[Osse]

The news that the Dunedain would be organised into small groups and sent into the darkness of the Dwarven halls to search for supplies had fallen rather lightly on Carthor’s shoulders. Little had broken the monotonous rhythm of the slow, crawling journey to the Ered Luin. Indeed, since the rather turbulent events of the orc-raid, Carthor had found his mind growing steadily impatient with the never-ending, plodding pace of the column. He was sick of skulking through the wind-swept landscape like some disgraced animal, turned loose from its den by its once-lesser counterparts. Their arrival in the Blue Mountains and the changes it brought had been welcome.

Carthor sat musing by his open leather pack, his hands hovering over it, holding a length of salted pork wrapped carefully in damp linen. His wife's slight, beautiful frame was just striding away. To break his state, Carthor looked wistfully down at the meat in his gnarled hands, like some spoilt child contemplating an old toy that had grown void of its appeal. For weeks on end Carthor had eaten this same, meagre fare. The once supple flesh now sat bitter and leathery on his tired tongue. Carthor longed for new meats – game had been sparse during the journey, and time to snare it equally so. Carthor relished the thought of the chance to gather new supplies, if only to relieve the monotony.
Still, as he looked down at the joint in his hand, he was smitten with its importance. The refugees had little left now, scarcely enough for a month and that with a tight belt. Much hope lay in the finding of new food in this dark, lonely world of stone.

Carthor’s musings were suddenly broken as two well worn, soft-soled leather boots appeared in front of his nose, their shiny tan surface shimmering slightly in the frail, flickering candle-light.

Quickly, gracefully, Carthor stood. Placing his right hand on his cloaked breast, he saluted the Lieutenant of the Rearguard.
Bowing his grizzled head, he addressed the tall man before him.
“Hail, Lord Belegorn.”
“Hail Carthor, son of Harathor!” Belegorn’s voice was soft yet commanding, subtle yet full of power.

Raising his chin, Carthor removed his hand from his breast and surveyed the man before him.

“I am not one for delay Carthor, so I will not tarry with unneeded formalities.” Belegorn wasted no time, like a stag pursued by a brace of hounds, he leapt straight into the purpose of his visit.

“As you know, Carthor, we are to search this pit for useable stores. We here, and our Elven kindred, shall all go together as one. For the purpose of their protection, the king has placed myself, along with some of the Guard, in this particular party.” Carthor sat patiently, despite his words, Belegorn was addressing unneeded formalities.

“I need someone with experience to help me lead the party, both the Guard and the others. I need you to help me lead the party Carthor.” With startling pace, Belegorn had thrust into the point of his speech.
“You are both seasoned and experienced, which is far more than most of the ‘men’ I have under my command at this point in time Carthor.”
Carthor chanced a brief look over to the waiting ranks of the Guard, and was appalled to see the youth thereof. Surely these boys had seen far too little life to be allowed to fight. As his eyes strayed over the ‘men’, Carthor’s gaze fell on a pale, freckled young man, his great cloak and breastplate ridiculously large on his slight frame, surely no more than twelve summers old, the boy had a grin from ear to ear.

“What say you? Will you aid me in this endeavour?” Belegorn’s voice was settled and steady, yet a look of almost-pleading could not be hidden from his grey eyes.

Thoughts of his inner vows to refrain from violence flicked through Carthor’s mind, images of the quiet, responsibility-free days he had hoped for danced like a candle-flame in his conscious, the blood filled days, the horror-filled nights - all gone.

And then the flame flickered and died. He heard a voice say: “Verily my lord Belegorn, I will aid you in your plight.”

Carthor realised the voice had been his own.