The young Gondorian shifted the straps of his pack further up onto his shoulder, the boiling sun scorched down onto him as he marched steadily in time to the drum beat. At his side, back and front the grim clansmen of his Lord Glessarch tramped along with him, the heat causing sweat to pour down from their unusually pale faces. Pelaphor too was perspiring heavily and struggling to hold his pace. The rest of the company faired better, men from Pelargir used to the more humid weather of the southern low lands sung merrily in high voices as they moved accross the dry grassy plain.
Suddenly the column came to a stop, Pelaphor looked through the taller men around him towards the riders at the head attempting to decipher any orders that would be passed along. The butt of a Halberd clattered onto his leather cap, causing him to curse in pain as he turned to face his officer. "Stand straight ye squire, thou art a disgrace to the honours of the sire that birthed thou" growled the Pelargirian. Pelaphor scrambled to straighten his blue cap and tug his uniform into place. "I stand to serve and obey sir" He stated strongly, bowing his head in salute. The seargent nodded in approval and returned to his place in the back right of the file before calling out to them in a mighty voice "The company will halt, set down arms and commence to construct a defensive dyke. Look to the baggage train for tools as such as you will require".
A mixture of dismay and relief passed accross Pelaphor's mind, dismay that many hours of heavy work awaited to construct the dyke and relief that at last he could set down his pack and great blade. He had spent so long in this dry waste of a land, he missed his family. Most of all his little sister Aearalagos, she was a strange and wild child but sweet in a way. He had marched down to Pelargir and then towards the border of Harondor as a boy of 17, since then he had seen his company beaten and scattered before spending over a year entrenched at Barad Poros awaiting reinforcements. He had not seen battle but felt a tired veteran already at the age of 20, march onward and onward again only to fall back and dig in. These were not the tales he had heard as a boy at the side of his father by the hearth, Of Isildur and Elendil, Eanur and the elf lord Glorfindel. Or even the roaring tales told by his uncles, brave fyrdmen of Rohan who told of great heroes and their sagas of dragon slaying.
He looked up from his work, a few hundred men with shovels digging into the hard dry ground with great effort lined him on either side for a great distance. The men of his own Lord Glessarch wore purple sashes over their blue uniform indicating the flower symbol of his house, the men of Pelargir were differently robed in banded hauberks of gold upon blue bearing the device of a ship. All men carried some form of seabird wings or tree branches upon their helms, even those as himself with but leather caps had wings eched into them. Some of the officers and lords owned great suits of armour adorned in elven runes and detailed with silver linings, though few wore such here in the hot wastes where even the standard uniform seemed a stewer.
Returning to his work he dug such for some time, the dyke steadily rising and wooden pickets being placed with capped banners flying. Time passed and the sun sank steadily lower from the sky, the twinkling grace of stars rose over them and shone down the Valar's song onto the men as if recalling sadly the breaking of a friendship and the fading into twilight of them. Presently Pelaphor was relieved from his work and sent to attend to his lord, carrying to him news from the seargents and ordering outward about his servants.
Lord Gressarch was a large man, his great love of ale showed clearly and his weighty manner sat strange on one so tall and dark, a true man of blood despite his lordship being out to the far hills. Indeed many men of note shunned him for his name was not of the grey elven tongue as the custom had been and was in Gondor for many ages. Yet his courage and skill at arms could not be doubted nor the firm loyalty given by the clan folk to the Lord Steward. Pelaphor oft enjoyed his company being invited to sit and drink with him after his duty was done, talking of old tales and the study of lore. He knew Lord Glessarch had great plans for him to be sent to train as an officer in Minas Tirith and eventually on to a lordship. House Arathilien had been a brave and loyal one for many years, though disgraced and out of favour due to the actions of his father. Gressarch being of the hill clans could not expect to marry his daughter into one of the great houses, whose sons seemed fewer at each generation, so a marriage to a lesser house would serve him well if one could be found. The thought between Pelafir and Gressarch had been that in fufilling his oath by sending his son Pelaphor to squire and to war he would soon recover the favour lost and gain back their home of Stoningstead. A uniting alliance between the border province and Lossonarch would be beneficially to both parties, Arathilien being of old blood and House Calencil being of many lands and mighty wealth.
Glessa or her proper name Avorfalas was still young and Pelaphor was still untested but the time would soon come he hoped to claim back his houses honour and take a lady wife. He refilled Gressarch's cup and they sat for some time eating and drinking together as the darkling night shifted to full black. Fires sat out upon the pickets and men could be heard conversing and merry making in common tongue, perhaps a few talking in local dialect or Sindarin full.
Pelaphor had stood and was prepared to take his leave of his lord heading out through the tent when a great sharp silver horn call shot through the humid night air. "Wain riders, alas alas! they come!" came the shout from along the dyke. Men rushed to station gathering up arms and armour, Pelaphor smiled madly in fear and delight. War had come to him at last.
