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Snow had settled on the manes of their horses. Eluivor leaned forward, trying to find a way through the treacherous snow that covered the icy slopes of Caradhras. Almost they had escaped the freezing danger of the cruel mountain – it could not be much longer now until the snow would stop, and then they would be able to see green plains in the distance and far to the northeast, the dark green boughs of his home, though his duty would not yet let him return there.
First, though, they needed to find a way to cross the frozen stream that gleamed before them. Certainly it was too cold for there to be any danger – the water had to be frozen to the ground in this unrelenting winter, and yet his horse was strangely skittish as he urged Gwaedh forward. Vereyar was close behind him, and he turned in the saddle as much as he was able to, blinking with ice-encrusted lashed against the biting wind to see how his companion's horse was faring.
It happened quickly then. Gwaedh squealed with terror, and water seemed to rush up to meet him, the shock of unimaginable cold so great that for a long moment, he was frozen, the weight of his armor pulling him down while dimly, he was aware of Gwaedh thrashing next to him in terror.
I am dying, he thought, feeling strangely disconnected from what was happening to him, all thought lost in the cruel cold that had penetrated him to the bone. Then, sluggishly, he started to struggle. Not like this, oh Eru... Not like this! He reached out in terror, nothing but cold, cruel ice encasing him, the air in his lungs starting to ache while the cold pierced his skin like a thousand swords. He forced himself to move in despair, fighting against the pain as his fingers fumbled at his armor, too numb to be able to do any good. He let go at last to reach up, fingertips brushing the ice above him as he struggled towards it, thinking only up, up, needing air as he had never needed anything in his life before – and then the cruel cold froze even that need and he stopped struggling, the weight of his armor starting to pull him down while he gazed up at blue ice, knowing that at last, everything was lost.
At last, everything was peace...
A strong hand gripped him.
Suddenly, there was air, and he coughed, cold water searing his lungs like fire, reaching out helplessly to clutch at Vereyar, to scramble at the broken shards of ice that cut his frozen fingers as he helplessly, desperately tried to escape the water that even now sought to pull them both in.
There was a knife then, and he sobbed with relief when the heavy, soaked wool of his cloak was cut free, vanishing into the icy waters beneath him. He fought against the weight of his armor, clinging to the ice that kept him and Vereyar alive, but more and more of his strength drained away as he struggled in the freezing water.
The knife sawed at his chest then, cutting through frozen straps of leather, then cut through his belt. As he kept trying to struggle weakly onto the ice, Vereyar pulled and pushed at his armor until at last, he was free, the metal-studded leather sinking down while he managed to heave his chest onto the firm ice.
A glint of something caught his eye then.
There was his sword – his grandfather's sword, given to his father when his grandfather died at Oropher's side on the plains of Dagorlad, returned to him when his father had died like a traitor next to the men who would still be alive, had it not been for his cowardice.
His family's sword, his to hold now, his to reclaim his honor with.
It dangled beneath him, still held by where the belt was caught between his body and the splintered shards of ice – and then the ice shifted, Vereyar grunting with effort as he tried to pull him further up onto the safe, solid ice, and Eluivor let go.
The shock was almost worse this time, all thought frozen as he submerged himself in the icy water. The golden gleam of the bejeweled blade drew him down, hands reaching out for where it glistened like a lost Silmaril, tantalizing, tempting, and when at last his numb fingers closed around the pommel, he smiled even though deep inside he knew that his strength had gone for good, that he could not force himself back up to where there was air.
To sleep forever here beneath the ice, laid to rest like a king with his sword by his side... would Vereyar let his wife know...?
He was pulled from the water with impossible strength. Vereyar's face was as white as the ice, a demon-like grimace of rage and wrath, but Eluivor was past all fear as he clung weakly to Vereyar, each breath he took cutting his lungs as if he were swallowing shards of ice.
Slowly, painfully, Vereyar dragged Eluivor back over the ice until they finally reached the bank of the frozen stream. There, Vereyar stopped for a moment, breathing heavily as he forced Eluivor to stand, shaking him harshly to keep him awake. “Stand,” he said. “Stand! Walk! Walk or you will die here!”
Eluivor stared at him from dazed eyes, lips blue, lashes encrusted with ice, trembling so hard that for a moment Vereyar doubted that he would manage to remain upright. Yet Eluivor stood – still clutching the sword in his hand, and Vereyar's face grew hard and cold at the sight.
“This is pride,” he bit out with furious disgust, raising his hand to slap Eluivor with enough force that a drop of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. He ripped the sword from Eluivor's hands to throw it into the snow there at the river's bank, then grabbed Eluivor's shoulders to shake him harshly.
