In Desperation (PAFP, Semi-Advanced)

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    In retrospect, he should probably have seen it coming the moment he had been handed the cup of wine. His brother had been smiling, something which he had not seen in years - and with good reason. Now, as he ran through the night, there was only one thought on his mind: 'I'm going to die. Tonight, of all nights, is going to be my last night on this earth.'


    It had started simply enough. He was a prince, the youngest of two. He had just come of age a day or two before, and his father had taken the occasion to announce that he, and not his older brother, would become king. His brother had been jealous, of course, but the young prince had never imagined that he would act on this jealousy. Perhaps that had been a bit naïve of him.


    On the day that it all took place, the prince - whose name was Alistair - had sat down at the table near his father, and his brother Caél had handed him a cup of wine. A minute or so after drinking it, he had begun to feel both a bit drowsy and a bit nauseous. He had excused himself from the table, making his way toward the stairs, but no sooner had he gotten up the first few than he had collapsed, unable to move. A few moments later, he had fallen unconscious.


    Alistair had woken in the forest, his hands bound behind him. His brother had been looking over him, a knife in his hand, and the boy had begun to struggle, to try and move so he could flee. His brother pinned him against the ground, forcing another cup of what must have been the same drugged wine to his lips. Unable to do anything else, Alistair drank, but as Caél took the cup away from him, he managed to get out of his brother's grasp and run, which led to the current situation. He could hear Caél running after him, could feel the drug working its way through his body, and he knew that if he collapsed and his brother found him, he would never wake up. Ahead, he saw a lake, frozen. As he reached it, his body froze and he collapsed, sliding out onto the ice. There was a sharp sound, then it gave way beneath his frame and he fell into the icy waters, already unconscious. Caél reached the edge of the lake in time to see this, then shook his head, turned, and walked away.

    It was dark, cold, and quite frankly unappealing to Apphia's pale skin and thin, worn out cloak. Of course, it was her desire to venture from the depths of the forest and her desire alone that had drawn her to the lake. She always did so every night, while the moon was rising high in the quickly darkening cobalt blue sky. Her reason? To simply watch the stars come out as the sun set over the horizon. It was so dark and gloomy in the far reaches of the forest, and dusk was the perfect time to get away from the succumbing opaqueness of it all. No, Apphia had never seen a commotion here, never anything other than a flock of geese maybe, or a squirrel or two at the border of the trees... yes, it was most certainly a scene when a young man had run over the thin ice, obviously in a panic, and fallen, unconscious, and broken the ice below him in the process.


    The shivering girl's blue eyes narrowed and her breath came out in misty steam as another man, presumably older, inspected the broken ice and left with a dismissing shake of the head. To her, both of them were utter and complete idiots, the first for running over the fragile ice when it was obviously in melting state, and the other for driving the first onto the partly-frozen lake, then leaving him to die in the definitely cold water that went down for hundreds of feet. She had been silently staring into the sky as the first glittering stars appeared, glad to be out of the suffocating darkness behind her and enjoying her favorite time of day. Then, motion. Desperate, weak steps and loud huffing of steam through nostrils. The young man looked ruffled and scared, and was most likely running away from something or other. It would be a quite accurate description, of sorts, to say that Appia wasn't surprised when the second man, holding a knife, skidded to a stop where the first had fallen in. At first, she had been skeptical, and mostly uncaring of the outcome. He was stupid, and unintelligence was punishable by death, at least, in her mind. But, then again, he had been scared out of his mind, and whatever was going on was negative, to say in the least. Apphia's thoughts were short, and quick. She most certainly had no interest in the man, but perhaps he should have another chance.


    Quick, lilting steps through the powdery snow brought the girl to the basic area from where the two men had come, and that was closer to the larger, gaping hole in the ice. There had been no movement since the first man had fallen in, and Apphia doubted that he was still alive, forget conscious. Though, she could still make out the basic shadow, drifting downwards through the almost-transparent ice. Now, she should have given up hope then, but Apphia was resourceful, and clever, and she had an idea. This idea, if it didn't work, would leave her freezing and vulnerable to deathly illness, but the courage that adrenaline had given her made her feel powerful. God, I'm stupid. was the thought that raced through her mind, much to the similarity of a sigh as she lightly put pressure on the ice. Good, it wasn't as bad as she had first thought. Perhaps her weight could handle the delicate frozen water. Screw it. She sighed aloud this time, and quickly skittered across to the gaping hole, which only stretched a few feet from the shore, which she was grateful for. It wasn't as deep here, and the deepest she had really only seen was around 8 feet. Observation was key here, and Apphia put that key to quick use. The man had settled on the bottom of the shallow near-shore, and if she were to plunge into the ragged break after him, they'd be back up in a matter of seconds. She pulled off her cloak, and threw it to the side, watching briefly as it slid across the slick ice. Then, without hesitation, she dove gracefully into the water.


