In Hot Water

Minas Tirith: Stonewright Street: Baths of Mardil

The Baths of Mardil, named for the first Steward of Gondor who erected them, dominate the end of Stonewright Street, stretching out from the sheer face of Mindolluin. Crafted of plain white stone, the high roof of the bathhouse is upheld by rows of broad columns, and the interior is wide and spacious, able to accommodate many people at once. Several long pools of varying depth stretch out, each one filled with crystalline water that rises to an appropriate height, and the roof above is engraved with ancient scenes of lost Numenor, which are mirrored on the walls where doors lead off to independent change rooms for the men and women who might come here.

The crimson light of the two dozen torches set into the walls reflects off the rippling surface of the bathhouse water, the burning flames set to hold back the evening dark. The tall windows are curtained, and the people who attend the Baths at this hour are few in number, for there are not many who favour the cold of the night over the warmth of dark.

Though the toils of all labor and shopcraft clamorously animate Gondor’s capital, the stones of its streets earthed further by the speeded populace of a cloudless midday, a scene of all together different quality unfolds within the baths of Mardil for here is a haven amidst the residences, an oasis amidst the demands and shakes of the world -- and it is noted well upon those within its kind walls.

Perhaps oddly among them is the Steward of the Isilrim, known to many within Minas Tirith as ‘the Numenorean’, Arathis.  He has seemingly forsaken his wont of war, no mail to hinder his flesh nay, nor even cloth, but only the ripples of Mardil’s pools.

A peace nigh unbecoming crowns the Knight, many leagues from his home, as he lounges at a corner of the baths.

[Ceredir(#1394)] There is one scout of Ithilien here, or so he might be recognized if he were wearing his normal garb. Given that he is chest deep in the water, head leaning back against the edge of a pool, eyes closed temporarily, no garb marks his rank or identity. With a slow sigh of relaxation, Ceredir opens his eyes again, then splashes some water on his face. \"Sir.\" The word said to Arathis, acknowledging him and keeping to rank and form despite the setting.

[Daerien(#21777)]

Walking with some trepidation into the baths. The newest Cuthalion scout arrives. He is clad simply, as he often is, but finding an empty corner he strips himself and goes to find a basin to fill with the warm waters of the bath so he might shave the growth of hair and beard. Every loud noise causing him to jump just that little bit higher. The cool winds from those few draughts causing him some discomfort as he sits near the edge of the pools and pulling out a plain hilted dagger he starts to shave, slicing away the hairs until his face is clean, mostly. As he begins to shave his head, foregoing elegance for ease of maintenance, Daerien ignores the rest of the world to stave off undue blood loss until he has finally cut away the hairs at the best of his ability. Standing up he dips his hands into the pools and splashes the warm waters over him, palms running across his shorn scalp and jaw before stepping from the lip and sinking into the steaming pool.

[Hraefengar(#15851)]

Another man comes to the baths, though he is farthest of all of them from his home. It is one of the Eorlingas, Hraefengar to be exact, clad in a warm robe, his clothes and boots shed in one of the dressing-rooms. The mud of travel he has washed off already, and he stands there, barefoot, looking at the pool for a long moment. His grey wolfhound pads beside him, brushed and bathed, and she has a collar upon her neck with a short length of braided leather. He motions her to the side of the pool, and she lies down at the edge, but he himself does not yet enter.

Serenity disturbed, the tall head of the Isilrim slants, be it prompted by speech or splash -- his attention caught regardless to the same course, the silver gaze of the Dunadan coolly assessing the nearby Ceredir.

His words fly nonetheless with neither hint of annoyance nor enmity, more flatly gliding across the pools to the addressed: “Hail, Scout.” Still within his corner, for moments even unblinking, Arathis continues with a furrow of his brow: “Of pardon do I beseech, but I fear, for all our interactions--even for your stay within my people’s manor--, that I know not your name.”

The same gaze airily surveys the baths at the end of his speech, pausing for second’s stay upon Daerien and then the Rohir, to the latter of which he raises his palm in greeting, ere returning to the first Scout.

