|
Anhelm was somewhat thrown by Astalder's reaction. He looked at the small money pouch on the desk, and touched it with tentative fingertips. He nodded his head very slightly as he picked up the bag, weighing it in his hand. The worn leather strap that bound it shut brushed his hand.
"I'm glad to hear you say that, Astalder," Anhelm said slowly. "I need your loyalty. It lightens my heart to know that I have it. As you have probably noticed, I'm not exactly an old war veteran." He spread his arms in an open, defenseless gesture. He longed to tell them more, to tell them how helpless he felt, how lost, alone...how he didn't know why he had been given command of the settlement, how from moment to moment he didn't know what to do. How he needed more than their loyalty: he needed their help. But he couldn't tell them that. It might undercut his authority, and even more than their help, he needed his authority.
"I may not be the most experienced soldier around, but I know enough to know that we're in a perilous position. I'm disinclined to keep things from my men, so I'll tell you now that the Haradrim are uneasy with the current situation, if we put the best possible light on the matter, and openly hostile at worst." Anhelm paused for a moment, then pressed on.
"My orders from Gondor are not to engage in any behavior that can be interpreted as aggressive. We've edged in on Harad: it's not necessary for them to be nice to us. If the shoe was on the other foot, we'd be pummelling them into the ground. We have no right to expect anything different. We can't afford to expect anything different. We do, however, have permission to engage in defensive behavior. I must tell you now, I have no great love for the Haradrim." His mouth tightened into a thin, hard line, and his fists clenched as he thought of his father, crippled by the Haradrim. "This means that the first time one of my men is attacked, we will retaliate."
He sat back in his chair, still fingering the little bag. "Do either of you have any questions?"
|