[Envinyatar]

In the Halls of Waiting . . .


‘Yes, my lady,’ came the voice of Calëlindo. ‘We do remember . . .’

‘Our names, our lives . . .’ followed Salmarion. His voice dropped low, filled with regret and sorrow as he went on. ‘And our dark, evil acts.’

‘And your kindness, my lady,’ came Alcamírië. ‘We clung to those words of hope, slender as that promise seemed. And here we are.’ He pointed to each of his companions. ‘Calëlindo, who in those long dark ages was called Gor--’

A thunderous look of disapproval from Námo recalled the admonition against speaking the Black Language in this place and he swallowed the rest of the name. With a hurried stutter he went on.

‘And I . . . I am Alcamírië. And here, too, is Salmarion.’

Calëlindo could not hold back. A great smile lit his face, and he stepped near her to pat her on the arm as he had done so many times before. ‘We are so glad to find you here, my lady.’