[Ceredir(#1394)] \"Ah...well...it\'s Ceredir, sir,\" the young scout answers. He sighs and slowly sinks chin-deep into the pool. \"Ceredir of Bragollach,\" he asserts, gaze flicking around the room briefly as if to see if anyone there is about to challenge that assertion. \"And...\" he starts, then laughs. \"He brought his dog with him...\" That is directed, of course, toward the Rohir.

[Daerien(#21777)]

Lazily Daerien floats on his back, one arm slowly turning over the other. Ignoring the rest of the patrons for the moment, unused to such a crowd when he bathes. Let alone wandering around naked in public. However after a few more minutes of quiet he rises and walks in that slightly unagainly step that humans take when half submerged in the water over to the edge of the pool, his newly shorn scalp glistening as if oily in the warm lights that stream into the Baths hall. Resting his elbows on the edge of the pool, shoulders exposed, revealing the tracery of small scars and patches of flesh damaged by untreated injury and illness long since healed over but ever leaving their mark. He is not wordy, so does not intrude on the conversation.

[Hraefengar(#15851)]

The Eorling raises his hand too, then turns a little to slip out of the robe and set it upon a bench. Then he turns back and steps into the pool. He is thin his ribs show, and his skin is very pale. There is a scar from hip to mid-thigh, and one up his left side. His left shoulder is a mangled criss-crossing of scars and knotted flesh, and a scar runs clearly across his collarbone and throat to the right. The scars show lividly, and his left arm dangles limply. He gives a faint smile and slips into thewater, while the dog remains where she is, though she watches him intently.

\"Of the Bragollach, you say? \" comes first the bass of Arathis, settled yet chest-deep and reclined within his corner, mayhap in sudden difference to the liveliness that comes to possess his sea-grey peer, tracking well the flicker of the Scout.

\"Hail then, Ceredir -- son of whom?\" The question too rides flatly, though an evident care is taken to space his tongue, so as to frame each word in its own measured air. He shares none of his interlocutor\'s mirth, albeit his gaze floats in follow to once more acknowledge the Rohir and his wolfhound.

And such acknowledgment seems to tarry, the same liveliness of gaze heeding the warrior torn body of the Rohir. \"Ally!\" flies thus the call of the Isilrim, warm in its governance, \"Take calm within these last few homes unknown to war\'s trouble within our brother lands, for peace may yet be had within our twain bastions of the West, if for but the moment!\" The Isilrim rises to a stand with his appeal, the tall Knight\'s frame thus borne to the torchlight aside the pools.

Speech flares once more then, though louder than before, to be grasped with some ease by all those within the relatively hushed baths, directed though primarily to Ceredir: \"And what luxury is it that musters the Scouts of Ithilien within the pools of Minas Tirith? Should not the Anduin of Cair Andros be your baths?\"

[Ceredir(#1394)] \"Damn...\" Ceredir frowns, attention caught by the scars that line Hraefengar\'s body. He stares a moment longer, looking away again as he speaks to the man. \"Lord Hraefengar...I didn\'t know you were coming here to the city. And your wife, as well?\"

Still, the questions posed by Arathis demand answers, and he turns his attention that way, expression darkening with his answers. \"I am the natural son of Lord Elenur, though Lathnoss of this city raised me. Just that cheap bas...\" he pauses, swallowing a sudden anger before continuing, \"Lord Elenur denies I am his son, though Lathnoss will swear to it.\"

The scout\'s mouth drops open at the next question, which he apparently takes seriously. \"Sir?\" he says, trying to search for some proper answer. \"I ...well...I thought I had leave to be here?\"

[Daerien(#21777)]

Rubbing fiercely at his skin, scraping at the dirt with ill cut fingernails rubbing at the loop of his ears and along the deeper scars before pushing himself out of the water and nearby to the laying hound he lays himself down. Breathing deeply, letting the warmth, something so unfamiliar it would seem to himself that he is content merely to experience it. Ankles crossed as he lets his skin air dry, Daerien doesn\'t speak to the others present, though he hears enough to betray some trepidation at the mention of scouts not belonging here. Even if he has an excuse for himself. His eyes half shut, the lidded gaze resting, with his neck canted slightly to one side to watch the man evidently in charge of the baths. His tongue clucking slightly, rubbing against the inner wall of his clamped teeth. Nostrils flaring with each breath that fills his slowly rising, falling chest. Dark hairs across his torso glistening with the diamond refractions of light through water droplets.

