When Sam's vision clears after the white-out, he notices two things. First and foremost is the cold that chills him to the bone. Secondly is that he's not alone. Standing over the fallen girl is a mounted knight. Both he and his Knightsteed are covered in a layer of clear ice, and already the snow is starting to cover them.
The old fae shivers though he's already bundled up as warmly as can be. "Kings have mercy on us," he mutters, looking around for Tristan. Wasn't his friend here just a minute-- he examines the knight closer, trying to make out the heraldric crest.
The crest is certainly that of April. And the tack on the Knightsteed is familiar as well. It seems most likely that the knight is none other than Sir Tristan, riding atop Souhait.
"Well now, this is bad," Sam says to himself. "Smash mirror, get stuck? Seven years of bad luck starting right now, poor Tristan!" He checks the girl next to see if she has a pulse, or if she's as dead as she looks.
The body is quite cold now. "Why'd he leave me?" a voice seems to whisper on the wind, from behind Sam.
"Aiee!" Sam jumps in the air, spinning around to face the voice.
A pale apparition stands in the snow, although bits of snow continue to blow right through it. It's the specter of a mangled girl. "I'm dead now, aren't I?" it asks.
Sam gasps for breath, fanning his face. "You near startled me to death, miss," he says. "As for yer question, me lass, I've always been the kind to tell meself, if I have to ask the question, answer's probably no. In yer case though, I'm inclined to think you're in a different condition than wholly physically here." He sweeps a bow. "Sam, minstrel to the Court of Mirari, companion of the Lord Explorer Thomas, and poker of dragons everywhere! Might I have the pleasure of yer name?"
"Agatha," the ghost says, looking a bit taken aback by the grand introduction. "Agatha Cunningham, of Ainington. I don't suppose you can get me home for a proper burial at least?"
The minstrel looks a little perplexed. "Agatha? Ainington? Where have I heard those names before..." He puts his hand to his brow in visible deep thought.
"Tristan brought me here in a big... whirlwind... in the grass," the ghost-girl explains. "But.. I don't know where it is now. He called it the Siege of Wind."
"Tristan eh? Well, we'd best warm him up and ask him what he was about, he's frozen pretty solid," Sam says. Best play along with the illusion, see where it's going he thinks to himself. "I'll need yer help though, miss."
"This can't really be happening," the ghost claims. "I just fell asleep in the field.. or.. tripped and hit my head," she rationalizes. "But.. it hurt so much when the monsters.." She seems ready to burst into tears or something.
Sam pats the ghost on the shoulder. "There, there, lass. You're probably just dreaming, but ye know how it is in dreams, you've gotta play along a little and see where it goes, aye? Come on now, chin up, an' we'll get to the bottom o' this."
"So.. I shouldn't worry about the monsters?" the ghost asks. "I don't think they went very far.."
The old fae glances about nervously. "Well, y'know how it is in dreams, even if it isn't real, it can still hurt pretty bad." He starts tramping over to the woods to see if there's enough deadwood that he might be able to manage a little fire.
Some of the lumps in the snow suggest fallen logs, and a little digging produces enough old wood to get a fire going, assuming the bitter wind doesn't just blow it out.
Sam starts digging up the logs, and stacking them over by the erstwhile Tristan, bigger logs to protect the kindling which he plans to start with some scraps of paper for tinder. "Keep an eye out for monsters, young miss," he bids Agatha. "This here's a double remedy against bein' frozen, ye have a fire, that melts the ice outside, but then ye gotta have the music, that melts the ice inside too. An' when it comes time to play, I'm gonna need you to sing chorus for me."
"Sing?" the ghost asks, looking stricken. "I've only ever sung in Church though!"
"Oh, you've experience? Well, grand! Dinna worry, ye don' have to sing like a siren, just feel the music down here." Sam pats his chest. He eyes the fire in the making, then drags out a few more logs to be fed in.
"I don't suppose you could.. you know.. cover my body with something," the ghost requests.
The minstrel points out, "That's not actually yer body, miss, that's just a what-if. Like, 'What if I'd fallen off that horse', or 'What if I'd kissed that nice boy', or well, 'What if I'd gotten killed by monsters when Tristan first brought me over here'. Ye get 'em all the time in dreams." He obliges however, adjusting the body so it looks more like young Agatha had curled up beneath a blanket of snow.
"Really?" the girl asks. "So.. is that how I got this sword?" she follows up with, now holding a very sharp looking silver blade in her hand.
"Oh aye, happens all the time," Sam says nervously. Silver? Wasn't Redmane's sword iron? He reaches into his pouch. "You ready to sing along, lass?"
The ghost makes a few practice sweeps with the sword. "What? Oh.. sing along. What are we singing for, again?" she asks.
Somewhere in the darkness, a strange cry goes out.
"Oh, we've got to get Tristan here thawed out," Minstrel Sam explains, making sure to keep a safe distance from the ghost. "Here, sing the-- what was that?" He listens, ears perking up.
"I dunno," the ghost says, working into more complicated moves with the sword now. "Hey, why are you standing way over there now? Don't you trust me?" Once more, the strange cry echoes in the wind, sounding.. closer.
"Didn't yer mom raise you to stand a safe distance from anyone with a sword? I never heard a sword pay much attention to politeness when it's in motion," wonders Sam, as if it should have been quite obvious. "Anyway, here's the chorus, sing along with me."
/Four times a fire against the cold
And a roof against the rain --
Sorrow fourfold and joy fourfold
The Four Winds bring again!/
"Four times.." the ghost starts, then pauses and tilts her head as if listening to something. "Huh, that's weird. I've got this really compelling voice in my head telling me to kill you, Sam. Is that strange or what?" The odd eerie cry is louder and closer now. Really close.
Sam points out, "Now, who're you going to listen to, some voice that probably got you into this fix in the first place or the nice fae that's trying to get you out?" He whips his lute around, the object he grabbed concealed in his other hand and moves to position the fire between him and the cry.
The ghost moves closer. "Yeah.. he owns me now, or something, because.. I don't know, some rule about ghosts," she claims, raising the silver blade. "Don't worry, I'm sure I can do this in one chop.." Before she can get close enough though, that strange cry calls out, and something rushes into the clearing and grabs Sam by the collar - yanking him up into the air!
"Yalp!" Sam manages to hold onto the lute, but the object goes flying - a fire bomb!
There's a whoosh of an explosion somewhere behind as the bomb goes off, but Sam can't tell how far back it was now. He's practically flying across the ground - not by the seat of his pants, but by the collar of his coat. And up ahead is.. a frozen pond. Complete with a frozen waterfall. And it's coming up really, really fast..
"Hey now, whose crazy dream is this now?" complains Sam. He holds his lute before him as a shield, in case whomever's carrying him doesn't quite stop in time.
There doesn't seem to be any slowing down or stopping intended! Sam flies right across the ice, and then feels like he's actually being thrown at the frozen waterfall, until...