    Only when Apphia had fully entered the water she realized that this was the most stupid idea she'd ever had. Nevertheless, she reached the man in a split second, thinking quick and grabbing his upper arm, strongly swimming upward. Yes, she was quite a strong swimmer. Summers were long and harsh, and that called for frequent swims in deep-forest lagoons.

    Alistair was unaware of any of this, being completely unconscious and unlikely to snap out of it for a while yet, mostly because of having been drugged. Had he been conscious or had he become conscious while still in the water, he would still likely have been oblivious to what was going on, mostly due to the fact that he was drowning. His unconscious body could not hold its breath, and so was taking in water instead of air. A few bubbles escaped the prince's mouth, floating upward toward the surface even as he was pulled that way as well.


    When he wasn't trying to avoid being killed by his vengeful and possibly not entirely sane older brother, Alistair was generally a rather intelligent individual, a good quality for a future king to have. As such, he would likely have felt obligated to warn Apphia that when diving through a hole in the ice, especially at night, it could be nearly impossible for someone to find their way back to the surface, which made death a much greater possibility. In addition, he would probably have pointed out that the freezing water could potentially kill them both, and definitely would if here wasn't some warm place they could go immediately afterward. Added to that, he would almost certainly have said that if she was trying to haul him back to the surface, she might want to get rid of his cloak, which was a heavy, woolen garment that weighed him down in the water. However, he was both unconscious and underwater and thus could say nothing, could only be dragged along limply by his arm - a feat made perhaps a bit more difficult when one considered that his hands had been bound. However, he would not have been ungrateful. Ingratitude after having one's life saved was practically unforgivable.


    Fortunately for both of then, Alistair was not an extraordinarily large prince. In fact, he was rather thin and a little on the short side, so most of what was weighing him down was in fact his heavy and somewhat ornate clothing. Strength and size, although nice things, were not necessarily what made a good king, a fact which his brother Caél had seemed to miss much of the time. The two were actually only three years apart in age, although judging by their personailities or even their looks, one might not have even thought they were brothers. They looked somewhat similar, but not strikingly so, and neither could quite understand the mindset of the other.


    As they reached the surface, Alistair did not react at first. He was not breathing - there was water in his lungs and he had not yet coughed any of it up. What he was doing, though, was shivering violently, both from the frigid water and from the chill of the spring air. Perhaps the lake was melting, but after a dip in it, the temperatures which had once felt tolerable, if a little cool, now felt absolutely freezing. The young prince remained limp in the water, making no move to swim toward shore or to try and haul himself up and out of the lake. He was entirely unresponsive, which begged the question as to whether he really deserved to be rescued in the first place.

    Apphia, of course, was wary of the fact that she didn't know this man and that anything could happen once he gained consciousness, if he ever did. Thankfully, he was smaller than one would think, and lighter than she herself would have thought in the first place, which meant that if she had to, she could fight him off easily for any reason pertaining to an attack or sexual harassment, if he even tried. If this young man had at least a tiny amount of intelligence locked up in his head, he wouldn't do anything in his weakened state. This fact, despite the life-threatening circumstances that Apphia should probably been focusing on, strangely comforted the girl. Now, if only she could just get him above the water.. right, she forgot that she should probably not hit her head on the ice, however soft it may have been. Apphia turned her closed eyes upwards, opening them slightly, wary of the potentially irritating substance that for some reason unknown both was essential to life and could cause death. Eyes flitted back and forth along the underside of the ice, and opened up a bit wider when
    they had gotten used to the icy water. What saved both Apphia's and the young man's lives was the last of fading light, that shone against the ragged edges of the broken ice in harsh rays that were quickly dying out as the day and night cycle continued as normal.


    Now, Apphia was not aware of the fact that Alistair's hands were bound, and only because of the mere excitement and adrenaline of the whole ordeal. Just as excitement and adrenaline do, one does not notice many small details while they're, say, saving a life. She'd never completely been attracted to social gatherings or lifestyles as a child living with her tired old mother, and it was often that she would see nothing at all on her walks to and from the lake, which made her think of what may have happened to her tired old mother. In fact, she hadn't necessarily been in contact with another human being for awhile, excluding a weekly trip into town for food she couldn't find naturally, and the occasional friendly wave to a stranger. Perhaps the reason why Apphia held a general distaste for anything of social nature is that she thought of herself highly, very highly, in fact. So highly that everyone else seemed small and dull compared to herself. She never quite understood what she was doing, and she doubted that she ever would, but something about the way this man had been running from the other made her think less of herself and more of what was really going on, rather than her petty, stupid thoughts of other humans.


