It was near to sunset when John made his way slowly back to the forge. The sight of the fire surprised him a little. He shook his head, seeing the old man wielding the hammer.

Of course he went straight back to work.

He stopped under the eaves of the roof just as Joe sniffed, and wiped his face. The quiet sound of the man's crying tore open the fresh wound in his own heart.

For several moments he struggled to control himself. Before he could regain his composure, Joe turned around. The light of the fire reflected the tears in his eyes.

"He's gone?" He rasped.

John cleared his throat, but could not speak. He nodded.

The old man's lips twitched. He paced wildly in one direction, then turned back, his muscular shoulders rising and falling. Bending over, he seemed overcome with grief.

John flinched when Joe howled in anguish, and smashed the hammer down onto metal. Sparks flew everywhere.


Toby was buried the next morning.

John felt the lad deserved to have every ritual followed, for Anna's sake. But it was not possible for the boy's body to be laid out for viewing. Too many others had died, and the warmer weather meant a quick burial was the wisest course.

It was a small group that made its way north of the village to the cemetery. Between them, John and Joe carried Toby's coffin. Daniel and his grandmother Talitha followed just behind them with Jane. Isobel was at the back.

The cemetery was mostly quiet, though there were several people scattered on the hill mourning loved ones. None of them seemed surprised to see another procession.

The priestess chanted prayers as John and Daniel gave offerings. She did not stay long after they were done, as she was needed back at the temple.

"Thank you for being here, Jane," John said quietly.

The widow gave Daniel a hug, then embraced his grandmother. "I'm glad I could be here. Yesterday, Anna was adamant that she would be here, but early this morning…"

"She didn't feel well, and you and Phyllis persuaded her not to come," John finished. Beside him, Joe raised his head.

"Is she feverish?"

He knew she was not, but he had to ask for appearance's sake.

"No, not at all," Jane said. "Something she ate made her ill."

"I hope she feels better soon," he sighed. To hide his expression, he got up and grabbed a spade.

It was odd knowing something that would make his friends so happy, and be unable to share it with them. It felt even odder knowing the reason for his friends' happiness was Eala.

Indirectly.

He grinned to himself.

They had the fun, and She gave them the gift.

His smile faded when he looked at Toby's coffin.

I hope they never have to bury a child.

Joe and John had barely broken the ground when the wheelwright Joseph approached them. He had been putting flowers on his parents' graves, and said that he would be glad to help dig Toby's.

"You're still weak," he told John, "And Anna wouldn't like it if you overdid it."

"We will dig the grave," a deep voice said behind him. Four men stood nearby, dressed in the tunics of the king's guard, though none of them carried swords. Instead, three of them carried spades. Their leader looked at John.

"You are the blacksmith, John?"

"Yes," John replied, his eyes darting from the bearded man to his companions.

"We're here on the king's orders. Please, stay and mourn your friend while we lay him to rest," the guard said, gesturing to one of the other men. He brought a large basket over to them. "A feast has been provided for you also."

It was customary after a funeral to have a feast in the deceased person's honor. John had thought that impossible, considering the circumstances. Tears came to his eyes.

Robert, you did not have to do this.

"Thank you," he murmured. "Thank you so much."

They stayed on the hillside most of the morning, telling stories about Toby. Joe found himself laughing and crying at different times, though no one thought the worse of him for it. It hurt saying goodbye to his young friend.

But sharing memories with those who remembered Toby gave him comfort.


Elsie sighed and wrapped the small loaf carefully. Alfred was definitely feeling better. He had devoured everything she had put in front of him (which wasn't much), and had started fidgeting, not wanting to rest anymore.

"You must," she told him, raising her eyebrows. "I won't have you get up again. You drew the water and milked the goats this morning. That's more than enough."

"I'm tired of sitting here," he grumbled, scooping up Vyr to pet her. "I'm feeling much better. I just want to help you – you've been doing everything!"

"I appreciate your concern, but no thank you," she smiled. "Maybe later this afternoon you can help me with the washing."

"Think of it, Alfred," Daisy said quietly from the corner. "Once you're on your feet for good, you won't get another chance to rest like this." She smiled.

Elsie sat down next to her, feeling her forehead and pressing her fingers on her daughter's wrist.

"I'm feeling better too," Daisy whispered. "I just wish my fever would break."

