Houses of Healing, Rivendell, Third Age 2462
Two years after the end of the Watchful Peace
Day ???, Evening
Himmaethel's hand twitched. Her fingers brushed against something soft as her mind was slowly pulled out of the realm of dreams, bringing her back into the material world of Middle-Earth. She did not know how much time had passed. She did not know where she was. All she knew was that she had slumbered deeply - and long that slumber had felt like, as the brightness of light pierced even through her eyelids.
"Aiya, hîr nîn, look. The Lady Sídhirien stirs." A voice said from somewhere to her right.
"Truly?" Another, lower-pitched voice; The voice of her brother, Mainolthon: "Himmaethel? Sister, are you awake?"
"Brother..." Himmaethel shut her mouth instantly and the tears began to well in her eyes, fear and panic growing within her belly. She did not want to see him. Not now. As the memories of the despairing skirmish came back to her, the young elleth curled on to her side to hide her sorrow, "Please leave."
"Himmaethel..." Her brother began again, his voice softening, "You are safe now. We are in the Houses of Healing, in Imladris--"
"Please leave--!"
"Himmaethel!" Suddenly, Himmaethel found herself being rolled rather roughly to face the other side of the mattress she was lying on. She opened her eyes, reluctantly, and met with the gaze of her brother, Mainolthon, the Wind Storm Thandalagos, once blessed with the Gift of Foresight in years long since passed. His grey eyes were the colour of his namesake -- clouded with sorrow and turbulent --, his hair windswept, as if he had just arrived, and tears running down his cheeks, much like how hers were rapidly starting to slide and drip off the bridge of her nose.
The room they were in was small. Next to her bed, there was a red table, with a pot of flowers and a well-wishing card laid out. The curtains had been pulled back to let light in, and Himmaethel's eyes found themselves staring out at the yellow foliage of the trees outside, yearning to be among them. Her brother sat on a stool next to the bed, a screen divider behind him ensuring that they would have their privacy. The elleth who had alerted her brother of Himmaethel's waking up was stood off to the side, staring absently into nothing.
Her brother let out a shuddering breath: "I know."
He knew? The panic in Himmaethel worsened. He was told of Díllothel and Hallothel's passing? The elleth wanted to melt into the welcoming embrace of the stone-tiling, run away from scene to never return, but under the intense, despairing gaze of her brother, and the firm grip with which she was being held down, Himmaethel had no choice but to stay and share in his sadness.
"You... you were told?" She breathed out shakily. She reflexively curled into a ball, but a searing pain in her right arm made her recoil and wince. Her brother shook his head, a grim, dull look in his eye. It reminded Himmaethel of the look Hallothel gave her before she was told to run.
"I know because I saw it. In my dreams." He quickly explained, before Himmaethel had a chance to protest and refute his claims. She shut her mouth and grimaced, unable to meet her brother's eyes anymore, as he continued, "Ages past. Many, many yéni1 before you were born. Long have I questioned why I was given such a dream by the Valar, but when I saw you being brought back from the mountains, collapsed from exhaustion and defenseless, I knew I had my answer."
Himmaethel sobbed, and threw herself into Mainolthon's arms, "I'm-- I'm sorry, brother. I tried to fight back-- to save them, but... b-but..."
"... She told you to run, didn't she?" Her brother replied with a soft voice, but Himmaethel found no comfort in his embrace, and neither did Mainolthon in hers. She could tell by the way his form stiffened, how the coldness began to seep into his voice. Her brother was angry; "Amarth faeg2... Hallothel, of course..."
The silence was deafening. Mainolthon had began to shake, the trembling like those of leaves disturbed by an ill wind. Himmaethel knew that she would have to shoulder the brunt of his wrath, and indeed, when they finally broke apart, her brother glared at her with the icyness of a thousand glaciers; "Why did you obey her?!"
"I did not wish to leave her, brother, what else could I have done?!" Himmaethel demanded, her voice becoming meek in the onslaught of words.
"You could have fought, you could have saved her--!"
"I had to fight off the accursed yrch--"
"And left her to fend for herself?!"
"She did not want me to peri--"
Himmaethel stopped. The Elven attendant who had been in the room with them gasped in horror. The scout lifted a hand to her cheek, a bright red mark upon the spot where Mainolthon had struck her with his open palm.
Her brother cast his eyes down, the anger subsiding as he sighed, "Forgive me."
She said nothing, nursing the spot that was struck, and closed her eyes, a fresh batch of tears running down her cheeks. The world around her had become strangely cold, and the light from outside seemed to be taunting her, belittling her position in this prison of recovery.
"At first," Her brother began, his voice flat and monotone, "I thought nothing of the vision, but as time went by, I pondered whether the elleth I saw in it would prove significant to me - for why else would the Valar grant me such a vision?"
Mainolthon closed his eyes. Now, instead of a strong, confident ellon, as she had known her brother to be, she saw a broken, despairing figure, small and lost, "I have had years and years to ponder and prepare myself for the pain of whatever that loss might prove to be, seen numerous companions and friends cut down at the Battle of Dagorlad, but by Elbereth's fair stars, even the Gift of Foresight could not save me from the simple cutting pain of death."
"Brother..." Himmaethel began, but her brother shook her head, standing up.
"I am sorry, sister." He told her, a hollow look in his pale eyes, "But I cannot bear to look upon you."
Himmaethel watched as her brother cast his eyes down, saying no more. She herself had no words, no sure way to comfort her brother without resorting to meaningless words and gestures, and she did not know if she even wanted to try reaching out again. She could not even absolve herself of all the blame, because in the deepest, most hidden passages of her heart, she knew that it was not blame misplaced.
They stayed there all night, watching in silence as the stars sailed through the skies outside.
Footnotes
1 A yéni is basically an Elven year. By our calendar, an elven yéni equates to 144 years.
2 Amarth faeg - lit. "Evil fate!" - Sindarin cursing phrase
Critique and feedback welcome. I'm not sure why this took so long to put out as it did!
