98: Snowstorm

An hour before dawn, Glorfindel was ready to leave for his hunt. He stoked up the fire and put the kettle on. Mánatamir was stirring and promised to have breakfast ready for when he returned. Glorfindel grabbed his bow and quiver and moved up the path to the top of the cliff and headed back towards the spring, thinking that it would be the logical place for any animals in the area to congregate for their dawn drink. He wished there was better cover around the pool but had to content himself with keeping downwind, which meant staying southeast of the pool. He hoped that if the animals could not smell him and having no experience of being hunted they would not flee before he could get near them.

He found a hummock of turf and low bushes that was near enough to the pool that he might be able to shoot without fear of missing. He crept up the side and positioned himself behind the bushes, his view partially obscured but not so much that he could not see the pool in the pearly grey of the predawn light.

And then he waited, praying that wherever the animals were that none would be coming up from behind him.

The sky lightened to true dawn and there was no sign of any animals, neither small rodents nor deer or even birds. It suddenly occurred to him that he had seen no birds, not even gulls, since he and Mánatamir had begun the trek north. He had not thought of it before, but now their absence, especially with such a clear water source, was telling. The spoors of the unknown animal he had found the day before were evidence that something lived here, yet where remained the question. He supposed he could look for fresh spoors and track them down, but he was reluctant to hunt an unknown and potentially dangerous creature without knowing something about it.

He sighed and waited until Anar was well above the eastern horizon before he gave up and returned to the camp empty-handed. Mánatamir took his failure with good grace.

“Perhaps we’ve frightened them off,” he suggested.

Glorfindel just shrugged, feeling deflated. He had wanted to contribute to their food supply and now it seemed that Mánatamir’s fishing skills would have to see them through.

The absence of the expected animals seemed to be the beginning of their troubles. They had meant to remain in the area for a couple of days and do some serious hunting, but now.... Glorfindel suggested they stay at least one day. “Perhaps these creatures only come to the pool in the evening. We didn’t go and check last night and the pool is far enough away that Alagos and Cundu might not have sensed them.”

Mánatamir nodded. “Perhaps,” he said, but Glorfindel could tell he was not convinced, and in truth, neither was he.

When the tide went out, he helped to find crabs and mussels and clams while Mánatamir fished. Then they set about smoking their catch, putting aside some for the evening meal. “I think I am going to be heartily sick of seafood before long,” Glorfindel opined as he threw some seaweed into the pot. The first time Mánatamir had added seaweed to a stew, Glorfindel had balked, but he had to admit that once he tried it he found that he liked it, for it added flavor to the stew that it otherwise would not have.

Mánatamir just grinned. “I am sure that we won’t be eating nothing but fish until we reach the Tower, but even so, I think we will be grateful that we have anything to eat. I would think that food sources would be even scarcer to find the further north we go.”

“At least we know we are only within a few days of reaching the Tower,” Glorfindel stated. “So I guess I can live with fish for breakfast, lunch and dinner for that length of time.”

“It’s a good thing then that I came along,” the Teler said, “else you would likely have starved before this.”

Glorfindel deigned not to answer, but secretly he could not help but agree. He still was not sure about his companion, but he was glad for him nonetheless. During the day he and Mánatamir took turns climbing the cliff to check the land and explore the peninsula, but there was no sign of any animals. Glorfindel remarked to Mánatamir about the absence of birds and the Teler nodded, saying that it was odd, for they were not so far north that seabirds especially would not find this land to their liking.

“I have no answers for you, my friend,” Mánatamir said. “Yet, is it not said that the Lady Elwing is able to change into a beautiful white bird? Perhaps all the birds in the area abide with her.”

As to that Glorfindel could not say but it was worth thinking about. Near sunset, he again set out for the pool with his bow, hoping that the animals would be there. He went to the same hummock and waited. Anar was setting behind the western hills where he noticed some clouds gathering on the horizon. There was the scent of snow in the air but he did not think much about it. It was, after all, the height of summer. He decided he was simply smelling the wind which blew down from the northwest off the ice fields further on. The first stars were peeping out before he gave up and went back to the camp in disgust.

“There is no reason to remain here,” he said with a snarl as he plopped down beside the fire. “We might as well move on and hope we come across the animals further north.”

“So be it,” Mánatamir said, and his tone was one that made his words seem ominous to Glorfindel and he found himself shivering for no particular reason. Then the Teler’s mood shifted and he gave the Noldo a bright smile. “But come, let us enjoy this wonderful stew and forget about our road for the nonce. Look!” he pointed up and Glorfindel raised his eyes just in time to see several shooting stars arc across the sky. He gasped in surprise and delight and his own mood lightened as he gazed upon Varda’s handiwork while eating the stew, which was indeed very good.

