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Orëmir was quiet for a while. In all the time he had been quartered here, he had not been one of the company who mingled with the staff of the fortress. He was one to find his company among the other Elven warriors when he felt social, or with his brother, more often than not, in the quiet enjoyment of each other’s company. A diviner was something beyond his ken. He could not recall one in Imladris. Though he thought perhaps Lord Elrond may have been considered one from Lindir’s words. His skill in osanwë was considered deep and powerful, though Orëmir had never been subjected to it. And he recalled certain stories of how Lord Elrond could see the fates of others if he bent his mind and will to it. But in comparison to this Diviner of which Lindir spoke, Lord Elrond seemed a kindly sort for all his depth of wisdom.
‘Were I you, Lindir, I would not want to subject myself to such a one . . . and certainly not for a second time.’ Orëmir shook his head at the thought. ‘And as for the layers of pretense – at some points in each of our lives that pretense is the only thing that keeps us sane enough to move forward and finish what tasks must be done.’
Orëmir poured himself another mug of hot tea and sat down near Lindir. His back rested against his pack and his long legs stretched before him, one ankle resting on the other. ‘I know ‘tis not the best decision to judge another before having met them. But – I think I do not care for this Diviner, already. There is too much power vested in him, or rather her. And power, I’ve noted from my own small acquaintance with those who wield it, often tends to abuse.’ He shivered at the thought of someone stripping away the layers of his mind, looking deep into his heart. ‘I am uneasy that my brother is going out to search for this Diviner. Uneasy that we are to trust your recovery to . . . her.’
He looked far into the distance, beyond the tumbled stones of the courtyard. His grey eyes seemed unfocused, looking inward as much as outward. Orëmir’s attention was held by an image his mind had conjured . . . a beam of clear white light shone brightly on the ground, hedged in by the darker shadings about its edge. It was hard to say whether the light pushed back the dark, or the dark defined the light. He blinked his eyes, willing away the image.
‘This is an ill-starred undertaking,’ he murmured. ‘We should not have come.’ He looked at Lindir with considering eyes, wondering if he and Endamir would be strong enough together to take him back to the ship. All his senses cried out to him to call back his brother and flee.
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