Right. Lachlan was injured for that match. The usual quick nature of her thoughts had seemingly frozen with the rest of her body. "They seemed pleasant enough," she responded. Fallon had only met two at the ministry party, but those she had were alright, so long as she forgave their strangeness. "First we make it out of here, then we reheat ourselves on the Hawaiian beaches." The plan was contingent on surviving this ordeal, and Fallon was grateful to know he was starting to realize how important a survivor's mindset was.

The back pat felt ... strange, and were she not so cold she might've shifted to look at him oddly. However, between the exhaustion and the cold she was reluctant to move a muscle until they absolutely had to. "Okay." She didn't have the thought to argue as she would've were they home. Instead, Fallon was resigned to let her apologies stay until a later date. "I would've assumed the key was yours too, for the record. So it isn't your fault either."

  

As much as Lachlan wanted to hold onto hope, there was that little voice in that back of his head to continued to spew doubt and cynicism. He wanted to believe that they would have their day on the Hawaiian beaches, but he knew what they were doing; he knew that this was just a way to prevent themselves from giving up entirely. He couldn't voice that to her, because she was the determined one of the two and he needed her to keep moving forward.

"It's not our fault, but I'll be damned if I don't go straight to the Ministry when this is over," he grumbled, wondering how someone had managed to make an illegal portkey and leave it somewhere without it going noticed. An assassination attempt on an auror—or anyone, really, if they were going after him—was a serious crime.

"We need to try to fly," he said after a moment of complete silence on his end. The warming charm was beginning to wear off, and he could feel the cold creeping back into his legs.

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He would have to get in line. If this wasn't an assassination attempt, then she was determined to have words with the head of the portkey department. Illegal portkey or not, it was their fault for not having realized it sooner. Especially considering she had handed it off to others to be investigated.

"I'll be right there with you," she laughed despite the ache in her lungs when she did. Everything hurt, even her toes when she attempted to wiggle them.

"You're right." They couldn't linger here all day. In fact, they likely already had wasted too much day light. Fallon stumbled up to her feet, visibly grimacing at the stiffness of her limbs. Merlin, how were they to survive flying in this? "This is going to be awful, isn't it?"

  

Lachlan suspected they'd be everywhere together when they returned: the Ministry, the tabloids, the gossip mills, everywhere. Her auror status and the fact that he'd technically committed manslaughter just days ago wouldn't help the rumors, and he was sure someone would bring up the fact that they were previously involved in another case. Merlin, he'd never expected this much drama when he appeared at the British National Team tryouts. Maybe it would be easier to drop dead... but that would mean leaving her alone, sad and cold and with less hope than ever. They had to try.

"Very," he grunted as he found his footing. If he managed to make it out of here, he imagined his muscles would be permanently frozen by the cold. He couldn't remember what it felt like to not be in pain. "But we've got to go or we'll grow weaker in here. We need to search for land, and then food if we can't find better shelter."

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Had she not spent the night curled against him, she might've been a little more hesitant about mounting the broom with him. This was for their survival and nothing else. Once they were home she doubted she'd ever see him outside of anything involving this hell.

But, those were thoughts for later, when he was asleep again and she could think of every minuscule detail of her life. (A grounding technique to prevent her from thinking about being cold.) Just before mounting the broom, Fallon paused and glanced at his hands. She was goijg to be clinging to him, it didn't matter if her hands froze. However, Lachlan was to hold onto the broom, which was their only hope for survival. Fuck.

Fallon reached under her coat and tore a piece of her undershirt off. Then, after splitting it in half, she transfigured it into gloves. "Here," she murmured, handing him the gloves as she steadied herself behind him. How long had it been since she last flew? "Ready when you are."

  

Lachlan watched with a mixture of embarrassment and amazement as she thought to rip a piece of her chemise to turn into a glove. As much as he tried to avoid the boyish thought, he couldn't shake it out of his head: his gloves were made from a lady's underthings. His fifteen-year-old self would have thought it the greatest thing ever, but his thirty-year old self was merely glad to have something between his palm and the icy broom handle.

"Hold on tight," he said quietly, gripping the handle, testing it. He hoped it would hold both of them up without issue; it had been a little shaky with him, but he assumed it was the quality of the charms rather than the strength of the broomstick. Merlin help them both.

He kicked off the ground, and off they went.

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Flying in the tundra was unlike any flying experience Fallon had ever experienced. Her initial hope had been to cast warming charms on them as they went to extend their possible distance, but her uncovered hands were frozen to him within two minutes. Her face burrowed into his back, her hood only just barely protecting her ears. She couldn't see where they were going or be of any use up here.

