[Kransha]

“I do not believe my words will console them, Belegorn.”

Hírvegil was not tired; he had learned to remain alert and awake for hours on end. In fact, he hadn’t slept since the beginning of the siege days ago. Yet, he felt no weariness now. The speech of the king had filled him with too many strange thoughts to allow him to nod off. His eyes were reddened, though, and dark wrinkles creased the rough skin beneath each one. His brow sagged and looked heavy, as if weighted by a battle-helm. As he looked to Belegorn, he saw the amazingly sprightly nature of his Lieutenant who, by rights, should have been far wearier looking than he. The battle had taken little physical toll on him, besides the prerequisite injuries he’d received. The man was an aspiring soldier indeed, though his Captain. With a serious expression glazed on his soldierly face, Belegorn responded.

“They did well in combat against forces Arnor has never faced the likes of before. They deserve congratulations.” His honest selflessness was as refreshing as his contemplative vigor. Hírvegil could not smile, but he allowed his spirits to rise and clapped the lieutenant hard on the shoulder, striking his un-removed pauldron and taking him by surprise. “You deserve congratulations, Lieutenant. You have done well…” he paused hesitantly, but continued soon after, “Better, perhaps, than I would have.”

After Belegorn gathered the gist of the words, he gestured negatively. “Your flattery is undeserved.” He said. He was not really a humble person, as Hírvegil knew, but his pride allowed for similar modesty. Hírvegil shook his head swiftly and replied with further accolades. “But it is.” He retorted, chiding his second like a father or older brother, “If we ever reach stability in the north, I will see that you are promoted. When I speak with the King, I will recommend you for a higher post.” His face glowed warmly, though he looked no less weary.

“What post is there in an army of hundreds?” Belegorn was grateful, but could not avoid adding the jarring phrase. Hírvegil tried to laugh it off, even though he knew the words to be deadly serious. “None, I suppose,” he said, clucking his tongue, “but I will make sure the King hears your name.” Belegorn nodded and bowed his head in reverence, saying quietly: “Many thanks.”

As the noise of conversation and the hollow sound of footsteps against brick rang emptily in the chambers, silence fell on Belegorn and Hírvegil, leaving a nervous atmosphere over both comrades in arms. Hírvegil realized, as he glanced absentmindedly away from the lieutenant, that he had little to do but contemplate, though all thoughts there were to be pensive about were darker than he cared for, and he did not want to be drowned in that sorrowful humor that might overtake him if he lost himself in thought. Thankfully, Belegorn spoke again, reminding him of another option.

“So, you will say nothing to your men?” questioned the man.

Hírvegil didn’t need to think on it for long. He required a diversion – even a brief one. “Very well,” he said, waving dismissively, “assemble them in the barracks.” With another acknowledging nod, Belegorn hurried off, rounding up the remnants of the Rearguard milling about the chamber. Soon, armored men were filing into another offshoot chamber, another large room. This room held weapons on racks, mounted shields and tables of maps and papers. The men, all tired and not having slept in days, or even sat, slumped eagerly on the cold, hard floor when told they could. Sitting in a variety of positions, they reclined in cramped clumps. As Hírvegil moved, with Belegorn, towards the front of the room, he looked across it to see a decimated throng, but not a defeated one. They looked like acolytes awaiting a preacher’s words, looking up from where they sat to their Captain.

When Hírvegil stopped at the front of the room, the Rearguard cheered, very unexpectedly, and Hírvegil reeled a little, but recovered and quieted them with a commanding gesture. They seemed strangely jovial, despite the loss of the city and the news of travel-to-come. Hírvegil supposed that they considered escaping a victory and, in many ways, it was. The Captain began:

“Soldiers of the Rearguard, you have fought well, nay, excellently. An enemy has come upon our lands whose power is unmatched in south, east, and west combined, but you, the soldiers of the north-kingdom, held him and his spawn back and allowed us all to escape safely from a doomed citadel. Your strength was great, like the peerless courage of our forefathers. I feel the pride of Númenór when I look upon you, all warriors from a generation that came after my own, one which I did not fully understand, but now revere. In my veins runs blood that has fueled my arm, my sword, my shield, and my strength, but your blood is that which has been spilled in Fornost, and that blood has spared the blood of many.”

“I was with you for some of it. You stood as my armor when the Captain of Despair fell upon us, but I am sad to say I was drawn from you. But, by the Valar’s grace, you still had a mighty captain.” As he paused gratuitously, a cheer rose; all men looking to Belegorn where he stood at Hírvegil’s side. Ever humble, Belegorn put up his hand to halt the cheer, and it diminished. Hírvegil spoke again. “Your hearts may now be hardened against death, since you have drunk of it deeply and, I am afraid, have developed a taste. It is a taste that, once acquired, will not leave you until the day or your death. Do not drink of death lightly, my brothers, for it is cruel liquor, and a cold one that will leave you with nothing.” The melancholy tone made the silence settled around him all the drearier. “But, you have something today; you have hope. You have given all of us hope. And that, brothers, is no mean feat.”

“We will soon depart, and you will further defend the King of Arthedain and the people of Fornost. In future days, when books and tomes of lore bandy about tales of Arvedui, they may say he fled his capital, but indeed he did not. He flew from the city, with you as his wings and the sword in his hand which bore the hope of Arnor from Fornost and to safety. We do not idly flee, but hasten to a new land where we will stand again. And we shall stand again, my brothers. It is as the King said: the north has not fallen yet!”

Another cheer rose from the energized audience, and Hírvegil smiled.