Part 2
Posted: March 12, 2010
*****
Erestor had volunteered, alongside others who declared themselves fit, for ‘watch and warn’ training. While he listened to a description of the exercise ahead of them, which would demonstrate their present abilities, he wondered how soon trips further afield might be counted in his range of responsibilities if he was accepted into the militia as well.
Holding his sword, going through the motions, Erestor’s memories crowded darkly back: organising anyone from their small settlement who could wield a weapon, holding off attackers, desperately keeping the defenceless in their midst. As he sweated in practice, he could smell the fear and exertion of the bitter, step-by-step rearguard action and the dead animal stink of the enemy.
Shocked beyond comprehension, they had thought they might be safe after escaping the first attack, thanks to their farm’s position a little to the north of the city. On the hills, rising above the city’s southern river banks, they saw tiny figures face ranks of an enemy who hewed a path of destruction through Ost-in-Edhil’s last ditch defences. Erestor gathered up everyone in reach and herded them across the fields and hills, stealing a last glimpse of home from a safe distance far above.
Smoke rising blackly from the farm-stead told the tale of how closely they had made their escape. Later, they had run into their own disaster in the form of a detached band of orcs. Then it was their turn to fight and lose farmers, families and children. Erestor had walked down out of the mountains alone.
Erestor closed his mind to the cost of that failure and swung his sword across, up and back; up, lunge and back. Gradually, the rhythm gave him a mind-numbing ease. All too brief, it was the more welcome as long as it lasted.
Dismissed by Sidhirn, the patrol leader who led the session, Erestor murmured an inaudible answer to someone who would have struck up a conversation with him. Instead of accepting company, he sought a personal retreat, away from all the bustle. Eventually, he satisfied himself by selecting a more or less comfortable tree-bole over-looking the valley. From here, he could see who came and went with Imladris’ lord.
The hillside felt damp. Erestor ignored it. Small figures moved below. Tathar and Elrond had just gone into the shed-like armoury. Erestor basked in the late morning sun, waiting a goodly while for them to emerge. He had felt chilled since getting lost in the high mountains. The sun’s rays fell warm and welcome on his skin; vaguely, he wished that he could take better comfort from them.
***
Days passed in practice with others and in learning the lie of the valley and the hills above. Erestor took his share of chores and meanwhile watched people, marking the pattern of their days. It was not hard to observe who held authority and who was privy to Elrond’s highest councils.
Commander Tathar was known to be old and experienced, as well as reputed to be Gil-galad’s personal mentor and friend; he was here as Elrond’s military advisor and second-in-command.
Then there was Lord Elrond himself. Close to, he abounded in energy and attention to duty. Rather than responsibility weighing him down, he seemed determined and able, a leader who would miss little and deal with anything that arose. Herald and Commander were a pair to put heart into any company.
Third of the triumvirate was Lord Glorfindel. Apart from his classic features and colouring, the next thing Erestor noticed about him was not the legend of history attached to him, but less grandly – and perhaps more of a gift – where he walked, people brightened under his smile.
Over the day’s simple meal under the evening sky, Erestor pondered him closely in animated argument with Lord Tathar and others from Lindon’s army. While the Lord Herald’s coterie talked among themselves, with occasional laughter mixed with more serious, low-voiced exchanges, Erestor considered ways and means, ignoring his fellows other than the small courtesy of handing down the water jug. With the toll of the known dead so high and the fate of the innumerable missing unknown – a great distress after the horrors they had witnessed – reserve tended to be respected.
Erestor found that a smile and a murmur could deflect overtures without giving offence. He badly wanted to preserve his solitude a little longer: so much had already happened and so much more needed to be done.
***
Names
Sidhirn ~ Peace Watcher
*****
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