Chapter 1. Wains

Gil-galad and Elendil
Marched their armies up the hill
To meet the Dark Lord face to face,
And cast him down from his high place.

The thunder boomed and the lightning flashed
As on the battlefield the armies clashed...
If men had let their duty go
The Dark would have taken Gondor long ago

...If men would let their duty go
The Dark would have taken Gondor long ago...

(from a children's lullaby of Gondor)

***

He watched the last of the wains roll through the gate with a sigh of relief.

He had thought of hiding as the last of the refugee carts were loaded, so that they could not send him away with his much younger brother, but that would not be a soldier's doing. He was not a child any longer. He was all of ten years. He straightened his shoulders, proud to be counted with the men and not carted off with the women and children to safety. He would face the battle to come. Maybe he'd even knock the head off an orc or two. Though he was still only fighting with a blunted practice sword, he could throw a mean stone.

A sudden blow from behind smote his shoulder, half spinning him round. His cousin's voice exulted, 'Got you! You're it!'

He spun the rest of the way to face Fargil. 'Be serious! We're at war now!'

The younger boy laughed. 'Not this minute, we aren't! Come on,' he wheedled, 'they'll put us back to work soon enough... let's play while we can!'

Bergil stood silent until he saw the younger boy start to relax, then with a roar he thrust forward and tackled him. The boys fell to the ground, twisting and wrestling. If he could just get the right hold, he could pin his cousin... but the wiry lad twisted somehow and wriggled free. How did he do that? Fargil jumped to his feet and laughed, panting. 'C'mon! Catch me if you can! You're "it"!' They had a grand chase around the courtyard.

***

Beregond sat at the table, carving a soldier for Fargil out of a piece of the firewood piled by the hearth. He hummed as he worked. Gilwyn was putting up sandwiches. When she had finished wrapping a cloth around several, she turned to him.

'Why are soldier's songs always so sad?'

He looked up in surprise. 'They are not always sad. I know quite a few lively ones.'

'Oh, yes, the ones that are all about wine and women. Those are lively enough. ...but so many of your songs are about death.'

'That is my business,' he said mildly. 'Duty and death. Just like your business is cutting and sewing cloth.'

'It is not the same thing at all!'

He grinned at having been able to get a rise out of her. She stared at him, hands on hips, then relaxed with an exasperated sigh.

'Well just make sure it is the other fellow who does the dying.'

He smiled and bowed, 'I will do my best to carry out your order, my lady. Following orders is my bread and meat.'

'I know,' she answered wryly. 'Now, take some of this bread and meat with you when you go.' She thrust the sandwich at him and he laughed. 'I know they never feed you properly at that mess of yours.'

'Leave it on the table, I will take it with me when I go. I have some time, yet.'

'Where is Bergil? He knew you were to be here today.'

Beregond laughed. 'I think he is avoiding me. The last of the wains were to be loaded today and he wants to be sure I do not change my mind.' He frowned at Gilwyn. 'I wish you would go, and take the boys with you.'

She shook her head. They had already had this argument. Several times. 'No, I can be of use here, and the boys can run messages. And there is no guarantee of safety in the mountains.'

Beregond shrugged and went back to his carving. She bustled about the hearth, stirring the stew and cutting more bread fresh from the baker. She filled a bowl and plopped it on the table with a spoon and some bread.

'There. You have time to eat before you go...' and taking a bundle from the corner, she laid it beside the wrapped sandwiches. 'Here is your clean laundry. I mended a few holes and a long tear in one sleeve. You ought to tell your mates to be more careful at sword practice.'

'I don't know what I would do without you,' he teased.

'Oh, you'd just find some dewy-eyed girl to do your mending for you, I suppose. But beware! They charge high.'

'What is the going rate these days?'

'Mmmmmmm, no less than a wedding, I hear.'

His smile faded. 'I have had a wife.'

Gilwyn gazed at him seriously. 'Beregond, I know you loved my sister,' she scolded gently, 'but how long are you going to mourn Gilmarie? It has been five years... You need a wife to take care of you...' she changed her thought as he waved his hand irritably in rejection of her words, 'and Bergil needs a mother.'

'Bergil is doing fine. You take as much care of him as his own mother might.' He looked up at her, spoon upraised. 'Besides, you are one to talk. How long have you been in mourning? Hasn't it been a year yet?'

She bent her head and turned away to hide the sudden tears. Beregond rose from the table to place a gentle hand on her shoulder. 'I am sorry, Gilwyn.' She turned back to him, trying to smile. He placed a brotherly kiss on her forehead, swung back to the table, scooped up the sandwiches and laundry, and said, 'I must go. Say hello to Bergil for me when he comes out of hiding, the scamp!'

Her smile became a real one. 'That I will. Take care now. When will we see you again?'

He shook his head. 'You will see me when you see me.'

'Ah,' she nodded. 'Not until you run out of clean clothes, then.'

He raised a fist to pretend a threatened blow. She gave him a push towards the door. 'Get along with you! When did you start frightening helpless women?'

He laughed. 'You are anything but helpless! I would rather face a mother bear bereft of her cubs!'

'Go on with you!' she repeated. 'You do not want to be late!' Laughing, he strode out the door.