[Amanaduial the archer]

"Forgive..."

Arthain felt a twist of guilt, like a knife in his stomach, as his friend began the proposterous sentence and a flash image of Anwanelme entered his mind. "You carry this man's child..."

"Melost, no...no apologies," he interrupted. "It is I who owes you one...more than one!" he added, looking away. Melost did not seem to notice overly much though and Arthain drew in a deep breath, holding his friend away, a hand on each of his shoulders as he looked into his friend's eyes, drawing the elf's eyes to his own.

"Melost, tomorrow we go to battle, and...I doubt I will come back, doubt even that I could." His eyes flickered away momentarily as he said the shameful sentence, but Melost did not interrupt: with a slight lurch, Arthain realised Melost felt the same. Neither of them expected to come back, for what had they to come back to... "And so we have much to do - Dorlas," he turned to his squire, more business-like, the captain once again (in mind even if not in rank). "Dorlas, please run to Gil-Galad - tell him an honoured soldier has returned to us."

Melost smiled slightly, a hint of wryness around his lips. "Honoured soldier? I fear not, for I have kept some odd company over these past few days-"

"Then you must tell me about it, if you will, old friend. Come, we will break our fast." With a sense of his world righting itself even so late, Arthain was actually able to smile. Strange, that you know you will not come back tomorrow, that you will face death itself, yet you smile. But what did tomorrow matter: today Melost had returned, and for now, that as more than Arthain could ever have hoped for. That was more than enough.