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A Star in Midwinter  by Cairistiona

Chapter Six - Winds of Winter

By mid-morning the band of Rangers were sufficiently rested to tackle the job of skinning the wolves. It was messy work, and strenuous, but it kept the men warm. Aragorn’s shoulder hurt worse than it did the night before, but it was bearable. He walked back with a small portion of the company and retrieved the horses. They had a bit of a problem with the horses as they neared the slaughtering field, for the horses wanted little to do with the smells of wolves and blood and death, but they herded them downwind and tied them all firmly to trees, handy to the men as they rolled each pelt and brought it to tie to the back of a horse. Only one horse, Turgil’s, absolutely refused to bear such a load; the rest Aragorn, Elrohir and Elladan managed to soothe enough to convince them it was not the end of the world to be asked to carry the hide of a dead wolf.

It took them most of the day to finish the work, and the cold seemed to bite harder still as mid-afternoon approached. Aragorn held his hands out to the fire, but unless he all but plunged his hands into the flames, the heat seemed to have little effect. He walked over to where Elladan, Elrohir and Halbarad sat and squatted beside them. "We may have to go into Bree tonight; there are so many of us the Prancing Pony is the only inn big enough. I am afraid this chill will prove deadly, and I do not like the look of the clouds coming down from the north. If we leave now, we can get to Bree just after nightfall."

Halbarad immediately stood. "I think it wise to seek shelter. Those clouds portend a blizzard before day is out, or my name’s not Halbarad Dúnadan. But I deem it better to aim for Archet instead. It’s much closer, and I know of a woodsman there who would be glad to lend us the use of his barn. I have hunted wolves on his behalf in the past and in thanks he said his home, buildings and lands would always be at our disposal."

"Would that all in these parts have such generous hearts toward us," Aragorn murmured. He rubbed his hands together, then plunged them in his pockets again. What he wouldn’t give for a pair of steaming hot potatoes to put in his pockets. "Very well. Tell the men we ride out in the next half hour."

It wasn’t terribly far to Halbarad’s friendly woodsman, a matter of an hour on a good day, but it was taking twice that, for the horses had to go slowly because of the treacherous ruts in the frozen road. The slow walk through steadily plunging temperatures had them chilled enough, but now a stiff wind laden with moisture coming before the storm sprang up to drive the chill deep into their bones. Aragorn tried walking and stamping his feet but nothing seemed to have any effect; he simply could not work any warmth at all into his body. He had been shivering but now he felt as though the cold were pulling his entire being into a hard, frozen knot in the center of his belly. He pulled his horse aside and watched the men as they passed. Underneath their hoods and scarves he saw eyes dull with cold, but one by one, they nodded to him and assured him they were not as cold as they appeared. Aragorn had his doubts about that, but he had to take them at their word. Stopping now would be useless; no fire they might build could compete against this crushing cold.

They needed shelter.

It could only have been another half an hour, if not a bit more, but it felt like a frozen eternity had passed when finally, coming around a bend in the road, they found a cottage and a large barn. It was the woodcutter’s place, at last.

As they pulled up in the yard, Aragorn stiffly dismounted. His feet felt like twin lumps of dead wood; he could not feel them hit the ground. He stamped them hard, which only caused sharp pain to rock through his knees and hips. He pulled the scarf that his breath had limned with ice away from his face and stumbled to the front porch of the farmhouse. He pounded on the door with his gloved hand. He hoped the woodsman would hear the muffled thumps.

He must have, for the door opened, a mere crack, and a round blue eye looked out at Aragorn. "Shelter in the barn," a voice said. "I’ll get my coat and be out to join you and get a fire going out there." The door shut before Aragorn could say thank you or ask how the man could possibly light a fire in his barn.

He turned, nonplused, and tried to smile but his face was too stiff from cold. "Barn," he mumbled, and waved a clumsy hand toward the large structure beyond the house. "Drop the pelts off outside," he called, struggling to form the words.

No one answered. They were simply too cold to talk. They plodded to the barn doors and Halbarad and Aragorn managed to get them open just as the farmer arrived. Inside the cavernous space were stalls filled with the woodsman’s great draft horses, and along one wall stood a large wagon, fit for pulling loads of heavy logs. A rock-lined forge in the center of the barn provided the answer to the mystery of fire, but it held no flames at present. Despite that, it was noticeably warmer inside the barn than outside.

"Bring your horses in, tie them off on the stall doors," the woodsman said as he stirred the banked coals in the forge. "My horses won’t mind. But best you leave those pelts outside, like your leader here said. My horses don’t take to the smell of wolves, dead or otherwise. I’ll get the fire built and have you men warmed up in no time."

