Across the Ice by ford_of_bruinen

Small fires lay scattered across the frosty landscape and elves huddled close to the sources of heat and light. The smoke hung heavy, blocking out the light of what few stars could penetrate the shroud of darkness that had been brought down over Valinor. The Repenters had turned back some hours earlier, their path lit by nothing save the blue sheen of the lanterns, making them seem like a company of ghosts. In the bay the waters had calmed and quieted and now whispered against the frozen shores where the few Swanships lay berthed, tall and dark in the faint light.

Findekano wrapped the cloak tighter around himself, leaning his head against his knees. The world had changed. The death of the trees had been the beginning and suddenly their lives had swirled out of control. Darkness had not brought about rekindling or unity; it had brought grief and fear, waking long buried resentments and paranoia. He suspected madness fed of the continuing night. Alqualonde had just been the latest example.

His uncle and cousins still moved along the shoreline, their voices hushed as they packed the ships. The supplies would be carried on the first journey together with the entire royal houses. His father and Feanaro had argued long, trying to decide who would sail first and second. The horses had already been loaded, save a few left behind for lack of room.

Findekano sighed and stood, rolling his shoulders. Turukano sat with Itarille in his lap and Elenwe leaning against him, asleep. Long fingers played with her golden hair as Turukano stared into the fire, lost in thought. Irisse and Arakano slept as well, curled together for warmth. The chill made his shoulders ache. He went over to his father, standing tall and quiet at the edge of the firelight - keeping a watchful eye over the people that had followed him and his brother so far already.

Nolofinwe gave him a weary smile and brushed his shoulder lightly before returning to the fire to rest. It was strange how all save Feanaro and his son’s moved in silence, as if all words had left with Arafinwe and the Repenters.

Soft footsteps crunched against the frozen ground and soon a small hand was tugging on the edge of his robe. “Uncle Findekano, I am cold!”

He looked down with a pale smile. Itarille had been the joy of his life since the day she was born. The golden hair was matted and tangled and her small face too pale and serious for one so small. Her soft silk shoes peeked out from under the hem of the dress, stained and worn. He bent down and lifted her up, wrapping his cloak around both of them. The comforting weight of her head on his shoulder and the thin arms wrapped around his neck was soothing and suddenly reminded him how very tired he was feeling. Rubbing her back he took her back to the fire and curled up, shielding her against the cold with his body.

“Sleep pitya,” he murmured, “I will keep you warm now.”

He dozed off, exhausted by the walking and fighting and grief that had been constant companions since they left Tirion. Sleep came with haunted dreams, nightmares of shadow and flame, of treachery and coldness and blood.

The encampment was still quiet when he woke and the fire still burnt as strongly. He suspected he had slept no more than a few hours with it was impossible to tell the passing of time in the darkness. The dreams had left him restless and uneasy. Carefully he stood, lifting Itarille to rest her against his shoulder without waking her.

The soft lull of the water against the rocks lured him and he walked down to the now silent shores. The ships that had lain berthed in the bay were gone, the sea a vast mirror of in the darkness. Unease grew as he stared into the never-ending night.

Behind him Irisse and Arakano mumbled, pushing each other as they followed him to the edge of the water.

“Were you dreaming again?” Irisse’s voice sounded sharp in the silence.

He stared towards a horizon he could not see and nodded quietly. Dreams had tormented him since he was a child and his brothers and sister all knew how sleep sometime evaded him.

“What about this time?” Arakano sounded young, sleepy.

“Treachery,” Findekano answered at the same time as a red light flickered in the distance and grew strong.

“Treachery,” Findekano answered at the same time as a red light flickered in the distance and grew strong.

Arakano came to stand by him, tiredly looking out across the sea. “You had a nightmare, brother.”

Findekano shook his head, his eyes fixed on the distant flickering light, as he slowly stroked Itarille’s hair. She was too young to have witnessed all that had taken place in their time of darkness and now she, and the other children, would suffer another blow to their fading innocence.

Irisse rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and looked around the bay, a small, confused frown appearing on her pale face. “Did they… They took the ships?”

Arakano startled and looked around, blinking, for the first time noticing the silent shore and undisturbed waters. “I thought we were leaving together?”

“We were,” Findekano answered.

Irisse swallowed and moved closer, hooking her arm around Findekano’s, seeking comfort the way she had since she was a little girl. “But… why would they leave?”

“Maybe they are trying to find the right path,” Arakano’s voice sounded childish, as he tried to cling to hope. “Is path the even right word for whatever ships follow?”

Findekano did not answer. He should have felt neither surprised nor hurt to be deserted but foolishly he felt both. The spiral of despair and madness kept spinning, slowly drowning them. He wondered how long it would be until someone else noticed the fire on the far shore, before anyone realised that they had been forsaken.