[Hraefengar(#15851)]

\"Thank you... Hir Arathis, is it right?\" answers the Eorling, smiling wearily. \"Glad indeed am I to take a moment or two to rest, for I am no longer young, and the journey home, though glad, wearies me.\" He reddens a little at Ceredir\'s staring, and turns away, looking down as if embarrassed or ashamed. \"Our road takes us past the city, and we stopped a day to trade, to refresh some supplies, and to rest a little. My wife is in the caravan with the children. I would have stayed with her, but I was telling her of the baths, and she urged me to come. Of them I had heard rumor, but never visited before. Last time I was in the city... I was unable...\" He rubs at his shoulder, then sinks down into the water. The dog eyes the stranger, then gets up and pads away from him, closer to Hraefengar, and lies down again.

The iron stare of the Isilrim Steward bears first upon the Scout, riveting upon him in an intensity befitting his raised stature, though it is unclear whether such was prompted by Ceredir’s first or second answer.  A certain grimness then seems to pull and tighten the Dunadan’s bareness a minute’s isolation is cordoned to a silent brooding.

It is only by virtue of the Rohir’s speech that his spell is broken, and the Knight sinks once more into the pools.  “Aye, ally, Arathis of the Isilrim.  It is shame that your wife did not accompany for these baths are matched only in pleasantness by the beaches of Amroth, yet perhaps I am of some bias.”

Assessing Ceredir then once more, the Knight calls to Daerien nearby, a bass booming within the otherwise still Baths: “What say you, brother?  Is it not odd that the Soldiers of Ithilien take refuge within the tiers of the capital?  For the Enemy sleeps none in the East.”

A certain impatience marks his query, however, as if a distinct matter lingers yet of concern for Arathis.  Such remains, if detected, nevertheless unsaid.

[Ceredir(#1394)] \"Sir?\" Ceredir repeats again toward the Isilrim Steward, his brows drawing together now. He shifts in the water, sitting up straighter so that he is only chest-deep again, Arathis\'s stare clearly making him uncomfortable. But that man lets up, and Ceredir shifts his gaze, too--first to the Rohir, where a brief look, maybe of apology, is given. And then to Daerien--a blink as he seems to recognize that man. Still he waits for Daerien\'s reply, eyes flickering constantly back to Arathis.

[Daerien(#21777)]

Knowing full well he should give honor and respect to those of higher station then himself, which includes nearly every soldier of Gondor or man, woman of quality. Daerien is nonetheless loathe to stir himself from his revery. A short laugh at the actions of the hound, and exhaling sharply, breath nearly whistling between his teeth as he regards the beast prior to giving the Isilrim Stewed his full attention. \"Nothing mortal can forever balance on the edge of the blade. Just as the wolf retires to his lair come the breaking of morning light, so must the protectors of the west occasionally retreat to their lairs to rest and recover before once more braving the perils which only the disposessed souls of Ithilien might know.\" sitting upright, to dangle his long feet in the waters as he absently scratches at himself. \"I will let you know. I have never come this far east before, and already I have been told to venture even further. Perhaps, when my Lord tells me where to go...\"

[Hraefengar(#15851)]

\"I know the perils of Osgiliath, and I am no scout of Ithilien,\" murmurs the Eorling, his voice soft, yet resonant nevertheless. \"I know the peril, and... and shadows haunt the place and my memory. I will not speak of it. Some ease there is, and knowing then what I do now, yet still I would answer that call. For the Oath is worth more than my life.\" He shrugs his good shoulder. \"The beaches were fair, but the water too cold for winter bathing. This is pleasant, and I welcome it. But... we are folk of the plains and fields, or at most our Edoras, and such a place as Minas Tirith, though fair, is strange to us.\"

Wry beginnings of a grin unfold across the Isilrim’s visage as the addressed man answers, carried by a twain of steps closer to him.  The same wryness twines his retort: “And yet the turns of the heavens mean little to a wolf who, by both day and night’s blessing, finds himself target to the sleepless lids of the snake.

“Or mean you that the snake, that foul creature doomed to tongue the dirts of the earth upon its belly, is prompted too to rest, itself a beast akin in nature to any other, and in its recreation the wolf may grant itself furlough?”

