[Child of the 7th Age]

As the fire burned low and dark shadows engulfed the small group, Lindir sat by himself, with legs hunched against his chest, totally unable to sleep. Even the physical presence of the dragon helm, which he cradled gently within his arms, provided little consolation for the events of the day.

What the voice was Lindir could not say. Though refusing to believe Maglor was alive, he could not deny that this strange music of the night carried an undertone of urgency not easily gainsaid. But what disturbed Lindir more than the ghostly whispering was the look of madness in Malris' face. He had seen that look before. His fingers slipped unwillingly to the golden brooch pinned near the top of his cloak as his mind slipped back to a time more than three thousand years before.....

The madness of battle, the urge to kill, could lead to destruction. He had seen too much of that in the First Age. But there was another road just as dangerous: the desire to do good....even beyond that, the unwavering belief that one can take things into one's hands and have complete control over the course of events.

Celebrimbor had been so certain his path would lead to goodness; he had convinced the others that the secrets Sauron had revealed could help them craft objects of great power that would heal the injuries of Arda. Lindir had been no different than the others. In great excitement and with absolute faith, he had helped forge the lesser rings and had begun work on the Seven and the Nine. But, as the Elves had continued their work and some had begun to question what they were doing, Celebrimbor had refused to listen, even withdrawing from the others to work on his own. Even when he had fully understood the deceit of Sauron, Celebrimbor had refused to alter his course, seemingly unable to stop himself.

Lindir shuddered in remembrance. Tonight Malris had seemed eerily like Celebrimbor. To push on blindly in the middle of the night attempting to scale a rocky cliff was little short of madness. Yet Malris apparently believed in the absolute goodness of what he was doing. And the voice he was following? Was it merely a ghost playing tricks with the wind, or something more dangerous that was sunk in evil and shadow?

Lindir was not sure. But he did know one thing. He had not followed Celebrimbor to the end. Seeing Celebrimbor headed towards what looked like an open precipice, Lindir had turned away and retraced his footsteps to Lindon, vowing two things: never again to place his hand on the forge and never to follow a madman to death. He had honored that pledge in all the years following. He did not intend to break that promise now, not even for Malris.