Betas: Many thanks to my betas Moreth and Istarnie.

Disclaimer: I am playing in Tolkien’s sandbox and not making any money from it.

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Chapter 1

How many yéni had it been since she last had to build a fire on her own? Eighty? Ninety? She could not remember.

Scrounging about the entrance to the cave, she found many twigs and small branches, casualties of the strong wind which tormented the mountain this winter. Fortunately they were enough for her to start a small fire and dry out the larger pieces of wood she discovered on her venture outside.

She desperately ached from injury and the cold, but she dared not stop to examine her own wounds, for her companion’s were far greater. Their horses were lost to them, so she was their only hope – what pitifully small hope that was.

Once the fire struggled into a blaze, she turned to the nér lying nearby. Kneeling beside him, she covered her mouth with her still numb fingers, breathing on them to warm them yet hiding behind them, too. It had been so many millennia since last she saw a nér wounded so. Where was she to begin?

Taking a deep breath, she steeled her resolve and began the task of treating him. Not since the Day before days had she undressed a grown nér. Not since the night before her husband had parted from her to join his son and grandsons in exile. She had not even had the opportunity to prepare her husband’s body for burial when he died two ages of Anar ago.

The nér now haplessly in her care was not her husband.

In all likelihood, she would never see her husband alive again for he had traded his own chance at new bodily life so his first wife could return to life. Now in his stead, the one with whom she had continuously contended in memory and fëa for a place in his heart walked Arda once again. She shook her head to clear her thoughts of the bitter anger she still felt after all this time, bringing her mind back to the task at hand.

With the utmost care, she smoothed silky golden hair soaked with snow and blood away from his face. The cuts on his face and scalp were not deep, but they had bled much. Gently she proceeded to remove the layers of his torn clothing, revealing additional sources of his bleeding. The fair tender skin of his broad shoulders, both arms, slender hips, taught thighs, and knees all bore grievous cuts and dark bruises from the tumble down the side of the mountain. She knew her own body fared little better (that was certainly how it felt to her!), but at least she had awoken and managed to pull him out from beneath the snow.

As she had dragged his unconscious body to the nearest cave she could find, she realized he was much heavier than expected. What little attention she paid to him over the yéni, he always seemed so prim and tall and full of the proper lithesome grace of a Vanya noble. Therefore she believed the extra weight was because of his snow-sodden garments, but upon exposing his body, she now understood the real reason why. His form was much more muscular than most neri of the Vanyar.

She knew he was from Cuiviénen as was she, but she did not recall him bathing in the lake with the other neri. She felt her face flush as she admitted to herself that she most certainly would have noticed a nér with a build such as his! But then again, at that time she only had eyes for Finwë. Poor Lord Huoro, who suffered her ministrations now, could have swum beside her at every bathing and she would not have noticed him for the attention her eyes lavished upon Finwë. She never noticed anyone but Finwë back then, and now that he was gone, seemingly forever, she no longer cared to look upon anyone.

From first-hand accounts (as well as many songs and tales), she also knew that Lord Huoro had fought in the War of Wrath alongside her youngest son and her brother-sons, distinguishing himself many times upon the field of battle. Upon her returning to live once again with her brother after the end of the war, this mighty warrior, her brother’s chief counselor and closest friend, always served as her escort when she traveled in Aman or dutifully attended social gatherings. So consumed was she by her grief and worry for her children and a thousand other things which all weighed heavily upon her fëa, she never paid Huoro any mind until now. Now she owed her life to a constant companion whom she hardly seemed to know.

As she cleansed Lord Huoro’s magnificent body with his sopping wet shirt, she wondered why he remained unwed. With a face as pleasing to behold as his, many a nís must swoon at his passing. Duty bound him to watch over her outside of the city, but why had he never bound himself to a most fortunate nís of his own?

With a pang of guilt she realized Huoro’s beauty was marred because of her, for he had selflessly wrapped himself around her, shielding her with his body when the first rumblings of the avalanche began. Did duty really require this of him?

