[Anguirel]

"It is time, I believe, to go home," Tasa had said, appealing to Malris with her wide, shimmering eyes.

He did not answer for a moment. His left arm was stiff from the flailing and contorting he had had put it to during the fight, his right arm covered with scratches when he had thrown it in front of his battle, the blood of his hands mixing with Tasa's. He felt the left, sword-arm creak as he bent it back into line to sheath Cirlach. The ease with which the steel slid into its scabbard, fitting perfectly, seemed to rebuke both his physical state and the trouble in his mind.

Giledhel had not reached Mandos. It still scarcely bore thinking about. That she had clung to this dank failed dream of military triumph, with her slayers for company, rather than return to the love of her family, the mother and sisters back in Tirion. Malris had never met any of these, nor her father, killed in the Aglareb; they all belonged to a separate existence of Giledhel's, and when she had chosen life with Malris it had been forever. For that life with Malris she had remained here, clinging to a loom and a defunct marriage-bed.

"We must hope that Endamir and Lomwe had more success than we did," he said at last. "We can't leave this island, Tasa, while Lindir's hroa is still in danger. I brought him here against his fears. Though he concealed the cursed Dragon-helm from me, I cannot let him suffer torment...I know you understand..."

He was struggling to use osanwe-kenta to find Endamir. Tasa still seemed shaken, and he kept clasping at her hand, absently, to reassure them both, as he struggled to find his friend's errant mind.

Endamir, how goes it? Have you found the Diviner?

Nothing. He repeated the question. Equally barren. Perplexed and irritated, he tried a third time.

"Malris," Tasareni chided gently, "that last time you spoke aloud. It's this place...something about this room...I can't reach outside it; in the One's name, let's go..."

"Aye," said Malris curtly. Every step down the crumbling stairs seemed like a coward's retreat. Giledhel and the Orcs were gone; but he knew he was leaving her to return to this place, to the loom and the bed, eventually...

She has to come to Mandos. I will go back. I will.

"I think the crows hurt my arm slightly...I can't...open this door," Tasa gasped out.

"Let me do it," Malris answered, a touch impatiently. "I heard it slam hard before. Perhaps a piece of rock holds it too fast..."

But when he wrested with the ancient handle, layers, centuries of rust adhering to his weary palm, the effects were small and the door stood firm. Tasa joined in, and they strove against the stubborn door together, but it remained turned, obdurate, against their exit.

"It's as if the join...just doesn't exist anymore..." Malris muttered darkly. "The cruel trick of a malign spirit...to trap ones such as we in a marriage-chamber..."

Exhausted in body and thought, he slumped back upon the stairs.