Caspian lay his snow-covered lover on his bed and dropped her two bags nearby. Carefully sitting next to her, he ran his hands over her and felt that she had turned to ice – Rosalind was even colder now than she had been outside. Rushing to the fireplace, the lord grabbed logs and tossed them in the burning flames until the fire roared and the tips licked along the edge of the hearth. Soon, a blazing heat crawled towards Rosalind and began to melt the snow.

Returning to her side, Caspian took her hand in his and rubbed them in his large palms. Her eyes remained shut and her lips turned blue. Fear wrinkled the lord's brow as he looked her over for signs of trauma. Though she had hit her head, there was no blood, no bruise. "I will not allow the clutches of death to claim you. You belong to me and I to you. What fate has brought together death shall not sever."

Rosalind remained still, even the rise and fall of her chest was faint. All Caspian knew was snow and ice. He did not know how desperately Rosalind needed to shed the chill and return to a place of fragile heat. When her hands refused to warm up and turn from the violent white to a soft pink, Caspian got up with a growl and began to pace the room. Around the hem of his cloak, snow clung onto the threads like a burr. It was not until he went to think by the fireplace that the clumps began to melt creating a small puddle on the floor. The lord touched his toe to the puddle. "The warmth of water," he said to himself. "It will warm you from the inside out since I cannot warm you from the outside in." Releasing the tie around his neck, he let the cloak fall to the floor. "Yes, perhaps water will help." Caspian cast a hopeful look to Rosalind before hurrying to his bathing chambers.

When the tub had been filled and the water steamed pleasantly around the bathing room, Caspian returned to Rosalind's side. He slid her cape and boots off. When he reached for the buttons on her dress, he saw the butterfly broach pinned on her lapel. Falling into a memory of her and him in his private study, Caspian closed his eyes briefly and allowed the moment to sweep him away. The vision of her straddling him, kissing him with wild abandon nearly brought him to his knees. It was the night before she left to return to her family. "They say people look the most beautiful as they are walking away," he uttered as his lids opened. "I say they look even more beautiful as they return." Carefully removing Rosalind's dress, he set it aside. Sliding his hands under her, he carried her in her shift to the other room and gingerly placed her in the tub. He knew it was foolish to sit in a tub of water still clothed but he could not bring himself to remove anything more while she was unconscious. Rolling a towel, Caspian laid Rosalind's head on it and carefully slid her long hair over the edge of the tub. Kneeling, his body burned in the steam but he would not leave. Reaching to her, Caspian caressed his beloved's face and in a whispered request, begged her to return to him. "Come back to me." Caspian leaned over her and touched his lips to her forehead. "You have brought me to life." His words ghosted over her skin. "You saw the man inside this monstrous flesh, the person who has no kindness left within him – you found something inside me that you love. I do not understand it, but I cherish it." Caspian touched his lips to her skin again and whispered, "And I cherish you."

A flicker of a finger caught Lord Caspian's eye, the motion sent a ripple on the water. "Rosalind." Caspian cupped her face in his hands and watched her lids quiver. "Come back to me." Under his palms, her face felt warmer. Looking to her lips, he saw them shedding that horrendous shade of blue and slowly taking on a rose-blush hue. When a faint moan whispered the lord's name, Caspian slid his hands to the back of Rosalind's head and lifting it slightly. "I am here."

Dark rimmed eyelids, once ivory fine quivered then fluttered open. Rosalind looked at the lord and said in a tone barely audible. "Caspian... I had the weirdest dream." Pausing to lick her lips, Rosalind looked at him confused as pieces of the dream disintegrated into nothingness. "I... I cannot remember it," she admitted weakly.

"It does not matter, beloved." Caspian smiled. "All that matters is that you are here." Lifting her out of the tub, Caspian held her close, his clothing becoming soaked as he carried her to his room. Behind them, a trail of water followed.

As they entered the room and the raging heat embraced them, Rosalind felt her head throb. "Of course I am here," she uttered and closed her eyes briefly. Where would I possibly be?

"Let me put you by the fire," Caspian offered as he moved to the hearth.

"I am wet," Rosalind said. Looking down, she noticed his front was drenched. "So are you."

"Yes, beloved."

Confused, Rosalind could not recall why she had been in the tub. But in her weary state, she did not care. "I do not like being wet."

Setting her in the armchair, Caspian knelt at her feet. "I can bring you something to change into."

Reaching to him, she said softly. "Help me take this off."

"Then you will be cold."

Shaking her head, Rosalind wrapped her fingers around Caspian's collar. "You will warm me." Undoing the first three buttons of his black shirt, Rosalind let him know she wanted him to undress, as well.

Wordlessly, Caspian helped her slip out of her wet items, then set them gingerly on the arm of the chair to dry. When he was done, Rosalind helped him undress until his dark items looked like a black puddle on the floor.

Helping her rise, Caspian then carried Rosalind to his bed and placed her between the sheets before slipping in next to her. Skin to skin they lay, both ebbing heat from the fire and each other.

"Caspian," Rosalind began.

"Yes, beloved?"

Her fingers trailed along the side of his face, slowly over his jaw. "I had a weird dream but I cannot remember it. All I am sure of is that it was like... falling. I was falling into an abyss."

Leaning to her touch, Caspian closed his eyes half-way. "you were not falling," he whispered, "you were flying."

"I cannot remember..." Rosalind said under her breath before her lids began to feel heavy. "Caspian?"

"Yes?"

Rosalind let her hand drop to his chest. "I love you."

Wrapping his wings protectively around her, he nuzzled into her hair. "I know."

The harsh of night clawed the exterior of the window. Try as it might, it was unable to enter. All that remained in the room was a constant warmth. Even when the logs cindered and ashes fell in silence, the room remained warm.

Midnight carried secrets. Inside Rosalind's bag, the vorpal blade raised its silvery voice and began to hum a tune, rousing Rosalind out of a deep sleep. In a state between dreaming and wake, she saw Caspian slumbering soundly beside her. He had turned and lay on his back, one hand tucked under her shoulders, one resting gently on his chest. In the moon's illumination, his wings looked slick as wet black blood.

Rosalind's head ached but a sense of calm quickly came over her and pulled the pain away. When she sat up, it was as though she were pulled by puppet strings. Sliding her feet over the edge of the bed, her eyes glossed over to the bag. As if someone else held the invisible strings attached to her arms and legs, Rosalind moved to her bag and knelt before it. When she reached between folds of clothing, the blade sang louder. Wrapping her fingers around the handle, she felt it throb and warm in her palm. Rosalind hovered elsewhere, semi-conscious and barely aware of what she was doing. All she knew at that moment was that that blade called to her and begged for blood.

Her feet made no sound as she headed to the bed and stood over the lord. Counting the breaths he took she waited for a pause then raised the blade above her head. Outside, rays of moonlight reached for the blade and licked along the silvery blade. Rosalind heard the blade singing beautifully as she thrust it down, only to stop millimeters from Caspian's bare chest. The tip of the blade vibrated and cried out a mournful tune.

Rosalind returned it to her bag. She nestled it between folds of clothing and slipped back under the sheets as the blade wept then fell silent.