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The fair voice of the male Elf was clear and bright in the smoke filled room. And that of his sister wove in and about the lament in a lovely harmony. Hithadan’s gaze swept round the room, gauging the crowd’s reaction. Not many, indeed hardly any of those gathered, would understand what the song was about. But he could read in their faces their appreciation of the great sorrow which lay behind the words.
‘Now tell me Gil-galad’s fate was not sung most sorrowfully and most fair,’ he spoke low to Tavaro. ‘Surely the songs of the lad and of Mistress Tanwen are tinged with sorrow. But that of the Elves just sung is marrow-deep sorrow itself.’
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