[piosenniel]

Mithalwen's post

Erenor had held herself in readiness for this long expected day and she was ready to leave. Her possessions were sparse and she had abandoned all that would not be useful in whatever circumstance lay ahead. Left in her chamber were robes of state and she had burnt many documents - all were useless now but she would not have them fall in the hands of the enemy. Dressed in warm travelling clothes, a tunic covering her mailshirt and buckled her sword belt, she shouldered her pack and covered all with a great cloak lined with fur before venturing out to see the state of play.

We have reached endgame at last thought Erenor. She had suspected that defense of the city would prove futile and she had counselled that the city be evacuated sooner, but the king was stubborn and as long as her remained, her duty was to remain as emissary. But there should not be women and children here she thought - mortal women at least. It was not the sights of battle that disturbed her so much as the sound and smell. Part of her wished to join the fight and she would have done had she seen a chance of success. But in such desperate straits, she deemed it better to live to fight another day, but flight was not likely to be a safe option either. Battle would come to her like as not.

She was glad to see Angore she had long noted similarities in temperament and their names had similar meaning. She was not at all offended by his brusque directions and followed with swift feet. There was no time for flowery diplomatic language now. Erenor felt a greater sympathy with her taciturn guard than her fellow emissary. She felt her refusal to bear arms an affectation, a luxury only possible for one surrounded by those who did not share such scruples. Yet she held her tongue; Berethil outranked her in age, blood and experience. At least she hoped she would have made it to the sanctum. The enemy were ever nearer.