6. Waiting

With the fighting raging all around
And his father dying upon the ground,
His soldiers rallied and did their best
While round about them the dark host pressed.

Isildur raised his father's sword
Shouting defiance at the grim Dark Lord.
If men had let their duty go,
The Dark would have taken Gondor long ago.

(from a lullaby of Gondor)

Fargil awakened to low voiced conversation in the kitchen. One voice was his mother's... then he heard the deep rumble belonging to his uncle. What was Beregond doing here in the middle of the night? He looked over at Bergil by the dim light of the night lamp, but his cousin slept soundly. He arose as quietly as he could and stole across the cold stones to the doorway between the bedroom and kitchen.

'...the penalty of old was death.' He heard his mother gasp, then his uncle continued, 'but I doubt the matter will ever come to trial.'

'What do you mean?' Gilwyn asked softly.

'We march to the Black Gate. The mere thousands we can muster, against all the might of Mordor. You know what I am telling you.'

There was a long silence. 'You do not think you will be coming back,' she murmured.

'It seems madness. But the Captains must have good reason. Perhaps they seek to gain time for the people of Minas Tirith to find safety in the mountains.'

'Temporary safety, at best,' his mother said.

'Yes,' Beregond replied.

'There has been no evacuation order given.'

'I do not know the plan. But I want you and the boys to be ready to go as soon as the order is given.'

'We will be ready,' she promised.

Fargil crept back to bed. His uncle was marching with the armies of the West to the Black Gate of Mordor. It was clear he did not expect to return.

Fargil looked over at his sleeping cousin. He remembered how his own father had gone out on patrol, the waiting when word came the patrol was overdue. The waiting had seemed worse than the actual news, later, that his father was dead. He decided not to tell Bergil what he had overheard. It would be bad enough for Bergil to hear his father had died, without the agony of waiting beforehand, knowing Beregond anticipated dying in battle.

***

When the morning sun shone through the shutters, Beregond and Gilwyn still sat at the table just as Fargil had seen them in the middle night. Bergil stopped at the threshold in surprise. 'Good morning, Father,' he said. 'You are here early!'

You do not know how early, Fargil thought to himself.

Beregond had a hug each for his son and his nephew. 'The armies of the West march out today,' he said cheerfully. 'We go to do to the land of Mordor what they tried to do to Gondor.'

Bergil's hands dropped to his sides and he regarded his father anxiously. 'You are going too, Sir?'

Beregond grinned widely, 'I am to lead a picked Company of men of the City.' He tousled Fargil's hair. 'It is quite an honour.' When he turned back to Bergil, he was serious. 'Bergil, I want you to take care of the family while I am gone.'

'Yes, Sir!'

'I don't need to be taken care of!' Fargil protested.

Beregond fixed him with a stern eye. 'Fargil, I expect to hear a good report of you when I return. A good soldier always follows orders.'

Fargil stiffened. 'Yes, Sir!'

Beregond gave hugs all around, first Gilwyn, then Fargil, and last his son. After hugging Bergil, Beregond held him at arm's length and took a long look at his son. 'Keep your knife sharp, son!' he admonished in a low tone.

'Yes, Sir, I will. You'll find everything in order when you return.' Bergil was enveloped by his father in another long, hard hug. A silver trumpet sounded over the City, his father released him abruptly and was gone.

***

Bergil had watched with Pippin's kinsman as the army marched away, and they waited there long after the last glint of the morning sun on spear and helm was lost to sight. The hobbit stood with bowed head, and Bergil felt as cast down as the other looked.

Suddenly Merry clutched at his right arm, and Bergil could see that he was in pain. 'Come, Master Perian!' he said. 'I will help you back to the Healers. But do not fear! The Men of Minas Tirith will never be overcome. And now they have the Lord Elfstone, and Beregond of the Guard, too.'

Fargil stood silently with them, and did not speak of Beregond's words to his mother.

The waiting seemed endless. Days passed. The boys were still used as messengers, and so they heard much news as they went about the City. When off duty, Bergil spent time with the hobbit Merry. He missed Pippin, but found his kinsman to be nearly as good company. Merry was quieter, but he could still tell a good story, and shared some uproarious tales about Pippin. Bergil never tired of listening to the hobbit's stories, and each day learned more of the wonders of the parts of Middle-earth he had never seen. The healers smiled to see the boy and the hobbit walking the gardens of the Houses of Healing together, nearly matched for size.

