Chapter 34 Frost and Iron #2
The distance between them seemed smaller now and more dangerous.
"And somehow the answer is always the same."
Something cold entered her voice.
"You decide."
Silence followed, and the words remained hanging between them.
For the first time since the conversation began, Vargan did not answer immediately, and although the pause lasted only a few seconds, it felt much longer.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.
"Someone has to."
And there it was, not cruelty or arrogance, but belief, the kind that survived decades, built kingdoms, and destroyed families.
Eira stared at him and understood that he meant it, truly and completely, that someone had to decide, someone had to carry the burden, and someone had to choose, while the tragedy was that he had never once considered that someone else might want the burden too.
Eira held his gaze while the wind moved through White Pass, and neither of them seemed to notice.
"Someone has to."
The words lingered between them, familiar and predictable, almost comforting in their certainty.
For years they would have ended the conversation like this, and for years she would have accepted them, not because she agreed, but because she had never known there was another answer.
Now she did.
"Did it ever occur to you to ask me?"
For the first time, Vargan blinked, not quite in surprise but in something closer to hesitation, and although the reaction lasted only a moment, it was enough for Eira to see it.
And suddenly she knew that he hadn't, not once, not truly, not in the way she meant.
"You asked whether I would obey," she said, her voice remaining calm in a way that felt dangerously controlled.
"You asked whether I understood," she continued, taking another step.
"You asked whether I accepted what was necessary," she added as the distance between them nearly disappeared.
"But you never asked what I wanted."
Silence settled between them as Vargan regarded her steadily, and when he answered, his voice remained frustratingly composed.
"What you wanted was never separate from what you needed."
The words struck like a blade, not because they were cruel, but because he believed them, even now, even after everything.
Eira let out a short breath of disbelief that almost sounded like a laugh.
"There."
Something tightened behind her ribs, not anger but something older, something she had carried for years without giving it a name.
"There it is."
Vargan frowned slightly.
"Eira—"
"No," she said, shaking her head. "No, listen to yourself."
For the first time, emotion slipped through the cracks in her control, not much, but just enough.
"You still don't hear it."
The wind tugged at her cloak as she continued.
"You don't hear me."
His jaw tightened.
"I hear you perfectly."
"No," she replied immediately. "You hear yourself."
The words landed harder than she intended, hard enough that she saw something shift in his expression, not anger but pain, which was gone almost immediately, though still there beneath the surface.
For a heartbeat neither of them spoke, and then Vargan exhaled slowly.
"You believe I failed you."
The question sounded quieter than the others, somehow older.
Eira opened her mouth and then stopped, because that wasn't the question, not really.
And for the first time since the conversation began, she realized something uncomfortable: he wasn't defending himself anymore, but trying to understand the shape of the wound.
The realization should have softened something, but instead it made everything worse, because if he truly wanted to understand, then she would have to tell him, not as Alpha, not as ruler, not as daughter of Frostvein, but as herself.
And she wasn't certain either of them were prepared for that.
Eira looked away, not toward Soren or the waiting warriors, but toward the mountains rising beyond White Pass.
For a moment she said nothing, and when she finally spoke, her voice had grown quieter.
"Do you remember the summer market in Stonewater?"
A faint crease appeared between Vargan's brows, as though the question had not been what he expected.
"Yes."
Of course he remembered, because Vargan remembered everything.
"I was thirteen."
The memory arrived with surprising clarity: the crowded streets, the smell of smoke and spices, merchants shouting over one another, and travelers from kingdoms she had only seen on maps.
"I wanted to travel south."
Recognition appeared immediately in Vargan's expression.
"You wanted to leave with a merchant caravan."
"I wanted to see the world."
"You were thirteen."
A faint smile touched Eira's mouth.
"You spent two hours explaining why it was impossible."
"I explained why it was dangerous."
"Yes, you did," she said, and the answer carried no anger, which somehow made it sharper.
"You explained the roads, the bandits, the weather, the politics, and all the reasons it could go wrong. Looking back, you were probably right about most of them."
