[Anguirel]

No sooner had Lindir spoken his fateful, entrapped words than the Master-Smith's broad frame hulked all too visibly at his side, clutching a hammer and striking both the chains around the Elf's legs with blows that looked mighty but felt light. The fetters fell directly aside, pointing as they glinted to the table where the elaborate mail lay, making the task ahead clear.

"I am glad," the Smith replied in a voice that strained to be anything of the kind, "that you remembered the way of duty...and of friendship, Lindir. Though indeed, I know of no Diviner, save the Lord's soothsayer, and he was male...but in any case, Lindir, I entrust a most important errand to you."

The spirit paused. His voice had begun to tail off. He almost sounded exhausted.

"You are very skilful, Lindir, always were, one of my best, had you marked out for great things, boy. Look after the others; teach them how the plate must be set over the hauberk and the Armour made ready for the Lord's Coming. I...have other things to attend to..."

Lomwe's mind was now the only even partly sane one in the armoury, and he was thus the only Elf who could deduce the increasing desolation and self-horror behind the Smith's words.

"Take care of Endamir especially, Lindir my boy. Keep the wine flowing, pass it round, keep Endamir in a...sound, sedate mood. I need to attend to his brother. He has been hurt slightly. Only a little. He will get better..."

And the Smith swept from sight, headed to the chamber beyond where he had taken Oremir's body.