A/N: Hi everyone! Welcome to the next installment. Hope you enjoy!


'Twas so ; but this, all pleasures fancies be ;
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.


His body was on fire.

At least, that's the way it felt. Like someone had taken a wool blanket and wrapped it around him at the height of summer, suffocating all the life from his body. And there was pain, everywhere it seemed. In his head; in his legs; in his stomach. Why was he in so much pain? And why did it feel like he could not move?

Slowly, Murtagh attempted to move his arm, just a fraction of an inch. The most he could manage was a weak wiggling of his fingers before shooting pain lanced up his arm and into his shoulder. When he attempted to move his arm, and failed, Murtagh could suddenly hear the muffled sound of voices. Who was here with him? Allies? Or...

Where was Thorn? The wolf would tell him if he was safe or not. Murtagh spread out his consciousness warily, seeking in weak tendrils the presence of his partner-of-heart-and-mind. But try as he might, his wolf was nowhere to be found. There were others here; he could feel them, and sense their presence. And even... His body stiffened involuntarily when he felt the mind of the other direwolf. It was not Thorn, and it was not one that he recognized.

"My lady..." The voice was a breath of a whisper to Murtagh's ears, and strangely distant. He only caught every few words. "Come quick... waking up..."

In vain he struggled to open his eyes, to catch a glimpse of the strangers. But they would not answer to his will. Suddenly, there was a cooling sensation upon his brow, and he guessed someone had pressed a cold cloth against him. It felt so good, banishing away the heat that enveloped him, if only slightly. Against his better judgment, he let out a slight groan when he tried to move again. The pain was lesser now, but still present.

"Shhh," the holder of the cloth soothed at him. It was a woman's voice, and the sound brought him some small measure of comfort. "Try not to move." The compress moved away from his forehead and dabbed at his cheeks, then at his chest. Where was he? This was not a voice that he recognized, but he was not afraid. If the woman had meant him any harm, he couldn't imagine that he'd be alive right now.

But what had happened to find him in this position? Murtagh wracked his memory to try and recall anything... But nothing would come. There was only blackness, and he could feel himself slipping away again. With one last effort, he finally coaxed his eyelids into raising, just a tiny bit. The place around him was dark, with only the tiniest bit of light coming off a fire in the hearth. Why had they lit a fire? Couldn't they feel how hot it was!

And then he saw them. Crystalline blue eyes staring in concern and worry, framed by little tendrils of blonde hair. His strength soon left him, and his eyes closed once more. But the image of those eyes did not fade, and they followed him into his fevered sleep.


"Is he dead?" Bridie whispered urgently from her place pressed into the corner. Raina knew the maid was superstitious, but she was beginning to border on ridiculous.

"No, Bridie, he is not dead," she replied as calmly as she could. "He's just gone back to sleep. The poison is working its way out of his system. It will take him some time to recover, and even more time to regain his strength after that." Raina brought one of his hands up near her face, to inspect the small incision she'd made horizontally on his wrist. The only way to get the poison out of his body was through the bloodstream, and so she'd made the tiny incision to allow some of the toxic blood to drain. It was a trick she'd learned from the castle healer, but she had perfected the art in her own unique way.

"I don't like this one bit, my lady," the maid continued nervously. "What if we're discovered? Your father will have me executed. And who knows what he'll do to you!"

"Bridie, would you kindly fetch some more kindling for the fire?" Raina asked quietly, trying to conceal her annoyance. To do her job effectively, she needed peace and quiet, something she would not be able to find if her maid was chattering on incessantly. Bridie curtsied shortly by way of response and left the hut without argument. Once she was gone, Raina released a heavy sigh. It felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Are you certain this is a good idea? Ùna asked softly from her place in front of the fire.

It does not matter if it's a good idea, she replied shortly. He is dying. My conscience would never allow me to just leave him.

I meant using your magic in such close proximity to the castle, the wolf replied pointedly. Raina bit down on her lip at that and returned the young man's arm to laying at his side.

She turned and looked at her wolf, saying, My father's Monitors will not be looking down this way without due cause. As long as no ships attack us from Alagaesia, we should be fine. Ùna sniffed lightly in response, but made no further move to admonish the princess. She was a stubborn little thing, when she set her mind to something.

Raina turned back to the young man, who was once again unconscious. She reached for his arm once more, angling it over a wooden bowl she held in her lap. There was a little blood already present in the bowl from the first time she'd attended the young man. As she held his arm over the bowl, Raina closed her eyes and concentrated on the strange buzzing that always accompanied the use of her magic.

"Skilja du eitrum fra du blödh," she whispered quietly, holding one hand over the incision upon his arm. The old tongue was the only language which could compel her magic, though she wasn't sure why. The woodswitch, Maera, had very limited knowledge of magic, and it was from her that Raina had learned everything she could once her powers had been discovered. They'd first appeared two years ago, when her mother had come to see her shortly after suffering another beating at her father's hands. Raina had been so overcome with emotion, and it was that emotion which fueled her magic to present itself.

