Tengwar: To The Letter by cuarthol

Calma (lamp)

What need of more light?
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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Delicate silver rings assembled in a fine chain net cradle the gem within, radiating a pale blue light throughout the room.  Fëanor’s eyes dance.

The top is drawn into a loop to be held or hung, but now it rests upon his workbench.

What need have we of more light?

The question grates.  Laurenlin reaches not to Oromë’s hollows and Aulë’s depths, nor Telperion, the fathoms of Ulmo.

Think ye the Pelóri are the end of Arda?  That the vast lands through which our forebears journeyed are wholly forgotten?  To ye, perhaps, but I would see their distant beauty yet.

 

Ungwë (spider's web)

One thing more to ask.
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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The wire was spun so fine as to resemble thread, hung with myriad crystal dewdrops which in turn twisted the light into a dazzling waltz across the silver web.  In the center was mounted an onyx with eight slender silver legs.

“Breathtaking,” Nerdanel whispered as Fëanor drew the piece over her shoulders to clasp it behind her neck.  Her fingertips traced the lines of it as it settled lightly over her breast.

“I shall make for thee whatever thy heart desires.”  

The words tickled her ear, sending shivers down her neck.  “Then when wilt thou make for me a ring?”

Alda (tree)

Somewhere in the Forest of Brethil...
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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“Leaf and needle, branch and root!”  The deep voice rumbled with amusement as the squirrel skittered down his trunk.  It might almost be described as ticklish, the tiny nails clinging to his hide.  “Another acorn for your burrow?”

The squirrel paused, turning inquisitive eyes up but without understanding.  Its tail twitched, mouth too full to chatter in reply.  After a moment, it continued on its way, jumping down onto the soft forest floor and bounding to the next tree.

Soon the creature was beyond his sight, and he settled back into a half-lidded doze with a contented sigh.  “Hmm, hoom.”

Númen (west)

An Avar considers those who left before his birth.
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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Murien thinks on the fate of their sundered kin.  Did they find what they sought, fulfillment of those lofty promises?  Did they ever regret their choice?

He would not have followed; the very thought is waved away like a meddlesome moth.  How could he leave the forests of his people where they have dwelt for generations, pushing back against the darkness to kindle their own light?

Nowhere else would be home.

Still, he thinks on it, his imagination crafting a scene: luminous plants and sweet waters, songs of harmony, and quiet contentment.  What could the West offer that he lacks?

Unque (hollow)

An Angband escapee.
(References to captivity and injuries.  Drabble)

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His body trembled as he leveraged the iron band, heedless of the raw flesh and blood.  An abrupt lurch and it slid off, hitting the ground with a dull thud and a clatter of chain.

He panted in shock, in relief.

Narrowing tunnels with jagged sides grabbed his skin and clothes as he scrambled onward toward a faint hope of escape.  He crawled at the last, desperate, gasping for air as darkness pressed in from all sides.

Then it was gone, fallen away, and Gwindor was free.  Cool, bare ground beneath his feet; hollow eyes filled with tears and starlight.
 

Aha (rage)

Exiled without recourse.
(No warnings.  Drabble, Poetry)

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The Tyrant’s Wrath, Fëanor called it: the storm that sank so many ships, his people lost to the sea.  No matter what the Valar meted out, he would not yield.  He had been exiled - what else could he have done?  He stood upon the prow and screamed his defiance:

Let Námo curse and Ossë rage
Let Lindar fall and Swanships break
An oath I made and war I’ll wage
For nothing less, my vengeance slake

Let every drop of Noldor blood
Be shed to see our foe’s demise
No bitter sea nor swelling flood
Shall keep me from rightful prize

Essë (name)

Felagund, who knew no fear.
(References to death.  Drabble)

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It was a battle he could not win, but defeat would not come one breath before its time.  Broken by songs of power, he sang on.  Chained and cast into darkness, he knew freedom.  Left to endure the pained cries of his truest companions as one by one they were ripped asunder and their souls sent flying to Mandos, he knew his own fate.

Even as he lay bleeding upon cold stone, Beren’s hands clutching him, he smiled into the darkness.  He had won.  He had overcome.  Though taken in death, he had denied Sauron his greatest prize: his name.

