Despite the ample warning, nothing could have prepared Murtagh for what he would endure for the next several days while Hal was sick. Mennes was right in that the tea would keep her knocked out, but it must've put her in such a deep slumber that when the nightmares returned on the very first night, nothing Murtagh did woke her. Absolutely nothing.

He had decided to sleep in a chair in the corner of her room, not wanting to stray too far while also allowing Denu to rest more comfortably in his room. The first few whimpers had quickly woken him up, but he thought nothing of them and returned to sleep, his neck already feeling crooked from the way his head had fallen.

He jumped when the first scream shocked his system, but it was not as it was the first night when he felt his blood run cold. He hated to admit that he had become accustomed to her night terrors and fits, but he still empathized with Hal's plight. He groggily rose to his feet as Hal thrashed and moaned on the bed.

She let out a keening cry, but that's not what made him freeze. She arched as though in pain and said the one thing he had never heard her utter since they had met.

"MAMA!"

Murtagh shook his head of the shock, pinning her down with an unfortunately practiced ease, knowing exactly where to grip her arms, place his knees, and situate his hips so that she could not move nor buck him off. She cried and wailed as he began to tell the usual story. Occasionally he had mixed things up, replacing a ride with Nani with a ride with Thorn, using imagery from his flights to fuel the story, wondering if they reached her at all.

"She won't wake," Denu said suddenly from the doorway, appearing exhausted and weary.

Murtagh stopped to look at the man. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, the tea is a drug, and a strong one at that. It puts her in such a deep sleep that we have never been able to wake her from whatever it is that haunts her. I suspect it is part of the reason she does not admit when she is ill. The herbs Mennes uses are impeccable in terms of healing capabilities, and it is our only option with this kind of sickness. But as a result…"

"MAMA! DON'T LET THEM TAKE ME! MAMA!"

Denu's eyes burned with tears and he turned away, unable to hear anymore. Not again, after so many years of it. But Murtagh would shoulder that burden for him. For Hal. And so, he continued his story, and when it didn't work, he told it to her again. He spoke until his voice was hoarse and his throat dry, grateful when Denu brought him cup after cup of water to relive his parched mouth.

He did this for four days and four nights, as unrelenting as her dreams. Eventually he stopped pinning her down, finding a way to wrap his arms around her shoulder and his legs around her ankles so that he could keep her from attacking him without making it seem like he was trapping her. And she would scream and cry for a family that was apparently long dead. Some moments he thought she was reliving her torture by the Ra'zac instead, but he couldn't be sure.

He slept very little, if at all. And when she woke, she was so out of it he wondered if she remembered any of it. Her gaze was so empty and distant; he suspected she held on to fragments of what she endured even after it was over.

Murtagh took care to wash her body like he and Mennes had the first day, wiping the sweat off her skin and the dried tears from her face. On the morning of the fifth day, he did the same thing, head drooping from another sleepless night. But he shook it off. All he had to do was remember how Hal had done the same thing for him when she saved him from the ocean to keep him going. She had been unrelenting in her care for him for damn near a month, and still cared for him even now. Preparing the meals, even hunting the meat and picking the fruit and seasonings she used, washing the laundry — including his own — cleaning the hut, on top of her duties of watching the children, plus the time she still managed to take to give her lessons proper attention.

So, he would endure this, as she had endured it, and then some.

He did not flush as much as he used to as he washed her, running the rag across her forehead, dampening her lips so that they did not dry, wiping away the beads of sweat on her chest. He realized he had no reason to be embarrassed, just as Hal likely hadn't been when she had seen him undressed. She had a duty to his well-being then, and that same duty drove him to put foolish thoughts aside. And her usual blunt candor about it now made sense.

However, he could not help but pause, once more, at the scars on her fingers from where the Ra'zac had broken them. He still hated that he had not been strong enough to heal them properly. He had tried to correct this since, but Hal denied him every time. "As long as I can use my hand, I don't care about something as vain as scarring."

Seeing the rest of the scars on her body, her words made much more sense. But he also knew how much it hurt to look at something that reminded you of a pain inflicted on you. And he hadn't wanted that for Hal. He still didn't.

He ran his fingers over the scarring, consumed with rage and regret as he remembered how horrified he had been, the state he had found her in. The emptiness in her eyes, like she had lost all semblance of hope when she realized that was no mercy to be found at the hands of the Ra'zac. That fire had slowly been returning, and he did not think it arrogant to credit her work during his lessons. Whenever he had praised her, whenever she had mastered a lesson, he had seen that fragment of passion and confidence return, even if only for a moment. Her successes had fueled him as well, because the sight of her joy brought him peace.