From that moment on, she'd had to keep her magic a secret. It was not necessarily forbidden in their kingdom, but it was highly monitored. And she did not need to be under her father's watchful eye, especially now that her mother was gone. As well as, she didn't want to think what her father would make her do if he discovered she could use magic.

Slowly, as her spell had demanded, the poison was drawn from his blood, dropping into the bowl in her lap as a black sludge. It took a few moments until his blood ran clear once more, and then Raina knew that the poison was completely out of his body. She set the bowl down on the floor, and then ran her hand over the incision on his wrist. "Waíse heill," she whispered, and she watched as the skin of his forearm quickly knitted back together, leaving only a small, white scar as any indication there'd ever been a cut. She spoke the same words over the laceration on his stomach, but her magic was dwindling. She didn't have enough strength to heal it completely, but she did the best she could.

It would take more power than she thought she had right now—and more knowledge of the old tongue than she knew—to break his fever, so she would have to let his body do that on its own. With the poison gone from his system, she hoped it would be a quick recovery. Raina stood from her chair and gathered up the bowl that contained the poison, crossing the small hut to throw the offending substance into the fire. The mixture of poison and blood hissed and sizzled where the flames devoured it, until there was no trace it had ever been there.

When she returned to the bedside, she sat back in her chair, just looking at the young man as he lay upon the bed. She wondered who he was to receive a hero's funeral, and why his boat had not burned. There had been a storm that day they'd found him, and the rain was the only thing she could account for sparing him. How he'd managed to survive the perilous journey across the sea from Alagaësia however, she had no idea.

A few more moments passed and he began to stir again, mumbling something incoherent. Raina reached from the pitcher of water she'd brought down from the castle, and poured a bit into a long-handled ladle. She placed a hand at the back of his head, pushing gently so it was angled into more of a sitting position. His eyes fluttered open and closed, darting between looking at her and looking about the room.

"Can you drink?" she asked softly, angling the water near his lips. He did not say anything in response, but he gulped a bit of the water down nonetheless. A bit too much, it seemed, for he began sputtering. Raina laid his head back down and poured the remainder of the water back into the pitcher. He'd be needing food soon, and that would be a bit harder to come by. But for now, he seemed content to just rest.

As it stood right now, the man was not in any position to pose a threat. Raina only hoped that remained the case when he regained consciousness and started to recover his strength.


Murtagh's eyes flew open wildly; his heart was pumping frantically in his chest, so that it was the only sound he could hear. The room was dark, barely lit by the remains of the fire in the hearth. It hadn't been tended in some time, that much he could see. Where was the woman from before? Hadn't there been another one? He couldn't remember, and his head hurt too much for him to think. The only blessing was that the room was not so stifling hot as it had been before.

A loud clattering came from his left, and behind his head so that he could not see what was happening. Then came a soft creaking, as well as a flood of bright light, and he realized it was the sound of a door opening and closing. Someone shuffled into the room and set their things down on a little wooden table, then bustled over to the fire to throw on more kindling and stoke the flames. When the fire blazed again, he could make out a woman's form. A woman with blonde hair...

She turned and saw him staring, and she let out a frightened yelp. "Oh!" she cried, putting a hand to her heart. "You're awake." While she was out of breath, there was a smile on her face, and kindness in her eyes. The door opened once more, and he glimpsed the shadow of a wolf being thrown on the wall. Was it this girl's wolf? Who was she?

"Where am I?" he asked, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Who are you? What happened?"

"Slow down," she said in a soothing tone, coming over and taking up the seat by his bed. "One thing at a time, if you will. You are still very weak." Murtagh had just discovered this himself when he tried to sit up and found it difficult. But he did manage to work himself into a sort of sitting position, where he was half-leaning on the headboard.

There were a hundred questions running through his mind, but he settled on starting with the simplest. "Where am I?" he repeated, more forcefully this time. He found his voice was coming back to him finally.

She hesitated, and it did not escape his notice. Then, very quietly, she said, "You are in Oran, not even a league east of Caton." His heart quickened its pace in fear, and his eyes grew wider involuntarily. If he was in Oran, then Murtagh knew he was in more trouble than he'd first thought. But by the gods, how had he ended up here! "Do not worry," the girl said softly, reaching over and grasping his hand where it lay at his side. "I will not tell anyone you are here." He drew his hand away, unsure of her intentions.

"Then you know I am from Alagaësia?" he questioned. Murtagh did not fail to note how her face fell when he took his hand away, and she sat back in her chair. She nodded slowly, her eyes downcast.

