[Saurreg]

The silent snowflakes fell endlessly like miniature crystal petals as Belegorn followed the king’s towering bodyguard back towards the camp. The sharp cry of a hawk filled the night air, followed by the rhythmic flapping of powerful wings that soon dissipated. At the perimeter, a lone sentry halted the two men at spear point but quickly recognized the lieutenant of the Rearguard and let them pass with a sharp salute. Without any further delays or harassment, the duo negotiated their way through masses of warm bodies and arrived at the center of the camp where a low palisade enclosure was erected and within it, sprung a cluster of tents that resembled a minute citadel; a sharp contrast to the bivouacking silhouettes around it.

The gateway was unguarded and Belegorn’s guide simply led him through and passed the smaller tents by the peripheral before stopping outside the entrance of the main tent – spaciously wide and tall at the center. The king’s guard turned and regarded Belegorn sternly,

“I cannot go further. His majesty requests your presence and your presence alone. He is in there waiting for you. I shall take my place here and ensure no one else enters.”

Belegorn eyed the guardsman with aroused interest before nodding his head curtly. He stepped pass the large man, pushed apart the heavy canvas curtains and entered to see his liege lord. King Arvedui was standing over a small portable field desk at the back of the royal tent, reading a small parchment when his visitor entered. He looked up and smiled warmly at Belegorn before rolling up the parchment and inserting it into a small cylindrical container. Belegorn in turn was surprised to see that far from preparing to retire for the night, the king was fully arrayed in his plated armor and his sword in scabbard hung by his side. The lieutenant cleared his throat mildly and spoke,

“The First Lieutenant of the Regiment of the Rear bids Your Majesty a good evening and presents the best wishes of his loyal guardsmen,” begun Belegorn as way of introduction.

Arvedui left the desk and strode towards his subordinate and royal subject. Standing two feet away from his intent, the king was a good couple of inches taller than Belegorn. A mysterious aura of elegance, power and regality of old seemed to emanate from the royal body and despite the latter’s attempt to keep an impassive face and stare ahead, he could not help but look towards the clear commanding grey eyes that shone in the light of the lamps.

“The King acknowledges the greeting of his commissioned officer and gratefully accepts the gift of his loyal soldiers,” replied Arvedui in a voice that was pleasant to the ear and warm, yet each word uttered resonated with potency, “what is our status Belegron? What are our numbers and state?”

“Your Majesty, the number of our people stand at a five score and the strength of the rearguard is less than half that number. I fear that is about five percent of original strength, Your Majesty.”

King Arvedui’s eyes narrowed and his handsome forehead scrunched at the dire tidings. He turned and started to walk back slowly to the desk, hands held together behind his back. The flames danced in the bronze lamp that hung at the ceiling of the tent, casting flickering shadows across the wall and ground.

“Tell me Belegorn, what is your personal opinion of our situation? Can we make it to Mithlond at this rate? Or are we thwarted?”

Belegorn signed softly and said, “Your Majesty, it is good that we have left the under city of the dwarves. But out in the open we are easily detected by the agents and spies of the Enemy. The only option is to force-march and thrash our way westwards but that would result in numerous stragglers and render our marching column long and slack. In any case, Your Majesty, it is my belief that an encounter with hostile forces is imminent. We can only hope that their forces are not too great and that the engagement does not turn general.”

Silence permeated through the air and Belegorn fidgeted nervously. Both men stood motionless; Belegorn looking at the king and the king with his back against the former. In the end it was the monarch, who broke the silence that was turning awkward,

“It is winter,” he said silently, with a sudden tenderness that amazed his subordinate for the umpteenth time that evening, “my people are with burden. Most are injured and all are malnourished. They will not make it across the snowfields by force-march.”

Belegorn nodded in silence while the king reached the desk. The ruler reached for the parchment and gave his doom,

“No. It is my command that the column travel at a pace that all can keep up with.”

“But Your Majesty, the longer we take to travel, the higher-”

Arvedui interrupted Belegorn with an impatient wave of his hand and interjected, “Yes, the higher the possibility of the Enemy catching up with us in the open. But there is a way!”

He looked at Belegorn and his sharp grey eyes sparkled dangerously, “Nothing more would gratify Angmar than to have my royal person in his possession. He hates me because he feared my forefather Isildur and his liege Elendil for what they did to the Dark One. This unholy campaign of his is not just a war of territorial conquest but an attempt to end the line of the Sea Kings!”

King Arvedui walked back towards Belegorn and handed him the parchmentr, “I have decided back in the tunnels on what our next course of action should be. And… and I have come to the decision that it is my royal responsibility to safeguard the future of my people at any cost.

I will ride onwards to the north and create a diversion. The Enemy would no doubt direct most of his forces towards me. It is then up to you Lieutenant, to lead my people to Mithlond as fast as you can until relief from the Grey Havens finds you.”

King Arvedui noted the look of amazement on Belegorn’s face and smiled knowingly, “Forgive me for keeping you in the dark. But neither you nor Hirvegil would have known that Lord Cirdan and I have been corresponding for quite some time now. Great is the lore of the Elven Mariner but even greater is his fidelity in friendship. He has been offering consul to all kings of Arnor since the reign of King Valandil and without his wise insights; bitter end would have come sooner for the North Kingdom. In fact, I have just sent him my last correspondence by messenger hawk moments ago. He will aid us as he had always done.”

It was too much for Belegorn to bear, “No, Your Majesty! You cannot do this! You are the King of Arthedain, the leader of your people!”

King Arvedui shook his head and replied sternly, “A king is the first servant of his people. What good is a king when all his people are dead?”

Belegorn opened his mouth to protest some more but King Arvedui stopped him by placing his large strong hands on the former’s shoulders and continuing, “Listen to me Belegorn of Fornost! I am Arthedain and no matter what happen to me, as long as my people remember who they are and carry themselves in a manner befitting their status then I live forever in their hearts and minds and those of their children.

And do you not remember that I have a son? Aranarth is coming of age and he will be a better leader of the Dunedain than I will ever be. Protect him Belegorn! I ask this of you not as your liege lord but as a father. If Aranarth survives, then the legacy of our people will persevere.”

There was nothing left for Belegorn to do or say but nod slowly in agreement. The king had made up his mind and nothing would dissuade him from his noble course of action. The First lieutenant looked up and found King Arvedui smiling warmly at him again.

“Thank you Belegorn. I am sorry to have laid such a heavy task on your shoulders but I am sure you will rise to the occasion and know you have friends you can count on. The parchment I gave you; keep it well and read it when you have arrived at Mithlond. My men and I, joined by Captain Carthor who has volunteered for this mission, will ride now while the night is still young. Farewell.”

With one last friendly grasp on the shoulder, King Arvedui left the tent whilst donning his gauntlets. Belegorn stood rooted on the spot for a while before falling heavily unto one of the sheep skinned chairs that lined the spacious tent. Head bowed and hunched, the Dunedain sat for what seemed to be hours until a gush of cold air blew across his face as someone parted the heavy curtains and entered the tent.

“He… he has left?” inquired a young man’s voice.

“Yes your highness.”

“I see,” replied young Aranarth, “Thank you Lieutenant.”