    The only thing that jerked Apphia out of this strange euphoria of sorts was the need of air that was broadcasted directly from her lungs and pulsed through her body. Air deprivation was frightening for everyone, Apphia included, as long as they were conscious, at least. The feeling of no air was something everyone had a great, large, wonderful fear for, especially since it caused one's muscle's to fail and eyes to see what's not really there. To say in the least, Apphia was scared out of her wits of drowning, and that fear for herself made her forget the limp body, that was shivering profusely underneath her fingers. The relief that was achieved by the breaking of her head to the surface was strengthening, and she breathed in small, pained gasps as she hoisted the young man above her and onto the ice, then heaving herself up as well. Quickly, as not to fall in once more, she grabbed him again by one bound arm and dragged him roughly onto shore, thankful for the ice that made the route easier to travel by.

    Alistair himself was unaware that he had been hauled out of the ice and dragged to shore - a very undignified way to be rescued, to be sure - but in the interest of keeping him alive, his body seemed to instinctively know what must be done. Once he was safely on shore, he tried to take a breath of air, only to begin coughing violently. This coughing continued until he had gotten rid of any lake water in his lungs, at which point he collapsed back to the ground, still as unconscious as before. This was perhaps a fortunate thing, for it kept him from waking up and mistaking this mysterious stranger for his older brother, a mistake which likely would not have ended well for at least one of the two. Fortunate or not, it did not seem to be doing the young prince any favors, for his shivering only intensified when he was out of the water and he had no way to warm himself.


    Alistair lay quite still on the grassy shore, his breathing calm and even now that the water was gone. Other than the violent shivering and the rope tightly binding his wrists together, he didn't seem to be too badly off. Then again, of course, near-drowning while unconscious rarely left any visible marks. Chances were that he would remember little to nothing of what had happened in the lake. Now that he was out of the water, his clothes clung to his thin frame and his hair, black from the water, stuck to his face and his neck. He looked small and helpless and more than a little vulnerable - not exactly princely, but a princely appearance might have actually been detrimental to his chances of survival, depending on his rescuer felt about the monarchy. On some of his trips into the nearest village, disguised as a peasant, he had witnessed some unhappiness with the rule of the king, and were he able to hope, he might have hoped that this girl was not one of those people who wished for death to royalty.


    Cold and unconscious, he remained on the shore, oblivious to his surroundings and to the plots of his brother. Even then, Caél was slipping back into the castle, thinking up what he would say when his brother Alistair was discovered missing the next day. He hoped that either the search did not last long and they found his body, or hat the search continued in for so long that people lost patience and gave up, or the search went on long enough that their father died and he, as the only remaining heir, was crowned king.

    Apphia let herself collapse next to Alistair, who was curled up on the snow with blackened wet hair and clothing, while she herself was still recovering her breath. Breath that now slowly rose from her slightly parted lips in small puffs of steam; hot moisture against cold dry turning life into mere mist that floated up and dispersed itself into the air. Observant were her eyes, blue and bright, as the ice creaked with the to and fro of waves against shore, and as small piles of snow drifted along the ground. Nevertheless, despite her observance, Apphia still failed to notice what needed to be done. Her mind, slow and groggy from the short absence of oxygen still couldn't process what she had done - all she really knew was that it was the most imbecilic idea her mind had ever concocted. A chemical reaction, was all it was. In her brain, where memories and desires, emotions, thoughts, experiences, and ideas were kept, destroyed, created, put into motion. Decisions. Very stupid decisions, or so it would seem. All of this, really, what it was, was an absolute freaking train wreck, like everything else Apphia seemed to think up. She was aware of all of this, except for the fact that she was freezing her ass off.


    Only when her eyes darted to gaze at the young man who's life she may or may not have just saved did she remember that it was spring, and spring was cold almost until summer began, taking its time to warm up and kick the cold out the front door with an 'hasta la vista, baby!'. In fact, it was so cold that she was starting to feel numb, and assumed that the man felt similarly, whether or not he was simply unconscious or too weak to be aware of anything. What a sight they must've been, lying there, life quickly draining out of the both of them with every breath as cold closed in for the final blow, with wet clothes and hair and everything else, quite frankly pathetic. Apphia had never put a lot of thought into death, and with the possibility of it approaching with fast-paced, pronounced steps, her mind was blank. The only thing that she could really process was that she was still alive and kicking, much to the distaste of death.


    Step number two - try not to die of the cold after you dive in and grab some stranger out of the frozen lake, idiot.


    The thought raced through Apphia's mind with such intensity that she sat bolt upright, strength returning to her body almost like that, adrenaline once again taking it's course through her blood. Now, endorphins had been released throughout her body as well, and that gave her enough relief to stand up and crouch back down over Alistair's limp form. "Wake up. You're going to die." She hissed, shaking the man. This method was most likely not going to work, but she had to try every possibility.

