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Just before leaving him to sleep, Orëmir had given his brother a few drops of a tincture he’d concocted in Imladris. It eased his brother’s dreams and let him rest well . . . at times. It had not worked as well this past night, it seemed. Endamir looked tired, his eyes haunted with old sorrows.
Others of the little group had twitched on their rude pallets as if battling old demons, too. In the moonlight as he kept his watch he could see Tasa moving restlessly, her arms pushing out, blade hand clenched as if engaged in fighting.
He’d wakened Endamir for the second watch, throwing his cloak about his brother’s shoulders as he rose from his bed. Slipping between the already warmed blankets, Orëmir had slept soundly, his dreams untroubled, save for that one he often had . . .
. . .walking into his brother’s room in Imladris . . . it was empty of Endamir’s presence . . . his books and writing materials packed away neatly in an old oaken chest that stood at the foot of his neatly made bed . . . the west facing window was open . . .
But this time the ache was less sharp, less filled with a sad sort of panic and confusion.
. . . a shaft of soft sun light fell in through the window this time, borne it seemed on a welcoming breeze. Motes danced along its course. A call had come from the hallway . . . his assistant . . . his services were needed . . .
Orëmir clambered to his feet and rubbed at his neck. Some stubborn rock had made an unyielding pillow for part of the night. More wood had been put on the fire, and a pot of water for tea was boiling. Fishing through one of the pockets on his pack, Orëmir pulled out a pouch filled with fragrant dried leaves and pale blossoms.
‘Anyone care for a hot cup of tea before we begin our campaign?’ he asked. ‘Something to get our blood flowing? Tasa, you look a mere ghost of yourself. Are you chilled?’ He held out a cup to her, smiling. ‘Come, the flowers are niphredil, sweet Luthien’s flower. They still hold their scent.’
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