The cold was as bitter as ever, the mountain passes as inhospitable as before. That much Tancamir remembered from the last expedition the Arrows had made to the Hithaeglir. But now they travelled slowly, scouting the path ahead so that the Hammers and other members of the company might have a secure path to tread. And there was much stopping, and camping, and assigning of watches. He scowled. If the Arrow were not so encumbered by the progress of the others, they could have made it halfway to the Southern High Pass by now. Yet he was not one to go against the orders of his Lord, and so he bided his time by the campfire, looking out onto the wide fields of snow to the north. They were encamped by the eastern source of the Bruinen, on an outcropping overlooking a great frozen pool.
A movement to the side, a sudden flurry of snow, and a muffled shriek caught his attention, and he dashed over to the edge of the slope. Luthelian lay at the base of the short cliff, and Caethel knelt anxiously beside her. He frowned deeply, and when Lord Dolthafaer stalked over, reprimanding the two young Arrows for leaving their posts, he could not help but notice that Luthelian favoured her right arm, clutching it closely to herself. She must have been hurt, he thought with a sigh of annoyance. That would be one less bow for the Arrows, should the need arise.
For the rest of the afternoon and evening he watched over the camp, standing to the side upon a ridge to the south, sparsely dotted by stunted fir-trees. As he kept an eye out for anything approaching the encampment, he could not shake the feeling that Luthelian reminded him all too well of Ruinel, with her spirited ways and love for the bow. It troubled him deeply, for he saw the same flaws and foibles that he had loved, in his own way, reflected in this young archer of Imladris. He frowned, and laid a hand on his bow. This was no time to indulge in melancholy. It was a time of action and wariness, not of reflection.
He told himself he was only acting in the interest of the Arrow as he drew Luthelian aside later that evening, frowning deeply.
"Your arm?" He began awkwardly, masking his uneasiness with a scowl.
"What of my arm?"
"Well, if you do not want to tell me, show me. Shoot the trunk of that tree, the one at twenty paces." He pointed to a fir tree standing by the camp, gnarled with the passage of time and the buffeting of the bitter winds.
"There are more important things to be shooting at..." Luthelian frowned, pursing her lips.
He gave an amused snort. "If you can shoot at all."
Luthelian glowers at him and pulled an arrow from her quiver deftly, before notching it into her raised bow. He watched her motions critically, frowning when he noticed her pulling back her arrow quickly, not wanting to hold her bow up much longer than necessary. His eyes narrowed as he noticed an almost imperceptible shake in her right arm as she let her arrow loose. It stuck in the trunk of the tree, just barely on the edge. She lowered her bow with her right arm, immediately turning to Tancamir.
"There. Are you satisfied?"
Tancamir pursed his lips. "Your form is off. I expected better from the elleth who said she could shoot my own face off from ninety paces."
She glowered back at him, her lips a thin line.
"Your face is quite large. It would be hard to miss it even with little skill." She angled herself away from him again, pulling her right arm behind her cloak.
"Still, even a child could not miss the centre of that tree at twenty paces."Tancamir stepped forwards."Let me see your arm."
She took a step back in reaction, snapping, "I am not a child. You know I can shoot better than one."
"Which is why I think there is something wrong with your bow-arm."
"You are always criticizing me for every little thing."
"No, I have seen you shoot much better on the practice field." Tancamir shrugged. "Why, twenty paces is nothing." He stalked over to the tree, pulling out the arrow she had shot with a frown. "You see, even the angle of impact and the depth of the mark the arrow made are wrong. You are a better archer than this. Something is holding you back."
Luthelian pursed her lips, reaching out for the arrow with her left hand. Tancamir handed it to her, an unsettling softness coming over his features, then peeled off his gauntlets, throwing them to the ground.
"Sometimes the smallest things can affect an archer's balance, Luthelian. Do you see this scar?"
Tancamir held out his left wrist, bearing the marks of a long, neatly stitched-up cut running lengthwise across it.
"The last time we were in the Hithaeglir, on the search for Estarfin ... I noticed something was off about my balance. The bow would not sit right in my hand - I began having sharp pains in this wrist once we had returned to Imladris.'
"Well, I am glad you had it looked at, I assume."
Tancamir looked at Luthelian with a shrug. "Glad? Indeed, turns out there were bits of metal from a troll's mace embedded in an old wound. "
Luthelian winced retorting, "Well, there is nothing of the sort in my arm."
"Still, there is no shame in having your arm looked at. I had thought the wound of little consequence when I received it, but turns out it had to be re-opened and the metal removed. If you want to be the best archer you can, do not let injury get in your way." Tancamir shrugged his shoulders, replacing his gauntlets. Luthelian seemed to be struck speechless, opening her mouth slightly as if to make a witty retort but then closing it again. Tancamir glanced at her, and spoke again.
"You are bright, and quite skilled for an archer your age. Not many can hit the centre of the target at ninety paces, that day we were training. But you did. So this ... pardon me if I am confused. At why you cannot hit the tree at twenty paces."
"I need my arm on this journey, " Luthelian replied.
"They will not chop off your arm, or anything. At worst you may end up in a sling, but I do not think it likely. Go have it looked at."
And somehow, he had persuaded the stubborn young Arrow to let Norliriel examine the arm, which was fortunately only sprained. Luthelian glared at him for the entire time the healer was bandaging her arm, as he sat on a nearby rock, watching with detached amusement. He did not mind. If only she would behave and stay out of trouble, she might make a good archer yet. Shrugging, Tancamir walked away and took up his post on the outskirts of camp. All was well for now.
