Time had ticked by at a pace too quick for the Irish Knight. His Lady still slept soundly as ever; seemingly snug, swathed in the soft linens of the bed. Diarmuid had checked in on her, ensuring her well-being by gently changing the rag on her forehead, provided her medicine with water, and now waited patiently for the stew to arrive at the door.

After taking a casual glance at the watch, Diarmuid monitored the time before their summons to the next round. A dejected sigh escaped his lips, as the dawn of new day approached and his Lady showed no sign of a favorable disposition. It would seem her condition would be questionable in battle.

Another complicated breath was taken, while the Knight answered the repeated knock at the door. The woman frantically handed him the tray, sputtering her words. An empty, indifferent smile formed on the Irishman's face, a facade he was familiar with portraying to the women he was uninterested in.

Thankfully, she took rejection well, only shedding a few tears before turning away to return to the kitchen. As the door snapped shut behind him, Diarmuid hoped that any soul transfixed by the worthless mole would not cause any more trouble than he already was in.

After the tray was placed gently on the nightstand at the corner of the bed, Diarmuid sat, patting his Lady's shoulder to coax her awake. Little hands rubbed at the edge of her brow, and drowsy crystal blue eyes traversed the room.

"How are you faring, Lady Haley?" Diarmuid asked, when the woman swung her uncovered legs over the bed's edge, her bare feet brushing against the carpet.

"Mmm… okay I guess." Haley took the bowl from the plate her Knight offered after his inquiry, and placed it back onto the tray he situated on her lap.

In retrospect, the psychic was exhausted. While Haley was used to sleepless nights, and overexerting herself: this had been the heaviest hit of fatigue she had ever experienced. What made this weariness problematic was that it all started a few days into her being in the Underworld, and progressively worsened as time passed. Now it felt like full-on sleep deprivation, but she had been getting more than enough of late.

Inhaling the scrumptious-smelling steam to clear her thoughts, Haley sipped the broth, the heat slightly stinging her throat; but the after-effects were wondrous. She hummed in delight, enjoying the freshness of chopped potatoes and beef chunks.

Diarmuid sat on the mattress next to his lady, a brush in hand and started combing her frizzy locks while the woman almost purred from the relaxing action. At some point, she had garbled a complaint about her hair being a mess, and not being able to shower. The Knight chuckled, and stored it in the back of his mind to satisfy her need of female pleasantries. It was not something he was unfamiliar with, anyhow. In his time with Grainne, it was almost a ritual.

Leaning onto her Knight's shoulder, Haley closed her eyes in irritation from the throbbing in her head. She felt utterly miserable, being so weak. Her muscles felt like they were being weighed down by anchors. The heat radiating off her skin was as though she'd decided to take a swim in lava. She groaned in disassociation, when the pulsing in her temples turned to full-fledged knocking in her head.

"When is this gonna be over…" Suddenly, the ill woman no longer wanted to eat, and only wished to drift into dreamland to shut out her body's weakness. It didn't help that the combing her lovely Knight was doing to her hair was so relaxing.

Setting the brush (that now had stringy brunette locks caught in its teeth) to the side of the bed, Diarmuid curled his arm around the Lady's shoulder. "Soon."

He placed a soft kiss to her temple, knowing full well how drained she must feel. The effects of the magic would hopefully not linger much longer, and she would be well enough again to be her usual, upbeat self.

Even though sleep was probably a necessity, Haley avoided the idea, remembering her sickly desire. Easing herself off her Knight, she pulled the drawer of the wooden stand, and fished out the sketchbook and pencil she'd sent her precious partner to purchase. Feeling that man's attention fixated on her, she swiveled on her toes (rather shakily) and tapped a blank page with the back of the pencil.

"I have the idea for the picture, I wanna get started on the rough draft before I forget."

Plopping her bum on the couch, Haley's artistic flare sparked like her fever, and she began hastily scribbling anatomy onto the once white page. Feeling the curiosity leaking off the man across from her, she motioned Diarmuid over. "You… can watch, if you'd like."

