Chapter Sixty-Seven: Icebound
Caranel II smiled to herself, reveling in the warm cascade of sunlight that tumbled down from the bright blue sky and drenched her with a golden radiance. She wandered the halls of her grandfather's haven, smiling at the pure home-like feeling of it all. She had visited Imladris many times before, and she never got tired of walking the same stone corridors. It seemed that with each visit, there was something new for her to discover that had been overlooked a dozen times before. Even at three hundred years old, and well into her adult years, Caranel admitted that she still tended to behave like a little child.
The elleth was jolted abruptly to a most alarming and somewhat painful present. Knotted up in arms and legs that belonged both to her and to someone else, Caranel tumbled to the floor in a heap on top of a figure she soon recognized as her grandfather's godfather – the elf she always referred to as her great-uncle, or simply her uncle. Brushing noses with the breathless, dark-haired elf-lord, the younger of the two tangled relatives flushed a furious shade of scarlet as the pair struggled to free themselves from each other's appendages.
"I'm very sorry, Uncle… I should have been watching my step…"
"Not at all, not at all," Elrond I smiled good-naturedly as he climbed to his feet. "I was a bit distracted myself." He laughed under his breath, and the fire-haired maiden frowned a little at him.
"What's so funny?" she asked, her eyebrows lifting a little.
"Nothing," the elf-lord replied distantly. "I just had a bit of a flashback… this same thing happened to me several thousand years ago, with the very elleth you were named after."
"Really?" Caranel couldn't hold back a chuckle of her own. "What a coincidence!"
"Indeed," her kinsman nodded quietly, the faraway look in his eyes deepening. "I swear, you're turning out to be almost just like her…"
"What was she like?" the elleth wondered out loud. "You've never told me about the first Caranel before."
Elrond I said nothing for a long while, as emotion after emotion broke over his mind like so many silently throbbing waves. Happiness, fear, heartbreak, shock, comfort, more fear, more sorrow, and finally… peace. Drawing a deep breath, the half-elf steeled himself for the account of bliss and tragedy.
Caranel II's eyes were wide as she drank in the tale of a humble maidservant of the long-lost haven of Sirion, who befriended a stranger from Eru-knew-where and remained at his side through the high and low points of living among elves of whom some were friendly, and others not so. The elleth wept as she heard of how her namesake was sent away from her home for nothing but her own safety, only to be brought under the charge of a pitiless Kinslayer, and to succumb eventually to death like a lamb at the slaughter.
Both storyteller and listener were crying as Elrond I completed the narrative. The Caranel of the present day wiped her face with her sleeve, and was silent. It was obvious that she had no idea what to think. But at length she managed a hoarse whisper.
"How old was Caranel when all this happened? She sounded incredibly young, from what you said."
"I never asked her," the half-elf answered, "but she didn't seem to me to be even of age. I would guess that she was hardly twenty, perhaps not even that… she had almost the look of a teenager."
Caranel II nodded, her face slightly downcast. "That poor girl… all those horrible things at her age? And she had her whole life ahead of her! Maedhros must have been insane!"
"You're right," Elrond I nodded. "Somewhat, in any case. But he went totally mad a little while afterward, when…" His voice trailed off to a vague mumble, but at last he drew a breath and concluded, "…after I tried to heal the wound I myself had inflicted upon him. I was warned not to, but by that time I had already gotten too far…"
"That must have been awful," the elleth sympathized. "He never even knew you were just trying to help him."
"To be perfectly sincere with you, dear, I don't think he cared in the least," her kinsman replied soberly. "I don't know what was going through Maedhros' head at that point, but I'm assured it was nothing good. He nearly killed Maglor and myself after my attempt to heal him."
"What did you do?" Caranel voiced her anxious thoughts.
"I cut off Maedhros' other hand, and knocked him unconscious again with a blow to his jaw. Then Maglor and I left with my godson and his brother Elros, and didn't look back."
Caranel couldn't prevent a deep shiver from coursing through her body. She trusted every word her great-uncle spoke. But a distant crash of shattering glass made them both flinch in alarm. Elrond I sighed, annoyed, and muttered to himself. "Those twins of mine… I'll be right back."