Irisse and Arakano had both fallen silent, uneasy by Findekano’s nightmares and silence. Their eyes looked out over the water as well and he wondered if they understood what it was they saw yet.

Behind them the encampment woke as the wind rose, cold and biting as it tore through clothing. Ecthelion saw three of Nolofinwe’s children on the beach, their black hair flying in the wind as they faced the sea. Curiously he wondered what they were looking at and rose to join them.  Soft footsteps behind him told him that others were joining him, walking down to the empty beach.

Turukano and Elenwe moved gracefully through the growing crowd by the shore until they reached Findekano, who stood still as a statue, and behind them the crowd parted for Nolofinwe, respectfully making way for their Prince as he came to stand behind his oldest son.

Voices grew, from whispers and sighs to shouts and exclamations as the quendi around Findekano discovered the fires. Confusion, followed by hope and joy. He was not sure who first spoke what so many seemed to think, that the fires burnt to give them hope, that the King - he felt his father tense behind him - and his sons had reached the shore of their forefathers so soon and that the ships would soon return.

Turukano and Elenwe were smiling at each other, their fingers entwining as they watched the light, anticipation shining in their eyes.

Arakano and Irisse stood quiet by Findekano‘s, their faces torn between hope and dread. They suspected what he knew; his dreams had sown doubt in their minds even if they could not yet admit that he had dreamt true.

Nolofinwe stood quiet as well behind his children, his face inscrutable as he listened to those around him, the voices clear and bright. Someone had started singing as they waited for the ships to appear out of the darkness. Nolofinwe’s eyes alone were not on the horizon of another world but on Findekano. Eventually he moved, resting his hand on Findekano’s shoulder. “What do you think?” he asked quietly, calmly. “Where are the ships?”

Findekano turned, meeting his father’s eyes. “They are burning.” he said, his voice soft enough to cut through the noise.

Around them silence fell as the elves around them turned to the father and son, their eyes wide in shock at Findekano's words.

Around them silence fell as the elves around them turned to the father and son, their eyes wide in shock at Findekano's words.

Nolofinwe was unsurprised, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he watched his son. “How did you come to such a conclusion?”

Findekano sighed, his voice quiet. “I dreamt it,” he answered reluctantly. “In a dream of shadow and flame, of blood and betrayal I saw the ships burn, Feanaro held the torch. When I woke… I knew… and found the ships gone. “

“You dreamt it and expect us to accept it as truth? No offence, brother,” Turukano interrupted irritably, “but I for one am not prepared to draw conclusions based on your dreams. I had thought you had grown out of your nightmares by now.”

Findekano turned slowly, his eyes burning with intensity as he looked at his younger brother. “I am not asking you to believe anything. The ships are burning. What you chose to believe is your own choice. I will tell you this,” he continued, his voice growing in strength if not in volume, “Those fires burn strong and brightly and they are large. You know they are not cooking fires but tell me, why would they light so many fires of such size only to signal to us? If they had wished to send such a message one fire would have been sufficient. You all know this.”

Turukano shook his head in disgust. “You put too much importance on your dreams, Findekano. They will send the ships back for us, perhaps then you will no longer scare people with your dreams.”

Findekano watched his brother. “You still have much to learn” his voice quiet and pitying.

Around them the elves murmured, voices filled with doubt and suspicions, most of them agreeing with Turukano. Dreams were not proof, dreams should not even count as suspicions, the ships would return.  Feelings were slowly coming to a boil.

Nolofinwe raised his hand. “Enough.” his commanding voice cut through the growing calamity. “We gain nothing by arguing among ourselves. For now we wait, time will solve this quarrel for us. Does anyone carry an hourglass?”

Elenwe’s brother stepped out from the crowd, raising his hand. “I did,” he admitted in his deep voice. “I thought it may be useful in such darkness.” He reached into the bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out a small hourglass, surrounded by an ornate golden frame.

Nolofinwe smiled gratefully as he took the hourglass and set it into the sand, firmly. “We wait,” he repeated. “Until we have turned the glass fifty times we will wait and keep peace. If no ships have appeared by the time the sand is running out the last time we will presume that Findekano dreamt true and the ships burnt.”

“Maybe we could mark the turnings?” Elenwe asked shyly. “We could gather one stone for every time the glass is turned, building a cairn while we wait.”

Nolofinwe smiled at her, he always had a soft spot for this intelligent, shy young woman that had married his son. “One stone for every hour,” he agreed. “It is a very good idea.”

Elenwe returned to smile as she walked over to Findekano, carefully lifting her daughter out of his arms. “Thank you for minding her, brother,” she said softly.

Tiredly Findekano nodded at her before he turned, making his way back to the fire. He felt wrung out and there was a painful throbbing behind his eyes, which was not unusual after his nightmares. He closed his eyes and sat down; trying to shut out the voices that still argued on the beach, although they sounded calmer now, the threat of violence had gone.

