Much thanks to Daisyprincess who has the difficult job of making sense of my words. 

Chapter Three- Frigid In So Many Ways

Geylof had been pacing restlessly in his quarters all day, awaiting any news as to the whereabouts of his dear friend and former patient.  His wife had initially scorned him for his inability to remain composed, citing that restlessness was not a trait that should be found among the elvish.  Soon enough though she had found that she too was far more jittery than a proper elf should be.  In an attempt to shelter her husband from her fretful temperament, and in an effort to regain her pride, Lailei had insisted on resigning to the House of Healing, making preparations for the search party’s return. 

Geylof’s attention was now focused on his feet as he paced, hands behind his back, brow creased with worry.  The barely audible patter of his footfalls had lulled him into a sort of trance, which was rudely interrupted by a rough pounding at his door.  Cracking it open ever so slightly, his nose wrinkled involuntarily when he saw what he remembered to be a rather loud and bothersome Child of Aule. 

“Yes?” he asked hurriedly, eager to be rid of the dwarf as soon as possible so that he could get back to antagonizing the floor.

Gimli was not oblivious to the elf’s dislike of him, but at the moment, he hadn’t the time to give one of his biting responses.  “Aragorn wants you in the throne room,” he said simply. When Geylof did nothing but stare back at him, he added in a rather demanding tone, “Now!”

If not for his worry about Xanthe, Geylof would have refused to accompany such an abrupt creature, but the severity of the situation demanded his haste, and his sense of duty won over his pride.

The two made their way quickly through the narrow stone halls, neither speaking, both focused on their own fair haired friends.  Minutes later, a thoroughly drenched stable hand ushered them quickly into the throne room.

Aragorn had been speaking in hushed tones to Arwen, who was looking rather like a marinated elf; her sopping wet hair clinging to her sopping wet clothing, clinging to her sopping wet frame.  When they saw the Lorien elf enter, they both rose, and walked quickly towards him.

“My Lord, has she been found?” Geylof’s eyes were sweeping back and forth, seeking any sign of Xanthe or her proposed rescuers. 

Aragorn clapped a hand on the elf’s shoulder and shook his head gravely.  “No, but a horse has returned to us…Gaviwyr’s horse.”

Geylof wasn’t prepared for such a change in the conversation.  He looked rather apathetically at Aragorn and raised his shoulders.  “I do not understand, My Lord.”

“Gaviwyr did not return with his horse,” Arwen interjected.  “When I went to the horse it spoke of danger, but I cannot understand its full message.  We thought perhaps you could try…”

“Of course,” Geylof breathed in disappointment, “Lead me to it, please.”

*          *          *

The warmth of the stables was a welcome relief to the assemblage, who were all rather chilled after having trudged thought the deep snow drifts.  The brown stallion stood outside of its stall, shoulders slumped and head hung low, its icy mane only just beginning to thaw out.

“The poor beast is half-dead,” Geylof exclaimed upon entry.

Arwen nodded “He was in a cold sweat when he first arrived; he seems to have run a very long way, in a very short time.”

Geylof nodded absently and advanced slowly towards the horse, hands held out in front of him, whispering soothing words in elvish as he went.  With great effort, the horse raised its head and looked mournfully at the golden elf.  When Geylof came within arms reach of him, the steed stepped forward and placed his weary head upon his shoulder.  Geylof received this gesture by wrapping his arms around the horse’s neck and whispering more soothing words.  After several minutes of quiet interaction, Geylof pulled away, leading the horse by the reigns into the capable hands of the stable boy. 

“Take care of this one,” he impressed upon the lad, “he has done a great deed.”

“What do you know?” Arwen almost whispered, noting the pale color that had spread over her kin’s face.

“A girl has been found by the horse’s master.  She appeared dead, though the beast seemed to wonder why he would continue administering to her if she was.”

“He’s found her!” Aragorn half smiled and half grimaced at the same time.

“But where are they?” Arwen pleaded.

“Sheltered by a cliff, somewhere-- it is all I could ascertain.”  Geylof paused briefly, shaking his head.  “Keep in mind that the horse would only have left its master if it knew him to be in such a condition that he could not ride.”   

“Or if Gaviwyr sent him back-- this horse is of the Rohirrim, he is intelligent and loyal.”  Arwen was stroking the muzzle of the horse.

Turning to the stable hand, Aragorn queried, “Can this steed take us to his master?”

The boy looked burdened, as if he sorely regretted having to make any judgment calls.  “He can hardly stand, My Lord; he has made a great sacrifice to come here.”

Aragorn nodded.  “This information is enough to grant Gimli’s wishes.  We will ride out now; we cannot wait until morning.”

Mixed emotions fluttered across Arwen’s face as she nodded acquiescently.  “Let us off then, we haven’t time to waste.”

