View Single Post
Old 08-01-2004, 09:13 PM   #263
Ealasaide
Shadow of Tyrn Gorthad
 
Ealasaide's Avatar
 
Join Date: Sep 2003
Location: The Fencing Lyst
Posts: 810
Ealasaide has just left Hobbiton.
Airefalas noticed Rôg's skillful avoidance of discussing any specifics regarding himself or the Eagles, but let it pass without comment. He had promised Ráma that he would not pry, so, in keeping with that promise, he had adopted a strategy of asking questions to learn what information he could, but to back away when the other party began to get uncomfortable. Since Rôg was clearly not comfortable discussing specifics, Airefalas made himself content with familiarizing himself with the basics of maenwaith history and culture. He listened intently to Rôg's lecture, grateful to have it all explained at last and in such a way that required very few additional questions on his part. The feeling that he was floundering blindly finally began to recede a bit. At the mention of the Beornings to the north, however, he made a short exclamation of surprise. He had not been aware of them either.

"You miss a lot on land when you spend your life at sea..." he murmured under his breath as Rôg concluded his explanations and turned the topic of conversation back toward him and Mithadan.

"But tell me," continued Rôg. "I know little of you or of your Captain, save what has happened here in the South. Are you both from Minas Tirith? Have you sailed with him long?’ He paused for a moment. "What sort of man is your Captain, I wonder . . . to have such a dauntless wife. And who is this maenwaith they call friend?’ Rôg leaned forward and spoke with a low chuckle. "When Aiwendil first found out that Mithadan was here, in camp, he said a very strange thing about him and Piosenniel." Airefalas noticed him send a quick glance toward where Aiwendil and Mithadan sat, their attention on their own conversation. "People of honor, he said, but wherever they go, trouble follows . . ." He spoke lower. "I half expect to see Mistress Piosenniel come bristling into camp at any moment, blade drawn, to effect your rescue! Though I’m sure," he added quickly, "she will stay at home keeping her own little ones safe until your return." He drew back and spoke in a more normal tone. "And what of you? Is there a wife and family waiting for your return?"

Airefalas laughed. "Though I have only met Mistress Piosenniel on a few brief occasions, I would have to say that your first impression is probably the more apt one. I don't think I would be surprised at all to see her come bristling into camp, as you put it." He cast a amused glance at Mithadan. "Now that you mention it, I wonder what's keeping her..."

"But seriously," he continued after a moment. "This is the first time I have sailed with either of them and, as such, I cannot vouch for Mithadan or Piosenniel one way or the other in terms of honor or trouble except to say that they do carry a similar reputation to what you describe in Minas Tirith." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "My personal experience with Mithadan on this journey, however, has earned him my respect as a man of honor, good judgement ...and action. But, as for the maenwaith they call friend, I'm afraid you shall have to save your questions for Mithadan. It was only the evening we left Umbar that I first heard mention of her."

He shrugged helplessly and paused to take a few bites of the meal that had begun to grow cold on the plate in his lap.

"And you?" prompted Rôg, reiterating his earlier question. "Have you a wife and family awaiting your return?"

At that, Airefalas grimaced slightly and put aside his plate. "No," he said finally. "There is a lady that I had hoped would become my wife, but - at this stage - it doesn't look as though that is going to happen." At a questioning glance from Rôg, he added, "Her father has taken a disliking to me and she, being devoted to him, is not likely to defy him. Actually, he has informed me that if I don't break off the engagement upon my return to Minas Tirith, he will break it off for me." He rose and walked in the direction of the closed tent flap. "So there you have it," he finished with a bitter laugh. "The short version of the story, anyway."

As he thought about the situation surrounding his engagement to Isabel, Airefalas' face darkened noticeably. On the morning he had first set sail with the Lonely Star, he remembered he had been furious with Isabel's father for his high-handed pronouncements and ultimatims regarding his daughter. Now, the farther removed Airefalas grew from the situation, the more he began to doubt himself, whether his love for Isabel was genuine or merely a deep infatuation born of the many pressures of Minas Tirith society. Granted, she was a beautiful woman, the sort to turn the heads of men on the street, but she was a silly and fatuous creature as well, prone to constantly batting and poking him with her fan. He remembered with a rueful smile the evening that he had gotten so outdone with her and her fan at a ball that he had taken the fan away from her and pitched it out the window into the back of a passing cart. She had left in a huff and refused to speak to him for a week until he had finally given in and purchased her a new fan. Now, so many miles away in the desert, he found himself wondering, aside from her beauty, what exactly it was that he loved about her and why he was so determined to go back to Minas Tirith and win her. Though his motives were faulty, perhaps Isabel's father wasn't so wrong after all...

"Ego," Airefalas said aloud, frowning to himself. Maybe that was what lay at the root of it all, not love.

"Excuse me?" asked Rôg politely. "I don't think I quite follow you."

"Sorry," answered Airefalas, looking back at the other man with an apologetic smile. "It's a complicated situation - please excuse me for stewing a bit." He came back over and took his seat again on the cushion near Rôg. "And what about you? Have you a wife and children awaiting you at home... wherever it is you come from?"

Last edited by Ealasaide; 08-03-2004 at 01:46 PM.
Ealasaide is offline