****

That night, it snowed.

“I don’t believe this!” Glorfindel shouted as he felt the first flakes on his face. It had been his turn to take first watch and he had noticed the stars to the west disappearing behind cloud cover and hoped that it would not rain. Snow was the last thing he was expecting.

His shout brought Mánatamir out of a sound sleep, the Teler nearly leaping up, his eyes wide as he glanced around, perhaps expecting something to be attacking them. It was only when he felt the flakes on his own face that he realized why Glorfindel had shouted.

“Snow!” he said unnecessarily. “It’s too early and surely we’re not that far north.”

Glorfindel shrugged and snarled an oath that the other could not quite make out as he scrambled to pull out a blanket from their pile of bags and throw it over Alagos. “It matters not. It’s snowing and if it continues it will slow us down.”

“I better build up the fire,” Mánatamir said and set about bringing the fire to a bright blaze. They were camped close to the cliff-face where the fir trees grew so they were somewhat under shelter. “We can only hope that this will prove to be a light dusting and by noon tomorrow it will have disappeared.”

Glorfindel did not bother to answer, grabbing his cloak to put around him and pulling up the hood and throwing Mánatamir’s cloak to him. Cundu, in typical dog fashion, decided that it would be good sport to run about trying to catch the snowflakes coming down, barking with delight at the game. Mánatamir had a time trying to get him to stop and come back to the fire.

“Damn hound thinks everything is a game,” the Teler muttered.

In spite of the situation Glorfindel couldn’t help smiling at his friend’s grousing, knowing that Mánatamir loved the wolfhound dearly and that the hound returned his love.

Unfortunately, their hope that the snow would stop soon proved vain. If anything, the snowfall only increased as the night wore on and they had a time keeping the fire going, gathering as much deadfall as they could find and covering it with a blanket to keep it dry. By the time dawn came, a pewter-grey dawn that saw no sun, they were both thoroughly miserable. Even Cundu had ceased his play and now lay near his master while Mánatamir periodically brushed the snow off the hound’s back.

When it was light enough that it was apparent that somewhere behind the snow clouds Anar had climbed above the horizon, Glorfindel stood and, brushing the snow off his cloak, began shoving their supplies into haversacks.

“What are you doing?” Mánatamir asked. “You do not mean to travel in this, do you?”

“Yes,” Glorfindel said shortly, not stopping nor did he bother to give his companion a glance.

“But that’s insane!” the Teler exclaimed. “At least let us wait....”

“Wait?” Glorfindel snarled, turning to Mánatamir. “Wait for what? Wait for the snow to stop? How long? No. I’m going on. You may do as you please.”

“But....”

“NO!” Glorfindel shouted, suddenly furious, furious at the snow, at the lack of game, at himself for even being there, at everything. “You think this is anything?” he sneered, gesturing at the snow falling. By now there was at least a foot of the white stuff blanketing everything around them. “I crossed the Helcaraxë,” he continued. “I will not let this deter me. Stay here or go back to Alqualondë. It matters not to me, but Alagos and I go on.”

For a tense moment the two ellyn stared at one another, ignoring the snow on their eyelashes. Cundu whimpered slightly as he stood beside Mánatamir, obviously upset at the quarrel between the two companions. Then Mánatamir sighed and began putting out the fire. For a moment or two Glorfindel was not sure what he was doing and he gave him an uncertain look.

“We can divide the supplies,” he suggested softly. “I don’t think you had as much as I and....”

Mánatamir gave him a strange look. “What are you babbling about?” he demanded. “I’m going with you. Do you think I am so faithless as to desert you now? We’ve gone this far together, we’ll go the rest of the way.”

Glorfindel just nodded, relief washing over him. In truth, the idea of setting out alone had not appealed to him, but he would not remain where they were. There was no point. He finished gathering the supplies, putting them on Alagos’ back, and then started leading the horse up the cliff. It was a slippery climb for both elves and the animals but eventually they made it and without a word spoken between them, they headed north, crossing the base of the peninsula and keeping well away from the cliffs.

The ground was white and trackless and the light was dim with the snow flying. Up here on the headland the wind whipped about them mercilessly and even the elves felt the cold seeping into their bones as they trudged on. No one spoke, for indeed there was nothing to say. Even Cundu, who was usually bounding ahead of them and then racing back to urge them on, stayed by Mánatamir’s side, his head down against the wind. It was a miserable trek, for the storm did not let up all morning and the snow drifts were getting deeper and deeper. The snow was falling so heavily that it was difficult to see their hands in front of their faces. Then disaster of a sort struck when Glorfindel stumbled over something he could not see and fell to the ground. He was struggling to rise when he felt someone practically crawling over him.

