[Envinyatar]

Orëmir had been speaking with Lindir when “the Voice” began its song. ‘What is that, that sings of old deeds here on Himring’s top?’ Oremir asked? Lindir shrugged, his eyes flicking to where Malris stood with a delirious look in his eyes. The years had fallen away from Malris and now he commanded his little troop as of old, though now, it seemed, with a sort of rash hysteria.

‘. . . seek our Lord’s voice!’

Endamir, Orëmir noted, had taken up his blade with a slow reserve and had gone to stand by Malris. ‘Ever faithful to his old friends,’ he thought ungrudgingly. ‘But, brother mine, you can’t stop my wish to turn you from your choice by involving yourself in some foolhardy undertaking.’

‘Malris!’ Orëmir called aloud, drawing the attention of the two that had rallied about their old commander. ‘Sure as you are that this may be Maglor and his harping, more surely you will want to look to your troops first before you take off after some airy phantom. For our part, we’re tired and hungry. For your part, what proof is there that this is Maglor’s voice? Perhaps it is some old trick conjured by one of the Enemy’s spawn. Something to lure us to our deaths as revenge. The night is dark and there are many places among the rocks and further ruins that such a one or ones could hide. Would it not be better to secure our little camp with watches? And wait ‘til the sun drives back the darkness?’

He raised his brow at Malris. ‘Surely, if it is indeed Maglor, he will sing again to us in the daylight and draw us to him. Or if it be some other ill-willed spirit, then we will more ready after a meal and a rest to ferret him out. I’ll take the first watch after the meal, if you wish. What say you?’