[Mithadan]

Elladan looked at the members of his little company one at a time. Torfithien and Fingil, though concerned both about the quest and other matters, chafed to be off. Vanimorén too seemed determined and anxious to proceed. But Tintallë was ill at ease, frequently looking up at the mountains with trepidation or glancing about and starting at every noise as if the surroundings were about to erupt with foes.

He is a healer, not a warrior. Elladan stood and walked over to Tintallë and spoke quietly. "Now that Moria is near, the dangers of this task seem more real. Is that not so?"

Tintallë could not meet his eyes. "This is all beyond my experience," he admitted. "I have been in battle and wielded both the blade and the tools of healing. But to crawl into the heart of our foes' fastness without any clear idea of how to accomplish our goal..." He shook his head.

Elladan looked upon him without scorn and spoke softly with kindness. "You are not made for such tasks," he said. "You are no craven but you prefer herbs to blows. There is no shame in this. And there are other tasks which you may perform that will aid us."

Tintallë looked up at Elladan gratefully. "What may I do?" Elladan nodded and continued. "To the south lies the land of Lorien where dwell Galadriel and Celeborn, my kin. Go there! Inform them of our task and advise them that if we succeed in rescuing my mother, it is likely that we will emerge from Moria with all the Orcs of that place on our heels. Ask them for aid, else we must trek through the wilds pursued by an army of foes."

Tintallë nodded and packed his bag...