[Envinyatar]

Orëmir caught the warning Lindir had given to his brother. He could not read what underlay the craftsman’s words and he wondered at them. Surely Lindir of all Elves would revere the Master Smith. But along with Lindir’s silent warning words was a look upon his face of reluctance mixed with dread . . . a very real aversion.

There was really no choice, though, but to go into the fire lit chambers of the old Elven Smith. The last of their brands had sputtered out in the deep darkness of the corridor. Orëmir kept his eyes and ears open for any trap the Master Smith might spring upon them. But he seemed harmless enough, and was so genuinely pleased to see them all. And try as he might, Orëmir could not sense any foul presence near them in the chamber.

‘Master Smith, we are seeking that very Malris that you named. He and another companion of ours have gotten separated from us. And we fear they are lost somewhere in the great underground hallways of the fortress.’

Orëmir stepped closer to the forge, his eyes on the Smith as the light from the fire played about his form. ‘Might you have heard them? We need to find them and be on our way.'