"You had a silver amulet around your neck when I found you," she explained, pointing over to the table where a basket was set.

He could just glimpse the glint of silver in the firelight, and a sprig of herbs next to it. Hemlock, he thought. They thought I was dead? What in the seven hells happened?

"Do you remember what happened at all?" the girl asked. He shifted his gaze back to look at her, taking in her youthful appearance and kind demeanor. If she meant him harm, she was certainly good at concealing it. But what could she hope to gain from deceiving him? Did she know he was the king's son? Was she planning to hold him for some ransom? He thought that she couldn't have been more than a couple years younger than himself. Was she working with someone else?

"No," he replied shortly when he realized his silence had stretched too long. "I don't remember anything. One moment, I was on watch with my division, the next... I'm here."

"You were injured in some kind of fight," she said, indicating his abdomen. He looked down and saw where there was a wound that had been dressed and treated, but it was in the advanced stages of healing. How long had he been like this? "I think that you were mistakenly believed to be dead, and they set you out on the ocean. I found you on the beach, a few hundred yards from here. You were in a boat; it had been burnt." What she described fit perfectly with a traditional hero's funeral, but it still wasn't making any sense. How was he alive if he had been injured and set aflame as she described? And why had his superiors thought him dead in the first place?

Gods above, they must have told his father. The royal party would have made the journey from Ilirea to the shore for his funeral. They all believed him dead... Suddenly, the answer hit him. "I was poisoned, wasn't I?" he asked, looking back at the girl.

"Orani raiders are fond of the poison from the spine fish. They cover their blades with the stuff, so when they strike their opponents down, the healers will think them dead and not tend to their wounds. It takes about a week for the poison to really kill them, but until then, it only gives the appearance of death," she explained quickly. "I have drained your blood of the poison, but it will take you some time to recover your strength. I think you were unconscious for at least three days, if not more."

Everything she was saying was beginning to make sense, which only confused him more. If she meant him harm, why heal him? And why tell him about it? Was she trying to draw him in and gain his confidence? And for what purpose? The more he thought about it, the more the only thing that made sense was that she really had saved him without any ulterior motives. But he needed to know for sure, before he said anything else.

"Why did you save me?" he asked, never taking his eyes off her. It was hard to tell in the dim firelight, but he could swear he saw her blushing.

"I... I couldn't..." she stammered, looking anywhere but at him. "I couldn't just let you die."

"Why not?" he pressed. "Any other Orani would have. Why not you?"

Suddenly, eyes the color of the sky were upon him with a new, hostile edge. "You think us savages?" the girl demanded. "That we would find a dying man and leave him without a second thought? We are not so heartless a people, Sir. And I do not forget where it is we come from. Your quarrel is with our king, not our people."

Murtagh sat in stunned silence at her sudden vehemence, and it quickly gave way to shame. She was right. "I am sorry, m'lady," he said quietly, looking away from her. "I did not mean to give offense." She was quiet for a long while, but when he dared to look at her again she seemed to have calmed down.

"What is your name?" she asked.

He debated for a moment, but eventually found that there was no good reason for him not to give her his real name. She had saved his life; it was the least he could do, until he figured out a better way to repay her. "Murtagh," he replied.

"Murtagh," she repeated quietly, as though she were testing the name on her tongue. "What clan do you hail from?" The girl seemed to know a lot about Alagaësian customs and histories, but she herself had said she did not forget where the Orani people had come from. Still... it was odd to him. He knew so little about the Orani people, because his father didn't like to dwell on what had happened between him and Morzan.

He would answer her question, but this time, Murtagh did not tell the truth. However kind this girl had been to him, he was still in enemy territory. Who knows what would happen if she spoke to the wrong person and let information slip? He couldn't have it known that he was the king's bastard, especially considering the history shared between his father and the Orani king.

"The Western Clans," he answered, hoping she didn't notice the catch in his voice. Suddenly, he heard shuffling by the door, and the girl's attention was drawn away. It must be the wolf that Murtagh still could not see.

"I have to go," she said quickly, raising up out of the chair and hurrying over to the table. She brought him the basket that had been sitting there, and he found it was filled with bread, cheese, and some fruit he did not recognize. "There's water on the floor, here." She pointed just below her. "And there is medicine next to that. If you can stomach it, try to take it once in the morning, once at night. It's afternoon now, so take your first dose in about two hours. I will return when I can."

With that, she was hurrying away from him and towards the door. "Wait!" he called, mustering his energy enough to shout. He heard her stop, and then she shuffled back into his view. "You have not told me your name."

She hesitated for a moment, picking at the hem of her sleeve in a nervous habit. But then she said, "Bronwyn." Before he could say anything further, she was gone again, this time for good. The door to the hut slammed closed, and Murtagh was enveloped by silence once more.


That's all for now! Please review and tell me what you think!