[Anguirel]

Malris awoke first, and his first thoughts were filled with a kind of tranquil awe. Here, in this silent, timeless underland, he and his friends seemed to be standing as if statues portraying long-forgotten legends, or wars. He swung his arm and stepped a pace back in surprise when it moved, waving both arms now, reaccustoming himself to consciousness, and to duty.

The Song hung not so far back in the dusty finery of his mind. Maglor had given them Sleep; had it been a benevolent gift? And what...what had he meant by them coming...to him...in the morn? This morning?

Lindir and Endamir, Orëmir slung over Endamir's shoulder, stood slightly ahead of him. Orëmir, Malris realised with trepidation, seemed about as alive as the others appeared dead. Dead and living visages had congealed and met, reunited in the equality of sleep. He turned about-Lómwë was a pace behind him, looking to Tasa as a shepherd regards a lamb he guides. Malris felt worry for Tasa's sake-the tumultuous and terrible happenings had driven her from his thoughts.

So it was she he chose to awake first, tapping her shoulder firmly, but gently. Her eyes-like those of all the others-were open as they dreamed; he watched as the shimmering irises returned to contemplation of a more earthly existence, looking on fondly.

"Malris," she said hazily. "We...there was music, and we..."

"We have all slept, though I know not for how long. Now we must arise, all of us, and depart from the isle at last. The Smith desired us to go by the Keep, but I have no wish to prolong this fool's journey."

"The Smith?" Tasa questioned. Malris raised an eyebrow; perhaps she was still confused by sleep; but as they talked it became clear she had not taken in the spirit's presence in the night before, nor indeed much else; it had all been an unravelling knot of bewildering, unsortable emotions. Now Malris tried his best to illumine it by the lamp of reason, and made the awful sundering of the twins as clear as he could.

They turned back to the other three Elves. Lómwë was now being affected by the tides of wakefulness, and Lindir too stirred. The light and warmth of the forgery had long since been snuffed out, but the keen Elven eyes adjusted to the gloom. At last all four were fully awake, and Endamir too was half-conscious; Lindir stepped towards him, taking his hand with an almost brotherly touch...though not enough, certainly, to replace what had been lost.

It was the quietest of their wakings on this Island of Sorrow; yet perhaps the one most filled with meaning.