Bowing her head, she brushed away warm tears with her chilled hands. Over-protective Ingwë thought she needed an escort, but she certainly did not feel this way. Perhaps the sister of the high king of the Eldar deserved such devoted attentiveness, but not the scandalous second wife of a deceased, never-to-return Noldorin king. Lady Indis was not worth this sacrifice. She was not worth this sacrifice.

Tearing strips from the hem of her dress, she gently bound his injuries, including some ribs she believed to be broken. After wearily tying the last bandage, she realized he shivered in his sleep from the cold. Her own hands trembled badly as she placed more wood on the fire. Heat from the fire and her own aching body as well as her mostly dry clothes were all she had to offer him, so that was what she gave. Removing her clothing, she snuggled close to him, covering both his body and her own with her dress and her cloak. A few times, he moaned, struggling against some unseen foe, but her whispered songs of the peaceful beauty of Cuiviénen and of the warm Light of the Two Trees soothed his restlessness. By the time she succumbed to her own weariness and pain, his cheek rested against the top of her head, his body nestled close to hers.

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Softly the lilt of the lirulin winged its way into his uneasy mind, calming his spirit like a balm. He remembered the songs from Cuiviénen, feeling the tension take flight, releasing him from the turmoil raging within him. How would it have felt to see that place by the light of the Two Trees? Or by the lights of Anar and Isil?

Lying in the grass beside the lake, he could smell the flowers and feel a presence by his side. How long had it been since he had last known the nearness of another?

With a contented sigh, he nuzzled closer to the one beside him. He had forgotten how wonderful the warmth of another body could feel.

After a few moments, he decided to roll over and see who his fond memories had graced his imagination with today. Would it be his amillë? She and his atar used to lie with him after bathing and talk about the adventures of the day and the needs of the morrow’s hunt. Or was it his younger sisters, curled up beside him to sleep in the protective crook of his arms and on his chest? He would need to move the one on his chest soon for it was becoming difficult to breathe.

He inhaled more deeply, gasping at the discomfort and trying to dislodge the sister who obviously had snuggled too close. The flowers he smelled were not those that the women of his family favored.

It had to be her then.

Was the one that he loved lying nearby with her golden hair graced about her as if Yavanna’s flowers in the field grew in a garland just for her? How he longed to reach out to touch her, but he knew her heart was claimed by another, so he dare not.

He shifted again, trying to dislodge the rock stabbing him in the back and the stick stabbing him in the side, but to no avail. Why as he lying on a bed of gravel? Normally he dreamt of lying in the grass beside the lake.

Still he could sense the warmth and smell her glorious scent.

Would his imagination allow him to touch her just this once? Or would he forever be held back by propriety and not even allow himself dreams of what he could never have?

Why did he always do this to himself? This dream was his! And even if he could never hold her in truth, at least he could allow himself this indulgence.

Rolling on his side toward the warmth, he extended an unusually leaded hand to caress her fine form -- and daggers lanced through his chest.

His eyes snapped open, focusing immediately on the prone form of Lady Indis at his side! Recoiling as if he had been struck, he scrambled away to a proper distance, then immediately leaned back toward her when he realized what he was seeing. His trembling fingers hovered over the dried blood matting her hair and then over the dark bruises scattered across her pale skin and a few cuts which still faintly oozed.

He had failed.

When he heard the avalanche coming, he had done all he could to protect her with his own body. He knew he was strong and a skilled fighter, yet it had not been enough. When the snows and the rocks came crashing down the mountain, he was no match for them. Clutching her as tightly as he could, he had wrapped himself around her to break the fall and take the worst of the damage upon himself.

Yet here she lay bruised and bleeding beside him.

He had failed.

King Ingwë entrusted him with the protection of his beloved sister. King Arafinwë trusted him to keep his amillë safe. Over the millennium, he, Lord Counselor Huoro, had shielded her from the comments and the gossip which ever followed her in her life as second wife of the widower King Finwë and in the scandals which culminated in Finwë’s death and the rebellion of the Noldor. Yet here she lay.

He had failed his king. He had failed his friend. And worst of all, he had failed her.

His head ached fiercely as nausea fought to overtake him. Gasping for breath that did not want to come, he sat up straight and very still until his control returned. Carefully lifting his right hand, he ran it across his torso, feeling bandages covering the places that pained him the most.