"So do I," Elsie's lips were a thin line. The girl's appetite was improving, and she felt much cooler than she had the day before. But she was still warm, and tired easily.

Andy was little better. She replaced the cloth on his head with a fresh one, and placed another damp one around his neck. He barely moved, still mostly asleep, while she tended to him. His eyes looked sunken in his face.

"If you can get him to eat some soup, I would be grateful," Elsie told Alfred. "Now," she grabbed the small loaf, a block of cheese and a small water skin. "I'm going to take some food to Charles. He must be famished; it's past midday. I'll be right back."

She sighed as she climbed the hill. The long days and short nights were beginning to take a toll on her. She was not afraid of catching the fever. If she did, it would not be lethal, but the worry over the young ones burdened her heart.

At least Charles and Jimmy were well, although tired.

The sheep bawled from the eastern end of the meadow. Charles stood leaning on his crook. As she approached him, he staggered a little, as if he were about to fall over.

"Whatever is the matter?" she cried, running to his side. She had a terrible feeling she knew what it was.

"I'm sure I'll be all right, if I can just stay still for a moment," he said weakly, sinking down onto the ground. Nosi whimpered at his feet.

Elsie set down the bundle of food and water skin and bent over him, her fingers brushing the side of his face, her hand on his broad shoulder.

He was warm, almost hot.

Oh no.

In the blink of an eye, she forced herself to keep calm.

I will not think the worst.

I can't.

"You will not stay still, not out here," she told him, rather surprised at how calm she sounded, never mind how she felt. "Get to bed right now!"

"I can't," he protested. "We've only got James and he's run ragged…and Alfred is scarcely back on his feet."

"I'll deal with it," she took his arm, helping him to stand. "I'll help you back to the house, then I'll watch the flock." She hoped fervently that Jimmy was still well. The lad was asleep under the oak tree by his hut.

Charles turned to her. "Get Daniel to help us. John said he's well if we need him. He must have someone else helping at the forge, I suppose, now that Toby's gone-"

"Oh, very well, I'll ask him," she interrupted, not wanting to think about the poor boy's fate. "But only on condition you go to bed!"

"How will you manage?" He persisted later, after they had gotten back to the house. Alfred sat feeding Andy soup, and Daisy was asleep.

"I won't burden you with it. Rest." She made sure the damp cloths on his face and neck wouldn't slide off, then she grabbed her cloak and covered him with it.

Charles shivered, and clung to the dark blue cloth. "Could I have some water, please?"

"Here," she knelt on the sheepskin and gave him the water skin. She set it aside when he had had enough. He sighed, his eyes closed, suddenly looking young.

She did not want to leave him. But she had to.

Leaning over, she kissed him softly on the lips. His eyes fluttered open.

"Try not to worry," he murmured. "Please, Elsie. I will fight this with everything I've got." He smiled up at her, the expression that she loved. "I want to live for many, many years to come."

The lump in her throat was almost too much for her to speak. "I want you to live, too," she squeaked. She rested her forehead against his for a moment. She kissed him once more, then got up and pulled the blanket across the room, giving him privacy. Taking her crook, she went out to watch the restless flock.

It was a good thing Freya and Ve were watching the sheep. She sobbed under the spring sky, all of her fears laid bare.

He is my heart.

I cannot do everything on my own, not for long.

The others mustn't see me cry…I have to be strong for them.

Sparrows flew from the trees near the stream, but they did not sing.


Light from the fire illumined Lady Mary's face as she read the scroll. A frown marred her face. Behind her, Madge lit several lamps, then left the room. The sun was setting outside, the horizon beautiful with colors of orange, pink and red contrasting with the darkening blue sky above.

"You sent for me, milady?"

The king's daughter startled from her reverie. "Sybil. I didn't hear you come in."

"Not more bad news, I hope?" The dark-haired servant asked gently, gesturing to the scroll.

Mary sighed. "I'm afraid it is. This came from Anna just this afternoon. It seems that Charles has the fever now as well."

Sybil's heart sank, and she closed her eyes. "No…"

"Daisy is better, though still weak, she writes. Anna's neighbor Jane has been visiting there. She's worried about Elsie, if she can cope."

A thousand thoughts ran through Sybil's mind – she hoped Charles was not suffering too badly; she worried about Daisy; she also was worried about Thomas and Edward, wherever they were; and she desperately wanted to talk to Tom. But one thought overshadowed all of them.

I MUST go to Mother.