*          *          *

Olihre didn’t know whether to feel excitement or dread when Legolas pulled his arm out of the icy water with only a sodden cloak in his hand.  Before he had a chance to urge his dry mouth into speech, Legolas turned to him and shook his head.

“It is only her cloak, she is not here.”

The weight of Legolas’s voice was a shock to Olihre, who had only ever seen him calm and serene, even in the midst of the snowstorm.  The slight tremor he heard there mirrored the tears of relief that poured from his own eyes. 

“This is joyful news, Olihre, but it also means that she is out there somewhere,” he inclined his head towards the looming mountainside.  “She will be cold and wet.  We must find her soon.”

Olihre finally mastered his emotions and nodded vigorously, scrambling quickly to his feet and starting towards his horse.  “Let’s go then,” he began determinedly, his resolve firmly set. 

When he glanced back over his shoulder, he found Legolas still kneeling on the ice, his lean body bent over the horse, his head lowered in grief.  He could hear him whispering what sounded like a prayer.  Feeling both foolish and impatient at the same time, Olihre trudged back towards the two figures, stopping at the edge of the thin crust of ice. 

When Legolas finally looked up, he was somewhat surprised to see Olihre kneeling silently, and even more shocked when he broke into his own, rather loud petition.  He listened as the young man thanked the horse for his sacrifice, smiling when Olihre added, “…though it was hardly necessary.”  His smile hastened to a modest blush when Olihre fervently thanked the Valar for his elven friend, who had “risked his own life so selflessly.”  After pleading for the successful return of his sister, Olihre opened his eyes and looked at Legolas, a sheepish smile on his face.

“We’ve never been very prayerful family-- not after my father died.”

“Your benediction was both sincere and appropriate.” Legolas assured him as he took his arm and helped him to his feet.  “The Valar will look down on us.”

Olihre could feel the muscles in Legolas’s wet arm clench violently, and he felt a stab of guilt.  The two quickly mounted their steeds, who were becoming more sluggish by the minute.  Making their way further down the river, they finally crossed where it became narrow enough. 

*          *          *

Xanthe could feel the distant warmth of arms around her…a warm breath on her face…she could even hear the pleading of a man somewhere near her, but try as she might, she could not will her eyes to open.  Though her body was immobile, and her heart barely sounded, her brain was still functioning; in fact, it was racing in an attempt to explain what was going on around her.

“…please Eru, do not take her…you cannot…please…”

Who is this man, and of whom does he speak?  Xanthe could not meld together the conditions surrounding her, nor could she make sense of where she was, or why she felt so cold.  Her brain continued on in its frenzied quest, mulling over random words and images in her head, until a picture began to form.  snow…ice…water…my horse!

Suddenly her body went rigid, every muscle strained beneath her wet clothing, pulling at her joints, begging them to function. Tightly grasping arms around her loosened in concern and Xanthe’s body seized the opportunity, shooting upright.  The second her weight was realized upon her tired and injured bones, she sunk back down again, pain shooting into every fiber of her body.

“Ssshhh…ssshhh…it’s okay Xan…I’m here…it’s okay…”

Who’s here?  Xanthe though frantically, contorting her facial muscles wildly until her eyes finally opened.  The brightness of the light reflected upon the snow bore into Xanthe’s aching head like a serrated knife, causing her to snap them shut again.  She attempted to raise her arm over her eyes, but found that the stranger’s weight had them pinned across her chest. 

Testing her weight again, she struggled against the man, finally managing to wiggle her arms free of his hold.  Once liberated, she pushed fiercely against him, rolling out of his lap and onto the cold ground.  Turning her face away from the stinging snow, she threw her arms in front of her face and opened her eyes again.  From beneath her forearms, she could see the torso of a man hovering above her.

“Xanthe, it’s just me, Gav…it’s okay!”

If her senses were not already overloaded with painful recollections, they most certainly were now.  At the mention of that name, her heart fell.  Suddenly the cold afflicted her no more, nor did the throbbing in her head and limbs.  She allowed her arms to drop to her side for a moment, allowing a brief glimpse before bringing her hands back up to cover her face.

“Xan?” Gaviwyr was confused.  The movement he had witnessed earlier attested to Xanthe’s lucidity, but she still did not speak.  “Can you hear me, Love?”

“Love?” Xanthe croaked, turning her head away from his voice and rolling her body to follow it.  “How can you say that?”

The fears that Gaviwyr had previously put aside as foolish suddenly rushed back to him.  “I beg your forgiveness.  I am a senseless man; I knew not what I was doing.”

The extremity of her condition obviously did nothing to dull Xanthe’s tongue.  “You abandon so easily…is it second nature then?”

“Abandon?”  Gaviwyr had expected accusations, but none so inane.  “I would never…what do you speak of?”

“You would have me make myself even more vulnerable through an answer you already know!” She was spitting fire now.

“Xanthe, please!  I know I should have come to you first, but I was nervous and excited...I knew you would be angry initially, but I thought surely by now you would be glad.”

