[Durelin]

"Let me tell you a secret, Targil.” He watched the female elf hesitate before leaning forward over the body of Lómarandil, still but for ragged breathing. Targil leaned forward as well, and it felt strange to be so close to her. "That was the only time I have done so," she whispered close to his ear, her breath tickling his face. She immediately leaned back once more and stood up, and in a way he felt regret that she was no longer so close. He had felt that he could hear her mind working when she was that near, and that was something to be desired. He glanced down at Lómarandil, who was beginning to stir, before rising. He had left Megilaes, the Ambassadors’ guard, to watch the prisoner, and he wished to see the orc still safely in bonds and with two eyes watching it. Finding the prisoner and its guard as he had left them, and with the Captain nearby.

Calenvása was not paying any attention to the orc on the ground behind him, but Targil still felt a certain amount of relief at finding the Captain present. But Ambarturion was also present. It seemed he had just come from collecting weapons, finally cooled off, for now. He was back to his stony face and icy eyes. Targil watched them for any sign of that ice melting in a great heat of anger. To his relief, they only flashed slightly when the ambassador looked at Calenvása. And yet Targil felt a fire light in his eyes as he watched Ambarturion approach his Captain. He felt a certain amount of pride as he watched his Captain, his expression almost as hard as Ambarturion’s, and yet more relaxed. He seemed at ease, while the ambassador was stiff with barely suppressed anger.

“We cannot wait around for this creature to wake.”

Calenvása had not looked at the ambassador yet, and he spared him only a glance after this statement. “If we do not wait, we move forward blindly, and with a wounded comrade.”

Thorvel joined the group at this moment, leaving Coromswyth alone to keep an eye on the wounded Lómarandil. For some reason, Targil felt a touch of anger toward Thorvel for doing so. It wasn’t as if the female elf could not be left alone, even without the orc party defeated. But then Thorvel spoke: “Lómarandil has had some real luck, Captain.” Calenvása looked up from the ground, looking almost surprised that he had been addressed. Thorvel continued: “The orc blade he came in contact with was poisoned. He needs better treatment.”

The Captain let out a bitter sigh, and looked back down at the ground before him. Ambarturion took advantage of Calenvása’s despair, and spoke with a fierceness that was so commonly in his voice. “He needs better treatment, and where can that treatment be obtained?”

“We must take him to the palace…” Thorvel replied, beginning to say something more to the ambassador, his mouth working angrily. Ambarturion cut him off with his own anger, turning now to speak to directly to the Captain. “Your man says so himself. We must move, Calenvása.”

Targil felt his own anger sharpen with these words. It was how they were said, mainly that disturbed him. But there was also the missing title. Strange that he would feel that the Lorien elf had wronged Calenvása. And what was even stranger was that it felt as if he had been wronged. “That’s ‘Captain’, Ambarturion. We must move, ‘Captain’.” Calenvása looked up once more, and their eyes met in silence, the tension around them, the air filled with anger, all ignored, as a silent thanks passed between them. Respect had been earned, and it was mutual. Something came into Calenvása’s eyes, and he turned to face Ambarturion, looking him in the eye, forcing his eyes away from Targil. Then the Captain spoke for the first time as a captain. “It is of my intention to save Lorien, Ambarturion. If you are of the same intentions, you will acknowledge my command.”