Before the Storm by polutropos

Chapter 1

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The wail of an infant rattled Elwing to her bones. Her only impulse on hearing the cries of children had always been to silence them as quickly as possible. Not to put an end to the child’s misery, but to her own discomfort at hearing them. It was, she believed, a grievous fault in her nature, and she avoided any opportunity to be reminded of it.

So it was that this was the first time in many years that she had come to Evranin’s home, despite the comfort she found in the presence of her former nurse. For, as remnants of the Edain continued to trickle into the Havens, the humble reed-thatched structure that had been Evranin’s first home here, and where Elwing herself had been raised to maturity, has claimed the land around it and transformed into a hospice for the orphaned and the sick. One could not walk past, or float down the channel on the opposite side, without hearing the screams of some unhappy child.

Elwing had hoped her response to the cries might have changed now that a child grew in her own womb. It had not. She grimaced at a particularly shrill whine as she passed through the gate.

A boy seated upon a bench against the wall of the house swung his skinny legs and twirled a bit of twine around his fingers. He was muttering to himself — or perhaps to some imaginary interlocutor — but stopped to stare at Elwing. Elwing wagged her fingers and smiled in greeting, but the boy only drew his dark brows together, looking affronted that she had disturbed his play. Elwing’s smile slipped down her face. She felt the press of tears against her eyes. Even at this! she thought. It seemed there was nothing that did not make her want to weep. Had her mighty forebear Lúthien been so afflicted when she carried Dior Eluchíl in her womb? 

She did not seek out Evranin at once but wandered down to a deck that extended out over the river. She leaned over the railing on folded arms. The gentle slosh of water through the channel and the trilling of birds among the reeds went some way to ease her mind. Evranin’s home was on the outer edge of the more densely-packed area of their settlement; on the opposite bank, a patchwork of vegetable gardens blanketed the land. 

It was a hot afternoon in the height of summer, so Elwing was surprised to see, in the distance, a figure making its way towards the water. They had a woven basket strapped to their back and wore a wide-brimmed hat, as was common among Men working under the heat of the sun. Their progress was sure and swift, but the focus of their gaze did not stray, either to the ground before them or their surroundings; it remained fixed on some indefinite point ahead. 

They were sightless, Elwing realised. She observed with fascination while they easily pushed a skiff out from the reeds and leaped in as it was caught up in the flow of water. One of the Haladin, Elwing guessed, by the colourful weavings on their tunic, but taller and leaner than most of those folk. There was nothing particularly male or female about their figure or bearing; only the absence of a beard suggested a woman. Her gentle side-to-side movement as she directed the skiff with a single oar was graceful as a dancer’s. She drew closer, sunlight reaching up under the brim of her hat to reveal a serene and noble face, skin the dusty brown of a cattail’s flower and lips the colour of dried rose petals.  

‘Eleneg? Is that you?’ 

Elwing startled at the voice behind her, but the shock swiftly fell away. There were only two who called her by that name, and one was far out to sea, or plying the waters of distant southern coasts. Searching.

‘Evranin!’ Elwing greeted her with a wide smile. ‘Yes, emig, it is me.’ 

‘Does the Lady of the Havens always sneak about the homesteads of her folk like some spy? When did you mean to announce that you’d arrived!’

Elwing laughed. ‘No, no, I hid away for shame. It has been much too long since I paid you a visit.’ 

‘Nonsense,’ Evranin said, and tugged Elwing into a firm embrace. ‘You need never feel shame on my account, my little star.’

Elwing buried her face in Evranin’s slate-grey curls and drew in a deep breath. She could only ever describe the scent of her nurse as deep and green. The birch woods of Avernien, the only forests Elwing really knew, smelled of young grasses and clean white bark; but she always imagined that the deep green scent coiled tightly in Evranin’s tresses was that of the ancient forests of Region and Neldoreth. 

Elwing had few memories of Doriath, and those she did have most often came to her unbidden and misshapen by darkness and fear. With Evranin’s strong arms around her shoulders, she could imagine home without pain. A wellspring of emotion burst in her breast and tears spilled from her eyes. She choked back a sob and knotted her fingers in the loose fabric of Evranin’s dress. 

