It always hurt to see them go.
He stood at the elleth's bedside, arms crossed in front, hands clasped together in a gesture of comfort, or so he surmised. Hair mussed from hours of work fell like a waterfall about his face and shoulders, curls rippling down his back even as he refused to move even a single finger out of place.
Moonlight streamed in through the window, curtains pulled apart in observance of the cool, yet heavy air of the summer night. The simple room was bathed in Ithil's soft glow; it reflected off the few decorations hanging about, illuminated the fair face that would not wake, pooled in the greys of Elladan's eyes and made theme shine, as if by tears unshed.
Several long moments passed by, the world seeming to slow, almost halting in its entirety. Slowly, the half-elf began to come falling back into reality, noting in a frivolous thought - the type that only came in moments such as these- that he still had blood on his hands and on his clothing.
Would Ada be mad at him? No, he would not be; he rarely was, and they could always be washed...
Stepping forward, finally, he closed unseeing eyes, heart constricting for a moment at the shimmering locks so similar to his mother's. Now was not a time for such thoughts…now was not a time for many thoughts at all. He drew the sheet over her form silently before departing into another chamber, letting warm water fall over dirtied hands. It was part of the burden of being a healer…no matter how many times he washed, the blood would always be on his hands.
It always hurt to see them go, but sometimes he couldn't help but wonder if where they were going was better than where they had been.