((For my brother, who gave me a wonderful idea!))
Gondor, Anórien,
City of Legelinn,
Late Summer, T.A. 3017
»You look pale. Have you not slept well?«, inquired Yngdin during the breakfast from his bleary-eyed and tired lord. »Our beds were very good.«
»It has nothing to do with the bed I slept in«, said Torfrid scarcely and took a sip from the steaming tea. The hot beverage burned his tongue, quickly he returned the mug back unto the table. »I have had strange nightmare last night. And I do not know if it was a sign of Oromë or not.«
»A sign? Of what kind?«
The knight looked at the man. »Of the unpleasant kind. Very unpleasant. If Lake-Town would not be so far away and the ceremony would not be tomorrow, I would return there to see for myself.«
Matuk had led them here to the city of Legelinn. The lord Rantsila, who they had met on their journey to Lake-Town by the river was going to be the new lord of Legelinn, and the monk had been invited to the ceremony. Since two days, Torfrid had not seen him. He was busy helping the preparations in the chapel of Ilúvatar.
The underfeldmarshall did not seem to understand a word. »See for yourself? See what?«
Torfrid stopped his questions with a wave of his hand. »Forget it. I surely have drunken too much wine and hence have gotten these wooly thoughts.« Without another word he began his breakfast during which he ate a load of bread, meat and cheese. Then he leaned back on his chair and looked up to the wooden paneling of the ceiling.
»We will make a round-tour later and take a look at the chapel. Maybe we find even a forge on our way, that offers pieces of the exquisite kind. Your swords could do with an improvement at least and if we are already in a bigger city we should use the opportunity.«
His followers nodded.
As they stood up, in order to make their preparations before they would ride out, Yngdin hesitated and starred at Torfrid's neck.
»Milord, you have there something like an evil looking scratch wound.« He came closer and expected it with a perusing expression. »Mh, that looks like from a thorn thicket or an animal. Maybe a big cat had entered your room last night and brought you the bad dreams?« The underfeldmarshall laughed. »The poor animal, no wonder. It must have defended itself with claws and teeth. Surely it lies somewhere squished between the mattresses.«
The knight felt carefully over his neck and discovered the rills. Five of them, he counted. Deep rifts in his skin, that began to burn unpleasantly as soon as he had noticed them. »Yes, I must have hurt myself somehow in my sleep«, he lied.
The long chainmail covered his shaking knees and he was grateful for it. Could have Ælbdís been more than just an illusion? How could it be possible that a dream figure left such wounds? A quick thought conjured up the Elf before his inner eye and a shudder went through him.
»Are you really well, milord?«, asked Yngdin again. »Or are you coming down with a cold?«
»It is alright.« Torfrid rose up and went to his room to put on his armor.
The company of heavily armored order-knights of the god Oromë and the not less equipped squires, who soon made its way through the streets of Legelinn, was impressive.
They rode out now officially and hence Torfrid had ordered to display their banner. Flags were quivering in the wind, the large standard of Oromë was well visible within their middle. The piece of cloth was a warning as well as a symbol of pride. Everyone who saw the silver rider who held a horn and a sword, knew to make a wide circle around the knights if he wanted to avoid any inconvenience.
In Legelinn, the people seemed to know that. Simple folk evaded quickly to the side. Nobles and rich people looked after them and the city guard that was passing them from time to time were giving them disapproving looks. The open worn weapons were frowned upon, but the Order enjoyed in that matter the same privileges as the nobles.
To forbid one of these warriors their sword came equal to a violation of their belief and they reacted on that with blood and thunder. In this case however there was no danger that something like that would happen. There were no tournaments to be held any time soon and the only other men equipped with weaponry were the guards.
In front of a smithy shop, Torfrid let the company halt and dismounted, his three knights followed him into the inside of the building.
The roomy hall was filled with swords, armor parts and shields, that either stood in showcases or were brought unto the wall.
The leader of the Order of Oromë's swords took a round shield from a hook, put it on his arm and performed a few fluently defense movements as if the weight on his arm would be as light as a feather.
»The shield is made of ten layers of cross-bonded wood, four differently thick insertions of leather and a thin blanket of metal«, came it from between the shelves. »If you do not have at least forty coins in your pockets then better hang it back were it was.«
Torfrid looked amused to his men and plunked the shield unto the counter that it caused a deafening noise.
»What are you doing?« A man in his thirties, in fashionable clothes, a leather-apron and a well taken care of face appeared with a repellent expression. He was quite tall and had for the north of this land quite brown skin. Torfrid noticed on the first look who stood in front of him.
He had to be a member of one of the many merchant guilds of the south of Gondor. These traders controlled most of the good exchange between the kingdoms and the cities, were equipped with privileges and special rights, that strengthened them in their position of monopolism - quite to the anger of the small merchants, who were robbed hence of their possibilities to make coin through trade into more far away lands. The given advantages were defended by the guilds with a lot dedication, inclusively the usage of mercenaries, should robber bands or rivaling merchants become too interested into their trading routes.