‘Shh, shh,’ said Evranin, drawing circles on her back. She said nothing until Elwing’s crying subsided and she drew back with a weak laugh. Then, taking Elwing’s hands in hers, she said, ‘Come, let us find somewhere we can sit.’

 

Evranin’s private cottage was in the far corner of the property, where the cries of children were faint. Elwing sat on the small porch, watching clay jars tethered to the porch bob in the river. The cool rose tea she sipped on had been poured from one of them. The day was still hot, but the air was fresh here under the shade of a willow. The tea seemed to fill the places Elwing’s outpouring of emotion had left comfortably vacant. 

She had hoped that Eärendil would be the first to learn that she carried their child, and though she had sent her thought out to him many times, she had been unable to reach him. It had never been easy for them to share thoughts in the way of the Eledhrim. On his previous journeys she would not have feared that anything was amiss; but as new life increased in her womb, so too did her fears. 

Thus she had sought Evranin and told her, first of those she loved, that she was with child, confessing to her that, though she had wished for it, the thought of its arrival into this fragile world now filled her with dread. She imagined herself a young tree branching too soon. Her roots, which she had believed were mighty and deep, now seemed brittle and famished. When the storm came — and it would come — the gales would tear her from the earth, and her new branches, starved for nourishment, would crack and break in her fall. 

When Elwing had finished speaking, Evranin had not spoken empty words of comfort (as Elwing herself might have done, in her rush to end the suffering of others); she had simply squeezed Elwing’s hand and said, ‘Whether you fall or stand, you and your child will nourish and bless the land around you.’ 

Evranin was now inside preparing a light meal. Catching movement from the corner of her eye, Elwing glanced over. The mortal woman she had seen on the river was approaching the cottage. She was nearly at the steps before Elwing thought to make her presence known.

‘Hello,’ she said, tentative. The woman stopped and turned towards the sound of her voice.

‘Good afternoon,’ she said. ‘I have brought herbs for Evranin, is she at home?’ Her voice was deep and smooth, her Sindarin accented but clear; but her words were clipped in the way one who has little patience for distraction from her task. 

Elwing smiled to herself. She could not think of a time that she had been spoken to thus by anyone besides small children — who had no way of knowing the Lady of Sirion from a common farmer. It was a relief not to be known, and she considered keeping her identity from the woman. Perhaps even take a new name. No; it would be unfair to exploit her blindness merely to indulge her own fantasies of anonymity. 

‘Yes, she is inside. I am Elwing. May I know your name?’

Only the slightest twitch of her jaw betrayed the woman’s surprise. ‘Lady,’ she said, tipping her chin down, ‘an honour to meet you. Forgive me, I seldom leave the fields here and did not know your voice. I am Himeth, daughter of Ebor of the Haladin, and of Bereth of the house of Emeldir. A herbalist.’ She fidgeted with the strap across her chest that held the basket to her back. 

‘Will you come and sit with me, Himeth of the Haladin?’ 

‘Thank you, Lady,’ said Himeth, ‘but I have duties to tend to. I will leave these provisions for Evranin and be on my way.’ She took a step closer to the porch, her movements only slightly tentative as she took the steps up and lowered her basked onto the deck. Elwing resisted the instinct to help; Himeth clearly knew the shape of the place well, and Elwing sensed moreover that she was one whose pride resisted any offer of assistance, however well-meaning. A trait Elwing recognised in herself.

As Himeth turned to leave without a farewell, Elwing was suddenly desperate to keep her there. 

‘Himeth—’ said Elwing, and the woman stopped with her back to Elwing. ‘Your people are celebrating in the great hall in two days time. Will you be there?’

‘No, I will not.’ She straightened and pivoted, but did not turn fully to face Elwing. ‘And it not a celebration, but a ritual remembering the suffering endured by the people of Haleth in their search for a home where we could live free. At least it was so in origin.’

Elwing felt a pang of loss as the woman walked away. Though a near-stranger, she wished to run after her. There was a quiet, contained grief in Himeth that reminded Elwing of herself. 

‘Who was that?’ said Evranin, coming through the door with a plate of cut vegetables from her garden and fresh cheese (an indulgence, she said, but deserved on this occasion). 