Her fingers suddenly tightened around his hand, holding it. His head snapped up to find her watching him, her smile pained. Her gaze looked clearer and more focused than it had in a while, but there was a lingering sadness there, as if she knew what he had been thinking about.

Relief stirred in him as he clutched her hand in his, pulling it to his chest as he moved closer. He pushed her hair from her face, the strands damp from his rag. And he did this continuously, unconsciously. He stroked the side of her temple, looking at her as if she had been comatose and was waking up for the first time in months.

"How are you feeling?"

She slowly shook her head, the tears welling up in her eyes as her face began to contort with the pain of her anguish. She quickly covered her eyes with her free hand. He didn't know what she was feeling — how could he possibly? But her pain twisted something inside of him. After the last few nights, nothing about her was as it seemed. At least not to him. But he didn't want to see her suffer. Not anymore.

"You're safe, Hal," he reminded her, continuing to stroke her hair. He would not tell her don't cry. She had every reason to after what she had to relive. But he would not let anything else happen to her. He would make sure her nightmares remained just that. He had to. He did not think he could endure what he had felt that moment her life had slipped away in front of him. That panic and desperation had driven him to this point. He would not give up on her now.

"You're safe," he repeated quietly. "You're safe."

She began to calm down, her body growing slack. She sniffed, wiping her face. When she met his gaze again, it was with a bashful look that made his cheeks hot.

"Rider?"

Her voice was weak, and the sound of it made him move, sitting up to go fetch her some water. But she stopped him, gripping his hand tightly and squeezing the fingers, almost like she feared what would happen if he left. She quickly released him, as if realizing what she had done, the message she had conveyed without meaning to. But it was enough for him, and he resumed his spot by her side, watching as her shoulders grew slack when he began to stroke her hair again.

"Rider?" she repeated again.

"Hmm?"

"Tell me about the dwarves."

…

Murtagh didn't remember falling asleep. He had been telling Hal of dwarves and elves and Urugals and other creatures she had never before seen. She asked no questions, which was a first. Instead, she listened intently, her eyes wide like a child being told a story. He felt this intense sort of expectation to make everything sound as interesting as possible. Yet at the same time, Hal was always such a thoughtful listener that he could've been drawling on about the rate at which grass grows and felt she would've carried the same level of attentiveness.

Yet somewhere in there, his body had grown weak with exhaustion, perhaps bored by his own stories even though Hal was not. His head would fall, and he would jerk with a sudden awareness and apologize before continuing where he left off. But then she had smiled at him, perhaps one of the sweetest, softest smiles he had ever beheld. And she had begun to stroke his hair, pushing it back from his face in a soothing manner, just like what he had done for her.

And now he was waking up.

In Hal's bed.

He swore to himself, unsure of how much time had passed. It was dark. Dammit all. He was in so much trouble. He tried to extract himself, but Hal had gotten tangled up in him. His arm was under her neck, his body practically covering her as though to shield her from some unknown attack. More embarrassingly was the one leg he had thrown over hers, which allowed Hal to nestle herself in even tighter into the crux of his body.

When he pulled away, she moved in closer, attracted to the heat of his body. He paused at the tiny gesture, realizing he didn't want to wake her either. She was actually sleeping. Peacefully. And after a few minutes of arguing with himself, he laid back down, facing her.

He dared raise his hand, hesitating, nervous. But something about her was drawing him in, and it was stronger now than ever before. He swallowed. Then he resumed stroking her hair, imagining that, if any nightmares had crept close to her while she slept, the gesture would scare them away.

She moved closer to him, gripping the material of his shirt and letting him know that she was not as asleep as he had thought. Yet he didn't feel embarrassed. At this point, what was left to be embarrassed about? All they had endured together, all they had learned about each other in such a rushed amount of time. It was unconventional, he knew. But neither of them had grown up with anything close to conventional so, perhaps, this was the next best thing.

In that moment, he decided to stop fighting it. He pulled her in, wrapping his other arm around her shoulders. And she responded almost immediately, her arms going around his waist. Her fingers tightly fisted the back of his tunic and his hold on her tightened. He could feel it then, the connection he had felt with her ever since he had touched her mind.

Come to me, Halen.

To me...

He wasn't sure why it felt like things had shifted, but they had. These last few days…she was not just someone who had been tortured. She was someone who was haunted, by memories and pain and regret that had been inflicted on her by others. Her screams, her cries, and, even more so, her silence, were proof of that. He realized that, with Hal, it was not what she said, but what she didn't. She was private about her past. Private about what the Ra'zac had done to her in that cave. Private about being so severely ill.