    Alistair remained unresponsive, allowing himself to be shaken without the slightest hint of a reaction to it. The only signs that he was indeed alive were the constant, violent shivers and his steady breathing, although even this sounded a bit shaky. For all intents and purposes, though, he was unresponsive enough that one without pity might be inclined to leave him for dead if they thought that getting him to shelter and warming him up was too much of a chore when he wasn't going to do any of the work himself. Had he been conscious, chances were that he would have pointed out how illogical it would be to leave him there when they had gone to all the trouble of dragging him up from the bottom of the lake. Of course, had he been conscious, it would have been a moot point, as he would then be able to walk to whatever shelter his rescuer might have set up, thus saving them the trouble of bringing him there and giving no reason for them to consider leaving him in the first place.


    As it was, the only real result of her shaking was that a thin silver circlet fell from his hair and into the snow. Due to the manner in which he generally wore it, it had remained on his head throughout the running and the near-drowning, but being shaken proved to be the last thing needed to make it slip off and fall. Circlets aside, once Alistair was out of the water it was a bit easier for one to believe that if he was not a prince, he was at least some sort of nobility. His clothes were well-made and suited to his rank, although this was slightly harder to discern when they were soaking wet and it was dark out. At the very least, one might be able to tell that he was not an ordinary commoner, which could he useful in persuading someone to save his life, but could also work against him if the person had more material concerns - looting, for example. Any potential looters, though, would quickly have realized that besides the clothes he wore and his circlet, there was really nothing of value on him. He generally carried around a dagger, but Caél had taken this from him in a moment of intelligence, leaving him with no money and no weapons.


    The casual observer with no regard for whether the young prince lived or not might also have noted that even soaked to the skin and laying in the snow, he could be considered rather attractive by some. His face was rather long and angular, his features sharp and straight. He looked rather nice - although admittedly, being half-drowned didn't exactly do him any favors. Looks aside, he was also freezing cold and very much unconscious, leaving the decision as to what should be done entirely up to his rescuer. This was both rude and ungentlemanly, but perhaps he could be excused from these actions - or lack thereof - due to his circumstances.

    As it seemed, Apphia's original thought had been 'get the guy out of the water and send him on his way'. Unfortunately for her, she hadn't know that Alistair would be unconscious. A lack of consciousness added complications to the matter, which had, at first, seemed painstakingly simple. Now, she was not so sure. She could most certainly not pick up the man, because even through she was strong, a woman can only build up so much strength, and hers lay at a level less than that of this imaginary boundary. And, although he had been light in the water, she had no idea how long it would take to drag his shivering form into the depths of the forest, and even then she did not know what she would do when he woke up. There may be negotiations or conversation, but the greater possibility was that the man, being so surprised, hurt Apphia, whether or not he meant to. Therefore, she had convinced herself that waking him up while still by the lake was the best decision in this completely idiotic affair.


    Of course, Apphia knew she would have to wake the man by other means than shaking him, prodding, poking, or yelling, even. Her first attempt had been half-hearted at best, as the possibility of failure had not been a possibility to her, it had been a reality. Now, she had no honest idea on how to get Alistair to at least open his eyes. Then, it came to her, in a small, faint thought that she had only caught just before it faded into the memory of her head. Just think. Yes, that was it. Everything good comes to those who wait, as her mother had always told her. To Apphia, waiting equaled thinking, and so she thought. Ideas were not so far from her when she just let herself explore the possibilities of a plan or other, and as she thought, she also observed the figure of the man. His clothing was, of course, completely drenched, but she could make out the dainty stitchings and that way it clung to his frame, perfectly, despite the water. If not nobility of some sorts, Alistair had been born into a rich family, perhaps with siblings or not. Yes, she had decided that he was at least a little attractive, if not for the shivering and the way he was lying in the snow. It would be usual to assume that he was still a pampered little boy, as for right now, he looked only like a child with nothing masculine about him but for perhaps his pronounced facial features.


    She remembered the way he looked while he was running from the second man. Frightened, but dignified, as if he were entitled to mercy. The image of the long, curved blade that had been held at the second, older man's side, and then she realized. Pain was something that would definitely wake Alistair up, right? Pain demanded to be felt, whether or not the recipient was conscious. that didn't mean that they'd always remember the pain, but it was always felt. Apphia reached to pull out a small knife that she usually carried in her cloak, then was reminded that she didn't have her cloak. "Damnit." She muttered, standing back to her full height and whirling around to face the lake once more, wet fabric splattering dots of water with the sudden motion. Quickly, without any hesitation as not to convince herself out of it, the girl picked her way across the ice, grabbed the slightly dampened green fabric from the ice, and skittered all the way back to shore once again, pulling out her knife in the process. It was small, but sharp enough to pierce human skin. Apphia knelt over Alistair's shivering body, pulling her clock around her and readying her knife. This, of course, could take one of many courses. An open wound would be inviting to all sorts of illness-causing bacteria, and then that might kill him paired with the cold. Then again, the wound would be small, just enough to send pain throughout frozen nerves.