Regarding Hraefengar then with a hard nod, the Knight continues atop unconditional bass: “May it that the wolf is bound by needs greater than recovery?  For some years was I commander of the Fortress of the Stars, Osgiliath, pit ever to attack within our ancient capital -- and, aye, so it is that our Enemy sleeps none.

“And this greater need -- is there aught more that comprises our Oaths?  And thus the Oath that we find greater than ourselves precisely that which is to guarantee ourselves?

“Or what say you, brother, are opinions different in whatever western fief from which you hail?”

[Ceredir(#1394)] With the attention of Arathis now drawn to the Rohir, Ceredir takes the opportunity to slip out of the pool. \"I will seek you and your Lady out ere you leave,\" he says quietly to Hraefengar as he passes that man on his way to the changing area. Daerien, too, gets a quick nod of recognition before Ceredir is gone from the room.

“Be not so coy, Ceredir, and feign none that the eyes of a Knight are unable to spot flight,” remarks Arathis quickly to the departing.  “I would have you tell me more of this business with Hir Elenur, though at your leisure.

“Farewell.”

[Ceredir(#1394)] A quick look is given back toward Arathis at the man\'s words--Ceredir\'s eyes flickering with some brief hope. Then the scout nods in agreement and leaves.

[Daerien(#21777)]

Pushing himself up, walking in that slightly hunched over gait that shy men often use when naked in public, and digging in his pack a moment he moves to give Ceredir a flower, a simple lavender bloom, dried, with the seed pod beneath still bulbous, without a word, presenting it before returning to the edge of the pool in time to hear the questions, the words spoken \"Any can know the fear, indeed, I suspect that there is a plenitude of individuals who might be claimants. However I speak only of those who know personally the loss of Ithilien to the shadows might feel. But I could be wrong.\" a smile then as he lays back, head pillowed upon his interlaced fingers. \"Wolves might sleep, but ever is a member of the pack awatch. Am I alone the guardian of the West? I say not, for there are others who wander that benighted realm while I bask here in comfort and luxury, as they have for the duration of my life while I stalked distant hillocks and ignored vales. The serpent as individual sleeps, and in winter will nigh venture forth at all. In its multitudes it might always be awake and hunting, even when the blanket of winters snow obscure the lands. But in exchange, there is always a watcher, a hunter awaiting assault, and to give call to rouse the entire pack, be they children of the Garden, or the children of the Rock, or even in need the children of the Horselords. To deny a mortal man any succor from that shadows press will surely cause a surfeit of despair.\" looking plainly down the length of his rising and falling chest towards Arathis and the Eorling. \"How long could you swing your blade without pause? Would you have another do what you cannot? In truth I\'ve only just returned, but is our need so great that our leaders would ask the impossible of us?\"

[Hraefengar(#15851)]

\"There is not a competition to say who has suffered more, done more. Only that no one holds exclusive claim over knowing the danger... of the Enemy,\" answers Hraefengar quietly. \"It is true, that all must rest, when they can. If they can. And it is true that some are better able to fight than others. Still... if the need comes, I shall fight. To my death, like as not. But so we are who we are, and thus is our honor and renown. Still, to rest is a rare treat.\"

“Calm, brother, for am I not myself in bath’s luxury and repose, even as I may advance such slights and reprimands?  I wish only that we grow not too fond of the pools,” answers the Isilrim Steward swiftly to Daerien, a palm raised as if to dismiss the former weight of his words, diminished at the former Scout’s passing.

“Yet you speak as one unforeign to the muds and the leagues.  What then?  Belong you to the Wardenries of the Grove?”

Some puzzlement etching his brow, the Knight turns to the Rohir: “No measure of service was my goal.  The claims of each warrior are issued none by the tongue, but by the clamor of steel and all is the same by steel’s gauge.  Yet permit my commendation, that a warrior of injury should be not yet fatigued of battle, and swear himself to it yet.  Huzzah, ally!”

With this shuttles a fist to the bare chest of the Knight--a salute in the manner of this city’s Hosts.