‘Himeth. She brought you herbs.’ Elwing gestured to the basket.

‘Ah, Himeth! Why did she not wait for me?’ She set the plate down on a low table and gave her attention to the herbs. ‘I was going to tell her of Inweth’s recovery! She has a gift for healing, that one, especially with children.’ 

‘I think my presence made her uneasy,’ said Elwing. ‘How long has she dwelt in the Havens? I do not recall ever seeing her.’

‘Goodness, you cannot expect yourself to recall the face of every resident here. But it’s possible you may not have, she keeps to herself and dislikes most company, save that of the children. She came here while still a babe, with the first wave of those fleeing Brethil.’

That was before Elwing was even born, a time of which the Haladin themselves spoke little. Elwing knew of it mostly from Dírhaval’s tales; when Húrin Thalion’s  passage through Brethil brought an end to the last of the House of Haleth. That would make Himeth and Elwing close in age. 

‘She said her mother was of the house of Emeldir,’ Elwing said. ‘Does she speak of the same Emeldir who was mother of Beren? Were they kin?’

‘That same.’ Evranin laughed softly. ‘Not kin, though, unless very distant. I have only ever heard Himeth speak of a house of Emeldir — I do not know if there were others in Brethil who did so, but she is as proud of her mother’s kin as of her father’s, and I believe her mother was descended in a direct line from a woman of the house of Bëor who fled Ladros with the Lady Emeldir in the Sudden Flame.’

‘I see,’ said Elwing. That explained her height and noble bearing. Not that Elwing had much familiarity with the people of Bëor; she had constructed an image of her mortal ancestors based on the reports of others, and from studying whichever of her own features she did not recognise in the faces of the Iathrim: her thick brows, her squared jaw, her almond eyes, the warm brown that brightened the night-dark skin of Melian’s descendants. Strange to think that Elwing was as closely akin to Melian the Maia as to Emeldir of the House of Bëor. Yet the name of Emeldir came faint out of the fog of legend, little more than a collection of sounds. 

Elwing nibbled on the vegetables and sat in silence. She was buzzing with curiosity about this woman who had been here all her life and whom she had yet never seen. 

It was rare to find an Adan who lived without use of their eyes. Not that injury or illness causing loss of sight was uncommon; one simply did not live long without it. Dírhaval was the only other Elwing knew of at the Havens, and his blindness had come upon him slowly with old age. 

And that was the question that pressed most insistently upon her. She turned to Evranin. ‘How did Himeth lose her sight? Or was she always so?’ 

Evranin shook her head. ‘She has never spoken of it and I have never asked.’

Sensing that her nurse was not eager to divulge more about her friend, Elwing allowed the conversation to drift towards other topics, but her thoughts were elsewhere: recalling Himeth’s face and voice, her strange and distant beauty. She formed these things into a memory that she might return to, before they were lost. 

 

The Haladin of the Havens seemed surprised but pleased that the Lady of the Havens (nominally their ruler, though Elwing did not see herself as such) had made the effort to attend their celebration. But the sense of ease and affection brought on by their warm welcome contended with the familiar sense of guilt and inadequacy; Elwing’s motives in coming had hardly been those of a benevolent leader. Despite Himeth’s assertion that she would not be there, Elwing had hoped to find her, and could not keep her eyes from roaming through the crowd for her.  

The transition to the ritual part of the evening’s events provided an opportunity for Elwing to respectfully excuse herself. Gereth had accompanied her, and Elwing insisted on walking her friend to her own home, not far from Evranin’s. 

‘You should not walk the streets alone,’ Gereth said at the door. ‘I know you wish to believe the best of the people, but you cannot be certain that everyone means you well.’

‘I know that,’ said Elwing, placing a quick kiss on Gereth’s cheek. ‘But I am determined not to live every moment of my life in fear. It is not so far, and the lanterns are still lit.’

‘Very well.’ Gereth pulled the hood of Elwing’s light cloak up over her head. ‘But at least make some effort to blend in. If nothing else, to keep eyes from staring. Did you see how those Haladin gawked at you! Men and women both.’

‘You imagine things. Of course they would stare, at both of us. We are unusual to them. I am not sure that it was prudent of me to go at all.’

