All things considered, he’d miss Gondor.
At least, that’s what he was thinking, and it was a reasonable thought to have. How far had he traveled in his life, after all? First from home to Calembel, and from there to Pelargir, and then to Minas Tirith, in all its high glory. Then came the siege, and the march under Elessar, and then what he’d thought would be his fate- his corpse defiled and bones ground into the greater part of the Slag Hills. The day didn’t come, and instead he’d survived to see the world change.
Gondor had a king, and with the king came a new dawn.
Angborn had been lucky enough to survive to serve as a lord under Elessar, and so, he thought, he was lucky enough to survive to serve under Angborn, albeit with some chain in a way. But how he was to serve the new dawn was not what he thought it would lead to. Why, then, was he to lead in this task, and not someone anointed by the Prince of Dol Amroth? It would make sense for one of his people to go forth, not a son of Lamedon.
Then again, with the re-establishment of Ithilien being done by a man who was once a Steward, and Elessar’s origins possibly being not of Gondor at all, it seemed background had little to matter in these times. What did matter, in the end, was the willingness to serve and do what was right. If he wasn’t those things, then what was he? Some blood-crazed madman who was lucky enough to live while others perished?
He shook his head. No, that would not be it.
For now, he was a man who had to commit to a greater challenge than combat- writing. Or, as the specifics were, writing a list.
A small group would be needed- five at best when starting out, with the potential to hire local guides to increase numbers later. Of them, he would like two to hail from Belfalas- of this task, he had no doubt there would be plenty from that fiefdom who would rise to the occasion. But, as he considered the coming labour, it could not be so specialized. There would need to be those used to harsher terrain and could hunt- perhaps a bowman from the Blackroot Vale, or, by some miracle, a Ranger of Ithilien. The former would be far more likely than the latter, but he could still hope. From there, a son of Lebennin or Anorien (perhaps Minas Tirith itself even) could come forth and be the more diplomatic and friendly sort- their task would be all the harder if all were suspicious, after all.
He scratched out the limits. Seven men, not five, would be needed, and he silently cursed his handwriting ability. This would take all day, and if he had a faster hand or a scribe to help, it wouldn’t be so.
Someone who could write in Westron well and read faster than he. Perhaps Sindarin, too. A scholar, then, in case they encountered the Elves or Dwarves on the roads? There, a start laid.
