[Firefoot]

Not even the pleasant memories brought by the old ditty could wholly assuage Lómwë’s irritation at Malris’ terse tone. Malris, it seemed, still expected them all to follow him, like ducklings, maybe, or dogs that could be appropriately scolded and called to heel. Though he himself had not been the object of Malris’ annoyance, he found himself siding with Lindir and Orëmir. Leader though he once had been, in this situation Malris ought to have been acting more like the first among equals, and Lómwë was not even sure he even deserved that appellation anymore.

Malris had waved for them to follow him, just before the song had begun, but Lómwë stubbornly remained rooted in place. Endamir and Orëmir, he saw, had also removed themselves from the group a bit and were conversing quietly.

What reason have I to follow you, Malris? Then, directed to himself, You don’t do well following… haven’t you learned that about yourself by now? How many disasters of his life would have been averted by following his own counsel…?

“You have a family, Lómwë! Must you go?” Ellothiel’s voice was pleading, angry almost. He tried to stop the memories, leave them in the past, but his weakened mental barriers were of no use.

“You know I must go,” he chided gently, his face asking her to understand, though she did not see it; she had turned her back. Lómwë came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, but she pulled away and turned to face him, still saying nothing.

“We knew this time would come… eventually. I have to go. They’ve broken the siege, and if we do not stop them, all Beleriand will be laid waste…” His voice trailed off, his duty and love fighting for precedence.

“It’s that letter, isn’t it? Not the scant news we heard, but the letter.”

“Not wholly…” Lómwë answered. The previous day, he had received a letter from Malris, explaining the situation in detail – in other words, explaining the need for help. All along he had known somewhere in the back of his mind that this peace they had been experiencing was only a temporary respite, and Malris was an old friend. To fight was his duty.

“And if you don’t come back, Lómwë, then what?” Then, for the first time, he noticed the traces of fear in her eyes, and he understood.

“I’ll come back,” he whispered. “I promise. But I have to go.” This time she didn’t pull away from his embrace.

“I know,” she answered. “But that doesn’t mean I want you to.”

He had left the next day, and ever after wished he hadn’t. Because if he hadn’t… No.

Mind reeling, he returned to the present. He knew he couldn’t blame Malris for that innocent letter sent thousands of years ago, but at least a part of him did. If he had thought, he would have known he wasn’t thinking straight, but that didn’t occur to him. Purposefully, he strode over to where Malris was waiting to be joined.

“I don’t know why I’m still following you, Malris,” he whispered fiercely as he passed. “In fact, I don’t even know if I am.” With that, he passed the other Elf, heading into the same section of the fortress where Malris had been going.