A Trail of Things Lost by Nitheliniel

Chapter 3: Life

She had seen snow before and thought it white. She had seen ice before and thought it grey. She had listened to the wind before and it had whispered.

She had been wrong.

On the journey across the grinding ice, Artanis learns the true beauty of ice and it is the beauty of death. It is dark and ominous, it is black as the everlasting night around them. Beneath the silver stars it may glow blue or twinkle silver, sometimes it winks at her, it teases and mocks and all its beauty is meant to lure them in and kill them.

It comes in forms sharp like the blades their skin sticks to when touched, or soft, shaped like waves by the never ceasing wind. Tower-like spikes rip the horizon to tatters, alien shapes, confusing to the eye, trick the mind.  

Snow is cold and crisp and crunches beneath her feet, and it covers the bodies they leave behind – a white blanket for sleepers who will rise no more. The ice is hollow and chimes like bells when stepped on – a divine toll heralding lethal danger. Whenever it rings, she cannot decide between fear and longing.

Her will to live remains strong and unbroken, but there is a promise of peace in those colours and sounds, in those pleasant blues and joyful twinkles and the call of the deep which to reject feels like betrayal. Many yield, but though the wind seldom whispers here, in its fierce songs Manwë’s voice reverberates, and whether real or imagined, it pushes her on.     

---

When one day she wakens to the face of death, it is not by the sacred ringing of bells. Beneath her, something tears and rips, then snaps, and even before the ice starts to shift, she is on her feet. The ground tilts and the horizon loses its equilibrium. Fear and vertigo, equally strong, force her to spring to her feet but to remain rooted, all the while the deceitful peace they had settled in erupts into life scrambling to save itself. The adrenalin her frantic heart pumps through her veins does not cut through the shock and sinking, she can hear death greet her with crashing ice and roaring waves. Her mind, dizzily fast in thinking its last thoughts, wonders at what being devoured might feel like, while vanity wonders about the state in which she will arrive in Mandos. “Not pierced, not blue, not bloated!” some voice she does not recognise as her own pleads. Her mind cannot be the outlet of such foolishness.

Vertigo is replaced by a sucking sensation tugging at her feet and the moment her mind finally focusses on self-preservation, her body remembers how to move. Not fast enough, though. Never fast enough to flee the warring ice and the angry sea.

Well-known voices cut through the tumult. They are screaming her name and when her head whips around to face the callers, light itself races towards her. Not even Morgoth’s inflicted darkness can dim the light of her brothers’ spirits: faced with peril they only shine the brighter. She launches herself towards them but fails to grip the rim of the ice that now constitutes save ground. Instead of harsh ice, her hands close on freezing air and then her wrists are clasped by warm hands, holding her fast, pulling her close. She hears Aikanáro curse under the strain and when she is slowly lifted from the abyss, Andaráto’s and Findaráto’s heads appear, their hands holding their brother’s legs so they will not lose him too. She loves them in this moment. She loves them with all her heart.

Artanis is pulled into three hasty hugs, but her brother’s attention is quickly drawn elsewhere as the world around them keeps spinning and the screams will not stop. Findaráto is last to leave, kissing her on the forehead, then looking at her imploringly, as if his gaze alone could keep her save. Then he looks up and his eyes widen in surprise. She cannot see the person he nods to before he leaves, but strong hands grasp her shoulders from behind and she is held save and warm by someone even taller than her and her brothers.

"I must leave, too," her uncle excuses himself the moment he makes himself known, but despite his words, he holds her and waits until she has stopped shaking. "Stay safe, niece," he then puts words to her brother’s look. "It is dark around us, but you shine on our path unwaveringly. You are needed. Stay safe!" And then he is gone, too, the lack of his presence cold on her back and cold in her heart.

---

It will be many more centuries before Artanis recognises the wisdom in Nolofinwë’s words and understands that a beacon of light, unyielding to darkness, is all the hope the despaired need. But when she sees Turukáno reduced to a sobbing figure with hands turned palms upwards as if they still remember the warm body they once held; when she beholds him devoid of all his name-giving strength, nothing more than any other Elf who lost too much on this journey, she can but think that Elenwë’s unique combination of outer and inner light would do more good than her own shining hair and high-held head.

---

When the ice stills, they treat their wounds as best they can, then they walk on, an unspoken agreement between them, not to linger here. Elenwë’s natural grave is marked by her husband’s banner and no one tells Turukáno of the furtivity of this symbolic action. Knowing glances between his family members assure them of their shared knowledge: Nothing of Elvish descent or making can last here long.