Fishermen of the Swan

[Arathis]

Midday settles amicably across Pelargir a breeze sways beneath the golden rays of Anor.

Within the Hostmen’s barracks, those without patrol’s duty group in various tasks. There, among those performing the frequent maintenance of their iron wear and arms, stands Arathis, in conversation with none. From him rings the cadenced work of a whetstone.

[Menelglir(#17324)]

The door opens and the man silhouetted against the sunlight is out of uniform.

That is to say, the long white shirt he wears normally serves as an underlayer neath a padded leather tunic neath a mail shirt. The white shirt stained by leather and now also sweat and dirt, tattered some too. His britches are in good order, except they are salt stained, and his long dark hair is loose, and salted through.

And he is barefoot. yet holding a scabbarded sword, blue star sapphire adorning its hilt.

Menelglir stands in silence, blinking to adjust to the change in light for a few seconds.

[Arathis]

“Hir Menelglir,” squints the Lord Arathis, his visage altogether graven.

The whetstone does not pause.

“I fear you do not come to me in search of new uniform.”

[Menelglir(#17324)]

\"Hir.\" Recognizing the Herald, Menelglir steps in immediately, shutting the door behind himself. \"The Admiral and senior officers are held captive, his ship sunk and much of the crew dead.\"

[Arathis]

The knight’s stone is released aside his freshened blade. “I dream darkly,” he remarks at length, angling his head upwards with both hands layering atop his brow.

Some soldiers have heard the few words passed between the knights, and a burdened silence begins to develop across the barracks.

“Tolcrist,” he mutters then with confused inflection, crossing his hands down his beard and again to his blade, “alas.”

[Menelglir(#17324)]

\"My Squire Calarion and I were last to go down with the ship--and managed to get to shore without being caught. I\'m afraid most of the men who survived on the ship were caught and taken prisoner. The harbor is well defended, Hir. I do not think it can be taken directly,\" Menelglir says in a rush of words, though he sinks wearily onto a nearby bench. \"There is something afoot--the isle awash with supporters of the Pretender.\"

[Arathis]

\"Our Enemy grows arrogant.\"

The Lord lifts his western blade and, with anger\'s budding force, thrusts it into his scabbard. \"Upon Tolcrist, ancient isle of Gondor but leagues from our Prince, he takes those sworn to Ulmo.\"

Brooding courses through him, until he issues declaratively with a stoic\'s calm: \"Swansmen, we are to take the wear of drab fishermen and mask ourselves among their humble number in Calenlost. By the grace of the Water Lord, the Fates shall deliver us unto Tolcrist, and we shall recover our allies in stealth.

\"The War of the Dunedain crown is upon us.\"

[Menelglir(#17324)]

Menelglir, fresh arrived off the longboat--so that he is yet unshod and in salt-stained and dirty clothing, quietly gets off the bench at these words, weariness for the moment gone from his limbs. He takes to a knee, before the Herald.

\"I do so swear, my lord, on my life this crown shall not fall to the hands of the Pretender and his ilk.\"

[Arathis]

“You have sworn it already, as too your squire,” answers Arathis flatly, gesturing for his fellow knight to rise, “yet I shall not command the youth’s company to Tolcrist, where Mandos must soon reign, if he should consider himself unready for death.”

The Prince’s Herald looks expectantly upon Calarion.

[Menelglir(#17324)]

\"Yes, Herald,\" Menelglir says a bit sheepishly in tone--and yet he bows his head a moment longer, as if deeply moved, then stands. \"It is Calarion\'s choice, as you say. He has already risked his life more than once, and were it not for him, I would not be here today to bring you this news.\"

\"May I suggest, sir, that our transport should be the boats of the smugglers? I know, I think, where to find them in Pelargir now and what to look for,\" Menelglir says, with a salt-weathered smirk. \"They seem to be the only vessels now that freely come and go between here and the Pretender\'s foul nest.\"

[Calarion(#31193)]

\"Death shall come when it does.\" Calarion answers, \"And Mandos\'s halls shall open for me when they will. Should that be in the service of my Prince and my friends, there shall be no greater honor.\" He Squire\'s face is stern, but honest, hiding no emotion, \"I shall see this venture through, and with the Valar\'s blessing, will return with our last companions to these shores.\"

[Arathis]

“It is thy word, Hir,” commits the Lord Isilrim, collecting his armors and making ready to depart the barracks, “if the common vessels of fishermen no longer find dock upon the isle, then we sail by the scoundrel flags of smugglers. Ye have seen what I have not I trust your choice wise.

“Come,” he directs then the Swansmen outward, heeding the squire thus, “and tell me of our party -- who along with the Admiral ambush has befallen.”

[Menelglir(#17324)]

\"A party was there to greet them at the shore, Herald,\" Menelglir answers, following the Knight. \"I remained on ship as Acting Captain, and Calarion stayed with me as well. On shore, well, the Admiral, his Squire COnalmir, Squire Lominzil, Sir Arashen, Sailing Master Galadhecil, and the crew of the longboat. And two ladies, sir.\" He swallows hard here. \"Calenloth Nimonthan and Niphredil--daughter of the Marhsall and a member of the Prince\'s court, of course.\"

[Arathis]

Abruptly, the Isilrim knight halts his step, wheeling backwards with a firm palm over his hilt.

Menelglir’s report appears to affect unkindly the Lord barks out in a heavy, martial bass, “Proceed then to the quays, and ready a ship for an hour’s departure. I must first speed word to Hir Calardan, if by some crude judgment Niphredil too has taken the voyage to the Isle of Blades.

“Now, make haste.” So Arathis rushes back into the barracks, readying for the fateful sail to Gondor’s conquered isle.