"Tengene is growing restless. They all are —"

"I don't care. He's resting — for heaven's sake, he nearly died."

Murtagh strained to listen, keeping still with his eyes closed shut as he pretended to still be asleep. He had no doubt they were talking about him, but he was having a hard time deciphering much else without knowing more about where he was. Not to mention he had woken up moments before, jumping into the middle of their hushed conversation.

"Do not mistake my kindness for idiocy," the man said steadfastly. His voice was older, perhaps her father or grandfather. They must've been close because the woman had no qualms speaking her mind against him. Then again, Murtagh was a complete stranger and she had used the same annoyed tone with him as well. "He is dangerous. The dragon perhaps even more so after what he did."

"I'm well aware I'm not nursing a dandelion back to its health, Denu," she said bitingly. "He woke up only a few hours ago; he's weak. Whatever those old fools have to say can, and will, wait."

Silence. Then… "Halen, you do not understand the position you've put me in. To bring an outsider here is one thing but a fugitive…I cannot keep Tengene and the others away forever. They will want to meet him. See if he means us ill will —"

"I had to bird-feed him warm milk and honey so that he didn't wither away in his sleep, I don't think he'll be slaughtering any villages today."

"Halen —"

"I brought him here," she said in a low, firm voice. "If there is to be an inquiry, I will go to it. I've already taken responsibility for the hut. Amon and Tena are upset but they understand. I am asking you to please let him rest. The more rest he gets, the more rest I get. And I'm tired, Denu."

The man sighed. He was silent for a few moments, then, "Of course. Of course, you are right. I am being paranoid."

"You're being careful. And I'm sure Tengene is doing nothing but planting audacious rumors everywhere he can. Bastard."

"Language, Halen. Besides, I don't think most of the villagers are as afraid as they once were. At least the dragon has been well-behaved —" Murtagh flinched, having to refrain from growling at them for the crude way the man spoke of Thorn, "—and I think excitement has been setting in. They're curious."

"Nosy is more like it," she muttered harshly. "If I wasn't the one watching over him, he'd be completely bombarded. There's no telling the state he would be in then."

"Well he's certainly hungry," the man said suddenly as Murtagh's stomach growled. He blushed. "Best not keep him waiting."

Her sigh was heavy, filled with the weight of the burden he had unintentionally placed on her. And his resentment hardened in his chest. "I'll wake him so he can eat."

"No need, he's been awake for quite some time."

The silence that lingered afterwards was tense. Murtagh opened his eyes to find the woman staring at him, frowning with disapproval. Murtagh, however, was unfazed. It wasn't his fault they'd had a supposedly private conversation three-feet away from him.

The old man, however, looked more amused. He stood tall and proud, just a few inches over the woman. The top of his head was closely shaved, but his beard was thick and white. The most surprising feature were his cloudy and unseeing eyes that looked straight at him. Kind, yet they revealed nothing. No emotion or thought. Murtagh felt everything all at once: sucked in. Curious. Exposed.

"You know it's unnerving when you do that, old man" the woman berated, crossing her arms over her chest. She sat down on the bench against the wall where she had slept, crossing one leg over her knee, her foot bouncing restlessly.

"Oh, but I do enjoy it." The man took a small step forward, and Murtagh saw how his deep blue robes moved with him, his steps silenced by the leather sandals on his feet. For a man of a poor and remote village, he stood and composed himself like a benevolent king. He stood tall and proud, but he was sharp, clearly not to be underestimated. Murtagh saw the beautiful walking stick, different species of animals carved out in the top, and remembered:

If you must walk, take this. But do try not to snap it, it's my most prized possession. And that's when he remembered waking up as Thorn's presence grew closer, holding on to that roar like a lifeline as he struggled to his feet. And then realized he had heard the woman's voice before he had first woke. She had chastised him for standing. The one Thorn had zeroed in on.

"Murtagh, my name is Denu Davidsson. I apologize you had to overhear our conversation." The woman snorted. "Admittedly not one of my better ideas. But rest assured, I am glad to see you awake. Halen would have never let me hear the end of it if anything had happened to you."

