[piosenniel]

***** DALE - Bram *****

Three days of hard, long trekking brought them round the Falls and back once again to the southern portion of the Great River. They were now in the region of Anorien, heading for the northern most mouth of the Entwash as it entered the Anduin.

It was midday of the third day, when the reached their destination. Bram called a halt, saying they would wait here for their ship to come to them. The companions took their afternoon meal, and then relaxed on the ground talking amiably among themselves. Someone had broken out a small barrel of Old Toby, and pipes were filled and tamped and lit.

In the late afternoon of that day, a small, sleek craft was seen making its way north from Cair Andros, piloted by an old acquaintance of Bram's. He had guessed rightly on the day they would arrive, though when he and Bram had first made their plans, the schedule had been more tenuous. Unfortunately, the ship could not accomodate the ponies. So, once again the long suffering dwarves had to sacrifice part of their belongings.

Frain shook his head woefully, what had started out so promising had become a disaster. All the dwarves had now to present to the King were themselves! 'Still,' thought Frain, 'that will have to be enough!'

The companions helped the each other to load what they could on the ship, then they continued their journey to Minas Anor.

Evening became night, and night turned into day. They sailed on, past the many mouths of the Entwash, Anorien on their right, and now North Ithilien to their left. Early morning of the second day back on the River, they sighted Cair Andros and put in at its northern end.

The companions took the opportunity to explore the long island. During the times when men feared the advent of shadow, this island had played a strategic part in the defense against the troops of Mordor. Aragorn, himself, had ordered part of his troops to keep and maintain the island against the coming of Saurons's troops from the east. To the east of the southern end of the island could be seen the Field Cormallen, the Golden Ring, where Frodo and Sam were received after they achieved the Quest of Mount Doom.

The companions gathered on the ship for the night. Sleep eluded them. Tomorrow, early, they would set sail for the White City, Minas Anor, the Seven-tiered City, the Tower of the Setting Sun.

By midday they would enter it.


Nevtalethiel's Post:

***** DALE – Girion *****

Despite the darkness, and the now comforting rush of the water against the hull, Girion could not sleep.

"Tomorrow," he thought, "we will come to Minas Anor, and I must meet the King." It was a weight which had been lying heavily upon him for the last days. When he had set out, he had never really believed that he would come here. He had not feared for the completion of his task, he had merely never considered that he would actually be here, it seemed too unreal. If he was honest, he had not cared when he began his journey. It had all been one grand adventure, and if he messed it up, it would not matter. Now he was not so sure.

He sighed and stood up. As he opened the door of the cabin, light spilled in and Rubin mumbled something.

"I'll be fine" Girion reassured him, "I just have to do something important" Rubin's sarcastic laugh was met only by the swinging door.

Gently, Girion tapped on Bram's door. He had been getting up his courage to do this since they had left the first boat, but his pride had never allowed him to talk to Bram in front of the others, and he knew he must do so before they reached Minas Anor. For his country, for his people and mostly for his father, he entered the room.

"Bram, I...I know it's a bit late notice, but I've been meaning to ask you for the last couple of days and never got around to it, could you possibly fill me on everything you know about Dale's trade and diplomatic relations before we get to Minas Anor please - I've had an initial briefing before I left Dale, but I've forgotten what I knew and I never knew anything about Dale's colonies."

Girion took a deep breath and realised how much he had said without stoping, once he had started, he had not wanted to in case he could not start again.

Pio’s Post -- BRAM

Bram sat in the chair at his desk, his feet propped on the desk’s worn top. He was bone tired, and the half drunk glass of red wine in his hand had only served to emphasize his weariness. He held the glass up to the hooded light of the brass lamp swaying gently on its chain above the desk. The pale light played about the edges of the deep red liquid, but could not penetrate it. ‘Like blood.’ he murmured, twirling the liquid in the glass.

A half rolled map lay askew on the desk top where he had tossed it. Downing the last swallows of wine, he turned back to the map and unrolled it, securing the top edges with the wine bottle and the glass at each corner, while his forearms held down the bottom edge. He studied it closely, his eyes moving from area to area.

‘Come!’ he said, when first he heard the tapping at his door. He rolled the map and laid it aside as the door opened.

Girion stood in the doorway, a determined look on his face. Bram bade him enter, and pushed the pile of maps and cast off clothes from his bed to make a seat for him. The prince hesitated, and Bram smiled at him, encouraging him to begin. Once begun, the young man’s thoughts came bursting out like a pent up torrent.

Bram sat silently, musing, while Girion spoke. It was not the words which he marveled at, but the emotions behind them which shown out. He recalled the letter that Bard had sent him, telling of this mission he had sent his son on. The King had poured out his concerns, frustrations and hopes for his child, and a plea to Bram to see Girion through this if he would.

When first they met, Bram had wondered if Bard had placed his hopes too high for his son. Girion had worn an easy arrogance, like a cloak about his young shoulders. He was immature. Not the sort of man to draw people together and to him as would a King. But now he had let that cloak slip from him, and the true man beneath had come forth.

Once done, Girion looked at Bram, a hint of crimson staining his cheeks at what he had asked of the other man. The well-worn arrogance of youth warred briefly with his fledgeling maturity, and he stifled the urge to stride from the room before the older man could embarrass him with his comments.

‘So be it, Girion.’ came the quiet reply from Bram, as he held the young man’s gaze.

He drew another chair up close to the desk, and unrolled the map once again. ‘Here is map the Jarl and I have put together over the years. Slowly we are filling in these areas as Dale moves in to establish markets there.’ He pointed to the southeaster quadrant of the map. ‘This is where Jarl is at the moment. Your father has sent him to open up trade relations with the Southrons – Harad and perhaps Nurn, if possible.’

He pointed to numerous red and black dots spread over the map. ‘These black dots indicate the places where Dale is fully viable as a major trading concern. These red dots are the places where contracts are still tenuous, where the merchants have not yet seen the benefit to joining a larger Trade consortium.’ He looked closely at Girion. ‘Dale’s way has always been to support these areas as they go through the process of their decision making. It is not our policy to coerce them in any way. Threats and heavy handedness might bring short term profit, but in the long run those who feel they are under a yoke will turn and kill their masters as the opportunity presents itself.’

Girion nodded, making the connection with his own approaches to solving disputes. They had not either proved profitable to him in the long run, and he now realized he had lost the opportunity for some fast friends and allies. ‘Their will be things I need to mend once I return home.’ he thought to himself.

The two Dalesmen talked on through the night. Bram had found an eager and willing pupil in Girion, and he gave him all the benefit of his many years and knowledge. By the time they met the King, Girion would prove an able representative for Dale.

[ November 05, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]