2This ficlet is a stand-alone, though I probably more or less subconsciously connected it with my Feanorian series. It takes place during the first winter after Maedhros has given up the crown, while they all still live by the lake Mithrim.
The quickest way
Winter had come, but for the first time since the fall of the Trees Lalwende felt almost at ease. Their corps had been good, the conflict with the Feanorian camp had been ended with Maitimo's abdication and the trade contacts they had made with the Sindar with Carnistir's help were prospering. On a sunny day, when the frozen lake Mithrim glimmered like diamonds and the frost turned all the trees white, she almost enjoyed the cold as Itaril dragged to show her the snow fortress she was building at the shore. They had had a good morning planning the defences and building walls. Lalwen then went to collect some sticks they could use and Itaril ventured to the frozen water to try and get some ice for the gate.
A cry of alarm almost made Lalwen drop all the sticks she had managed to pick.
"What is it, child?!" She ran back and found Itaril staring at the lake in horror. As she followed her gaze, she saw a figure moving with great speed towards their settlement.
"He'll..." The girl turned around and hid her face in her aunt's cloak.
"He will be alright," Lalwende reassured her and caressed her back. The lake had been frozen for at least a month and the traveller was alone, moving swiftly. She had seen tiny figures of the Feanorian Noldor walking on the ice on the other side, but no one so far had tried to shorten the way between the two settlements and cross the whole Mithrim. "It's not The Ice."
Despite what she told Itaril, Lalwen too skipped a heartbeat or two when she saw the elf trip and fall, and let out a breath she didn't realise she was holding when he got up, unharmed, and continued skating.
Itaril refused to look or to move, so they both stood and waited, Lalwen cursing silently the utter stupidity of the one who caused such distress to her little niece.
"What in Varda's stars do you think you were doing!?" she exclaimed the moment the elf, flushed and snowy, bowed in greeting.
"My uncle Nelyafinwe wished to pass a message to Findekano and I offered to deliver it," Tyelpinquar, for he was the careless traveller, looked taken aback.
"Did you mention how you were going to do it?" Lalwen was still not quite over the sheer stupidity of her brother's grandson, even though Itaril relaxed and was eyeing the skates her cousin had attached to his shoes.
"No... But he said the matter was urgent and this was the quickest way."
"Can they cut the ice?" Itaril asked quietly. "So that it cracks and breaks?"
"No, of course not!" Tyelpinquar exclaimed and then it probably hit him fully. "I'm sorry, Itaril. I didn't mean to frighten you." He bent down and unfastened the skates. Picking them, he turned them upside down and pointed at the edge. "The pressure of the blade makes the ice melt, yes, but only enough to reduce the friction and allow a smooth slide. It wouldn't destroy the ice enough to pose danger. I was safe."
"Were you?" Itaril looked at the snow covering his cloak and his knees.
Tyelpinquar chuckled. "The lake is not always smooth. I tripped."
"You were in a hurry, right?" Lalwen reminded him coolly. "I think you will find Findekano in the stables."
"Oh. Of course." For a Feanorian, Tyelpinquar at least could grasp when he was being dismissed. "My lady, Itaril." A short nod of head and he was gone, his skates left on the snow.
Lalwen prompted Itaril to return to her fortress, but the girl crouched and picked the skates. She watched them closely, studying the way they should be fastened to the shoes, then looked up.
"Do you think we could try that one day? Just here, by the shore?" She asked, sounding surprised that such thought would even cross her mind.
Sighing, Lalwen took the skates and put them back down. "I think your father would skin us alive if you mentioned that. Now, let's finish your gate."
