The battle had been fierce, yet they had all survived but not unharmed. Lira was still weak from her head wound and rode on Merkaliel as they headed deeper into Fornost. Lumiel stayed by her side, feeling a certain responsibility for the elven woman. As she walked among the stones, a strange feeling came over her, as though they were not alone. It was not the feeling of danger, but of unseen eyes of a place long dead that still lingers yet. Her bright manner was dampened by the very air around her and she was silent for the most part.
She tried to help take care of the party's wounds as best she could, but she was not a Healer by trade. Her own wounds were healing well and she had always been quick to recover. Her hand was scratched but fine, her nose was a bit sore, and the cuts on her abdomen and shoulder were nearly healed.
When they found Falowik and Uien, relief flooded Lumiel's heart. She had prayed for their safety and whether by the will of the Valar or simple luck, both were still alive. Uien was hurt, but not fatally. Rest and skilled hands would cure her ills soon enough. Falco doubted them, to say the least. Lumiel wondered about them, but did not doubt their intent. Naive as she often was, she knew truth when she saw it, and she knew that Falowik loved Uien as much as he may deny it to any other. And Uien she trusted.
Poor Uien, she thought. She's killed, but she had no choice. She looked out across the rock-strewn landscape and thought back to the battle. She had blocked it out until now because to face it would only hinder herself. She had never killed a man. She walked a distance from the group as she felt a retch in her throat. With a few deep breaths, she calmed herself and held her eyes to the horizon. Words came unbidden to her lips and she sang a lament for the men, wrong as they were. She could not hate them, she would forgive them and pray for a peace in death that they had never achieved in life. The others would think her a fool for it she knew, but she did not care. The others only heard a soft voice singing in elvish not in a beautiful voice, but in a sweet, young one in mourning.
She ended her short song and blinked away tears before returning to the group, who stared at her strangely. Only the elves and probably Finewen would know that she had sung a lament for their attackers. The others were preparing for a breakfast and she went about helping. She had not done the right thing, merely the necessary thing.
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