The Choice by LadySternchen

The Choice

Read The Choice

Turukáno pulled the fastenings of his cloak more tightly around his neck, trying to shut the freezing cold out, but with very little success. Their journey was as hard as it had been from the beginning, and he regretted now more than ever that he had chosen to follow his father, siblings and cousins on this horrible walk through ice and snow. A day or so ago,  however, things had taken a turn for the worse, for fog, thick, white fog had descended upon them, and the mist carried frost’s stinging chill into every cleft in the fabric, biting at exposed skin. In addition to this, it obscured almost everything, making it easy to lose the throng and wander off, unaware of even doing so.
Nevertheless, he could hear children laughing, among them clearly his own daughter. It was strange, hearing her so clearly but not seeing her, everyone around him obscured by the fog. Then a figure loomed out of the whiteness, and by her golden hair he her to be his wife. Elenwë smiled at him.
“I’ll go and look for her, before they get lost. But I’m glad the children have a little fun at least.”
Turukáno laid an arm around his wife, clumsy due to the thick furs they were both wrapped in, answering her smile. After a moment, however, she ducked out form under his arm and started to walk away into the whiteness, and she had not been gone for long ere he heard a sob, a noise which made him tense. He listened hard, trying his best to discern what was happening, deprived of sight as he was, but then he heard Elenwë chuckle softly, telling Itarillë that she should perhaps not climb to heights she was scared of. Turukáno relaxed inwardly. He knew what their daughter must have done- she had climbed onto one of the great spikes that were created everywhere by the floating ice, pushed up by unseen currents and instantly frozen in place. Snow often covered these spikes, making them wonderful slides. The children could seldom resist, and if there was any energy to spare left in the adults, neither could they. Reasons for merriment were so very scarce these days.
He had just started to walk towards them, guided by their voices, when he heard a sound that made his very blood freeze in his veins- a lout cracking and fell rumbling, followed by Elenwë’s yell of fear and Itarillë’s pitiful screaming. He ran, blindly, until he was brought to a sudden halt. The furling mists had hidden the water’s edge from his sight until the very  last moment, and he skidded to a halt at the very brink of the ice, where it had broken open, and the sea beneath was frothing and steaming as if it were boiling. Turukáno new better, though. Warmer the water might be than the ice, but it was still freezingly cold. He heard his own cries for help, sounding shrill and unlike his own. And then he saw them, Elenwë with her arms around Itarillë, both barely afloat, whilst all around them, sharp edges of ice emerged from the waters they had previously sunken into, like fell sea-monsters closing in on their prey.
He only took the time to rip the fur covering him off so that he may be able to swim, then jumped headlong into the waters, wanting to cover as much space above them as he could, as he knew that the cold water would numb his limbs within heartbeats. Plunging into the icy darkness was like jumping into a sea of red-hot needles, piercing his very skin. Had his head not been submerged in water, he would have yelled in pain, a pain that only intensified as numbness started to spread from his face and fingertips, all feeling being replaced by a dull, crushing pain. When he reached the surface again, he drew a breath that took the burning pain of cold to his lungs as well, but he did not care, for he saw that his wife and daughter were only feet away from him now, almost within reach. He also heard voices, which meant that the others had not only heard his calls, but had followed them here to help.
And then he reached them, Elenwë barely holding the child above the water, frost already covering her golden tresses. Turukáno wrapped his numb arms around them, trying to recall the movement legs made to tread water, for he could no longer feel his own, but it was no good. They could not hold Itarillë above the water like that.
“Ta..ke her.” Elenwë whispered through lips that were frozen together. “I can… h…hold ou…t f…for a bit.”
Turukáno did as she told him without a second thought, trying his best to hold his daughter’s body to his own without letting her slip, and swam. The ice was near, and despite his blurry vision he could make out Laurefindil kneeling at the water’s edge, with his arms outstretched. Turukáno’s heart leapt with joy- Laurefindil would take good care of his niece while he, Turukáno, swam back for Elenwë. But then he looked down onto his daughter’s face, and all joy and hope left him. Itarillë was white as the snow-covered ice all around them, and still, and her eyes were closed.
She is dead, was the only thought he was capable of thinking, the pain of it almost choking him. Laurefindil, too, wept as Tutukáno finally reached him so he could grasp for Itarillë.
“Turu…”
But he did not wait, not even to hear what his brother-in-law had to say. As soon as he saw that Laurefindil had a tight hold on Itarillë’s little body, he turned back, only to see nothing but ice. It was closing in nightmarishly around him, white and menacing, and Elenwë was nowhere to be seen. He called her desperately, even though his feeble voice could surely not be heard over the howling wind that had replaced the mist now. Turukáno drew as much air as he could into his lungs and plunged under the water again, determined to find his wife, for he could not lose them both. He realised soon, however, that this was futile. He could not see beneath the ice, nor feel, and as he decided to give into the suffocating cold and exhaled, a great peace came over him, and a joy. He would be with his loved ones again in a moment. He must only endure the pain and fear a little longer, and then step before great Námo. He cared not what punishment the Vala would bestow upon him, he would be with his wife and daughter there in Mandos, and that was all that felt of any importance. Lights shimmered before his eyes as the dark waters seemed to whirl around him. He could not resist the urge to inhale any longer.

