-o0o-

A cold gust of wind tore over the field of white, dragging at his snow-encrusted braids, biting at the exposed skin of his face. Elrohir shuddered, and ground his teeth against the pain of his injuries as they were shaken awake. It was getting colder. And his hope was dying

- just like Elladan, a small dark voice in his head whispered.

Elrohir shook his head, for once welcoming the pain that flared between his temples and raced down his stiff and bruised back. Anything was better than the invasive thought, the slowly solidifying certainty.

It would not stay silent. Mocking him with nightmare visions of his twin, stiff and frozen, his skin as white as the snow around him. The mountain was turning his own mind against him. 'Focus!' he commanded himself, trying to keep a hold of his meandering thoughts, his treacherously tilting vision. He knew that confusion and disorientation were a sign of hypothermia, he knew! But the small, rational voice of his healer's training was rapidly swallowed by a mire of fear, dread and terror.

Until a new sound cut through the air - a real sound. A soft huff, and a concerned nickering. Talagor. Against the darkness that was trying to drown his spirit in despair, a smile came to Elrohir's face as he looked up the slope to where his horse was standing on the safest piece of land he had found.

The faithful stallion was proof that the Valar had not yet forsaken him and his twin. Somehow, despite the odds, against the overwhelming force of the wall of snow that had hit them, Talagor had escaped the snowy confines of the avalanche soon after the snows had settled. Had somehow found Elrohir, buried beneath the snow as he had been. When consciousness had returned to him, Talagor had been the first thing he had seen after fighting himself up to the surface of snow and ice. Without the grey horse he would not have gotten far, perhaps would not even have gotten up.

His first attempt at making it to his feet had failed miserably when his leg had exploded in pain the moment he had put any weight on it and he had come crashing down into the hard packed snow once more. But the leather harness to which their provisions had been tied was still around Talagor's chest. And though he had lost the packs and blankets, Elrohir had found, when he had held onto it, when he had let Talagor drag him upright, that a coil of rope still remained.

He had tied it to Talagor's harness and after leaving the horse on the end of the trail up above, had started his desperate search for Elladan. Knowing that he had no time to spare. It had been morning when they had been overwhelmed by the avalanche, but his unconsciousness had clearly cost him many hours, his ungainly first attempts to free himself at least another.

And despite his best efforts time had passed at an alarming rate - and there was still no sign of his missing brother.

Now, Talagor looked towards him, concern in his large dark eyes, apparently planning to brave the treacherous snows of the avalanche once more to come to him, but Elrohir waved him back. "I am alright," he declared, not caring about the immensity of that lie. "Stay where you are."

And Talagor did. But behind the grey horse, Anor was already touching the peaks of the mountains, soon to disappear entirely. His time was running out. Elladan's time was running out.

Elrohir continued to dig.

Deep shadows already pooled in the hole that Elrohir had made in the snowy slope, merging with the dark spots that crowded his vision, blurring what he saw. Once the sun had set, his task would be hopeless. He huffed a bitter laugh - as if there was any hope left. He had dug another hole for nothing, another wrong guess, another hour wasted.

With effort he forced his frozen and stiff muscles to comply, to drag himself back so he could reach for the edge of the hollow he had made and heave himself out once more. To find a new spot and try again. His hand slipped from the wall of the hollow, his bloodied fingers unable to hold onto the edge. His energy was spent. Another shiver racked him.

It was so cold.

Elrohir fought the urge to close his eyes, to give into the call of darkness, to succumb to the sweet spell of slumber. He could not give in. He would find Elladan.

His fingers curled into the snow as he balled them into fists, as he gathered his energy for another attempt. No, wait!, not into snow! His right hand was gripping something else, cold and stiff, but not snow. Not ice. In the falling gloom it took his eyes a second to focus on what he had felt but then he saw it - fabric. Grey suede, almost blending into the shadows at the bottom of the hollow, but unmistakable once recognized.

Elladan's sleeve!

With new energy Elrohir attacked the snow still smothering his twin, removing large chunks and soft fluff, freeing first the right arm as he worked up the sleeve until he found his brother's shoulder, his neck, his face. Elladan was deathly pale, almost as white as the snow that surrounded him and it was only when Elrohir leaned forward, holding his ear right over Elladan's nose and mouth that he could be sure his twin was breathing at all. He was. Shallow, short breaths, barely enough to keep him alive, but enough all the same.

