[Durelin]

“Then do you have any plans for an ambush? Or do we have yet to work those out?”

Calenvása was slightly annoyed at the frustration that was clearly in Thorvel’s voice. He knew that this frustration could have been directed generally to the entire situation, but it annoyed him nonetheless. It annoyed him only because of his own irritation, of course. He did not bother to turn and look at his companions, knowing that both Targil and Thorvel looked to him, anxious for an answer to the question, their eyes demanding. The Captain did not need to see that. He did not appreciate anything being demanded of him. Finding a certain comfort in focusing on the ground before him, on his pace of breathing and that of his feet hitting the earth with a gentle softness, a certain respect shown to the Earth. When he finally answered, he found his voice was strangely cold, and distracted. He would not look at them.

“We will have to see how the orc camp is laid out first, and decide exactly what to do then.”

The only response to this was a grunt from Thorvel, and what was in this grunt, Calenvása was unable to tell. He hoped this was again simple aggravation. But the Captain was not at all sure. And so he worried in the silence that followed, that grunt the last sound heard from any of the elves. He fretted over its meaning to a greater extent than a simple grunt deserved. He was discouraged to think that this grunt might be an expression of dissatisfaction in his Captain’s words. And Calenvása needed no more discouragement. He spent his time mulling over the dispiriting thoughts, all the while avoiding thinking of what he had to. For he knew he had to reach a conclusion, at some time, and was afraid of what he might reach. And what it would take to reach any conclusion at all… There was so much to consider, so much guessing to do, so much judging and weighing. Judging left him with so much responsibility. The weight of it hung upon him as he ran and the world grew dark around him.

Knowing that it was time to stop for the night, stopping early to wait upon the orc party. At any other time, Calenvása would have chuckled at this. They would wait upon these orcs, yes. But he did not laugh, for he did not know what they would do after their waiting was over. Another thing he would have found quite hilarious. The convenience of returning trees and of various bushes as they drew nearer to Mirkwood once more was almost laughable. Coming upon a surprisingly thick, forest-like patch, Targil, Thorvel and Calenvása quickly spotted Lómarandil among the branches of the tallest tree. The silence of the air was broken by the young elf’s voice, as he spoke rather loud to be heard below. Calenvása practically winced with each word. Targil sighed heavily, while Thorvel’s mouth worked, waiting for words to come to clearly express his anger and irritation.

“I believe a rest is in order?”

The surety of his voice overstepped the border that separated confidence from arrogance, and Targil responded most fittingly with a snort. Thorvel was still preparing to speak, and though Calenvása knew that the elf’s anger should not be released at this moment and in such a way, he remained silent. As cold, harsh words emerged from Thorvel’s mouth, mirroring the tightness of his face and the burning of his eyes, Targil glanced at the Captain. Calenvása avoided his glance, and stared blankly in another direction. He heard a sigh come from the elf, but still did not turn to look at him. Thorvel barely kept his voice below a shout. Calenvása looked on, while Targil looked to him.

“I believe it best that you get down from your position, for the moment, Lómarandil.”

“And you, of course, voice the wishes of the Captain.”

“Of course…”

Calenvása shot a glance to Thorvel. The elf avoided his gaze, and it felt odd to the Captain to be in such a position. Tagil’s gaze passed from Thorvel to Calenvása. Lómarandil was of little importance. Thorvel was biting his lip, his voice had trailed off as the words were spoken on impulse, and a foolish impulse. The Captain frowned deeply, but his frown was not an angry one. It was one of sadness and resignation. What could be seen in his eyes were these feelings multiplied, for the eyes were windows to the soul. Calenvása was silent, as his soul felt that there was nothing to say. And as the darkness deepened, and the orc party escorting the prisoners was found camped nearby. Lómarandil had judged a strategic position surprisingly well. But I should have known that by Targil’s silence…he would have voiced his dissatisfaction. For some reason, Calenvása had to doubt this. But then, he doubted so many things that he thought…

Lómarandil has finally complied with what Thorvel had ‘suggested’, and they were gathered among the shelter of the trees and brush, all of them. They all sat close to each other, but Calenvása felt so far away from the other elves. And he refused to acknowledge that they looked to him, and rightly so, as their Captain. He had never thought of himself as the Captain, but for fleeting moments of some kind of triumph when Targil or Thorvel showed their approval of a decision he made. But what it took to reach these rare successes was so much; too much, his mind had decided for him. His mind was weary, and it looked for a way out. It found a disturbing comfort in avoiding what was directly before him. All three sets of eyes were upon him for some time, but the pair that pierced the most was Targil’s, for if Calenvása had the strength to look into them, he would see a certain understanding. He would not see sympathy or pity, but a grim realization and a small amount of disgust, not hatred, but simple revulsion at this behavior. And that was what Calenvása felt, coming from the right of him, the revulsion. The silence remained to be broken, but it seemed that Targil was prepared to do so. It was several moments before he brought his gaze away from his Captain, and spoke to Lómarandil and Thorvel. Calenvása was no longer there, in his mind, and the Captain felt happy about this. He also felt sick to his stomach.

“We will wait till dawn. And we will wait, once more, in a position that will allow us to, for our enemy. Our patience has served us well, thus far. Let it remain so.” Targil cast a meaningful glance at Lómarandil. He would not simply watch what the foolish one did, sitting on his anger. “We raced ahead of our enemy for the purpose of an ambush. Upon beginning their march, it is hopeful that they will be less organized, as well as less wary, with a time of rest just passed. But they will have had this rest to replenish strength, a strength that we know they have.”

“And I suppose we should take advantage of our time of rest, as well,” Lómarandil cut in. Targil met his gaze, and let the coldness and lack of interest in his eyes silence the young elf. He then continued, focusing more on Thorvel. “The prisoners are aware of our presence, cor-” he stopped, and he quickly brought his eyes from where they had passed to Calenvása. While Targil recollected himself, Thorvel finished his thought in a strangely soft voice. “And they should be aware of when we attack.”

Taking his mind away from the gloom that surrounded his ‘Captain’, he nodded. There was much yet to consider, and much that would not have time to be considered. For now, Calenvása was on his own in his thoughts. Targil thought he could imagine the torment those thoughts must bring. Out of the corner of his eye, he took a look at the silent elf, and saw a battle raging in his eyes. The elf was torn.

Calenvása noticed Targil looking at him without turning his gaze. He knew the elf could not understand what kind of torment his mind brought to him, for Targil would never understand that a mind could be such an untamed thing. The Captain had fought his feral mind for long enough, and now he decided to let it run free, and, o! he had not a care in the world, and yet every care he could.