They're on a narrow, snow-filled pass between two sheer cliffs and he's numb with grief and cold and hunger and then, not three miles out, there's a woman.



The visibility is pretty poor here, and a gust of wind somewhere clouds the air between them before he catches more than a glimpse, but he's still certain what he saw. There was no one there, and then there was a woman.



"Have we lost anyone?" he says, bounding to his father's side, and he must sound worried because his father immediately turns around and orders a count.



It'll take half an hour. They've suffered heavy losses but they still number nearly a hundred thousand. They do this every day but there's a limit on how efficient you can make it, checking a host of that size.



"Why?" Nolofinwë says, once they've started, and Findekáno describes what he saw.



"You think it's the Enemy?"



"No. Maybe. No. If he can take on any form he pleases, he'd be incomparably stupid to waste a strategic secret like that on pretending to be an Elf lost in the north."



"You think it's something else?"



A minor Power, maybe, defecting from Valinor to their side. That would be interesting. Or -



- but if any among Fëanor's host did feel any remorse, they wouldn't come alone searching, that was suicide.



"Can I go out ahead?" he asks. He regrets it almost immediately. Nolofinwë's eyes immediately light up with the special anguish he only feels when being a King and being a father come into conflict. "Not far," he promises, and his father wearily nods.