For a moment, Diarmuid contemplated watching the little artist at work. On one hand, he truly was fascinated with her talents, while on the other, he wanted to be left in suspense of what her creations would look like. Drawings from his day and age were generally carved with sharp rocks on cave walls and the like, so her style would be entirely new.

Joining his Lady on the comfy couch, the Irishman's curiosity got the best of him. He peered over her hunched shoulders, and watched in awe as the outlines of human shape slowly began to transform into recognizable people. The more her talented hands stroked the paper, the clearer the image became.

A time that captured her heart was not one Diarmuid thought it to be. After his request, he imagined what she might put on the paper. Would it have been the time they first opened up to each other, and accepted the other's hearts? Or might it be their first kiss? Well, it was that night that she frantically revisited on the paper, erasing excess lines, darkening shades of the background, and wrinkles in the clothes.

No, what enamored his Lady's heart was his time spent with the Heroic Spirit panel. Her craftsmanship captured the carefree, open-mouthed smile plastered on his face, drink outstretched in hand with a glimmer of blithe in his eyes.

She even duplicated the intoxicated details of Cu's delirious features, and the minutiae of Merlin's hair and outfit. Each second that transpired, Diarmuid lost focus on the time; it was only when his Lady teetered, or paused to take in more air to steady herself in her sickly state, that he realized she was even ill.

Even so, the Knight felt raptured by what exactly made the woman happy. Instead of the usual romantics that befall the regular woman's heart; his own bliss was what captivated her so. How had he gotten so lucky, given all the ghastly bad fortune that had been bestowed upon him?

It was a thought Diarmuid once said was impossible. No woman would ever clearly think of him. Their attraction to him was physical, and a trance that he would eventually have to settle for whom best suit him. Or not, as part of the reason he had even joined the Fianna was because he felt the spot would hinder his chances at true love.

Love… now that was quite the terrifying topic. Would his feelings for the woman stretch so far? Would there be time to explore the possibilities of such a thing? Diarmuid already knew he was smitten with the sweet lady but to go as far as—

"Uck… I can't finish…" Haley muttered, snapping the man from the contemplation taking over his mind. "Hey... I meant to ask," she said, closing the drawing pad and sliding it back into the drawer, "Do you know exactly… what I am so sick from…?"

Diarmuid's throat bobbed. Right, he had not spoken of the events that happened while he retrieved some medicine and advice on how to handle her… 'condition'. The lady was in and out of consciousness so often, he had not the time to fully indulge her about what had transpired.

"Y-Yes…" he stuttered, casting his glance to the ceiling, anywhere away from the Lady's questioning countenance. "Though, it is your turn to not like it."

—

Runes, when was the last time Haley had encountered someone who knew how to utilize those crafty spells? The woman honestly did not want to recall it at all. However, she had been subjected to one, and its effects were strong enough to last for an entire day, even after an Observer dismantled it.

Shaking off the icky feeling, she furled and unfurled her fists. Anything to distract her from where her mind was darting off to. "Do you know what kind it was?"

Diarmuid shook his head, that little strand of hair at his nose swaying as he did. "I do not. I am afraid Larron—the Observer—did not divulge those details."

Haley rubbed her thighs together, feeling fidgety. She needed to know. Had to. Something was bothering the hell out of her, thinking on the subject of runes. "Can… can you ask him?" she requested, gliding her open palms onto the top of her knees.

"I can, but why? It has been removed, so what good would it do to question him further?" The Knight caught her swaying frame and steadied the Lady backwards onto the propped pillows behind her.

"I… mmm…" Azure eyes squeezed shut. The headache was back with a vengeance, nagging her to drop the concern and sleep into the next day. "I just... have to know. Please…?"