‘You are a good leader, Elwing.’ Gereth guessed rightly at the anxiety underlying Elwing’s thought, adding in a whisper: ‘Better than your forebears.’

‘Do not speak ill of my mighty ancestors!’ Elwing reproached. Gereth had been taken into the protection of the Girdle following the fall of Nargothrond, and was as loyal to the line of Elu Thingol as she had been to the House of Finarfin. Her teasing was only the wry humour of one who had crossed the Ice and faced five centuries of war. ‘Good night, Gereth. Thank you for coming with me tonight.’

At that they parted, and Elwing felt Gereth’s eyes on her back until she rounded the street corner. 

Though the hour was late, Elwing did not have any desire to return home yet. Her energy and mood had always been irregular, but she found that carrying a child made this even more so. She felt bold. Himeth still ruled her thoughts. She dared not name the feeling, but she could not resist indulging in the comfort and pleasure it brought her to roll the women’s image around and around in her mind. Why? She had exchanged no more than a handful of words with her, and Himeth had hardly been warm towards her. Elwing smiled and shook her head recalling the interaction. There was simply something compelling about her, and some part of Elwing knew that she was not alone in feeling that connection. Himeth had felt it, too. 

She would seek her out. Tonight.

She passed the turn that would have taken her home and instead followed the road to the river’s edge, taking the narrow path through the long grasses towards the only bridge that led to the other side — decaying and narrow, Elwing had to summon her elven grace lest it break beneath her. 

The only lanterns hung on this side of the channel were outside the little  homes, some no more than well-established tents. The peaks of their thatched roofs punctuated the flat landscape. A lantern shone outside the home Elwing was fairly certain belonged to Himeth, based on where she had seen the woman gathering herbs the other day. She followed the narrow paths between homesteads towards it, guided for the most part the light of stars, for the Moon tarried beneath the World tonight. When Elwing was able to describe the details of pictures and objects in the dark, or when she perceived Eärendil gazing at her wearing a curious smile and asked, ‘What is it?’ he would marvel at her ability to see through what he called ‘complete blackness’. 

Complete blackness. Was that the state of Himeth’s world? Elwing often lamented her own strangeness, being neither human nor elf nor god but lacking parts of all three. It was selfish to think thus, she knew that. In the loneliness of being the only one of her kind — for, despite the fanciful stories Iathrin bards liked to tell of Dior’s twins nurtured by birds in the wilds, she knew in her heart that her brothers had passed on to whatever fate awaited them — she took for granted the strength and power of her uniqueness. Himeth’s lack of sight did not seem to have stopped her from living as fully as any other of her kind. Once again, Elwing was overcome with admiration and fascination concerning this woman she did not know. It propelled her on towards the lantern hanging from the home up ahead to carry through with what she knew, in the back of her mind, was a foolish and presumptuous whim that she would certainly regret. 

As she drew close, she heard the voice of one singing, hoarse and slightly out-of-tune but not unpleasant, around the back. Elwing followed it, and as he rounded the corner of the house it suddenly stopped.

‘Who is there? Gwethril?’ asked Himeth. She was seated on a chair and had some garment resting on her lap which she seemed to have been in the process of repairing. ‘I was not expecting you until later—’

‘No, it is Elwing.’

Himeth jerked her face sharply towards her and looked mildly irritated. Elwing found it charming how obviously her expressions betrayed the emotion behind them. 

‘Why?’ Himeth asked.

‘I went to the ritual,’ said Elwing, passing over the question to which she did not herself know the answer. ‘I thought I might see you there.’ 

‘I told you I was not going,’ Himeth said. ‘Why do you want to see me?’ Then, likely grasping at why the Lady of the Havens could be visiting her alone in the middle of the night, she asked, ‘Is anyone else with you? Lady, if I have done something to offend you, somehow, I did not intend it.’ 

Elwing sighed and gestured uselessly. ‘No, no. Nothing like that. In truth, I cannot quite explain what drew me here. I have thought of you often since we met at Evranin’s. I think I would like for us to be friends.’

Himeth was silent a long time. Elwing would have laughed at herself if her stomach were not twisted with embarrassment. She felt like some child making pitiful attempts at finding a playmate. 

