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The edges of Lómwë’s suspicion had been slowly worn away by the smith’s helpful manner. Perhaps he was not withholding information at all, merely choosing his own time and way to give it. By now, he had given them all the information they had asked for, seemingly as well as he could. He certainly seemed knowledgeable about the island, and he said Malris was coming here… would this not be a fine place to wait…?
He absently took another sip of wine. How strong was this stuff, anyway, that his head should feel so cloudy? He had not even drunk the full glass – and surely this was only the first? Lómwë thought so, but he could not remember clearly. He tried to follow the movement of the smith around the workshop and found the continued disappearing and reappearing increasingly disconcerting. He appeared in front of the doorway. Lómwë frowned. Blocking the doorway… like the hazily remembered lock and key…
“To work, to work!” the smith was now saying. To work? No… he was no smith… but he found himself slowly standing, as if to reach for one of the hammers. No, he ought to be fighting this, right...? Why was his mind so cloudy? He could hardly think; he felt almost dizzy. Dimly he heard Orëmir’s voice; Lómwë’s first inclination was to slap him – why was he talking so loudly? Wait, slap him – where had that come from? Oh, his head! Lómwë felt as if it might split open at any moment.
“This way, Lómwë! Get away from him!” Yes, of course! The fog in his head seemed to thin; he turned to follow Orëmir and Lindir, trying to lead a thrashing Endamir away from the chamber. How foolishly the smith was making them act! This thought brought a new wave of pain through his head; he just wanted to lay down and let it pass – and with this very thought the pain seemed to subside slightly. Lay down, yes… No! He plunged forward after Orëmir and Lindir just in time to have his face whacked by Endamir’s fist. For a second Lómwë thought he would pass out as the general pain in his head centralized in his now broken nose, and it was without thinking that he swung out at the source of this new pain. His fist connected solidly with Endamir’s head even as Endamir called out for help.
In a moment his thoughts cleared despite the intensified pain, and he realized just what he had done. What was this place – the smith! – doing to him!? But the looks he received from Lindir and Orëmir were mixed incredulity, confusion, and relief at Endamir’s abated struggling. “Come on! Let’s carry him out,” said Lómwë, feeling rather abashed. They really had to get away from here…
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