His father joined him quietly, wrapping a comforting arm around his shoulders as if he was a child in need of comfort.

“Are you certain?” Nolofinwe asked quietly. “Did the ships burn?”

He nodded in reply, words feeling too distant and hard to shape. Distantly he was aware of a blanket being wrapped around him and a gentle kiss against his temple.

“Rest Findekano,” his father said softly.  “We will still be counting the hours when you wake.”

The stars were still veiled when he woke and the campfires still lit up the ever-lasting night. A glance at the time-glass proved that hours had passed while he slept, the cairn having both base and a small tower. The beach  was almost empty again, only a few hopefuls still looked out over the black waters. Silence had once again fallen over the waiting elves and the air tasted faintly of bitterness and regret.

Turukano stared into the fire again, his arms wrapped protectively around his small family and Nolofinwe stood some way from the fire, watching the timepiece and the sea.

Low voices came from the neighbouring fire where Arafinwe’s children sat together, whispering between themselves in their mother’s musical, lilting language. Apart from them the camp was quiet.

Findekano sat up silently, losing track of time as he watched stone after stone being added to the cairn. Their dreams were being buried, slowly. It felt almost as if each one of those small pieces of rock were laid over his chest and shoulders, pulling him down, crushing him under their weight.

Nolofinwe’s face was grim and serious as he laid the last stone on top of the others. “Findekano dreamt true,” he said heavily. “We have been betrayed. We return home.”

“Home?” Aikanaro’s voice was furious. “They left us behind and we reply by returning like kicked pups? I say we follow them and claim what is ours!”

Laurefinde’s voice was quiet, graceful. “What would that win us? We would merely fuel this circle of hatred. Better we return to the home we should never have left.”

“Then go home, vanya! Go sit at the feet of your masters like the hounds your kind are like!”

“Silence!” Nolofinwe was close to roaring as he stepped between them. “Insults and attacks agasint our own will accomplish nothing. We have two options, to return or to continue our journey.”

Findarato quietly rested a hand on Aikanaro’s shoulder, mumbling in his ear and slowly Aikanaro relaxed.

“I cannot see that we can do anything but return,” Turukano added. “We have no ships, nor could we convince the Teleri to aide us anymore and the ice of the north is uncrossable  by all save the Valar.”

Some of the quendi nodded at Turukano’s words and the group slowly parted, some went to stand behind Turukano and his kinsman, others - including all of Arafinwe’s children - stood behind Aikanaro, in a show of support.

Nerwen’s voice was clear as she looked at Turukano. “Was my uncle right in calling us slaves? Are we so entrapped in the wills of the Valar that we can not make our own decisions? I have my free will and I have strength enough to face what has not been faced before. Perhaps, cousin, you have less will to leave and more of an urge, as usual, to crawl back to safety and avoid the hard choices.”

“I argued against leaving in the first place,” Turukano said irritably. “I thought the idea foolish then and I still do, even more so now. Choosing comfort and warmth and civilisation does not equal being a slave.”

Nolofinwe nodded slightly. “You did object to the original suggestion.” He sighed. “Well Findekano, you convinced us then that we should leave. What do you say now, after what we did at Alqualonde and after your dreams of betrayal?”

Findekano stood silent a long time, feeling their eyes upon him. “What makes you think we still have a choice?” He finally asked quietly. “Why do you think we could still return?”

Silence followed his words

“We all heard the words of Mandos. The house of Arafinwe returned then, we did not. We followed the house of Feanaro this far. The Valar created Caracirya for us when we wanted to see the stars, do you not think they could fence the land against us? Is our choice between returning or continuing or is the choice no more than whether to perish here or elsewhere?”

Elenwe was paled as she stared at him, looking trapped and afraid. Laurefinde had lowered his gaze, watching the ground rather than anyone else.

“We could at least try to go home,” Turukano’s voice was stubborn.

Findekano looked at him. “I think we all should do what we feel right,” he answered quietly. “Go home if that is what your heart is telling you. I am facing the ice.”

Findekano looked at him. “I think we all should do what we feel right,” he answered quietly. “Go home if that is what your heart is telling you. I am facing the ice.”

 Silence fell as the brothers looked at each other, neither backing down from their convictions.

Turukano eventually broke the silence. “I did not think you vengeful, brother, but I fail to see another reason for your reluctance to return.

Findekano shook his head slowly. “I do not go for vengeance, we have seen enough of bloodshed and hate. I wish to leave to find lands to build my life rather than to live in my father‘s halls. I am no skilled artisan or scholar, life in Tirion holds an eternity of intrigue and inactivity for me. I do not want that.”

Nerwen nodded thoughtfully as she moved to stand beside Findekano. “I will follow you,” she decided. “I will not return to live a lady in my father’s court, playing for power. I will find my own lands and rule them, woman or not.”

