[Kransha]

When the guard who Hírvegil had sent returned to his tent with a Dúnadan man, a boy, and two women, Hírvegil had fully dressed himself, complete with his usual panoply, glistening dimly in light that spurted in through the tent flap. The sound of clanking plate and jingling links of chain irritated his aching head, but he ignored the imaginary welt on his scalp and mustered a commanding look as the five Dúnedain civilians were escorted, somewhat confusedly, inside. The innards of the tent had been rearranged, with two rickety stools and two rickety chairs that had been scrounged recently from supply wagons placed in a semicircle, facing away from the tent entrance. As the four came inside, Hírvegil put on his most amicable face and welcomed them with a venerable gesture.

“Welcome, welcome.” He said, recalling the noble etiquette his father had taught him, “Please sit. It was hard enough to find stools and chairs in our many supply wagons, so I would appreciate it if you utilized the accommodations procured.” The Captain’s grin lit up, but then faded into an expected dark and serious look as the quartet began to sit. The man who Hírvegil assumed was Carthor aided one of the two women, the one who looked to be of higher birth, with brighter, bluer eyes that bore a simple radiance which Hírvegil had to admit caught his interest. The other man, a boy really, did not aid the other, more simply clad woman. This boy had his eyes gently closed for some reason, but was able to find his own seat easily enough, though he gave no unnecessary aid to the older woman who sat, after carefully making sure he had sat down, at his left. Once all were settled, and Hírvegil had duly looked them over, the Captain of the Rearguard spoke.

“No doubt” he began, “you all have at least some idea of what is going on. But, before I begin, I would like to at least know to whom I speak. I have not had the pleasure of meeting any of you, but I do know one of you.” He looked admiringly to the man garbed as a soldier and took his hand in greeting. “Carthor, it is an honor.” He had heard tell of this man, the lone survivor of the doomed Vanguard of Fornost, a resident celebrity, in more blunt terms. He was the only man to have been so far at the front of the Arnorian troops at the battle that he could witness the goings-on in the outermost sanctum – the first to fall. Carthor responded as a venerated man-at-arms might, throwing off the veil of Hírvegil’s flattery.

“Moreso for myself, sir.” He said, and bowed from the waist, somewhat stiffly. Hírvegil responded in much the same manner. “Now is not the time for flattery.” He said with a good-natured glance at the others around.
“From what I have been told, I admire you all the more.” This was true, even though he knew not what real admiration he held for the man. Surviving the annihilation of the Vanguard was no mean feat, but Hírvegil knew Carthor had not achieved it alone. “I met your son, and I knew that the father of that boy must be a strong fellow, worthy of praise.” He laughed as if he’d made a good joke, and Carthor showed some sign of bemused amusement. Hírvegil turned to the woman at his right, looking at her serene face and grey eyes. “And you must be his mother.” He said, noting immediately the apparent fragility of the woman, though he knew it might be a planned or unintentional façade on her part.

“Yes.” She said, “My name is Lissi.” She gestured to the boy who had not aided her in sitting, “This is my son, Brander.” Hírvegil, going through traditional motions, extended his hand to the lad, but he did not take it customarily. Instead, he looked blankly forward with closed eyes and, as he heard his name, bowed meekly in the general direction of Hírvegil. Perplexed, Hírvegil retracted his hand. “It is a pleasure,” he murmured, and then looked quizzically at Carthor. “Wait, this is Faerim’s brother?” Carthor nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

Hírvegil, despite his upbringing, could not help but stare at the boy with closed eyes, unable to continue. He peered darkly into the young man’s face, seeing a pale but kind expression, that of a friendly person with a good heart. But Hirvegil could not perceive the boy’s heart, instead he could only perceive the boy’s noticeable lacking. “You are…blind?” He questioned, wishing immediately afterward that he had not mentioned this, but no one seemed even remotely offended.

The boy did not hesitate, or seem remotely affected by the observation. He nodded simply. “Yes.” Hírvegil masked his surprise and impolite interest. He marveled at the strangeness of this family that had been produced for him: a stalwart, foolhardy son, a blind brother, a famed, venerated father, and a mysterious mother – what a brood indeed. Shaking himself of the reverie inwardly, he managed to unglue himself from the family and look to the final woman, noticing for the first time that the bundle in her arms was a baby, seemingly asleep. He did not let his gaze linger on the tranquil visage of the child and looked to the woman, venturing a question. “And you are a friend of Faerim’s?” He asked.

The woman seemed to hesitate very slightly, following Hírvegil’s gaze as it fell periodically on the baby clasped maternally in her arms. “Yes,” she glanced at Carthor and Lissi, “– I believe I am now. My name is Renedwen.” She bowed as well, but, now that introduction had all been made, Hírvegil did not have the time or sense to return the acknowledgement, and continued on eagerly.

“Very good. Now that I know all of you, I have a grave matter to discuss with you.”

A few wary looks were exchanged, none of them noticed by Hírvegil as he stood and walked before them. He began, using an interrogating tone, but not a suspicious or stabbing one. “As you probably know,” he said quietly, “the Elves have gone after their kin, and Faerim with them. They left without divulging their real plans, only saying whither they were going. I need to know, in short, if any of you have any idea of what plans they have. If not, that is all well, but if so, I must demand that you speak now, for the political stability of the Dúnedain in exile is at stake. If you know nothing, then tell me what you know of Faerim and the Elves, for it may be an aid to my next plans to know their minds.”