[VanimaEdhel]

Hwestlaeriel's senses came back to her in a rush. Much like the wave of sights and sounds came the wave of nausea. The cut on Hwestlaeriel's head from the dungeon had obviously reopened. Hwestlaeriel looked up, and saw that she lay under stone. For a few seconds, Hwestlaeriel tried to figure out where she was.

Suddenly, the battle came back to her. That she was alive indicated that the others must have won, and that she was spared.

Berethion. That was the word that suddenly came back. He was wounded and seemed in a bad condition. Hwestlaeriel struggled to stand to look for her only friend and companion. She loved her other brother, Dantilaision, yes, but she had always been closest with her jovial sibling, Berethion. He had always allowed her to contribute as a male to any fighting or other such usually masculine activities. He treated her, his younger sister, as an equal. She wondered if he knew how much that meant to her.

Hwestlaeriel choked a bit as she arose, her nausea nearly overcoming her. She saw Dimithil solemnly come over and aid her in standing. She gratefully rose, thankful that Dimithil did not force her to remain on the ground, resting.

"Berethion," she said quietly, "How is Berethion?"

She expected an affirmation that, yes, Berethion was seriously wounded, but he, too would recover in a few minutes. Instead, she got only melancholy silence from all around her. Hwestlaeriel wrenched her arm out of Dimithil's grasp, away from his aid. She forgot all about her swimming head and quivering stomach that equalled the shakiness her legs now felt. She turned, looking for her brother.

"Where is he?" Hwestlaeriel asked, "I know he survived! Where is he?"

Hwestlaeriel's voice grew shrill as she spoke, and her voice cracked as she became more panicked in her search. Finally, her eyes landed on a still body. She looked for a sign of life from where she stood, but could see none.

Hwestlaeriel felt her entire body go numb. She tried to run to her brother's body, but her legs would not move. Her world closed around her. Berethion was the reason she awoke each morning: in the hopes that she would see him to bring joy into her life; in the hopes that he would come and change her world, as he always did, bringing excitement into her dull existence. Berethion was the only man Hwestlaeriel allowed herself to love openly. The Elves her parents pointed out meant nothing to Hwestlaeriel, and all those that Hwestlaeriel loved her parents scorned. Berethion, as her brother, was not only deserving of her love, but of her parents' approval as a playmate as well. Berethion represented Hwestlaeriel's heart, her joy, her very existence.

Hwestlaeriel's legs finally gave out. She managed to stumble over to her brother's body, then she sank to her knees over the corpse, her heart breaking inside her chest. She let out one scream, then collapsed, silently crying upon Berethion's lifeless form. Berethion was dead. Hwestlaeriel now may as well be dead. There was no point to her life anymore, she thought.

Those around her did not bother her, merely letting her grief take its due course. Dimithil tended to the other injured members of the company, and most of the uninjured busied themselves aiding Dimithil and preparing to set off.

Hwestlaeriel remained prostrate on the ground, crying as she had never had cause to cry before. In the back of her mind, she wondered if she would ever stop crying, if the others would come and aid her, or whether she would spend the rest of eternity mourning upon this spot, over her brother's dead body...