[Durelin]

“I think,” Thorvel began slowly, “that we should take Lómarandil with us to Lothlórien. It is closer than the palace, and he can get the care he needs there. He has been lucky so far, but I do not know if he would last the entire way to the palace. In addition, we will be able to alert the Galadhrim of the coming attack.”

As if he had heard the discussion turn to him, a cry was heard from the direction in which Lómarandil and Coromswyth were, clearly a yell of pain from the wounded elf. It seemed he had finally awoken to the pain of his wound. For a brief moment, Calenvása wondered what exactly that poison was doing to the elf. He came only to the conclusion that it was of a great evil, born from the minds of creatures of the greatest evil that was Sauron. It was enough to make any Child of Illuvatar shiver in a sickened fear.

It was at that moment that, to the shock of everyone present, the wounded elf himself walked toward them with an extraordinary amount of balance and strength. Coromswyth followed slowly behind him, her eyes upon the elf’s back, filled with amazement, then passing to look at Calenvása. A silent understanding passed between them that she knew nothing more than he did about what was going on. If Lómarandil’s recovery was not enough of a shock for them all, it was Targil who stepped forward to help the elf walk the last steps he needed to make to join the others.

Lómarandil glanced at the elf as he took his arm, careful of his wounds that had now grown to be several of varying severity, but the young elf said nothing. Most likely it took too much strength to speak, though it was obvious that nothing needed to be said. Calenvása watched in wonder, and found it hard to focus on the words Lómarandil was saying, his mind abuzz with thoughts that would not rest until they all had been run through his mind.

"I'll be fine...just show me where they are..."

The Captain assumed that he spoke of the army, though it was hard to tell. The elf had found the strength to rise from where he had lain and to walk the distance to the group, but it was clear that there was little other strength left in him. His wounds were seemingly – miraculously enough - not doing him any immediate harm. He spoke softly, his breath too short for much to be spared for speech. It was strange to see the young elf in this weakened state, without his usual vigor and energy that so often was manifested in recklessness. But the voice of Targil sounded even stranger to Calenvása’s ears.

“It was spoken in haste that it would be best for us to return to the palace,” Targil said, his voice almost as quiet as Lómarandil’s, and his tone surprisingly calm. “And now even to speak of Lómarandil as a burden at all.” The way this was said made it clear to the Captain that there was more meaning to it than what was found on the surface of these words. A burden was what Targil had always seemed to see the young elf as. And a burden that was not worth being carried by him. Of course it had also been clear that Targil had not particularly approved of Calenvása himself. Never had Targil been seen showing much respect to anyone. Not until recently…the recent times had changed them all. He could feel the world changing.

“Haste, indeed…” Ambarturion’s voice was no less spiteful than before, and only slightly less calm. “You speak of haste, and that is what is required of us.”

“I speak of a haste that had consequences. You speak of a reckless haste that will bring us to our deaths,” Calenvása said quickly, snapping at the Lorien elf. “The haste you speak of is unnecessary. There are many things on our side that you refuse to see, Ambarturion. You see the roughest road as the only road, and take it. The path you wish to take at this time is one that ends in the needless deaths of us all. And what is your reason for taking this path? Renown? To be remembered in a song as those who died for Lorien? Why not be remembered as those who lived for your land…my brother.”

They were of a kindred, the remainder of a kindred who lingered in a darkening Middle-Earth, refusing a call to other lands to live in these. To live in these lands, and for these lands. Ambarturion was his brother, as were all those present. It was wrong for them to find, even create divisions among themselves, the Children of Illuvatar, who knew best in this world what evil was, and who would neither allow it a place in their hearts, nor in their lands.

There clearly was a change in Ambarturion’s eyes, if not in his face, which was still set hard and cold. They cooled, just as the voice of the Captain had. Coromswyth was of course standing at the male ambassador’s side, and she now reached out to touch the elf slightly on the arm. He jumped ever so slightly at her touch, obviously caught lost in his thoughts. At this moment, Calenvása would give anything to know what those thoughts were. But as Ambarturion turned to look at his female companion, it seemed Coromswyth was doing the thought reading for him.