Snow drifted down from the sky. The grey clouds overhead had come from beyond the Misty Mountains and now hung low over the valley like a ceiling, seemingly reluctant to go anywhere. The wind was still; the world was silent.
And then night fell, and with that the gusts began. Sweeping down the forested hillsides and down the river, the wind blew the snow in wild dances around the pine trees. Swirls of flakes whipped through the evergreen branches, whistling sharply. A mysterious magic was at play in Imladris.
A woman fought her way determinedly through the icy blasts, which were swiftly becoming stronger. Down the slopes she came, wrapping her heavy cloak as firmly around her as she could. But she was failing. Her bare fingers, exposed since she had lost her gloves, had just lost all feeling and even through her shoes her feet were threatening to do the same. To make matters worse, the temperature was dropping quickly to even further extremities. She had an hour left in her, at best, if the cold grew much colder.
Her stumbling footsteps struck wood. Not the wood of a tree, but a board joined to other boards to form... A bridge! The bridge over the river she had been following for the last few hours. She looked up and saw the glow of two lights set on either side of the structure, showing her its width. Perhaps she was almost there.
Hope enkindled the last of her willpower and she began to cross the bridge. The snow in the air was by now so thick that she could not see the two torches at the end of the bridge until she was within three feet of them. She clenched her hands around the cloth of her cloak, or tried to as best she could without sensation to guide her movements.
The next fifteen minutes felt like hours to the freezing woman. At the mercy of the elements, unable to see her way, she could only guess at her direction and hope she was not walking in circles. When she came upon a solitary lamp she hoped with all her heart that it was not one of the bridge lights again; she couldn't see a second one anywhere, though, so she kept walking. Little realizing that her footsteps were being carefully guided by the sloping of the ground itself, she was amazed to find another light ten feet later, and then another. Time started to run at its accustomed pace again and she trudged on.
Soon many flames began to appear before her, some high in the air, others closer to the ground, but all spread apart like window lights. She suddenly realized that is what they were, and that the snow was less thick here, the wind probably blocked by something. As a matter of fact she was between two wings of the building, approaching the main entrance from which they spread. The wind had less and less effect as she neared the circular staircase and the doors at its far edge. The snow was falling gently now. Without the howling of the storm in her ears, she could hear sounds of life from the great house: laughter, clink of dishes, singing.
She began to ascend the stairs, taking the left hand side of the circle. In the center of the staircase grew a tall tree with spreading branches; as she passed, lights on each limb came to life, guiding her steps along the stone walkway. Clutching the guardrail, she finally set foot on the landing before the carven doors and stumbled towards the entrance.
As the strange woman had crossed the courtyard, watchful eyes had followed her halting progress from an upper window. As always, the Master of the Last Homely House was periodically leaving his work to glance out into the night, concerned lest a traveler come unnoticed or unheard by the Doorkeeper. When his gaze fell on the lonely figure, he rang for his servants and told them to await a visitor. Then he watched her move slowly towards the house.
And thus it was that before she had quite reached the doors she found them opening toward her, the warm glow of a fire spilling out around the tall figure of the Doorkeeper.
"Welcome to Imladris," he said smiling. He held out his hand to her. She must have looked like she needed support.
Gratefully she took his hand as well as she could with her stiff fingers. He must have realized that she couldn't hold on very well and grasped her hand firmly, in case it should slip away by accident.
"Thank you. It is long since anyone welcomed me anywhere," she whispered. The cold must have taken her voice along with her body heat.
"The storm is not exactly hospitable, I agree," the doorkeeper replied kindly, with a twinkle in his eye. She allowed him to lead her gently into the house and towards a roaring fire. He took her wet, frozen cloak and replaced it with a warm woollen blanket. The change from cold to warmth was wonderful but her body still shook like a dry leaf in autumn. The Doorkeeper sat her down in a high backed chair far enough away from the fire to allow for a gradual thawing of her stiff figure.
"Rest here as long as you need to," he told her. kneeling on one knee in front of her. He then took both of her hands in his and turned his head away for a moment. She realized that a boy was standing by a door, seemingly waiting for something. "Lindir!" commanded the Doorkeeper. "We need warm water. As quickly as you can get it." The child nodded obediently and hurried off.
He looked back at her and held her gaze. "How long have your hands been gloveless?" he inquired calmly and quietly.
She wasn't sure. "Maybe a few hours? I kept them as protected as I could, but I haven't been able to feel them for a while." Her mind was becoming as numb as her skin.
"If it has been that long then we must be careful. The best ways to unthaw frozen hands are warm water or contact with warm skin." He let go of her hands briefly and rolled up his sleeves to the elbows. Taking the cold fingers again, he laid them on his forearms. "Tell me when you feel anything in your hands, anything at all."
She nodded silently. Her trembling had all but ceased, yet she still felt cold. Her exhaustion was starting to catch up to her as well.
"How do you feel?" he asked her."Tired? Cold?"
Again she nodded. Sharp pains had begun to shoot through her fingers. "My hands hurt," she murmured, wincing.
"Good," said the other elf, rotating his forearms outward so that her hands rested on warm skin again. "How are your feet? Can you feel them?"
"Barely," came the faint reply.
Just then Lindir returned with tepid water and two shallow basins. He brought them over to the chair. "Here, Father," he said, looking at the unknown woman.
"Thank you," said the Doorkeeper, placing her hands on her knees and reaching for her shoes. He unlaced the small boots within a few seconds and worked them carefully off her feet. After that came the stockings. Soon her bare feet rested in one of the basins of water while her hands occupied the other.
Lindir's father lifted himself to his feet and looked down at her. "Stay there until your hands and feet feel normal again. I will be right back," he said gently. He had a perpetual twinkle in his eye, even when he wasn't smiling.
"You are so kind," she said, finally able to speak in a voice close to normal.
At that he did smile. "Rest," he advised again, and, taking his little boy's hand, left the room.
True to his word, he did come right back: a mere three minutes passed between his departure and his return. But she never saw him re-enter the room, for she was fast asleep. Her weariness from a long journey in unfavorable weather had finally claimed her.