Ross swore loudly. He had tripped over yet another tree root concealed within the immense black blanket of the night. He reached his arms out to locate the trunk and ended up plunging his bare hands into a patch of nettles instead. Leaping back with a hiss of pain, he stubbed his toe for about the hundredth time on a rock. He groaned and staggered forward. This caused an unseen branch to whip across his cheek and send him flailing blindly. His feet got caught over each other and he fell with a crash to the forest floor. "How excellent." He growled aloud, spitting mud and leaves.

Wearily, Ross pulled himself up into a sitting position. His body ached, it was too dark to see a thing, and he had no idea where he was. In short, he was going to kill Caroline for forcing him to take part in this ridiculous Easter egg hunt. How on earth had he got himself in this situation? Ross thought back to earlier that day. It seemed so long ago he could barely even remember. Oh yes, that was it.

Caroline had gathered a large party of neighbours to Kiliwarren to celebrate her uncle's birthday, which that year incidentally fell on Easter Sunday. Ross, Demelza and Dwight had been invited, as well as other various distinguished persons such as Sir Hugh Bodrugan, the Teagues and George Warleggan.

Unsociable as always, Ross had wanted to decline the invitation and spend Easter with his wife, his home and his mine. But Demelza had other plans.

"But surely you want to see whether the rumours are true?" she had replied when Ross told her he had no desire to attend.

"What rumours?"

Demelza raised her eyebrows sardonically. "Oh, I don't know…about Caroline and Dwight maybe?"

"What about Caroline and Dwight?" Ross frowned, confused.

Demelza laughed exasperatedly. "You are clearly spending far too much time at the mine. That's settled, we're going to Kiliwarren. Then you can see for yourself."

"See what?" he demanded, curious in spite of himself.

Demelza ignored him. "Shall I wear a green or blue dress to the party? I do hope there's port. Do you think Hugh Bodrugan will attend? He is certainly becoming more and more persistent. You had better protect me. Mind you, I expect you'll be off gambling away or sulking in a corne-"

"Demelza." Ross growled.

"Yes, Ross?" she responded sweetly.

"We will not be going."

Demelza shot him a withering look. "Who do you think I am, that you command me so?" she demanded.

Ross winced a little. "Forgive me, my love. Allow me to amend my statement to, I shall not be going."

"In that case, could you do my chores for the evening? I was going to leave them till tomorrow, but since you'll be here could you clean the dishes, change the sheets on our bed, empty the fireplace, sweep the floor of the hall, score the wax of the window-sills, salt those fish you brought in today, make some loaves of bread so they can rise over night and feed Garrick."

Ross frowned a bit at the lengthy list but felt he could just about manage. Making bread might be a a stretch of his domestic abilities, but it was worth it to escape a social event. "Alright."

"Oh," Demelza added, "I forgot to say, Prudie's hurt her back and will require a full body massage."

Ross started in horror and stared at her, utterly appalled. She gave him a quick kiss before heading out into the garden, a merry tune on her lips.

A short while later, Ross found himself sat on the meticulously groomed lawn of Killiwarren, bathed in bright morning sunshine and the chatter of various boring important people with more money than morals. Demelza was being admired from all angles, as usual. He felt the usual glow of pride in his loveable wife and shot her one of those beautiful warm smiles from across the grass that made Demelza's heart feel fit to burst.

"What do your kind of people do at Easter, Demelza?" Caroline suddenly asked with her usual blunt directness that was not intended to offend, but to shock. She smirked archly at Dwight's angry expression, causing him to blush crimson and look away. Demelza turned to Ross with a see? expression. Her husband's eyes had narrowed suspiciously. Indeed I do.

"Demelza?" Caroline prompted.

"I can't say for everyone but my mother used to bake a few sweetmeats this time of year, and one of our neighbours liked to hide painted eggs for all the children to find."

"Doesn't that sound jolly?" croaked Hugh Bodrugan with a wheezy laugh, before oozing slightly closer to her.

Ross broke in quickly with "a charming tradition" to let the old man know he was still there.

"Indeed?" sneered George Warleggan, "I'd have thought it a little childish for you, Ross, but then…"

Ross stared at him challengingly. "But then?" he raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Do please finish your sentence."

