Memories of Winter by wind rider

Memories of Winter

Memories of Winter

It is winter again, the worst time out of the new new cycle of seasons. It was even worser in Híssilómë, our first settlement here east of Aman and the Great Sea, as the deep chill and dreary fogs always made me wonder and despair that perhaps stepping onto the firm, safer land of Beleriand had been just an illusion. It got better in Nevrast, our second settlement, since the chill was tempered by the sea; but ironically, the sea reminded me of the place I could no longer reach, the place that I loved so, and the hellish journey we endured in distancing ourselves from that very place.

It is best here, I admit: in Ondolindë, my father’s hidden city. But still, memories can yet drag me to the darkest and coldest part of my life: Helkaraxë, where I lost vestiges of my carefree days. Being outside only heightens the rememberance, but I cannot help it. I could hear the voice of my baby cousin and wondered what he was doing out in the open while it was snowing hard. I made it only to under the eave of the front courtyard of my father’s tower, however; and here I am standing uncertainly just beyond the reach of the drifting snowflakes (no, no, no, no… not a blizzard, not a blizzard…), looking at the house opposite my father’s with suppressed longing.

Ecthelion, the younger brother of my uncle’s wife Erchiriel, is carrying a bundle of chirping noises in his arms and walking towards the evergreen garden by my house. I am confused… Why is he bringing my little cousin out of the warmth and safety of his house? I was actually trying to gather my resolve to cross the snowy distance to visit with my cousins in their home, but now I am made uncertain again. Snow piles higher in the garden, as it is one of the most open places in the city but the least visited for its closeness to my father’s tower – for whatever reason. I will have to trudge to the unknown depths of the snow to reach them – so cold there, so wet and deep, deadly—

Sounds of babyish giggling tickle my ears. I sigh and harden my jaw. Nothing will bar me from my little cousin.

I take a deep breath and step into the snow. Next I know, I am already standing in front of the father and son, and Ecthelion is proffering the wriggling bundle that is my baby cousin to me.

His gaze is knowing, too knowing.

I look down, away from the one thing that always makes me ashamed of myself. Ecthelion knows, has always known that I fear winter. He may even have brought Erestor out just to venture into the chill and the snow. I will not let Erestor suffer for naught, though. Thus, glaring at Ecthelion, I grab the baby and sprint away to warmth and safety of my house. Who said that I have to endure the snow if I wish to play with my baby cousin, anyway?

I can hear Ecthelion laughing and mock-chasing me, and I cannot help but laugh with him, somehow relishing the fact that I am simply able to laugh.

There was no laughter, much less merriment, on the Grinding Ice.