“To the sward, and to warmth and life.”
I had a vision of both Parnard and Estarfin racing for blankets, making a fire and sitting as close to it as they could without catching alight. The bitter cold was now pushing them beyond reasoned actions. But it was a foolish thought. None of us would be running anywhere.
I walked forward, pulling Estarfin along by his hand while Parnard shoved him from behind, then my feet no longer touched the riverbed. We had no choice but to swim. Mercifully it was not far.
A distant neigh broke through the silence, then I heard another. “Come towards us,” I called to the horses in a strained voice. It was a hope rather than any willful command.
Then my free hand was on a slippery muddy incline, my feet on a muddy river floor. There were many tall frost-covered rushes nearby. Estarfin reached out to grasp some and try and steady himself.
Being somewhat taller than I, he must have also felt the ground under his feet.
“Let go of the reeds. Let go!” Parnard urged.
Estarfin did as he was bid, then crawled up the bank on his hands and knees, and collapsed. His breath came in ragged gasps.
“Parnard?” I called, not hearing any further splashing. Within a minute the Wood-elf was pushing his way through the reeds to the right. “Accursed reeds,” I heard him say, then saw him spit out water as he tripped over a rock on the grassy bank.
I knelt beside Estarfin. “Nique,” the Noldo whispered again, curling himself up into a ball and trying to catch his breath. He was still so close to the water that any movement in that direction would see him back in it. He was heavy for an Elda at any time, certainly not someone to push around. But I had no choice. My own limbs were trembling as I took his arms and pulled him a few more feet away from the nightmare. He managed to kick a little at the ground to aid me.
“What is nique?” asked Parnard as he struggled to get back on his feet, huffing and puffing as he moved as quickly as he could to help me. “You are heavy, Estarfin!”
I uttered a single laugh, as if Parnard had only just realised that!
Estarfin tried to move himself further from the water, but could only manage a yard or two before collapsing.
“Stay with him!” I said to Parnard, and hurried in the direction of the horses. Both had already seen us, and were trotting over. The horses, thankfully, looked none the worse after their short time alone.
I called to them, and as they neared I reached for them in desperation to feel their warm coats and breath. “Go, warm them both until I make a fire, “ I said, snorting against their muzzles in turn. Sharp ears flicked back and forth, and wise, surprised eyes focused on me, then they moved to do my bidding. Our pile of belongings were a little further ahead, up the slope. There was much I could do, but my initial thought was to gather blankets and the small gold bottle that I carried from Lin Gilliath in my saddle bag. I hurried back down the slope, my arms full, just as the pale rose-gold light of morning touched the eastern sky beyond the ruins.
“Here, dry yourselves off, then wrap yourselves in the dry blankets,” I said, noting that Norlomë was acting as a wind-break for Estarfin, lying down at his back and snorting her warm breath at him. Iavas was lying similarly close to Parnard.
I took the stopper from the bottle, “Here, meldanya, have a few sips,” I said as I handed it to Estarfin, careful not to spill any of the precious fluid. I placed my small hands over his considerably larger ones, trying to steady him as he raised the bottle to his bluish lips.
“M-miruvor?” Estarfin managed to utter.
“To revitalise us. I was given it at Lin Gilliath for emergencies, and this is one, I deem.”
Hesitantly he took a few sips, and then nodded toward Parnard and I. “Yes, dear one. We shall each drink it,” I told him.
Parnard had already dried himself with one of the spare blankets, and was now huddled under it, still wearing his cold and damp Umbari outfit. “Look at the hoar-frost glittering on Estarfin’s hair,” he said, pointing at it. He managed to raise himself enough to crawl over to the Noldo, then dropped down beside him, and asked for a drink from the bottle. I hardly had to steady his hand as he drank a few potent drops, then licked his lips. Color quickly returned to them, and he sang out, “I am warmed from my lips to the tips of my toes!”
“D-Danel, d-d-drink,” Estarfin managed to say. He had rolled over on his side, and was nestled between Parnard and Iavas.
I nodded, taking three sips myself before re-stoppering the bottle and leaving it in easy reach of the others. Rarely had I drunk the cordial Miruvor. As soon as it touched my lips, its fragrance of summer flowers and honey, and its sweetness on my tongue, filled me with a vitality and warmth I had almost lost. It was not a cure for the cold, yet it would give all three of us the strength to continue.
“I shall start a fire,” I said. Now I did not relish running about on frosty ground with cold, wet hair and clinging undergarments any more than the next elf, but as I seemed to be the least affected of the three, I headed back to our stored pile of belongings. Most important things first. I tucked two small bags of oats for the horses under one arm, found our cloaks and spare clothing, and grabbed a bundle of kindling from Iavas’ saddlebag with my free hand. With these burdens, I waddled back to the others.