George faltered a little. He looked round at the people watching and decided not to put forward too churlish an appearance. "But then it is a rather lovely idea, was all I meant to add."

"So it is." Dwight murmured quietly, looking relieved.

Ross, on the other hand, looked disappointed. Demelza glared please don't start a fight at him.

"Well," Caroline looked round at them all, "If you're all so keen on the concept, why don't we put it into practise? I'll get the servants to hide us some - we don't have any eggs so how about gold coins? – in the woods at the end of the estate. After all, it is too warm and peaceful an afternoon for a fox hunt. Let's make it an Easter hunt!" And before anyone could disagree she'd given the directions.

There was a moments silence as everyone processed what they'd just been signed up for. Then Ray Penvenen clapped his hands and said "well, that's splendid! But Caroline, dear, I have a little pain in my knee. Nothing to worry about I'm sure, but I think it best if I sit in that nice sunny patch over there by the daffodils. Bring your coins to me and I'll count them and decide the winner, how's that?"

Caroline laughed, flashing her perfect white teeth. "Very well, Uncle Ray, you are excused. It is your birthday after all. Chop chop now, everyone else! Why are you all just sitting here?"

Demelza leapt to her feet and raced off towards the woods. Others exchanged rather dazed and bewildered glances before following.

"Hang on a minute," George argued, lingering behind, "You haven't explained the key instructions, like how many coins there are to find, and how long we have, and what the prize is for the winner!"

"Always about winning for you, isn't it?" Ross muttered under his breath. At the same time, Caroline sighed "Oh don't be so dull, George!" George reluctantly headed of into the shrubbery. Ross watched him go, smirking.

"You too, Ross!" Caroline prompted, "or are you as boring as dear Mr Warleggan?"

"Can't Demelza be my representative? She has enough enthusiasm for the both of us."

"No." Caroline shooed him with her hand and he wearily followed the direction of his enemy.

Dwight got to his feet to join in.

"Where are you going, Dr Enys?" Caroline demanded, dismayed.

The shy and serious doctor stared at her, nonplussed. He gestured at the woods. "I thought…"

"Don't you want to stay with me instead?"

He slowly sat back down again and stared at her some more. "You are a most capricious woman, Miss Penvenen."

She flushed with pleasure. "How impertinent."

So that was how Ross found himself in this predicament. He had rushed off in search of glittering gold coins and promptly got lost in the deep extensive tangle that was the Killiwarren woods. What a marvellous idea of Caroline's, Ross thought bitterly. She might have at least warned them of the danger – every tree looked identical and the paths twisted and turned and doubled back like snakes. And now darkness had fallen and his only hope was rescue. How utterly humiliating.

Ross slumped down on his rock and pulled his coat tighter across his shoulders. An icy breeze had started to cut through his clothing and raise goose-bumps on his skin. He could hear the dry rustle and creak of the branches it stirred, but the darkness was so absolute he could see nothing at all. He wondered if anyone else faced the same situation as himself. How Caroline would laugh if her distinguished guests had to be found instead of gold coins. I want Demelza, he thought miserably as another gust caused his frame to shake with cold. He hoped she was safe and warm by the fire at Killiwaren. That or directing a search party to come and save him.

A twig snapped somewhere to his left, jerking Ross out of his thoughts. "Hello?" he called hopefully. It might be nothing, but there was a chance it marked the presence of another wandering guest…or maybe even "Demelza?"

"No it's not your scullery maid, Poldark." snarled an all-too familiar voice very close-by.

Ross groaned. As if the day couldn't get any worse. "Of all the people I didn't want to find me, Warleggan."

"Likewise, but as its happened, where are you? I cannot see a thing in this blackness."

"…over here." Ross ground out reluctantly.

There was the sound of rustling and cursing as George fumbled about in the dark. Then a reaching hand smacking Ross full in the face.

"OW, you stupid clumsy idiot! you've given me a nosebleed!"

"…apologies." George didn't sound very sincere. "Is that your leg? Move it so I can sit down."

"Find your own bloody rock!"

"Well I would if I could actually see, now wouldn't I? As it is, I think it best we stick together. Two is always better than one in these unpleasant situations."

Ross pinched the bridge of his nose and waited till the blood stopped flowing to prevent his voice sounding undignified. Then he snapped "I wholeheartedly disagree."

