Imladris, TA 30--
The sky was still dark when Tancamir arose and began to set things in order for his departure. He struck a light and a lone candle sputtered to life, a faint pinprick of brightness in the heavy dark of the winter morning. He strode over to the table, drawing Aeglas and Limlas from their leather scabbards. Their newly honed blades glinted cruelly in the candlelight, the gems set upon their hilts glittering like fire. Next he took down his bow, Cúringil, which hung next to a quiver bristling with newly-fletched arrows. Running a hand over his bow, a mirthless smile flickered over his face.
"Sharp and swift and cold may you bite the foe," he muttered as he strapped the daggers to his belt and slung the bow and quiver over his back. "I trust you have not forgotten the goblin-filth of the Hithaeglir. And they will remember to fear the arrows of Cúringil, and the steel of Aeglas and Limlas, ere we return."
By now, a wan greyish light began to dawn behind the mountains in the east. The silhouettes of the Hithaeglir jutted starkly into the lightening sky. Tancamir regarded them steadily, his grey eyes stormy with emotion as he remembered the start of another journey to the Hithaeglir long ago.
Mithlond, TA 2510
"Hail, travellers. What brings you to the gates of Mithlond?" The door-guard's voice rang through the afternoon stillness as a party of riders approached in the distance. Tancamir watched them intently from his post on the wall, bow in hand.
As they drew nearer, he could make out the figures of several riders upon noble-looking steeds, all cloaked and garbed in the manner of the Eldar. The leader of the party drew near to the gate and dismounted his horse, which bore the caparison of Lord Elrond's household. He whispered something to the door-guard, who hastily made a sweeping bow to a lady, cloaked heavily in black velvet and mounted on a white palfrey. She shifted her hood from her eyes, and Tancamir recoiled as her gaze met his own, knuckles whitening as he gripped his bow.
It had been centuries by the reckoning of men, but he would know that face anywhere. It was the Lady Celebrían ... and yet it was not. In the few years of his youth in Imladris, he remembered her to be a gracious lady, full of life and laughter, her hair gleaming like silver as it rippled over her shoulders. But this frail form before him, staring lifelessly ahead and swaying like a dry leaf in the wind, hardly seemed to be the Lady of Imladris. He had seen that look before, on soldiers who had healed in body, but not in spirit from the horrors of war. The sight sickened him and he turned away from the ramparts, sitting down heavily with his back to the wall.
The lady he had seen moments ago was only a faded shell of her former self. There was no doubt in his mind that she had come to Mithlond not for healing, but to seek passage to the West. Anger rose within him as he leapt to his feet and began pacing upon the wall. What new evil threatened Imladris, that even its Lady had come to such harm? Would he remain in Mithlond, idly patrolling the walls and hunting down the occasional orc upon its borders if even Imadris was no longer safe? There were rumours of foul creatures multiplying in the passes of the Hithaeglir, and of evil stirring anew in Angmar. His friend Falasgil, the only tie he had to Mithlond, was long dead ... would he then remain idle in Lindon, where only memories and grief were left to him?
When the hour of his patrol ended, he turned sharply on his heel and strode down into the city. He had lingered here too long, mastered by grief and a sense of duty to Falasgil's homeland. He would seek what news there was to be found of the Lady Celebrían, but his mind was already made up. If the Enemy's influence had departed from Lindon, it now gathered strength in the passes of the Hithaeglir. Eastward his road now lay, toward the lands of his kin and the inhospitable mountains bordering them. Tomorrow he would tender his resignation from the Guard to his commander, then prepare to set out on the long journey eastwards. He laughed drily, the sound falling harsh and grating on the smooth grey flagstones. How long had it been since he had walked the open road, making the stars his roof and the forest his home? Too long, he mused, as he already began to plan his approach to Imladris and the passes of the Hithaeglir.
Imladris, TA 30--
The dark had given way to a cold, grey morning as Tancamir emerged from his door, clad in a thick quilted robe and a great fur mantle. He strode purposefully toward the Spire of Meeting. He would not keep his Captain and the rest of the Arrow waiting. The road toward their goal would not be an easy one, and whether they would find Estarfin and Danel alive at the end of it, he did not know. But there was no doubt that either way, they would be avenged. He would make sure of it.