Calamandil! What was that fool doing now? He snarled as he pushed the ellon off him. “Art thou trying to kill me?”

“Nay, I figure this storm can do my work for me,” he heard the ellon snarl back. “Dost thou wish for me to rescue thee or should I go back to the shelter without thee?”

“I do not need rescuing, Calamandil!” Glorfindel protested, “but this meat doth. Help me load it back on the pelt.”

“Forget the meat!” Calamandil screamed back. “It is not worth our lives.”

“I am not going back to Prince Ñolofinwë empty-handed!”

“Glorfindel! Glorfindel!”

Calamandil was shaking him and he could not fathom why the ellon was calling him by such a ridiculous sounding name. His name was Laurefindil... wasn’t it? He tried to pull away from the other’s grip. “We need the meat!” he screamed. “We need....”

Then came a surprising slap in the face and Glorfindel went silent, trying to understand what was happening. Calamandil had snarled and groused but he never laid a hand on him. Why now? What was happening? He felt himself being shaken again and he heard Calamandil shouting that strange sounding name again. He tried to pull away and then there was another stinging slap and he found himself blinking rapidly. Peering through the blinding snow he could see the ellon before him, his expression one of deep concern and even fear.

“Ma-mánatamir?” Glorfindel ventured uncertainly.

“Yes, it is I,” the Teler said with obvious relief. “Where were you, my friend, and who is Calamandil?”

Glorfindel closed his eyes and groaned, suddenly realizing what must have happened. If he’d been alone when the memory overwhelmed him.... He shivered with the thought.

Mánatamir, meanwhile, had risen and gone to where Alagos was standing with his head down in stoical patience. A minute later he was back with a length of rope and began tying one end around an unprotesting Glorfindel.

“I think we should stay linked,” Mánatamir exclaimed as he tied the other end of the rope around his waist. “I had trouble finding you when you stumbled. I only knew something had happened when I nearly ran into Alagos.”

Glorfindel just nodded, too bemused and heart-sore to give a proper answer. He watched with growing disinterest as Mánatamir called to Cundu, fishing out a piece of cloth which he tied around the hound’s neck in an improvised collar, slipping one end of another length of rope under that and then tying the two ends together around his waist. Glorfindel felt a pang of guilt at the sight of the Teler’s face, which was pinched with cold and worry. He realized that perhaps he had been foolish in insisting they move on. The storm would blow itself out eventually and in the meantime they would have been snug enough until it did.

Mánatamir helped Glorfindel to his feet and insisted on taking the lead this time. Glorfindel just nodded, feeling detached from everything. He noticed the concern in the Teler’s eyes, but could not seem to make himself care or assure the ellon that all was well with him. He was lost in the feeling of defeat which the memory had left in him. Of all the times for something like that to happen! Feeling a slight tug of the rope he forced himself to move, no longer caring where they went.

It seemed as if they had been trudging through the snow forever, but suddenly, as if passing through a wall, they came into a sunlit land and they could tell that it was only mid-morning. They had been traveling for perhaps three or four hours at the most. Blinking away the melting snow on their eyelids, they gazed about in surprise. Glorfindel turned around and saw the snow still falling not twenty feet away. It appeared from this side as if it were a band of white stretching from northwest to southeast. All around them was snow but it was less deep than what they had been trudging through. The sky was a brilliant blue and they could see the sunlight sparkling on the sea to their right.

“We must have walked right out of the storm,” Mánatamir said faintly, untying the rope holding Cundu, who, as soon as he was free, leapt away to play in the snow, scattering it about with a joyful yelp.

Glorfindel nodded, still feeling bemused. “Let us move on,” he said and they did.

Now the going was better and they made good time. Glorfindel wondered how far up the coast they had gone, but there was no real way of telling. They could have traveled several leagues or only one as far as they knew.

“I do not think we got very far,” Mánatamir opined. “Perhaps only a couple of leagues, maybe even less than that.”

“Most likely,” Glorfindel averred. “We were walking nearly blind and not very fast. Well, let us see how far we can get now that we are no longer battling the storm.”

So they went on, stopping briefly around noon for a cold bite. Glorfindel was grateful that Mánatamir did not press him to explain what had happened in the storm. He was not sure he was ready to talk about it just then. They kept a wary eye to the west and south, in case the storm shifted northward and their worst fears were realized when the sky began to darken again about two hours past noon.

