Author's Note: This is the third in my trilogy of When Winter Melted a Heart and then To Have Been Loved by Winter. PLEASE read those stories first as so much will be lost on you if you don't know the background. The second story was going to be so many chapters that I opted to split it into two stories. This story picks up immediately at the end of the second story.

I studied a little about post-traumatic stress disorder after war in hopes of making this story a bit more realistic. By no means does it do justice to our real soldiers who sacrifice so much for us every day.

Clarion looked at Blizzard in surprise as the unconscious Milori was loaded onto him.

"He returned a few days ago," Sled said as if reading her mind. "I wasn't sure if I should tell you because owls don't abandon someone they bond closely with unless..." His voice trailed off, but she knew he meant owls only left if the bond was broken by death.

She climbed up with Spruce's help and held Milori's head in her lap, not caring about how filthy Milori was. Icicle rode with them as Sled drove.

Spruce took Milori's pulse while they flew.

"Is he alright?" she asked, worried how long Milori had been unconscious. She tried to find a spot on him that was clean to infuse some dust without infusing dirt too, but he was filthy everywhere.

"I think he's extremely exhausted. We'll know more after getting him cleaned up and in the lake."

Clarion sat on the warm side of the bed in the cottage and held Milori's hand, with him tucked in the winter side. He still hadn't woken up, but Spruce promised Milori was only sleeping now.

Sled and Spruce had taken Milori into Frost Lake in hopes that the freezing cold would help with the exhaustion. They had bathed him while she had waited on the shore. Sled had said that Milori had kept mumbling her name while they had been washing him but his eyes hadn't opened.

She carefully held Milori's left hand near her that had some blisters on his palm. Spruce suspected it was from wielding a sword for so many days. Milori laid in the bed shirtless and coated in bruises on his chest and abdomen. His arms bore cuts from knives or swords, and his right eye was slightly swollen to match his lower lip that was swollen and split. Spruce had wrapped Milori's torso tight with frosted bandages to support where ribs were broken. What worried her most were the thin-lined bruises around Milori's neck and the multiple welts and cuts on his back. Spruce wouldn't answer her questions about what had caused the marks, although she suspected he knew. So she sat watch after Spruce started an intravenous line in Milori with her sugar that had been iced. Then he left with Sled and Icicle for a bit to check on the other soldiers.

It had grown late, so she laid down beside him and held his hand to join him in sleep.

It was dark out, only the moon and their fairy glows giving soft light when she distantly heard whimpering later that night. She felt something shift beside her and then heard a moan. Opening her eyes, she saw Milori half tossing and turning in his sleep. A strangled scream escaped through his closed mouth.

"Milori," she said firmly and sat up to shake his shoulder in the one spot it wasn't bruised. "It's a dream. Wake up, Milori."

His eyes shot open, and she was suddenly on her back with her hands pinned down near her head and a hand on her throat. Before she could even react, he was off of her and had scrambled back on his side of the bed. His eyes were wide, the whites glowing slightly in the moonlight. His ragged breathing filled the silence.

She sat up, her heart thundering in her chest. "Milori, it's just me. We're at our cabin," she said softly and moved slowly to turn on the lantern on her nightstand. When she turned back around, his eyes were darting around the room as if trying to gain his bearings. "Honey?" she asked gently and reached out her hand slowly so as not to frighten him.

He startled as if he had forgotten she was there. His eyes searched her and then landed on her hand as if unsure what she was going to do.

The fear and confusion in his beautiful eyes broke her heart. "Milori," she coaxed and gently touched his cheek.

A shudder ran through him, almost as if he hadn't expected her to be real. Then his hand reached up to cup hers on his cheek. "Clarion?" he almost whimpered.

"It's me," she promised but didn't move closer for fear of frightening him. "Do you remember coming home?"

His brow furrowed as he tried to remember. "We all came home," he rasped, but his body was still tense.

She nodded with tears in her eyes. "You all came home. They're gone, sweetheart."

His eyes cleared as his mind became his own again. "Did I hurt you?" His brow furrowed and he touched her throat gently.

"No," she answered. "Does your throat hurt? You're still hoarse," she frowned in concern. She scooted closer.

He pulled her close, obviously ignoring the pain of his ribs and body.

She stroked his hair. "It's alright," she cooed soothingly, tears gathering in her eyes at seeing deep scars that she had caused by sending him to war. She held on tight, trying to fight back the demons with her love when the Lord of Winter buried his face against her neck and wept.