September 2975

The early morning air was humid, a promise of yet another oppressive September day. The summer had been a hot one, and that heat was lingering into the early fall. Andrahar withstood it better than most by virtue of his heritage, and more than one copiously sweating soldier or knight glared in disgruntled irritation at his cool demeanor.

"The Steward has invited us to spar with members of the Fountain Guard and the City Guard tomorrow morning," Lord Aerandir had announced the night before during the evening meal. Aerandir was several years older than Adrahil, and oversaw the Prince's household in Minas Tirith. He was also Adrahil's illegitimate half-brother, a fact the Swan Knight had disclosed to a dumbfounded Andrahar soon after his arrival in the White City. He had overseen the last part of Andrahar's training with a firm but gentle hand, while his wife Eilinel, her own children having long since flown the nest, had taken the Haradrim under her wing for what she considered was some much-needed mothering. Andrahar, uncomfortable with feminine attention, had initially resisted, but to no avail--Eilinel had simply ignored his protests and prickly demeanor. She fussed over him, reminding him to wear his cloak when the weather was cold, to be careful of the sun when it was hot, and baked him honey-cakes on a regular basis.

He had accompanied all of the royal family save Imrahil to Minas Tirith for Yule the previous year, but while the Prince and Princess had returned to the coast shortly after the holidays, Princess Finduilas had remained. She seemed to genuinely like Andrahar, and whether for that reason or because she felt some responsibility towards her brother's waif now that Imrahil was gone, she had requested that he remain as part of her personal guard.

While such attention was flattering, it had caused problems for Andrahar, who had become a knight-probationer upon completion of his training. Knights who had come into the company because of their valor in battle in the foot companies were immediately elevated to full Knight status on completion of their terms as esquires. But the young, noble, unblooded esquires became Knight-probationers until such time as they proved themselves in battle. Andrahar had yet to participate in his first true conflict so that he might attain full status; therefore, he was somewhat irritated at being mewed in Minas Tirith.

The reason for Finduilas' protracted stay in the City was the guarded courtship being conducted by Lord Denethor, the Steward's Heir, who at forty-five years of age, could certainly not be accused of impetuosity in matters of the heart. In his capacity as Captain-General, he was also not the sort of man to ask for aid, even in the interest of building cooperation and amity between Gondor's various warrior factions. So as time went on, Andrahar's initial hopes that the Swan Knights would be invited to patrol a bit around Cair Andros or Osgiliath had faded. And when he contemplated all the opportunities for combat in the border patrols of Belfalas that he had lost because of Finduilas' request, he silently cursed royal 'favor', and struggled to cultivate patience.

He also had to combat his longing for Imrahil, which only increased as time went on, despite the duties which kept his days full. The Heir wrote to him regularly, though the letters tended to come in bunches because of the way they were delivered in port, and he conscientiously wrote Imrahil back, though correspondence had never been a talent of his, and he felt that his letters were much more dull than those the Prince sent him. Andrahar's absence aside, Imrahil was enjoying his time at sea, and the obvious love for maritime things that pervaded his correspondence made Andrahar realize there was a very good possibility that he himself would have to go to sea one day in the future, if he wished to remain at Imrahil's side.

Which he did. Any lingering ideas that remained about going off to be a mercenary had vanished by the time two months had passed. He would live and die a Swan Knight, serving both of his princes and their family, and for the most part, he was content with that decision. He had thrown himself into his martial training with such fervor, requesting additional lessons from his sword instructors, that he had passed his tests for knight-probationer with flying colors, exhibiting the proficiency in arms of a much more experienced warrior. This had not gone unnoticed by either his superiors or his fellow knights.

"Ecthelion wishes to judge the results of his latest training programs," Aerandir had explained the night before. "While this is merely a friendly competition, and we are all on the same side, I know that I speak for the Prince as well as myself when I say that there had better be Minas Tirith men laid upon the ground in great numbers tomorrow." Laughter ran around the room, and Aerandir smiled. "We have been asked to bring a dozen of our best, so these are the knights who will accompany me…." The list that had followed included eleven full-fledged, battle-hardened Swan Knights and one knight-probationer, Andrahar of Umbar.