Diarmuid slid his hand under her bangs, effectively moving them further to the side of her eyelashes, and kissed her calescent forehead, "Alright." He could not reject her, when her voice was almost pleading with him.

Haley leaned into his lips, and tugged at the hemline of his long t-shirt. "I'm going to go with you. No… don't try to stop me." With her index finger placed on his lips to squash the protest she knew was brewing, her lanky legs slid off the couch. Before they went on the search for that Larron guy, Haley needed to be in more than just one of Diarmuid's t-shirts (that looked almost like a dress on her skinny figure).

Finding a random pair of shorts, and stuffing her feet into her cleats, Haley turned to Diarmuid who was mimicking her in collecting appropriate footwear. He gave her a dissatisfied look, that she knew related to her tagging along. But she wanted to ask her own questions.

If only finding the Observer was an easy task. Of course this "Larron" guy was stationed somewhere else than the medical ward; and even more dispiriting, the clerk hadn't a clue where his next placement was. From behind Diarmuid's back, Haley slipped him her tongue when he shooed them away, after assessing that they were not interested in any medical supplies.

With the idea that there were only so many stores compared to rooms, the two travelled the hotel in search for this Observer. Diarmuid had touched upon the possibility Larron might be doing other work—training—or it was his off-day and he was not even in the hotel. That final idea made the telekinetic uneasy, as she desperately needed answers on the mystery illness that was draining her of energy.

"My lady, we have journeyed the entire hotel, I think we should call it a night. You are drained, and need rest for… our battle in the morrow." Diarmuid angled his sight so he could see the woman resting her chin on his left shoulder as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

"I know… I guess it can't be helped..." she whispered, disappointment muffling her voice.

As they reached the elevator it pinged, the large doors sliding open. By some dumb luck, Larron perked his eyebrow, still clad in the same armor as before; it covered him from chest to toes.

The gladiator's coffee-colored eyes narrowed impishly. "Heard you were searching for me?"

—

"Hmm… there is not much I can divulge, though." Haley itched for the information she could sense the Observer was withholding from her. The stroking of the peach fuzz of a beard he sported only agitated her impatience to new heights. "This isn't some sort of plot against who set it, is it? Because if so—"

"No, no, no. I—ugh…" Haley sputtered, as Diarmuid's hand rested on the length of her arm in an attempt to calm the indisputably seething woman.

She had no plan to do anything! She would not stoop to the same level of Kayneth and whomever his…

" Detainer" ... she exhaled, pinching her eyes shut. Of course. The answer was right there in her damn watch.

Carefully, his Lady broke away from Diarmuid's supportive back and onto the carpet of the Hotel's halfway, and tilted his wrist towards her, expeditiously clicking through the screens for the rankings. In her peripherals, she caught the Observer looking dubious— as if he could see the wheels of knowledge spinning. Not that the man's perception of her mattered anymore. Diarmuid, help. You're a smooth talker.

"We are sorry to have troubled you. It is not our desire to retaliate by any means. My Lady just wanted clarification, however if it is not to be given, we shall take our leave." Diarmuid attempted one of his signature, curatorial dips, but his lady had his wrist hostage, so he only offered a courteous smile.

The Observer cocked an interested eyebrow. "You two sure are a strange pair." Larron slapped the heedless man in the chest, then paused to spare a glance. "..." He retracted his hand.

Diarmuid twitched at the sudden motion, but the abrupt stillness and enthralled disposition raised his apprehension (and eyebrows). It was as if something just spooked the man. "Is something the matter?"

"No, it is nothing. Carry on." Larron's disaffected smile returned, all traces of mystification disappearing into the cheery crinkling of his eyes.

Tilting his head, Diarmuid nodded, though completely confused; that puzzlement turned to unease, for his Lady was firmly fixed in place, locked onto his wrist and trembling like a storm. Only once did he witness this glazed stare from her—in a nightmare as a young, broken girl.

"What has happened? What have you seen? Lady Haley…?" Her lack of response frightened him. The amount of terror intertwined in their magical bond only heightened his worry.

