I own nothing.

Artaresto was waiting for Findaráto and Angaráto to get back. His oldest brothers had left some time ago, leading a hunting party into the fog and barren wilderness of rocks and Ice, and this despite the fact that Findaráto didn't even like to hunt all that much. It was impossible to tell how long exactly they had been gone; Rána was not Telperion, did not wane and wax every few hours, and thus it was no judge of time.

So Artaresto was waiting at the edge of the camp for them to return, staring dully into the barely-visible desolate wastes and wishing he could go back inside, where there was at least protection from the elements, even if it wasn't really warm. He waited alone. Aikanáro had waited last time, and Artanis was the youngest, so it didn't feel right to ask her, even though she seemed less affected by the cold than some others.

There was no sign of them, and nothing to look at that Artaresto had not seen a thousand times before. Ice and snow, great glacial boulders, and nothing beyond that but dusk and fog and ocean barely touched by the light of Rána. That, and nothing more.

And how do I expect to see them in all of this fog, anyways? With my luck, my brothers will be stumbling over me by the time I notice them.

It had amazed Artaresto when he had first learned that life could exist this far north, in such hostile conditions. Deer and rabbits and bears, even catching sight of fish scales sparkling in the water amazed him. Artaresto longed for the green fields and forests of Eldamar. He longed for the warmth and golden light of Laurelin. It did not matter that he knew the Golden Tree to be dead and gone; Artaresto longed for her light still.

A flicker of gold caught his eye.

Artaresto stood, his legs unfolding stiffly, pulling his cloak and rabbit-fur mantle closer about him. He stared about, into the fog-shrouded wilderness, back into the camp. What was that light he had seen? Had someone lit a fire outside of the camp? Had it burned beyond control? In a world chocked with Ice, that seemed unlikely, but Artaresto still had to consider…

There it was, again.

Gold light was wavering, flickering, coalescing into a solid (as solid as light could be) form before his eyes.

When Artaresto was very small, he was brought before the green mound of Ezellohar, to stand before the Great Trees. Telperion was in his slumber, but Laurelin was in her full glory, and to look upon her gold light hurt Artaresto's eyes, and yet he could not tear his eyes away. It was the same for this pillar of light shining in the fog and the darkness. The form was as tall as a young tree, as tall as Artaresto himself, and its light was as bright and gold as Laurelin. Hurting his eyes, and yet too welcome for Artaresto to ever turn his eyes away.

Wait…

Is that a person?

A few moments of intense staring, and Artaresto was sure of it. The form of gold light was a person, a nís or a girl nearly adulthood. Or is it even a Quendë? To look as she does, might this not be a Maia I have seen?

Artaresto started to walk towards the nís, pulling down his cloak hood so as not to startle her, in case this was a Quendë he had seen. "Lady?" he called out tentatively. "Lady, you should return to the camp. It does no one good to wander alone, away from the Host."

The nís slipped behind a boulder. Brow furrowed, Artaresto followed her. But when he went behind the boulder himself, there was nothing. He saw no hint of any person constructed of gold light, nothing but Ice and rocks rising out of the fog.

Artaresto slumped against the frost-slick boulder, shutting his eyes. Disappointment clogged in his mouth. Well, what were you expecting? he wondered bitterly. For Lord Manwë or Lady Varda to send a Maia to us as a messenger, telling us that all was forgiven and we could go home? Because that's so likely. Even if one of them was moved to pity, I'm sure Lord Mandos could move them away from it with ease.

He opened his eyes, and almost immediately tried—and failed—to close them again. There she was, standing right in front of him, as tall as a younger tree, and as gold and shining as Laurelin in her full glory, undimmed and unbowed. Her hair fell about her shoulders and tumbled down her back; her raiment seemed to scintillate like fish scales in Treelight. Artaresto could make out the faint outline of the boulder behind through her torso. Her eyes were kind, and weary. The nís smiled, but it was a melancholy smile, full of sadness. Then, she seemed to just wink out of existence, and Artaresto was left standing alone, truly alone.

Artaresto would swear later that his heart skipped not just one but several beats, and that it did not truly start to beat again until he was back in the tent he shared with his siblings. He hurried back into the center of the camp, shakily apologizing as he stumbled over Quendi huddled by their campfires. Finally, the tent came into view. He pushed the flap back and burst inside.

Aikanáro and Artanis were both sitting by their meager fire, Aikanáro huddled over the flame, his coarse, wiry hair falling over his face, Artanis sitting a little further back. They both looked up when their brother came in, curiosity dulled somewhat by hunger. "Are Findaráto and Angaráto back yet?" Aikanáro asked. "Have they caught anything?"

"No, they're not. But I saw something extraordinary!"

"What was it, an apple tree?" Aikanáro joked weakly.

"No, I saw a pillar of gold light out beyond the camp. As I looked at it, I realized that it was a nís, but that she was composed entirely of light; I could see through her a little bit. She looked at me and I looked at her, but then she disappeared before my eyes."

Artaresto's story was greeted with silence. His siblings both stared at him, faces registering shock and confusion, and when Aikanáro opened his mouth, Artaresto had a feeling that he knew what he was going to say. And he was right. "Artaresto…" Aikanáro's brow was drawn up in the sort of expression that was both pitying and a touch exasperated "…I know you've never been much of one for joking, but really, that just isn't funny."

"It's not a joke!" Artaresto snapped, and his temper only sparked further at the sight of the suddenly alarmed look that came over his brother's face.

At this, Artanis frowned, staring intently at him. "Then who was it that you saw? Was it someone that you knew?"

Aikanáro snorted. "Did you have a secret lover back in Tirion?"

Artaresto scowled at him and settled down by the fire. "No, and no. It was not any nís that I have ever met before." His tone softened slightly, remembering that Artanis had some knowledge in these matters, and that she could possibly tell him what was going on. "Do you have any idea of what this means, sister?"

Her green eyes reflected the firelight like a cat's as she shrugged. "I can not say for sure. Mayhap this was some vision of someone you will meet in the future."

"Don't encourage him!" Aikanáro exclaimed. He put his hands on Artaresto's shoulders, and stared sternly into his face. "Listen, Resto. You're cold, you're hungry, you're tired. We all are. We've all been feeling horrible, and some of us have been seeing things. This is not anything but that. Don't dwell on it."

At that, Aikanáro stood up. "I'll go wait for our brothers. Get some rest, Artaresto."

Once he was gone, Artaresto shook his head and stared into the fire. Perhaps he shouldn't dwell on it, and perhaps his brother was right. But he would cling to that image, that face and sad smile he had seen. She was too real to have been nothing more than a figment of his tired mind.

Artaresto—Orodreth
Findaráto—Finrod
Angaráto—Angrod
Aikanáro—Aegnor
Artanis—Galadriel

Rána—the Exilic name for the Moon, signifying 'The Wanderer' (Quenya)
Nís—woman (plural: nissi)
Quendë—Elf (plural: Quendi) (Quenya)