    The girl took the knife in hand and moved the man's arm as to get a better chance at a good, clean cut, placing the sharp object at his skin and pulling it sharply cross. To get it over with.

    The blade sliced neatly into his skin, drawing blood as it went and bringing pain to his mind. It was this pain which roused Alistair from his unconscious state, cutting through the drug-induced fog and drawing his conscious mind back to the surface. There was as sharp intake of breath, almost a gasp, and his eyes opened. They were green eyes, and seemed too old for his otherwise youthful face. There were two things which he noticed almost immediately. First, he was freezing cold and soaking wet, which puzzled him. He vaguely remembered running toward a frozen lake and being unable to stop himself, knowing that Caél would kill him the moment he fell unconscious. The second thing he realized, of course, was that there was someone looming over him, and that this person was holding a knife. Naturally, his first thought was that this was his brother, although this begged the question as to why he was soaked. Caél would never have pulled him up out of the frigid water - even he, in all his innocence in regards to his brother's intentions, knew that much.


    If this was not Caél, who was it? Alistair didn't particularly care about this at the moment, as this person was holding a knife, and he could feel pain coming from his arm. He tried to scramble backward, only to find that he was laying in the snow, his hands were still bound, and movement was impeded both by the lingering effects of having been drugged and his heavy clothes. With escape almost completely out of the question, he stopped his attempts to move and lay still, staring up at the person with wide, frightened eyes. "Please," he whispered. "Please, spare my life. I have done nothing. You are not Caél, so what reason might you have to kill me? I have no money, no possessions, nothing which you might want." He didn't know if this person had intended to kill him, but considering the situation which had led him to the lake in the first place, it seemed fairly likely. His shivering intensified involuntarily, become even more violent than before. In another attempt to plead, he added, "You- you needn't kill me, anyway. Leave me here and the cold will do that for you."


    Alistair had never really been in a situation where he had needed to plead for his life before, and he admittedly wasn't very good at it. After all, in theory he should not have been in this rather compromising situation in the first place. However, theory and reality were two very different things, and theory did not exactly account for jealous brothers who were willing to kill to get what they wanted, a fact which he was quickly becoming acquainted with. Slowly, he managed to push himself into a vaguely sitting position, so he wouldn't have to remain laying down while he was trying to keep from being killed. This reacquainted him with the fact that his hands were still tied behind him, which really was quite uncomfortable but might, in this case, work to his favor. "If- if you do not intend to kill me," he continued softly, "then please...help me, I beg of you. If you worry that- that I am a threat to you, then you- you need not even unbind my hands. Please, help. It's so- so cold."

    Apphia was, quite frankly, surprised that a plan of hers had finally worked, and when Alistair took in a gasping breath, she drew the blade away from his arm and tugged gently at his hands to get at the bindings. Yes, of course he was begging for his life. She, a complete and utter stranger, had dragged him out of a frozen lake just to slit his throat with a knife barely large enough to pierce skin. Logic.
    It was then and there that Apphia concluded that this man was, in fact, nobility of some sort, not used to begging for anything, as she could tell by his pitiful words. Spoiled brats always came from rich families; and she assumed that this man was no different. Nobody from town was different than another, in her eyes, and Alistair was most certainly not the exception. But also, she supposed that she should give him a break. Waking up from a drug-induced sleep by the slicing of a knife through one's arm would leave them winded for a moment and potentially panicked, and if she were in his position, it would have probably taken her awhile to process things as well.
    "If I wanted to kill you, I would have let you drown in the grave that you made for yourself." Apphia muttered, working at the bindings skillfully, without wiping off her knife first.


    "I don't want anything from you. Be grateful I'm the one who saw you fall in. I mean you no harm." With that out of the way, her eyes darted upwards, catching Alistair's gaze as they went. Immediate reaction. Blues eyes against green and everything paused. With a sudden start, Apphia quickly moved he gaze downwards. Men were of no concern to her, especially the spoiled boy that this man must be. Wonder of beauty was quickly replaced with disgust, and that was that way the Apphia liked it, and had always had. Yes, Alistair was most definitely the definition of the word 'pathetic' right now, with hair plastered to his head and a look on his face that would have been hilarious if not for the current situation at hand. "You know what, we're both freezing to death right now, I'm trying to help you. Now shut up and stay still, would you?"


    ((sorry for the short post, low muse))

    The post was edited 1 time, last by ~Castiel ().

    (That's alright.)