Even without the ability in mortal form to know her mother's thoughts, she knew she needed her.

"I have to go home," she said quietly, her hand shaking as she took it away from her mouth. "My family needs me. If…you will allow me, milady."

Her tone was not accusatory at all, but Mary felt her face grow warm. In truth, she was ashamed of herself. She looked at the floor.

"You must go, of course," she muttered in a rush. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at Sybil. "I should have let you go with Thomas and Edward yesterday, when Papa's letter came telling me about Daisy. But I was selfish, and did not want to lose all of you at once. I'm sorry."

It was difficult for her to say it. It would have been nearly impossible for her to say it to anyone other than Sybil.

Her servant had a way of making her confront her own weaknesses without being judgmental.

"I forgive you," Sybil gave her an understanding smile. "And if I might say, milady, you have carried the burden of overseeing the court well. It is not easy to do on your own. And you were worried about the king and queen, too."

"I was not entirely alone. You and Thomas in particular have boosted my spirits while Papa and Mama have been away. I am truly grateful for that." She smiled, and it reached her eyes.

"I'm glad we have been able to help," Sybil replied. "And to tend to Master George while you were busy with other matters."

"He has a great deal of fun with you both," an amused gleam appeared in Mary's eyes. "Not as much as you have, though." The two exchanged knowing grins. "I expect you want to leave for Downton as soon as possible," she continued, more serious. "At dawn, since it's sunset now. Master Henry will let Silas accompany you. I can't let you travel alone." The guard was a friendly young man, a good friend of Edward's.

"Actually…" Sybil clasped her hands together. "I don't think that will be necessary. You see, one of the local farmers stopped in the courtyard a little while ago. He and his wife are on their way to Ainderby. Gus is his name. I'm not sure of hers. They brought a foal for the stables, and they were still here when I came upstairs. If I hurry, I'm sure they will let me have a place in their wagon."

"Go," Mary said immediately. "They should be able to take you as far as Ottering before moonrise. The priestesses there worship the Harvest Goddess and not the Divine Lady, but they'll give you a safe place to sleep for the night. And they can arrange for someone to escort you on to Downton, if Gus doesn't want to."

It was a common custom for fellow travelers to help each other, but since the fever began many people were naturally fearful of doing so.

"Thank you, milady," Sybil let out a breath, relieved. She picked up several tunics on the floor. "I will give these to Madge to mend before I leave. She won't mind looking after you while I'm away."

"Don't worry about me. Or Master George," Mary stood up. "We will carry on just fine. Send a message when you've arrived in Downton, so I know you're all right."

She and Anna had a strong bond. But she had come to rely on Sybil. More than she cared to admit to anyone.

Even herself.

Sybil hurried to find Madge to tell her she was going home. The girl agreed to look after Lady Mary, and Master George when necessary, and told Sybil she should not worry about how long she would be away.

"My mum was ill during the last moon cycle, and you were kind to take care of my work while I was gone," she said, shifting the clothing in her arms. "I promised myself I'd do the same for you, if it came to it."

Thanking her, Sybil went and gathered her cloak and some food. She walked into the darkening courtyard, staying in the shadows. One of the gates was open. She slipped through it, waiting until the guards had their backs turned.

It only took a moment. She had done it many times before to meet Tom, or to sneak back inside after a night with her husband.

Gus and his wife had been in the courtyard earlier in the evening. But they had already left.

Sybil did not like lying to Lady Mary, but she did not want to wait for the dawn to leave. And even in mortal form, she could walk all night with little rest.

I need to get home as soon as possible.

She pulled up her hood and set off, leaving the road to cut across the open fields. The moon was visible behind her, growing brighter as the sunlight faded.


Richard held the water skin steady while Andy drank. The lad scrunched up his face and choked, spitting out most of the purplish liquid.

"As long as he swallows some of it, that's all that matters," the healer said. He nodded to Alfred, who was holding Andy upright.

"Come on," muttered Alfred, squeezing Andy's shoulder. "I know it tastes horrible, but it's for your own good."

Andy swallowed slowly, his face still contorted, his eyes squeezed shut.

"That is enough," the healer reassured Alfred. "Now let's lay him back down." They did so, then Richard stood up and moved aside the blanket hanging across the room. He struggled to find words for the waiting shepherdess.