Hypothermia had slowed Elladan's breathing, and his heartbeat, Elrohir confirmed a moment later – it was likely what had kept him alive buried under the snow. Though it might kill him yet. Elrohir ignored the insistent thought with by now practiced ease, focusing not on his fears and worries but on his training, both as a warrior and a healer. Evaluate, divide, act. One problem, one injury, one disaster at a time.

First he had to free Elladan.

He did so, his fingers numb, and leaving bloody streaks on Elladan's frozen clothes from cuts and tears that Elrohir no longer felt. The darkness around them was complete by the time he had finished, had gathered Elladan into his arms, feeling the icy cold skin of his brother's forehead against his cheek. He allowed himself to take comfort from the touch only for a moment, because now that Elladan was free of the snow Elrohir had to get him off the mountain and warm.

His back protested sharply as he finally righted himself, trying to grasp the edge of the hollow they were in for a second time without jostling his injured leg. This time he succeeded, and he hauled himself up and onto the white surface of the avalanche field. With the help of the light of Ithil's slim sickle he spotted the dark shape of Talagor, still waiting patiently in the dark for his rider.

Casting about across the moonlit expanse, Elrohir spotted the rope he had used before, the one that was still bound to Talagor. He grabbed it now and descended back into the hole he had dug. Pain shot through his leg as he met the ground and he crumpled in a heap, dropping next to Elladan, his energy too spent even to scream. His ankle was on fire, his breaths coming in rapid, shallow gasps as he waited for the worst of the pain to pass, for the numbing effect of the cold to take over once more. Black spots crowded his vision and he grew increasingly light headed, his vision tilting dangerously when he shook his head, trying to dispel the specks of darkness. It was no use.

In the end he gave in and stilled, resting his head on the cold snow beneath it, looking at Elladan. Waiting for the pain to pass. He focused on the barely there rise and fall of his twin's chest, on the purple tint of his lips - so stark a contrast to the paleness of his skin. His twin, his mission. He would not let Elladan die a cold death on the slopes of the Misty Mountains as long as he had breath in his body. He took strength from the resolution.

With effort he raised his hand, barely reaching the dangling end of the rope as it dropped over the edge of the hollow, hanging between him and Elladan. It was reassuringly solid in his cold hands, coarse and sturdy. A reminder that all was not lost. Talagor was waiting.

He slung the rope around his twin, forming as good a harness as he could with his fingers frozen and unresponsive. Then he used the rope to climb out of the hole one last time, his broken leg dragging behind him as he strained his arms, placing one hand in front of the other, until he had reached the white expanse atop the snow once more. Elbereth's stars were out in force, shining bright and clear, and Earendil himself sailed the heavens in the west, right above Rivendell. A beacon of hope, lighting the way home. The bright light gave Elrohir new strength, a hope rekindled, and he turned onto his stomach, tugging on the rope and calling to his horse. "Talagor!"

The stallion understood. With gentle but unrelenting pressure the rope tightened, then moved, pulling Elladan from the hole, helping Elrohir along as he tried to both reach the ledge and make sure his brother's body would not take further damage on his way up the slope. It was a slow, long and weary process, and Elrohir did not truly remember how he and Talagor accomplished it, but they did make it off the slope. Made it back to safer footing on the parts of the trail that had remained clear of the avalanche. And after he had rested, sheltered by Talagor's back against the worst of the bite of the wind and warmed by the horse's proximity, he had somehow managed to drag Elladan atop Talagor and crawled up behind him.

Then they had set off, down the mountain, towards Rivendell, towards home. He cradled Elladan close, sharing what meager warmth still remained in his own body. Weariness dragged at him. And as Talagor plodded on, Elrohir mumbled senseless words of praise to his steed, words of comfort to Elladan, broken snatches of Elbereth's song to the stars. His voice was growing fainter as his lids grew heavier, but just when he almost dozed off, when the words finally faltered and he fell silent. Elladan stirred.

Elrohir was instantly alert. He tightened his hold, watching in tense expectation as his twin's eyelids fluttered and then opened, taking a moment to focus on the dark world around them, on the path ahead of them.

His question, when he spoke, took Elrohir by surprise: "What is that?"

Elrohir forced his head up, forced his own tired eyes to focus on the path ahead. There, at the edge of the forest in the valley, stood a mighty spruce and on its branches the conifer's cones were glowing.

-o0o-

tbc…

A/N: Who's a good, kind author always being nice to the characters in her stories? Me, I am. This is proof - and I will not hear arguments to the contrary - random avalanches and orc attacks _do_ happen... Besides, it is almost Christmas, what if the elves report to Santa? Now is the time for all authors to be good :D