[Orual]

Anhelm ran a weary hand through his hair as he rifled through the scout reports. They did nothing to dispell the unease that had been filtering down the ranks throughout the entire settlement. There was no outright hostility, not yet, but rumours and whispers of discontent among the Haradrim whose lands bordered the small village were everywhere. He could scarcely go out of his office without hearing it from someone, whether it was one of his soldiers, or Telpe the cook, or a merchant's wife. It was even discussed among the young boys of the settlement. The Haradrim were lining up to attack, if the talk in the village was to be believed. No one took the uneasy peace for granted.

He slammed the folders down on his desk and went over to the window, rubbing his face vigorously. The village was going about its day outside, and Anhelm caught a glimpse of Mavi playing with a ball. A smile tried valiently to make its way onto his face, but its efforts were in vain. He could not smile. Perhaps his one alloted smile per day had been spent on Mavi in the morning. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to clear his head.

He leaned against the wall, breathing deeply of the dry, pungent southern air. It smelled slightly of the wood his furniture was made of, slightly of the odd, exotic spices Telpe used in the food, slightly of the old, musty fabric used in his curtains and in his uniform. It was a smell altogether different from anything he had ever inhaled in Minas Tirith, or anywhere in Gondor, but it was not unpleasant. It was strange and exciting. It made him feel alive.

His eye went to his sword, hanging expectantly on the wall, waiting to be picked up. He tugged at the bottom of his shirt, pulled himself up straight, and strode over to it. Reverently he took it off the wall, and held it horizontally. Slowly he unsheathed it until the blade was four or five inches out of the scabbard, and it glinted in the sun. His eyes flicked over to the reports lying on his desk, then back to the sword. "I may need you sooner than I had hoped," he murmured, sheathing the sword and slipping it into his belt.

He started when a knock came at his door. "Come in," he said, tripping as he hurried back to his desk and tried to look official.

A man, probably a few years older than Anhelm, stepped in and snapped to attention. "Here to receive my orders, sir," he said smartly, handing some papers to Anhelm. The young Captain took them and studied them for a moment.

Anhelm could feel the soldier's eyes on him. "Those are my transfer papers, sir," he added. Anhelm looked up at him briefly.

"At ease," Anhelm said, and was surprised to find a grin threatening his solemn demeanor again. He found a leaf of paper hidden among the others, a letter from a friend of his father's.

Anhelm, the letter read,

Congratulations on your new post. Your father is proud of you, as are we all. But you are still young, and more than a little inexperienced. You will need good soldiers to back you up, for your position is perilous.

Astalder is a good soldier. He is older than you, and more experienced than you, and possibly smarter than you. I can't back that last one up, but it's a hunch. He's a solid man, and exactly the one you need. Use him well, and he will be of good use to you. He comes with my highest recommendations.

Hikallaba,
Cpt. Taraphel of the Steward's Guard

Anhelm put the letter down and looked up at Astalder. Finally, a smile broke out onto his face. "Welcome to the Poros settlement, Astalder," he said, stood up, and extended his hand.