back stinking of ale.\" He slides

his chair over noisily to give the farmer a bit of room and also moves

that ledger closer to himself. \"Catch it worse if my ledger gets soaked in

ale,\" he mutters. \"As for what ails me...dealing too much with overprivileged,

overfed nobles who think that the entire populace of Gondor is there

for use as their personal servants. Or something....\" Ceredir\'s words

trail off into a sort of grumble. \"Some more than others. Buying their

way into things.\"

[Endaerion(#30487)]

\"Ha!\" the farmer scoffs, and rises from the seat. \"I \'ear ya lad, but you

hardly seem born of the village yourself, now do ya boy?\" And laughing,

the farmer again slaps the scout on the back before crossing over to the

tavern keeper. The darkly clad figure, however, whose seat faces away

from yet parallel to the scout, leans back now without making eye

contact. He speaks through the side of his mouth.

[<#30487>]

\" I hear you too,\" the man intones in a quiet voice full of rasp,

\" but the old farmer is right. You seem to my eyes to bear the

look of a Carmayar perhaps.\"

\'Nor was I raised in the besotted comfort of a noble house,\' the Scout

snorts, but the farmer has already taken his leave. Ceredir snorts

again, then pulls his ale toward him for a drink--nearly choking at the

whispered Sindarin.

The Scout turns his head just a bit, to get a better look at the man

addressing him, but that seems to be of no use and so he answers

likewise, his voice carefully low now.

\" Carmayar, alas no, though many think so--it turned out not to be

true. But why do you ask, sir? And why in such a secretive manner?\"

[<#30487>]

The man shrugs, \" It\'s merely the look of your face to me. But it

is a surprising thing indeed to hear such speech as yours coming from

the mouth of a scout of Ithilien!\" The man does not whisper so much now,

as while their use of the noble tongue generates a few queer looks, it

is altogether incomprehensible to the other patrons. \" This

seems a deep seeded distaste you bear against Gondor\'s nobles.\"

\'Ha!\' That derisive note could be understood in any language. \"

And how do they claim their noble heritage? Through supposedly pure

bloodlines? Let me tell you, sir, their lines are anything but pure, yet

they use such nonsense to somehow claim they are better men than you and

I. For unless I am mistaken...\" Ceredir\'s eyes narrow at the man as he

turns his chair to look more fully at him. \" Unless I am

mistaken you may hold similar views. Though you speak this tongue, which

is odd. So either your views are similar or else you are trapping me

into saying something I should not. Another vicious game nobles play.\"

[<#30487>]

The man smiles, turning at last to face the scout. \" Not all who are common come from common beginnings. Every man landed profits at the expense of one made landless. \"

\" Is that so?\" Ceredir\'s speaks the words slowly and he eyes the man over the top of his mug of ale for a few seconds more. \" I suppose, then, there is a story behind this sentiment? A tale of one made landless, perhaps? And perhaps through less than noble means? I think that you would find a sympathetic ear in me were you to relay such a story.\"

\" Neh,\" the man replies, \" there is not much to be told that can\'t be learned from the folk of Lebennin. For that is where my kin once dwelt as lords and men of title, until Phallanath the Usurper made me what I am today.\" The man leans over the side of his table and spits on the ground. \" But there is recourse for action, for those in need of vindication. Not all of the deeds of Gondor\'s nobles go unpunished.\"

\" Then,\" Ceredir says, a frown deeply creased on his forehead, \" there was no recourse at all for you, either? The power and bonds of nobility prevented you from claiming justice, even from the Steward of the realm? And...if not a lord and a man of title, what might you be now?\"

A long pause then falls as the Scout looks into his ale, and his next words are low and dark.

\" What recourse?\"

[<#30487>]

A wide grin spreads along the man\'s face. \" I associate with a group of gentlemen who also share our disdain for the major Houses. Among them can be found haven from the greater authority, if ever you should choose to take action on your sentiments.\" A small cup brings a taste of ale to his lips, the remnant which he brushes away with the sleeve of his tunic. \" Of course you will remember nothing of what we say here.\"

Despite their ues of the language of the high born, Ceredir drops his voice now. \" A group you say? Alone I am helpless in addressing the wrongs that have been done to me. But in a group it would not be so.\"

The Scout licks his lips as he considers that prospect, then looks up again. \" How would I find these gentlemen? For it seems that you and I have met by good fortune.\"

To the last, he nods. \" Of course. I give you my word on it. Or do you require something more? I could be...well, I could be of use.\"

[<#30487>]

\" You wish to play, then.\" Replies the darkly clad man in kind. \" Good. You needn\'t worry, not a man here can understand a word we are saying. I know them well.\"

Then the man\'s tone grows serious. \" You risk as much in this conversation as I do. Let that suffice.. for now. What do you have in mind?\"

Ceredir taps the ledger that sits in front of him. \" Comings and goings. Shipments of goods and moneys for goods. I know who is moving where and when and sometimes even why. Though mind you,\" the Scout hesitates slightly. \" Not all that information is in this one book. I would not be so foolish.\"

[<#30487>]

The man nods, \" Glad to hear it. We have men among your Company as we speak, though. We know what goes where and when, and we take our tax when we feel it appropriate.. but of the comings and goings of people, you say? We are not enemies of Gondor, my friend, only of those who claim lordship over it. You sound as one with a vendetta of a personal kind. Does that then suggest a retribution that is equally as personal?\"

The Scout frowns. \" At times, yes, I can say that I know about where specific persons are or will be going. But neither I am an enemy of Gondor herself. My opposition is to her system by which nobles crush those of us not so luckily born, or those of us,\" he nods toward the other man, \" pushed out of our birthright.\"

\" And if it comes to it, yes, I have a personal vendetta. I have a score to settle with the man who I should have been able to call father, though that will likely be my own business entirely. A score to settle with a high-placed lord of my father\'s household who grinds me under his bootheel like a bug and crushes any chances I may have at rising from the dirt. And I have...a woman. Nobly born....\"

[<#30487>]

\" You are angry, scout. Perhaps understandingly so, but you must not blind yourself with the vengeance you seek.\" The man studies the scout for a moment before continuing. \" We should convene with my associates. If that is your wish, then meet me outside of this tavern in three nights, just after dusk. Bring no one.\" Then standing up, the man bows. \" Perhaps I see you then.\" And he departs.

\"Duty permitting!\" Ceredir calls after the man in the Common tongue. He frowns, staring at the door for a moment before returning to his ale, bread, and cheese.