Elsie seemed to know what he was going to say. Her face was pale, and there were shadows beneath her dark eyes. "If he survives until the morning, he'll live," he whispered finally. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes were full of tears. "I understand. Thank you for coming here. You did not have to."

Part of her wanted to scream.

No, not Andy, not a young lad like him! How many is the God of the Underworld going to take!? When will there be enough death for you, Uncle?

Another part of her wanted to give in to everything she felt. But she could hardly do that – if she started weeping, she was afraid she would never stop. The strain of looking after everyone, and the flocks, was nothing compared to the worry over what might happen.

How many days has it been since Charles fell ill? I've lost count.

Her head felt like it would split in two.

Richard gave her a half smile. "Both Ivy and Isobel begged me to come, after Jane told me what had happened. I would be a very foolish man if I didn't listen to the women in my life. And I've known your husband since I was small," he said. "I care very much what happens to him, and to his loved ones." He gestured at Charles. "I'll see to him now. Could you wake Daisy? I need to give some of this to her after her father drinks it."

She sat down next to her daughter, feeling as though the weight on her shoulders would break her.

Daisy's arm was clammy. For several moments, Elsie's heart skipped. She felt her neck, and her face. Daisy murmured and opened her eyes.

"I'm cold."

Her blanket was damp.

Her fever is broken.

It's broken.

She will be well.

"Oh my dear girl," Elsie gasped, feeling a surge like a wave on the tide, "My dear, dear, girl, I am so glad you are feeling better!" Her shoulders relaxed, and she felt relief so strong it almost made her giddy. She embraced her, pulling her into a sitting position.

"Me too," Daisy said into her hair. "Could-could I have something to eat? I'm still tired, but I'm hungry, too."

"Of course you can," Elsie pressed a kiss to her forehead, tears on her cheeks. "I made fresh bread this morning. There should be some left... as long as Alfred hasn't eaten it yet!"

Remme leaped up and climbed onto Daisy's lap, trying to lick her face. The girl laughed and hugged her excited and very happy dog.

Elsie got Daisy some bread and figs, then joined Richard next to Charles. The shepherd was awake.

"Love," she whispered into his ear. She could feel the heat from his fever on her lips. At the moment, though, all she cared about was telling him the good news. "Daisy's fever broke. She is going to be all right."

"Thank the gods," Richard flopped onto the floor next to Charles. He smiled, lines visible on his forehead.

Charles opened his eyes and licked his dry lips. "Her fever is gone? Really?"

"Yes." Elsie lifted his hand and kissed it, feeling like she would cry again. Her limbs felt heavy, like they had turned to stone. "Yes. She is better, at last."

He cleared his throat. His usually booming voice was soft. "I'm so glad…what about Andrew?"

"We'll know more in the morning," Richard said, stealing a glance at Elsie. "In the meantime, you rest. Hopefully that powder will bring down your fever."

Closing his eyes again, Charles grunted. "It tasted awful."

Despite her worries, Elsie laughed, tousling his hair. "That's my man. You grumbly bear." She kissed him, and helped Richard turn him onto his side so they could lay a fresh blanket on the sheepskin.

"Mistress," the healer said to her once they were back in the front part of the room, "You must get some rest. You're wearing yourself out, and I'm amazed the fever hasn't touched you yet. You'll exhaust yourself."

"I will try to sleep," she mumbled, her eyes heavy. "But what could I do, especially after James took ill?"

Thankfully, the blond apprentice had recovered fast, the fever leaving him mostly unscathed. But he was still tired, and slept in the lads' hut across the hill.

"Of course, you had to do what you could," Richard said, impatient. "But if you don't get some rest soon, regardless of whether you have the fever or not, you could lose half the flock if you fall asleep during the watch. Or the hearth could blaze untended, starting a fire in here."

That did wake her up. "I know that," she said with some force. For good measure, she pinched herself on the palm of her hand.

She could only imagine what he would say if he knew she had not slept for at least two nights straight, and only a little at a time for however many days before that.

"I did send a message to John, but he said Daniel is still fragile. So for now it's only me and Alfred. He's watching the flock tonight."

He sighed. "I will stay tonight and sit by Andy. You sleep."

Elsie sat near Charles on their side of the room. He muttered a little, twitching. She tried to keep awake, wanting to watch over him, but she fell over despite sitting with her knees pulled up to her chin.

Within moments of lying down she was asleep.


