Originally written for the LiveJournal tolkien_weekly "Mealtimes: Luncheon" challenge.
“No sign of ‘em yet.”
Beside him the Rangers’ rawest recruit casts nervous glances skywards. He can’t shake it, Mablung reflects ruefully; the terror of those bone-chilling, grating screeches sears his own soul still.
“Wh-what hour d’you think it is?” the youngster quavers.
“How’s to tell, in this murk?” Mablung glares at the louring, ever-darkened Eastward sky. “But since things are quiet awhile –“ he rummages in his knapsack, the lad’s face brightening as he pulls out a loaf, cheese, apples – “I’m calling it luncheon.”
(The title is taken from RoTK Book 5, Ch 1, Minas Tirith, Beregond’s conversation with Pippin: “An old campaigner, I see. They say that men who go warring afield look ever to the next hope of food and of drink...”)