Essë nuquerna (name reversed)

It'll get you every time.
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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It was a beautiful stamp, etched in soapstone.  The name ‘Finwë’ was framed by a ring of vines and leaves, birds and insects tucked among them.  Curufin admired the dedication and skill which had gone into the piece, and it almost broke his heart when his son looked at him, eyes filled with hopeful pride.

“Can I try it out, papa?”

Curufin nodded.

Telperinquar eagerly poured the wax into a perfect circle, setting the stamp in the center.  When he lifted it, his excitement turned to confusion, then horror.  There was the carefully carved name, perfectly displayed in reverse:  ⋼ωɲıꟻ

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Chapter End Notes

I've been bit more than once forgetting to mirror the stamp carving *facepalm*

Parma (book)

Cultural exchanges.
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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Daeron inspected the curious object.  “Remarkably clever,” he said.  “How is it held together?”

“The parchment pages are folded and sewn together, like so.” Finrod demonstrated upon a piece of loose reed paper which the Sindar used for their scrolls.  “Then bundles are further arranged and bound, adding as many as are necessary to meet the desired length.”

Daeron nodded.  “I can see the benefits such would offer, despite its greater complexity.  If my people appreciated writing more, perhaps they might adopt such crafts.”

“I will gift you some blank volumes, if you like.”

Daeron could barely contain his excitement.

 

Quessë (feather)

Unsung heirlooms
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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The fabric, once a vibrant blue, had faded into a pale autumn sky.  The golden silk trim had little loops of pulled thread from being snagged again and again.  The elbows were patched thrice over.  Now the hem had torn at the corner, shredded into a feathery edge.

“Tsk, take this old thing off,” Andreth chided.  “I know not why you insist on wearing it still.”

But she did know; their father’s tunic, gifted by Nóm when Boromir inherited the title of Chieftain, it’s worth beyond mere cloth.

Andreth would mend it again, adding a sister’s love to its stitches.

Yanta (bridge)

One fear.
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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It might not have been a great philosophical question for the ages, but he found himself pondering the subtle distinction between ‘height’ and ‘depth’ which was newly impressing itself upon his senses.

Surely standing upon a mountain peak and standing upon a chasm’s edge was irrelevant in terms of the distance down; different perhaps only in the ability to see the bottom.  But that, as it was turning out, was distinction enough.

Celebrimbor swallowed past the lump in his throat and forced a weak smile.  

“Narvi, my friend, I find myself quite unable to cross, impressive as the bridge is.”

Formen (north)

Not every Dwarven craft was shared.
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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Telchar stroked his beard, gaze intent upon the sliver of metal on the oil’s surface.  He pinched it between his fingers and gave a twist.  Once he released his hold, it returned to its former orientation.

One year and countless attempts later, he held the final device, finished to his satisfaction.  Within a brass casing, a metal needle floated in an enclosed glass dish on a bed of oil.  He carried it from Nogrod to Menegroth and beyond, and it served him well.

So long as he kept it away from the forges, its orientation was stable and true: north.

---

Chapter End Notes

Angband, or "Iron Prison", may have been more than metaphorical.

Silmë (starlight)

The sunset was a surprise, too!
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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The first sunset was as astonishing to Nuin as sunrise had been.  He spoke reassuring words to Ermon and Elmir, and the others who had awoken.  He taught them to make fire, and the Secondborn gathered around the light in fear of the darkness.

Nuin could not tell them the light would return, for he did not know.  But he had ever lived his life without it, and did not fear its leaving.  Instead he led Ermon and Elmir out beyond the reach of the fire’s light to cast their gazes upward, basking rather in the light of the stars.

---

Chapter End Notes

Nuin was an Elf in BoLT pt I who found the first Men while they still slept, watched over them, and eventually woke the first two, Ermon and Elmir, who saw the first sunrise itself.

Silmë nuquerna (starlight reversed)

Sunset brings another surprise
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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Círdan dropped another report before Gil-galad, more despair than hope, but that spark was one he still clung to.

“A band of Men was seen to the south.  Survivors of Sirion, perhaps.  They fled before our ships could make landfall.”

Gil-galad clenched one hand into a fist, resisting the urge to hit something.  However, his reply was interrupted by a commotion from without.  They took to the balcony to look down on a murmuring crowd pointing at the sky.

It took them but a moment to see the cause.  An unexpected star in the west, bright against the new-come evening.

