Chapter 1: Across the Helcaraxë

Only two months had passed since it had happened, yet Véryangólë had already begun to curse himself for his weakness. He looked up, braving the dry cold which assailed his face. There was Turucáno Nolofinwion walking ahead of him, his friend and kinsman Findárato Arafinwion walking beside him, as was his wont, hand resting on Turucáno's shoulder.

A Year ago, Turucáno's wife, Elenwë, had perished in the ice. 'Fate was kinder to her than to my own Erulassë,' thought Véryangólë. 'Better by far the searing cold of the icy sea, than slowly fading from exhaustion and exposure.' Indilië he had called her: as lovely and as fragile as the lily.

'If only we had waited several more years after our son was born before we left,' he thought. 'Perhaps then she could have regained a little more of her strength.' Self-recriminations and doubts constantly played with his heart.

He huddled his sleeping son closer to himself. Dearer to him than Silmarils were his Erulassë and Cálion. Véryangólë cursed himself again. 'Dearer than Silmarils, perhaps, but not dearer than friendship,' he thought.

For love of Findárato, alone, had he convinced his wife that they should leave Valinor. For love of his childhood friend, and duty to the house of Arafinwë. His own father, though grieved to loose his only son to this accursed scheme of Fëanáro, had nevertheless been proud that his house would yet be protecting the House of Arafinwë in Exile. "It is our place. It is in our blood," Aldarwë had said.

As Findárato's standard-bearer, Véryangólë had walked at his lord's side along with the rest of the House of Arafinwe: Angárato, his wife Eldalotë, their son Artaresto, and her sister Eärnyellë; Aikanáro Arafinwion; and Artanis Arafinwiel, who alone of the daughters of the Eldalië had stood up with the Great Ones before the Ring of Doom.

Véryangólë had hesitated to bring his family into the hardships he knew he must face fighting Morgoth, yet he was afraid of life in the Morgoth-marred darkness of Endor without his 'daughter of light'. Besides, she would not leave him to go bereft and alone. Yet now that was exactly what he was. And now Véryangólë saw that he had neither the strength nor the desire to live that life. Findárato's banner had been packed away when Erulassë died, and then he had carried his son, hoping that he could be strong enough for him. But the desolation around him and within him was too great.

Once again, Véryangólë looked to Turucáno. He saw that his back was bowed with more than with the frozen wind. Yet he struggled on. There was yet the light of purpose in his eyes. A light which Véryangólë knew was long dead within his own, and he cursed his foolishness for bringing it all down upon himself. No, for bringing the wrath of the Valar on his innocent wife and son.

"Atto?" Véryangólë felt more than heard the small voice hugged to his chest.

"Ná, yondonya?"

"Why did ammë have to go back to Valinor? Why could she not come with us?"

Tears came unbidden to Véryangólë's eyes, and froze as soon as they fell. It was the same question which the son of Aldarwë had been asking himself these last two months. A wave of sheer hopelessness washed over Véryangólë as he realized that he could say nothing to comfort his son. He stumbled on the ice in his weariness, but he did not have the strength of will anymore to curse his foolishness. A strong hand reached out to steady him.

"Your ammë is not here, pityawë, because Ilúvatar willed it so," said Findárato as he placed his arm across Véryangólë's shoulders and leaned over father and son. "And that, otornya," he continued, looking Véryangólë in the eye, "is all that we need know. We must have faith that all is for a purpose; even our own foolishness. Eh, Sailo?"

Findárato stayed with Véryangólë and Cálion. When they finally stopped to rest, Eärnyellë, at Findárato's request, came and took charge of Cálion for a while. The child had had a special liking for her ever since his birth. Since Erulassë's death she had been keeping a quiet maternal eye on both father and son. If Cálion had known that this was the last time that he would see his father, he might have put up a fuss. But, as it was, he was too anxious to sit on Artaresto's lap and share his way-bread, or cuddle close to warm Eärnyellë and listen to her sing softly.

