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‘Endamir!’ Orëmir called softly to his brother. ‘Are you awake?’ There was a muffled response, and soon the blankets his brother had wrapped himself in for the night were thrown off. Bleary eyed in the pale morning light, Endamir regarded his twin.
‘Sorry! No tea. No hot water as yet.’ Orëmir handed his skin of water to Endamir, along with an offering of dried fruit and a piece of waybread. He watched as his brother took a long pull at the skin’s spout and took it from him when he had finished.
‘No, I don’t know where they’ve gone,’ he to his brother’s unspoken question. Endamir’s eyes had slid about the gatehouse, his count of the companions come up short.
Orëmir glanced over to where Lómwë was helping Lindir to drink. He could see him speak low to the injured Elf and see Lindir’s effort to follow what Lómwë said. ‘He’s in such a fragile state,’ Orëmir whispered to his brother. ‘The bleeding has stopped. But the damage done when that other fëa tried to command his body is still not fixed. Lindir’s hold on this life seems tenuous at times, as if his own fëa longs to be gone and quickly.’ He looked quickly toward the injured Elf and then back to his brother. ‘He will bear watching, until the Diviner, if there indeed is one still here, can see to him.’
With Endamir’s help, Orëmir got a small fire going and set a pot of water to boil. ‘Something hot to drink, soon,’ he said, drawing near where Lindir and Lómwë sat. He busied himself with finding mugs for each of them and stirring a handful of dried leaves into the now hot water. ‘I think,’ he said, handling a mug to Lindir with a caution to be careful, ‘that perhaps I should stay with you while the others go out to find the healer . . . the Diviner, that is. Just in case your wound needs redressing. The others can go out in teams of two.’ He looked over at Endamir and Lómwë. ‘You two, can search together; watch each others’ backs, so to speak. Malris and Tasa seem to have already gone. How does that sound to you?’
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