In My End Is My Beginning by Lilith

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Mithrim

Written in response to the following prompt: Photo prompt: Milky Way and person next to a lake (https://pixabay.com/photos/milky-way-human-lake-dreams-4500469/)

Summary: Galadriel speaks with her cousin on the shores of Lake Mithrim after the crossing of the Helcaraxë.

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Artanis lay upon a tall flat rock, the top edge of which, for the lower portions had been worn away by the water below them, extended from the rocky beach over water’s edge, and looked at the stars above. In the darkness of Middle Earth, they seemed bright, brighter by far than they had in Valinor, except, perhaps, in the immediate aftermath of the Trees’ destruction. They flowed above her head and through the sky almost like a river, a pathway in and through the dark. As she thought that, she stretched her arms above her head and reached through her toes, and, almost immediately, wished she hadn’t. Neither her hands nor her feet had recovered from the crossing of the Ice. Her hands remained reddened with raw and rough places where the chill had passed through her clothes, even her heavy gloves, and bitten — she could think of no better word — into her skin. Her feet, if anything, were worse, and yet she had been determined to slip away from the rest, willing to endure the discomfort of the walk and grateful for the peace she’d found.

She’d slipped away from a council meeting. Nolofinwë and the others were debating their next course of action and considering the news they’d had from a messenger from the Sons of Fëanor, from the second to the eldest son. She was certain, though she’d not been admitted to the meeting, that the news was far from good, the simple fact that it was Kanafinwë who had sent the messenger was evidence enough. 

The sound of rocks scattering caught her attention and she sat upright, pulling her knife from her belt.

“If you are an orc or other fell beast, move closer at your own peril,” she said.

“And if I’m not? Do I still move at my own peril?” her cousin, Fëanáro’s grandson, asked.

“Perhaps,” she answered.

“I or any of us would likely deserve it,” he replied. “after forcing you to cross the Ice.”

She made no answer.

“I see we are not in disagreement about that,” he continued. “Despite that, may I come up? Though I am no fell beast, I did see the knife in your hand and would prefer not to encounter the pointier end.”

She managed to laugh. “Come,” she said.

He ascended it carefully and so quietly that she realized he’d deliberately caused the rocks to scatter to catch her attention. Once he’d arrived at the top, she looked closely at him. He looked in not much better shape than she was. His clothes were worn, his leggings patched and the cloak he wore in little better shape. He was also thin, thinner than he’d been since he’d passed through adolescence and more obviously. His shoulders, broadened from his work in his grandfather’s forges, stood in a sharp contrast to the thinness of his waist and of his hips. His face was also thin, too much so, the bones of it, so terribly similar to his grandfather’s, seeming sharper in the darkness.

“How are you?” he asked. “Even though it is a foolish and presumptuous question, I would know. I have worried.”

Anger flared within her, but she found herself biting back her fury that he, he whose family had slain the Teleri, stolen the ships and fled, dared to ask her how she was. He did look as if he’d worried, as if he’d been affected; his eyes were shadowed and his face, still young, still unlined, showed the traces of great grief and concern.

“Well enough,” she replied. “Alive. And you.”

“Alive,” he said, though his voice seemed very strained. “Well enough.”

“Your father?”

“Well.”

“I heard of your grandfather,” she said. “I am sorry.”

“No,” he said, “you aren’t. I’m not sure I can blame you for that, though.”

“I am sorry for you — for the grief you must feel.” And she was. He’d been the son of the favored child, so like to his grandfather in looks and, she’d thought, talent, and his grandfather had doted upon him, brought him gifts, taught him at his lessons, brought him to the forge.

He shrugged. “I ... I don’t think we understood how ... how close he’d come to madness. I ... I don’t know how to feel after ... after what was done. I loved him. I miss him. I wonder, though, if I should.”

She did not have an answer for him. It was simpler, she supposed, for her.

“I did not come to talk of him, however,” he said, trying to sound firm and determined and succeeding at only sounding rather younger than he was. “I came to bring you something.”

“This isn’t really a time for gifts.”

“It’s not really,” he replied. “Or it is, but it’s useful and I’m sure you need it.”

She looked at him, and he ducked his head, an odd sight, given how much he resembled his grandfather, to see that face, that proud head, dipped in embarrassment, but he scrabbled in the small pack he’d carried and pulled out a large and heavy stone jar with a delicate scoop made, she thought, of horn attached to its side and then a stack of clean cloths.

“What is it?” she asked. 

“May I see your hand?”

She looked peculiarly at him. 

“Or your foot?” he said. “It doesn’t really matter. Which hurts worse?”

She extended one of her hands to him. He carefully opened the jar and, with the scoop, removed what appeared to be an ointment from it. He placed some of it on her hand and spread it carefully; a cool and soothing feeling began to move over the tender skin. He then wrapped one of the cloths — bandages, she realized — over her hand. He carefully treated her other hand and then looked at her feet.

“It might be better to wait until you return,” he said. “There’s enough for you and probably your brothers too. I’ll try to bring more tomorrow. We haven’t much ourselves, and will have to make more.”

“Thank you,” she said, watching as he placed the jar, scoop and bandages into the pack and handed it to her. 

“There are a few other things that might be useful. Some dried herbs and a few tools, nothing much, but what I thought might help and wouldn’t be too heavy to carry. As I said, I’ll try to bring more when I can.” He moved quickly to his feet and seemed ready to leave.

“Why?” she asked.

“What we did was wrong,” he replied.

“But why for me?”

He turned his head and looked closely at her. “I ... I wanted to ... you know why ... I know you don’t feel ... but I would help you and protect you if I could, even in the smallest way,” he said and then quickly leapt from the rock to the shore and was on his way.