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Malris looked on in shock and disbelief. Though all the followers of Maedhros remaining in Middle-earth were assembled, the Spirit of Fire had apparently left them all. Oremir was querulous, grudging, his words biting as his steps were reluctant. Lindir was pale with fear, to an uncanny and unnatural degree. And their words seemed to sway Endamir, who now, despite his earlier fervour, thought of passing Himring by.
Maglor, I need your eloquence. Curufin, your cunning. Maedhros, your flame. Even hated Celegorm; if only I had your tongue at my side, rather than this blunt object betwixt my lips.
"I am going," he said, shortly. "I have little knowledge of sailing, but if needs be I will take the current to Himling's shores alone. But I think perhaps some of you may care to follow me." Malris glanced at Tasa in confidence; at Lomwe in hope; and at Endamir in pleading.
"Himring is either cursed, or empty. If empty...it will ease my heart to look at the old stones. If, as Lindir has said, blood seeps the walls and crys for more to flow through my prince's corridors, rank crimson liquid death...then it is a curse we have a duty to cleanse, my friends. We intend to leave Middle-earth. On that...most of us are agreed, at least in a part of our soul. Himring is our matter, our duty, our responsibility, our past. We cannot leave it for Men to conclude its long and dark tale. They do not know its ways, its history, its danger. If it is more than a shell, a ruin...then we must make it so. One last noble deed, friends. Why else would the Valar have left it standing?"
He paused, briefly, before starting again. "What have we done to deserve our rest across the sea? Blood is on all our hands. If Himring is still darkened, then its continued presence is a gift from fate. A chance for redemption. A chance for repentance. A chance to render us all the innocents we once were. And I intend to take that chance."
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