Richard had to shake her shoulder for a long time to wake her. "Elsie," he whispered once she had pulled herself upright, shuddering with huge yawns. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I wanted you to know. Andy's fever broke. He's resting quietly now."

It was still dark, not even the second watch of the night.

She had to go and see for herself to believe it. Andy's breathing was much easier, and by the light from the hearth, she could see that the faint greyish tint that had marked his skin was gone. His hair was damp.

"Daisy will be so relieved," she murmured. She thought about waking her daughter to tell her, but when she looked at the girl, she was snoring as usual. Elsie bit her tongue to keep from laughing out loud at the sight of Daisy and Remme sprawled together.

The dog snored even louder than her human.

Gently caressing the side of Charles's face, she was reassured that he too slept peacefully, though there was no change with his fever.

Grey light was beginning to break when she woke again, feeling very stiff but much more clear-headed. Thirsty, she got water from the well and brought it into the house. Richard had nodded off, his head bobbing up and down. The fire in the hearth had almost gone out completely.

It was very quiet.

Elsie poked at the red coals, trying to kindle more heat out of them.

The door flew open with a bang. She cried out without being able to stop herself, and dropped the tongs, her heart in her mouth.

"Where is Daisy? Is she all right? What about Papa?"

Thomas stood in the doorway. His cloak was muddy, and his black hair stuck out everywhere. Behind him, Elsie could just see Edward running past the well. Both young men were breathing hard. As if they had been running all night.

It would not surprise me if they were.

She put a hand on the edge of the hearth to steady herself. "Daisy is asleep. She's all right, she will be fine – she will be fine," she repeated, seeing a mirror of her own fear, anguish, and relief flash in her son's eyes. "Her fever broke yesterday evening. And your father is resting now."

Hardly had the words left her mouth when he strode past her behind the hanging blanket.

"I hope we didn't wake you," Edward murmured, glancing at Andy and the sleeping healer. She smiled and clasped his hand, shaking her head. "You can probably imagine how Thomas has been. If he could have run in his sleep we would have been here sooner."

Both of them turned at the sound of voices. Elsie pulled back the blanket so they could see.

Thomas wept, his head on Daisy's shoulder as she tried to comfort him. The other two heard some of what passed between them.

"I…was so s-scared…I thought...you…"

"Shhh…I'm all right…I'm here…"

Elsie dropped the blanket, giving them time alone. Her heart was full.


Fear.

It had gnawed at Thomas since the moment he had heard Lady Mary read the scroll from the king. It had crept into his bones, seeping underneath his skin, like another hideous fever.

Except this one could not be cured by a healer's powder, or by any other remedy he and Edward heard about as they made their way south on the road.

Effects of the fever were everywhere. It had been impossible to ignore the empty fields, the wailing they heard as they had passed through a tiny hamlet. The little girl in the front of a funeral procession who had stared blankly ahead, her eyes lifeless. Behind her, mourners carried two bodies in coffins.

Doors had been closed to them. If they were lucky, someone had answered when they knocked to ask for fresh water, or a place to rest.

"Grantham is cursed," one old man had croaked as he sat beside the road, south of Ainderby. "The gods have cursed our land. And the king, too. The queen gave him a son, but he died before taking his first breath. What kind of a king has no son? He's only got girls, and just two of them! Who will defend the kingdom if we are attacked? We are lost, lost-"

Thomas had turned with a snarl, to remind the old goat that the king did have an heir, as well as a perfectly capable daughter, but Edward had dragged him away before he could say anything.

"Don't," his mate had murmured in his ear, pulling on his cloak. "He's raving. Leave him."

They had, but the old man's words had stayed with Thomas. They had brought back all his old fears, along with the new ones.

Cursed. Cursed.

Lost.

Was he cursed by the gods, if any existed? His heart whispered that they did, hard as he tried to ignore it.

Was he lost, destined to live his life haunted by a shadow he could not escape? By something that lived in his mind?

His mother dying when he was a young boy, and now Daisy's illness…were these things that were chance, that could happen to anyone, or was there a reason behind them?

He had tried to brush aside his guilt over his father, at their ongoing conflict about the gods.

Thomas's fear had grown even more when they stayed with a farmer north of Downton. Tim and his wife Margie had buried their only daughter, and two of the orphans they had taken in. The four children who had lived had told the young men the news while they shared their evening meal.

