[Kransha]

“Though it surprises me, my heart sings to see you well, Captain.”

Belegorn was grinning beneath his familiar soldierly look, but Hírvegil bore a busy smile on his face as he hurried throughout the camp, issuing offhand orders and making sure all was well, with his lieutenant hot on his swift heels. “As does my own, Belegorn.” He replied, not gleefully but full of a relieved warmth that allowed his nature to brighten and become sprightly once again. As the Captain whisked himself lithely back and forth, Belegorn was left to trail behind, shaking his head as a fool undergoing an epiphany might. “I suppose you never were a man who made ill on his vows.” He said, yielding to the fact that Hírvegil had made good on his promise. He had probably not expected, even if he had fervently hoped, that Hírvegil would truly become his former self once the Emyn Uial were reached. Though Belegorn seemed apparently defeated by this loss, Hírvegil was not too proud to rub his nose in the wrong opinion.

“Now I can hold you to that, eh?” he remarked flippantly, casting a bare glance at his lieutenant over the battered spaulder affixed to his prominent shoulder, a lingering relic of past battles, “Never can it be said that Hírvegil of Fornost was not a man of his word.” After much business in the camp, he came to rest near a larger tent, and his dramatic pace slowed. He had been running about ever since the train of Dúnedain first entered through a wide pass into the Hills of Evendim, after dismounting a hitching his horse at a shoddy post erected for the small army of mounts at one end of the newly constructed camp. Already night had fallen, and a resonant dusky haze lay peacefully on the sky, a welcome change from the dank skies of turmoil that had littered the journey of the Arnorian escapees. Stars were invisible, their silvery light clouded from view by thick, billowing mist that drifted across the arc of the heavens, but the fog that lay on the earth was not a shadow, simply an opaque blanket that covered the camp as it was built, and filled the journeyers with weariness, which was brought to the forefront of all their minds.

As Belegorn and Hírvegil headed towards the area where the officers’ tents and officials’ tents had been pitches, the Captain of the Rearguard spoke again. “But,” he said, linking back to his last words, “promises are set in stone, and I am curious about a far more earthen issue. I have not spoken in some time, to anyone. You may or may not know that I exchanged some words with the minister Lord Mitharan some nights when we made camp, but all we discussed was drab and political – I believe we were both dwelling on something else. You however, have oft spoken with the people. You know their way better than I now.”

Belegorn stopped walking as the tent he knew to be Hírvegil’s appeared before them and laughed quietly. “Their way?” He said, a comical skeptic, “I know little of that; I only know their outward mood.” This seemed to be a resolute thought, but Hírvegil’s interest was already piqued, and he was full of verbiage after not speaking for so very long. “You treated with the Elves?” He inquired.

“Yes, not much.” The lieutenant replied, “I had to address them, but I have not formally met the Emissaries, they have kept very much to themselves. We all have. Now, though, I shall probably seek them out.” He nodded after a moment, confirming the matter in his own mind as well as his Captain’s, and Hírvegil pursed his thin lips in thought, saying soon, “I think I will do the same. I yearn to hear their age-old minds’ ruminations on our situation.” At this, Belegorn seemed to jump, and hooted, “Ha! The great Hírvegil wishes to seek the aid of others making strategies, and the Firstborn as well!” he looked as if he’d been struck by a bolt from the sky and laughed once uproariously, obviously caught up in the upturned mood of the camp, “What a day this is!”

“Night, Belegorn,” Hírvegil corrected astutely, “It is night, which is why we shall wait until morning to talk. I do not believe a single one of us has slept in days, except for jolted slumber on horseback. A night of undisturbed sleep will be much enjoyed. Many are already descended into that realm, and I will journey there to. I suggest you do the same.” He gestured towards the numerous roomy tents pitched in a disorganized formation around his own, but Belegorn replied negatively. “I could not sleep if I wished to.” Hírvegil’s thick eyebrow was uplifted in a skeptic fashion and he jabbed his finger, encased still in his plate-mail gauntlet, at the younger man. “I’ll wager my mithril helm you fall asleep within the hour.” He said.

Belegorn did not respond immediately, for he was instead looking around. Hírvegil followed suit. The two realized, to both of there surprises, that no other sound of voices, of song, or of mortal men or Elves could be heard in the camp. Though, in the dark of night, little could be seen, the illumination of torches set up all around revealed the pathways of the campsite to be empty and as still as the grave. Some low-voiced conversation could barely be heard but, overall, the camp had already fallen into a well-deserved, peaceful slumber as the Captain and Lieutenant of the Rearguard loudly spoke, creating the only great sound in all of the hills, save for the whistling wind that rumbled in the distance.

After an uncomfortable minute, Belegorn spoke again. “I dare not take that bet, for I know that if I make it, fate will see to it that I doze off before a quarter of that time has passed.” He smiled, “Goodnight, Captain.”

With the smile returned, Hírvegil lifted the flap of his tend and walked soberly inside. “Sleep well, Belegorn,” he said as his second-in-command turned with a final acknowledging glance and headed off towards his own tent, “and may you be granted happy dreams.” He yelled the final words and let his loud, merry voice wither and fall into a pleasant nothing, which died on his lips as well, leaving less than nothing. With a breath and sigh that bore in it all his emotions, the Captain turned and, unsteadily, thrust himself onto the cot that lay on the earth. He had no covers or sheets, but his armor warmed his heart and soul enough to ward off the chilly winter winds. He did not even have time to think before his eyes forcibly closed and he was lost from the world for the evening, with a smile still on his face even as he slept.