In the Endless Cold
Read In the Endless Cold
"Few of the deeds of the Noldor thereafter surpassed that desperate crossing in hardihood or woe. There Elenwë the wife of Turgon was lost, and many others perished also; and it was with a lessened host that Fingolfin set foot at last upon the Outer Lands.”
Silmarillion Of the Flight of the Noldor
In the Endless Cold
Fingolfin moved slowly through the snow, as thick flakes settled on his cheeks, his clothing and his eyelashes.
Every step seemed to lead him, and those who had followed him, ever deeper into a cold that seemed to have no end. That cold, which had seeped into his bones days earlier, now made it difficult for him even to think.
He no longer hoped for a better end to that long march. He only wished it would end soon.
He walked in silence, like every other elf; conversation had ceased long ago, worn away by days that were all the same.
He turned his gaze to his left. Idril, his little granddaughter, slept, exhausted, in the arms of his son Turgon.
He watched him for a few moments, wondering what he now thought of this undertaking, after Elenwë had fallen and died in the ice four days earlier. Probably a thought similar to his own: they should never have made that journey. Or perhaps he was too lost in grief to think clearly anymore?
