Characters: OFCs, Fingon
Warnings: Implied/referenced death of a woman and a child
Disclaimer: During the crossing of the Ice, canonically many other elves died beside Elenwe, wife of Turgon. Himring gave three of them names and fates and someone to mourn them.
A/N: This double drabble features my OFC Erien, friend of Fingon, who lost most of her family on the Helcaraxe.
‘The cold never bothered me that much,’ Elvea says.
She means the cold of Araman without the light of the Trees; she has no concept of anything colder than that. Erien, who once accompanied Fingon far enough up Taniquetil to walk among glaciers, says nothing.
But when Ninde dies—heart stopped after she slipped into deep-sinking ice—Elvea is still courageous. Erien leans on that courage, even as she struggles to adapt what that long-ago trip taught her to help them survive.
Elvea carries Rusco under her cloak, humming to him, while together they climb the cruel hills of ice.
‘Erien, you’re trying to carry them all with you; I can see it dragging on you,’ says Fingon quietly. ‘Let it go, at least a little. Elvea wanted you to survive. Your dead—you cannot lose them now; they will still be there when we get to the other side.’
Erien blinks at him, frozen. Since she left Rusco, last of all, in his little bed in the snow, she had forgotten there was even supposed to be another side. But Fingon speaks the words with conviction. If he can still believe in the other side…
She nods, walks forward.
I wrote this once, in Erien's words after the crossing:
‘Elvea broke her leg, twisting it in a crevasse. Out there—no warmth, no light, hardly any food—the break refused to heal. We pulled her along with us, limping arm in arm or dragging her on an improvised sled, but she became convinced she was slowing us down too much and, when we lay down to rest, she managed to hide from us. We looked for her all round about, but in the dark we could not find her. Rusco almost lived to see the moonrise. But he kept crying for his mother—and most kinds of food I could find him out there he refused to eat. I woke up beside him and he was dead, already frozen stiff. I was so exhausted I had not felt it when he died.’
In the context of that story, this narrative was making a point I really needed to make, but it still felt a bit as if I was "fridging" the characters. I promised Elvea a story, then. This isn't quite it, though, yet, but at least close enough that she got to speak herself.
There are some allusions here to "Frozen" beyond the prompt word, and the title and some of the wording is based on the description of the Helcaraxe in the Silmarillion.