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His brother was dead. No flicker of familiar thoughts eased Annû’s mind as he laid his hand on the unmoving chest. He wondered for one brief moment if the old tales were indeed true. Would he meet his brother once again in the West; see him walking with that impish look in his grey eyes as he left Namo’s halls, lips curved in a smile?
"ENOUGH OF THIS OR THE ELF WILL MEET A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH!"
The Corsair’s voice cut through Annû’s thoughts. He blinked back his tears, anger replacing sorrow. Annû stood, looking toward where the southron held Andtuariel. A quick glance about and he saw Elwë standing still as death, eyes fixed on her; barely breathing as the Corsair’s knife held steady against Andtuariel’s neck. Tucking his anger away with his sorrow, Annû called out to the Corsair.
‘Stay your hand! You have Hilde, still alive it seems, as I can see her huddling low like some dog at her master’s feet. We will retreat back to our boats – leaving one on the shore for Andtuariel. Two of us will wait for her.’
The remaining Elves and Lossoth retreated as quickly as they could, leaving their dead behind. Reaching the shore where the boats were tied, they made for the ship, oars dipping silently into the cold waters of the bay.
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