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b2mem2017-03-28 01:01 pm
starbrow.livejournal.com) wrote in b2mem2017-03-28 01:01 pm
Entry tags:
No Matter the Road by amyfortuna
B2MeM Prompt and Path: Red Path, Obstacles
Format: Ficlet
Genre: Adventure
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Characters: Tuor, Idril
Pairings: Idril/Tuor
Summary: Idril and Tuor face shipwreck and the Grinding Ice together.
"A storm is rising," Tuor said, putting an arm around Idril, who stood at the prow of their small ship, looking out at the cold waters of the Northern Seas. They were very far North, almost at the Grinding Ice. Tuor's hands were cold.
"Do we have any warmer clothes?" she said. "I worry, dear. I don't think mortal lips should be that colour." Indeed Tuor's lips were faintly blue, and she turned from looking out to sea to wrap her arms around him, trying to bring him warmth. What people normally thought of as cold never bothered her, who had crossed the Grinding Ice in her youth, part of the way in shoes that wore so thin that they let the cold and the ice in, giving her the silver scars that in turn gave her the name Silverfoot.
But Tuor was different, and had nearly died in the Fell Winter. She could remember him, thin and gaunt as he stood before the King, but nonetheless confident and proud, delivering the message he had been sent to deliver. Gondolin had not been spared, in the end, but they had done what they could, saved what they could.
And now Tuor had silver mixed with his golden hair, and wrinkles on his face, and they were alone on the great Sea. Idril sometimes had flashes of foresight, and she could feel it coming: the end of their road, for good or ill.
The storm came; wind whipping with a fury about them, sleet driving into their faces. They could not guide the ship but had to let it go with the wind and the waves.
At the last they could do nothing but cling together in their small room below the deck, listening to the crashing and banging all about them as the ship was thrown around by the waves. Idril wrapped them in all the dry furs they still had, which were not many, and they held on tight to the fastened-down bed.
Idril kept her hands above her head, clinging to one of the metal railings of the headboard with all her strength, and Tuor wrapped his arms tight around her waist, head buried against her neck, their legs tangled together. But for the desperation of the situation and their clothing between them, they could have been making love, and that thought alone helped to warm them both. Years of marriage had made them comfortable together in every situation. Idril was no longer Gondolin's proud princess, and Tuor no longer the brave young man who had turned so shy every time they spoke, for years. They were now simply husband and wife, father and mother, Elf and Man, adrift in a raging storm.
The end came with an ear-splintering crash one cold morning; fortunately their small cabin was spared the worst of it. Cold air drifted into the cabin through broken sea-glass windows almost immediately, and they sprang up, Idril making sure that as many furs as possible remained around Tuor, and together made their way out of the cabin onto the ruined deck.
They had crashed into a world of ice.
"The Helcaraxë," Idril breathed. She looked West to see if mountains could be seen, if it was possible to reach the other side, but mist and cloud blocked the view, and there was nothing but white ice as far as could be seen. "We have to head West, it's the only chance we have, love."
"I will walk with you, no matter the road," Tuor replied, and held her close.
They gathered what they could in the way of supplies and weapons from the ship, and carefully made their way out onto the ice floes, moving from one to another gingerly, now clinging together, now separated to balance each other out.
"This is easier by light," Idril said at one point, several hours' journey away from the wreck of their ship. They did not speak much. Tuor in particular was finding it rough going: cold beyond cold, with wind that whistled through his bones, and it seemed to him that progress was painfully slow.
When darkness fell, they carved out a small hollow where they were, laid the most waterproof of their furs down to protect themselves, and curled into it together, faces close in the dim light of the stars. Idril's eyes shone bright, undimmed by hardship or loss, the eyes of one who had seen the Trees long ago. To Tuor her eyes were no less than twin stars.
"We'll make it through," she said, and kissed him as he pressed as close as he could and sank into fitful sleep.
Format: Ficlet
Genre: Adventure
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Characters: Tuor, Idril
Pairings: Idril/Tuor
Summary: Idril and Tuor face shipwreck and the Grinding Ice together.
"A storm is rising," Tuor said, putting an arm around Idril, who stood at the prow of their small ship, looking out at the cold waters of the Northern Seas. They were very far North, almost at the Grinding Ice. Tuor's hands were cold.
"Do we have any warmer clothes?" she said. "I worry, dear. I don't think mortal lips should be that colour." Indeed Tuor's lips were faintly blue, and she turned from looking out to sea to wrap her arms around him, trying to bring him warmth. What people normally thought of as cold never bothered her, who had crossed the Grinding Ice in her youth, part of the way in shoes that wore so thin that they let the cold and the ice in, giving her the silver scars that in turn gave her the name Silverfoot.
But Tuor was different, and had nearly died in the Fell Winter. She could remember him, thin and gaunt as he stood before the King, but nonetheless confident and proud, delivering the message he had been sent to deliver. Gondolin had not been spared, in the end, but they had done what they could, saved what they could.
And now Tuor had silver mixed with his golden hair, and wrinkles on his face, and they were alone on the great Sea. Idril sometimes had flashes of foresight, and she could feel it coming: the end of their road, for good or ill.
The storm came; wind whipping with a fury about them, sleet driving into their faces. They could not guide the ship but had to let it go with the wind and the waves.
At the last they could do nothing but cling together in their small room below the deck, listening to the crashing and banging all about them as the ship was thrown around by the waves. Idril wrapped them in all the dry furs they still had, which were not many, and they held on tight to the fastened-down bed.
Idril kept her hands above her head, clinging to one of the metal railings of the headboard with all her strength, and Tuor wrapped his arms tight around her waist, head buried against her neck, their legs tangled together. But for the desperation of the situation and their clothing between them, they could have been making love, and that thought alone helped to warm them both. Years of marriage had made them comfortable together in every situation. Idril was no longer Gondolin's proud princess, and Tuor no longer the brave young man who had turned so shy every time they spoke, for years. They were now simply husband and wife, father and mother, Elf and Man, adrift in a raging storm.
The end came with an ear-splintering crash one cold morning; fortunately their small cabin was spared the worst of it. Cold air drifted into the cabin through broken sea-glass windows almost immediately, and they sprang up, Idril making sure that as many furs as possible remained around Tuor, and together made their way out of the cabin onto the ruined deck.
They had crashed into a world of ice.
"The Helcaraxë," Idril breathed. She looked West to see if mountains could be seen, if it was possible to reach the other side, but mist and cloud blocked the view, and there was nothing but white ice as far as could be seen. "We have to head West, it's the only chance we have, love."
"I will walk with you, no matter the road," Tuor replied, and held her close.
They gathered what they could in the way of supplies and weapons from the ship, and carefully made their way out onto the ice floes, moving from one to another gingerly, now clinging together, now separated to balance each other out.
"This is easier by light," Idril said at one point, several hours' journey away from the wreck of their ship. They did not speak much. Tuor in particular was finding it rough going: cold beyond cold, with wind that whistled through his bones, and it seemed to him that progress was painfully slow.
When darkness fell, they carved out a small hollow where they were, laid the most waterproof of their furs down to protect themselves, and curled into it together, faces close in the dim light of the stars. Idril's eyes shone bright, undimmed by hardship or loss, the eyes of one who had seen the Trees long ago. To Tuor her eyes were no less than twin stars.
"We'll make it through," she said, and kissed him as he pressed as close as he could and sank into fitful sleep.
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What a beautiful line.
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- Erulisse (one L)