“Damn!” Glorfindel exclaimed in disgust. “It’s too early for such storms.”

“Never mind that,” Mánatamir said with a scowl. “We need to find or make a shelter. I refuse to go on in the middle of a storm again. Let’s see if we can get down into one of these coves and hole up.”

Glorfindel muttered a curse under his breath but did not otherwise argue. They made their way cautiously towards the sea cliffs and began hunting for a suitable place to make camp. Luck was with them to that extent, for about a half an hour later they came to a place where the land became lower and they found a small inlet that was easily reached. Best of all they came upon a small cave set into the cliff to their right.

“And it’s well above the high water mark,” Mánatamir said approvingly, pointing to the evidence of how far the water tended to come, for now it was still at low tide, though the Teler assured Glorfindel that it was already turning back. “We should set up camp as quickly as possible. I will see what seafood I can find before either the tide comes in or the storm hits us.”

“We’re quite sheltered here,” Glorfindel said as he began to unload their packs from Alagos’ back. “Better than we were in the other cove.”

“So does that mean you’re willing to stay here if the storm does not let up immediately?” Mánatamir asked as he found his fishing spear and a net.

Glorfindel refused to commit himself either way. “We’ll see,” was all he said and the Teler had to be content with that, giving a grunt as he moved away with Cundu beside him, making towards rocks where he would most likely find tidal pools. Glorfindel, meanwhile, cleared an area in front of the cave for their fire where there was a slight overhang. There were no trees here, but there were tall bushes and he began constructing a rude screen on either side of the cave’s entrance in the hope that it would give them and their fire further protection from the coming storm, using some of the wood from the bushes to supplement their meager supply of firewood. The cave was not all that large and Alagos would never fit, so he also constructed a lean-to for the horse, gathering up such grass as he could find and piling it inside it.

“It’s the best I can do, Alagos,” he said to the horse as he led him to his temporary stable. Alagos nickered softly, snuffling his velvety nose in Glorfindel’s ear as if to say that he was quite content and then bent to eat the grass.

By this time Mánatamir and Cundu had returned with a small catch of clams and a sea turtle. “Best I could find,” he said as he began the task of making turtle soup.

“It’s better than nothing,” Glorfindel said, “and right now very welcome.”

The sky had turned a leaden grey and the sun was veiled from their sight as snow started falling again. But now, they were sitting inside the cave, which was large enough that the two ellyn could stretch out to sleep with Cundu lying between them adding to the warmth. They huddled before their fire and silently sipped on the soup, dunking some waybread that Glorfindel fished out of his pack, watching the snow drift lazily down. The storm was only just beginning but they knew it would get worse in a short bit.

“I don’t think we need worry about keeping watch tonight,” Mánatamir said at one point. “This storm will keep us safe.”

“Perhaps,” Glorfindel replied, “but I think I will be staying up most of the night anyway. I need to think.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Mánatamir requested softly.

“A memory,” Glorfindel said after a moment or two while he fiddled with the kettle to start boiling the water for their usual cup of tea. “It was just a memory.”

“And Calamandil?”

“Someone I once knew, a long time ago,” was the reply. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can talk about it just now.”

“It’s all right, Glorfindel,” Mánatamir assured him. “I do not mean to pry. I was just concerned.”

“I know,” Glorfindel answered with a rueful sigh. “I am grateful that you were there, though. I dread to think what would have happened to me if I’d been alone when the memory struck. While I was lost in the memory I could not divorce it from reality. I could well have frozen to death while arguing with phantoms from the past.”

“Put it out of your mind, my friend,” the Teler suggested kindly. “You are safe now and that is all that matters.”

Glorfindel nodded as he took a sip of his tea and then, much to his surprise and chagrin, he found himself yawning. Mánatamir gave him a knowing smile. “Sleep is the best cure for what happened,” he said. “Let us bank the fire and put aside our worries and find solace in sleep. The storm isn’t going anywhere and neither are we. Tomorrow perhaps things will be different.”

“I will just make sure Alagos is snug and has plenty of grass and such for the night,” Glorfindel said and stood, moving away from the cave. He was back in about five minutes satisfied that his steed was set for the night. While he was gone, Mánatamir had pulled their blankets out and placed them on the ground inside the cave, piling up their haversacks into makeshift pillows. Glorfindel stretched out with his feet towards the fire, throwing his cloak around him even as Mánatamir did the same. Cundu lay between them with his nose towards the fire, already fast asleep. Soon, the two ellyn joined him.

****

Note: Glorfindel’s memory is recorded in greater detail in ‘MARCHES: Crossing the Ice’, which can be found in my Tapestry series.