"Oh grow up, Ross."

"Oh fall over a cliff, George."

"Trip into a pond and drown, Ross."

"Strangle yourself with a ridiculous neckcloth, George."

"Be buried alive in a rockfall at your stupid mine, Ross."

"Suffocate inside your uncle's wig."

"Choke on Demelza's cooking."

"My wife is a wonderful cook as a matter of fact, George, and an expert at the Heimlich manoeuvre, so that scenario is highly unlikely." was the rather smug response.

"Well, uncle Cary's wig is highly ventilated so I suggest you come up with something more realistic yourself." George retorted.

Ross' mind was whirring to come up with something fantastic and original when he suddenly paused. "How do you even know that?"

There was a moments silence before the reply. "It is of no consequence."

Ross snorted. "Has your hair started falling out or something? I noticed it was becoming rather thin."

"At least I actually brush mine!" snapped George. "Yours always looks like a bird's nest!"

"Or perhaps," Ross continued spitefully, "You were fantasising about the day when you will actually become important enough to wear one."

"That day will come a lot quicker for me than you."

"I'm already far more important than you."

It was George's turn to snort. "Oh really? You, Ross, are a backward unsociable country farmer with a mine that is a ridiculous naive dream soon to turn to failure and a wife who is a vulgar commoner."

"Just like yourself, George." Ross snarled.

George would have seen red, if he could see anything at all. "Now look here, Poldark-"

At that moment, there was a strange kind of snuffling noise somewhere to the left.

"What was that?" asked George softly, his rage completely forgotten.

Ross listened hard. "Um…probably just a badger or a fox." He replied casually.

They sat in silence for a moment. Then a twig snapped loudly nearby.

"Did you just jump?" Ross sniggered.

"I shivered, that's all." hissed George.

"Riight…"

"Shut up."

"Why?"

"Because your voice infuriates me."

Ross huffed. "At least my voice isn't dry and whiny."

"No. It's moody and dull-witted."

"Women like moodiness. They don't like whininess."

"Will you please just shut up?"

"…you know I'm right."

A haunting baying sound suddenly broke through the darkness. Ross' body stiffened.

"Now whose afraid?" George whispered victoriously. "It's just a dog, Poldark. They do that. Probably from a farm on the Penvenen estate."

"…so why are you whispering?"

George never replied, and they settled into an uneasy silence once more. Though they would never admit it, both men were started to feel a little afraid. They were blinded by darkness, cold was seeping through their bones, and there was neither sight nor sound of a rescue party. Creepy animal noises really weren't helping their nerves.

"Where are they?" George suddenly burst out after about 20 minutes, making Ross jump. "We've been lost for hours and they still haven't found us! Surely Miss Penvenen was aware of how dangerously misleading these woods are. You would expect high society to come up with far more pleasing forms of entertainment than this…"

Ross shifted.

"Where are you going?!" George squeaked in alarm.

"Nowhere." replied Ross irritably, "I'm simply stretching my legs out."

"Oh. Well kindly remove them from my space."

"This is my rock – you don't have any space. You're just a visitor."

George laughed in spite of himself. Then he asked "are you cold?"

"Yes" Ross admitted, "So cold I'll freeze solid as this rock if I can't get my blood flowing. Perhaps we should move on."

"But it's dark." George argued.

"Nonetheless." Ross stood. "I can't sit a minute longer. Are you coming or not?"

George grumbled. "We shouldn't seperate. I guess I'll have to join you."

"Oh joy." Ross sighed under his breath. He got up and immediately became entangled in a thicket of brambles. He cursed loudly. There was a crash and a rather girlish cry of pain beside him.

"Ow! I'm surrounded by thorns! Ross, where are you?"

"Right here."

"Why didn't you warn me?"

They staggered out with a great deal of prickings and hassle. Ross started in another direction.

"Ross, hang on, where are you going? We'll lose each other. Wait for me!"

Ross huffed impatiently. "Would you like me to hold your hand?" he jibed sarcastically. The instant he said the words he regretted them.

"…that might be a good idea, actually." George admitted.

"Oh God."

"I don't like it any more than you!" snapped George. "But how else are we to stick together?"

"I'm not your nanny, George."