At last Himeth said, ‘Sit, then. You will have to direct our conversation, though, my lady, for I have no skill with idle talk.’

Elwing tucked her skirt beneath her legs and sat on the only other available chair: a wooden stool with a woven seat that was coming apart in multiple places. It was comfortable enough.

‘Our talk need not be idle,’ Elwing said. 

Himeth’s mouth quirked at that, the closest thing to a smile that Elwing had yet seen on her. Two fine wrinkles, tracing a path from her flat nostrils to her chin, appeared and then faded on her otherwise taut and smooth skin.

Elwing continued. ‘Why do you not go to gatherings of your people?’ 

Himeth huffed lightly, but Elwing sensed amusement more than annoyance, so she went on. ‘Evranin told me you have lived in Sirion since childhood, even before I and my people came here. How is it I have never seen you in all that time?’

‘Perhaps you have and do not remember. I try not to stand out. Though I suppose it is difficult for one like me to remain inconspicuous.’

It was not her blindness that made Himeth conspicuous, Elwing thought.

‘I think I would have remembered,’ she said instead. Then the question tumbled from her mouth before she could consider it, ‘What happened? To make you lose your sight?’

Himeth stiffened and her fingers twitched and bunched around the fabric still in her lap. 

Elwing was fumbling for the words to apologise when Himeth spoke. ‘I suppose I did say I disliked idle conversation. I do not resent you for asking. In fact I admire it. But I would prefer not to tell that tale tonight.’

‘Of course,’ said Elwing, in a tone she hoped conveyed compassion rather than the excitement that coursed through her at the suggestion of a future meeting.

Himeth’s posture relaxed. She picked up a previous thread of their conversation. ‘I do not find it easy to feign joy in these times. And joy is always the desired and expected mood when people gather, is it not? I avoid most company — besides children. We live in dark times. For much of my youth I did try to reason my way towards hope, but,’ she shook her head, ‘how can anyone who is paying any heed our times hope? Do not mistake me, Lady. I am grateful for this haven and the protection you and your people provide for us. I am grateful for the chance that I might live out my life to old age and die peacefully, and not by violence or in thralldom. But what of these children,’ she waved in the direction of Evranin’s home across the channel, ‘what of your people, whose life in the World has no end? I am sorry, Lady. You seek to befriend someone whose thoughts are very dark.’

So great was the flood of thoughts whirling through her that Elwing could speak none of them. ‘You need not apologise. I have had these thoughts also.’ 

For Elves are not my people, she does not say. And I fear both immortality and death, for I do not know my fate. I fear for the children, also, for I carry one in my womb. 

The croaking of frogs in the marshes filled the long silence that followed. 

‘Do you intend to return home on your own?’ asked Himeth, and Elwing’s heart sank at the implied dismissal. What did she imagine, though? That they would sit together and talk until dawn? 

‘I suppose so,’ said Elwing. She rose from her seat, feeling suddenly out of place. She hurried to offer an explanation. ‘I do not normally seek out strangers in the middle of the night. I have not been altogether myself.’

‘It is all right,’ Himeth said, and smiled in earnest this time. ‘Women at the beginning of a pregnancy often behave in ways that they consider contrary to their nature.’

‘What?’ Elwing said, her voice breathless with surprise. ‘How did you know?’ 

‘Evranin told me. Do not hold it against her. She asked me for a supply for dried lemon balm. It eases the sickness of early gestation, only we always use it fresh for the women at the hospice. And since the request coincided with your first visit to the hospice, to my knowledge, I pressed her for confirmation. I am difficult to dismiss when I set my mind on obtaining an answer.’

Elwing could not bring herself to resent her nurse for divulging this information, nor Himeth for seeking after it. In fact, that same sense of excitement rose in her chest again to know that Himeth had asked after her at all. She became aware of a wide grin reaching as far as her eyes and was both glad and sorry that Himeth could not see it.

‘Honestly it is a relief to have someone else know of it,’ Elwing said. Scarcely able to stop herself from spilling the contents of her soul to this woman, she confessed, ‘I am terribly afraid.’ 