Lambë (tongue)

Thank you, Anérea, for the amazing inspiring twist on this prompt!
(Warning for unbearable cuteness.  Drabble)

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Kurn enjoyed the warg pens, especially during whelping. The brief sliver of tenderness when the pups were cleaned by their mother as they squirmed and fought for a nipple stirred a brief, long-forgotten memory of being suckled by her own mother.

There were some older pups in the next pen, learning to use their adult teeth on the soft meat thrown in.  She picked one up by the scruff and it licked her face, tail wagging enthusiastically.  There was no chance of keeping it, it was bound for the riders, but she feared what fate awaited the small, happy creature.

---

Chapter End Notes

Kurn is my OC Orc who has made a previous appearance in No Dreams In Darkness written for the 2022 challenge X Marks the Spot

Anna (gift)

A battle of wills (with a body count)
(Warning: references to dead animals.  250 words)

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The stomp of boots heralded Celegorm’s approach, as well as his mood.  A moment later he threw the door open, finding Curufin on a cushioned bench beside the fire.  His wrothful gaze landed first on his brother, then on the three cats which surrounded him - one sleeping soundly upon his lap, one curled before the fire, and the third cleaning itself.  None of them deigned to acknowledge Celegorm’s arrival.

“Which one of your little monsters is threatening me?” Celegorm demanded.

Curufin blinked slowly.  “Whatever could you mean?”

Celegorm proceeded to recount the increasingly mangled corpses of mice, birds, rats, and even a rabbit which had been appearing outside of his door over the last fortnight.

“So dramatic.  They aren’t threats.”  Curufin smiled sweetly.  “I’m sure they’re just leaving you little gifts.”

Celegorm narrowed his eyes at his brother’s three menaces.  He disliked them on principle, they killed without reason, not even eating their prey, and he particularly disliked them killing the birds.

He also particularly disliked finding dead animals on his doorstep.  He had stepped on one before he had fully awoken and that had left him in a particularly foul mood.

“Do something about it,” Celegorm snapped before turning on his heel and leaving.

Curufin waved dismissively after him and turned the page of his book.

A few days later, Celegorm leaned back and smiled as his brother’s shriek rang through the fortress.  He must have found the “little gift” Huan had left him from their last warg hunt.

Hyarmen (south)

Excerpts from a damaged journal, recovered from the wreckage of an Elven ship found far to the south.  Determined to be one of the seven which Turgon asked Círdan to build to seek aid from the Valar.

(No warnings.  In-universe artifact)

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[previous pages missing or illegible]

-rgon, built by L[ord] Círdan of the Fala- [illegible] …rtnight west…rd.  Ossë, be merciful to the Falathrim sailo-

-dawn did not come, storms pummel…[illegible] was lost overboa-

-ny days since [illegible] land.  …[illegible] ship is in poor shape, but we persist- [illegible] -wind, ever the wind-

-give for a taste of fresh wat- [illegible] -ecall the journey over ice- [remainder of page missing, along with several following pages]

-outh.  Elbere[th] Stars here look stran… All is cold and wh[i]te.  …creatures… walk upright [illegible] half bird, half people.  …ing their cacophony.  [illegible] befriended one.  Named them morhelf [scribe’s note: black coat.]

[partial, largely smudged sketch of a penguin]

[multiple pages missing or damaged beyond legibility]

…[illegible] now to Mand[os]

[no further text appears to remain]

---

Chapter End Notes

Thank you, Polutrope, for reviewing this chapter <3

Ampa (hook)

First impressions
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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Celeborn did not care much for her at first.  Though beautiful, he thought her dull and proud.  He did not ken her quietude was born of grief, mistaking the horrors which inhabited her gaze as arrogance.

So successfully did he avoid her company that when, upon a bright summer morning, he saw her racing through the forest in but a tunic and loincloth, he did not know her.  But the unbound joy of her going awoke something within, and he cast off his robes and sandals and raced after her.

Before he knew it (or her), he had been hooked.
 

Óre (heart)

She was sitting in a tree...
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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Túrin had been a quiet child, but thoughtful and quick to learn.  Nellas cherished the rare smiles she coaxed from him, the rarer laugh.