"I… I need to go…" Haley suddenly blurted out, dropping Diarmuid's hand and scurrying off to the elevator, jamming the "up" button in a flurry of finger dabs. When the doors didn't open soon enough, the frantic woman bolted to the stairs.

Bewildered, Diarmuid bowed to Larron out of respect before he began to trail her. The Knight was astounded by the amount of speed she packed on, and the fact it was a whopping twenty flights of steps to get to their quarters; considering her current condition—it was incredible that she'd even attempted to climb the staircase.

"Tch…" Chewing the inside of his cheek, Larron watched the couple dart off. So that is… why they are under close observation, he thought to himself. He briefly considered telling them. Or maybe they already knew? Had to have, yeah?

Well, it wasn't Larron's problem, anyway.

—

Convincing the sick woman not to travel the towering stairs was more daunting than Diarmuid expected it to be. What in the world was the matter with his Lady? Never had she been so stubborn in wanting to be left alone, to be left to wonder how to clear her mind of—well, whatever in the hell was troubling it.

The Knight practically had to drag her, kicking and screaming like a tantrum-throwing child. If not for the remnants of that rune irking her, he'd have been much more exasperated.

"My Lady, just tell me what is the matter!" Correction, he indeed was exasperated, and this episode she was having was definitely not going to help the woman recover.

Haley only shook her head, the strain on her mind intensifying. Not now, not here (not while she was still processing what the fuck was going on!) would she say a thing. The frantic woman only needed a moment to be by herself. If only the grip that Diarmuid had on her arms was not so damned strong and her state of being so unwell.

Legs feeling like jello, and the dual wielding grip of her Knight holding firm, Haley fell to her knees with the man in tow. The heat beating in her cheeks only fueled hotter, threatening to melt her skin. Screw it, she would let the tears fall. Why not—she was already an emotional wreck.

"Kayneth… or whoever is with… him! They… they are…!" Diarmuid's puzzled stare only amplified the obnoxious growing theatrics at war within her.

"They are what…?"

Haley couldn't take that gentle ease in his tone, as he handled her like a broken little girl. Her balled up fist met the right of his chest, however weak the gesture was. "They're… behind the familiars. The bounty… Kayneth's detainer is working with… my father!"

When Diarmuid's grip loosened ever so slightly by the shock of her revelation, Haley took the opportunity to break away from him and press against the reassuring feeling of the cold stairwell wall. Hugging her quivering frame, Haley bit her lip so hard she tasted iron. "Please… leave… leave me be!"

His Lady stormed past—back to the elevator, he presumed—leaving him astonished, stranded and… aggrieved. How… had she come to that conclusion? And moreover, what in the hell was he to do about it?

Diarmuid submerged the idea of being horrified—let that feeling sink deeper than the ocean's depths. He needed to be steady, for his Lady was in dire need of one of them to be… composed... Even if the cursed bits of him attempted to persuade him to find Kayneth then and there and spear his soul into the deepest depths of Hell.

That man that accompanied him was in cahoots with the fallen Magus? Impossible, was it not? Had to be, or so he wished it to be so. Attempting to think clearly—it sort of made sense. Though, what were they planning? What was the point of helping Kayneth? To get closer to the Lady, he presumed. Even so, sending the familiars after them—twice—and magically poisoning her? What would—

"Oh." Diarmuid straightened himself out, eyeing the empty hall across from him. To get them disqualified. The sound of teeth grinding helped the Irishman contain his ire.

Of course. If I and she were removed from the tournament—that man could relay my Lady's position for other suitors to follow. Oh, this will not do. In no way would Diarmuid allow anyone to so much as touch his Lady with their tainted hands. Downright refused.

While yes, Diarmuid had been a failure in the protection department before; he could not settle for less than perfection. He was the first of the Fianna, and the strongest of the Knights, a former Heroic Spirit, and that woman's protector. With his resolve set anew, Diarmuid returned to the elevator and punched the number to his floor.