“Glad?  Glad of what?”  Xanthe’s vulnerability soon became vindictive spite.  “I suppose I SHOULD be glad to be rid of you!  Yes, in fact, it seems you’ve done me a favor!”

“Rid of me?  Please, woman, settle down and speak sensibly, I haven’t the slightest idea of what you speak.  Didn’t Eomer tell you?”

“He told me that you must have had good reason for leaving…” Xanthe’s voice trailed off.

Gaviwyr looked expectantly at her, waiting for her to continue.  “And?” he prompted.

She turned back to Gaviwyr and narrowed her eyes.  “And he tried to reassure me that you still cared.”

This information would not have troubled Gaviwyr if not for its finality.  “That cannot be all that he said, surely.”

“Surely, it was.” Xanthe said in a sarcastic grumble.

Gaviwyr could not believe what he was hearing.  “Eomer would never…” he wavered, looking towards Xanthe with disbelief written across his features.  “Has he tried…I mean…have you two…?”  The words would not come.  They were too ridiculous to even consider.

“Have we what?” Xanthe shot back at him.

“Nothing,” Gaviwyr began, “surely he wouldn’t have.”

“Wouldn’t have what?” Xanthe insisted, becoming obviously frustrated.

Gaviwyr looked at her closely, noting the contrast between her bluish lips and pale white face.  Her whole body convulsed with the cold, causing her to wince in pain at almost predictable intervals.  He longed to put his arms around her, to lend her his own body heat, but the trouble in his mind would not allow him to ignore her present questioning.

“I left Eomer a note-- did he show it to you?”

“You left no note.” The words spilled from her mouth as if bitter to the taste.

As Gaviwyr let out a breath of air, all of his admiration and trust in his friend went with it.  “How could he?” he whispered.

“How could he what?” Xanthe nearly screamed, her shrill voice echoing off the limestone behind her.

Despite his pain and confusion, Gaviwyr couldn’t restrain the slightest of smiles from creeping onto his face.  That untamed temper and fierce independence was what he so loved about this woman.  Apparently I’m not the only one… 

“In the note,” he cleared his voice, “I told Eomer that I was returning to Edoras on important business.  I didn’t state anything outright, but Eomer knew full well what I was going to do-- I asked him to explain it to you.”

Xanthe’s expression softened slightly.  “What were you going to do?”

“I spoke with your family, Xanthe.  Your mother gave me her blessing.  I was going to ask…I was going to ask for your hand.”

“You were going to?” Her quivering voice put emphasis on the paste tense of the statement.

“You do not seem in the disposition to be wooed, My Lady.”  Gav tried not to smile, knowing that a misplaced grin could set off Xanthe’s delicate temper.

“Indeed I am not,” she began impatiently, but as soon as she met his eyes, Gaviwyr knew that he was forgiven, though he really hadn’t done anything wrong. 

“Perhaps when you are warm and dry…and fully clothed, you will allow me to solicit your attentions?”  His voice was teasing and light, though his concern still showed in his eyes.

“Perhaps.”

*          *          *

“What was that?” Legolas queried, cocking his head to the side to better catch the sound.

“What do you hear?” Olihre bent forward on his steed, but could ascertain nothing.

“A woman’s voice…shrill…angry.”  Legolas turned his horse sharply to the right, increasing his pace as he turned to Olihre behind him.  “She is alive.”

The relief that flooded Olihre’s heart was akin to nothing he had ever felt.  If not for the desire to see his sister, he would have fallen off his horse right then and there.  The anxiety and pressure that had overwhelmed him that day had caused him greater exhaustion than he had ever known.  “She is alive,” he repeated.

“Yes,” Legolas answered, though he knew the statement was not directed towards him.  “But who is she talking to, or more aptly put, who is she yelling at?”

Olihre could think of several people who his sister would currently be prone to berating.  He was one of them, no doubt about that, as was Eomer, who was still in Minas Tirith. 

“Gaviwyr!” he said exclaimed.

Legolas nodded, as though the thought had already occurred to him.  “If it is he, she will be well taken care of.”

As they rode quickly towards the cliff, the now reticent voices became audible to Olihre’s human ears as well.  The cliff acted as a sounding board, magnifying any words, making them sound as if they were coming from a hundred places at once.  Legolas was able to pinpoint the source, and he confidently steered his horse through the ever driving snow, until in the distance, they could both make out the shape of two people huddled together against the rock.  

*          *          *

Aragorn could not explain the feelings coursing through his body and mind.  Part of him knew that his friends were in danger, suffering the extreme climate as well as enduring concern for each other.  But another part of him felt a calmness that he couldn’t pinpoint.  While he had a profound respect and trust in his friend’s abilities, deep down he knew that was not the source of his composure.  

“They’ll be fine.” He said aloud, though in the tempest surrounding his two companions, nobody heard.

*          *          *

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