Which was how Andrahar found himself watching the first bouts in the courtyard of the Citadel that morning, broad swordsman's hands hooked into his black-bordered white belt. Finduilas had accompanied the Steward this morning, the redoubtable Lady Tirathiel acting as her chaperone. Ecthelion's entourage also included the enigmatic Captain Thorongil, the silver star-brooch that never left his person gracing his tabard instead of the cloak the heat had rendered unnecessary. Chairs had been set up under an makeshift awning for the comfort of the exalted observers and esquires stood ready with refreshments. Ecthelion and his guests chatted amiably as the bouts were arranged. Lord Denethor was overseeing things for the Minas Tirith side, as Lord Aerandir did for Dol Amroth.

The first combats went well enough, the Swan Knights more than holding their own. Andrahar did note some improvement among Minas Tirith's warriors, and wondered if Captain Thorongil was responsible for it. Certainly, his eyes were intent upon the fighting, and he had little to say to the others.

"Andrahar," Aerandir called, and he went out to face his first opponent, a City Guardsman. The Haradrim was coming into the fullness of his strength and speed, and the years of intensive instruction at Dol Amroth had served to put the polish on what had been an already extensive grounding in swordsmanship and a great natural talent. The Guardsman was defeated in short order, and murmurs arose from the noble audience at the impressive display. Over the next hour, as the sun mounted higher in the sky, he fought two more bouts and won them both, though the last, with the senior commander of the Fountain Guard himself, was hard contested. Nonetheless, those who were watching had not expected the commander to lose to a junior knight any more than the commander had himself, and there were many exclamations of disbelief. Only Thorongil seemed unsurprised.

Andrahar's defeated opponent saluted him graciously, and he looked up to see the Steward of Gondor beckoning to him. He advanced to a space a few feet from Ecthelion, and went to one knee, head bowed. The Steward, a bluff, genial man, indicated that he should rise.

"So you are Adrahil's Haradrim of whom I have heard so much. Formidable, very formidable indeed."

"My lord Steward is kind."

"Where did you learn such swordsmanship?"

"In Harad, when I was young, and in Dol Amroth, my lord."

Denethor, who had sought both Finduilas and a moment's shade under the awning, laid a hand upon the lady's shoulder, and commented, "'Tis strange that you should be so skilled with a blade. I had heard that you were a common thief whom Prince Imrahil had brought out of the stews of Umbar."

"There is nothing common about Andrahar," Finduilas declared, looking up at her suitor with a slight frown. The Steward's Heir inclined his head to her respectfully before continuing his questioning.

"Nonetheless, street-rats do not generally have access to sword-masters. What is your true lineage, Andrahar of Umbar? And what do you do here?"

"I have no house and no father, my lord," Andrahar replied flatly, as the custom of his people required, chin held high. "I serve the Prince Adrahil and his family, by my sworn word and sword. That is what I do here."

"A bastard then, are you?" Ecthelion said, with a seeming lack of tact. Andrahar knew, however, that the Steward was much more astute than he sometimes chose to appear.

"Yes, my lord."

"Such men must make their way in the world as best they can, but it looks as if you're doing well enough for yourself. Think you that you could take him, Thorongil?"

The captain looked up at Andrahar for a moment with piercing grey eyes. "It would be an interesting contest, my lord. But not today. The young man has already fought three hard bouts, and I am fresh. It would not be fair."

Ecthelion nodded. "A valid point. Another day, then--I insist upon it. It should be a marvelous fight. What do you think, Denethor?"

"Foreigner versus foreigner? Interesting indeed." The Heir's expression indicated that he was anything but intrigued by the prospect. "If you will excuse me, father, my lady, I must see to the last bouts." He went in search of Aerandir, and the day's trials were soon concluded, with the Swan Knights winning the contest by a modest margin. The Steward then took his entourage off to be consoled in their defeat by an early lunch. Captain Thorongil remained behind, speaking to his men, but when he saw that the Swan Knights were about to depart, he approached Aerandir and asked to speak to Andrahar for a moment.

"Of course, Captain," had come the commander's reply. "Andrahar, return to us when Lord Thorongil is done with you." The Haradrim bowed to his superior officer, turning to regard the captain curiously once the Swan Knights had departed.

He had to look up, for Thorongil was a very tall man, and the captain bent his head that he might meet Andrahar's gaze directly.