Silently her brothers stepped up behind them, adding their own support to their sister and Findekano and so did Irisse. Arakano hesitated for a moment as he stood, not having taken the side of either brother before he shuffled to stand beside Irisse. The silence hung heavily in the air.

Nolofinwe watched thoughtfully as one after another of the children of the noble houses joined Findekano.  There was a clear difference in opinion between, mostly, the younger elves who had recently come to their majority and those already Lords or Ladies, or of higher years. He was unsurprised to see many of those who had once come from Cuivienen behind Turukano.  Sighing he considered his options, he could see the value in both the opinions being voiced by his sons and he found himself agreeing with both.

He had sworn to follow Feanaro, not knowing what madness would lead them here, to this decision. Was he still bound to a vow despite Feanaro’s betrayal? He closed his eyes, finding himself wishing for his father’s counsel. To keep a promise that would quite possible lead to their deaths or to break an oath and return, tail between his legs, as a kicked pup.

In the silence his people turned towards him, waiting for him to speak, for him to decide on their future. He could not do it, he could not force those unwilling to face the ice, nor could he force so many of the young elves to desert their dreams.

“Findekano spoke true,” he said eventually. “We have reached a point in our journey where no Lord will decide your fates. If you chose to return do so with my blessing, I will think no lesser of you if you were to refuse the dangers ahead of us. Those of you that wish to continue I will lead across the ice. I gave an oath to follow Feanaro’s lead and to that I hold. But,” he continued, raising his hand to signal for silence as the host erupted into discussion, “we will not leave these shores yet. We cannot cross the ice with what we have. We set our camp here and we hunt, we hunt for food and furs for I fear we will need both before this journey is at end. “

Turukano closed his eyes, arms once again going around Elenwe. Around them similar scenes repeated, families were once again being torn between those wishing o remain and those that longed for life in the distant lands. Discussions and arguments cut through the air as did tears and pleading.

Nolofinwe turned his back towards the host, once again staring out across the darkened sea. “Why?” he whispered to himself. “We followed you here, why desert us now?”

Slowly the discussions and arguments died down and the tears dried. No more than and handful left, turning back to a city that might be denied them, the others remained, reluctant to be parted from the families they had followed this far.

In silence they started digging the pits for burying bones and what they could not use. Cairns were build, carefully, to allow shelter for the small fires that would smoke the meat that they caught, conserving it for their journey. Trees were cut down and dug into the half frozen earth, providing poles on which to try and stretch the hides and furs.

The children helped with what they could, gathering stones for the cairns and branches for the fires. What firewood they did not use now was carefully bound in cloth and stacked away for the journey.

It took them days of building before the hunts started, smoking cairns and drying racks waiting for the return of meat and furs.

It was a hard time with little rest. Mainly boys and men joined the hunting groups while the women stayed behind to care for children and the caught prey. Irisse, who had grown up enjoying the chase, joined the hunt by Findekano’s side, her eyes shining of excitement as they tracked the roaming reindeers, the brown bears and small snow hares.  In the beginning the game was varied and close, their excursions rarely lasting more than a few hours but soon the game fled and the hunts grew longer and harder, forcing them to drag their slain prey back over large distances. The brown bears were the worst, their bodies large and heavy but their meat good and their furs thick.

In the weeks that followed the encampment stank of smoke and blood. The fires under the meat was constantly burning, women taking turns to stand guards at the smoking huts to ensure that the fires remained lit and the meat did not burn. The frozen field where they butchered the game was red from the blood that had seeped into the ground and constantly did they dig new pits for burying that which could not be smoked and eaten. Yet the foxes and wolves and wild, tufted cats grew closer and closer to the encampment, drawn by the scents of death.

The drying racks held furs and hides that had been scraped before being hung up and as soon as a skin was dried it was taken down and stitched into coats and shoes or set aside and stacked to be used as blankets. Most of the furs still smelt sharply of the animal that had carried them last, adding to the stench that hung over the camp.

Slowly the smoking huts filled with meat, but still they hunted, determined to bring as much meat as they could carry with them in their journey across the ice. More smoking huts were built and tall stands were erected in the middle of the camp. Here they could hang fresh meat to dry in the cold winds that seemed to blow stronger and stronger with every day.

It was impossible to count the time they spent by the shore, hunting and preparing for a walk that could well lead them to their deaths but eventually their preparations came to an end and every man, woman and child were given a pack as heavy as they could carry. Light sleighs made of fur and wood were constructed to help the stronger elves to carry more with them. Nolofinwe and his son’s all dragged one of the makeshifts sleights as did Irisse who had insisted to share her brothers burden. Whatever few horses remained were laden with furs and meat as were a few of the wild caribou that Turukano had manage to capture and tame.

Long weeks after the ships had burnt across the sea they could finally break camp.