Cinnamon Raymaker and Rajani Milton
As Ilmare watches, the bird-Elf-woman lands on the balcony and falls over. Ilmarë gasps. Elves aren't supposed to fall over, are they? When they fall over sideways, it usually means something bad. She remembers that a lot of them fell over in the wars with Morgoth, and it usually meant a long stay in Mandos. Ilmarë doesn't mind Lord Namo overmuch, but the Elves seem to find residing in the Halls of Mandos problematic. She hurries after the woman. Neglecting the pull of gravity, she floats up the side of the tower to the balcony. Dropping to the floor near the prone woman, the Maiar wonders what should be her next step.
She leans over. "Um," she says, suddenly uncertain. "Er, are you well?" Maybe it's normal for elven avarian women to fall over? But she doesn't think so.
Through the misty clouds of consciousness floating in and out around her, Elwing hears a soft voice prompting her to answer. Though unsure of the question and still unable to focus her attention, she groans and sighs through the pain, trying desperately to hold on to the thin band of light she sees in front of her eyes. Her focus clears for a moment, and she sees a stranger bending over her; glowing and tinged with a beautiful azure radiance to her skin. Thinking she must be dreaming, Elwing smiles whimsically, sighs and floats back into her unconscious state.
Ilmarë frowns. "Hello, elf? Bird-elf?" Oh dear, not dead, please, don't be dead! Ilmarë would know what to do if one of her stars stopped responding, but she has no idea about the Children. She waves her hand in front of Elwing's eyes, and then pats her awkwardly on the shoulder. "Please, be okay! What happened? Hello?"
There is no answer. Maybe she should try to find another of the Children? She gets up and crosses to the balcony railing, but she doesn't see anyone below. "Help!" she calls. "I think someone is hurt!"
She returns to the elf's side, and kneels next to her again. In her distress, Ilmarë starts to glow brighter. "Oh, no, you must be unhurt! I have already lost Earendil today. Do not die on me, Elf!"
At the sound of her beloved's name, Elwing tries to make her way through the haze of exhaustion, opening her eyes to see again the azure glow before her.
"You lost Earendil today?" she croaks weakly. "I think you mistaken, lady. I lost my beloved several sweeps of Arien's vessel ago. So much has happened since that terrible time. I despair that I will never again fly out to meet him and Vingilot." She sighs and closes her eyes, feeling the ache of loss as if it had happened only yesterday.
Ilmarë blinks. Some time ago? She quickly calculates mentally how long it took her to get here from Alcarinquë. Even so it seems that this lady noticed that Earendil was missing long before Ilmarë did. But she is supposed to be the star-keeper! Before she can castigate herself further, Ilmarë hears the rest of the sentence. Oh! Earendil's beloved! Who--oh yes--did fly! Elwen, Ellenya, what was her name...
"Lady Elwing! Are you--no, you are not all right." Ilmarë shakes Elwing again, with little result. She casts about for help. There is a large jar of cool water in the shade of the doorway onto the balcony. A dipper hangs next to it. Ilmarë ladles out some water and tries to offer it to Elwing, only managing to spill most of it on the prone woman's clothing. She eyes her now-damp patient. "Lady, I am no healer, but perhaps if you tell me where it hurts?"
Suddenly, in the distance, she sees another figure walking towards the tower. "Help!" Ilmarë calls. "This lady is hurt!"
She leans over. "Um," she says, suddenly uncertain. "Er, are you well?" Maybe it's normal for elven avarian women to fall over? But she doesn't think so.
Through the misty clouds of consciousness floating in and out around her, Elwing hears a soft voice prompting her to answer. Though unsure of the question and still unable to focus her attention, she groans and sighs through the pain, trying desperately to hold on to the thin band of light she sees in front of her eyes. Her focus clears for a moment, and she sees a stranger bending over her; glowing and tinged with a beautiful azure radiance to her skin. Thinking she must be dreaming, Elwing smiles whimsically, sighs and floats back into her unconscious state.
Ilmarë frowns. "Hello, elf? Bird-elf?" Oh dear, not dead, please, don't be dead! Ilmarë would know what to do if one of her stars stopped responding, but she has no idea about the Children. She waves her hand in front of Elwing's eyes, and then pats her awkwardly on the shoulder. "Please, be okay! What happened? Hello?"
There is no answer. Maybe she should try to find another of the Children? She gets up and crosses to the balcony railing, but she doesn't see anyone below. "Help!" she calls. "I think someone is hurt!"
She returns to the elf's side, and kneels next to her again. In her distress, Ilmarë starts to glow brighter. "Oh, no, you must be unhurt! I have already lost Earendil today. Do not die on me, Elf!"
At the sound of her beloved's name, Elwing tries to make her way through the haze of exhaustion, opening her eyes to see again the azure glow before her.
"You lost Earendil today?" she croaks weakly. "I think you mistaken, lady. I lost my beloved several sweeps of Arien's vessel ago. So much has happened since that terrible time. I despair that I will never again fly out to meet him and Vingilot." She sighs and closes her eyes, feeling the ache of loss as if it had happened only yesterday.
Ilmarë blinks. Some time ago? She quickly calculates mentally how long it took her to get here from Alcarinquë. Even so it seems that this lady noticed that Earendil was missing long before Ilmarë did. But she is supposed to be the star-keeper! Before she can castigate herself further, Ilmarë hears the rest of the sentence. Oh! Earendil's beloved! Who--oh yes--did fly! Elwen, Ellenya, what was her name...
"Lady Elwing! Are you--no, you are not all right." Ilmarë shakes Elwing again, with little result. She casts about for help. There is a large jar of cool water in the shade of the doorway onto the balcony. A dipper hangs next to it. Ilmarë ladles out some water and tries to offer it to Elwing, only managing to spill most of it on the prone woman's clothing. She eyes her now-damp patient. "Lady, I am no healer, but perhaps if you tell me where it hurts?"
Suddenly, in the distance, she sees another figure walking towards the tower. "Help!" Ilmarë calls. "This lady is hurt!"