Title:
The Blizzard
Author Name: Linda Hoyland
Prompt: A
blizzard rages outside and makes travel impossible. Two or more
characters are trapped indoors together until the storm
passes.
Summary: Aragorn and Halbarad are caught in a
blizzard.
Rating: PG
Beta: none
Author's Notes:
Short story, should appeal to fellow angst h/c fans
Aragorn
stamped his feet to warm them and looked up at the darkening sky.
“There will be snow ere nightfall, I warrant,” he said. “The
wind is blowing from the east.”
“We should find shelter,”
said Halbarad. “ Alas, the nearest settlement is many leagues from
here.”
“There is a ruined village about two leagues away,”
said Aragorn. “The surviving villagers abandoned it after an Orc
attack and moved to the Angle where they felt safer. We will make for
there.”
“I hope we are in time,” said Halbarad. “I can
smell snow in the air.”
Although it was only just past
midday, the sky darkened ominously and the east wind grew
increasingly bitter, sometimes snatching the breath away from the two
Rangers. They had had not gone more than a league when the heavens
opened and the snow began to fall, at first just a few flakes and
then with increasing intensity until Aragorn and Halbarad could
hardly see the way ahead of them.
“Fine Rangers we are to
get caught out in a snowstorm,” said Aragorn, shouting to hear
himself heard over the howling wind.
“A few more years in
the wilds will show you that even the most experienced can sometimes
be caught out by the weather,” Halbarad replied.
The two
trudged wearily onwards. They ceased to converse. Speaking took up
too much energy, which was better spent battling against the
elements.
After what seemed like an age, a small cluster of
buildings came into sight. Halbarad quickened his footsteps until he
reached a cottage with its walls and roof intact. “This will
suffice,” he said. He stumbled through the doorway and paused for a
minute to get his breath back now he was out of the wind. The shelter
seemed perfect for their purposes. There was even some broken
furniture left by the former occupants that would serve as kindling.
Once they had a fire going, they could make themselves quite cosy
until the storm passed. There were provisions enough in their packs
to survive for several days if need be. “This should serve us well
enough, Aragorn,” he said. There was no answer. The Chieftain
seemed to have vanished into thin air.
Halbarad forced down
the sense of panic that welled up within him and tried to force
himself to think clearly. When he had last seen Aragorn? They had
been together when they had passed a great tree. He recalled they had
both almost knocked into it, as visibility had been so poor, they had
hardly been able to see their own feet.
The Ranger knew he
must retrace his steps and as swiftly as possible before all traces
of his previous tracks were obliterated by the driving snow. Halbarad
set out again to face the elements. Going back was easier than going
forward had been. The snow was not blowing into his face and he did
not have to fight the wind for every breath he took. It took all of
his Ranger skills, though to find the trail. Then he had to find
Aragorn. He frantically called his name. He was beginning to despair
of ever finding his Chieftain when he almost stumbled into a ditch.
There at the bottom of it, lay Aragorn, almost buried in the fast
falling snow. It seemed he too had lost his footing but been less
fortunate than Halbarad and fallen in. The Ranger leapt down into the
ditch and knelt beside Aragorn. The young chieftain lay motionless
and did not respond to his kinsman’s pleas to wake up. Halbarad’s
heart lurched. Was the carrier of all his people’s hopes and his
dearest friend, destined to perish in a blizzard?
Pushing his
dark fears aside, he somehow pulled Aragorn from the ditch, and half
dragged, half carried him back to the ruined cottage, all the while
battling against the wind and snow. By the time they reached the
shelter, Halbarad was panting from the exertion and felt as if his
back would break.
He carefully laid Aragorn down in front of
the hearth. His fingers were too numb to examine Aragorn for a pulse,
so he busied himself in making a fire and lighting the tallow candle
that he had in his pack.
Once it was blazing, he felt the side
of Aragorn’s neck and managed to detect a faint flicker of life.
Halbarad almost wept with relief. He rummaged in their packs for
blankets then swiftly divested Aragorn of his outer, snow – sodden
garments and wrapped him in the blankets, all the while talking to
him and begging him to wake up. Aragorn neither moved nor stirred and
remained deathly cold to his touch. Halbarad was no healer. He wished
fervently that he were able to take Aragorn to Rivendell and place
him in Master Elrond’s skilled care. That was out of the question,
though. They were many leagues from Rivendell, their horses were at
their base camp and the weather was impossible to travel in. it was
likely they would have to stay in this deserted hovel for several
days. It was up to him and him alone to save his Chieftain.
Halbarad
threw more wood on the now blazing fire and pulled off his outer
garments. He then lay down next to the prone form of his chieftain
and held him close, then pulled the blankets around them
both.
Halbarad recoiled as Aragorn felt like a block of solid
ice in his arms. He was soon shivering, but his heart soared when
Aragorn began to shiver too. After what seemed an age, Aragorn gave a
groan and his eyes flickered open.
“Welcome back!” said
Halbarad.
“Where am I?” muttered Aragorn.
“We are
sheltering from a blizzard in a ruined cottage,” said Halbarad.
“You fell down in the snow.”
“Head hurts- so thirsty,”
Aragorn muttered.
“You must have hit your head when you fell
down the ditch,” said Halbarad. ”I will make you some tea.” He
crawled out from beneath the blankets and pulled his tunic back over
his head. He took a pan and some herbs from his pack, then opened the
door a little, letting in an icy blast of air. He managed to fill the
pan with snow to melt on the fire for tea. Once it was ready, he
poured the tea into a pewter mug and held it to Aragorn’s
lips.
The Chieftain had to wait for his teeth to stop
chattering before he could drink. “I feel weak as a kitten!” he
complained once he had ingested some of the warming drink.
“You
are lucky to be alive,” said Halbarad. “I feared I had lost you,
the hope of Middle-earth! You will have to rest and recover for a
while.”
Aragorn sighed. “We should be on patrol.”
“Even
if you were in perfect health, we can do nothing but stay put in this
weather. We are snowed up here together.”
Aragorn sighed
again then settled back into the blankets. “I could do far worse
for company, I suppose,” he said. “You could be an Orc!”
“Be
thankful I am not,” Halbarad retorted.
“Your pardon,
kinsman. I believe you saved my life and I have not yet thanked you.”
Aragorn reached out his hand from under the blankets and feebly
gripped that of his kinsman.
“My pleasure,” Halbarad said
gruffly. “Now get some rest and try to regain your strength.” He
stretched out by the hearth the other side of Aragorn so that the
Chieftain could enjoy more of the fire’s heat.
The blizzard
continued to rage unabated outside, but the two Rangers slumbered
safe and warm by the fire.
On
the fourth day, a wintry sun broke through the clouds and the wind
changed direction. Halbarad and Aragorn were finally able to leave
the ruined cottage and rejoin their comrades who were becoming
anxious concerning their whereabouts. The next day they resumed their
patrols protecting their people from danger.
A/n Written for the 2014 BTMEM Challenge.