Unknown Location in the Misty Mountains, Third Age 2462
Two years after the end of the Watchful Peace
Day ???, Afternoon
Himmaethel did not know how long she had been walking through the snow. The flurry of snow bounced and swirled in the violent breeze, and her lashes were tangled with the white tinge of snowflakes. Her blinking did nothing to dispel the white slowly creeping into her vision, her heart ached with grief, and her limbs trembled as the energy was slowly sapped from them.
Beyond the few feet of snow she could still see, there was nothing.
She felt trapped. Her flight from the forest had been swift and marked with a terrible grief that hung over her head like a persistent cloud, and the warm, hot tears she had shed back then had long turned into thin strips of ice on her cheeks. When the great wind descended upon the Cirith Daur, Himmaethel hastened to the foot of the pass, but by then, it had been too late - As soon as she felt she had gotten away from the treacherous cliffs, the blanket of snow and white pounced upon her like a savage animal, and the elleth began to lose track of time.
Only the swift change between daytime and nighttime let her know that the world outside the blizzard was still alive and existed, but she did not know how many hours had passed since she left Hallothel and Díllothel behind in the High Passes. Instead, she had let her feet carry her in one direction, unwavering and steady, but even now, her strength was starting to fail her. She was tired and hungry, and though the chill of the cold did not affect her, a sense of dread came with it1.
Her eyes flitted about wildly and she glanced down at the hand clasped tightly against her breast. She had never once let go of the necklace since Hallothel had tossed it to her, and it had been glowing faintly for a while now. A terrible omen, to be sure, as it heralded the presence of evil, but even with her keen Elf-sight, she saw no enemies beyond the snow.
Elbereth2 guide them, they are beyond any form of help now. Himmaethel thought sorrowfully. A sob escaped her lips. The memory of Díllothel lying facedown in the snow was enough to bring more tears to her eyes. Hallothel had been forced to her knees when she had escaped, but she had also been fatally injured by multiple stab wounds to her torso: It had merely been pure, unbridled Ñoldorin fury that kept her from succumbing. Himmaethel tried to imagine their faces, their smiles, but the memory of the battle was too powerful, too dreadful, for her to recall anything else.
The wind whipped across her face furiously, and Himmaethel hissed in discomfort. It would not be long before even her strength would fail her and cause her to pass out in the snow. Her eyes fell once again to the beryl necklace clutched in her hand.
Were their deaths quick and painless? Or had the orcs brought them back to Goblin-town for torture? She shook her head, unwilling to entertain the idea of the twins surviving, bound and being dragged back to that foul abode of goblins. She hoped - no, prayed - that they had found the way to the Halls of Mandos swiftly.
Her legs finally gave out, and Himmaethel was on her knees in the snow, sobbing.
They are gone. I did not protect them.
Despair and fatigue finally took a hold of her and tears once more came gushing down her cheeks and into the snow. She was lost, tired, hungry, and cast into the depths of despair. Her feet were unwilling to move, and she felt broken. It would be a boon to simply curl up and wait for the wargs to claim her - being ripped to shreds would have been ample punishment for her failures. At least then, she could join them in the Halls of Mandos, roaming where the spirits of Elves do before they are judged for their sins and either sentenced to more wandering or reclothed in a new body and made whole again. Himmaethel would not even have minded if they were let go to live in Aman in exchange for her taking on their sentences...
She became aware of a gleam in the snow and opened her eyes. There, sitting in a cushion of white, was the beryl, glowing faintly.
Hallothel sang to ward off the fog.
Himmaethel scrambled to pick up the necklace again. Hope was scarce in her heart, but she wondered whether the necklace would respond to a voice other than Hallothel's. A small part of her wished it could simply dispel this accursed blizzard altogether, but alas, it was a mere necklace, and the power it held would never be enough; And while Hallothel and Díllothel both could trace their lineage back to the survivors of Gondolin3, they were not part of any of the noble houses of old, and their own power was lacking compared to that which the Elf-Lords of old held.
Still, her mother had been one of the court poets in Menegroth4, and a noblewoman of minor standing. There would be no harm in trying.
She closed her eyes and her voice came out in a whisper, soft but fair:
Mi moth gwilwileth ortha,
A sîr lhûg ‘ond awartha.
Sui guil, sui guil.
Her eyes were opened and she beheld a pulse of light coming from the gem. Her heart leapt in her chest and her voice grew in a short burst of strength.
Or ael heledir dortha,
Di ‘olf dhannen lim dartha.
Sui guil, sui guil.
Himmaethel shuddered and held the necklace aloft. The pulsing began to fade. Nothing. Her vision was darkening by the moment. No. No. Do not stop singing... Hallothel's last words had been her calling out to Cendir.
Cendir... by the Light of Elbereth, I am sorry.
The snow seemed like such a wonderful place to rest... but even as her mind was taken over by the temptations of sleep, her voice fading by the moment, and her head came crashing down into the snow, her last thoughts were felt with a twinge of dread, as she wondered how her brother was going to react to the news of hers and Hallothel's death.
Mi ‘aladh melethyr erthar,
Nu Ithil ‘ael aderthar.
Sui guil, sui guil...
Footnotes
1 Elves don't feel the extremes of temperature and as Legolas shows in the Fellowship of the Ring (p. 380), are capable of treading lightly on snow with light shoes. That said, many Elves died when the host of Fingolfin crossed the Helcaraxë in the First Age, though it's not said whether this was from hypothermia or something else.
2 Elbereth - Fully addressed as Elbereth Gilthoniel, this is the Sindarin name of Varda Elentári, wife of Manwë, and the most beloved of all Valar amongst the Elves. She is the one who is called out to by the Elves in times of great darkness.
3 Gondolin (Sindarin for Hidden Rock) - a city of Noldor Elves hidden within the valley of Tumladen and protected by the Encircling Mountains. It's location was betrayed and it was sacked in F.A. 510 before being destroyed along with the rest of the Beleriand at the end of the First Age.
4 Menegroth (Sindarin for Thousand Caves) - Capital of Doriath (S. Land of the Girdle), a Sindarin realm in the First Age, first ruled by Elu Thingol, and later his grandson Dior Eluchíl, who was the son of Beren and Lúthien. It was destroyed in the Second Kinslaying and eventually drowned like the rest of Beleriand at the end of the First Age.
The poem and it's translation can be found at realelvish.net.
Critique and feedback is welcome. Happy New Year!
