[Anguirel]

When each Elf had decided whether to go on or to take the long-awaited chance of departure, Malris turned to the Chamberlain's chair.

"The Lady Tasarënì and I mean to accept...Lord Maglor's...offer," he said carefully.

"Do you desire a guide?" the Chamberlain's voice murmured, almost wheedling.

"Nay, I remember the way to that Tower now as clearly as I remember the forecourt of my own house in Forlindon."

"Very well, very good," the voice concluded. "Then it is time, once more."

Ignoring this enigmatic parting shot, Malris and Tasa turned their faces towards each other, nodded in unison, and with their heads held high left the throneroom for the chambers beyond and the way to the Observatory Tower.

***

It was a long way to the loftiest point of lofty Himring, but the two Elves passed it in silence. Neither were given to unnecessary talk, and little now needed to be said. Malris thanked Tasa for this act of friendship and unconditional love, in accompanying him to an uncertain end, in every movement he made, every glance he directed, every breath he took. And she thought in answer that her deed was nothing, only love's due, and meant it.

Both now knew that theirs had always been a union forbidden by the very movements of the stars; and even Tasa's regret was slight now. If they left the Observatory still themselves, they would be free to part separately once more. What they had achieved was nobler than passion. It was the love of courage, fellowship and charity.

***

"Here we are," Malris said quietly at last, as they traversed the last winding staircase, passed a window that gazed over the whole isle, and saw a door ahead.

"Before we enter," Tasa whispered, for the awe of the tower seemed to exact a lowering of the voice, "I would look upon the path we took."

"And I also."

They went up to the ledge of the window and, feeling like very children, climbed upon it. The walls of the Keep spread out below them, grey and stern, conquered at the last by gulls, not Orcs. Beyond the concentric walls, punctuated with bastions, ran; in one of these stout edifices they had encountered Giledhel's shade and perforce descended to the Dwarven Corridors. The fortress' main gate brought back memories of the struggle with the Orcish spirits for the Dragon-Helm. And the jagged slopes of rock where Tasa had stumbled lay out of sight; the Sea too, though they heard it, and its appeal, its song in its way as compelling as the Singer of Himring; seeming to derive its power from the same source, almost.

Malris picked himself up, Tasa too, and they approached the door. They knocked, but no answer came back. At last, remembering the doors that had shut against their passage with unease, they tried its handle. It opened easily.

***

The Observatory Tower's highest chamber had been where both Maedhros and Maglor had slept in the years after the Bragollach, and the division between the minds of the two brothers could still be seen. In one half of the room stood a desk on which a map of drowned Beleriand rested, a rough pallet of straw lay in the corner, and alcoves for arms stood about.

In the other half of the chamber was a softer bed and a harp.

It was no simple instrument of light wood; but though it was of metal, little more could be said precisely of its construction, for its colour changed every time it was looked at; now red-gold, now moon-silver, now greenish like aged copper. It was fashioned like a ship cast upwards by a wave, splaying foam modelled at its front.

Runes read about its base; as Malris and Tasa walked about it, they made out two simple sentences;

HE NEVER CAME BACK AMONG THE PEOPLE OF THE ELVES

and

PLAY ME, JOIN HIM.

As they stood gripped by wonder and foreboding, Malris and Tasa suddenly stepped back in alarm; for the strings of the harp were moving, and sound was ringing mellifluously out. Before long it was joined by a Voice-the Voice, apparently Maglor's, that they knew so well.

Don't be disappointed, though Maglor I'm not
He poured Feanorion skill in my craft.
Even after he left me our bond was unbroken
And I know every Song that the Singer has Sung.

You look on me, weary, and broken, and harried,
Consider the Gift that I can bestow.
And think on the Minstrels who faded so well
Evading the Valar, history, and song.

Their names I can tell you: Daeron, Maglor, Salgant
Of Forest and Fortress; with others who sang.
Now Forest and Fortress to ruin are wracked
But they're witness still to the wandering world.

Renounce the West's shrill call, and defy the Gulls
And watch Seven Ages and feel not a day.
Caress these strings once, and that number you'll join
Of the Vanishing Harpers who shrug and play on...

The harp and the Voice-which, it was now apparent, the Harp itself possessed-died away now, and Malris frowned in silence at the beauteous instrument.

"A kind of freedom, perhaps, what it offers," Malris muttered, "a chance to last with Arda, despite everything. Can it be trusted? I wonder..."

His arms strayed towards the instrument, only to be absently drawn back. He looked to Tasa.

"Does this choice attract you now, in this hour?"