Setting aside her sewing, Himeth rose from her chair. ‘Come,’ she said. ‘Let me walk back with you. Though it will be more you walking me, for I don’t know the paths into town as well as I know these parts.’

‘That is kind of you,’ Elwing said, surprised but pleased by the change in Himeth’s disposition towards her. ‘How will you return alone?’ 

‘I was expecting someone who was attending the ritual to come here afterwards, but she is late. It was she I was waiting up for.’ Himeth smiled wryly. ‘If I do not find her, I am sure I will find another willing to help guide a poor blind woman home.’ 

 

They spoke little on the walk back. Despite Elwing’s habit to fill all silences with chatter or song (a habit that Eärendil claimed was endearing, but which Gereth did not hesitate to inform her was annoying, and that her husband probably thought so, too), she found the quiet with Himeth comfortable. 

They were nearly at the great hall when they came upon Himeth’s friend, Gwethril, travelling in the opposite direction.

‘Himeth!’ the woman shouted in surprise. ‘What are you doing so close to the heart of town!’ Then she noticed Elwing at her side and changed tone, ‘Oh, my lady, good evening. It was a pleasure to have your presence among us tonight. I did not realise you and Himeth…’

‘I met the Lady recently. At Evranin’s. She visited me tonight to discuss matters of medicine.

‘Of course,’ said Gwethril. ‘There is none more skilled in medicines at the Havens. Not even among the Eledhrim, I warrant!’

‘Gwethril,’ Himeth warned.

‘No, it’s all right.’ Elwing could see that the woman had indulged and her tongue was loose. ‘Himeth is indeed a skilled herbalist.’

Elwing became aware she still had her arm hooked through Himeth’s. She removed it to allow Gwethril to approach, and the woman did at once, confidently taking Himeth’s hand and remaining by her side, fingers threaded together. 

‘I can go the rest of the way alone,’ Elwing said. ‘Thank you.’
She half-hoped the women would insist on accompanying for the few hundred yards still to cover to her door, but they did not. 

‘Good night, my lady,’ said Himeth. ‘I hope we’ll have the chance to speak again soon.’

 

It was only afterwards, alone in the privacy of her chamber, that Elwing recognised the giddy flutter in her stomach as attraction. She did not sleep that night, thoughts roving. Recalling how her flesh had ignited at the barest of contact between her and Himeth, arms looped together; or how she could not keep her lips from quivering around a smile as they walked side-by-side. The prick of jealousy when she turned back to see Gwethril untangling her hand from Himeth’s only to slide it across her back and caress her opposite hip; the warmth that pooled in Elwing’s belly when she imagined her own hand in its place. And the tangle of guilt and love thinking of Eärendil out at sea, not only unaware that his wife was carrying their child but now also lying upon their bed wondering what it would be like to kiss a woman. 

 

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Chapter End Notes

Evranin, Elwing's nurse, and Gereth are characters named in Tale of the Nauglafring in Book of Lost Tales who help Elwing (with the Silmaril) escape Artanor/Doriath in the Second Kinslaying. Their names probably don't hold up linguistically but I'm not too worried about it. (Gereth is a Gnome/Noldo in that version, which I decided to honour by making her a refugee of Nargothrond.)

Ebor, Himeth's father, is a canonical character who appears in the Wanderings of Hurin as a captain of the north marches of Brethil. The other Haladin characters are my inventions.

Dirhaval was a bard of the House of Hador who wrote the Lay of the Children of Hurin and is said, in War of the Jewels, to have lived (and died) at Sirion. The blind bard trope applied to him is my headcanon (developed for a ficlet I wrote about his death). 

Eledhrim is Eldar in Sindarin. 

Eleneg, the name Evranin uses for Elwing, is my invented name of endearment meaning 'little star'. It might not be a proper construction; happy to correct it if someone else knows better! 

Emig, which Elwing calls Evranin, means 'mum, little mother'. Of course she isn't actually her mother, but she's the only one Elwing would really have known.

This will be a longer fic and I plan to finish it before posting the rest, but I wanted to post Chapter 1 before the end of the challenge. I may make some changes to it once the rest of the story takes shape. Feedback in the categories I have selected for concrit is welcome!

Thanks to cuarthol for beta-ing (after I posted, oops).