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‘We have all gone mad!’ Endamir staggered down the stairs, watching Lómwë’s back disappear around a bend off the next landing. The man seemed preoccupied . . . no . . . spellbound, as if he walked in a dream. Endamir called after him, but there was no answer nor did the man’s footsteps pause as if in recognition of the sound. He cast a baleful eye at the brackets on the wall, daring them to make comment.
Orëmir’s thoughts grew fainter as the moments passed. The dream that his brother had been caught in had broken into disjointed shards and he could feel Orëmir’s growing concern for Lindir and his fear as he followed after their companion’s spirit.
His attention given only slightly to the route he was taking, Endamir called mightily to his brother with his mind. His anger at the situation and the frustration of not being near enough to Orëmir to touch him and lend him strength pushed all caution aside. He went deeply into his twin’s thoughts.
All the pretty pieces had now fled . . . the two boys faded in the distance, their faces turning blank and with a wavering shimmer, the two disappeared altogether. The flowers of the garden smeared into patches of muddied color. And the figure of their mother melted into the darkening pool.
Endamir faltered, stumbling against a half crumbled wall as he stepped from the building and into the open square of the fortress’ interior. He shook his head, forcing the images of the dark tunnel and the overwhelming weight of bones upon bones.
Orëmir! Toronya! he hissed, catching the kernel of light his brother held in reserve. Show me the path to the grotto!
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