So, one by one the men dismounted and brought in their horses. Borongyl, Halbarad and Aragorn remained outside the door, helping each Ranger untie and toss his frozen wolf pelt in a pile well away from the barn. All went smoothly until Turgil dismounted to lead his horse in. The horse caught scent of the wolf hides and planted his forefeet, refusing to go forward. Turgil cursed under his breath and tugged on the lead, but the horse wanted nothing to do with walking past the pelts. He dodged sideways, knocking Halbarad off his feet, and then reared up. The reins slid from Turgil’s gloved hands, and the horse spun around and raced toward the road, Turgil bounding after him.

"Shut the barn door," Aragorn yelled to Borongyl as he helped Halbarad to his feet. They both ran after Turgil. Aragorn thought he heard Elladan shout at them to stop, but between the pounding of his feet against the ground and the wind rushing against his ears, he could not be certain. He only knew that they needed that horse.

It led them on a far from merry chase but between the three of them, and the fact that the horse was already exhausted from the cold ride, they hemmed him in near some hedges, head hanging and all his fear extinguished by his wild flight. Aragorn reached for the reins. It took him three tries but he finally managed to grasp them. He leaned his head against the horse’s heaving sides for a moment. It felt almost hot against his nearly frozen cheek. "Let’s get him back," he mumbled.

The three of them slowly walked back to the farm. The strengthening wind drove at them, wringing tears from Aragorn’s eyes. He looked to the north; the heavy grey clouds glowered down at them from just above the treetops, and hurled below them a white wall of snow. "Hurry," he mumbled and tried to spur more speed from his own feet, but it was hard to manage more than a shuffling run. The snow started, a few flakes at first but within minutes it was a swirling maelstrom that veiled all but the closest objects. He stumbled on, Halbarad and Turgil beside him, and hoped they were keeping to the right direction. Onward he staggered, the icy snow grinding against his nearly closed eyes. Ducking his head lower, he tugged his hood down to try to shield his face but the wind seemed to blow in crazed circles, dancing and tormenting him no matter what direction he faced.

He glanced behind. "Stay close!" he shouted and the wind snatched his words and tossed them into the clamor of the storm. He reached out and snagged Halbarad by the arm, then pointed back at Turgil. Halbarad turned, sluggishly, but he reached out and hooked his arm around Turgil’s. Linked together, Aragorn stayed as close to the horse as he could without getting under the hooves. He no longer had any clue what direction was the right one. He could only hope some equine instinct led the horse back to his kind.

Just about the time he thought they surely must have veered so far from the farm as to be hopelessly lost, a gray looming shape emerged from the heavily falling snow. It was the barn. "Back door," Aragorn mumbled, not sure he could be heard above the wind but too exhausted to shout.

But Halbarad must have heard, because he nodded. The three of them guided the horse past the barn’s front, well away from the wolf pelts and around to the back. It seemed to take forever, but they finally reached the rear door. It took all three of them an inordinate amount of time to wrestle it open, and by the time they were all inside with the door shut behind them, Aragorn felt frozen to the core and stupid from cold. Someone took the reins from his hand and led the horse away. He stood blinking for a long moment, then only slowly became aware that Elrohir was shaking him, saying something....

He turned his head slowly. "What?"

"... said you’re all but frozen to death! We need to get you in the house."

Aragorn stared at Elrohir, then dragged his gaze to Halbarad, who was leaning against a stall door, his head hanging, eyes closed, lips nearly blue with cold. He looked ready to fall asleep.

Sleep... that sounded good... lie down in the sweet warm hay... sleep until spring...

"Aragorn!" Elladan said sharply.

"Wha’?"

"This is no good," Elrohir growled. He turned to Elladan. "Get him inside the house. Halbarad and Turgil as well–they never should have chased that horse. Hurry."

Aragorn wanted to protest as Elladan grabbed him around the waist and propelled him back out into the cold, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. He was weary... so weary.... He tripped going up the steps, but Elladan didn’t let him fall. A door opened and in an instant he was plunged from deadly cold air into warmth he could barely feel.

"Sit them by the fire. Get their clothes off."

Clothes off? Aragorn blinked. He didn’t want to take off his clothes... he was too cold already... cold was a ravening beast... a wolf... crouching in the center of his being that gnawed at him and hurt terribly... but someone tugged at his sleeves and his coat fell away and then someone else yanked his boots off and suddenly he blinked and started to shiver uncontrollably. Someone pressed a cup against his lips. Aragorn dragged his eyes up the hand and then the arm and saw Elladan. He looked angry. Why would he be angry, Aragorn wondered. Had he done something wrong?

