Through the bickering, Tasa had sat alone, engrossed deeply in memory. Her companions' voices interrupted her thoughts but she cast them away, feeling unworthy... the world seemed darker and colder than ever before. Heroes... they were all heroes... and she sat beside them as an equal. She brushed a tear from her eye, staring blankly into the fire. The flames leapt and danced before her as she strove to escape a personal nightmare so surreal that she wanted nothing more than to sleep in peace, alone and unafraid. The falcon flew to her, landing carefully upon her shoulder and preened her hair while chirruping in a concerned and entirely unfalconly way. She smiled sadly, running a finger across his silky brow.
Suddenly an ethereal voice crooned to a ghosted melody, dancing upon the wind like the swallows that were her friends.
On Himring's hill, the night is aflame
And rings with the voices of hope.
A fire of sparks from an army of blades
As we garner the armour, the horses, the rope.
Morgoth, Dark Enemy of the World
Will shudder on his threshold in the North,
For where he sundered us two from one,
He sees now the Wrath of Elf, Man, Dwarf.
Malris jumped to his feet, startling Tasa back to the present. She saw a splended helm beside Lindir, and wondered at it, but saved her questions for later. She had a sinking feeling that she had missed something important while she selfishly stole the time for herself.
"That voice..." she whispered... "I know that voice. Malris?" She looked at her friend with question in his eye. He read her glance and recognized it. If he would lead, she would follow.