I will. I have to.
"Stay with me," I tell her, half-carrying her through the snow. "We're close. Just stay with me."
She stumbles, her foot catching on something hidden beneath the snow. I catch her easily, lifting her into my arms without breaking stride.
"I can walk," she protests weakly.
"You're slowing down. Hypothermia affects judgment first." I adjust my grip, holding her tighter. "Let me carry you."
She doesn't argue further, just burrows against my chest, seeking warmth I'm not sure I can provide through our coats.
The walk takes forever and no time at all. I navigate by instinct and memory, feeling my way through the whiteout. The bond hums between us, growing stronger as we approach the cottage, like it's pulling me home.
Finally, finally, the dark shape of the cottage emerges from the snow.
"Almost there," I tell her, but her shivering has intensified into violent tremors. Her lips are blue. Her breathing is shallow.
Fuck. She's closer to hypothermia than I thought.
I kick the door open and carry her inside, snow cascading off both of us onto the floor. The cottage is cold, the fires have gone out, but it's shelter. It's home.
"C-cold," she manages through chattering teeth.
"I know. I'm going to fix it." I set her on her feet carefully, keeping one arm around her to hold her steady. "But I need to start the fire first. Can you stand for a moment?"
She nods, but she's swaying. Not good.
I move fast. The sitting room first: kindling, wood, flames bursting to life with barely a thought. Then the kitchen. The fire roars to life, but it will take time for the rooms to warm.
She doesn't have time.
When I return to her, she's sunk to the floor, still in her wet coat, shaking so hard I can hear her teeth rattling.
"Iris." I kneel beside her, cupping her face. Her skin is ice-cold. "I need you to listen to me. Your coat is wet. We need to get it off. Do you understand?"
She nods vaguely, but her fingers fumble uselessly at the buttons.
"Let me." I work the buttons efficiently, pulling the heavy wet coat off her shoulders. Her dress underneath is damp at the hem and shoulders. Not as bad as the coat, but not good enough.
I scoop her up and carry her to the sitting room, where the fire is already warming the air. I set her on the rug in front of the hearth.
"The dress needs to come off too," I tell her. "It's damp. You'll lose heat faster if you keep it on."
She looks at me with unfocused eyes. "C-Cadeon?"
"I'm here. I'm going to take care of you." I pull a thick blanket from the sofa. "Can you get the dress off yourself, or do you need help?"
"H-help." Her hands are shaking too badly to manage the fastenings.
Right. Of course.
I turn her carefully, working the zipper down her back with steady fingers. Professional. Clinical. This is medical necessity, nothing more.
The dress comes off, and she's left in a thin white slip that's mostly dry. Better. I wrap the blanket around her shoulders.
"Stay here. I'll get more blankets."
But when I start to stand, her hand catches my wrist. "D-don't go."