An owl hooted eerily from the treetops. A faint breeze created a ghostly rustle. Another twig snapped in the distance. George tentatively reached his hand out toward Ross, who caught it with a quiet "Let's go."

They plunged bravely through the dark wood. Frequently, one would collide with an obstacle, swear, and warn the other. Apart from that they said not a word. Progress was very slow. For all they knew of the direction in which they travelled, they could have been going in circles. At least the movement helped to warm their frozen limbs.

"Oh my God, help!" George suddenly screeched, waking all the sleeping birds for miles around.

"What is it?" Ross demanded urgently.

"Don't take another step!" George warned him desperately. "Stay back. No, don't let go of my hand!"

"What on earth is the matter?"

"I've stepped into a bog. I think my foot is stuck. You'll have to pull me out."

Ross sighed with relief. "I thought you'd seen a ghost or something."

"Don't talk about ghosts." George whimpered.

Ross grinned rather evilly in the darkness. "Did you know there's this legend about a ghost of a woman called Francis Carley, who haunts marshland and bogs around Cornwall and drags stuck wanderers down to the muddy depths before eating their sou-"

"Your just making that up." George interrupted quickly.

"You wish."

"Stop talking and get me out of here, will you?"

Ross sniggered a little, before grabbed his shoulder tightly and pulling. George didn't move an inch. Ross pulled harder.

"Don't dislocate my shoulder, for God's sake!" George complained.

Ross cast about for better footing. Suddenly, George jerked in an attempt to free himself and Ross slipped. He staggered forward and splashed into the bog up to his knees.

"You really are a first-class idiot, George!" he shouted angrily as icy water soaked through his clothes and coated his skin. "I'm stuck as well now!"

"Well, I didn't mean for that to happen, did I?" George roared back furiously.

"Well it has happened and it's your fault!" Ross tried to struggle free and accidently smacked George in the back.

George shoved him back savagely. "Don't push me!"

"You just pushed me!" In a fit of rage, Ross swung wildly at where he hoped George's face was.

The furious "aaaarrrghhh!" and splash suggested he had found his mark. His anger cooled and he found himself regretting losing control. However, before he could start feeling guilty, two hands grabbed his ankles and yanked savagely.

Ross plunged backwards into deeper water. He gasped with shock at the cold and flailed about desperately. He found he was well out of his depth - his feet didn't even graze the bottom of the pool. Panic and shivers began to wrack his body, making his mind numb. He tried to swim forward but his clothes and heavy boots made his movements sluggish. There was a strange clacking sound buzzing in his ears. He realised it was his teeth chattering. Where was the bank? "G-g-g-eorge? G-eorge!" he tried to shout, but his lungs were constricted by the cold so it came out more as a whisper. "George, h-h-help me…please." For a moment, there was nothing but him, the dark, the cold, and the water trying to claim his body. He had an eerie recollection of the moment he had stood over a pool in Wheel Leisure, watching his cousin Francis flounder helplessly and beg for aid.

Then Ross heard a voice murmur "I'm over here. Swim this way." And his heart leapt with hope. He kicked out toward it. Something latched hold of his forearm and pulled him forward. He felt the muddy edge of the bank and almost sobbed with relief.

"Can you climb out or do I need to help you?" said the waiting figure of George coldly.

Ross struggled weakly in vain for a few minutes before finally whispering "help me."

There was no reply for a very long time. Just stillness. Ross felt drowsiness weigh down his body and he feared he'd slip back out into the deep water again. "Help me!" he cried urgently again.

A sigh broke the silence and two arms wrapped around his chest and heaved. Inch by inch, he was pulled from the water, until he lurched forward onto the body of George Warleggan.

George shoved him off with a cry of disgust. Ross didn't mind whatsoever. He just lay on his back on the grass and breathed deeply. When he had the strength he whispered "thank you."

"I DON'T WANT YOUR THANKS!" George screamed explosively, making Ross almost leap out of his skin. The voice of his companion was raw with hatred. His body was trembling all over from both emotion and the cold. He was soaked to the bone just like Ross, but had landed in the shallows and been able to crawl out of the water like a toad – the nickname Ross had given him at school.

