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Endamir made his way down to where Lindir stood. He clasped his old companion’s arm in greeting, walking with him up to the deck of the ship. ‘I do not think that Malris is wise in this want of his to visit Himling. Were it my choice alone, I would say we seek out Círdan and sail West as soon as is possible. Despite what Malris says, I cannot go back and become the innocent I once was. There can be no ease for my heart to look on the hill’s old stones. Nor do I think these hands can cleanse the curse as he names it from the blood soaked rocks.’ His eyes flicked up to where Malris stood, as beautiful and as brave as he recalled him of old. ‘But this is his request of us, that we accompany him. And all the times that his strong arm defended and sheltered me from certain doom count still for much with me. I will be at his side as I was so many times in those ages, lending my strength to his as I may.’
‘I cannot say what you mean by madness,’ Endamir went on. ‘But if it be that darkness will rise up and mock us in our tainted victories, then I have already walked that thin line that we think separates us from shadow. We . . . I did much wrong and have such regret that I wonder if even the fair light of Aman can bring me ease.’ Though I hope with each breath it may,’ he said in a softer tone.
A fleeting smile graced the tall Elf’s somber features. ‘I have said too much, I suppose. These last years have found me thinking much on this. Even my kind-hearted brother is weary with my gloomy bent of mind.’ He nodded toward where Orëmir stood. ‘He does not want me to go, you know. Over the Sea. His own choice would be to stay here, serving men with his healing arts. He chafes at the fact he cannot heal me of this dark humor.’ Endamir shrugged at this last observation, his gaze resting lightly on Lindir’s face.
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