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Malris was already on his feet, not far from where Tasa lay; watching her silently, draped as she was with his grey cloak. Her pale hair did not challenge in its light, harmonising gently with the gleam of his star brooch near the cloak's hem. Unavoidably reminded of ancient fealty sworn, Malris fingered his black surcoat, all the more visible without his cloak, on which the white Star of Feanor shone. And he did not repudiate it, still thinking of it with sorrowful pride. But at Tasa's question he broke off his thoughts and smiled. Sunlight was seeping through the windows; their third dawn on Himling.
"One of the stairs on the flight leading to this room is loose, Tasa. I can easily get it up with my sword; I crafted it long ago for just such a purpose. It leads into the Lord's Corridors; the maze below the fortress Maedhros had crafted, on the advice of Maglor, after the Bragollach...you recall, perhaps? It was to help should we need to effect a retreat. The Naugrim helped delve it.
"But fate hampered it from being as useful as it might have been. The Naugrim dug by mischance to a great lake beneath the mountains, which sapped at their work and slowed progress." Malris bit his lip. "Some spoke of the Doom at work; but as it may be...after the Nirnaeth few found the Corridors of help."
"The Labyrinth was dangerous then, and is surely perilous after many ages, the Sea leaking into it. But we are not trying to escape the whole fortress and domain, as the refugees did; just to get back to the isle's solid ground. It is a risk, but I think we may conquer it without too much trouble."
Malris shifted closer to Tasa, who had now opened one eye and smiled, as if she were a warm, sportive cat; though he knew her for a cold, exhausted Elf.
"Yes, I know," he admitted, replying to what she had not said. "I have not judged risks well hitherto..."
But he tossed his head back and laughed. It was morning, and they were strong and refreshed; and he trusted in Maglor's guidance. The most contorted paths were to him clear.
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