The bright weather turned cold and drear and a cold wind that had sprung up in the night blew from the North. The people of the City were subdued, and Bergil brought little news home with the water from the well that morning. All went about well cloaked as if spring had released its grip and let winter return to hold sway.

It was the seventh day since the army had marched away. The wind increased as the day progressed, blowing in gusts as Bergil ran his errands about the City. He was glad to return home for the midday meal; Gilwyn had built up the fire on the hearth and the room was comfortably warm. Still, Bergil shivered as with chill. His aunt put a hand on his forehead. 'Are you sickening with something?'

'No,' he said, pushing her hand away.' The wind bites, and I find it hard to get warm again.'

Suddenly the sound of the wind died, and the boys started up from the table. Gilwyn stumbled to the door and threw it open. The light dimmed, the sun was bleared, all sounds in the City were hushed. Time seemed to stop. A tremor shook the floor under their feet and the walls about them quivered. A sound like a sigh went up from all around them and they were released from the spell of stillness.

The boys ran to the door and stopped with Gilwyn. They saw to the North and East a vast black cloud like a mountain, lightning crowned, but the wind was already blowing it away.

'What is it? Oh what is it?' Fargil cried.

His mother engulfed him in her arms. 'I do not know, my son. Perhaps it is the end of the world. But no...'

Bergil felt it as well. A lightness of heart. Joy, even. Unreasoning hope.

The day brightened as the Sun shone with renewed strength, and Bergil heard singing outside. Gilwyn joined in, and the boys, and all over the City the song arose, neither sad nor bawdy soldiers' song but a song of joy and gladness and hope.

Gilwyn turned back to grab her shawl. Throwing it over her shoulders, she gave a hand to each boy and they ran to the wall of the City. Looking out, they could see the River Anduin like a ribbon of silver in the sunshine. They stood a long while there, breathing the air, surely fresher than it had been in long days, and gazing out upon the day.

A great Eagle came flying, crying out news of the victory and the end of the Realm of Sauron, and the coming of the King. And in all the ways of the City, the people sang.

***

Bergil was sitting with Merry in the gardens of the Houses of Healing. Merry had just been recounting the story of Bilbo's birthday party, when a runner came with a message. His face paled as he read. 'What is it?' Bergil asked anxiously.

'It is Pippin. He has been badly wounded, and I am called to his side.' He tried to smile. 'The good news is that my cousin Frodo has been found with Sam. Their recovery is also yet in doubt. But at least if they die it will be among friends.'

Bergil's heart sank. He had as yet had no word of his father, but he knew that Pippin's wounds, and the others', must be grave indeed to occasion this sort of summons. 'I -- is there ought I can do to help you?' he asked. Merry took his hands and squeezed them hard.

'You have done much already, my young friend. Your companionship has been strengthening and healing. I have the strength now to do whatever I must.' He rose abruptly. 'I will greet my cousin for you. I am sorry to miss Fargil, but I am to leave at once.'

'Then I will greet my cousin for you,' Bergil said firmly, and was rewarded by a small smile from the hobbit. 'If you hear word of Beregond...'

'I will look for him,' Merry promised, then hurried away with the messenger.

***

Gilwyn was summoned a day later. All tailors and seamstresses in the City and all of Gondor were called to the encampment in Ithilien. The army was to be fitted with new uniforms for the feasting to celebrate the victory, and the coronation of the King that would follow. Gilwyn and old Ioreth had become friends during those terrible hours in the Houses of Healing, and Ioreth offered to take the boys in whilst Gilwyn was gone. She gave last minute instructions to the boys as she packed to go.

'It is good to be packing up my needles for this happier reason,' she exclaimed. She turned to the boys. 'Now stand. Let me look at you.'

They stood at attention for her inspection. She could find no fault, and her stern look softened as she put a hand to each boys' cheek. 'Take care of each other,' she said softly. 'I expect to hear a good report of you when I return.'

They promised.

She hesitated, then added, 'I will send word of Beregond.' She gathered them both in a hug, then turned to Ioreth. 'Thank you,' she said simply, picked up her bundle and hurried down to the waiting wains.