The Silmarillion and all associated names are the property of Tolkien.

For some time, everything was quiet. Every now and then Calmëa caught the smell of smoke or the sound of shouting from the direction of the city, but she didn’t look over the edge of the dell. She just tried to distract herself by doing her best for Alyamahtar. He didn’t stir, even when she called his name or tried to give him water, remembering that earlier he’d complained of thirst. Evidently he was still in a deep swoon. He continued to breathe, though, and when she laid a hand on his chest she could feel his heart beating weakly.
At last, sheÂ’d put it off as long as she could. She had to have at least a glance at the city, and she went to the edge of the dell to look back down the road.
To her relief, she saw that the flames were dying down. The red glow was still there, but much dimmer. The smoke was spreading, though, blocking out the stars in a manner that reminded her all too much of the deaths of the Trees. She shuddered, remembering that night, but her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of thunder from out at sea. A storm was brewing; apparently Ossë and Uinen were sympathetic to their plight and the loss of their beloved ships.
Calmëa couldn’t help a worried glance at Alyamahtar, though. She didn’t think his condition would be improved by rain. She went back and laid a hand on his brow, and sighed as she felt its chill. He still didn’t stir or utter so much as a sound for a moment, but when she called his name his lips parted a little and his eyelids flickered as if he was trying to open them.
“Alyamahtar?” she called again, and picked up her waterskin. “Do you want something to drink?”
He didnÂ’t speak, but when she set the bottle to his lips he accepted a few sips of water.
“What’s going on?” he whispered as she took the water away.
She looked up as she heard another rumble of thunder. Now she could see the storm clouds building, racing on the wind towards the north. It wasnÂ’t the first time sheÂ’d seen storms blow up quickly at sea and she wanted to flee for shelter, but there was nothing she could do.
“Calmëa?” Alyamahtar whispered and she looked round. His eyes were open a little and she smiled, wondering how much he could see in the dim starlight.
“There’s a storm brewing out at sea,” she said.
“Rain… will quench the flames,” he said.
“They’re already beginning to die. I… can’t see how much of the city has already fallen, though.” Calmëa’s voice hitched as she wondered how much had already been destroyed.
Alyamhatar reached out a hand and she took it. His grip was weak and his flesh clammy to the touch.
“How do you fare?” he asked, before she could ask the same question.
She sighed. “Well enough,” she said. “I… I’m afraid for my family.”
He nodded. “As am I,” he said softly, his head falling to the side. For a moment she thought he’d swooned again, but then he looked up, licking his lips.
She gave him a little more to drink before asking, “And you?”
He sighed. “A little better,” he said. “The water is a relief.”
She nodded.
“Where…” His voice faltered and she gave him a little more to drink. “Thank you. Where is Maiwë?”
“He returned to the city to see if he could bring any others out.”
Alyamahtar sighed. “In his place I would… likely have done the same.”
Calmëa bit her lip, looking back up towards the city, mentally adding Maiwë to the list of elves she could only hope were safe. A flash of lightning made her look round and the accompanying thunder was not long delayed.
Alyamahtar sighed again, his eyes falling closed. “How far off is it?” he asked. “I… can’t concentrate to guess.”
“We’ll probably only catch the edge of it,” said Calmëa. “Rain will fall on the city, I think, but we should be all right here.” Silently, she thanked Ossë for that mercy.
Alyamahtar nodded again. “I hope… I hope Ossë sends many of them to Mandos’ halls with that storm,” he said. He was too weak for real savagery, but she looked round in surprise nonetheless. To hear one of her own people express a wish for the deaths of other elves was a sickening thing and she couldn’t help drawing away.
Seeing that, he sighed and reached out for her hand again. A few times he began to speak, but didnÂ’t get past the first few sounds; not enough for her to understand what he had been about to say.
Wondering about it, though, brought her onto a subject she’d been trying to avoid: Fólima. A shudder went through her as she thought of him, and the fact that it was his hand – the hand that had once held hers as they walked on the shore together, the hand that had set a silver ring on her finger and that had borne a second ring as a pledge of their love – that had wounded Alyamahtar so terribly.
