She sat in the makeshift camp they had made, one of the many on their trek. They were assembled when the company simply could not go on, to rest until they walked again. She was cold. She was always cold. At this point she could hardly remember having been warm.
"Artanis." her brother said, startling her out of her thoughts. Artanis turned to look at her brother. He had a grim expression on his face, a far cry from the joy that lit up his eyes in Valinor. Everyone crossing the Grinding Ice was grim. "What is it, Findaráto?" Artanis said, seeing silver starlight on his golden hair.
"We need to talk." he replied, sighing as he sat down next to her. Findaráto stared off into the distance before he voiced his thoughts.
"Why are we here?"
Artanis looked him in the eyes. They were dark. "What do you mean, why are we here?" she replied.
"I mean why are we here?" He gestured to the ice and snow around them. "Why have we followed the slayers of our kin into exile, crossing a place that devours our people one by one, where we could be next? And for what? Fëanáro's precious Silmarils?" He stole a glance in Itarillë's direction. After her mother drowned in icy water, she had become hard and silent. She never left Turukáno's side. His sister followed his gaze.
"Why aren't we back in the White City of Tirion with Atar and Amillë?" He asked gently.
Artanis replied softly, but there was a fire in her speech. "I did not want to be constrained to a small land with small borders where I could never hope to rule. Neither did you. We will rule great realms in Middle-Earth, greater by far than Tirion. We will make new lives for ourselves in a land wide and free. That is the reason we're here. Not three shiny jewels, regardless of how bright."
Findaráto studied his sister's face. "Do you really think we'll make it to Endórë?" he said, a whisper barely heard above the roaring of the wind.
Artanis sighed. "Our hosts have been crossing for a long time now. Hundreds upon hundreds of days must have passed. The Noldor are strong, we will make it to the shore. We will." She ended firmly, but with doubt creeping into her voice. She squeezed his hand.
They sat together in silence as they watched snow piles form and be carried away on the barren landscape.
Findaráto stood up. "I cannot help but feel that we'll meet death, before or even after we reach Middle-Earth. But we can only hope that the Valar have not entirely forsaken us."
He walked away from the camp. They didn't speak of it again.
Days, or weeks, or months may have passed. At points the Helcaraxë seemed to be as timeless as Aman. They trudged through the snow, people clinging to each other for warmth, shuffling further and further to a seemingly impossible goal. But today, under the twilit sky, something was different.
"I see land!" A farsighted one cried, "We've made it to the Hither Lands! Thank the One!"
Excitement reigned as more and more people heard the words. There was rejoicing and singing and dancing such as there had not been since they started the forsaken trek. Findaráto turned to Artanis, life in his eyes and face.
"We've made it! I had not thought it possible." Artanis laughed and took his hand as they ran across the snow.
Some organization was maintained as the hosts went now, at a significantly faster pace, towards the shore that was seeming bigger and bigger. As they set foot on the rich soil of Beleriand, trumpets sounded and banners were unfurled while the last flower of Telperion rose in the sky.
Author's note: Hello! This is my first fanfiction, so constructive criticism would be very appreciated. I know it's rather short, but I think it's decent enough.
Findaráto= Finrod, Artanis= Galadriel, Itarillë= Idril, Turukáno= Turgon, and Fëanáro= Fëanor.