And not, he was realizing, because she was proud or foolish. Although those factors did contribute. No, her silence stemmed from the trauma that picked at the soul of a child who had never come to grips with it. She still harbored deep, emotional connections to that pain. Probably because she was still holding on to the people, the family, she had lost. And even now, she still struggled to let others in.

He knew, because he was doing the same, damn thing.

Like calls to like, Amon had said. How perceptive the man had been, even all those months ago. Only now did Murtagh realize how emotionally drawn to Hal he had been, even from the beginning. Now it felt like it had been confirmed. And although he would not wish this kind of loneliness on anyone, there was a comfort to be found in her arms knowing that she understood what it meant to be trapped in your head. Trapped in your memories. And unable to forgive yourself for the pain you caused as a result. And to hold her now, and to be held in return, felt like they had both finally allowed themselves to admit what had been hanging there for a while now.

What this meant for him in the long-run, he did not know. He wasn't supposed to get attached. He had wanted to handle his business and leave. Yet he knew, thinking back, he had sealed his fate the second he had gone after her in that cave. No, he realized. The second he had invited himself and Thorn on her quest.

Whatever happened, happened. But at least, for once, he would be in control of his own fate.

…

Hal was finally sitting up in bed on the morning of the sixth day. She was eager to get out and stretch her legs before she developed sores on her back, but Denu had already warned her that she would wait until Mennes cleared her. And she knew she was in no position to argue with Mennes. She loathed facing him now that she was coherent.

She read from one of her worn, little books. It was a book of poetry, not one of her sketchbooks. She didn't know the author, the name had been worn off the cover by the time the book had been gifted to her by Ayo, after he had returned from the mainland with a few others for trade purposes.

But, perhaps, 'read' was not the right word. She had been reading the same sentence for almost an hour. Focused, instead, on the rider's soft, dark hair as it fell between her fingers. She had been stroking it since he had fallen back asleep. He had moved off her bed, the proper thing to do although she missed the warmth of him — which made her rather flustered. But he had moved his chair to her bedside, keeping close, as he had folded his arms across her cot and rested his head there. She had started to stroke his hair then, and he had fallen asleep not long after. She felt no desire to stop, but her heart raced as such intimacy that had blossomed between them literally overnight. Although, she supposed, the tension had been brewing for a while, ever since the Ra'zac had taken her.

The door slowly swung open as Denu poked his head in. She knew he would hear Murtagh's smooth, even breaths and know better than to wake him. Denu crept in quietly with a bowl of broth and some fruit. Hal lowered her book to her lap, feeling famished just looking at the light meal.

"How are you feeling, love?"

Ashamed. Exhausted. Confused. Sad. "Still…tired," was all she could manage.

Denu nodded and she continued to stroke Murtagh's hair away from his face, grateful Denu could not see so that she did not have to stop. "How long has he been asleep?"

"Not long. I'm trying to keep him out as long as possible."

There was a long pause as Denu hovered over the bed thoughtfully, setting the tray down on the smaller table beside her. Finally, he said, "He is not what I expected."

"I told you he would not be slaughtering any villages."

The old man shook his head. "Not that — although yes, that too. I meant just his overall…persistence. Amon tells me he is always the first one on site, ready to work, and last to leave. Not to mention…"

When the pause went on far longer than Hal cared for it to, she said, "What Denu?"

"I don't mean to embarrass you," he exclaimed. "But I was going to say he's also very attentive to you as well."

Hal slowed in her movements. "How so?" She had an inkling, but the last several days were foggy, distant. She hoped to glean some additional information about what may or may not have happened, especially if it impacted the rider's perception of her.

"The last few days, he has not left your side. Not once. And even before then, whenever you had one of your nightmares, by the time I got to you, he was already holding you down, already telling the same story we always do to bring you back to us. He's more or less memorized it already. And his voice is so…tender. I almost felt like I'm intruding."

Hal's face was hot, but she tried to sound nonchalant as she muttered, "You're ridiculous, old man."

The man chuckled. "I said I didn't want to embarrass you, didn't I?" He had. And she was rather embarrassed. Especially considering Hal had somewhat taken advantage of his attentiveness last night when he had fallen asleep mid-sentence. And he had collapsed onto the space beside her, and she had watched him as he slept, studying his face with a maddening blush on her cheeks. She didn't want to wake him, and had kept so still, so quiet, until she had fallen asleep as well. And when she had woken up with his body flush against hers, when they had held each other in silent understanding and mutual respect, Hal had felt something. She didn't know what it was, but she was grateful to Murtagh, for staying by her side. For making her feel less alone. "It seems he is worried about you, much how you worried over him when he was injured."

