1. Across the Grinding Ice
So many died, so many of my people. Grandfather led the host and it was the duty of his sons to bring up the rear. I would not leave my father, even though he commanded me to join the children where it was safest. But that word was a myth, for there was no true safety in that dreadful place. There was only cold, cold beyond imagining, and pain and death. And with the cold came snow and ice.
I remember snow in Valinor, covering Tirion in a beautiful cloud of white. But on that freezing wasteland there was no white, only bleak greyness stretching from horizon to horizon. Lumps of rock reared out of the ice and fragments lay shattered upon the ground.
Our path was marked by a trail of bodies – less frequent by then, for all but the hardiest had died. We could do no more than lay them down and leave them. The young children were the worst. The cold was too much for them; that cold that seemed to pierce my very bones and try to rest the fëa from my body. Their mothers would not leave them; they would give up their lives on the barren ground with their children clasped in their arms.
My mother is gone. The ice cracked beneath our feet as a crevice appeared, a chasm that seemed to reach down to the very foundations of Arda. She fell as I scrabbled backwards. She reached out to me as the blackness swallowed her. I can still see her so clearly, so very clearly. I saw her fear. I will remember forever. Only my father is left to me, and the curse that shall bring all to ruin.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.