Findárato knew his friend's mind even before he spoke. He could see his heart in his eyes, or rather, the lack of it; and it broke his heart.

"Otornya, please," he said with a sigh as he sat next to Véryangólë. "Do not do this. There is much left in the world, and this ice will not last forever."

"Nay, my friend, now that my light is gone, the world is all dark." His voice was cracked and nearly toneless. Véryangólë looked up at the sky, clear and sharp in the cold air of the Helcaraxë. "The stars are dark." He closed his eyes. "My eyes are dark."

"And what of your son?" A fire suddenly blazed in Findárato's eyes. "Véryangólë..."

"No," said Véryangólë, his voice almost a whisper. "Bold I am no longer, and wisdom... I have none left to give. I am without purpose, and I do not have the will to fight the Helcaraxë. Perhaps if I did not have to battle that..." He trailed off as he looked over at his son, laughing at Artaresto's antics from the warmth of Eärnyellë's lap. He knew he was abandoning his son, but he felt powerless to stop his strength from slipping away.

"Véryangólë Aldarwion, I have never known you to falter before. We have been friends our entire lives, and I have never seen you like this. It concerns me, otorno."

"Ingoldya," Véryangólë said shaking his head. "I do not know how much strength I have left, not even for my son. I grow weary, otorno, and I wish for peace." The look that he gave to his friend was so aged and bereft of hope that Findaráto could not say anything.

Véryangólë struggled to stand up and would have fallen, had Findárato not moved quickly to brace him. Findárato was shocked at how weak his friend had grown. Always Véryangólë had been the stronger of the two. When they were younger they had once gone climbing among the Pélori, and it had been the son of Aldarwë who had caught the son of Arafinwë before he fell to his death. Findárato had always light-heartedly joked with his friend that, as the grandson of the High King, he ought to be the stronger. To which Véryangólë always responded that, as his liege-man, it was only fitting that he was the stronger; in order to protect the King's grandson, no matter how he tried to kill himself. Now his friend's weakness tore at Findárato's heart as he realized that there was nothing left that he could do for this one who was as close to him as his own brothers.

"Herunya," said Véryangólë Aldarwion, pulling himself up to stand before his lord. "There are two things which I would ask of you."

"Name them, dear friend, and I will give them if I can." Findárato's throat constricted as he finished. He had some idea what it was that Véryangólë wanted.

"Herunya, I ask you to watch over my son, see that he is properly taken care of. See that he lives. I know he is not of the Noble Houses, but you are the closest I have ever had to a brother, and there is no one else to whom I would trust his well-being." Véryangólë swallowed hard, tears falling freely down his cheeks, as he steadied himself once again before his lord, hands clasped behind his back.

Findárato wanted to turn away. He wanted Véryangólë to laugh suddenly and clap him on the back, the merry and mischievous glimmer coming back into his eyes. He wanted his friend to live. But he knew, now, that this was not possible. Whether through a weakness of spirit or because of an insurmountable weight of sorrow (and Findárato refused to believe the former), his childhood friend was slipping away from him. He dreaded what Véryangólë was going to say next. He wanted to stop his ears, or forbid his standard-bearer from speaking further. But all that he could do was stand in front of his friend, eyes round and face frozen, looking at the shell of a strength he had known ever since he could remember.

"And I ask..." Véryangólë faltered. "I beg of you, herunya..." He could not bring himself to say it, but he knew that it must be said; for his friend's sake, if not for his own. Véryangólë's strength finally gave out on him, and, with a sob, he crumpled to the ground.

Findárato caught his friend as he fell.

"Herunya, release me from your service." Véryangólë looked Findárato in the eye. "Otorno... Toronya, please, let me go."

"No," said Findárato, his voice rough. "No, Véryangólë Aldarwion, I do not release you from my service. For I do not see that this is now the end."

Véryangólë's brow contracted and pain flashed across his eyes. "Arafinwion, you see that I am too weak..."

