[Arry]

It was a reluctant parting . . . the one which Skald made with little Gally. Far from making him despair at the bitter fortunes of a child caught up in war, he had savored the contact. It seemed a small bubble of the familiar to him, pushing back the present memories of pain and death and yes, even fear. ‘You’re naught but a homebody,’ he mumbled to himself, waving one last time to the little one as the Elven lady placed him in the wagon near her daughter. ‘Fierce warrior be hanged. Face it - you’d rather be attacking a piece of marble with your chisel and hammer than out hewing Orc necks. Nay – not attacking. Inviting’s more like it. Teasing out the shapes within the stone. With little Leifr playing at your feet. And at the end of the day the family all gathered round the supper table.’ He stroked his beard, thinking of his wee niece, her baby fists pulling hard at his beard, her bright laughter ringing as she did so.

‘Still, much as I’d like to be safe under the mountain with them,’ he thought to himself, ‘I’m wanting now to see the little lad to a place where he’ll be safe from the twisted plans of the deceiver, Sauron.’ He shrugged off an icy chill that had crept up the back of his neck. The dread name had become even more unnerving having seen the destruction he’d unleashed on the Elven city. ‘Bad as his black-hearted master!’ he muttered aloud, spitting on the ground as he did so.

With his jumble of thoughts spinning round in his mind, Skald set out to look about the large area where Elrond’s troops had halted as they gathered in the city’s survivors. Bror, he knew, had gone off with another of the Dwarves, looking for any refugees. Skald wanted to find him before the troops headed out once again.