She turned her head hearing the tent opening. Veryacano needed to bow his tall figure to look into the barely lit interior, his face impossible to read as always.
“You leave for Imladris in an hour.”
She raised her brow in surprise but did not even think to question his demand. A little more information, no more than she needed was to follow for sure.
“I need you to escort the elf wounded in the attack from three days ago, to the Valley. That sword was no ordinary sword if I know to read a wound. She won’t be recovering from that with the help we can provide here, but she is old and she’s more strong than she looks. You probably won’t need to carry her but if it’s for the worst she is not a burden you can’t handle. Once there you give her in the care of our healers and stay with her until she recovers.”
Turuviel frowned and prepared to protest this last command but the look of the Caun made her aware once again that his orders were not up to debate for her or any other .
“You stay with her until she recovers and you return together once she is well enough. You need a break from here too. Rest and remember what we fight for while you are in the Valley. That’s an order.”
She nodded and he left, no other words were needed. Under the cold appearance of Veryacano was a true friend she did not doubt. How long was it since she avoided the society of others, only returning to the camp in the Moors for news and the few provisions she needed, hunting alone, keeping guard alone, finding joy in the terror of the enemy when arrows coming from nowhere found their black hearts?
***
“She must be sent to Imladris. Now. Maybe she can fight the ill alone, maybe not, but if she can’t then only in the Valley she stands a chance. The healers of my house can help her, also the lord Elrond can be announced if the need is beyond their powers too. I’ll provide her an escort as well”.
His tone admitted no comments, as always. His word was law for his own elves but it also commended respect from the rest of the Free People who chose yo make their stand in the Moors. Veryacano, the Hammer Lord of Vanimar, was old of years and word was that, in some degree, he was touched by the gift of foresight. Was it that or was just his vast experience no one knew for sure for he was not prone to explain himself much.
The wounded girl opened her mouth to protest, the expression on her face was explicit enough that she disagreed with the resolution. The elf next to the girl put his hand on her shoulder to stop her.
“He is right, my sister. The wound you received is not an ordinary one. The way it turns the flesh black... It’s not poison, or is one we can’t fight. It spreads and all remedies tried by the healers among us failed. It also affects your mood and decisions, and it is not going well. Hir Veryacano, I will take her to Imladris and I will be back in less than a week.”
For someone that knew him better, Veryacano kept a longer silence than usual before speaking, was it anger that his command was not executed as given or was it care for the feelings of the elf he did not know very well yet?
“Captain, I would rather have you here. You and your people came willingly under my command and you offered your swords to this fight. You know them well and I do not, you fought by their side before and I did not. Your informed decision for a detailed plan can mean the difference between life and death for them. Your sister will get safely to Imladris, you have my word. Her escort will be my niece, Turuviel.” He turned to the wounded girl: “ Will you accept this, my lady?”
Turuninde pressed her lips together tightly but nodded: his argument was strong. If they all insisted for her to go to the Valley at least there was no reason to break the routine of her kindred more than usual.
“Then it is all clear. You leave in an hour. Turuviel will report to you and will be your escort.” the Caun of Vanimar inclined his head slightly in greeting and turned on his heels.