She hated it.

They flew for what felt like a century before Fallon dared to move her stiff neck and looked down towards the ground, only to immediately regret it. A long field of endless snow was all to be seen. While it was possible some other caves existed, Fallon wasn't sure what she was seeing was a genuine bump in the snow or an illusion caused by the wind. She nudged him with her elbow and gestured her head in its direction. They had to check. If it was another cave, then they'd have a closer starting point to the end of the ice shelf.

  

He swore he would never fly again. He would, of course, rethink the brash decision later, but at the moment he desired nothing more than to be on warm, dry ground. No broomsticks, no wind, and definitely no snow.

He dipped the broom in the direction of the small mound of snow she'd motioned to, though if he'd been able to talk he might have urged her to reconsider. It took a lot of energy to get closer to the ground, and would take even more to kick back off into the sky if they found the mound was nothing than just that.

They managed to land safety, and the mound seemed to be just that at first: a mound. However, upon closer inspection, he noticed an opening and tapped on her arm. "There," he said hoarsely, pointing to a cave opening that looked barely large enough to duck through.

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Her hands had frozen around his form throughout the flight, nearly alarmingly so. Flexing her fingers was impossible as they dismounted, and if not for her sheer determination to have some degree of normalcy exist between them, her arms would've been frozen into position. In all the times Fallon had considered hell and it's possible existence, she had never thought it to be so cold.

Still, they had to check out the cave. The entrance was so tiny she was worried he'd shift the snow and bury them in as he passed through. At this point, though, being buried would be better than being whipped by the wind.

She entered the cave and immediately stopped in her tracks. Unlike the last one, this cave wasn't empty. Fumbling for her wand, Fallon shot the weakest stunning spell she'd ever cast in the direction of what she assumed was a polar bear.

  

So much for being the one to kill the polar bears.

Her spell hit the creature before Lach's hazy mind could process what it was, but he quickly realized she'd done little to stop it. For some reason he'd always assumed polar bears were no bigger than wolves, but this one was ridiculously large. Lach fumbled in search of his wand and, once he had his hand on it, fired a slicing spell at the creature. It was more efficient to aim to kill, as they'd rid themselves of danger and find food.

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The stunning spell had hit the bear, but Lachlan's slicing spell was the final strike for it. Fallon was too exhausted to further investigate the depths of the cave (was that a tunnel?) and instead sagged to the frozen ground. At least they had food now, even if she had no idea how to properly skin and cut into a polar bear.

"Thank you," she told him earnestly, both for getting them here safely and killing the bear. Fallon quickly cast the warming charm on the ground. "Sit, can you move your hands at all?" Her own hands were stiff, but they could survive if she couldn't move. He, on the other hand, had to be able to bear the brute force of the wind.

  

Lach released a sigh of relief as the polar bear fell. Less danger, more food for them. This cave, smaller but clearly good enough for the now-deceased bear, was dryer and warmer than their previous cave, with less room for snow to get in. It would make a good place to rest for the time being.

He sat down beside her and flexed his hands, alarmed to find that he had no feeling in any of his fingers but glad to find that none of them were distinctly blue (although they were whiter than his skin had ever been. He'd be going back home looking like he'd spent three years indoors.)

"I'm fine," he breathed, but found that his voice was still hoarse and now even painful. If they didn't get home soon, he wouldn't have to worry about succumbing to the cold—he'd succumb to sickness first. He turned his head to examine her. "Are you well?"

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Once he sat she instinctively moved closer to him, both for warmth and wanting to reassure herself that he was, in fact, alright. Fallon flexed her fingers painfully, a barely audible whimper escaping her as she did so. Whatever adrenaline rush she used to cast a spell at the bear was already depleted. "Just peachy," she muttered. The tip of her pinky was blue, and she was certain her toes were no longer attached to her feet, but so long as they survived she could make do.

The hoarseness of his voice alarmed her. If he got sick — no, he likely was already sick, but she had no training on how to heal him. Not in these conditions. "Sleep," Fallon instructed, knowing full well he would likely refuse. "I'll wake you up once we have some food ready." Perhaps she could levitate the bear into the tunnel to pull apart. Though, if she were being honest, she was more tempted to curl up against it than she was to eat it.

  

Usually he might argue, but as she sat next to him he found himself leaning against her. His head came to a rest against her shoulder and he let out a deep, shaky breath. A few nights ago he’d sworn sleeping in such conditions should be impossible, but now all he wanted was to sleep.

“Wake me up if you need help skinning it,” he made her promise, his words escaping in a mumble. He drifted off to sleep them, the sounds of the raging winds helping him nod off.

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