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Rôsgollo
The Hall was in sight. What should have been an easy passage became a rat’s maze of dodges and twisting turns as he maneuvered his way at a run through an increasing mass of bodies. They were frightened . . . panicked . . . and it was this sense of chaos and despair that pulled at him. Help me! . . . the words beat against him, repeated over and over in little images he pushed away. His duty was to his Lord; the keeping of his Lord’s safety, his pledge.
Still he helped as he could. A hand here to one fallen in the melée and a spurring thought . . .Run, man! Seek safety. The King will lead you out soon. Another hand to a woman on her rearing horse, a child in a sling at her front and one several years older clinging desperately to her from behind . . . Shhh . . . shhh, brave one! he coaxed the frightened animal. Take your charges to safety. He ran on, speeding his way to his brother’s side without pause, save for one from which he could not turn aside.
A young woman had fallen, the victim of some foul Orc missile. She lay on her side, crumpled on the smooth paved way, a tangle of bloodied clothes and pale limbs. Her sightless eyes stared up at him as he passed; the horror now fled from them in the peace of death. Her long dark hair was snarled from her panicked flight, strands of it splotched here and there with her blood. Save for the color of her hair, she was nothing like his wife, lost long ago to this same foe. And yet he gasped at the sight of her, recalling the image of his wife and child dead in that battle. The fleeing hordes swirled about them as he paused to look down at her.
He wrenched his thoughts from her, shoving his fresh-turned grief down deep. A little movement beneath her cloak stopped him as he turned to go. There were soft words, in a tremulous little voice. ‘Mami! Gilly safe now?’ Rôsgollo crouched down, turning back the section of the cloak that covered the woman’s chest and hips. There, tucked into the hollow formed by her belly and hips was a little one, not more than three years old. He lay sucking his thumb, his grey eyes blinking in the sudden light, a frightened look on his pale face. She had tucked him there before she died, telling him to be keep quiet – they would be safe soon.
‘Come, little one . . . Gilly, is it?’ Rôsgollo murmured soothingly as he took off his leather gloves and tucked them in his belt. His hands reached for the child, who protested and pushed closer to his mother. ‘Mami!’ The plaintive cry tore at the Elf’s heart. ‘Gilly is safe now,’ he said in a gentle voice as he picked the child up and cradled him in his arms. A fat tear rolled down the little boy’s cheek. ‘Mami?’ Rôsgollo tucked his cloak about the child. ‘Yes, Mami is safe now, too.’ He leaned forward a little and closed the eyes of the woman. His voice kept up a soothing patter as he stood and began to hurry to the Hall once again.
You will not claim this one, foul Shadowspawn! he vowed as he entered under the eaves of the King’s Hall.
His brother and Lord Ereglin were soon found. ‘We are waiting on Lord Mellonar for his instruction,’ said Gaeredhel eyeing the child his brother held in his arms. ‘Best we do not wait long, my Lord,’ Rôsgollo said, shifting the boy in his arms. The last spire on this Hall has fallen to the enemy’s missiles; it will not be long before the Hall itself is in ruin. If Mellonar does not come soon, we need to get to the North Gate.’ Gaeredhel leaned in close to his brother’s ear. ‘And what about the little one. Should he not be with his kind?’
‘His mother is dead,’ Rôsgollo answered. ‘None stopped to see to her. For now, I am his “kind”.’ He looked down at the boy’s face then back at Gaeredhel and Lord Ereglin. ‘I will not abandon him,’ he said evenly.
There was a stir as Mellonar approached the gathered Elves. The focus shifted to the minister as he began to speak . . .
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