    He stared at her in astonishment for a moment or two, then dropped his gaze, instead staring out over the lake, where ice had already begun to reform over the hole he knew he must have fallen through. No one had ever told him to shut up before - no, wait, that wasn't quite right. Caél had said that to him at times, but he had always taken it as something a little more teasing. Now it seemed quite the opposite. However, he stayed as still else he could, which wasn't easy considering that he could not stop himself from shivering. Whoever this girl was, and whatever reason she had saved him for, he supposed that he owed her that much. After all, he would have been dead if she as not come, either drowned or frozen at the bottom of the lake, and he was grateful for her intervention. This did not mean that he had to be grateful for everything, though, and he had no intention of being so. One would think that after surviving an assassination attempt, he might be treated a little bit better. Alistair said nothing about this - being alive and freezing cold was better than not being alive at all.


    Still, he did have plenty of other things to talk about, and although he could see why she wouldn't want him to move, he did not see any reason to keep from talking. After all, if this girl had rescued him, then Caél was probably long gone, and no one else would be idiotic enough to be at a lake in the middle of the forest on a spring night. Chances were, then, that they were alone, and the fact that he had survived this long spurred his courage slightly. "Actually, Miss, I- I did not make the lake. That has been there for- for longer than I have been alive, so really I would not have drowned in- in a grave of my own making." Any shaking in his voice now was more form the cold than from fear, as what could be considered one of the prince's faults was that he was inclined to believe what people told him, even if they we're complete strangers. "Thank you for saving me thus far, but really, what- what are you looking for out of this? H- hardly anyone dives into a- a frozen lake to save a complete stranger. It's completely idiotic."


    The real reason he was talking this much, Alistair supposed, was that it helped to distract him from the cold and from the fact that there was someone behind him with a knife. In addition, his life in the castle had generally been one without many people to talk to, and going for a long while without anyone willing to listen could be frustrating, to say the least. "Also, I- I'm in more danger of freezing to death than you are, be used you have what appeared to- to be a dry cloak. Added to that, you jumped in a frozen lake of your own volition, d- did you not? If you freeze to death, you chose to do so, because you decided to go in after me. R- really, ending up in a lake was not a choice I made. I was driven to it."

    I'm never pitying anyone again. Apphia had done something different for once, and all she received was the 'gratitude' of an entitled brat. She didn't want gratitude, was what Alistair had to understand. Loafing away the time alone had been so boring, and yes, she knew it was idiotic to jump into freezing water before spring had really settled in to rescue someone she didn't know, but the excitement of it all was so enticing. It was sweet relief from the monotonous life that she lead. Though, she supposed the man didn't really care. At the mention of Apphia's first sarcastic comment, she looked up at him incredulously. Do they not teach young men anything about sarcasm? Or figures of speech? Though, she supposed that if this man was important in some way or another, that she were to be as polite as possible, despite his callow remarks. Screw that. "I was referencing the fact that you fell through the ice, therefore digging your own grave." She didn't say anything rude, or, well, at least tried not to. "I am very aware of the fact that it was stupid of me, but I'm sure you would have rather drowned. I was bored, and then you suddenly fell into the lake. Put two and two together." This time she was a bit more firm, though one would not say that she was necessarily aggressive.


    "And I'm so very sorry that I might die of my own accord, and that I can do nothing to change the fact that you might freeze as well." Apphia sounded fed up with it all by this point, and her final cuts to Alistair's bindings were filled with frustration that she hadn't let out in her voice. She let out a sigh of relief when the last strand of rope broke, and she pulled it away from his hands and threw it behind her. "There." She grumbled, standing back to her full height but keeping the knife out. She still didn't fully trust this man. "Now, are you coming with me or are you going to freeze? Because I'm not going to carry you again."

    'This is not going at all well.' Alistair supposed that this was better than being dead, but that didn't meant it was at all enjoyable. This girl sounded almost angry that she had saved him, and for a moment he wondered if he should not have said all he did. It was in his nature, though, to speak as he did, and he could not quite bring himself to apologize for all of it. However, he did bow his head ever so slightly and say, "I- I do intend to come with you, if you will allow me to. And I apologize if I may have offended you...it- it was not my intent. I merely intended to make light of the situation in- in some small way." He brought his hands around, rubbing at his wrists to try and get the blood moving again. Alistair took a deep breath, then struggled to his feet, swaying unsteadily as he managed to stand. His clothes were stiffening from the cold, and this in turn was drawing any remaining heat out of him, which hardly made the situation any better at all.