"Walk with me, if you would be so kind," Thorongil murmured, and Andrahar fell in beside him. The captain's course took him across the Citadel courtyard, and into the second circle of the city.

"I should very much like to spar with you when the opportunity arises," he said quietly, as they strolled along. "I hope that you did not think I did not wish to. But I deemed the circumstances unfair to you."

Andrahar shrugged. "They were unfair to you as well. If you had won, then Lord Denethor would have claimed you had taken advantage of my weariness, and if you had lost, then he would have considered you to have been showing off before his father. It is well known that the two of you are at odds."

Thorongil's mouth twitched, and amusement glimmered in his eyes. "And it is as I had hoped--you are an observant young man. So I ask you this--how long has it been since you were last in Umbar?"

"Four years."

"What parts of the city were you most familiar with?"

"The dock district and the lower portions, some of the upper markets. I know a little of the richer precincts, but that knowledge is much older than the other, and nowhere near so reliable. I was very young at the time." He said nothing about the reason for that knowledge, and the captain did not press the issue.

"Do you think I could pass as a native in the City, were I to go there?" Thorongil inquired, speaking suddenly in Haradric. Andrahar cocked his head to one side, and looked at him skeptically.

"I do not know. Speak again. Why is it you wish to know these things?"

"I had thought to pay a little visit to our southern neighbors, just to take a look around," the captain continued in Andrahar's mother tongue. "I am not planning any sort of major military action, and I wished to go unseen."

The young knight pursed his lips. "I see a problem with your plan. You could darken your skin easily enough, but you have Umbarian eyes and a sand-rat's accent. I do not know where you learned your Haradric, but there are no light-eyes among the desert folk. You must amend either your speech or the color of your eyes. I suspect the former would be easier than the latter."

"Providing I could find someone who speaks the Umbarian dialect."

Andrahar gave him a guileless look. "Lord Denethor speaks it."

Thorongil grinned in response, and the departure from his usual severity changed his face entirely. He was, the esquire decided, a very handsome man, though he did not move Andrahar in the same way that Imrahil did. "I would rather not trouble Lord Denethor with this matter." His voice was almost prim.

"The Steward does as well."

"But not like a native."

Seeing where this was leading to, Andrahar warned, "You would have to apply to my commander and my lady for permission."

"If it were granted, would you be willing to help me?"

"If it were granted, then I would."

"Excellent!" The captain bounced slightly upon his heels, then turned to him once more. "Do you fight in the double-hand style? With two scimitars?"

"I know a little of the style, but I am hardly a master."

"Nor am I. But I would greatly enjoy trying it with you."

"As the captain wishes."

"I look forward to it."

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Thusly did Andrahar make the acquaintance of Captain Thorongil, who petitioned both Lord Aerandir and Princess Finduilas successfully. And thus did he find himself spending a couple of evenings a week after dinner speaking Haradric to Ecthelion's most favored captain. Thorongil was swift of wit, and had a good grounding in the language already--Andrahar's task was to work upon inflection and accent and some dialect-specific vocabulary.

As promised, Thorongil also sparred with him, though by unspoken agreement the sessions were private ones at the Dol Amroth townhouse, without Ecthelion as an audience. The captain, Andrahar had noticed, took great pains to downplay the Steward's favoritism towards him, though his efforts did little to appease Ecthelion's son. And he was Andrahar's master where the sword was concerned, with a unique style, whippy and fluid, the likes of which the Haradrim had never seen before. When questioned, Thorongil would not say where he had learned his blade work, though Andrahar knew that it was not in Rohan, no matter what the captain said about having served in Thengel's household. In the last year the young knight had sparred with a couple of Rohirrim, members of an embassy to the Steward, and found them to be straightforward fighters, with an emphasis on power over speed, and very fond of shield-bashing--not the captain's manner of fighting at all.

Andrahar had Thorongil's swiftness if not his reach, so the captain's style suited him well, and he eagerly absorbed anything the quiet northerner would teach him. The captain, like Andrahar himself, was a taciturn man, but an extremely intelligent one and the young knight found his company congenial enough. Their relationship was one of similarities, rather than the attraction of opposites he shared with Imrahil. Whom Thorongil questioned him about one day, after they had ended a bout, and were loitering in the practice yard at the townhouse.

