[CaptainofDespair]

The meeting in the council chamber was of somber mood, and it rung of defeat, at least to Mitharan. The King’s plan of splitting the host of Arnorians, to allow the King to escape, was not one the young counselor likened to that of a Numenorean descendant. He felt his people were being driven into the wilds, so that none would hear the screams that would emanate from the dark woods and shallow valleys, as Darkness incarnate overcame them. The ‘cunning’ plan of the King was merely a ploy to save his own hide. When he heard the details that Naurthalion, vizier and minister of the King, presented to the gathered lords and captains, he shrunk in his seat, and muttered a few dire words, “This will spell the end of all...”

Luckily for the counselor, none heard him, or he might have been left in the Downs to fend for himself. But, maybe that was not such an evil end for a bitter life. Nevertheless, he was to live, for now. His hope had faded, that the Witch-King would be driven off, and the lands of Arnor made safe again. The vizier continued to speak of the plan, and the methods with which it would be carried out, though he had been interrupted by a few objections from those in the service of the Crown. Mitharan continued to pass in and out of a daze, remembering little of what was spoken. However, a small section of the speech did penetrate the daze, “One minister, though, must give up his station in the first party and represent his majesty in the second. This may constitute some sacrifice, but any emboldened man may do so, and he would, by doing this, earn my deepest respect. I leave that choice up to whomever wishes to make it.” Almost immediately he became alert, and waited patiently for the other counselors to leave, knowing full well that known would give up their stations, for they would rather be with the King.

Only a few moments later, the council was dispersing, to pass into the twilight, and finalize their preparations for the morning’s departure. Mitharan however, wove his way through the ranks, to meet with Naurthalion. A few of the guards had impeded his progress, if only for a moment, and eventually he pushed his way into the path of the minister. Bowing slightly, he attempted to make his case, to ensure that no other would get what was now his coveted position. “Milord, I wish to leave the King’s direct service, and become his representative in the second train.” Naurthalion, having known the man’s father, inquired to validate the reasoning of the ‘youth’. “For what purpose would this serve you, Mitharan? Your family is not here with you, and thus we assume you are the last of your house.” A quick, seemingly prophetic response came next, “That is my reasoning. My house lies in ruin, and I am the last. I seek retribution for these despicable actions, rather than to flee with the first host, where battle may not come.” The vizier nodded, and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder, “Then may you find what you seek...”

With his new post secured, the youthful minister strutted off, to find Captain Hírvegil, to notify him that he would be the new addition to his command. The captain and his lieutenant had lingered on the outremer of the hall, for a few moments, deep in thought. That is where the counselor found them. Stepping out of the shadow of the vaulted doorway behind the two men, he spoke, “Good evening, Captain Hírvegil. I am Mitharan, a lowly counselor of his Majesty’s court. I will be his lordship’s representative amongst your train.” The Captain responded quickly, with a hint of spite in his voice, “Why would you risk your station to journey with us, to be harried by the Witch-King’s evil?” Mitharan sighed, and hesitated to answer the query. But he did answer nonetheless. “I have many reasons, one of which is to seek some way to deliver the retribution and vengeance of my house upon Angmar’s forces. But...another is that I despise the King, and do not approve of his methods.” Hírvegil and Belegorn looked at each other, and shook their heads, chuckling under their breath. The counselor, with cloak lapping at the air, strode off to find a mount, and prepare to depart the downs.

The light of morning was only beginning to dawn over the hills and fields of Arnor, but the two trains had already prepared to march out, each equally readied for the rigors of marching, and the prospect that battle might come to them. The King’s train had set out earlier, to allow the snow to settle, and cover their tracks. Soon, Hírvegil and the Rearguard would set out with their own, in hopes of distracting the eye of the enemy. Mitharan groaned, sitting uneasily, and rather sleepily, atop his mount, waiting for the signal to begin the long, arduous journey.