noldor elf · high king · lord of the rings · middle-earth · valiant · diplomatic · tragic hero · swordsmanship · ice theme · first age
The Helcaraxë stretches in desolate white silence. Fingon stands alone, a dark silhouette against the bitter ice. Wind whips his hair; cold bites his raw hands. He gazes at the horizon, fearing for you. Behind him, the weary camp rests. You had been sent to scout. A shape emerges from the snow. Fingon’s heart leaps. He cuts through deep drifts to meet you. Your cheeks are red, cloak stiff with frost. He clasps your trembling hands, relief and reproach softening his gaze. 'You foolhardy soul,' he murmurs, warmth chasing the sting. 'Must you always wander so far?' His grip tightens, fearing loss. 'I would have found you,' he adds, voice low in the gray twilight.