The woman rolled her eyes and got to her feet. "I'll go find him something to eat then."

"Thank you, Halen," Murtagh called out, giving her pause at the door. She gave him a hard look. He could see her irritation in her eyes, the tightness in her jaw as she clenched it. There was no surname or history to accompany her identity like Murtagh's name did for him. But it still felt like a small victory, and he could not help but gloat silently against her obvious disdain at the sudden turn of events.

When she left, both men observing her departure, Denu's smile faltered until his expression grew somber. Murtagh hesitated, unsure of the man's temperament, before asking, "Who is Tengene?"

Denu took Halen's spot on the bench, the walking stick between his legs and resting back on his shoulder. "You could say we're a rather removed village when it comes to the issues of the mainland. War never reached us here on Illium. So, as you can imagine, the fact that Halen brought home a dragon rider, and you no less, has a few people on edge. Not many," he added quickly. "But a few whose opinions matter. Tengene is one of those people."

"Do they mean me or Thorn harm?"

The man's eyes grew wide. "Heavens, no! The few like me who are truly concerned are too old to cause you any harm. Although Halen has complained that we could nag a tree to death. Comes with being old and ornery I suppose. Anyway, after what you did with your dragon…you are much stronger than us even in your weakest state."

Murtagh waited for the 'but.'

"But we are concerned. I'm sure you can understand."

"It is as Halen said," Murtagh said sourly, "I have no intention of slaughtering any villages."

"Unfortunately, our concern lies in the ones you already have."

The air grew cold, shame and fury turning Murtagh's cheeks red. There was no response that he could use to defend himself. It was not as if the man was wrong, and that's what stung. Murtagh struggled to unclench his teeth, speaking in a low voice: "I am grateful for the…hospitality." Although he wasn't sure that the word quite fit their behavior towards him and grateful felt like even more of a reach. "All I ask is that when I am able to leave, I am allowed to do so." Otherwise, he would have to use force. But the threat went unsaid, even if it was felt by the stillness in the room.

The man nodded his head. "Of course." He rose to his feet. "I will let you rest. Halen will threaten me with bodily harm if I am too disruptive."

Murtagh didn't respond, staring at the ceiling as he was left alone for a few moments. For just a second, and not for the first time, he wished he had kept the Eldunarí so he could just heal himself and be done with it all.

And then he groaned in despair. His swords, all of his possessions — they were likely lying at the bottom of the ocean. It would be weeks before he was strong enough to recover them. Clearly, he was still paying penance for all the damage he had wrought. And clearly his reputation preceded him if such a remote village was still this wary of his presence. He snorted with derision, moving to cover the pain in his eyes with his arm when he was quickly distracted. He stared at the new bandage, wrapped around the palm of his hand where he had dug his nails into his skin just last night. How she had managed to spot such a minor injury at all…? He clenched his jaw, feeling his debt to the woman grow to heights he did not care to admit.

A throat suddenly cleared itself from the doorway and he looked over in surprise to find her, Halen, watching him and looking uncomfortable. "I can come back…" she suggested slowly, already taking a step back.

Murtagh angrily wiped his eyes, his stomach pains growing worse when he spied the plate of food. "I'm fine."

She didn't argue, only hesitating for a moment as if unsure whether or not she wanted to be stuck in the same room as a crying murderer. Up close and in proper lighting, Murtach could see that she was, indeed, about his age. She had the lightest array of freckles across her nose and part of her cheeks, unique blemishes on an otherwise smooth face. Despite the difference in her features, her ebony complexion reminded him, painfully, of Nasuada, and he turned his head to stare at the opposite wall as she cut up his food.

"It's not much," she said. To his surprise, she seemed almost embarrassed. Although he couldn't be sure if it was because they were poor or because she had caught him with his emotions unchecked. He had a feeling it was the latter. "But it's probably for the best that we don't give you anything too heavy anyway. Don't want to upset your stomach while we get you back on solid foods."