Bandages?

And where were his clothes?

Casting about in alarm, he saw them spread before the embers of dying fire, a fire which smoldered beside where he and Indis had lain. Dizziness suddenly assailed him, forcing him to lie down on his side with his eyes closed until everything stopped spinning. He had not realized a room could still spin even with his eyes closed!

When calm once again returned, he opened his eyes. Moving his head as little as possible, he looked about, taking stock of the situation.

He was lying mostly naked on the cold floor of a cave close to his dearest friend’s sister, who… also appeared to be naked. Where were her clothes?

Then he realized what had been covering them both.

Angered wonder overtook him. Why had the one who had treated his injuries not treated hers as well? Surely she should have been looked after first! She was of far greater importance than he!

Repeatedly he called out to the one or ones who had brought them to safety in this cave and looked after his wounds. But no one saw fit to answer. Someone needed to look to the Lady!

Where had they gone? Once he and Indis returned to safety, he would be sure to bring the would-be rescuers before the king -- after they answered to him for their negligence in caring for the Lady Indis!

Indis stirred as he yelled. Finally she rolled over, reaching out to him in her sleep. Her hand found his leg and gently she began to caress it, crooning softly as if comforting a child. Startled into silence, he lay still, completely amazed at the comfort to be found in such a simple gesture. Her sleep soon deepened once again and her hand, regretfully to him, slipped off of his leg and onto the cold stone floor.

After a time his patience with the lack of rescuers wore thin and he resolved to take care of the Lady himself. Strengthened by his growing ire at their irresponsibility, he rolled and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. His lungs seared and pain lanced through his left arm all the way to his shoulder, refusing to support his weight. Pressing his arm close to his stomach as he slowly inched toward Indis.

With the utmost respect and care, he removed the dress and cloak which still partially covered her prone body.

Even lying in such a state, she was still as beautiful to him as she had been in Cuiviénen. Tenderly, he ran his fingers along her body front and back, examining her injuries. Despite the bruising and small cuts which covered much of her, he found no broken bones nor grave injury, much to his relief. He had managed to protect her from that at least. Noticing his own bloody shirt nearby, he found a sleeve which was still damp and clean, so, for lack of anything better, he used it to cleanse the blood from her body. Unable to contort his own body enough around his injuries to tear strips of cloth for bandages for her, he growled in frustration. There simply was nothing more he could do for her!

Gently, he draped her with her clothes for warmth. Then using up much of his remaining strength, he placed the last of the wood and coaxed the fire back to life. Repeatedly he looked to the mouth of the cave, but still no one had come. The light outside was fading rapidly, casting long shadows upon the snowy ground.

Then the horrible realization struck him. Perhaps no one was going to come after all! What if she had been the rescuer? What if she had been the one to see to his injuries? After all, she had been the one who held him close, warming him with her own body. He looked with amazement and admiration on her beloved body resting before him. It was no wonder she slept so if she had dragged his unconscious body all the way here – wherever here was.

One of the very very few things he had longed for and desired above all else, but had been denied for more yéni than he cared to remember had just been granted to him – and he slept right through it!

He smiled in exasperation and delight. For the first time since he had known her, she had taken care of him! Of course it was probably out of a sense of obligation or perhaps even gratitude and nothing more, but she had touched him and cared for him and… she had held him in her arms!

An icy wind stole through the cave causing him to shiver uncontrollably. His clothes still lay on the other side of the fire, but he did not care at the moment. She had held him!

Dismissing propriety for once, he leaned toward her, pressing his lips to a part of her forehead which was not cut, then ventured down to lightly kiss her perfect lips.

Dizziness assailed him once again amidst the stabbing in his chest and the edges of his vision tinging red and brown. He knew he would not remain conscious much longer. As the last of his strength gave way, he slumped down beside her, awkwardly shifting them both until he could breathe. Draping his swollen, useless left arm over her side, he pressed close against her for warmth.

Sighing in her sleep, she unconsciously moved closer to him, cuddling beneath the shelter of her dress and cloak which they both shared once again. Lovingly, he placed one last kiss in her hair, then let himself go and left this dream for another one.

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