—

It was rather quiet and lonely in the hotel room. Upon arriving at their quarters, he found the room empty. His Lady had not returned, and when worry set in, it was quickly dispersed when her location was easily discerned from their pact. There was no sense of urgency or dire need to go to her. It seemed the Lady needed to be alone.

A frightful idea, considering that her being alone began all of this. Against the Knight's better judgement, he knew that it was needed.

Time ticked by on the watch, and the dark room remained cool and silent. His Lady never did return. Diarmuid had to accompany her, as now concern turned to fear. And that was never a good thing.

So he traveled upward, knowing full well his Lady's position never faltered. That alone left cause for worry. What if she passed out from her illness? The image of his Lady lying unconscious and sick as a dog hastened the Knight's pace.

However, when he swung open the rooftop's door, and laid eyes on his Lady— his fear was replaced with pure gloom. Across from him—huddled against the far wall of the rooftop—Haley was curled into a tight ball. Her knees were clasped tightly by her hands, her face hidden behind them. Her beautiful chestnut locks spilled everywhere, as if they had not been maintained in months.

Diarmuid never felt his heart ache so horribly—not since that wretched feeling of betrayal laid upon him in his second life.

A cool breeze caressed the Irishman's cheek, snapping him out of his melancholy. Clearing the path between himself and the woman he cared for so deeply (the woman whom he could not stand to see looking so… broken) , Diarmuid knelt to her level, and brushed the tangled strands of hair over her shoulder.

His Lady was still so hot to the touch, face damp from the tears that still flowed. "Come to our room… you must be exhausted, my Lady," Diarmuid said quietly, not wanting to push the reason for her forlorn state. All he wanted was for her to be safe in bed—even if she ignored him for the rest of the night…

"Diarmuid… I'm… I'm so scared…" Haley managed to get out, her voice muffled through demeaning sniffles. "I swore.. I promised myself.. that I would never go back…!"

Diarmuid embraced the woman instantly. Tightly, he cradled her against his chest and stroked her soft, knotty locks. Never had her voice sounded like that. At one point in time, he had had this woman's very neck in his murderous hold—he'd seen her lost in flashbacks of her horrid past—and yet, never had her voice cracked like did now. Never had such weakness and anguish made itself as prevalent as it was at this moment.

"I… can't believe I… never noticed the name… his name. Darius Adamson… a man well known for rune spells… a renowned student from the Clock Tower… under my father's teachings…!" Haley gasped, trying hard to contain her sobs, but they just spilled like a falling glass. "Kayneth and my father… they taught at the same damn school, Diarmuid…!"

Diarmuid only clutched her to his person harder, the revelation setting in stone. He knew of Kayneth's dealings at the mystical, esteemed Clock Tower for the Magi. His former Master never stopped blathering on about how he was part of the greatest faction, one of the best Magus there was.

"I was so… wrapped up in this tournament… and in protecting you... that I failed to pay any attention to his Detainer… and now… now… what.." the crying woman finally returned her Knight's hold, engulfing herself in his earthly scent and clasp. "What do I do…? Please… I… I don't know what to do…! I—I am so so scared...My father… he...he… could be here!"

"Oh Lady Haley… I… " Diarmuid knew what to say, he knew the solution to her troubles and yet… she would never go along with it. He knew this kind, forgiving, loving woman would never so much as consider going after her perpetrators. But still, here she was, the most vulnerable he had ever seen her, the most hysterical he had ever seen her… because of the chance her wretched scoundrel of a father might be a spectator...

"I know of some things that could better your situation… but I know you would not consider it. Even so, I will offer them to you in hope that you would at least attempt to think on them."

"I know your heart is cordial, and you fear becoming the monster that your father has been—is—but you can use your gifts to further your safety, even if you may be playing into the sullied bits of your name. It matters not what others truly think, as you—and I—know of them to be false."

