Tukka grinned. His reddish face turned towards the two elves, as he put the two long objects down.
"What is he going to do?" frowned Felyanáro, his hand still resting upon the hilt of his noldorin longsword.
But man simply placed his feet upon the objects and tied them firmly together.
In the next moment, they saw him sliding down the hill.
"Elo!" said Macilvelco, his face brightening with surprise.
"He can slide upon the surface of snow. Now that's what I call inventive!"
The snowing intensified. It was afternoon when they reached another hill, with a huge oak tree on top of it.
Whilst approaching it, a feeble looking old man stood up from the snow. His face was painted with many colours, and he wore a cloak made of bear skin.
Constantly whispering something, he gazed at the elves. Tukka and Noru halted, lowering their heads as a sign of respect.
The feeble man approached the group, and suddenly his whispering turned into some sort of strange recitation. He raised his hands, and fell to his knees. Crawling towards the bewildered elves, he embraced Felyanáro's boots and touched them with his forehead.
Looking up at them, he cawed: "Ngolo! Ngolo! Ngolo!"
Tears mingled with the melting snowflakes upon his painted cheeks.
Macilvelco helped him up.
"No need for this, good man. We are scouts of the Ngolodhrim, as you noticed. We come in peace."
"Ngolo," whispered the old man, and showed a toothless smile.
"I live many years in snow... I dream of Ngolo coming to Tula... dream every day... finally Ngolo have come... old Faru very happy...very happy... happy day for Tula..."
Surprised by this considerable amount of Common Tongue just heard, Macilvelco inclined his head. But Felyanáro stood apart, frowning.
"But you help us," cawed the old man again. "Our leader very ill. You help him? He very ill."
"What do you mean by ill?" asked Macilvelco.
The old man seemed confused.
"He... ill. Cold wind bring bad fortune. He ill for many weeks... you help?"
"We are not here to enlighten your strange people, Atan!" answered Felyanáro with a harsh voice, turning his back on the conversation.
"Stop, Felyo! He is asking for our help."
"It could be a trap. We do not know whether they are under Angamando's influence or not!"
Macilvelco glanced at the old man.
"Show us where he is. We will see if we can help."
"Tukka and Noru will show you" said the old man. "I stay here... my bones too old for long walk.."
The village was full of people, but upon seeing the elves, they disappeared into their tents while whispering and pointing at them, their faces full of fear and resentment.
Tukka and Noru lead them into the centre of the village, where a great tent had been erected.
A group of spearmen stood around it, but they let them pass.
It was quite hot inside the tent. The air was full of smoke and smelled of many different herbs.
A fire burned in the middle, and upon a bed there lay a man.
Several others surrounded the elves and began talking. It was a mess.
Tukka tried to calm them, but in the end Noru shouted something, and the talkers fell quiet.
He pointed at the man on the bed and glanced at the elves.
Macilvelco and Felyanáro approached the bed.
The man was covered by a thick blanket up to the chin. His eyes were closed, and there was much sweat on his pale face.
He seemed to shake and tremble in a strange way, like somebody that has lost all control over himself.
After examining them, the elves found that he suffered neither from a wound nor from any visible harm.
"What kind of strange game is this," said Felyanáro, furrowing his eyebrows.
"You are no healer. I am no healer. But there are simple things I understand. His Hröa is weak, very weak. But I cannot see what caused this weakness. No wound, no bruise... What is wrong with him? I cannot tell" muttered Macilvelco, scratching his head.
Felyanáro put his palm on the shaking man's burning hot forehead.
Suddenly, the shaking stopped. Pale as fog was the man's face.
"Velco" said Felyanáro in a low voice.
"We should return to the man with the painted face. We need to know more about these people. I am sure we could help this man, once we learn more about this place and this people."
"Velco, he is gone."
"What?"
Felyanáro looked down at the man.
"He is not there anymore. The Fëa has left its raiment behind..."
Macilvelco grabbed the man's shoulders, and shook him.
"Atan, wake up. Listen to my words, Atan. Wake up now!"
"It is over, Velco." Felyanáro put his hand on his comrade's shoulder.
"Let him go. He is not any longer bound to Arda... he is gone. Wherever he is now..I believe he does not suffer anymore."
Macilvelco lowered his head. They were silent for a moment, and in this silence both felt for the first time how the fate of mortal man differed from that of the Eldar.
And they felt the presence of what was called the Gift of Ilúvatar, and although they could not understand it, they knew that it was something that was intimately entwined with the fate of the Apanónar, the After-born.
But Noru had been watching them for the whole time.
He approached, looking at the man's remains, and suddenly his eyes widened, and looking at the elves, he screamed something.
But in the same time many things happened.
A woman rushed into the tent, with ruffled hair and a bleeding nose.
"Help me, Ngolo!" she shouted, using the Common Tongue.
"Help me! They want me marry this old man, he sick and he stupid!
Please! If you are Ngolo, you help me!"
Two armed men entered the room behind her, and grabbed her by the hair, dragging the screaming fugitive out of the tent again.
"What is this mess, Noru!" barked Felyanáro.
But Macilvelco grabbed his shoulder. His gaze was as firm as steel.
"Velco, no! Don't do it!" said Felyanáro.
"You know why we have to do it" answered Macilvelco.
"Make haste! Or we will lose her!"
---
[Notes and translations:
Atan / (pl.) Atani - Man / men (Quenya). Referring to man as a race
Tula - invented word. Fictive word for some place or people in the northeast of Beleriand, north of the place that was later called Forochel
Ngolodh / (pl.) Ngolodhrim - Noldo / the Noldor (Sindarin)
Ngolo - barbarism of either Ngolodh (Sindarin) or Golug (black speech), in the tongue of a tribe of the Forodwaith (invented word)
Angamando - "Iron Gaol" (Quenya). Known as Angband (Sindarin)
Gift of Ilúvatar - death was considered a gift from Ilúvatar to mortal men. At least if we stick to elven thinking
Hröa - physical body (Quenya)
Fëa - mind, spirit (Quenya)]
