He lifted his head and in the dim orange glow of the brazier saw her standing just inside the tent. "Alleria! By the light, you're drenched!"
Turalyon leaped up from his cot, clad only in a pair of light linen breeches, and rushed to her. Shivering, the elf gazed up at him mutely, her eyes wide, her glorious golden hair plastered to her skull. A thousand questions crowded Turalyon's lips. When had she gotten back? What had happened? And most important, why was she here, in his tent, alone at this hour?
All of that would wait. She was soaked and chilled, and as he reached to undo her cloak he found it to be as wet as if she'd fallen in a lake. "Here," he said, tossing the sodden thing away. "Stand close to the brazier. I'll get you something dry to wear."
His matter-of-fact tone seemed to hearten her and she nodded, stretching out small hands to the warmth of the glowind embers while he rummaged through his trunk. He found a shirt, breeches, tabard, and a cloak. She'd swim in them, but they were dry. He turned to see that Alleria hadn't moved. Something was very wrong indeed.
"Come on," he said, gently, and led her to the trunk, sitting her down on it. Usually so self-controlled, almost haught, at this moment Alleria looked like a despairing child. Biting his lip against the question, Turalyon knelt and drew off her boots. Almost an inch of water was in them, and her feet were icy to the touch. He rubbed them briskly, noting how delicate and pale they were, until they warmed somewhat, then rose and helped her to her feet.
"Here are some dry clothes," he said, steering her back toward the brazier. "Change into those and I'll get something hot for you to drink. Then we'll talk."
Turalyon pressed the clothes into her hands and turned to his back., blushing a little. He heared a soft rustling behing him and waited for her to tell him she was ready for him to turn around.
He inhaled swiftly as he felt a pair of small hands slip around his waist from behind, and a slender figure press against his back. Turalyon did not move at once, then, slowly, took the cold hands in his, lifted them gently, and pressed them to his heart. It was racing. He shivered as he felt chilled lips press a soft kiss onto his shoulder, and closed his eyes.
How long had he wanted this? Dreamed of it? He'd realized early on that he'd fallen head over heels in love with Alleria, but until recently he had never expected the emotion to be returned. Over the last few weeks, however, it seemed to him she had sought out his company; had contrived to touch him move often, though still in a teasing manner. and now . . .
"I'm c-cold," she whispered, her voice thick. "So cold."
Unable to bear it any longer, Turalyon turned around in her embrace, sliding his hands up her bare back, in awe of how silky her pale skin was beneath his callused, war-roughened hands. The dim light of the brazier caught the gleam of three gems on a necklace that encircled a long, swanlike throat and turned her skin warm and golden. His vision blurred as she turned her face up to him, and he blinked back tears of an emotion so profound it shook his very soul.
"Alleria," he whispered into her long, pointed ear. Suddenly he tightened his arms around her, holding her close, pressing her agaisnt him. "Let me warm you," he said, brokenly. "Let me take away whatever it is that's hurting you, that's frightened you, I can't stand the thought of you in pain."
He would do no more, ask for nothing more. He was terrified that at any minute she would recover, tell him she was simply playing with him, and retreat to a respectable distance to discuss tactics or strategy with him. Turalyon would let her, if that was what she wanted. If that was what she needed to recover, to get the light and life back into her eyes, to banish this terrifying stillness.
She did not pull away. Instead she reached to touch his face. "Turalyon," she whispered, and then in her native tongue, "Vendel'o eranu."
He cupped her face in his hands in turn, feeling the delicate ones of her cheek, realizing that for all her skill and energy and fire, she was fragile. She'd never let him see her fragility before. Water rolled down her cheek, and for a moment, he thought she wept. He realized an instant later that it was only a drop of rain from her sodden hair. Slowly, tentatively, he bent to kiss her. She responded at once, passionately, wrapping her arms around his neck. Turalyon felt dizzy as he drew back and she whispered, "Cold, so cold . . ."
He picked her up in his arms, astounded at how light she was to bear, placed her on the cot, and drew the furs about them both.
And they were warm.
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