"Aragorn! Pay attention! Drink!"

He shut his eyes so he could no longer see Elladan’s anger and concentrated instead on taking a sip. He could not understand why it was so hard to drink... had he never drunk before? He decided he would rather take a nap first...

A slap against his cheek surprised him. He dragged his eyes back to Elladan. He wanted to ask why he was so angry with him but his lips wouldn’t form the words. He just wanted to sleep...

"I am sorry I hurt you, but you must drink!"

The cup pressed against his mouth again and then he was surprised when hot tea dribbled into his mouth. He spluttered a bit then swallowed and the warmth hit the cold knot in his belly and loosened it, just a little bit. So he took another swallow, and another. With each sip, he felt the icy knot inside of him give way little by little, and finally his mind started to clear and a hot rush of shame made him shut his eyes. Beyond the wry thought that at least embarrassment had its usefulness in warming frozen bodies, his conscience castigated him. How could he have been so foolish, chasing after a horse in such conditions... and worse, letting Halbarad and Turgil do so as well? Of all his years’ experience, how could he have done such a thing? He looked with anguished eyes toward Halbarad and Turgil, both still so cold they were barely conscious.

"Estel," Elladan said softly. He draped a warm blanket across Aragorn’s shoulders. "The best and most experienced of all of us have been caught off guard by the weather. I have, Elrohir has. I’ll wager even Glorfindel has, although he would be loathe to admit it."

Aragorn dragged his gaze back and honored Elladan’s attempt at humor with a perfunctory smile. It faded as quickly as it came, and he shook his head and shut his eyes. There was nothing he could say. No excuse he could give. He could only vow to himself to never let such a thing happen again.

"They will recover, as will you," Elladan said softly. "Now here, drink some more."

He tried but he was shaking again, so hard his teeth were rattling against each other. The tea sloshed down into his beard and onto his lap. "S-s-orry..."

"Shh. Do not talk. We will keep trying. All will be well, you shall see." He put the cup against Aragorn’s lips again, and this time more went into his mouth than down his chin. Between Elladan’s comforting flow of words and the warm fire, the shaking finally eased enough to let him take in more than mere drops. With the tea warming him within and the flames warming him without, he finally took a good look at Halbarad and Turgil. They were sitting, like him, nearly naked with blankets around their shoulders as they shuddered and shook, faces pale and pinched with cold but eyes more alert. Halbarad met his gaze and tried to smile, but it was a miserable effort. Aragorn looked then at Elladan. "W-w-hat about the r-r-rest–"

"Master Houndswell is getting them settled in the barn. He has the forge blazing. They will be warm enough from that and the heat from all the animals. You three, however, are an entirely different matter." A note of admonishment lingered behind his words, a hint at the earlier anger. Aragorn pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. He avoided Elladan’s gaze.

"I sh-should have known b-better. You have every r-right to be angry."

"Hush, my brother." Elladan put a hand on the back of Aragorn’s head, briefly pressing his own forehead to Aragorn’s as in old when Aragorn was only a child tagging along after the half-Elven brothers he idolized. He moved his head back but kept a hand on the back of Aragorn’s neck. "I am not angry. And you are far too old for me to chide, and far too experienced in wilderness lore to chastise as I did when you were a stripling. Take no blame. This onslaught of cold was vicious and sudden. You were too cold even before we arrived here; it clouded your thinking. Truth be told, we had all gotten too cold, myself included. If I had not been so numbed by the cold, and paying closer attention to the state you were in, I would have moved more quickly to stop you from chasing the horse. I think perhaps that is the cause of my anger–far easier to be angry with you than to admit my own fault. Forgive me, my brother."

"F-f-orgiven," Aragorn said, and realized he must forgive himself as well. Elladan’s reasoning was sound, after all. Ever were they at the mercy of nature’s whims, and when the whim turned brutal, there was often naught a man could do. They were all still alive, and that was no small mercy. He shed the guilt in favor of retaining the wisdom. The smile came back, and this time it did not fade so quickly.

"That is more like it," Elladan said and moved to kneel in front of Aragorn. "Let us see to your feet. Move closer to the fire, if you can."

Aragorn scooted his chair forward, cautiously putting his feet on the hearth. He still could not feel them, but he didn’t see any white patches of frostbite on his toes. He tried wiggling them. They moved, stiffly. But at least they moved.