The next thing he knew was the sound of many frantic voices. He heard what they were saying, yet could not grasp their meaning.
“We need to get all garments off him before they freeze to his skin, or he is lost!”
“Here, wrap him in my mantle.”
“Rub his body, gently, but firmly.”
Turukáno opened his eyes by a fraction, and saw his father’s face swim in and out of focus.
“Don’t give up, little one, keep fighting. Oh my sweet boy, don’t leave me. Remember what your mother said when she bade us farewell? I shall be comforted to know that Turukáno is coming with you, for within him lives stronger than in our other children my wisdom… She is right, as she always is. We shall all be lost without you. Hold on…”
Turukáno did not hear any more of what was spoken. Stars now gleamed overhead, cold and distant.
“Elenwë…” he whispered with numb lips, then darkness engulfed him.

Turukáno came to once again to the sound of voices around him, and searing pain throughout his body. Slowly, memory returned to him of what had happened- he had lost his wife and daughter. The freezing waters and merciless ice had taken them, would have claimed him, too, had not someone pulled him out. One part of his mind was angry about that, but he knew full well that they had only acted out of love, so how could he scorn them for it? It did not truly matter after all, for he would go anyway, and soon. The thought soothed him greatly, and he began to assess his surroundings. He was naked, yes, they had said they would strip him of his clothes so that they would not freeze to him. He also felt rough fur against his skin, and smelled woodfire. That indeed surprised him, as they carried what little fuel they had with them, and therefore hardly ever lit fires. A faint feeling of guilt slunk into his conscience. If they wasted firewood on him, his death would be even more bitter for that. Now he also understood, by the muffled sound of the wind, that they had built a makeshift tent to keep the cold out as best they could.
He also became aware that someone sat beside him, someone who constantly stroked his shoulder. With the uttermost effort, he opened his eyes to look straight into the blue eyes of his cousin and best friend.
“Ingoldo…” he muttered tonelessly. Findaráto almost cried, which again made Turukáno feel a tweak of guilt, even more so as Findaráto reached for his hand and pressed it ever so gently. Turukáno still winced, as his fingers felt stiff and very painful still. Yet the pain did not matter, he only wanted to make his friend understand while the still could, while there was still a spark of life in him.
“I need to follow.” he breathed, and this time, Findaráto truly wept. Turukáno closed his eyes to the sight, unable to bear it. His cousin shook him frantically, calling him, and when he gave no answer, Turukáno felt Findaráto lay his head upon his chest, yet was already past truly caring.
“His heartbeat is fading.”
He heard the despair in his Findaráto’s voice and felt sorry for him, for him and the other’s who now gathered around them. They all loved him, he knew, and had done far too much to try and save him, and he wished he could at least to thank them and bid them farewell, but he could not muster the strength.
“I have feared that.” he now heard his father’s grave voice. “Alas, that this grief shall know no ending. But we must not hinder his passing, not even with our pleas. He has been tormented enough.”
“Poor little one.”
“Bring her here, so she might see him one more time while he is still alive.”
The words drifted by Turukáno’s thoughts like running water, but as a cold drift told him that someone had entered the tent, he again opened his eyes almost against his will. Findekáno now knelt beside his head.
“Come up a little.” his brother said gently, reaching under his shoulders to lift him up a bit, so that he came to rest propped up against his elder brother in almost a sitting position. And there, in Laurefindil’s arms, he saw Itarillë. Turukáno smiled.
“Have you come to get me, my sweet?” he asked hoarsely, not truly noting the looks of terror that passed between his family surrounding him. Itarillë gazed at him out of fearful eyes, clutching her uncle’s mantle tightly.
Then Findaráto suddenly gasped, falling to his knees before Turukáno and taking his face in both hands, forcing him to look at him.
“Turvo, have you… did you think Itarillë perished as well as Elenwë?” He shook him slightly. “Your daughter lives, Turukáno. You saved her life, almost giving your own, don’t you recall? We brought her here to say farewell, but… she needs you.”
Turukáno just stared at his cousin blankly, then looked back at Laurefindil, who nodded with tears in his eyes, now at last setting the child down beside her father.
“Are you going after Amil, Attu?” Itarillë asked timidly. Her sorrow stirred something in Turukáno’s wounded soul like nothing else had.
“My heart wants to… but you don’t want me to?” he answered, his voice still hardly audible.
Itarillë shook her head frantically, flinging herself at him. He dragged his arms up to embrace her, held the small sobbing body pressed against his chest, and there, finally, he wholly understood that his daughter was alive, that he could not possibly abandon her after she had already lost her mother.
“Then I won’t. I won’t leave you.” Turukáno whispered.
Itarillë looked up at him with tears glittering on her cheeks.
“You promise you won’t die?”
He shook his head.
“But you look so tired.” she wailed, again pressing her face to his chest.
“That I am, my sweet. But I will be alright.”
Turukáno raised gaze and found Laurefindil, who also stroked Itarillë’s hair gently, smiling  at him.
“Elenwë would be so proud of you.” Laurefindil said softly “And so am I!”