    "Again," he said quietly, trying desperately to keep his teeth from chattering too much, "I thank you for saving me from the lake and therefore from my brother. Perhaps wh- when we are warm again I will tell you the- the whole story so you will not think me such a fool." He could practically sense her disdain, which was rather startling to the prince. He had never met someone who seemed so cold, who showed next to no concern for someone whose life was still very much in danger. For the moment, though, he simply adjusted his attitude as much as he could in order to deal with this, then hoped that this individual would improve upon closer acquaintance. For the moment, however, he decided that perhaps telling her the truth about his identity would be rather off-putting, which meant that even telling her his real name might not be a good thing.


    With this in mind, he said, "L- lead on, please," wrapped his drenched and stiffening cloak as tightly about himself as he dared, and waited for her to show him which way he needed to go. While this was happening, he was crafting his story in his mind, changing names and details to keep the gist of the story while leaving out that he was the prince. She already knew that he was noble, or at least rich, so he supposed there was no lying about that. Even with his newly concocted story, though, he doubted that he could keep the truth hidden for long. At some point, someone would have to go into the village, where there would undoubtedly be some news of a missing prince. This meant, then, that he had a limited amount of time in which to hopefully convince her to help him or at least to give him a safe place to stay.

    Apphia had every intention to help Alistair, just as long as he stopped making the most stupid comments known to man. It was then that she realized that she had been correct, at least, in her mind, to assume that he was unintelligent. She basked in this new revelation with a small smile for a moment before turning around with a flourish of her cloak and a dismissive wave of her hand, starting on her way home. Well, her home, it was. Since she was only one person, and she didn't live with anyone else, the small cabin that Apphia lived in was a bit cramped for two people, but she was sure she could make room for long enough for Alistair to get warm and be on his way, wherever that was. So the other man was his brother. One thing that really annoyed her about this whole situation, though, was that the man insisted on going on and on about how he was so grateful. "I don't need your thanks." was the gruff reply.Halfway across the margin of the shore, where Apphia had been watching the whole ordeal before, she stopped, turning back around to raise an eyebrow at Alistair. "Remind me to formally introduce myself when we get somewhere warm." With those words, she was back on her way, down a beaten path into the forest's depths and a small clearing, where a small cabin was nestled among the long, dark grass.

    Alistair said nothing in reply, for the cold water had taken its toll on the young prince. He could barely feel his hands or feet, and he had begun to stumble. Twice, he nearly fell, each time dropping a little further back behind her, and even as he approached the clearing, he stumbled against, this time falling headlong onto the snowy path. His terrified panic and near-drowning experience had stolen away his energy, and as he struggled to get to his feet again, he found himself exhausted and weak, numb with cold. He did not dare even try to speak, not sure that the words would come out quite right through his frozen lips. Longing for warmth, he stumbled after her, hoping that it was not too much farther until they reached her home, and also hoping that there was a fire inside, or at least a blanket.


    There was perhaps a reason for some of his innocence, as well as for what Apphia perceived as being stupidity. Really, Alistair had only come of age a few days before. He was barely old enough to be considered an adult, and the events of the night had been a little too much for him to entirely comprehend. Everything had happened so quickly, and it was the first time that he had ever been in life-threatening danger. Other only other situation he could remember that was vaguely similar in regards to danger was when he had been locked in a cellar storeroom. The room had been made of stone, and was very dark, and the then-seven-year-old Alistair had not been found for two days. He could only partially remember the week or so following, for he had gotten sick afterward. However, being locked in a storeroom was rather different than falling in a lake, for this time the danger was nearer and there was no family around to find him and make sure he was alright.

    Of course, Apphia was observant and therefore was aware of Alistair's struggles to keep up, and in some twisted way, this amused her greatly. Oh poor, spoiled brat. Can't walk. At some points she would find herself stifling a giggle as he fell, covering her mouth with a hand as not to alert him of this amusement. Only when she herself began to feel the effects of the cold did pity once again return to plague her otherwise vicious thoughts. Fingers, hands numbing, and legs nonexistent, and now she too began to realize that she was becoming the object of her own amusement; just as Alistair had been before. Karma. was the only thought strong enough to force its way through agony of cold. Freezing, icy cold that reached to her bones and left tiny needle pricks against her numbed limbs. Perhaps the cold had played tricks on her mind as well, and she contemplated the possibility of this when she stumbled and fell to her worn knees just feet away from the front door of her cabin.The cold, was, in fact, mind-numbing as well as physically numbing. Apphia forced herself to stand up once more, legs failing and giving way as she leaned against the closed door, running a cold hand through her hair. Frozen-stiff, was her hair, sticking down to her head and letting ice crystals form in tiny clumps in between strands of dark hair. Despite her five years spent living in the forest, she'd never experienced something as bizarre as this occurrence, especially in the first beginnings of spring.