"I do not see frostbite," Elladan said, "but I think it best if you soak your feet in warm water. It will warm you faster."

Plunging his entire body in a warm bath sounded more like what he needed but he was sure he could not put out his host in such a manner.

A woman Aragorn presumed was Master Houndswell’s wife came in carrying three dishpans partially filled with snow. She set them down, one in front of each of them, and then pulled an iron tea kettle from its hook over the fire and carefully poured the steaming hot water over the snow. She tested the temperature with her finger, then nodded at Elladan.

"Thank you," Aragorn said.

She gave him a shy smile and curtsied, then replaced the kettle and walked out of the room.

"Easy now," Elladan said as he gently placed Aragorn’s feet in the warm water. It was only then that Aragorn noticed Elrohir kneeling before Halbarad’s feet, doing the same. He caught Aragorn’s questioning gaze.

"Halbarad has three toes with frostbite; Turgil here has only a bit on one toe. Both should be fine, although I fear Halbarad will have sore toes for quite some time."

Aragorn nodded, but then all his attention was taken with the pain that the returning blood brought to his legs. It felt like thousands of ants were stinging him from the inside out. He let out a hiss, then a groan and yanked his feet out of the water.

Elladan immediately put them back in. He grinned. "The pain is good. It means you are thawing."

"I liked frozen better," Aragorn muttered. He didn’t, really, but how he hated that feeling of needles plunging in and out of his feet. He heard Halbarad hissing like a snake and Turgil cursing in a steady stream under his breath. They were in no better straits than he. Not that it made him feel better. Misery may love company but it remained misery.

After nearly an hour, the stinging finally eased. Elladan pulled Aragorn's feet out and gently dried them with a warm towel and then put warm socks on them. Aragorn felt he should protest, that he should offer to do that himself, but the warmer he grew, the more weary he felt. He could barely keep his eyes open. He blinked slowly, then his eyes closed of their own accord. His head dropped and he brought it back up with a jerk, which caused a sharp twinge of pain to his left shoulder. With all his other troubles, he had forgotten about that injury, but now it reminded him of its presence in no uncertain terms. He carefully moved his forearm to cradle it in his lap.

"Here," Elladan said. He draped a cloth over Aragorn’s neck and quickly tied it into a sling.

"Thank you," Aragorn sighed. The occasional shudder still jerked him but he was finally feeling truly warm. He slouched a bit lower in his chair and rested his head against the back.

Elladan laughed softly. "Aragorn, let’s get you on the floor before you slide off your chair into the fire."

Aragorn offered no argument, and when he awoke several hours later laying beside the fire, he had no memory of how he had gotten there, nor of anyone putting warm blankets over him. He sat up, looking around the room and at the quiet, blanketed shapes of Turgil and Halbarad. Both were sound asleep, breathing deeply and evenly. The room beyond the firelight was dark, night crouching in the corners. The wind moaned and cried around the eaves, the blizzard well and truly upon them. Elladan sat in a chair, his eyes gleaming in the darkness as he kept quiet watch over them. He moved silently from his chair to kneel beside him.

"How are the men?" Aragorn whispered.

"Fine. With the fire and all those animals, it’s snug and warm for them. Probably warmer than the house, actually."

"Do they have food?"

"Aye. The packs are in the barn. We will eat our own stores, where possible, and not trouble Master Houndswell to feed all of us.  Elrohir and I have talked, and when the storm breaks, we will go hunting, and so repay his kindness."

"Could he use some of these pelts?"

"Undoubtedly.  Whatever you choose to leave for those in needs, Elrohir and I will take care of.  We will return to the settlement at such time as we are free.  Do not look for us for at least a week."

"Thank you, my brother, for your help," Aragorn said around a yawn. He laid back down and pulled the blanket close to his chin. He listened for a moment to the wind, then murmured, "We cannot leave until the storm breaks."

"No. I am afraid not."

He sighed quietly in the darkness. At this rate they would be celebrating Mettarë when the trees were in bloom. He hated the delay, for there was so little reason to celebrate in the harsh winter. But it could not be helped. By the time they returned, the food would have been eaten, without fanfare, for he imagined despite his plea to Dirhael not to delay the bonfire, there would have been little in the way of celebration.  And what gifts anyone exchanged would have been done quietly, if at all...

His eyes widened. In his concern with hurrying to the hunt, he suddenly remembered he had left all of Denlad’s gifts in plain sight, on his table. What if Denlad had seen them?  He balled his fists around the blanket and stared up at the ceiling, plagued by this new worry.

Sleep was a long time returning.

TBC





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