the ice in the paragon by queerofthedagger  

Idril

Running with the take here (I think mentioned in The Nature of Middle-earth, but don't quote me on that), that Idril was around (the human equivalent of) 17 when the Nolofinwëan Host crossed the Helcaraxë. I like the common read of her as a young kid, but there's a particular axis of horror to experiencing all that as a teenager that I could write an essay about but shall refrain from, for the time being <3

No matter her parents' claims, Itarillë knows what the looming whiteness holds.

She may not be grown yet, but she is a child no longer. She has seen the darkness rush across the land; has seen the blood on Alqualondë’s shores, the leaping flames in the distance.

This, she thinks, this mordant cold, is only an inevitable step further. Is only an in-between, yet another certainty eroded as they are left with no choice.

The North is impassable, she was taught. The Valar will protect us, she was taught.

Mandos’ Doom echoes in her ears, its finality swallowed like light.

In truth, Itarillë cannot say which is worse; to watch her mother sink into the black and not come out again, or to witness what becomes of her father, after.

In truth, she believes that they both died, that day, stars shining high above. She still hears it; her mother’s gasp, as she slipped; the terrible silence, a single beat of it, that followed; her father’s scream, cutting the air, as Itarillë tried to follow.

In truth, she does not think that she can forgive him for pulling her out. In truth, she does not think he forgives her, either.

It feels almost wrong, to step off the Ice.

People died not in Aman, as a general rule. People died each day, on the Ice, with nought to mark their passing. Now, to move beyond it; it sits like water within her bones.

Her father carries her, as he has, ever since. She has no strength, now, to protest. Has not eaten since—cannot stomach the thought, no matter that she watched her mother sink.

The new land sprawls before them, and Itarillë thinks of staying. Of sinking, of decaying roots, and what it means to be unmoored, now, forevermore.