#withweightedhand

Námo would not allow Mablung to continue wandering his halls in search of him, though he had not been far, and Míriel watched from the distance at her current stow with a quiet smile. Námo had never spoken his purpose to her for he hadn’t any need or reason; it was known. Many that resided here for long were of similar state of awareness, and they knew the reason the Master of Visions chose to manifest from the darkness within corporeal body near the captain’s side. Sheer fabric wrapped around dark limbs, silent as his step, and he placed a hand on the shoulder nearest for he understood the reaction he’d receive and was wholly unconcerned.

Tonight was different in that the view held little impact on him as the stone beneath his feet became dirt once more and the bridge lay behind. Nothing more than moonlight aided the journey into complete darkness where only once the short passage underground would conceal the heat of fire were torches used. Beyond the bevy who cared for the horses, the guards, and stables lay the gates of the city and when opened brilliant light flooded the corridor for a few mere moments.

Beleg could tirelessly wander but this wear was not his body though it felt heavy with the thoughts that weighted him. It was disappointment and he was being a child about it; reminding himself that there was plenty of time, that it didn't need to be now, and that he was being silly didn't bring him out of it. In spite of himself he managed not to be grumpy when he spoke with Thingol; he could be far too eager about some ideas.

But, he wanted–.