"...And then Mother said something placid. I don't know what."

"And then you came here."

"Yes."

Findaráto peered through the gloom of his father's atrium, attempting to make out Arakáno's face.

"You'll have to go back quite soon, you know. Your parents must be worrying about you."

"I suppose so. But can I stay here just for the moment?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Let me offer you a seat - if I can find one..." Findaráto added. He walked into a chair. "Oh, look, here's one! Do sit down. Let me bring you a glass of water."

When he came back, Arakáno, seated in the dangerous chair, was holding his head in his hands, as if to stop it from falling apart. A picture of misery, not even crying, he seemed to be entirely unaware of his cousin's presence.

For a moment, before obeying his chief impulse to offer comfort, Findaráto stood and looked at him. The image was deeply impressive to him. Later, when he remembered that time, it was, amidst his, Findaráto's, personal troubles, which were legion, this dim form of the child lost in the dark forest that came first to mind. He could not even have explained the significance of the half-seen tableau. It was a moment to bite deeply into the soul.

.~.~.~.~.

When Maitimo had set out into the darkness of Tirion, his aim had been to find his mother, whom he had caught sight of in the Square of the King during his father's great speech. He was still convinced that she must be somewhere in the city, but would now be perfectly contented with finding his way back to his starting point. To find Nerdanel too would simply be too much to expect. He was hopelessly lost in the maze that Tirion had become. Between the high walls of the Alley of Roses, light was no more than a distant memory. Maitimo was obliged to feel his way along.

He anticipated neither the sudden turn nor the fellow-traveller around it. They collided, heavily.

"Look where you're going!" the other person cried in a voice made sharp by fear. "Oh."

"Oh", Maitimo echoed, hollowly. It was Findekáno.

They looked at each other, or at least in each other's directions. Both longed to flee; but princes of the House of Finwë did not flee. The unspoken rules of polite society - rules of iron, rules strong enough to survive the end of a world - forbade that sort of thing.

Findekáno swallowed. He said, with a sort of desperate good cheer, "Hello! How are you these Days?"

"Very well!" Maitimo replied in kind. "What about you? How are you? How is - your mother?"

"She is in excellent health, thank you for asking!"

"Good!"

If this goes on for much longer, Maitimo thought, I will comment on the terrible weather. I will. I know I will.

He attempted to sidle past Findekáno, who reached out and seized his arm:

"Wait!"

Maitimo looked down at his cousin's hand as if it was something particularly unpleasant that had happened to settle on his sleeve.

"Yes?"

Findekáno had reached out in some desperate urge to communicate with this one who had once been closer than a brother to him; but he could not now think of anything to say.

He said, "I'm looking for my little brother, you know."

"Really? But how very interesting!" Maitimo returned. "Will you let go of my arm now?"