Alyamahtar had evidently seen her distress, for he reached out again, calling her name haltingly.
“What is it?” he asked.
She sighed and tried to shake off the thought; there was no time to mourn now. She had to care for him and keep an eye out for anyone else coming out to this little dell.
She looked up again as the first drop of rain fell on her head. The clouds were blotting out the stars to the north, mingling with the smoke as rain continued to fall. It wasn’t coming down hard on her, but she instinctively drew closer to Alyamahtar, taking his hand. He was shivering, the rain chilling him. His eyes had fallen closed once more and he looked to be drifting into sleep. She sighed, laying a hand gently on his brow and smoothing away the wet hair from his face as the echoes of distant thunder, of Ossë’s wrath and Uinen’s mourning, reached her ears.

She looked up after a few minutes as she heard voices talking. Familiar voices, she realised after a moment. She scrambled up and hurried towards the road, her heart in her mouth, hoping beyond hope. It was difficult to see, but there was a lantern coming, and she could see in its dim glow that there was a small group of elves approaching.
“Hello?” she called out nervously.
“Calmëa!” a voice called back and the lantern swung wildly as someone ran forward, apparently pushing past the lantern-holder. Calmëa didn’t care for that, though; she recognised the voice.
“Lelyavalin!” she exclaimed and eagerly embraced her cousin as she hurried up. The two hugged one another for a moment, both breathless with relief.
“I was sure something must have happened to you,” said Lelyavalin.
Calmëa sniffed. “I was so afraid for you,” she said. “I lost everyone else…”
“Well, you’ve found us again,” said another familiar voice: that of Calmëa’s uncle Nárhína. He too embraced the pair.
“I’m going back,” said the third voice: Maiwë, Calmëa realised.
“Maiwë?” she said, “However did you find them?”
In the lantern light, she saw him smile. “Luck,” he said simply. “They were coming out as I came in and asked if I’d seen you.”
“We knew you must be trying to leave the city,” said Lelyavalin. “That’s what Uncle would have wanted you to do, after all.” She smiled. “It’s what Father wanted for me, after all.”
“Indeed. And now you two are safely out, I intend to return,” said Nárhína softly. “I’ll go with you, Maiwë, if you don’t mind?”
Maiwë assented to this and Nárhína embraced Calmëa and Lelyavalin once more.
Before they left, Maiwë asked, “How is Alyamahtar, Calmëa?”
Calmëa grimaced. “Cold,” she said, “But he was asleep a moment ago. Before that he was awake and able to speak, though.”
He nodded. “You had best continue to take care of him,” he said.
“Things seemed to be growing calmer,” said Nárhína. “Hopefully we will soon all be able to return and we can find him help.”
With a last exchange of looks, the two men left again, Maiwë carrying the lantern.
“He didn’t have that when he left here,” said Calmëa.
“Father gave it to him,” said Lelyavalin.
For a moment longer they stood in silence, then, hand-in-hand, they began to pick their way back to where Calmëa had left Alymahtar.
In the darkness, their eyes dazzled from the lantern light, it was difficult to find him, but at the right moment he stirred and called out for Calmëa.
“Here I am,” she said, going back to his side and taking his hand. “This is my cousin, Lelyavalin. She just arrived.”
Alyamahtar didn’t reply, though, his hand already limp in Calmëa’s. She laid a hand on his breast to feel if he was breathing and sighed in relief.
“Who is he?” asked Lelyavalin.
Calmëa hesitated, unwilling to explain the full circumstances of how they had met Alyamahtar. At last, she said, “We found him wounded on the way here,” but she knew her voice was trembling.
Lelyavalin took her hand again. “What happened?” she asked softly.
Calmëa hesitated, swallowing hard against that familiar lump of tears in her throat. “It was… someone had tried to kill him.”
Lelyavalin’s response was a rather fey laugh. “I think that much is obvious!” she said, a slight sob in her own throat as the laugh died.
Calmëa nodded. “It’s just…” She swallowed again, unwilling to talk about it just at the moment.