As he grew, he turned to heavier matters - swordplay and warfare, eager to follow his father’s path.  She mourned the loss of his companionship, but kept a close eye whenever he ventured into the woods.

His unexpected return from the marches made her heart sing.  How handsome he had become, full grown by his own measure.  How well he fought, despite his dishonorable opponent.

How deeply she loved him, knowing she would never win his heart.

Umbar (fate)

Mother to mother
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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She named him with tears in her eyes, holding her twins and knowing she would lose this one first.  An age later she would wonder if it was penance for two more twins.

Not knowing if she would be welcomed or shunned, she traveled north along the coast, along that fated path which had taken everything from her.  There in the frigid reaches was the tower built to reach a star.

Steeling herself, she rang the bell.  

“My name is Nerdanel.”

One mother to another they stood, until Elwing stepped aside and welcomed her in.

“I am glad you came.”

Anga (iron)

Master and apprentice
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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It was a substance unknown to them before, for they did not forge at Cuiviénen as they came to do in Valinor, nor did their fires burn as hot.

Mahtan was drawn to the act of creation, watching in awe as the metal journeyed from black through red, orange, yellow, until it glowed white like a star in the forge, then to be shaped and molded.

It was as much the delight of Aulë to shepherd him in his craft as it was for Mahtan to be guided.

Ever were the words upon his lips: “Would you teach me, Master?”

Anto (mouth)

To go is to leave
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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Finduilas heeded little the words which fell from his lips, caring nothing for what promises or assurances were offered.  He spoke at length, yet for all that was said it was only to follow many paths to the same end: his leaving.

The pain which gripped her drowned out all else.  It was only when he had paused to wipe them away, thumb hovering at the edge of her mouth, that she realized her own tears and put voice to her grief.

“You go for your brother, and I cannot find fault in this.  But neither can I bear it.”
 

Arda (world)

If only it had been so simple
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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The two sat in silent companionship, as often they had done on Balar.  The gardens offered both serenity and privacy, and in time Celebrimbor said what had been on his mind.

“My grandfather sought to preserve the light of the trees.  In this was he foresighted, though his jealousy became his downfall.”

Gil-galad remained silent, waiting.

“I, too, seek preservation.  If I cannot unmar Arda, perhaps I can slow its decay.  But do me this kindness, cousin.  If you see me falling-”  Celebrimbor looked away.  

“I’ll not let you fall,” Gil-galad swore.  “Against pride or folly, I will hold you.”
 

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Chapter End Notes

Does this count as a good one for Celebrimbor?  I'm skeptical... I mean it's at least ... 'less bad'?

Vilya (sky)

Before even the sun
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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It was not an aspiration, no long held desire drove him.  Until the moment, he had not thought of such a fate, and yet when the choice was put forth, he found he very much wanted to see all the wide leagues of the world again.

Was it not a hunter’s hunger to roam? Was it not always his way, to slip through the forests and find the deep hollows, to rout out the creatures of Melkor’s corruption?

This was merely a new hunter’s tool, Tilion mused, as he carried the newly crafted orb of Phanaikelūth into the dark sky.

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Chapter End Notes

Phanaikelūth was the name of the moon in Valarin.

Anca (jaws)

I have learned you
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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Morwen did not show her feelings readily, but she felt them, even if others would accuse her of having none.  Húrin had learned the subtle signs of them in her bearing.

The way her shoulders relaxed when she was content, how her eyes crinkled just slightly even if she did not laugh, the silence of her anger, the set of her jaw when she was afraid: he knew them all as old companions.

It was how he knew to caress her just there to reassure her, to feel her unclench beneath his palm as he drew her into a kiss.

Malta (gold)

The last
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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What little regret Mîm felt could not undo the years.  His vengeance was no comfort, for it fell heaviest on one he had not hated in his heart, though he had held him in bitterness in the end.

He passed through the halls of Nulukkizdin that was, now largely consumed within the later delvings of Nargothrond, and wailed.  His voice echoed eerily in the empty darkness, whispering in return that he was now truly and wholly alone.

For all the gold of Glaurung’s hoard and of Felagund lost, nothing could return Khîm to life nor Ibum to his father’s side.

Noldo (one of the Noldor)

The last son
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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Indis tucked the golden hairs behind her son’s ear.  Every babe she had nursed asleep in her arms had felt so impossibly tiny for the world, yet each had grown, becoming strong in their own ways.  So, too, would he: wise and kind.