I had to bird-feed him warm milk and honey so that he didn't wither away in his sleep… Murtagh fought to maintain his composure against the humiliating images her words conjured in his head. To have been so weak and helpless, even now, and at the mercy of a complete stranger. He had never known himself to be in such a pitiful state. He turned back and looked at the plate in her lap. Two large pieces of bread and slices of a brightly colored, sweet-looking fruit he had not seen before. He averted his gaze, not wanting to appear desperate despite how loudly his stomach growled at the sight of such a simple meal. "I don't mind it."

Even though it was out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her lips twitch.

Halen had to help him sit up so that he didn't risk choking on his food lying on his back. She struggled, however, against his weight, trying to brace herself without hurting him too much. Murtagh gritted his teeth, trying to bear it quietly. He inhaled sharply, breathing in a surprising mix of aromas: lavender on the woman's neck that was slightly overshadowed by the natural earthy and smoky scents in her hair. Murtagh thought of her hands and wondered if she spent much time outdoors.

"I probably should've gotten someone else to do that," she breathed, winded.

Murtagh didn't know what to say to that, he just eyed the plate of food with increased longing until she finally noticed his gaze. She gave him a curious look as she set the plate in his lap. He pretended she wasn't there as he took a few bites of the food. The flavors of the bread erupted on his tongue and his eyes widened in surprise as he pulled the small loaf back to stare at it. There were small berries baked right in, blueberries and blackberries he thought. There were also spices dancing on his tongue, rich and melding perfectly with the nuts, and…honey? It shouldn't have all worked together, or at least been overpowering. Instead, it was perhaps the best bread he had ever had.

He was seconds from licking his plate clean when Halen set another plate onto his lap. He hadn't even noticed her leave and come back. His previous irritation with the woman slowly faded as his stomach became full and much of his hunger abated.

"You have a healthy appetite, that's good," she said with a small smile, relief in her eyes. It was brief, but even Murtagh could see that it was genuine. He supposed the old man, Denu, had been telling the truth — she had been worried about him. He thought of the bandage on his hand and studied her face carefully, the weariness in her bloodshot eyes. The heavy bags underneath. Had she stayed up to keep an eye on him? Had she dressed the self-inflicted wounds on his hand and then checked the other injuries as well? For some absurd reason, he knew she had. Despite her carefully distant demeanor, it was quite obvious she was not a person capable of cruelty. He himself knew what such people were like.

He swallowed the food in his mouth. "Thank you for the meal," he said with a tired sigh, his way of apologizing for his behavior.

She gave him a raised brow of surprise before her she quickly composed her expression into something more unreadable. "Think nothing of it, rider." He watched her carefully as her brow furrowed in thought. She folded her hands neatly in her lap. "What you overheard —"

"It doesn't matter," Murtagh said quickly, swallowing a mouthful of food before tearing another chunk of bread with his teeth. Before he even finished chewing, he took a large bite out of the fruit, the juices exploding on his tongue and running down his chin and into his beard. He didn't want to have this conversation. He just wanted to be left alone. "The man is simply being careful. He is wise."

Do we need a reason to be careful around you?"

Her voice was hard, but before she could compose her face, he saw it. It was brief, easily missed if one didn't know to look for it. But her caution, her wariness, was there, in her eyes, when she looked at him. Murtagh felt his cold indifference return, her nervousness a reminder of who he was to these people. A traitor and a murderer. A monster. "That depends on you, now doesn't it?"

"You would harm a defenseless village?"

"Only against my better judgement. As long as Thorn and I are allowed to leave freely, then I suspect my judgement will be just fine."

She rose slowly to her feet, her face expressionless. But her disdain was evident and the feeling was mutual. "I'll let you get some rest."

Her back was stiff as she walked, her hands tightly gripping the material of her skirt. Murtagh told himself it didn't matter what some remote village thought of him. He just wanted to heal and leave in peace. If inciting fear allowed him to do so, then so be it.

Aside from Thorn, it's not like he had much to lose anyway.