[Envinyatar]

What deviltry was this? Chains of Elven truesilver, bright and strong, came snaking across the floor toward his ankles. They were borne on the words the Smith wove in the chamber; subtle, transient words just beyond the reach of even the keen ears of the Elves. But words none the less filled with old power. Orëmir had no gift or skill to ward off the foulness that was now contrived to bind him and his companions.

Worse, though, were the effects of the Smith’s false wizardry on his brother. Endamir seemed ensorcelled; bound not by visible chains but by more insidious fetters which robbed him of his judgment and his good sense.

Orëmir’s hands and arms were not yet bound. And the light links of the chains had not yet tightened on his ankles when he drew his blade.

‘Let go my brother, fiend! Was his mind not befogged he would not be the “loyal” puppet your wine and words have made him!’ he cried to the Smith. ‘Free us all, lest you fall altogether into shadow and are shown rightly to now be the Constrainer’s tool.’

He stepped as much as the chains would allow toward where he'd last seen the Smith. Orëmir raised his sword and made to strike . . .