George had heard his oldest enemy struggle and call out for him in a pathetic whimper. He could so easily have let the man who had everything he'd ever wanted in life drown. He could have even held him under, and no one would have ever known. A murderous delighted fire had coursed through his body as he heard the feeble splashes. A second later it was doused by horror. George was not a murderer. He might be exploitative, bitter, greedy, insecure and cruel, but he'd never before considered outright murder. The thought that Ross could reduce him to such a base emotion had made his stomach turn. Poisonous bile had clogged his throat and made him gagged. Then he had called out and dragged his devil from the water.

So the fact that Ross felt gratitude for the saving of his life made George furious. He hadn't saved Ross out of good feeling. He wanted him dead. He had done it to save himself.

The pair of them lay panting out their emotions into the clean cold air for a long time. By the time a warm orange light was bobbing toward them through the darkness, they were almost themselves again.

"Ross? ROSS! Are you near?" someone was calling, slightly hysterically.

It was Demelza. Ross shook away the cold that was sending him into a stupor and staggered to his feet. "DEMELZA! DEMELZA!"

"ROSS! I'M COMING, MY LOVE!"

The light sped towards him and out of the darkness burst his fiery red-haired wife. "Oh thank God!" she cried when she saw him. She ran and embraced him, then quickly drew back in shock. "Judas, you're so cold! Why are your clothes are soaking wet?"

"Demelza." He merely sighed contentedly. "I missed you."

She unwrapped her cloak and tucked it warmly round his shoulders. "OVER HERE!" she yelled through the trees behind her. Soon, more blobs of light and clamouring voices were surrounding Ross. He gradually became aware that he had been lifted and was being carried away. How humiliating, he thought vaguely before slipping into warm cosy darkness.

Ross awoke to find himself tucked up in a soft warm bed. Light was spiralling down from a window to make golden patterns on his bedclothes. The room around him was light and airy. Distantly, he could hear a woman singing absentmindedly. He felt warm and at peace, and was about to slip into a doze again when something suddenly poked inside his mouth.

He jerked awake and bit down on the intrusion.

"Ross." someone sighed exasperatedly.

"Get that thing out of my mouth, Dwight, or I shall break it in half."

The doctor sighed again and removed the thermometer. "He's fine," he told Demelza, who was standing with her hands twisted tightly in her skirt beside him.

"Thank God. I was getting worried with you lying there so still," she confessed to Ross, before almost strangling him to death in a hug.

"D-D-Demelza!" he gasped.

"Oops! Sorry." She loosened her grip a little and snuggled into his chest. He kissed the top of her head. She giggled. "You smell of dirty pondwater."

Ross laughed too. "It's these clothes. They haven't been changed."

"Would you like me to get rid of them for you?" Demelza asked innocently, but her eyes had darkened. Ross' eyes darkened in response.

"Right!" Dwight broke out suddenly. His ears were stained crimson, and he seemed awkwardly confused as to why the atmosphere had changed rather. "Everything's well here, so I guess I'll just go and…er…do something else-"

Ross suddenly remembered something. "Dwight, wait. How's George?"

"Oh, he's fine. A touch of hypothermia at first, but thankfully he is a much better patient than you are and I was able to treat before it developed."

Demelza smirked. "And how's Caroline?"

Dwight blushed as he always did at the sound of her name, and both Ross and Demelza exchanged satisfied glances. "She's very amused by the fact that you and George got lost and the whole party had to huntyou down instead of gold coins. I expect half of Cornwall knows about it by now." He allowed himself a smile.

"Oh, shut up." Ross groaned.

"You can't deny that it's quite ironic…" laughter was beginning to shine from Dwight's eyes and dimples.

"What's ironic?" snapped Ross.

Dwight was beginning to audibly chuckle. "Well, Easter egg hunt, you and George of all people stuck together and having to hold hands-"

"How on earth do you know about that!?" Ross demanded as Demelza gasped and stared at him in wonder.

"George told me. I think he was a bit delirious…Oh yes, and he said you actually fell in a pond!" the serious self-controlled doctor was now gasping with laughter, tears streaming down his face as he clutched at his sides.

Ross glared at him. Then he grabbed Demelza and flipped her underneath his body. "Oh, Demelza!" he groaned overexaggerated, "I love you, I want you, I need-"

It was their turn to laugh as Dwight fled from the room almost faster than they could blink.

Finished! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a review and/or any suggestions you might have for future Poldark fanfics ;) ;)