»If you cause a scratch into the metal you will have to pay for it. The whole price.« As if he had seen it just now, his eyes fell unto the symbols that were emblazoned on the chest guards of the four men. His face lost all its color, the Adam's apple jumped hectically up and down. »Oh, I apologize, noble gentlemen. My name is Secho. I did not know that ...«
»And I did not know that your shields break from this tiny poke«, Torfrid cut into his word. He would not believe a word the man said, the theatrical talents of the guilds were well known. So one had to turn the tables. »In a fight they have to endure more.« He nodded at Yngdin, who in a fluently movement, drew his sword and performed a strong strike against the shield.
Like paper was the cover folding itself around the blade, the wood broke, was only held together by the metal. »How shall a warrior survive a fight with your equipment?« Disparagingly he tossed five coins on the counter. »More it was not worth. Do not thank me for my kindness.«
»Oh«, the man scratched his head. »I do not understand this.« Surprised he raised the destroyed shield. »But I have still other wares to offer. This was lowly stuff from ... Rohan. They do not know what leather is the best.« Secho scurried around the counter, took a triangle shaped shield and held it in front of him. Softly he knocked against its surface. »So, gentlemen? That is a tone. Only quality sounds like that.«
Torfrid raised his fist that was covered by an iron glove and hit.
The surprised merchant tumbled with his protection several meters backwards, rumbling he disappeared into a shelf with sword.
He raised the shield protecting above his head and made himself as small as possible beneath it, while one blade after the other rained down on his cover and were deflected with a dull noise.
Torfrid's men laughed, while the knight shook out his hand, walked over to the trader and helped him to get up. The iron of the glove had left dents in the metal, the swords had caused scratches.
»I will not be able to sell that piece to anyone anymore«, Secho whined quietly and corrected his leather apron.
»No worries, I will buy it«, the order-knight calmed him down. »Here you have twenty coins. Is that enough?«
»For such a good shield? Milord, please! By the power you possess and the small dents, it would be at least worth the double.« The merchant grinned slyly. »The surface is covered with the metal made after the old patterns of westernesse.«
Torfrid looked for a moment perplexed, then he joined into the laughter of his men. »You are some hero. Very well, I will give you fifty coins. But for that we will use your forge and your steel to patch the swords of my battle companions.«
»We have the best forge and the hottest fire in all of Legelinn«, Secho bowed. »They will look like new.« The knights took off their weapons from their belts and laid them on the counter.
A servant appeared, took the swords and disappeared with them. The warriors and their squires followed him to the forge.
In four basins was the coal glowing dark red; with every breath from the large bellows that had been brought unto the stone to each side, they changed their color into a glistening white. The walls were hung with several tools, tongues, differently heavy hammers, files and many more tokens.
The knights freed themselves of the heaviest parts of their armor and went to work. The swords were heated up, new steel was worked into them and so long processed until nothing was left of the earlier nicks.
Several hours stood the Order-knights on the coal basins and improved their weapons with the hands of masters. They were especially observed by Torfrid, and also Secho came from time to time into the large room to throw a look on them.
Yngdin, by now bathed into sweat, waved the man to him, leaned down and whispered something into his ear. The merchant became then suddenly a whole lot more pale. The knight grinned maliciously and cooled the blade in a tub of cold water. Hissing the white steam shot up.
»What did you tell him?«, inquired Torfrid and handed him a pitcher.
»I told him, that we, should we find find but a trace of inferiority on his steel, will put him unto the anvil and start smithing him with glowing hammers.« He took a sip and placed the other hand on his belt. »I feel naked without my sword. Only the long-dagger appears a bit little to me. But it will still take a while until we can take our weapons.«
»What would you want with your sword anyway? Slaying beasts in Legelinn?«, the leader mocked him in friendship. »Imagine we would meet a quite terrifying one and you, Yngdin the Mighty, could not strike it down with a blade but would have to strangle it with your bare hands.«
»Very funny, milord, very funny.« Yngdin wiped the sweat off his forehead and put back on his armor.
»Come, we will make a round around the town, while the swords cool down. The one or other of you could also do with a bath if I so look at you.« The knights went through the shop out on the streets and swung up into their saddles.
»I know how you feel.« Torfrid led his horse through the streets into the direction of the well, from afar, visible chapel. »But here you will have no need for your sword. The city-guard makes a good impression. And would the dire situation still arrive, you would still have me.«
»And if someone challenges me to a duel?« The knight made not a really contempt impression.
»Then the squires take the crossbows and shoot him.« The other two warriors were quite amused, the order-knight raised the tempo.
