Rival houses, but a friendly discussion

Minas Tirith: Houses of Healing: Garden

A path of blue-gray pebbles stretches away from the garden\'s entry to meander around and through the trees and lawn which dominate this garden. Flowers and rocks of varying heights and colors have been arranged at intervals along the path. To either side of the lawn wooden arbors have been constructed. The lush greenery of wisteria and ivy twine up and around their pillars creating a living ceiling across the top with vines dangling randomly down toward visitors below, where carved wooden benches can be found. Raised planter boxes are set between the pillars containing a number of different herbs, flowering and not. Pots filled with other herbs and lush flowers hang from the arbor supports. Along the low wall at the edge of the garden, purple and pink phlox creep, winding their way across the top of the stones. Beyond the wall, the entire plain beneath Minas Tirith is visible.

From the wall one can watch and even hear distantly the sounds of the city below. The light of day plays across the plants, creating long shadows or short ones depending upon the weather and time of day. Their colors are all the more vibrant in the light.

Contents:

Aearion

Hanomir

Obvious exits:

Entryway

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Weather:            Rainy

Time:               Early Afternoon <14>

Season:             Spring

Date:               Orgilion - April 22, 3047

Real Time:          Mon Jun 29 10:36:37 2009

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A small sigh of relief escapes Hanomir\'s lips as the scout walks slowly into the garden of the Houses of Healing. It has been a long and tiresome five months for him, recovering from a life threatening wound at the hands of the orc, Grishnakh. It is mid April now, and in two days time, it will have been five months. But luckily, as of this evening, Hanomir would finally be free of the building.

Hanomir feels almost no pain now in general, but he still has to take things slowly, as quick or sudden movements of his arms could set off pains in his healing chest wound. But he doesn\'t mind that, as long as he could get back to his normal life as a scout.

The garden is almost empty, with just a few wandering healers and patients getting some fresh air. Light rain falls from the sky as time passes to early afternoon, but it was nothing but a normal spring shower, and Hanomir prefers it to the stuffy conditions of the Houses of Healing.

Wandering now into the garden is Daerthor, a fellow Scout of Ithilien - but he is not dressed as one today. Crossing through the entrance he stops to admire the scenery of the garden in spring, and then he moves forward, the panoramic view of the city beckoning to him as he approaches the wall. Pausing in his walk, he looks behind his shoulder, as though expecting company.

Aearion is with a group of workers in another room. He carries a large piece of marble over his shoulder as though it were a faggot of firewood. As he moves through the house of healing to the worksite there, he sees Daerthor, \"Well, it is truly a smaller city than meets the eye.\" He groans and sets the thick piece of marble down. \"You sick?\"

Hanomir turns his head to the entrance as two more enter the garden, only one of them familiar to his mind. The first was who seemed familiar, and Hanomir recalls perhaps seeing him among the scouts.

However, Hanomir is uncertain to what house this young man belongs to, but he has the feeling that it is Carmayar, one of his own house, Cuthalion\'s, \'rivals\'. Hanomir tends not to show the same amount of dislike to members of Carmayar as many of the others in Cuthalion, but nor does he greet them with open arms.

The second person is completely unfamiliar to the scout, and Hanomir watches with mild interest as the boy places a piece of marble on the ground, initiating a conversation with the other. Still wary of the suspected house of the first newcomer, Hanomir decides not to join them, and instead waits to see if one of them should greet him, so Hanomir knows whether they have good or bad intentions.

Daerthor\'s gaze is caught on the reflection off the piece of marble that Aearion is carrying, and he soon attends to Aearion\'s words. \" \'Small\' is probably not a word used to describe the city of Minas Tirith often,\" he comments in response, the corners of his lips turning up into a wry smile. \"Yet it has only been three days since we last met. No, I am not ill - I am here to enjoy the spring bloom of the gardens and the spectacular view of the city below.\"

Turning towards the wall and taking in the view he has just mentioned, he continues. \"I used to spend many long hours here, in fear and in hope, but my hopes were soon dashed, and fear took over. I have not come back here since, except for today.\" Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of a tall man who appears to be watching them, and he turns his body slightly to avoid the scrutiny while attempting to survey the stranger\'s appearance himself. But even he himself wonders at his own secrecy, for he is after all not in Ithilien... and soon a thought, a sense of certainty, fills his mind - this stranger is of Cuthalion, cousin-house to his own, yet with no little amount of rivalry between them.

\"Yeah, this place can be kind of depressing at times,\" Aearion says. \"Aearion, get that slab up here!\" yells someone from the room beyond. \"Coming,\" he responds. He hoists the marble on his shoulder again with some effort. The piece is very heavy obviously, but Aearion is strong. He says, \"Good fortune to you Daerthor, I\'m sure I\'ll see you at the Drover\'s later?\" Having said that he makes off to continue his work.

Hanomir almost looks quickly away as he is noticed, but realizes that just makes him suspicious. After making eye contact for a few seconds, he now looks to the other person as he leaves, leaving just the person of Carmayar and Hanomir. The other residents of the garden have by now retreated from the rain, which has now become heavier. He returns his gaze to the man, before deciding to nod slightly in greeting, a minor hint that Hanomir himself means no harm, though whether the other is the same, he does not know.

\"A good day to you too, Aearion, and be sure to book my seat at the Drover\'s!\" Daerthor calls even as Aearion leaves. And suddenly the other man\'s movement takes his attention away from his long-time friend. Taking the lead of the scion of Cuthalion\'s nod, Daerthor gives a curt bow and approaches him. \"It is strange to see a man walking amidst the pouring rain, especially one who is a patient in the Houses of Healing,\" he says reservedly, as a form of greeting. But such a statement is also an obvious comment, open to interpretation.

