Tancamir

The sun was sinking below the horizon, bathing the ruins in a soft red glow. Its rays gave some final warmth before the darkness of the night took over. Gwingris was more occupied today than usual with a group of travelers who had just come from Imladris. They sat beside the fire now, sharing its warmth and a kettle of herbal tea. Some of them had stepped aside to stand watch or speak with the inhabitants of Gwingris. At this time, Eliriael broke away from the group quietly and inquired into borrowing writing instruments and the use of a messenger bird.

 The watchful eyes of the lone sentry found her as soon as she stepped out from the shadows of the trees, but he only nodded, eyes flicking to the stitched mark of her company on her arm, and gestured for her to pass.

As she moved closer, one corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile, and he remarked: “You're getting sloppy, Cae. Saw you coming from miles away.”

My dearest Uilossiel,

Isilya, the 54^th day of Lairë

​

It was a mellow, lazy summer afternoon when Tancamir strolled over to the garden fence, leaning one arm rakishly on the gate. Humming an old hunting-song under his breath, he idly plucked a leaf and flicked it in the direction of a nearby plot of herbs. The leaf connected with a head of dark hair, and there was an indignant squeak before the figure kneeling on the ground rose to its feet.

Remain within the keep, he had told them.  Rest.

A simple order. 

Clear as crystal. 

A storm had been brewing – always perilous, this far East in the Hithaeglir – and up until that point, his scouts had been working tirelessly, alternating between watch and patrol.  There had been no need for extra eyes in a blizzard.  He had wanted them to take the opportunity to rest, regain their strength.

Yrill had disobeyed him. 

Tancamir had disobeyed him. 

“Annunghil, Ráolor, come with me!”

Luthelian rested her hand against her forehead, the dizzying effects of her head injury not entirely having left her.

“For the remainder of this mission, your duty is to watch the camp. You will not wander from your post.”

“But, my lord! That is unfair. I can help the others scout.” Surely, he would not make her entirely useless during their time in the Hithaeglir. Her head pounded more as her temper rose.

The wind howled outside, but could not reach the haven where Tancamir and Luthelian were camped inside the ruins. It was a night not for rest, but reflection, he thought with a grimace. He had always hated the sound of wind howling in the high passes.