Legendarium [ Tolkien One-Shots ]

Sundered Kinship

The gnashing ice around him brought upon a new sensation, that of freezing cold. Findekáno sat apart from his siblings, father, and cousins, walking away from the traveling people as they stopped to rest. His father had called a halt, ordering the host to rest and regain strength. A few days prior, a whole sheet of ice had collapsed beneath the left side of the host, resulting in several deaths including Elenwë’s. The host mourned her loss, and began to murmur against Fëanáro, the one who had been their savior not long before.

But as Findekáno looked out into the darkness, completely cut off from the light of Varda’s stars by the mist shrouding the sky, he had mind for but one. For he could not help but wonder, as they had seen the burning ships across the sea, if his cousin, if Russandol, had spared a thought for the rest of the Noldor. He wondered if Russandol had thought at all about him.

He gritted his teeth as a new wave of chills rushed over his body. They had few blankets, and those went to the women and children. Findekáno at least had gloves of black leather to shield them from the biting winds they sprayed ice and snow up into the air. The air became hard to breathe.

His eyes continued to water as he stood there alone, overlooking an ice sheet that slowly broke off and floated away. Did Lord Ulmo inhabit these waters, too? Findekáno had no answer. He did not hate the Valar as his half-uncle did, but he had been eager for adventure, eager to explore. Now he had become eager to settle down somewhere warm and comfortable, where grass was green and the sky, blue.

His black hair whipped across his face as another gust blew. The dark waters lapped up onto the ice sheet he stood on. His stomach growled from hunger. He would’ve been fine had they not been forced to travel many leagues each day, jumping from ice sheet to ice sheet, bombarded by frigid winds and powered snow.

Tears stung at his eyes as he thought about Russandol. Part of him was furious that his cousin participated in betrayal of his own people, in a betrayal of him. Russandol had helped raise Findekáno, he’d been a big brother that Findekáno never had by blood. They were family. And yet he also knew, deep in his heart, that not even the eldest son could’ve contradicted Fëanáro, not after the betrayal of Morgoth through the slaying of Finwë and theft of the silmarils. Even had Russandol thought to question his father, Findekáno knew nothing but pain would’ve come from it.

Jerked to the present by the sound of ice splitting, Findekáno felt himself slipping. He looked down in fear and surprise as he saw the ice beneath his feet giving way. But a strong arm grabbed him and hauled him back with a grunt and a shout.

“What were you thinking?” Turukáno growled at him in fury. His younger brother seemed as frightened as Findekáno himself felt. “Do you have a death wish? Do you wish to leave us?”

As he recovered his breath, Findekáno shook his head. “Of course not. I was merely… thinking.”

“Think someplace safer,” Turukáno spat at him. “I have lost my wife. I do not wish to lose my older brother as well.”

The older elf bowed his head in shame. “And I do not wish to be lost.”

Turukáno left him, grumbling, as he turned back to the host. Findekáno glanced once more across the gnashing, grinding ice to where he knew Russandol had been. He wondered, not for the last time, if his brother in all but blood had thought of him, had thought of the people he’d condemned to death on the Helcaraxë. And he resolved something very simple: if he made it out alive, he would find his cousin and ask him, no matter what.