“This,” he snarled, nails digging into frozen skin, “this is a gift Eru gave you. Treat it with such disrespect again and I will let you die there in the water, so that the Judge himself can teach you gratitude and penitence!”
Eluivor blinked at him, giving no sign that he had understood until at last there came a little nod, his trembling increasing until he was shaking himself apart.
Vereyar began to loosen his cloak, then stopped when he realized that his cloak, too, was soaked with the icy water. He reached out then, lifting Eluivor into his arms to carry him towards where a towering cliff at least promised relief from the cruel wind of Caradhras. Their horses followed, Eluivor's mare limping and skittish, eyes rolling every time Vereyar tried to reach out, yet she followed, at least.
There was – not a cave, Vereyar realized with tired resignation. There was a small opening in the cliff, where a large boulder might have broken away during another Age, but it was barely enough to hold two grown elves. Yet Eluivor's frozen body was still shaking in his arms, and this, at least, was better than nothing. He eyed the horses, but there was nothing to be done. They were sturdy beasts, and here, out of the way of the wind, they should make it through the night, if Ilúvatar willed it.
He grabbed his pack from his horse, then set to work. First he cut off the wet leggings, careful not to injure Eluivor despite his trembling, then wrapped his blanket around the pale, icy body, rubbing him down briskly to encourage the blood to return to the frozen limbs despite the other's stuttered protest.
“And that pain is the price you pay for your pride,” he said viciously, then released Eluivor when he was certain that the other would not freeze to death just yet.
The opening of the little hollow was almost closed of by a drift of snow as high as he himself, and he quickly gathered more snow now to close them off completely from the outside. When he returned to Eluivor's side, his shivering had increased, and he grimly drew his pack closer, spreading his bedroll on the snow that covered the ground of their little cave. For one moment he hesitated, but then he opened the buckles of his armor with trained, mechanical motion, quickly and efficiently stripping out of his clothes.
He spread them out atop his bedroll, then covered that with the blanket he had wrapped around Eluivor, spreading his cloak on top. Finally, he coaxed the pale, trembling body of his companion to crawl beneath the pile that would hopefully keep them warm and alive during the night, holding off just for a heartbeat before he followed Eluivor, face carefully blank as he drew him into his arms.
The contact was like a shock.
Eluivor was still shaking badly, his skin too cold, and yet – there was a strange sensation of aliveness, like a current of energy where they touched, blood flowing beneath skin, chest rising with each painful breath, limbs shuddering against him, Eluivor's mouth red and hot in the freezing air as he curled against him like a small child. “Ada,” he breathed against his throat, and Vereyar froze. For a long moment, nothing more happened, and then Eluivor's arms tightening around him, trembling limbs entangling with his own to soak up his heat, heavy and alive and so very physical that Vereyar swallowed, shuddering with a strange fear at the way Eluivor's heart beat against his own.
“I'm sorry, ada,” Eluivor murmured, his trembling subsiding a little as his body at last grew warmer, and Vereyar held carefully still, waiting for a very long moment until he was certain that Eluivor had fallen asleep before he dared to move into a more comfortable position, though Eluivor kept clinging to him like a child, his breath hot and regular against his throat.
This was how they fell asleep, and this was how they woke, too, Eluivor warm and heavy now, blond curls cradled beneath his chin. His heartbeat was a steady, sleepy drum against his chest, and Vereyar almost smiled with relief that his companion had survived the night before his face quickly settled into a more serious expression, earnestly praying to the One in gratefulness.
Eluivor woke when he tried to disentangle himself from his grip, and he held still for a moment, face carefully blank as he watched the other. “How do you feel?” he said at last. “Any pain? Fever? Do you remember what happened?”
Eluivor shivered instinctively and nodded. “You... you saved my life,” he said, voice raw as he gazed at him, looking vulnerable and young in his nakedness.
Vereyar turned his face aside, then stood, quickly pulling on his armor once more.
“Eru decided that you live,” he said calmly. “If there is any sense left in that head of yours, you will pray to voice your gratitude – and pray to ask for guidance, to learn humility. I shall not act a second time to save you from what you bring on yourself through pride and vanity.”
Eluivor swallowed and inclined his head. “As you say,” he said softly. “I... I shall pray. And I... I thank you, Vereyar. I promise, I will never endanger you like that again.”
Vereyar stared at him for a moment, then briskly turned away. “Let us also pray that our horses survived the night. Otherwise, this will be a long journey. Stay here, I will see if I can find clothes for you.”
