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In the confusion of responses to the ghostly song, Endamir strove to gather his wits about him. Malris bore a mad look in his eye, and certain that it was indeed Maglor who sang to them, he urged his companions to rise and seek out the long gone Elf.
‘Cast away yon helm and seek our lord’s voice.’ Malris voice rang out with urgency, as one possessed.
‘This cannot be,’ thought Endamir. ‘It is some trick of the wind and sea. Maglor does not sing to us. He is gone; thrown himself into the sea.’ ‘And besides, he spoke aloud, in a querulous, weary old voice, though no one stood near him, ‘it was Maedhros who bore the title of lord for me.’
Still, for all his doubts, he strode quickly to where his sword lay and picking it up from his heap of belongings, he buckled the belt which bore it round his hips. His hand rested lightly on the pommel. The feel of the cold metal was real against his flesh and he wondered how he thought he would defend himself and his friends against some fleshless spirit. If that is what had called to them . . .
His steps bore him to Malris’ side. As in the long past days his feet had done before. Malris called and he answered. It had seemed quite a simple task then.
Now his gaze turned to where Orëmir bent to give Lindir a hand. With his other hand, his brother picked up the helm that had so recently been the center of attention and handed it to the now standing Lindir. He could see Orëmir lean in close to Lindir, whispering a few words to him. Lindir nodded gravely and stuffed the helm into his pack.
For all of Malris’ exhortation, the helm would not be cast into the sea. Endamir saw in his brother’s face that Malris’ words had not convinced him. Orëmir respected the Valar, but he held dear the race of Men, too, as Malris did not. And who was Malris to speak for the Valar?
He was sure, too, that in that moment of quiet exchange, Orëmir had made a promise to Lindir. One he would carry through on. Endamir wondered if the others understood what his brother had meant by his offer to take it to Tol Morwen. Orëmir’s conviction was a sore point between the two siblings, but one they had not discussed with others. It was in Endamir’s mind that when the time came, his brother would choose the same as he . . . to go into the West. Now here was Orëmir saying those words in the presence of their old companions. Making them real, in a way. The intent behind them crystallized, cutting Enadamir’s heart.
He turned his attention back to Malris. ‘Let’s get on it with it then,’ he said curtly, shouldering his own pack. Perhaps the pursuit of some ephemeral voice would be engrossing enough to take his mind from the other bleak line of consideration.
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