[CaptainofDespair]

A howling wind had arisen during the night, and now it was steadily growing in strength. The cold of the North was enough for most soldiers, but the wind drove through what that deathly cold could not. Uther sat quietly in his small field tent, going over the plans for his march, and listening to wind whipping about beyond the confines of his leather and fur shield that encased him, protecting him, from what nature could throw at him. He felt quite distant from his men, who would be languishing in their makeshift homes, cursing their luck, and cursing him for bringing them to the North. But at least he was warm, within his shell, watching the firelight of the torches outside dance about.

Yet, he had more important matters to attend to. He needed to prepare his men for battle, and he needed to get them on the march. Thus, after his solitude of many hours, he broke silence, and summoned his chief commanders and sergeants to him. Whilst he waited, he gnawed on a piece of salted pork, something that disgusted him, but that he would eat nonetheless. The taste of the meat was not as bad as some of the cram that he would eat while on his long journeys to Eriador, but he disliked it still. But he was saved from his meal, when his summoned commanders arrived, shivering with dread, of the cold, and of what was to be uttered by their lieutenant.

They slowly situated themselves about the tent’s interior, arranged in semi-circle around the seat of the outfit’s commander. Many of them muttered to themselves, speaking inwardly, of what might come of this meeting. Finally, Uther, with his map laid before him, rose from his creaky, wooden chair, and spoke to them.

“As you all know, we have few troops, but that cannot hamper our duties. We are under the orders of the King, to sway these Orcs, with whichever means we must.” He paused, letting the agitated centurions take in his words. “Thus, we must set out for Gundabad. Muster the soldiers, and prepare them to march before the morning sun rises. You are dismissed...” With that, the summoned men turned about, and strode out of the tent, some of them mumbling incoherent curses on the way out, seeking what rest they could gather before they were to depart.

Again, the aging Uther was left to himself, save for his ever-present hounds. He quietly drifted into a dream-like state, slowly petting his beloved dogs. His mind would not settle though, for thoughts of battle, and the screams of those long-since slain, arose from the blackest chasms of his mind, playing with his thoughts, as if they were a child’s toys. Sleep would not come to him this night, for with the bloodshed on the horizon, his mind could not rest. Thus, the weathered, war-weary commander rose from his bedroll, and wandered out into the cold air of the night, seeking some form of solace.

The sky was dull, brimming with the shadows of night, and only brightened by the twinkling light of a few meager stars. But, the lieutenant had not the time for the beauty and grandeur that often came with the presence of night. Instead, he was bent on shaking off the bloodlust that threatened to overrun his mind. Still, the cries of a battle long since passed, could be heard haunting the depths of his soul. He meandered his way through the small Gondorian camp, listening to the quiet that came with a soldier’s sleep, and he watched from the firelight, as the guards patrolled the perimeter, ready to defend their brothers-in-arms. He was pleased with these sights, and the soothing silence of sleep. After a short stint of his aimless wandering, he forced himself back to his abode, to make another attempt at sleep, while he remained as relaxed as he was. Now, he could only hope of not being disturbed from his rest, which would be needed in the trials that awaited him in the darkness.