~~~
Their horses had indeed survived. They greeting him eagerly, nuzzling at his hands until he fed them their ration of oats, tired but otherwise well. Eluivor's pack must vanished from the back of his mare when she had first broken through the ice – there was no trace of his belongings now, he realized with disappointment.
When he returned into their little cave, he pulled what sparse other clothes he possessed from his pack. Pants, a shirt, a tunic of soft leather – simple and worn, yet dry.
“Not fit for a Lord. But warmth is more important right now, I should think,” he said, then grabbed his cloak from where it had covered them during the night. The wool was mostly dry, and he nodded and threw it at Eluivor as well, wrapping the blanket around himself instead and fastening it at his throat with a brooch to make up for the loss of his cloak.
Eluivor swallowed, though he took the clothes eagerly. “I am no lord, now” he said softly. “And I am grateful. Truly, Vereyar. I deserve your scorn, not your help.”
“It is for the Valar to judge,” Vereyar said simply. “Learn from this, if it is not yet too late for you. That will please me more than words.”
~~~
Outside, the horses had finished their sparse rations and came forward to rub their faces against his arms as if to seek reassurance that they would leave the cruel cold behind now. Vereyar patted them absentmindedly as he waited for Eluivor to finish dressing. When he at last left the tiny cave that had saved their life, he brought out Vereyar's pack of belongings with him, looking strangely different in Vereyar's nondescript clothes.
Vereyar hesitated for a moment, then nodded towards the frozen stream they had so narrowly escaped with their lives yesterday. “There lies your pride, buried in the snow. Take it up once more, or bury it for good. But remember that the One showed you mercy last night. He might not do so again if you continue to scorn His gifts.”
Eluivor was silent for a long time. At last, he tiredly began trudging towards the drifts that signaled the banks of the river, and Vereyar followed, face blank. For one moment, there had been something almost like hope that bloomed in his heart...
Yet what use had he for hope? He did the One's bidding, nothing more, nothing less. This burden was his alone to carry. To hope for another to share his burden, after all this time – this made him as much a fool as this spoiled, arrogant scion of the Greenwood who now reached out for his sword with trembling fingers, once more placing pride before the will of Eru.
He turned to look out at the treacherous ice for a moment, doubting himself. Had it been Eru's will that Eluivor live? Or had it been Eluivor's destiny to succumb to his pride here, until he in his own pride thought to thwart Eru's design? What had made him endanger himself to rescue Eluivor from certain death – a death he would have deserved?
Had he been alone for so long that now, at last, the clear path Eru had shown him began to blur in his memory?
There was the crunch of snow, and when he turned back, Eluivor was kneeling before him, head bowed as he held out the sword that had so nearly cost him his life.
“I have sworn my life to my prince,” he said, voice shaking in the bitter cold. “I belong to the Greenwood – I will do the bidding of my king until the day I die. Yet you have saved my life, Vereyar. You risked your own life to save me from the folly of my pride. This – this sword means nothing. To have died for it... it would have been a grave sin. I could throw it into the river now, and yet I would still be as good or as bad a man as I was before. I would offer my life to you if I could, but instead, I offer you this sword, to do your bidding as long as it does not interfere with my oaths to my prince and my king.”
Vereyar raised a hand as if to touch the lowered head before him, then flinched back before his fingers reached the tousled golden curls. He gazed at him in a mix of speechless confusion and a sudden longing that scared him with the ache of its intensity.
“No,” he said, taking a deep breath when he realized that his voice was trembling. “No,” he then continued calmly. “Offer your sword not to me. It was Eru who decided that you shall live, despite the arrogance of your pride. And I shall not question His wisdom again, for here, stripped of your pride and vanity, I see a man who must be pleasing to Him. Offer your sword to Eru, use it in service to Him. That would please me the most.”
Eluivor looked up at him then, eyes strangely bright in his pale face. “Eru showed me mercy and granted me my life,” he agreed softly. “Yet it was you who did His bidding. It was you who saved me from paying the price for my pride.”
Vereyar hesitated a long moment, then allowed himself a small, unfamiliar smile as he reached out to help Eluivor stand. “That he did. Perhaps... Perhaps we shall talk some more of pride and faith once we rest this evening, if you wish.”
“I would be grateful for that,” Eluivor said, returning Vereyar's smile with a new uncertainty until Vereyar had to turn away from him to hide the heavy warmth that had bloomed in his chest.
“And I am certain that your eagerness pleases the One,” he said almost gently before he mounted his horse, allowing the steed to carefully search for a safe path down the treacherous slopes of Caradhras while he mused about the gifts Eru had given them that night.