Dolthafaer was not sure what he thought of Belethoriel.
He had served under many elves in his time – some he liked, some he barely tolerated for the sake of duty – but never one so distant, so reserved.
Any stranger who happened upon their party might assume that Ancalasse was their leader, planning their course and bellowing out orders with a boisterous energy that reminded Dolthafaer of a hundred other sergeants and captains he had known, or even soft-voiced Laurelindo, who had been sent forth twice now to speak to the men that they encountered.
Belethoriel himself was a calm, quiet, and shadowy presence, speaking only to give the occasional command or discuss the path ahead. He did not join in their conversations around the campfire, made no effort to familiarize himself with the elves who had volunteered to follow him.
Dolthafaer did not know what to think of him, but as the trail for Themodir began to turn northwards, he found himself growing more and more uneasy. He was not sure how he could trust an elf who seemed utterly disinterested in his group to lead them into danger. Was it enough that Anglachelm seemed to trust him? Could that be enough?
Dolthafaer watched the dark-haired elf quietly in the hours they were given to rest before dawn, mulling over these thoughts, but came to no real conclusion. He let his gaze wander over the others in the camp – Ancalasse, Celephindir, Laurelindo, Limiriel, Sargiel, Nellindiel, Eleglas, Rumariel, some who had been there from the beginning and some who had joined them on the road – and he felt some of his disquiet slip away.
Those, at least, he could trust, whether it be in their friendship or the strength of their arm or the wisdom of their counsel. This was no military campaign that would break without the strength and charisma of command; this was a group of volunteers, searching for a lost kinsman, each strong in their own way and capable of holding their own regardless of their leader.
And perhaps all of his worry was for naught. They would find Themodir somewhere in the North Downs, visiting the graves of his fallen comrades, and bring him home to safety without ever drawing bowstring or blade.
Perhaps.
