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It shocked him to know how little the other Elves understood about him. He had no more desire to die than they, he only wished to make that death worth while. But why do you think only of death? He did not turn to Coromswyth. Instead he returned Calenvása’s gaze. Because it is inevitable, he replied. Aloud he said, “I have been fighting the long defeat for the length of memory. I have come to accept that there is, in the end, no hope for Middle-Earth and for those whose fate it is to remain here. My only wish is to save what can be saved. For many long years I have sought to convince my Lord and Lady to take the straight Road into the West, but ever have they remained. I cannot save them from this folly, but I will not let them be destroyed. If my death is the only way to save them, then I will give away my life gladly.”
Calenvása’s eyes grew wide with shock. “I had not idea, Ambarturion, that you were so sick at heart with despair.” The younger Elf’s face and voice were utterly sincere, and the expression of his feeling was of such purity that it shocked Ambaturion into silence. “Have you really forsaken all hope for this land? Do you truly see no path to life and victory over the Enemy?”
“No.” The word slipped from him before he had noticed, and it hung there in the still morning air like a reproach.
Ambarturion swayed slightly, like an oak whose time had come to fall to the earth. But Coromswyth once more steadied him with a touch. He turned to her, and was stilled when he saw in her gentle smile that she did not condemn him despair. It stabbed him deeply that she acknowledged it at all.
Into the silence that had fallen upon the glade, it was Megilaes who spoke. “Master,” he began, and there was in his voice a timbre and age new to him. “The Captain is right. You must not fight this war in despair of failure, but in hope of victory. My brother was slain and I will seek his vengeance, but I shall not find it by throwing away my own life.”
Ambarturion turned to his student, and those gathered about were stunned when he asked softly, “What should we do?”
Megilaes put his hand upon his teacher’s shoulder. “Let us do as Calenvása has suggested. Let us return to our land and warn them of the danger. Then, with some more of our kin we can march out and meet our enemies upon the field of reckoning.”
Ambarturion put his own hand upon Megilaes’ forearm and nodded. The faintest hint of a smile crossed his face, like the feel of sunshine through clouds. He turned to Calenvása. “Come,” he said. “I have heard that the feet of our Mirkwood kin are fleet, but they shall have to be swift indeed to keep pace with me this day!” He spun and ran toward the West, and his passing was as of the wind in the grass. The others ran after him upon feet as light. And as they ran, they heard Ambarturion laughing.
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