“My Ingoldo.”  She pressed a kiss to his temple and he stirred only enough to resume his suckling.  “I see a crown upon thy head, yet such visions trouble my heart.  Wherefor thou?  What hath fate prepared for thy brother?”

She knew not, but fate would be as it must.

“Wiser than thy kin must thou be.”

Nwalmë (torment)

Out of darkness
(References to torment and blood.  Drabble)

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Many among the Secondborn harkened to the devices of Morgoth; some out of fear should they refuse, others out of eager willingness.  Such were those who turned upon their brethren called ‘the faithful,’ visiting ever worsening torments upon them.  Blood flowed from altars of darkness where the leaders bent their ear to whispers from his fell servants.

Those faithful gave heed to the stories of light in the west, recalling the guidance of the Eldar at their awakening passed down through the wise women.  They yet held to hope of a greater power in Arda than the Lord of Darkness.

 

Vala (one of the Valar)

Beautiful indignation
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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Zimrahin slammed the door, not caring who might overhear.

“I’ll be damned if I’ll hold my tongue in my own home.  Light we were promised, Light of the Gods in the west.  And what did we find?  The same Lord of Darkness who once tormented us already here, and even the Elves cannot escape him.  If the Valar care not even for them, what hope for any of us?”  

She folded her arms, unrepentant.  “Worry not.  My anger passes swiftly.  ‘Tis an old bitterness.”

Malach found he rather liked her when she was angry, quite unable to hide his smile.

---

Chapter End Notes

Zimrahin was the wife of Malach and great-grandmother of Hador.

Rómen (east)

↑ This side up
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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There was no right way to orient such a thing, no direction more worthy, but consistency was important.  Finrod contemplated the would-be map, unable to decide.

“West, surely?” Angrod said.

“Just as reasonable to put it at the bottom,” Aegnor countered.  “We turned our backs on it, did we not?”

“That was not why we left,” Angrod said

“It does not change the fact.”

Angrod shrugged.  “East, then.”

The same argument applied, even if not to themselves; their grandfathers both had turned their back on that.

“North,” Finrod said at last.  “Where our foe lies; where we face our fate.”

Súlë (spirit)

'Till the end of all things
(No warnings.  Double drabble.)

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I am not dead.  I am not alive.  Though my body faded away to nothingness, my senses no longer material, what remains inhabits still the forests of my forebears.

It has dwindled now, only a small grove at the edge of a park, but I am content, for people are often here walking the paths which I walked untold ages past.  They listen to the birds in the boughs, listen unknowing to my discarnate song.

They turn their head this way and that, thinking to catch the source, to narrow in on a scent from a long distant memory.  It passes as swiftly as it arrived, leaving but a kiss upon their brow that lingers, a sense of calm they are drawn back to.

The Elves of Middle-earth disappeared long ago, but our spirits remained in the woodlands and the wild places.  Our essences mingle in passing like wisps of incense: wood and moss, nut and berry, earth and rain.  And not all who remain are welcoming or good, some leading the unwary astray or driving them away in otherworldly terror.  

But I have grown fond of these visitors who come; who, for a brief moment, know me, and smile.

---

Chapter End Notes

"In after days, when because of the triumph of Morgoth Elves and Men became estranged, as he most wished, those of the Elven-race that lived still in Middle-earth waned and faded, and Men usurped the sunlight. Then the Quendi wandered in the lonely places of the great lands and the isles, and took to the moonlight and the starlight, and to the woods and caves, becoming as shadows and memories,..."

 I don't know if how I've interpreted this is how Tolkien intended it, but I am fascinated by the idea of Elves 'fading' and what means for those who never chose to sail Wes

Hwesta (breeze)

A different point of view
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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The keen gaze of Thorondor was drawn to the movement among the desolate slopes of Thangorodrim.  Hovering upon the high currents, ever watchful of Melkor’s servants, he saw this to be no orc but an Elda who would pass unseen to all but the sharpest of eyes.

It was not his directive to interfere, but neither had he been forbidden.  He was foremost a messenger, to act only in the greatest need.  So when the song of hope reached him, when the prayer carried on the wind to his hearing, he dove from the sky to be the unlooked-for answer.