    Fumbling with the bolt, she grimaced. The two pieces of metal had frozen together as well. A little gift from Satan, maybe, 'just to make your day a little better. for me.' "Goddamnit." Apphia muttered, uncaring of what Alistair thought of curses that should be far from a girl's mouth. Right now, there were larger matters at hand, and for the moment, the young woman had completely forgotten about the man who was freezing as well, and one could even say he was doing worse. Thankfully, Apphia had mustered enough strength to bend down and pry a rock loose from a hard-packed snowdrift, and bring it down on the door latch. The two pieces of metal broke away from each other, giving Apphia the opportunity to push the door open. It was then, and only then that she remembered poor Alistair. "Come along, then."

    By the time he reached the house, he could barely walk and was beginning to wonder whether trying to run from Caél had really been worth it if he was just going to freeze to death. It felt as though he was living some sort of hellish nightmare, but this was worse than any nightmare he had ever dreamt. A nightmare could be woken up from, and he could go downstairs and sit in the library and read by candlelight, letting words soothe away his fears. This could not be woken up from, and there was no library and no candle, nothing to help him recover from what was happening to him. Instead, there was only this little house, and the woman who had treated him with little more than contempt, someone who he suspected would have absolutely no remorse if he were to freeze to death out in the snow. She might even find it funny. Suffice to say, by the time the door opened, Alistair could hardly move. His clothes and hair were entirely frozen, and almost everything felt numb. He wasn't entirely sure, but based on his inability to open his mouth and speak he thought that if might be frozen shut.


    He had hardly heard anything that was said, but finally the door swung open. Alistair had no idea if there was a fire inside - he sincerely hoped that there was, but considering how things had been going, he doubted that there would be. However, he managed to stumble inside, collapsing into a corner only a few moments later. He curled up on the floor, knowing he looked weak and pathetic but unable to bring himself to care. What did it matter what this person thought of him? Some part of the young prince suspected that if he closed his eyes he would never wake up, but he wasn't sure that he cared anymore. He had nothing to go back to, anyway.

    Getting inside and getting warm were two separate things, and Alistair didn't seem to grasp the concept of the second. Door slammed behind Apphia as she pushed it roughly closed, aided by the breeze that was settling in. She bolted it shut, body sagging helplessly against the wooden door. Fortunately for the both of them, Apphia always kept a fire burning in her home during winter and early spring, to keep warmth circulating throughout the barely sufficient shelter against snow. "No, not over there." She muttered, staggering and almost tumbling over when she saw Alistair curl up in the corner farthest from the fire. Seriously, it was as if the man had never been outside before. Small, pained steps finally brought Apphia to the close-to-dead young man, and with the last of her strength she gripped his shoulders tightly and dragged him closer to the warm hearth, finally falling over backwards with her hands still fixated firmly on his shoulders. She had done it, the fire was burning strong, but Apphia suspected that it wouldn't last for long. She let a single hand free, grappling desperately at a stacked log at the edges of her blackening vision, and let it tumble over the small pile of firewood, directing it to the top of the fire. The cold was like a disease, burning like hot coals through her blood as they slowly, gradually became tangible again. This, of course, held no relief other than the fact that Apphia was glad there didn't have to be amputations. Instead of numbing cold, now it was a dull, throbbing ache that resonated through her body.

    He stared into the fire without really seeing it, his eyes and expression blank. The cold had robbed him of almost all remaining conscious thought, and he was barely aware of having been placed beside the fire. All he was really capable of doing in his frozen state was remaining beside the warmth of the fire and feebly extending his thin hands toward the warmth ever so slightly. Although it seemed agonizingly slow, feeling began to return as the ice melted bit by bit, beginning to form a small puddle of water around the prince. As feeling began to return, so did his capacity for conscious decisions, and it was this which led him to reach down and carefully pull off his boots. They really were fine boots, but they were cold and still mostly frozen, which wasn't doing his feet any favors. He was better off without them, at least for the moment. The I intended consequence of this was that he did not look quite so rich or noble anymore in his bare feet, only cold and small and rather pitiful. With this accomplished, he let his head and hands drop again, his still half-frozen lips managing to form two soft words. "Thank you."

    Apphia's only response was a feeble nod, directed at Alistair whether or not he could see it. To the warmth, she had reacted quite similarly to the man, getting as close as she could to the fire with weak, wasted muscles and slowly returning feeling. Wrapping her somewhat dry cloak around her, she let he eyes flutter closed, letting heat gradually spread into her body, even if it was still weak and not as intens as she would have preferred it be. Outside, snow had begun to fall in large flakes that dusted across the surface of old, already fallen frozen water. The breeze had strengthened, and large, deep gray, opaque clouds had covered most of the now midnight blue sky. If Apphia hadn't been frozen herself, she would had pointed out how the clouds were tinted purple, or that the snowflakes were beautiful. But, right now, all she could process was the constant need for heat, heat. Heat. She let herself shudder, grateful that her body had become responsive once more. "Never fall into a lake again."