[Kransha]

Oddly enough, Mellonar did not really like Elves. He managed business with them only because it gained him favor in the court. It was a tedious, friendless job, but that was much the sort of thing that Mellonar enjoyed. The King favored his work, the court and lords favored his work and, as far as he knew, the Elves he interacted with were indifferent. Most saw through him, and he realized this, but he was a politician in the classic sense and had no qualms about being thought of as exactly what he was. His footsteps echoing loudly in his ears, Mellonar glided like a shade over the tiles of the court floor, towards the regal visage of three Elves, who stood amidst the slowly diminishing commotion of the King’s Hall. With a very conservative bow-nod of his drooping head and neck, Mellonar addressed the noblest of the trio, who he knew to be the Lord Ereglin. His mouth opened to speak as his aviary, vulture’s eyes scanned the sight of all three. Before words formed, manufactured by his silver tongue, he caught sight of the object cradled with odd tenderness in the arms of one of Ereglin’s guards. It was a child – a Dúnedain child.

‘Sentimental fool;’ thought Mellonar cynically, ‘he must have saved the child in the city.’ Mellonar was not inclined towards liking the younger of his kind. Babies and children were useless until they could work, and those that were spoiled or immature despite age were even more so. This Elf must be somewhat naïve, or at least a little wet-behind-the-ears, if he had bothered to save a child from Fornost’s crumbling ruin. His efforts would’ve been better spent combating the hordes of the enemy besieging the city. But, trying to disregard the gnawing cynicism, Mellonar spoke, turning from the Elven guard and not deigning to look upon him.

“Lord Ereglin,” he began shrewdly, clasping his two hands together and letting his spiny fingers interlace, “I had hoped to wait until the other Emissaries were here, but I fear time is against us, as is the day. Lady Bethiril and Erenor are absent, and I fear some harm may have befallen them, but I cannot know their fate. Soldiers have been dispatched to get them to safety. For now, I can only treat with you.”

The Elf Ereglin spoke before he could continue, hastily, but with good reason. “Not for long, I hope.” said the Emissary, “This court’s halls shall not sustain fire much longer.” Mellonar showed an obviously irked reaction to interruption, but calmed himself and spoke with the wisp of a smile glued to his stately face, hanging there as a false grin to ward off questions about his emotional state.

“Do not worry, Lord, your safety is assured. The rearguard will cover your retreat, as well as the King’s. You will evacuate with the second wave of citizens to issue from Fornost; soon, I suspect. The populace of Fornost will remove to the North Downs, where a stronghold of the Norbury Kings lies and shall hold us all until preparations have been made for all to retreat, most likely to the Blue Mountains for safety’s sake. There, we will recuperate until we can again strike at the Angmar insurgents.”

Mellonar spoke with illusory confidence, but the Elf detected this and did not hesitate to pose a disapproving question. “Would it not be better to hasten to Mithlond?” He ventured gracefully, and Mellonar’s left eye twitched indignantly, but he masked his annoyance again and answered with an all-too-pleasant smile on his cold lips. “The King’s decision is not mine, Lord. Best to let it stand and question it not.” In truth, he was inclined towards the Ered Luin, rather than retreating to the Grey Havens. The Elves might be overtly wise, but were they really that trustworthy? They had sent no great wealth of aid, even if they did remain a steady alliance with the Kings of Arthedain. The diplomatic relationship between the Elves and Dúnedain had been merely aesthetic since the Last Alliance, despite the few favors each party did for the other once in a blue moon. Diplomacy was not an Elven art, as politics was a governmental corruption adopted by those of Mannish descent. Political organization in Arnor was owed to old Númenór, the citizens of which had cultivated the craft and become adept politicians, skilled in the ways of law. Mellonar was one such adept person, but military stratagems were not his strong-suit.

“Counselor;” replied the Emissary, “has any attempt been made to overrule him? I would not encourage dissent, but I believe that fleeing to the Ered Luin is no apt course of action.”

Mellonar was about to respond, indignant again, when another of the Emissaries and his guards hurried into the hall, barely flustered as most people in such a rush would be. Their flawless grace aided in flight, something that Mellonar had oft coveted. Cutting himself off, the minister turned swiftly, his robe swirling like a mellifluous wave beneath him, and addressed the newcomers.

“Lady Erenor, my heart sings to see you unscathed. Now that you are here, we have but one Emissary to wait for. I have told Lord Ereglin of the events to come, and taken counsel with him about what must be done. I am afraid I must really upon him to tell you of the transpirings, for both of you must needs make haste. Hopefully, the Lady Bethiril can find her way, but I cannot remain to aid her course, wherever she may be. You, though, must hurry to the North Gate Passage. You will find it below this chamber, down the staircase at the end of this hall.” He jabbed a bony finger down the length of the quieting hallway, “The stairs lead to a wide passage, where the Dúnedain citizens have gathered for departure. Join them there and ready yourselves for retreat from the city. You will find some of the King’s Guardsmen among those in the passage; they will answer any and all questions you may have. I must be off to attend to some pressing matters before we depart. Go, and may your journey be safe.”

Not waiting for them to leave, Mellonar glided past them and in the opposite direction, disappearing from the hall a mere moment later.