Guian (A High Fantasy)

Frost

She had been calling him Frost, for the crystals that covered his skin.

She recognized him as the boy whom had distracted her before she was caught attempting to poison River, but she didn't know his name. Xavier might have been able to tell her; he seemed to know everyone. But she had been keeping Xavier on a strong sedative while she helped his mind heal, and even if he was awake, she wouldn't have been able to understand what he said. He seemed not even to recognize her.

As for the boy she called Frost, he was recovering steadily. The ice that had before been lacing his body was now confined to his hands and feet, and his lips only looked blue if the door was left open. Gwen had determined that the ice never reached his heart, good news indeed for Frost's recovery.

Her brother was dead, and seeing her only friend in the state he was in sent a pang through her already aching heart. And so, sometimes, she spoke to Frost. To her, it seemed as if he might be listening--she knew it was silly to believe he could hear her, or that, if he could, he cared very much, but, for some unknowable reason, she felt a connection to him.

So she spoke, and maybe he listened.

A week after being admitted to the infirmary, Isabelle, the dark-skinned warrior, was found dead. The causes were unknown to Gwen, Isabelle had seemed physically healthy besides a few scrapes and bruises, even if her mental health was in a state of disrepair. The death baffled all of the healers.

One morning, a month later, Frost woke up.

Gwen was crushing herbs for Xavier when it happened. She was singing softly while she worked.

And then she heard a groan. In her shock, she dropped her pestle. Regaining composure, she turned slowly.

Frost was staring at the ceiling, blinking rapidly.

"Oh, God, hi. Hi. You're awake, thank God, I was afraid I was losing my touch. How do you feel? Can you understand me?" Gwen walked to his bedside and began to test the temperature of his skin. She placed a hand on his forehead. Frost closed his eyes.

"Yes." His voice came out like a rasp. "I can understand." His voice broke on the last syllable. A tear leaked from the corner of his eye and crystallized on his cheek.

"Oh, God, it's OK. You're safe, I promise. I'm Gwen. You've just been... sick. Well, frozen. You've been frozen. But it's OK, I promise, your body's handled it remarkably well, and it didn't get into your heart or your brain..." she trailed off as another tear rolled down his face and crystallized on his chin. "It's alright. It's normal to cry. My God, how are you doing that? If you're awake, this shouldn't be happening, it doesn't make sense, your skin is warm..." she reached for his face. "May I?"

He nodded, slowly, obviously confused. She brushed the tears from his face. "Frost, they're frozen. When you cry, your tears turn to ice. It doesn't make sense."

"Oh God, that's not my name, is it?" Frost seemed to be panicking. Gwen blushed and handed him a glass of water.

"No, I'm sorry. Your name is whatever you think it is, I swear, I made that up. Oh God, that's embarrassing, I'm sorry. I don't know your name. Who are you?"

Frost let out a sigh of relief. "I'm... I'm Aaron."

"Do you remember anything else? A last name?"

"Yes. It's--" he closed his eyes, as if pained. "Warren. I'm Aaron--Nathan--Warren." He looked down at his glass of water. "But... you can call me Frost, if you want. It suits me, I suppose."

Only then did Gwen follow his eyes to the glass. There, shimmering against the cup, was a laced pattern of hoarfrost. It began at his fingertips, and, as she watched, spread outward over the surface.

He looked up, his face contorted in confusion. "Gwen," an involuntary shiver ran up her spine at the sound of her name in his mouth, "I don't understand what's happening to me."

Gwen opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She tried again. "I--I don't either, but I will. I'll figure it out. We can figure it out. You're going to be OK."