Lay the Heart Bare, Leaf by Leaf by IdleLeaves

Ever Present

Fingon & Fingon, on the Grinding Ice.

The wind does not cease. Even the ice stills, at times, and once in a great while the dark clouds will thin just enough for the stars to shine dimly through, but the cold wind from the north is ever-present.

Finrod and Fingon walk side by side, heads bowed, cloaks wrapped around them as securely as can be. The Ice had not brought them together, but it has cemented the bond, keeps them close when drifting from each other's sight could mean being claimed by the frigid sea without a chance for rescue.

Neither speaks. In the beginning, those first days on the Ice, words had been near-constant. Fingolfin and his sons and daughter – and Finarfin's children, too – had moved amongst their people speaking of courage, determination, and what awaits them after this crossing, but as time passed the words froze in their mouths. Now, their silent strength stands in place of speech, and helps the host carry itself forward despite the hardship, despite the loss.

It's past time to rest. Fingon leads Finrod to shelter, of a sort, in the shadow of a wide shard of ice extending up from the uneven ground, and unties the blankets he carries rolled under his pack. Blankets wrapped around them, they huddle together, sharing the last portion of dried fruit carried from home. After this, it is only waybread, and the fish they catch, on occasion, through cracks in the ice.

Finrod's head rests on Fingon's shoulder; Fingon's hand is as cold as his own when he clasps and holds it under their cloaks. The Ice groans alarmingly some distance away, but does not shudder beneath them. After a long moment, and with the hesitation of one who has been quiet too long, Fingon begins, softly, to sing. A song of the stars – the same ones kept from them, this night and so many others, by mists and cloud above.

He raises his voice to be heard above the wind, and another singer joins him. Then, another, and another yet. The song travels through the host, carried on a few strong voices; not many, but enough. It's a reminder, in a dark time, that hope is not lost – and neither are they.

Finrod does not sing, but he listens, holding Fingon's hand tightly in both of his own.