It was late in the day.  Aragost sat at a table on the terrace outside his quarters.  Long shadows from the Misty Mountains to the west would soon envelop the land, racing across the Graylin to Mirkwood and beyond. He and Borondir had visited the Armory.  Fine smiths had put a clean edge on his sword, closed holes in his chain mail and provided a long hand axe designed for horsemen felling orc heads from bodies.  Borondir had received his own attention, then left to join Eorl in counsel with his Marshalls about the route south.

An aide to Eorl brought a flagon of ale, some cheese and deer sausage.  Aragost nodded in gratitude.  Eorl would be by in an hour to join him for a full dinner after a pressing day that would not end with that meal.

Aragost had time on his hands.  Great events were in the making.  He would participate, ride with them to whatever victory or doom awaited.  But little more he could proffer.  They knew their tactics.  Each eored practiced them every year, often paired with neighboring eoreds.  Every other summer, Marshalls would mobilize their entire forces for a two week journey about the realm, living off supplies and the land, practicing larger movements.   Up to 2000 horsemen might ride, learning signals in battle, the use of pennants and horns. 

Now they worked out the battle doctrines for an army of seven thousand confronting a foe they had not yet seen, in numbers they had not known, in alliance with an army from Gondor with whom they had not spoken.  Aragost could not help them with this.  What lore he knew about great battles in the past, learned as a young man in Rivendell, was of little use. 

He sipped at the ale, gaze fixed to the east.  His sharp eyes caught a small dot in the sky, descending, growing larger as it took a wide, sweeping curve to the left and then to the right.  Then it straightened out and seemed to come directly towards him.  Aragost stood, watching the dot take form, growing swiftly larger. 

Aragost smiled.  He knew this creature.  Suddenly it was almost upon him, rearing up, baffling its wings to reduce speed, then floating down to rest on the table in front of him, staring expectantly.

Aragost glanced at its right leg where something had been wrapped about, just above the branch of its talons.  A message and judging by the rune on the outside, one from Rivendell. 

“Well master hawk, we meet again, both of us far from home this time.  We enjoyed a hunt three years past courtesy of Lord Elrond.  It seems I am your quarry today.”

Aragost cut off a slice of sausage and fed the proud red hawk which quickly snatched it away, downing it in an instant.  Aragost cut three more slices and left them on the table.  Then he slowly unwrapped the message while the hawk stabbed at the meat.

The Balchoth will attack at the Undeeps by mid next month.  Without aid, Gondor may not prevail.  Only with the Eotheod in force can victory be secured.

The message ended with Gandalf’s signature rune.

Aragost cut more sausage and cheese for the hawk, which he knew to be famished after such a long flight.  He would have to secure more before he set it off on return with his answer to the message. 

It did not surprise him that Gandalf knew of the peril from the Balchoth.  That had been building for some time and the old wizard had an uncanny way of knowing what was going on from the mouths of the Anduin to Iron Hills and west to the Grey Havens. 

But what to make of his last sentence.  Had he expected him to single handedly rouse the Eotheod to action?  Or did he know more and was just pressing the point home about the desperate state of things?  If he ever saw him again he would try for an explanation from the old riddler.  But for now, he had news and the need to get it back to him swiftly.  To what end he knew not, but he was far from underestimating what the old wizard could do.

At that moment he heard the sound of voices at the far end of the courtyard.  Eorl was bidding good day to his Marshalls and Borondir who would take a quick supper then resume their plans for the journey south.  Aragost spoke a few words to the hawk, communicating safety and friend so it would not fly off or try to peck out one of Eorl’s eyes. Eorl strode over to the table where Aragost sat, slowing his gait as he approached, stopping six feet short just to be safe.

“It seems you both are acquainted.” Eorl said

“We have hunted together in Rivendell, times past.  Buteor is skilled at spotting game and from time to time, orcs.”  Aragost replied

“Then he is welcome here, though his journey has been far for seeking game.”  Eorl eased closer and sat in a chair near the table.

“He brings a message from Gandalf the Grey.”  Aragost passed the paper to Eorl and cut more sausage and cheese for Buteor.

“I know of him,” Eorl replied, “He visited in my father’s time when I was a boy of ten.  He is well informed on the state of things.”

“I met him in Bree over a fortnight past just before I made my way north.  The danger of the Balchoth was discussed but not with the detail and immediate urgency that Borondir has brought us.” Aragost replied.

“Perhaps he had acquired more information since then.  Did he expect you to press us on aiding Gondor?” Eorl asked.

“I have long given up trying to fathom his thoughts and plans, though they generally fare well as pertains to the fate of men in Middle Earth.  He is a friend.”

“Well you have such a friend and also well you chose this time to visit.  The hawk would scarce have recognized anyone else.  Or not have come at all”

The hawk presently finished the last of the meat and cheese.  Eorl signaled to an aide to bring food more fitting for a raptor of the sky, then continued.

“What do you suggest we do, Aragost.  The outcome he seeks is about to come to pass.  Is it wise that we tell him now?  Is the advantage of surprise we now have at risk?”

“I have known him all my seventy-nine years.  In turn he has known the lives of my father, grandfather and those before them.  He has always acted without reproach.  Good always follows in his wake.”

Eorl contemplated this, chin in hand, while the aide came and dropped off a shallow bowl for the hawk.  A mix of shredded raw lamb and honey coated grains would supply energy for the long trip back.  

“Then we shall inform him.  If there is good to be found he will do so.  We should not turn away allies, whatever their contribution.”  Eorl signaled to an aide who brought pen and ink.  Eorl flattened the message, then turned it over, revealing a blank side used for responses.  Aragost watched as the pen scratched out a narrative in a small neat script.  Eorl pushed it over to him to read.

Aragost nodded his approval with its contents, then rolled the paper tight and fastened it to the hawk’s leg with a small piece of red dyed twine.  The hawk stared at him intently, then with a cry it leapt off the table.  Powerful wings pinioned and it rose quickly making for points west towards the foothills of the mountains.

“It will spend the night in the forests to the west.  It does not long suffer the world of men, bound to the earth.”

“But suffer it we must, Aragost” Eorl replied, “And we have work to do.  Come, Aragost, let me share with you what plans we have made.”

The two walked over towards Eorl’s private quarters near the main hall.  They were soon immersed in maps and the thought of distant battles yet to come.