For the first time, uncertainty appeared in Vargan's expression, subtle but unmistakably real.
Eira continued before he could answer.
"The problem wasn't that you said no."
The wind moved through the pass, tugging at her cloak and carrying the distant sounds of soldiers and horses across the valley.
"The problem was that I already knew the answer before I asked."
Silence settled between them.
"I knew it before I opened my mouth, because the answer was always waiting for me."
Her gaze returned to him.
"It didn't matter whether I wanted to travel south, stay in Frostvein, study with the elders, or spend my days doing something entirely different. There was always a reason, always an explanation, and eventually I stopped asking because I already knew what you would decide."
Something shifted in Vargan's face, not dramatically, but enough.
For the first time since the conversation began, Eira had the distinct impression that he was no longer preparing his next argument, but was truly listening.
"I thought I was protecting you."
The words were quiet, not defensive or angry, but simply honest.
"I know," Eira answered immediately.
That had never been the problem, because she had always known.
The tragedy was that he had been protecting her for so long that he had stopped noticing when protection became control.
For a long moment neither of them spoke, while the wind moved through White Pass, carrying the scent of snow and distant campfires between the two armies.
Vargan's gaze remained on her, and he seemed older than she remembered, not because the years had changed him, but because she was seeing him differently.
Eventually he exhaled slowly, as though setting something aside rather than resolving it.
"We could spend the rest of the day discussing the past," he said, and the words were neither dismissal nor criticism, only truth. "And neither of us would leave satisfied."
Eira said nothing, because he was right, and some wounds could be understood but not repaired.
Vargan glanced toward the valley, toward the waiting armies, and toward the problem that had brought them both here.
"When I heard you had crossed the pass, I thought you had come to convince me to withdraw."
A faint smile touched Eira's mouth as she replied, "You know me better than that."
"Do I?" he asked, and although the question lingered briefly before disappearing, his expression hardened slightly, not toward her but toward the situation and the reality they faced.
"The pass cannot remain like this."
"No," she agreed.
"Nine days becomes ten, then eleven, and eventually someone makes a mistake."
Eira nodded, because that much was obvious, and no army could remain balanced on the edge of a blade forever, since sooner or later someone would slip.
Vargan studied her for a moment before asking the question she had been expecting since the beginning.
"What did he tell you?"
The shift was immediate, and although he did not say Soren's name, not openly or directly, they both knew exactly who he meant.
Eira folded her arms and answered, "He told me you're waiting."
Something unreadable passed across Vargan's face as he asked, "And what do you think I'm waiting for?"
The answer arrived before she could stop it.
"Me."
Silence settled between them, and around them White Pass seemed to grow impossibly still.
Vargan neither confirmed nor denied it, which was answer enough.
"I wanted certainty," he said, and there was no shame in the admission, no hesitation, only honesty, the same honesty that had always made arguing with him so difficult.
"I know," Eira replied.
"And now?"
For the first time something changed in Vargan's gaze, and it was not authority or certainty but something rarer, something almost like vulnerability.
"Now I'm no longer certain what happens next."
The admission hit harder than anything else he had said, because Vargan did not speak those words lightly, not ever.
For several moments Vargan said nothing while the wind moved through the pass and snow drifted across the ground between the two armies.
Eira knew that look because she had seen it her entire life, and it was not uncertainty but the opposite, a conclusion that had settled into place inside his mind, which frightened her far more than anger would have.
"What are you thinking?" she asked, the question leaving her before she could stop it.
Vargan's gaze remained fixed on her as he replied, "I'm thinking that perhaps neither of us has been asking the right question."
A familiar unease settled low in her stomach, and although nothing had changed across the valley, everything suddenly felt different.
"What question?" she pressed.
Vargan ignored that and instead looked toward the Frostvein side of the pass, not at the warriors but beyond them, toward several figures standing near the edge of the gathering in white robes, still and composed, the elders and ritual keepers.
Eira felt her pulse slow and then quicken as dread crept in, because she understood what he was thinking and did not want it to happen here and now.