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The gulls were starting to disperse now, and Malris called down a curt affirmation that he had Tasa held safely. He braced his slight, wiry frame for the increased weight on the rope; Tasa's adjustment was slow, and his physical preparation proved quite enough for the change. The rope now in both of his hands, he murmured "loke" again into the wind; the line glided through his fists, caressing rather than burning, and coiled easily around his waist, securing itself absolutely.
"Tasa," he shouted downwards towards where he could see the bobbing of her golden head, "Tasa? I've bound myself to you. You'll be safe."
The phrase called back an unbidden-apparently unbidden-memory...a starrying evening...his friends and comrades gathered on the Great Southern Balcony of Himring...a voice, the mightiest voice of the Eldar, speaking...
"In this way Malris has bound himself to Giledhel...and while this fortress stands, an everpresent defiance and reproach to the Dark Enemy of the World, they shall be as content as any of our kind have ever been, and their union will flourish!"
A widespread cheer. Tasa in the crowd, shimmering happiness, nostalgia, sorrow caught in the globes of her eyes. Lomwe and his wife, some months pregnant, smiling widely. Maedhros, armoured as ever, laughing uproariously as he clapped his remaining hand on his breastplate, shaking his fiery head...Curufin teasing his musician brother...
Maglor, harp in hands, extatic, yes, but with solemnity in those eyes. How much did he see, Maglor the Harper? How much did he guess? He strikes up a rhythm now...and the memory fades.
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