He hurried off down the hallway, calling out as he strode briskly along. "Elladan, Elrohir, if you've broken another vase – I really hope it's not the one your grandmother gave me as a wedding present…"
"That was me, Elrond," came Celebrían's apologetic voice in answer. "And no, it wasn't my mother's vase. I just dropped a wineglass. Don't worry, I'll clean it up…"
"You haven't hurt yourself, have you?" Elrond asked uneasily.
"No, no, I'm fine. Most of the glass is caught on my dress, but it didn't cut through. And it was empty, so there's not too much of a mess…"
Caranel II smiled as she listened to their conversation, but her train of thought was again cleanly snapped when someone's hand found her shoulder. The elleth looked up and over her shoulder, smiling. "Good afternoon, Ada."
Voronwë smiled back. "Your mother wants to see you for a moment in the gardens."
"Of course," Caranel complied, turning to follow him. Glancing back, she noted that her great-uncle was still apparently helping Celebrian clean up the glass flute she had broken. The elleth lingered for a few moments, in case Elrond I returned; then she strode along at her father's side to where Arwen was waiting.
----
Snow carpeted the valley of Imladris in great, glittering mounds; the river's endless song was now hushed, for the waters had frozen. The chill of the morning passed unnoticed by the elves, whose blood made them all but impervious to the cold. Many of the Eldar spent their time skating on the icy river, pelting each other with snowballs, or other such wintry activities.
Elrond I and Voronwë had eagerly strapped on their skates and joined their kindred on the river, while Elrond II observed from a distance alongside his wife and daughter. The elder half-elf and his son-in-law danced elegantly over the pale blue-green surface of the ice, gliding and spinning, leaping and landing with ever-smooth grace. The other elves all retreated to either side of the ice to watch them. The wind rushed in his ears and the snow dusted his body, but what did he care? The ice was firm; Elrond wasn't worried.
At least, not until he heard the first tiny, ominous crick.
Elrond I halted abruptly, skidding for a short distance before coming to rest. His golden-haired partner frowned in unease; he had heard the slight creaking as well. So, it seemed, had the others, who were standing very still. A young elleth ventured forward with a clear intent to help the pair, but Elrond nodded silently at her to move back. She did so, slowly and most reluctantly, and the others all backed away as well, off of the river.
"Don't make any sudden motions," the half-elf told his son-in-law quietly and insistently. "Now, very carefully, move toward the northern bank…" The cricking sound had come from behind them, toward the southern bank.
Slowly the two elves slid forth, hardly daring to breathe heavily, lest they put that much more weight upon the ice. Who could tell how thick or thin it was? The bank was a mere two feet away now… they were almost there, almost safe…
The crick turned to a crack, now in front of them. A thin, jagged, dangerous line appeared in the ice, halfway between Elrond I and Voronwë, and their freedom. It was a very long line, and it was also curving toward the stranded kinsmen. A rough half circle formed; the elves instinctively tried to back away, but many more deadly creaks sounded, and the ice behind them soon resembled a reptile's scaly hide. They had nowhere to go.
"Do you think we can jump that?" Voronwë asked fearfully, nodding to the semicircle of a fracture before them.
"We'd need a very long start, which we haven't got," his father-in-law replied grimly. He hated to be the voice of reason. But someone had to be that. "No, what we need now is a miracle."
A loud screech sounded not far off, and Voronwë looked immediately to the skies. "How about a flight to freedom?"
Elrond I stared upward attentively. A pair of huge eagles soared toward them, their talons splayed and ready to grasp at something. The birds called out again as they came nearer, and the half-elf felt his heart sink as a sob escaped his throat. "It's not going to work. All of that extra weight, even a second's worth of it, would drag us all straight under…"
Voronwë nodded mutely as he realized his comrade was once again only too correct. But the eagles kept coming. The trapped elves could only watch and wait. Elrond I's thoughts in those horrible, dread-filled moments were comprised of a single echoing word: No, no, no, no, no…
He felt a strong pair of sharp claws close over his forearms, and knew it was all over. The eagles' weight was far more than adequate to finish the job that had already been started. In a mêlée of water, ice, torn fabric and flying feathers, elves and eagles were overcome by the frigid river and dragged, struggling and screaming, under the surface. But the thing that happened next was perhaps even more terrible. By no means explicable, the shattered ice on top of the water froze over again in a heartbeat, becoming one smooth, solid sheet of blue-green glass.
