It took her far too long to understand those who had risked their lives to save her brother. The brother she remembered as selfish, uncaring, jaded by long wars that he never should have fought in. She thought she would be the only one willing to save him. Even Cardanith showed a glimmer of hesitation when it came to him. But she was wrong. She was wrong, wrong, wrong.
She had met Ithilwe first. His husband. Amathlan’s husband. She had never imagined that he would marry - he always seemed so content in his isolation. At least, that is how it appeared to her in their long estrangement. Yet Ithilwe showed such fierce passion, such fierce loyalty. A deep love that she found admirable and enviable.
“You do not have to do anything else for others. You do not have to live for them,” Ithilwë had said to her, when selfishly, she shared her burdened thoughts with him. “You have done so much,” he insisted. That may be true. Perhaps she had. But she had oaths to keep and love to speak - though it would never be like the love that he and Amathlan shared. She valued his input. She swore to herself that night that she would love Ithilwë like her own brother. Perfectly this time. As he and Amathlan deserved.
The next person she met was Galtharian. A young Silvan who showed unending kindness and understanding. She could tell already that he considered himself a shoulder to cry on. But she saw it in him. The same thing she saw in herself.
A selfishness that ran so deep it seemed like selflessness. She tried to offer him comfort in the stars. But he seemed more content to talk about the ones he saw in his fellows’ eyes. That was fine. She saw Fate in both.
Envandame was the next one. An elleth older than the others she had met, older than herself. Mallossel suspected she rivaled Cardanith in age, but she did not voice that suspicion. She did not have to. She could see the wisdom and the grace in the way that Envandame held herself.
She did not hold herself like a warrior. Mallossel wanted to ask her how. How did you avoid the war? How do you live with the violence? How did you lay your weapon down? How did you wash away the blood? How, how, how, how, how?
But it would not be acceptable to ask her all of that. Not now. Not yet. Not when they would be marching off to wage war and bid blood. She simply smiled. She smiled and was smiled at in return.
“We have hope,” said Envandame, as though it were the answer to the question she had been brave enough to voice. “We will always have hope.”
