"Elayeen." he sighed, "Do not leave me now."
He slept, and awoke with a start, terrified. He had dreamed, and in the dream he was hugging ice, and the ice was melting, flowing away through his arms and fingers, leaving him with nothing, while in the distance, Raheen burned under a white-hot sun…
Still she breathed, long and deep, and still he held her, still the strange but not unpleasant tingle wherever their bodies touched.
Flames still flickered from the hearth, but they were few, and almost lost in the dull red glow of embers that flared and swam with each gust from the chimney. But Elayeen was no longer chill to the touch, no longer ice in his arms. In the darkness, Gawain held her close, and when he shivered, which was often, it was because of the curious tingling, and because of his fear for her. Again he slept, her name on his lips as his eyes closed.
When he awoke again, she was warm, and Gawain felt weak and disoriented. He was vaguely aware that the fire was blazing once more, that someone, perhaps Allazar or Merrin, had slipped into his room and tended to the hearth while he slept. A strange weariness, bone-deep, seemed to be dragging Gawain back down into darkness and sleep, and he shuddered, remembering the terrible darkness behind the Teeth, which would have drawn down the very sun had he not prevailed against Morloch…
He forced his eyes wide, and turned his head. There was food on the table, and a flagon of wine, and he remembered Allazar's words. When he moved his arm to reach out from the under the blankets, a jolt of familiar something shuddered through his arm, and Elayeen gasped a small sigh of pain at the sudden loss of contact. His arm felt heavy, heavier than the Sword of Justice had once been when first he drew it from the marble floor in his childhood. But Allazar's words rang in his mind, and he reached out, and drank the still-warm wine from the flagon.
It was spice and sweet, and burned down his throat like the golden fire of Jurian brandy, and he gulped, suddenly incredibly thirsty. When the flagon was half empty, he returned it to the table, and picked up a roll of dwarven meatbread, and jammed it into his mouth. Gawain was astounded, it felt as though he'd been fasting for weeks, so acute was his hunger and his thirst. Elayeen stirred, and while he devoured the meatbread and wine, she began drawing him to her.
Gawain thought she was awake, and gently called her name. But she didn't reply, and her eyelids remained shut fast. Still, he could feel the pressure in her arms as she tried to hug him closer, and when the flagon was empty, and the plate, he slipped his arm beneath the blankets once more, and hugged her to him again. Only then did she relax, and sigh contentedly, and Gawain slept once more.
He lost all sense of time, and cared not. By now he was long used to existing in strange worlds where there were no days, no nights, no sense of continuity. He remembered waking, finding fresh food and wine upon the table, gorging himself, and sleeping. And Elayeen, and the tingling contact that seemed to vibrate through his entire body, from his head to his toes. And sometimes when he awoke, he had vague recollections of the fire being high and roaring, or low and whistling embers. Then he slept again.
Until, one day or night, he didn't know which, he awoke, and no longer felt starved or thirsty, and the tingling where his skin pressed against Elayeen's was gone. For a dread moment his heart skipped a beat, and he hugged her tight. She sighed, and shifted her leg, and he relaxed. She was alive. Gawain almost mourned the loss of the tiny jolts when he ran his fingers tenderly along her back, it was as though he had been robbed of something new and precious. But her breathing was deep and steady, she was warm and snug in his arms, and there was fresh colour in her cheek when he brushed back her hair.
"Elayeen?" He whispered quietly. "Elayeen?"
She murmured in her sleep, and her arm moved a little, her slender hand rubbing his back.
"Elayeen?"
"Mithroth." she sighed, her eyes still closed.
It was enough for Gawain. A single tear slipped down his cheek as he stroked her hair. Her voice, though rich with sleep, was the voice not of a sickly child, but of the elfin woman whose eyes had haunted him since that moonlit night on the track to Ferdan so long ago.
Gawain lay there, stroking her hair, until the fire died to embers. There was the gentlest of raps upon the door, and it opened, revealing Allazar, timidly peeping in and carrying an armful of kindling. The wizard's eyes widened hopefully, and Gawain nodded. Allazar silently crept in, smiling, and set about tending the hearth as quietly as he could. When fresh flames cast dancing shadows around the room, he rose from the fireplace and turned, nodding as he moved towards the door, but Gawain called him back with a whisper.
"Longsword?" Allazar whispered back, kneeling beside the bed, eyeing the full flagon of wine and the untouched food on the plate. "Is there something you need? Is all well?"
Gawain smiled wearily. "All is well, I think. She sleeps, and is warm, and has spoken."
Allazar's eyes widened, and Gawain felt a twinge of guilt for all his previous low opinions; the wizard looked genuinely relieved beyond words.
"What day is this?" Gawain asked softly.
"The seventh, since your return."
"Is it day?"
"It is night. Dawn will break in an hour or two."
"Is all well?"
"All is well. The snowfall ceased yesterday."
"Would you part the curtain a little? I would see the dawn this day."
"I will."
"And remove some of the blankets?"
Allazar nodded, and tenderly drew back some of the skins and blankets piled high atop Gawain and Elayeen. Then he crossed to the windows, and parted the curtains by a handspan or two. His eyebrows arched in query, and Gawain smiled his thanks, and with that, Allazar quietly left the room, drawing the door closed behind him.
Gawain lay with his face turned to the windows while the logs crackled in the grate, and in time, the darkness beyond the window paled, and finally, pallid winter sunshine pierced the gloom. Gawain smiled, and closed his eyes…For, as Elayeen sighed contentedly in his arms, he had much to thank The Fallen for.
He was still tenderly caressing her head some hours later when she drew in a deep breath.
"Mithroth?" she whispered, her voice clear.
"Yes, Elayeen."
"I had a terrible dream…"
"As did I."
"Am I awake, now?"
Gawain glanced down, and smiled. Her eyes were tight shut, barely visible at all with the blankets drawn so high up.
"Your eyes are closed."
"I dare not open them. If I do, you will be gone, slain in Juria, so many days passed. I shall hold you close thus, and keep my eyes closed, forever, and you shall live, though I be faranthroth."
"I shall not be gone, Elayeen. I shall never be gone. I am not slain. I am here."
"No. I have had this dream before. So many times I have held you thus, and heard my heart beat in your chest. And then I awaken, and Meeya comes, or Gan. They give me food, and take me to Elvenheth and my father, and the wizard says mithroth is slain in Juria. I call out your name, and sleep, and dream, and hold you to me again."
Tears brimmed in Gawain's eyes.
"Oh Elayeen…" he sighed, and drew her closer, tilting her chin up. "This is no dream, my love, I am here, in truth. I kept my promise, and returned for you. I slew the whitebeard, I felled the trees of faranthroth, and brought you out of Elvenheth. You and I are here, Elayeen, in truth, and this I promise: open your eyes, and my arms shall remain around you, my hand in your hair thus, my lips upon your brow, thus…"
He kissed her, and her eyelids fluttered. "Mithroth…" she pleaded, tears slipping from beneath her tight-shut eyes, "If you are gone again when I wake up, I shall die again!"
"I am here, Elayeen, in truth, I swear."