[Anguirel]

Malris nodded as he listened to the rest of the companions reacting to his words. The reproaches hurt him, but he was prepared to accept them, up to a point-and that point was the exploration of Himring.

"Tasa...let me apologise for barking orders at you," he teased. "I shall in future remember that it was entirely your tactical skills, your courage, your initiative, that single-handedly won us the Dagor Aglareb. Fingon? Do not speak of Fingon, nor of Maedhros...'twas all the work of Tasareni the Fair..."

Still, I was not wrong to count on her help, he thought. And Endamir stands by be what the Halflings call "auld lang syne", as well, though the expedition goes against his wishes. Lomwe has adopted a position of unassailable wisdom, and qualifies my rhetoric...but he is for going. It is Oremir and Lindir, then, that are still to be persuaded.

"Lindir...none of my dull words will make you feel as I feel, most probably. You have seen the journey as ill-starred, and worse. But all I can do is repeat...would you have unknowing humans, mariners of the race of Men, whether of the Big or Little Folks, tread on such an unfortunate spot? We should leave them a gift by lifting fear and peril from the Chill Mount. But if you will not come...you will not. As for Oremir...all I can say, is that I understand your love of Endor, and wish with all my heart I still shared it."

Malris drew Cirlach suddenly, swinging it upwards and slicing the rope that kept the black sail bound. The canvas careered downwards, and in its dark expanse a white star gleamed.

"I sewed it on myself," Malris explained proudly. "Cirdan insulted me with the colour...I repaid him with the device. It is a beautiful sail now, to my mind...and Elbereth's mercy may watch it. Aboard, Lindir, unless you still desire another, safer passage...and the sea will be our road once again, my friends."