"Princess Finduilas says that you are very close to her brother. What is he like? I have never had the opportunity to meet him."

Andrahar considered the question, while the captain rummaged through his belongings for the pipe and tobacco pouch that never strayed far from his person. He had a clever little spark-striker which he used to kindle the pipe once it was filled, and put it to his lips the moment it was lit, drawing in a mouthful of smoke with obvious enjoyment.

"That cannot be good for your wind," the knight-probationer commented.

"Hasn't slowed me down yet," came the calm reply; then, a gentle prodding--"The Prince?"

Andrahar's answer was slow to come, as he struggled to find the proper words. "Imrahil is….likeable. Most people like him. He is friendly, and knows how to talk to them. He is beautiful as well, which always helps."

"I have heard that they call him Imrahil the Fair. But surely there is more to him than a pretty face?" A slight note of challenge was in the captain's voice.

"There is, though he does not admit it, even to himself. He is reckless and rash, but he has courage and wit and could be a great lord one day."

"You obviously care for him a great deal. You must miss him, for I have seen the way your eye is caught by every tall young man with dark hair who passes by. Are you shield-mates?"

Thorongil used the Haradric term in his question, the one that meant 'more than comrade-in-arms', and Andrahar stared at him for a moment, taken aback. Was the man a mind-reader? "No," he said at last, a bit curtly.

Ecthelion's captain, seeing his consternation, promptly apologized. "I am sorry if I offended you. Such things happen among my folk from time to time, and I had heard that they were not uncommon in the South."

"I am not offended, Captain Thorongil." Is he a lover of men? Andrahar wondered suddenly. He did not get that sort of feeling from the captain, but there were sufficient cultural differences between them that he might not be reading his fellow foreigner correctly at all. Certainly, there were no rumors of Thorongil being involved with any particular woman at court…Could he be sounding me out?

The young knight pondered that possibility for a moment, as well as the prospect of being bedded by the man. Thorongil was comely and masterful and ranked him--there was no question as to who would be the dominant partner, should the invitation be issued. Imrahil aside, did he wish to involve himself in that sort of relationship again?

"I have a friend at home towards whom I feel much as I suspect you do the Prince," the captain was saying. "We can talk about anything. He is as dear to me as my brothers."

Andrahar shook himself out of his contemplative fog, for this was a piece of information about the mysterious captain he suspected few possessed. "You have brothers, captain?"

"Two of them. Older brothers. Much older brothers." Again, the wry twitch of the lips that indicated Thorongil was enjoying some private joke. "But sometimes our brothers of the heart are every bit as close as our blood-brothers. So it is with my friend, and I suspect that you and Imrahil are the same way as well. I hope that he returns to you soon."

"It has been a year, but I do not know what Prince Adrahil intends for him, once his tour at sea is done. We may be parted for some time yet."

The captain took a long draw from his pipe, and cast a casual eye about the courtyard. His eyebrow cocked at something he saw, and he chuckled suddenly. "Perhaps. And perhaps the separation will end sooner than you think. The young prince is a tall fellow, you said, and handsome?"

"Yes, my lord."

Thorongil gestured with his pipe over Andrahar's shoulder. "Does he look anything like that gentleman over there?"

A hubbub was breaking out in the courtyard behind him. Andrahar spun around to see a couple of Swan Knights escorting a tanned young man in seaman's clothes, his sea-bag slung over his shoulder, and his hair, grown longer, tied back in a sailor's tail. He glanced about the courtyard with the relieved look of someone home after a long journey, then his eye fell upon Andrahar. The sea-bag hit the cobbles with a thump, and his face lit up.

"ANDRA!"

"Imri…" Andrahar breathed much more quietly, and then he was pelting across the courtyard with absolutely no sense of decorum towards Imrahil, who was also running. They collided with enough force to have knocked the two of them backwards, had they not immediately seized upon each other and commenced pounding each other's back in exuberant celebration. Exclamations of joy filled the air as Swan Knights and hostlers and servants and one bemused Captain of Gondor watched the reunion, grinning.

"Somehow, Hal, I think sparring practice is over," Thorongil remarked to some unseen person, gathering up his equipment to depart unnoticed.