The Misty Mountains

Gabriel's eyes opened slowly. He blinked. Everything was shrouded in a strange white mist.

Had he died? He turned his head. He was laying down. It seemed like a cot. That would be odd if he were dead, wouldn't it?

Something twitched beneath his fingers, and he squeezed. Someone was holding his hand. He rolled onto his side with enormous effort, and as he did, realized a second hand had been resting on his chest. He caught it before it could slide all the way off.

Victoria.

Though he couldn't see her face, he knew the feel of her hand over anyone else's in the world.

Her voice had echoed in his dreams, and he questioned reality. Was this another dream? It seemed different, more tangible, but this strange fog… This was certainly not real.

But if Victoria were here, it was a pleasant dream and he would enjoy it. He brought one of her hands up to press her palm against his cheek. It felt rough, and he frowned.

It took him a moment to realize his face had grown scruffy. What a weird thing to be in his dream.

Victoria had been very still, but now began to stir, and he smiled. How like him to dream about her falling asleep taking care of him while he was sick.

She stopped moving, and a beat passed before she asked.

"Gabriel? Are you awake?"

"Yes," He whispered hoarsely. He tried clearing his throat. It was dry.

Her face came so close to his he thought she was going to kiss him. His eyes widened. He hadn't dreamed quite like this before!

She tugged her hand from his to pull at his eyelids and look at his pupils. In the thick fog that was only possible when she leaned very close.

"Hold on a moment," She said, pulling away entirely.

"No–" He coughed, but thankfully did not vomit. At least in this dream he was safe from that. There was some rustling, and then he felt pressure on the cot as someone sat down and leaned close again.

Something was pressed into one of his hands. A bowl?

"Can you drink yourself or do you need me to help?" Victoria asked.

He blinked, confused, and she must have taken that as an answer, for he felt some shifting until an arm came behind his shoulders to help him sit up a little bit before withdrawing.

"That's better, isn't it?" She said. "Don't drink too fast. Small sips."

He lifted the bowl to his lips and tried it. Warm, and salty. Broth of some kind. He tried to follow her advice, but it was difficult. She took it from him before he finished. At least, he thought it was her. The fog was so thick!

"Are we dead?" He asked suddenly. The question didn't make sense to him, but neither did their surroundings. "Am I dead, that is? Are you dead with me?"

He knew he'd fallen ill, had he gotten her sick too, and this was some sort of strange afterlife?

"We're not dead. I specifically forbade you from dying," Her voice was close, but he couldn't quite make out her expression.

"I remember." He smiled, closing his eyes. There was not much to see anyway. This was a dream after all, then, if he wasn't dead. "You promised to marry me if I didn't die."

Silence for a moment.

"...what?" She asked, her voice strained.

He smiled a little wider. This dream version of Victoria was easily flustered.

"You can't take it back now," He swallowed, his throat a little better for having had the broth. "A promise is a promise."

"I…" She hesitated. "You still have to get all the way better before you can even think of things like that."

The warning was a deflection. He sighed. "Of course. When I wake up, I'm going to be all better."

"Do you feel like sleeping more now?" Victoria's voice faded, ready to leave him alone if he wished. He reached out blindly, finding her hand and holding it.

"I'm already asleep, Tori, but I intend to enjoy this dream while it lasts." He yawned. How strange to be tired inside a dream.

"Dream?" She seemed surprised.

"Of course it's a dream," He shook his head. "You can't fool me."

"I would never try," Victoria assured him in a strange voice. "We can talk more when you wake up."

He squeezed her hand tightly until the dream went away.

When he opened his eyes again, it was a little brighter. The cool, gentle hand was gone from his grasp. He sighed, disappointed that the dream had ended. How much time had passed? Hours? Days?

"Victoria?" He called quietly, testing his voice. It was stronger. He lay still for a moment, not being able to see far. A little better than before, perhaps. He could make out the color of the blanket about to where his knees were.

He lifted the blanket, and gaped a moment at how thin he was. Was this another dream? The white mist was still here, albeit more natural-looking now. He sat up and swung his legs off the side of the bed, but was overwhelmed with vertigo.

His vision blurred and he put one hand to his forehead, using the other to grip the edge of the bed. That was unwise. He grimaced. His legs felt weak.

"Hello?" He called. Anyone would do to help him.

"What?" A gruff voice from nearby demanded.

"Um," Gabriel cleared his throat. "I need to get up and use the necessary, and wash up a little."

"There's a chamber pot under your cot," Came the response.

"That's… nice…" Gabriel grimaced, "but please, if you would help me, I would like to get up and go. Please?"

There was a shuffling, and a face came into view. Mason, the soldier with a terrible attitude. His expression revealed some surprise.

"Oh! It's you!" He exclaimed. "Feeling… better?"

"Yes, only, I think I would feel much better, if you helped me go clean up a little. I have a feeling it's been far too long," Gabriel was already feeling the fatigue of sitting up, but he was determined to wash the dried sweat and who knew what else off of him. "What's this fog?"

"Been here for a while. I've lost track of time," Mason admitted, wrapping one of Gabriel's arms around his neck and supporting him with the other to help him stand. "You up to this?"

"Yes… yes, I think it will be good," Gabriel said more firmly than he felt. If he had been the doctor for a patient acting like this, he would have called them an idiot and told them to lay back down, but then, doctors made notoriously bad patients.

"You're the doc," Mason shrugged and half-pulled Gabriel along. They shuffled towards a direction he assumed was the door of the tent. "Grab the third rope. It leads to the temporary washhouse," the soldier advised.

Gabriel blinked, and lifted his hand to a wooden post with several ropes tied off on it. He counted to the third and wrapped his hand around it, and the two set off in that direction. The white mist was thick, but he admired the ingenuity of the system.

"Who thought of this?" He asked.

"Dr. David. He said sometimes they have blizzards here, and the farmers use ropes between their houses and barns so they don't get lost and freeze to death." Mason's voice was nonchalant, but Gabriel wondered at the method. He'd never been to a place with so much snow that one couldn't see.

At least one wouldn't freeze to death in this fog.

They reached the designated tent, and Mason was unusually helpful in getting Gabriel shaved and cleaned up. Perhaps the time without the doctor had made the soldier grateful for the labor he would be able to contribute again once he was fully recovered.

"I need… to sit a moment before we go back," The young doctor admitted. He was thoroughly winded by these efforts, and sank to a chair Mason led him to.

"Of course," The soldier frowned. "How long? I'm away from my post and they won't like it."

"I'll vouch for you," Gabriel tried a weak grin. "How is… the disease?"

"The deaths have slowed but not stopped. Dr. David and the halfling woman have been working on a cure, and they seem to think they're close."

"How many dead?" He hated the question, but he wanted to know. "How long have I been ill?"

"A couple of weeks, I think," Mason replied, skipping the first question. "It's hard to keep track."

That dismayed Gabriel. He didn't like that he had spent more time ill than healthy since coming here.

He determined to get better quickly and become an aid, not a liability.

"Victoria, is she all right?" Gabriel had been avoiding the question about the woman who inhabited most of his dreams. If she'd died… he didn't want to know.

"Oh, bossy as anything," Mason grumped. "She's too stubborn to get sick, I imagine."