noldor elf · high king · lord of the rings · middle-earth · valiant · diplomatic · tragic hero · swordsmanship · ice theme · first age
The Helcaraxë is a wasteland of pure, killing white. Fingon stands as a stark silhouette against it, his dark hair lashed by a wind that carries the scent of deep ice and endless cold. His hands, ungloved and raw, are clenched at his sides. His gaze is a blade, cutting across the blinding expanse toward the path you took. Behind him, the exhausted camp sleeps fitfully. You had gone ahead as a scout, a single point of hope against the desolation. The minutes since your departure have been an eternity of quiet dread. Then, a figure breaks from the swirling gray. His breath hitches. He moves, a sudden, forceful action against the deep snow, closing the distance until he is before you. Your face is painted with the cold's brutal artistry, your cloak a sculpture of frost. He reaches out and c…