Parnard brushed frost from Estarfin’s hair, and noticing my return, looked up with an apologetic expression. “Once I have rallied and regained some strength I will be more helpful, Cousin. By what art are you able to endure?”
“‘Art’ - ?” I dropped the feedbags and kindling on the ground, and after handing him Estarfin’s extra cloak, moved to help dry Estarfin’s long, wild hair, and wrap him in a blanket and his cloak.
“I know not of certainty, but I believe it may be because I am the fattest.”
Estarfin looked up at me, and managed a smile. “Nay, y-you are the shortest.”
“Neither you, nor I, are any fatter than Estarfin,” said Parnard, casting a glance over the Noldo’s form.
Had I the strength I would have laughed. Of course Estarfin, as a Noldo, was of a larger build than Parnard the Wood-elf! But that was not what I meant. I opened the bags of oats and spread them on the ground for the horses. “Estarfin is not fat, Cousin. He is merely tall and broad of shoulder.”
“And you are broad of beam, Cousin,” replied Parnard.
I huffed at him, “Though we do not have the proportions of some Secondborn females I have seen, Noldor women are still women; our bodies are formed to protect and preserve any life we carry,” I said, drawing a curvy shape in the air with my hands.
Parnard stared at me, eyes wide. I could only guess at what he was thinking.
“Be glad that I can move about,” I continued. “Next comes the warmth of fire, if I have my way.” I spread the kindling over the driest patch of ground nearby, then started building it up, searching a little for any dry weeds and moss that could be added. I placed some small rocks about the area, hopefully to cook some food on, then took up two dry sticks to start a flame because the flint box was filled with water, and began to rub them together.
“You will take hours and hours that way,” complained Parnard, and dragging himself over, took the sticks in his hand and said he would spin up another flame in a twinkling. After much cursing, the wood smoked with a tiny flame; we took turns to feed it twigs and moss, and once more we had a blazing fire. We were careful not to burn ourselves in our eagerness to warm our benumbed faces and hands. As life returned to his limbs, Estarfin gritted his teeth. I laid a hand on his shoulder to reassure him, and told him that after we ate a hot meal, he could rest for a while.
“It is far better here than at icy Vindurhal, Estarfin friend,” said Parnard.
Estarfin looked dour as he recalled those nights, not so long ago, in the Hithaeglir. I was not sure if he would agree with Parnard on this point. Being cold was one thing, being wet and cold was another. As if that thought reminded him of the damp clothing that he still wore, Estarfin began to fiddle with the leather belt about his waist, but was unable to untie its rawhide knot. He rolled around until he was upright. “F-food, f-fire, and no more cold w-water,” he uttered, and moved closer to the flames.
“The only water we have here is for drinking and cooking,” I replied, moving to help steady him. He shook his head. His strength was returning.
“V-vin,” he stammered out.
“Wine? Yes! Wine is what we need,” said Parnard.
Estarfin sighed, and gave up trying to explain. Whatever he wanted, a little more reviving miruvor would not do any hurt. “Drink it all, you and Parnard. I have no need of it,” I said, handing him the bottle. Armour could wait. I retrieved a couple of long knives from our packs and slipped them through my belt, and sought the iron cooking pot, tin cups, dried meat and fruit, and, lastly, my waterskin.
When I returned to the fire, Estarfin had given the bottle to Parnard to remove the cork. He was struggling to pull it out with his teeth. Both of them looked weary, with lank, damp hair clinging to their shoulders and cloaks. At last Parnard managed to free the cork, and handed the bottle to Estarfin, urging him to ‘drink up’ but Estarfin’s hands trembled and he wore a frustrated expression. The Wood-elf glanced at me, worry written across his face.
“I am just c-c-cold,” said Estarfin. “N-not d-dying.”
I moved to help steady his hand, and he took several sips, then looked closely at me.
“I am also not dying, Estarfin,” I said. Once more I rubbed his hands together, to encourage life back into them, then he took over, shaking and rubbing them, and looking pained as his actions succeeded.
“Cold and tired, but not dying,” Parnard sang out cheerfully, after drinking from the bottle. Then, noticing the long knife in my belt, he lowered the flask, and said, “Do you think those Men from Tharbad are about?”
“Not the Umbarrim, cousin. Neither do I suspect any men from Tharbad to be in this part,” I handed one of the knives to Parnard nonetheless. “What bothers me more, is what was that creature that attacked us on the island?”
“D-d-dead. The creature is dead,” Estarfin said.
“Indeed it is, but it was solitary, though it smelt like an orc.”
The Noldo shook his head. “Worry not, R-racarne, you alone were m-m-more than a match for it. And you are not alone.”
His speech improved; he was no longer shaking. My heart leapt at that realisation. He really was improving. Now to cook the food.
