The Helcaraxë; an ice queen moves in the darkness. Aredhel. Indomitable, at one with the white and cold she is lit by the ethereal sky. Strange colours and lights wheel overhead, scattered lines of unearthly green and blue, soft reds, pinks; every colour you could dream of twists it’s way across the horizon. The skies too are in turmoil.

Speaking a word here and there, moving through the huddled crowds that are scattered across the ice plains she brings her own warmth to them. A train of ladies follows her, distributing swathes of material. He watches as the fine silks and velvets pass from hand to hand, wrapped around young and old like simple blankets. A flash of butter yellow catches his eye and then it is gone lost amongst the populace; wistfully he smiles, reminded of the balmy evenings of days long past.

Before he realises she is standing before him. Broken from thought he is uncomfortable and awkward in his surprise. Stamping his feet, supposedly against the cold, he tries to find his voice.

“Good evening my Lord, do you require an extra blanket?” there is a soft smile upon her face, wind stirs the fur of her hood, the fine hairs caress her cheek. Mentally his fingertips follow their course.

“No my Lady, I think my own shall suffice. Though take care not to give too much, what if you should need more protection from the cold?”

“I shall share your blanket,”

He chokes on the shock. Realising what she has said a gloved hand flies to her mouth, a cross between a gasp of shock and muffled laughter follows. Serene again she straightens herself but her eyes sparkle with mirth as she baits him,

“Yes. I shall use your blanket and then you shall sing to me, as you did on the beaches.”

As she drifts away he hopes it is too cold to blush. Not daring to watch her go he buries face in his furs, glad Ecthelion is nowhere in sight or earshot.

At least the thought would warm him, if naught else.