The wheelwright's father, dead. A score of temple girls dead or dying. Whole families found together in silent houses. A shepherd's daughter and his apprentices stricken by the fever, and the shepherd himself lately taken ill…

"That's enough," Tim had frowned at them, and apologized to his guests. "To be sure, we've had our losses, but things aren't as dark as they may seem. Master Richard says we're past the worst of it now."

Thomas and Edward had gone into the small shed to rest for the night. Thomas had tossed and turned, and had not slept at all.

He had been so worried about Daisy, he had never thought that the fever could have stricken his father, too.

What if he dies?

There was no doubt in his mind that the shepherd Tim's sons talked about was his father.

His Papa.

Thomas had called him that when he was a small boy. But after his mother had died, and he felt the stinging cold of his father's rejection in favor of the unseen gods, he had begun calling him Father. He told himself that it was part of growing up. That the formal name sounded better coming from a man in the king's court, rather than the childish Papa.

Deep in his heart, he knew he really used the name because he knew it hurt his father. Neither of them had ever mentioned it, but every time Thomas spoke it, he saw a flicker of pain in the shepherd's eyes.

Edward had woken from a light sleep at his touch. They had left the shed and were pulling on their cloaks in the darkness while the moon was still high when Tim approached them, carrying a lamp.

He had given them food, and wished them well. "Send us word when you get home. I don't know your father well, but I'd like to know how he is."

Dawn was breaking on a pale grey morning when they had run past the path that led to the shrine. By the time Thomas had been climbing the familiar hill to his house, he had convinced himself of the worst.

Only to throw the door open and see his stepmother standing at the hearth.

It shook him to see her. For one, it reminded him that she had not crossed his mind for days. For another, he had never seen her look so…vulnerable.

Like she had been grappling with her own fear for days.

Elsie's words had barely touched him; he had to see, to know.

It was not until he saw Daisy, and heard her voice, that he began to calm down.

"I had to know you were all right," he whispered, wiping his eyes on his cloak. "You were all I thought of, from the moment Lady Mary got the king's letter."

"Only me?" She asked, nodding across the room. "You already knew I had the fever. But I don't think it was for me that you got up in the middle of the night, to get here before dawn." She nudged him with her elbow. "Go sit by him. He would like to see you when he wakes up."

"He'd rather see you, and see you well," he argued, but she only grinned at him and laid back down.

Elsie pulled back the blanket. Edward and Richard chatted quietly behind her. "Thomas?" she asked. "Could you sit by your father until he wakes? I have to watch the flock."

"I can watch the sheep," Edward said. "I don't mind."

"Would you? That's very kind of you," she squeezed his arm. "Then I'll do the washing. If I don't, it will never get done."

She gathered up a huge bundle of blankets, cloths and tunics, and carried them outside. Richard sat down next to Andy to wake him.

Thomas wondered if he could simply walk out, pretending to join Edward or find some other errand, but he felt Daisy's eyes on him. He turned. His little sister raised her eyebrows, then snuggled with Remme.

Stuck.

He sat on the floor next to his father, who was breathing deeply.

Richard's voice was low, Andy's weak. Elsie came back inside. She talked with the other two, telling them that she had seen Jimmy, that he was getting stronger.

Nosi wandered in, and settled onto Thomas's lap. He was glad to have the company, even if the puppy couldn't talk to him.

Sometimes Charles muttered nonsensical things, and sometimes Thomas could understand words. He replaced the cloth on his father's head with a fresh one.

The sun was fully up, and morning light making its way through the window, when Charles woke. He blinked, then opened his eyes wide at the sight of the figure next to him.

His smile went straight to Thomas's heart.

He looks…happy. Overjoyed.

To see me.

"Hello there, lad," Charles said, slowing reaching out his hand. "I've been missing you." He squinted, as if to make sure Thomas was there. "Are you really home, or am I dreaming?"

Many different answers flew through Thomas's mind. No, Father, you're not dreaming. I came here to see Daisy, to see that she was all right. I'm sorry you're ill.

Instead, something compelled him to take the older man's outstretched hand. He was glad to feel his strength.

It reminded him of when he was a child.

"I'm really here, Papa," he said softly, a smile appearing on his face. "I'm home."


A/N: Your reviews and reblogs are appreciated! Thank you! To the guest reviewers, a particular thank you. If you are so inclined, please create an account. I would love to be able to respond to your reviews, too! SOMEONE wants a Chelsie baby…you'll just have to keep reading to see what happens.