Þúlë (bonus chapter)

Newlywed
Warning for gratuitously dropped þorns
(But actually no warnings.  Drabble)

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“My dear, you look radiant.”

Indis dipped into a deep curtsy, and no force of nature could have driven the smile from her face.  “Sank you, your majesty.”

Ilwen waved off the formal title and cupped her face.  “Marriage suits you, darling niece.  Your husband does, certainly.”

Indis blushed.  “Everysing about him suits me.”

“Where will you honeymoon?”

“At his - our - estate in the nors for a few mons before going on to Alqualondë.  Olwë has promised us some seafaring.”

“So long as he brings you back again!”  Ilwen smiled and kissed her cheeks warmly.  “Enjoy starlight while you may.”

---

Chapter End Notes

Remember kids, Feanor's 'th' was not a lisp, it was the original sound.  It was the changing of it to an 's' that Indis brought with her (or at least of which he accused her) which Feanor hated so very much.

Hwesta Sindarinwa (breeze, Sindarin)

Lord of the Falas
(No warnings.  Drabble)

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Círdan stood steady on deck as the ship plowed through wave after wave, sails full.  His sea-legs were accustomed to the swells and heaves.

Though it had been years since he had been needed, for Tuor had grown to an accomplished sailor and a fine captain, there were still centuries of experience for him to share, far more than the Man could learn in his mortal lifetime.

Now with Eärendil quickly growing and following his father’s path of seafaring, Círdan decided his duties could spare him for the occasional voyage.  Lifting his voice, he joined the song of the sea.

Tinco (metal)

‘Seest thou not how here in this little realm in the Deeps of Time Melkor hath made war upon thy province?' - Ainulindalë

(Warning for mild reference to radiation sickness. 188 words)

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The enthralled Quendi who labor in Melkor’s deepest pits whisper of a new evil found there.  Surely this is the marring of Aulë’s work, they say, even as he marred all of his brothers’ dominions.  But some wonder to what greater purpose it might be turned.

At first they find comfort in the lights far below the earth, calling them Elbereth’s crumbs, even as their own craft might leave off-cuts and detritus behind.

They do not mine it, for it is not among the metals which their overseers demand, but some begin to carry stones of it, to take out and gaze upon, or to help see one another in the dark.  Those caught with it are beaten, but it is not that which turns them from it.  They learn to avoid it, for those who spend too long in its eerie glow grow weak, twisted.

Once revealed, however, the orcs crave it.  They use it to paint their bodies and coat their weapons, to trace the lines of their banners and mark their houses.  Few of them survive long enough to suffer the sickness which it brings.

---

Chapter End Notes

Don't at me for getting the science wrong, it's Middle-earth, it has its own science.

The passages in Ainulindalë where Eru shows Ulmo the way Melkor had attempted to mar his dominion but instead made beautiful new things like snow and frost had me wondering if radioactive materials resulted from that same intention.

So this was inspired by the idea of Radium (which has an atomic number of 88, hence the word count, a drabble + radium: 188)

(plus I liked the idea of Orcs having preferences, fads, a liking for the shiny that doesn't hurt their eyes)

Ando (gate)

Don't shoot the messenger
(No warnings. Drabble)

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“Take this message at once to Máhanaxar.  Neither rest nor take food or drink until my words have been delivered.

Say this: ‘Unto Manwë most high, who hath judged my son and pronounced exile upon him, thy subject Finwë sends this message.  Thy brother, our ancient foe, walks freely within thy realm.  He hath come even unto our gate, shadows and fear in his wake.

‘Was he not also to be brought to judgement?  Was he not also to be held to account?

‘Does thy power extend only over we lesser beings and not over thine own kin?’

Now go.”

Úrë (heat)

What is heat without cold?
(No warnings.  Drabble)

Read Úrë (heat)

Warmth felt like a distant memory; not even memory - a dream, a fantasy.  How long had they walked? How many years?  The dark landscape, howling winds, eerie groaning beneath her feet all blended into a nightmare that stretched on endlessly.

But there was one place Eldalótë found the strength to go on, one place she could reclaim the feeling of life, however fleeting.  Angaráto’s eyes, his lips on hers, his arms holding her still.  When the ice threatened to steal away the very breath within her, to send her soul fleeing to Mandos in regret, his heat drew her back.