[Novnarwen]

Frôzhal straightened up as he felt his patience coming to an end. A company had arrived at the headquarters a while ago, and the Haradrim was starting to get curious about it all. He made his way away from the trees, where no longer he was 'protected' from the annoying sun rays, and towards the two storied building. He shivered as he saw Lan’kâsh on the balcony. There was at least one more sitting there, but Frôzhal couldn't see who. This, especially, made him even more curious. The man hesitated for a few moments; what on earth was he doing? Sneaking up on Lan’kâsh? He shook himself, trying to avoid looking any further at the balcony. Again, he straightened up, keeping his mask.

He made his way away from the headquarters. It would certainly not be wise of him to lurk around here, in hope to overhear what was going on, if he wanted to get a better position. What if he was getting a better position? Why else gather at a balcony? Frôzhal frowned by this. A better position, he thought, smiling to himself. A man came running pass him, shaking Frôzhal.

"What are you smiling for?" he asked rudely. Frôzhal despised this man, but couldn't do anything but to answer politely. "I was thinking about... when I am getting promoted," he said, giggling even more. The man broke into an evil laughter, shaking his head so hard that Frôzhal expected to see it fall off from the man's neck, any minute. "Promoted?" he said, gathering himself. Frôzhal nodded.

"Listen up, guys!" the man announced, after a few moments with silence.

Quite a few men, who stood nearby, turned around and looked towards Frôzhal and the man, who was named Ringlâsh. Some of them started to laugh already, even though they didn't know what all this was about. Frôzhal felt uncomfortable about the whole situation he suddenly found himself in. He sighed, as Ringlâsh started off, telling the others that Frôzhal thought he was getting a promotion soon.

There was a roar of laughter. Some laughed so loudly, Ringlâsh had to calm them down before continuing;" So, when do you expect it to happen?" he asked, staring at Frôzhal innocently. Frôzhal grew red, shaking. He didn't want everyone to know that he was getting promoted before he actually had been.

"Calm down guys," he started. "I haven't been promoted, yet" he said, grinning, forgetting that everyone was giggling.

This would be a day to remember for many of them. Such great fun as this was seldom nowadays and most of them knew they would have loads of fun in the time to come, mocking Frôzhal about how naive he was.

"I just want you to know," Frôzhal said, after his long pause. "That you are still my friends even though I climb the ranks," he finished.

Again there was a roar with laughter and Ringlâsh waved Frôzhal off. "See you soon," he said evilly. Frôzhal turned away, being satisfied about how he had managed to make the situation less uncomfortable. His promotion would only mean that he was more in charge, their friendship (Frôzhal believes that is called friendship) would never end.

"Good luck with your promotion!" someone called after him.

Frôzhal was happy they at least supported him, yes; wishing him good luck was a sign of support. A few minutes had passed before he realised that he had been proud. He had been proud when telling the others that he expected to be promoted soon. This was ones biggest mistake. He shook his head, trying to think of a how to make this to something positive. No, it's wasn't possible! This would definitely be his downfall. He huddled together, leaning his back to a huge tree trunk. He was full with regret and his conscience made him shiver. Frôzhal gulped as he saw Jinan come out from the headquarter building about fifty paces away.

Had Jinan been promoted instead of himself?

As this thought struck him, he realised that if Jinan had been promoted, he surely wouldn't. Within a minute's time his dream had been crushed, there was no promotion! He made a grimace, how in the world could Jinan get promoted and not him?

With clenched teeth and determination he stood up, held his head high and wandered off to the headquarters in hope to find out about this... this... Jinan and how he had got a promotion.... This just had to be a promotion, right?

***

doug*platypus' first post

A New Post

A week after returning from the outlying villages, Gimilzôr was summoned to meet his superior. He strode across town to where a headquarters had been set up, in a two-storied brick building overlooking the river to the north. His helmet was off against the heat of the late morning, and his forehead was beaded with sweat before he had walked a furlong. He was tired also, as he seldom was after a restful few days. The signs of oncoming age, he thought to himself sadly. However this only made him set his shoulders resolutely, and quicken his pace. At 34 years, he was still fitter and stronger than most of the men under his command.

Gimilzôr had proved this time and again on their last expedition. His troop had been sent to gather recruits and supplies from villages within the province. Although this duty was not as gruelling as facing an enemy army in battle, there was often resistance. Gimilzôr’s lord demanded that one in every ten men be conscripted to swell the ranks of his army; a demand that many villagers were loath to accept, since it robbed them of their finest blood. But the veteran commander had been greatly successful, and led his men to the border outpost of Harnen Crossing with his head held high.

Walking between tall palms, Gimilzôr reached his destination, stepping through the entrance and out of the heat of the sun. Once inside, he was shown to a small room that served temporarily as an office. His superior sat at a desk, fanned with a large frond by a woman with a light, dusky brown complexion and a downcast face. A cup of deliciously aromatic tea was before him. Gimilzôr saluted, clenched fist clanging against his bronze armour. The captain did not motion for him to sit, preferring to leave a distinction between him and the lower ranking Gimilzôr, despite the mutual respect between them.

“Eleven villages, one hundred and thirty conscripts,” he said matter-of-factly, reading from a parchment in front of him. “Well done. And my personal thanks for… the other tribute you gathered.” He indicated with a wry grin the woman standing nearby.

Gimilzôr smiled as the bonus he expected was pushed across the table to him; a small purse of coins which he took with a slight bow.

“As for your next post,” the young officer continued, “a small expeditionary force will shortly be pushing north towards the forest.” He waved casually behind him, in the direction of the river. “It will be led by an officer called Lan’Kâsh. I want you and your men to march under him. You will be joined by two relatively inexperienced sub-commanders. Jinan and Frôzhal are their names: you would do well to learn them. These two are capable, but ambitious, and may need keeping an eye on.”

At this point another man entered the room, attired also in the fashion of an officer of the Haradrim. He was tall and thin, with swarthy skin, and his hair hung down (in a scruffy manner, thought Gimilzôr) to his shoulders. The captain introduced him as Lan’Kâsh, and he and Gimilzôr saluted then clasped arms in formal military greeting. The man smelled slightly of ale, but that was to be expected in a town such as this between battles. And although he was a little unkempt at the moment, there could be no doubting the man’s experience and vigour in battle. Once Lan’Kâsh had taken a seat, the captain continued to brief Gimilzôr.

“I want you to see that your superior’s orders are carried out. Any northern settlements you find are to be wiped out completely. You have been chosen for your experience in this kind of warfare. Myself, I wouldn’t go near such a lowly assignment. Within the next month I will be leading a strong force across the River Poros to test the strength of Gondor. I expect you both to have completed your mission by then. Then maybe you will have some small share in the glory of Harad. You are dismissed, Gimilzôr.”

“For glory, my lord!” Gimilzôr cried, his eyes lighting up with the promise of battle to come.

The talk of great plans for extending the reach of the Empire had made his heart quicken. Most of his experience had been with small village conflicts, and a part of him strongly desired to be in a great battle against the Men of the West, such as those of old that he had heard tell of, when the Dark Lord himself had led the people of the south into battle. Excited like a brash young soldier, as he had not been for many years, he saluted his superiors once again, turned on his heel and walked out. Without pausing, he left the brick building and headed for his encampment, to ready his men, sharpen his sword, and pray to his gods, so that he might be their tool in bringing death to Gondor.