Findárato stopped him. "I see that this is not the end of all, and know that we shall meet again. I would then have my most faithful friend and liege-man at my side." Findárato attempted a smile, which his friend weakly echoed. "As for your son, I shall raise him as my own; and make sure that he knows how valorous his father was. When you meet him again, you shall be proud of him." Tears were threatening Findárato's eyes by now. If he had thought that the fire in Véryangólë's eyes was dead before, he watched now as even the embers and ash were swept away as his friend withdrew further from him.

"Thank you, herunya... otornya." Véryangólë's voice was barely a whisper.

"Go now, voronya," said Findárato quietly. "Go and commend me to thy lady wife, and the Lord of Mandos. Go, and find peace." With his hand he closed eyes which now only reflected Varda's bright jewels hanging high above.

For a long time Findárato sat there in the ice and snow bent over the body of his friend. He mourned greatly, but he did not sing his lamentation. No, they had ceased voicing their laments after the first hundred deaths. Once they left the cruel ice and finally made their way into Endor there would be time to raise laments, however many of them were left, for those whom they had lost.

After a while he got up and called two servants over to watch over the body. As he turned, he saw Eärnyellë watching him, Cálion tucked in her arms. Eldalotë was sitting near by, bent over Artaresto's head resting in her lap. Angárato sat next to them, rubbing her back, his eyes as dead as Findárato knew his own were. As he approached them, he saw the tears running down his sisters-in-laws' cheeks.

Gently, Findárato lifted Cálion from Eärnyellë's arms and held him close, looking at him. He had hair of his mother's Vanyarin gold, and his father's harebell blue eyes. Findárato smiled. He looked like he could very well be a son of the 'golden house of Arafinwë'. If Amarië... He shook his head. There was no use in thinking about what might have been.

"Come," he said loud enough for those around to hear, once again the tall son of Arafinwë. "Come, it is time that we find our way out of this land of shadows."

With his friend's son in his arms, Findárato turned to the east, their only way out of the ice. He thought that he could spy, at the very limits of his sight, the black peaks of rocky mountains standing out against the stark white of ice and sky.

We must look forward in hope, he thought, if we are to live.

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Note's on characters:

Findárato: Finrod

Turucáno: Turgon

Cálion: He is almost 10 at this time. Gildor as the foster-son of Finrod is entirely my own fancy.
This is only one of many ways that "of the House of Finrod" can be taken.

Véryangólë and Erulassë: (my characters) little Gildor needed parents

Angárato: Angrod

Eldalotë: Wife of Angrod

Artaresto: Orodreth; I am following Tolkien's later position that he is the son of Angrod, rather
than his brother.

Eärnyellë: (my character) Sister of Eldalotë

Artanis: Galadriel

Aikanáro: Aegnor

Arafinwë: Finarfin

Linguistic Notes:

Finrod's mother-name was Ingoldo, which I assume was later 'Sindarized' to Inglor (in much
the same way as Finrod was from Findárato). While I do not think that Ingoldo was ever
translated, I suspect that it is in someway related to noldo/ngoldo meaning 'wise one'.
I think that this is appropriate for an elf often referred to as "the Wise".

"I see that this is not the end of all, and that we shall meet again.": There is no reason to
suppose that Finrod yet knows of the re-housing of the fëar (souls) of the quendi. Yet,
he does know that their fëar are entrusted to Námo, so this is either fatalism on Finrod's
part (i.e.- "We are all going to die."), or faith in the grace of Ilúvatar.

"Bold I am no longer, and wisdom... I have none left to give.": Véryangólë is here making a
weak pun on his own name, roughly meaning "bold wisdom". It's bad, I know, but give
the poor elf a break.

Atto: Daddy

Ná, yondonya: Yes, my son?

ammë: Mommy

pityawë: Little one

otornya: My (sworn) brother; they grew up together, after all.

Toronya: My brother

Sailo: One who is wise

Ingoldya: -ya is an ending signifying a (possessive) endearment

herunya: My lord; Véryangólë, of course being the good liege-man that he is, is usually more
formal towards Finrod than Finrod is to him.