Lelyavalin took her other hand and rubbed the backs of her fingers comfortingly with her thumbs. Then she paused.
“Your ring is missing,” she said softly.
Calmëa had forgotten that obvious sign that something had happened between her and Fólima and she quickly withdrew her right hand, laying it on Alyamahtar’s brow to feel his temperature. As she’d half expected, he was chill and clammy to the touch.
“Calmëa?”
She gulped, then forced herself to say the words. “It was Fólima that tried to kill Alyamahtar.” Oddly, saying it, acknowledging the truth, dried her tears before they could fall. Even as Lelyavalin embraced her, she did not weep, but continued, “I couldn’t wed him after that. Not knowing what he’d done.”
For a while they sat in silence. The storm passed towards the north, followed by a chill wind from which the dell barely sheltered them. At last, they broke apart again. Calmëa took a deep breath, preparing herself for the next question she had to ask.
“Did you see any others from our family? I… I lost sight of Mother and Silmë as we fled and Father was… was at the Haven.” At the thought, her eyes strayed back towards the city and the ugly plume of smoke that occasionally showed against flashes of lightning.
Lelyavalin did not reply for a while. For every moment she remained silent. Calmëa’s heart fell a little more. At last, she asked, “Are you silent because you don’t know or because you have bad news?”
Lelyavalin squeezed her hand. “I… don’t really know,” she said. “Your father’s ship was gone from the Haven, my father told me, but we don’t know if he was with it.”
Calmëa bit her lip. “And… Mother and Silmë?”
“Nothing.” Lelyavalin added hastily, “There have not been so many deaths and many have been scattered, I’m sure they’re all right.”
Calmëa’s glance strayed back towards where Alyamahtar lay, ominously still and silent. She could not be so certain.

They continued to wait, taking turns to snatch a little rest, but neither could rest her mind for long. As Calmëa began to dream, images of fire and blood followed her, and the thought of her parents and brother perishing in flames or cut down by Noldorin swords made her start back into the waking world, where at least all was quiet and darkness.
Alyamahtar woke once or twice, long enough to murmur a few words and accept a little water, though he refused food. Neither of the two elf-maids knew what to do to help him, though; they could only try to keep him comfortable, and wait.
At long last, Nárhína returned. He looked exhausted by the starlight and the glow of the dying lantern he held, and Calmëa noticed that one of his hands was bandaged.
“Uncle, what happened?” she asked, pointing to it.
He shook his head. “Nothing to speak of. I think it’s safe for you two to return to the city.” He glanced at Lelyavalin. “Go back to our house.”
“Have you heard anything of my parents, or Silmë?” asked Calmëa, absently wondering why she could not return to her own home.
“No,” he said simply.
Lelyavalin took Calmëa’s hand. “We’ll go home now, Father,” she said. “What about Alyamahtar?”
“I’ll stay with him. Maiwë said he would try to bring a litter as soon as he could be spared.”
“He’s so cold,” said Calmëa, looking down at Alyamahtar. In the lamplight, he looked foam-pale. Even his lips seemed to have lost all colour.
Nárhína nodded, setting down the bag he carried. “I brought some dry blankets for him,” he said, and smiled up at them, though he looked like there was little heart in the expression. “I’ll take care of him.” He got up and gently embraced each of them in turn. “Go home and stay there,” he said. “I’ll find you there.”
“Is it safe to look for them?” asked Calmëa.
He hesitated. “Perhaps,” he said, “But they’ll come to my house if they can, I’m sure of it. You’re safer there.”
“Why not our home?” asked Calmëa slowly, dreading the answer.
Nárhína grimaced. “The… the fire spread that far,” he said softly. He didn’t need to say any more.
Once more Calmëa felt that strange sensation of being about to weep while no tears came to her eyes. She licked her lips and stared down at the floor, then looked over at the pack she’d carried out here and which now contained everything she had. Her mother had been wise to insist they brought them.
It was only when Lelyavalin embraced her that she realised she was shaking.
“It’s all right, Calmëa,” she said. “We’ll find them, and you can live with us until you can rebuild.”