The majority of wariness Hanomir felt about the stranger fades as he bows and approaches him, but Hanomir does not let his guard down completely, and as he speaks, the scout grins slightly, replying with, \"Yes, well any kind of weather is preferable to being stuck inside. I miss the rain, anyway.\" Not the exact start of conversation Hanomir had been imagining, but at least it is somewhat friendly, and shows that there would hopefully be no conflict. Deciding to introduce himself first, Hanomir says, \"I am Hanomir, of the Cuthalion house, as you probably guessed.\" He then bows back, now more relaxed.

His suspicions confirmed, Daerthor\'s behaviour is similar in one aspect - that his defences are up. And yet it is almost impossible to tell in his bearing, for he is standing straight, but not erect, his posture is firm, but not rigid. Only the clipped nature of his speech and the expression of his eyes give his guarded state away. \"I am Daerthor,\" he says, introducing himself, pausing slightly, \"... of Carmayar, as you would have likewise deduced.\" He takes a few more steps forward, bringing him into comfortable speaking range with Hanomir. \"You have recently recovered of a long-time healing, I gather? What wound would keep you in the Houses for so long that you would miss the rain?\"

Hanomir notes how the other is acting fairly similar to himself, which is to be expected of two strangers from rival houses. Hanomir takes in the expression of the newly introduced Daerthor, nodding briefly as he announced his house, confirming Hanomir\'s suspicion.

Now that the two were speaking in a somewhat more friendly manner, Hanomir relaxed his stance, \"Yes. Today is my last day before I can leave here. Myself and a group of other scouts were ambushed at the crossroads, I am sure you heard of that back five months ago, we would have all been killed had we not been reinforced. But anyway, that is in the past now, what are you doing here?\"

Leaning against the wall, Daerthor sighs heavily as memories of the day he received that news floods back to him. \"I remember very well indeed. I was on an errand near Henneth Annun when a messenger sped past me to deliver news to the Rangers. One of whom passed the word to me later.\" Glancing again at the city, where fewer and fewer people were visible on the streets - for they were all heading indoors to avoid the rain - Daerthor squints, his eyes picking out a shadow near the gate. A company of troops, perhaps?

\"I am here to enjoy the scenery,\" he says, in response to Hanomir\'s question. \"I have not been here for a few years now, and yet I used to spend night and day in this very garden. I was content to leave the memories, but my feet betrayed me, and now I come here again.\"

Hanomir makes a pained expression as he remembers the battle, and how Grishnakh had quickly defeated him. It had been Hanomir\'s fault, he was the one that first fired an arrow at the lead orc, which of course provoked him to attack. Following Daerthor\'s gaze, Hanomir too spots the shadow by the gate, which sparks up some curiosity, \"How is combat going at the moment? I am fairly out of date with the recent happenings of the rangers and everything else.\"

At the response to his question, Hanomir nods curiously, saying slightly, \"I see. Wounded in the past, or visiting?\" He asks this cautiously, slightly fearful of bringing back painful memories to Daerthor\'s mind.

\"Combat is as to be expected - orc-raids have increased ever since your skirmish with them, and the Rangers are ever more vigilant. We scouts have also been sent afield far more often than we used to,\" Daerthor replies quickly, as though it is a spiel long-memorised. Indeed, he has lost count of the number of times he has reported the ever-darkening truth to those of the military he has met on his journey back to Minas Tirith.

Looking away as Hanomir inquires about the circumstances of his visit, Daerthor frowns, his mouth set in a grim line. Suddenly he turns back to face the other Scout, his words rather short, but not unkind. \"It was not I who was wounded in the past, but rather, my brother. His name may yet ring a bell: Faeron Carmayar, a Lieutenant of the Hosts, who fell in a battle with the Corsairs, severely wounded, and yet he lived still on the battlefield. His company bore him back to this city into the Houses of Healing, and long did the Healers tend to him...\" His voice trails off as the scene plays out within his mind. The previous guardedness in his eyes seems to have disappeared now.

The sun sets as the day draws to an end, leaving the night sky dark save but the twinkling of stars.

Hanomir listens silently to Daerthor\'s explanation, nodding every so often, \"I see... Not the news I wanted to hear, but what I did indeed expect.\"

Hanomir notices a change of atmosphere as he asks his question, and somewhat regrets asking, for it obviously seemed to bring back the painful memories that Hanomir feared. He listens to his words without interruption, vaguely recognising the name given. When Daerthor drew off at the end, Hanomir could easily guess the result, that he did not survive. Not sure of what to say, Hanomir simply says with true meaning, \"I am sorry.\"

The simple yet sincere statement that Hanomir says brings Daerthor back to the present rather abruptly. His eyes focus on Hanomir again. A hint of respect is in them, as it is in his tone, even as the line of his mouth relaxes. \"Indeed. Life goes on despite our losses.\"

Taking a deep breath, he pushes himself off the wall to stand straight again. \"Come, let us talk of more lighthearted things now. But it is dark, and I think the warmth of a fireplace would bring us some cheer.\" The sound of the clattering of boots filters up to the garden, followed by the creak of a door, and a sudden increase in noise volume, and Daerthor smiles. \"It seems that the company which has just ridden in would think so, too. I have an appointment at the Drover\'s Arms, now, if you wish, you could join us there.\"

Hanomir nods slightly yet sadly at his comment, \"Aye, a sad yet true fact of life.\" He looks to the sky as the rain grows heavier, and then back to Daerthor as he speaks again, nodding, \"Agreed. Even I do not miss this type of rain. Allow me to just sign myself out of this place and change into normal clothes.\" With that, he nods slightly, before rushing inside to find a healer, and then changing into his beloved blue clothes.