[Envinyatar]

His voice was quiet, and he kept his eyes to the scene in the yard as he spoke. ‘I was twenty-five years old when I fought beside my friends and neighbors on the Pellenor Fields. None of us had ever faced such wickedness before. And we had talked often on our way to Minas Tirith of what good our small band could do.’

He turned his gaze to her, his finger tracing the whorls in the table’s top. ‘Often we had said to one another how it would be better for us to stay at home, to take care of our own little part of this world. Let others take care of theirs. But our captain rallied us to a greater purpose and we made our way to where the White City stood. We marched along, brave men with brave words. Our steps were strong and our eyes were clear.’

‘It was when we reached the Pellenor that we realized the depth of horror arrayed against the world of Man. That if we did not stop it here, then it would roll westward, like the greasy black smoke from the funeral pyres of the fallen Orcs and smother all in its path.’

‘We fought beside men who would never know who we were. And little it mattered then, against the onslaught of shadow. We thought we would all die, that hope had abandoned us. But there in the midst of despair and darkness a flame sprang up, and the bravery of good men won through. Then was hope renewed and the day won.’

He took her hand and held it lightly in his own, as if it were a tether that held him to this place and time for just this moment.

‘There were three hundred of us from Ringló Vale and the surrounds who fought beside the other sons of Men that day. Farmers and fishermen, hunters and traders. Husbands and fathers and sons.’

His voice had fallen to a whisper. Across the grey fields of this eyes marched the shades of those who had fallen and would not return to the arms of their loved ones.

‘I was twenty six when I returned to Ethring with the last four of my companions. Footstep methodically following footstep. No more were there brave words as we trudged wearily home.’

A grim smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. ‘And yet, even then, there was hope and some rejoicing as we sat round the fire at night talking softly of those who awaited us. Precious memories drew us on, and pushed back the remembrance of those who fell in battle. Our footsteps quickened as we neared our home.’

‘We did not come soon enough. Shadow had reached its bony fingers out to us and taken what we held most dear.’

He turned away, for a moment, his eyes red with grief . . .