[Daerien(#21777)]

Lifting his hand, longers slightly parted to pat his belly, pulled tight from too few meals of much substance, then with the tip of his index finger, Daerien draws slow spirals through the condensation and in gathering of moisture from his brief sojourn amongst the waters, listening to the words, and with brows furrowed he grows confused. Inhaling deeply, his core flexing, the ripple of muscles so like the serpents spoken of, writhing oiled snakes barely constrained by the tight embrace of his skin. With pale eyes he looks to Hraefengar. \"I do not doubt your courage, nor your skill or willingness to die for a worthy cause. But I know nothing of you, or of this one who asked the question either.\" gesturing with two straight fingers of his left hand towards Arathis. \"Indeed, the only one I know here has already departed.\" shoulders rising and falling as if in apology or some other expression. \"And I can without fail say to you.\" eyes hard, unflinching despite his comparative lack of position, towards the Steward \"I do not understand your question, but if you mean that I am unfamiliar with my supposed homelands. Then you are correct. I have never seen Ithilien, before this week I had never even seen this white walled fortress. I have spent the most of my cognizent life upon lands far to the west. Amongst the creatures of that world, I was a hunter, a protector in a way. Gondorians of that range asked little of me, but then there was little to give. If it is upon my blade that the fate of our realm must lay, then I say without trepidation that we are doomed.\" a wry smile upon his lips \"But give me time, perhaps I might one day be able to carry myself with pride in deeds accomplished, as you two august individuals surely have already. Count me as a young fool, or simply stupid. I am who I am and when the trumpet calls to me, I know I will answer. Is that enough?\"

[Hraefengar(#15851)]

\"I am beyond fatigued,\" answers Hraefengar. \"But that... is no matter. If need should come, then I would fight, for I cannot keep my honor, cannot be who I am, without answering the call. I cannot fight as healthy men do, year after year, but I keep my skills keen. So it was when I was last here, and weak from hunger, that I was asked to go defend Osgiliath. And doing so I gained these wounds.\" He glances at the younger man. \"You confuse me. First you seem to say that we none of us can understand the perils of Ithilien and the enemy, and then you say you have not long been there and are from elsewhere. Lossenarch or Lamedon, then? But...\" He sighs. \"My head is swimming perhaps the error is mine. I... well...\"

The eyes of the Isilrim darken as Daerien speaks, and the taller Dunadan rises then to the full of his height, narrowing the distance between the twain by another sequence of steps. He halts only when directly before the younger man.

Station marks him then, and a grimness widens his words: \"Temper your tongue. You were asked a simple question yet you filch opportunity to orate and what wit you mix therein is tinged with vanity. For you speak though of humble pasts, yet speak of yourself eagerly deign none such podium with your brothers-in-arms, so too your countrymen, whom you fain portray as plump enjoyers of your protection. Nay, you even pretend to injure yourself, and hope in so doing to raise yourself.

\"But a protector of the western lands? Does not our Enemy linger in the East? Be not so uncouth, and know well your role within the line of the West.

\"I too am confused, ally,\" he finally remarks to the Rohir. With this, and a sharp, curt shake of his head, the Knight raises himself adeptly in making to depart the baths, some disgust alight yet across his countenance.

[Daerien(#21777)]

Another shrug as he stands, Daerien looks somewhat ungainly on the slippery surface of the pools verge. \"Ever the most simple answer.\" half walking, half skating across to where he has left his belongings and beginning to dress. \"You are not confused.\" speaking as he pulls the shirt down over his chest \"Since I did not understand half of the questions or comments directed at me.\" tightening his undergarments and pulling up his pants. \"So I answered what I thought was being said, but you thought I repeatedly questioned your honor or willingness to fight. I never even thought that, but if you did think I was, I\'m sorry.\" he doesn\'t respond to Arathis as he steps into his boots and cinches the leather straps tight, the garb in need of washing, but not seeing further purpose to remaining here where he is already discomfitted \"I\'ve spoken more in the past hour then I had spoken in some years previous.\" Slipping the belt around his waist and tightening it sharply he bows to both of those who he was speaking with he turns to leave.

[Hraefengar(#15851)]

Hraefengar watches, listens, a bit bemused by the younger man\'s words. He gives a shrug to Arathis, and shakes his head a little. His eyes droop, and he gives himself a little shake. He stands and lifts a hand in farewell, then shakes himself again, and rolls onto his back, letting himself float lazily.