[piosenniel]

Feanor of the Peredhil's post

Images raced through her mind chaotically: lightening struck a tree and it burst into flame; black sky; crows perched in wait on dead branches as the party road swiftly from Armenelos; freezing rain tearing through softly churned mud, and hoofbeats sounding as a voice cried to the Valar for mercy.

Torn from dream, Kathaani responded hesitantly, first trying and failing to move. Grimacing against her frozen numbness, Kathaani shifted her head slightly and opened her eyes: Lothlome knelt weeping on the cold wooden floor. Mabalar stood, unreachable in his grief, with arms raised to the heavens. Kathaani choked back a sob. Once again, her father's voice had called to her through the mists of pain, chasing away the weakness that threatened to over-power her. She longed to be a child again... to hear his assurances and to truly believe that in a short while, everything would be fine. Kathaani took a breath and was dismayed to feel her lungs expand but a little, and that with effort. She marveled: she could no longer feel her wound... only the tightly bound bandaging keeping the blood where it belonged. Where had the pain gone? It had been excruciating... all of her consciousness was tied to it and now it was gone, replaced by nothingness... not warmth or cold; no memory of feeling. Simple existence. Had she not remembered so vividly... had she not felt the tightness of the bound cotton... she would have thought it all a dream. She took another small breath, feeling the bindings expand.... no... she thought... it was not the bandages that compromised her breathing. She swallowed nervously, trying once more. Her body shook slightly with the effort of inhaling. It felt as the the air did not reach further than her breastbone, lodging there and denying Kathaani the simple relief of full lungs. She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut against what she guessed was happening.

"Mama... papa...?" she spoke hesitantly. Her voice was faint, not at all reminiscent of the strong tones she had so often adopted. The words were aspirated, a full breath necessary for each. She set her jaw stubbornly against the tears that strayed but a short distance from her eyes.

Mabalar and Lothlome started and looked to their daughter, frightened to hope, fearful not to. She smiled slightly for a brief moment before closing her eyes to concentrate on breathing freely. Softly... softly... she spoke to herself silently; promising that what she could foresee would not come to pass. She could feel it deep within her chest... she wanted to vomit at the horror of the sensation but sheer will now kept her in place. She felt her hands enveloped by those of her parents. I can not... I will not...

"Papa..." she began. She choked, chest convulsing slightly. Her father swept her into his arms and she heaved several times, each time denying her broken body its will. Exhausted, Kathaani sank against her father limply, holding her breath against the cough that lay in wait.

"Just breathe, my sweet... take your time and breathe..." murmured Lothlome as she smoothed a stray lock away from Kathaani's face. Mabalar still held her close, much as he had all those years before when his crying little girl required strong arms to hold her and let her feel safe and a soothing voice to calm her. Breathing shakily, she turned slightly to better fit against the contours of his arms, laying her head against his chest.

Mabalar kissed Kathaani's hair, murmuring to her. "Inzi's safe, my dove, they're all safe. You did it."

She looked up at his face, cherishing the warmth of her mother’s hands as they held hers, softly rubbing them with her thumbs. She began to cry, shaking her head. "No..." she whispered, "it wasn't me... none of it... it wasn't me."

"Of course it was my darling." he whispered to her. "You initiated the mission... yes, shh..." he held her closer as Lothlome sat beside them. She wiped away her daughter's tears with gentle hands as he continued. "Yes... they told me everything, love. It was you who told them of my capture. It was you who rode to rescue me. It was you who were imprisoned on my behalf. And it was you who escaped."

Kathaani wept more softly now. "But papa... I didn't... they were safer without me..."

Lothlome spoke now. "My Cerveth.... my love, do you underestimate me? Would I have sent you if I thought you were a danger to the mission? My love… it was so important that you ride to save your father… and look before you… you did."

Tears now came to Lothlome as well and her voice cracked into silence. Kathaani coughed violently now, spitting up blood. Mabalar held her close as Lothlome calmly wiped away the mess.


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Himaran's post

The streets of the city by the shore were all but deserted. Most of the inhabitants of the faithful's haven were already getting situated on the ships. Abârzadan hurried down the street, finally reaching his mansion. Having misplaced the gate key at some point on his adventure, he climbed over the iron fence and hopped down into the yard. When he reached the front door, the man took hold of the knob, turned it slightly to the right, then to the left, than back again. It creaked open, allowing him to enter. Hurrying about the house, Abârzadan gathered a few clothes, most of his weapons, and the most precious artifacts and heirlooms. In the new world he was headed for, Numenorean currency would have little or no value. Then he proceeded to his study and gathered everything he could find that was related to Numenor; its history and culture specifically. The island would soon be destroyed, but he did not want all memory of it to be lost. Then he noticed the swords and star of his house. The House of Batânzâira.

Suddenly the events in Armenelos made perfect sense. Abârzadan thought back to the voting record. The House of Batânzâira had hindered the King's movements at every turn. It stood for freedom and justice, not power and control. That was why it had been persecuted and killed off - all except for himself and his father. Perhaps until his very dying day, Abâranâ had not wanted to even tell his son the truth, for fear that he might try and avenge his house and be killed in the process. But as the disease at last took hold of him, he decided that he had to give his son a chance to discover the truth about the destruction of Batânzâira. And that was exactly what he had done. He had completed his father's last request, and freed himself from its curse. Assaulted by visions of the past too painful to bear, the man collected his things and proceeded to the entrance. Shutting the door firmly behind him, Abârzadan found his cart, loaded it with his packages, and pushed it up to the gate. Unlocking it, he tossed the spare key into the yard and left the manor once and for all.


***


His companions had been pleased to see him, although Abârzadan did indeed wonder if they weren't just glad that he had returned Kali safely. They were all distracted at the moment, for Kâthaanî He was given comfortable quarters on the flagship, and found enough room to store all the literature he had brought. Roaming the deck, he watched as the storm covering the island worsened. Horns sounded. The ships began to move off. Everything that he knew and loved was getting further and further away. But then a thought struck him. He had survived, and with him, the House of Batânzâira.

A man approached him. He looked tired and distraught, but still noble. "Are you the one they call Abârzadan? The others tell me that you played a part in my rescue. For that I am grateful."

"It was my honor, sir."

"Pardon me for asking, Turmeawa, but how is it that you know me?"

Here Abârzadan merely smiled. "Ah, perhaps you have forgotten. I used to buy horses from you..."


***


And thus is the story of Abârzadan Batânzâira. His is different from the others in this tale, for he had a personal journey far more important than that of saving a man he never knew. Abârzadan helped with the construction of what would later be known as Minas Tirith, where he settled down and married another survivor of Numenor. His bloodline, and the House of Batânzâira, would eventually spread throughout all of Gondor. At the end of all things, the swords and star survived.