[Arry]

The horses stamped and whinnied low in the van, their breath streaming out in misty snorts in the chill air of early morn. The riders, too, were nervous for the most part, anxious to begin, their own uneasiness at this venture translating through the reins and the nervous twitches of their knees against their mount’s flanks. Lord Ereglin’s horse stood calmly, taking his cue from the composure of his rider, though even this horse could not avoid completely the nervous air of those others of his kind who milled about him.

Rôsgollo pulled his cloak more firmly about him, shielding Gilly from the cold. The little boy’s bright eyes peeked out from the gap where the edges met. ‘So quiet, you are,’ thought the Elf, shifting the child’s body closer against him. ‘Did your mother teach you that, little one? Some measure of protection in this grim world, I suppose.’

Gaeredhel urged his mount closer to his brother’s. ‘I was talking to one of the guards at that meeting,’ he said quietly, his gaze flicking up to where Lord Ereglin sat, his back to them. ‘Apparently, the King sent us with this group because “he does not wish to deal with the Eldar at this time”.’ Rôsgollo raised his brows at this information. ‘Tis true,’ continued his brother. ‘It seems those from Rivendell counseled against the King’s decision to move to the Ered Luin.’ ‘And the King would not consider their counsel?’ asked Rôsgollo. ‘Nay, not the King, so much,’ returned Gaeredhel, ‘as that buffer he imposes between the Eldar and himself. Mellonar.’ This last word was spat out, as if it left a nasty taste in the Elf’s mouth. ‘The King, or his twisted minister, has left us to offer what counsel we may to those “closest to danger”.’

The brothers sat in silence for a moment, watching the last preparations before the small column moved out. ‘Well, here is my counsel,’ murmured Rôsgollo, glancing round at the women and children huddled on their horses. ‘We make for Mithlond. Keep the King’s people safe . . . and ourselves.’ Gaeredhel gave a grim laugh, agreeing with his brother. A number of eyes slid toward the sound then looked quickly away. ‘A sound idea, brother, and beneficial to the King, too. Do you not think so?’ Rôsgollo’s brow puckered; he did not follow his brother’s thoughts. ‘The King . . .,’ prompted Gaeredhel. ‘What good is such a title when one has nothing, and no one, to be King of?’