----
Pinned firmly against the cold mud of the river bottom, Elrond I could feel his inadequate breath being forced from his lungs, slowly but surely. In his left hand he held Voronwë's wrist in a viselike grasp; his entire right side was pressed against the feathery body of an eagle. The elf could feel the great wings thrashing weakly about, churning the water into a mess of silt.
He himself tried in vain to counteract the weight of the ice that was pushing him down into the muck, pressing upward for all he was worth. But it was nowhere near enough to succeed, and he sank down even deeper, defeated. All hope drained from his heart as the warmth had so rapidly fled from his body. He was trapped, a pathetic prisoner in an ever-shrinking world of cold, wet, airless dark, and he was going to die.
No, rumbled Ulmo's low, familiar voice in his ear. Your mother's death will not be yours as well. You must fight! Use what you have been given!
A faint glow pulsing through his tight-closed eyelids screamed that something needed to be seen. Elrond I cracked his eyes open just a little, and saw that Narya's ruby was ablaze with crimson light. And the answer came in the form of a name: Aulë.
Of course! The half-elf mentally kicked himself for his own ignorance. How could he not have seen it before? He would have to combat the ice with a hearty dose of Fire.
Elrond I dragged his right hand up, flattening his palm against the underside of the ice that held him captive. Squeezing his eyes shut again, he cried out deep inside himself and begged the fires of the world to save him. They leapt to his aid like an attacking regiment on horses, galloping up and upward, banners of orange flame streaming out as swords of lightning were unsheathed. He didn't even need to call the charge.
Instantly the great mass of frozen water began to melt where the half-elf's hand touched it. Elrond pushed harder, moving his hand here and there, until a huge hollow formed. He forced his torso upward to a half-sitting position, straining his arms to reach the ice above his legs. Soon he could move his whole body properly, if only a little.
Then the real work started. Pulling his son-in-law upward with him, Elrond I pressed his whole upper body against the rapidly receding slab of ice, allowing the fires inside him to lunge forth. He was quickly melting a tunnel upward; Voronwë clawed urgently at the ice beside him, and the eagles forced them up from below, butting the elves' heels with their great heads. And all the while Ulmo spoke encouraging words into Elrond I's mind: You are half-way through… nearly there…
Almost there, almost free… Elrond echoed the words in his own thoughts as he burrowed ever upward. He could see a circle of sunlight through the thinning slab of ice, which was turning rapidly to slush against his hand… closer it came, and closer…
YES!
As his fingers clawed through the final few inches of slush, Elrond I's head finally broke the river's surface. The elf choked on hastily-gulped mouthfuls of cold air as he coughed up warm water. His arm was around Voronwë, who had surfaced at his side; the golden-haired elf was every bit as grateful for life as his father-in-law.
A sudden flurry of water and two swooping shadows overhead told Elrond that the eagles had taken flight; they seemed to be just fine. Elrond I smiled slightly as he watched them soar away; the elf caught his breath at the same time. Turning to his shivering son-in-law, he asked in genuine concern, "Are you all right?"
Voronwë nodded, replying rather breathlessly; his voice was laden with thankfulness and relief. "I'm fine, thanks to you… I'm not sure exactly what you did down there, but I owe you my life because of it."
Elrond didn't quite know what to say to this. "You're welcome."
They made their way carefully to shore, where they were helped up onto the riverbank by dozens of willing hands; every one of the elves who owned those hands were weeping in relief. Arwen, Celebrían and Elrond II were the very nearest to their kinsmen.
"Are you both all right?" cried a near-frantic Arwen, as she flung her arms around both of the dripping wet elves.
Voronwë returned his wife's embrace, assuring her of his well-being, but Elrond I gave a shudder as a weird, lightheaded sensation washed over him. Nonetheless, he shrugged off the others' attempts to help him, speaking in slightly slurred tones as he staggered about a little. "I'm fine, no really… I jus' need to lie down f'r a min…"
Thick clouds of steam arose from the half-elf's unconscious body, lying facedown in the snow.