Diarmuid gazed deeply into Haley's limpid blue eyes, willing her to understand what his words were not saying... that while he respected her scrupulous beliefs and keen sense of honor—if she would not consider an offensive strike at those who sought to harm her... they were likely to be doomed.

"Or… you can allow me to protect you fully. Allow me to… take matters as they come, if you do not wish to stain your hands. For you have my eternal loyalty, and I will be your Knight entirely. "

The energy gained from the onslaught of adrenaline made its way out, and the crash from it made its way in. Haley heeded the words of Diarmuid fully, each revelation smacking her into reality in the gentlest of ways… just like her Knight.

Diarmuid was completely right—even the observations about herself and her stature—and Haley refused to argue any of his points. She merely tugged at his t-shirt, and cut off her pathetic sobs to look into the beautiful, sweet-as-honey orbs offering her his loyalty... to the small smile that offered her protection, and genuine solicitude.

"I... will think... on it..." Haley practically choked on the words, as Diarmuid pressed his soft lips between her brow. "But thank you… because having... the loyalty of Diarmuid ua Duibhne, is the best of both worlds."

The Irish Knight swooped his lady into his formidable arms and was met with zero protest. Uncaring of the pretty face made blotched from the constant spilling of emotional tears, Diarmuid locked his lips on hers. Lady Haley was his, and he was hers. The way she twined her arms around his neck—pulling him closer to deepen their kiss as she ran her fingers through his raven locks—only confirmed it as such.

Despite growing desire from each generous stroke of his Lady's fingers in his hair, at the back of his nape, and the slide her little hand made to his collarbone, Diarmuid knew the Lady needed the comfort of the bed more. As impossible it was to separate their canoodling faces, only parting for a breath in between—a wanting stare shared between them—the Knight carried her back as she snuggled into his chest.

The soft sheets were a welcome comfort to the debilitated woman, and she was placed so gently into them by her loving Knight. Haley left her arms outstretched, beckoning him to join her. For a split second, she thought a look of uncertainty crossed those copper eyes, but the suspicion gave way to nothing as Diarmuid hovered over her to gift another one of his smooches.

Haley found herself swimming in bliss, even as she yet suffered tiredness and pain from still being stupid, sick, and distraught over… the condemning feeling of fear, as her father's bounty over her inched that much closer to being filled. She felt a shudder overtake her. Deep in the pits of the Underworld, a man was sent. From the very beginning, he had attempted to relinquish Haley from the tournament: and it was terrifying.

"Diarmuid…" she began, "I… I… joined this tournament to save you… but..." She pulled the man down to her side, rolling over to slink her hand around his waist, "Now, it's so much more than that… you mean everything to me. And while I am scared... I trust you with… protecting me… no… with everything . "

"I am glad, Lady Haley. Please know, it is an honor… being revered by you." Diarmuid's arm curled around her, dedicated and true.

Fear, happiness, fidelity, and a wish: all entangled in a sketchy tournament that he swore they would win. Because if they didn't—he was not sure he could ever forgive himself. The Knight couldn't care less what rewards were offered, so long as his final moments were with his Lady. All that did matter, was If they weren't victorious—he would be just as broken as she looked moments ago.

As not being able to spend the longest amount of time with the woman he had grown to adore… would be simply too devastating.

ooooooooooooooo

Good bye fluff—hello angst!

The revelations... Haley's father... is not too far behind. Her mental state, going down the drain in 3-2-AH! 1!

This chapter, is the beginning of some of my favorite bits of the entire shift of the middle of the story. Here we freggin go! I am so excited for what is to come. Like, the story just picks up 100% from here. I am very interested in what everyone thinks so far! What do yall think is gonna happen? I left very many drops of breadcrumbs from chapter 1 all the way to here for the next big bits! So I am wondering if anyone picked up on any of them, hehe.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter! And are excited for what is next to come!