Big and massive and like a mountain among hills was the Ilúvatar-Chapel raised among the other buildings in its near. The architects had performed a little wonder. Since more than eight-hundred years stood the place of worship, that was hence older than the actual temple and made a stark contrast to its surrounding. Narrow, tipped towers, that protruded into great heights, enormous colorful windows and golden roofs met the eye instantly.
The salient company made halt on the forecourt. The Order-knights dismounted and made for the portal in front of which four Ilúvatar-monks stood and held small bowls in their hands for possible donations.
Without meeting their gaze, the knights continued their way. From the corner of his eye noticed Yngdin that a younger monk had opened his mouth to say something, but was hindered to utter anything by an older brother who had prevented him with a quick shaking of his head.
The chapel appeared to be unending long. At the other end, seemingly very small, stood the Ilúvatar sanctuary. Torfrid doubted that the bolt of a crossbow would fly from here unto the other end. Columns, that were several meters thick, carried the roof-construction, for which were fifty men on one another needed to reach it. Crossbeams and strutting, raised, to derive the immense impression, created a vivid pattern. Torfrid counted three different gongs, that were hung with huge chains unto the ceiling and apparently hovered free within the air. The largest of the metal-disks had certainly the diameter of the wheel of a windmill. To each led a small staircase, that ended into a pedestal, on which a man could stand. The colorful windows created a strange, unreal light in the inner of the building, thick smoke clouds from incenses formed levitating, constantly changing figures.
On the walls hung relieves, gigantic paintings, displaying the myths of Middle-Earth and the making of the world. In the hall stood groups of statues, that made such scenes more plastic. Almost all Valar were to be found. Ilúvatar himself appeared in his full form, an elderly man in wonderous clothes, with a face greater than of any living king. A picture of Melkor was sought in vain.
Steep winding stairs, that were winding themselves around a pillar led up unto an esplanade, that again led to a number of loges. By festivities, there sat the members of the chapel's order, the higher ones of the order of Ilúvatar and were observing the proceedings.
Furniture was missing in the area of the knights completely. Only more to the front, in the direction of the sanctuary, were wooden seats to be found, preserved for the rich and powerful of Legelinn. The simple folk was praying while standing or knelt down on the polished stone floor. The cold air was filled with the mumbling of the prayers.
»Impressive«, whispered Yngdin, although he had not planned on lowering his voice.
»At least for the one who is letting himself being impressed by it,« Torfrid responded, rebuking his friend indirectly. Far to be heard were his words in the chapel. »We will all learn the procedure of the ceremony, then we will go into the inside. I want, that we, should it be necessary, be able to move blind about. One of the squires will make a plan of the building.«
The men nodded and spread out. The one or other townsman observed the knights by their doing and could not quite make sense of it.
From the back to the front they marched through the chapel until they had reached the sanctuary. Ten times as large as a man, was the statue of Ilúvatar risen, smiling, in one hand a book and in the other a hand full of wheat. To his feet, simple people had gathered and brought themselves under his protection. Broken in front of him lay a sword and a lance.
»Pah«, muttered Torfrid scornful as he saw the symbols of his house as signs to pacifism, broken. »It will come the time when they will be glad that a strong blade and a save lance will care for order.«
»Are you so sure of that?«, sounded suddenly a voice up behind him.
Emphasized slowly, did the knight turn around and looked at the monk in the plain, dark green robe, who had walked up behind them. He was more than a head smaller.
»I am sure.« Torfrid rose to his full size. By the expression on the man's face, he just regretted to have addressed the knight. »I will not let myself be drawn into a discussion with you, monk. I am here to make my attendance to the Lord and his wife in two days. And part of it, is to visit the ceremony.«
»Why the upcoming lord of the city, Rantsila and his wife will surely be glad about that«, said the monk with a smile. »But do you have an invitation? Every person who wants to enter hither with a weapon, requires a letter with permission from the city palace. You understand that, do you not?«
»I am Torfrid of Running of the Order of Oromë's Swords, warrior for my god. And I am in no need for a permission to wear this sword on my side. Not yours, not that of the palace or of any other man. Who should hinder me?«
»It is not my decision«, said the man with his head bowed. »We were given instruction to tell any visitors of it.« He looked at the knights who stood in the chapel. »And also your men will need an invitation. I will not be able to hinder you at the moment, but at the ceremony, there will be enough guards with whom you can discuss your ways of belief.«
»Then we will not make the soon to come lord of the city our attendance«, said Torfrid cold. He turned around on his heels, waved at his followers and walked out of the massive building.
As they stood before the portal it began to rain.
The knights looked up. »We will have to look through another entrance into the chapel, instead of using the main door«, said Torfrid to Yngdin and nodded to a narrow gate, that was hardly to make out between all the pillars. »I think that is the right entrance for us.«