Yet she felt like more of a burden. A nuisance. He could not control his injuries. And she felt like she should be able to control her dreams. Yet she hadn't. She should've told Mennes as soon as she had been feeling the familiar symptoms of sickness — or at least Murtagh so that he could have halted their practices. But she hadn't. She couldn't. But either way, she had lost precious days of lessons. Although…she looked down at Murtagh and felt her body grow hot again at the thought of how close they had been last night. It was far from appropriate, scandalous even, and yet she could not make herself care. Add to that how bashful yet determined he had been to take care of her, washing the sweat from her skin especially, and Hal was finding it rather difficult to regret her sickness.

"I will be sure to thank him then," she said with finality, ending the conversation. "I'll figure out a proper way to repay him."

Hal kept putting off the conversation with the rider for as long as she could stomach. She did not know how to broach the subject of her nightmares, as they were not part of their conversations in the slightest. He did not mention anything either. But she felt indebted to him, considering it no small feat that he felt any sort of obligation to help her in a time of such distress. And that he was taking so much pressure off Denu really struck a chord with her, and she wanted to find some way to thank him properly. She was rarely ever so sentimental. She often took on tasks for others as a way to show her gratitude. She doubted, after the stunt she had just pulled, the rider would accept the same token. In the meantime, all she could think to do was throw herself into her studies and continue to take her lessons seriously when they finally started back up again.

Eventually, she made up her mind. Hal wasn't sure what she hoped to accomplish — she wasn't even confident it was fitting. But very early in the morning, when the moon and stars were still out, she fetched Nani and another horse from the stables before waking Thorn and then going to wake Murtagh.

She felt guilty, for he looked somewhat relaxed in his sleep (she had actually managed to sleep through the night). He slept on his stomach, his hands tucked under his pillow. His hair was in his face, falling into his eyes. She found herself smiling as she kneeled down. "Rider," she whispered. Nothing. "Rider, wake up." Still no sign of movement. She poked him, and he stirred, but only just. She swallowed nervously, leaning close to his ear. "Murtagh."

His eyes flew open before finding hers, staring in confusion and exhaustion. "Hal?"

"Get up. We're leaving. And hurry, we have a lot of ground to cover. Thorn's already up and waiting."

"Wait, what? Where are we going? What's going on?"

She had to close her eyes, feeling a surprisingly pleasant chill at how gruff he sounded waking up. He was often awake by the time she usually spoke to him in the morning and much more coherent. "Come along rider, there's no time to waste."

No one was up, not even Denu. Hal led Murtagh and Thorn carefully through the woods. Murtagh was quiet, trying not to fall asleep in the saddle.

It began to grow light enough that she could just make out what was in front of them. Realizing then the time, she urged Nani forward rather suddenly, grateful she had saddled Murtagh a steed able to keep up with her in such thickets. The air thinned somewhat as the elevation steadily rose. He followed quietly, leaving Hal to wonder why she was so desperate to find a proper thank you gift for someone she was desperately trying to distance herself from. Well she hadn't really tried. And now? She didn't really want to.

"What on earth —?" said Murtagh, breathing wildly as he finally caught up with Hal, who had dismounted and was tying Nani to a small tree. Murtagh followed her lead, pestering Hal with questions until she spun on her heel.

But all she did was press her fingers to his lips to silence him. He was shocked, but it had the desired effect. Hal hesitated for a moment, then she held out her hand. He stared at her as though she were mad, but she stood there, her hand out.

He took it.

She breathed, turning on her heel to lead him through a thick, tricky patch of branches, vines, and bushes. It got darker, hence why she had held out her hand. He would easily lose her, and his grip on her reminded Hal to move slowly. But she found the warmth in his fingers soothing. He never touched her without reason, and she couldn't help but recall the times he had. How strong his hands had seemed, healing her wounds or comforting her.

It was several minutes before they emerged in a small clearing where the forest seemed to continue as normal. But the landscape was steep, and Hal sucked in her breath as the sky grew faint. "Hurry," she said, and then she squeezed his hand and pulled him forward.

Running up the cliff was not an easy task, but fortunately they were both fit and quick on their feet. Hal was panting, but she found herself smiling as they neared the edge. They were both breathless when they reached the top, doubled over breathing. Thorn was already waiting for them, and Hal was happy to know her directions had made sense — that or he had simply figured it out on his own.

"What has gotten into you?"

But she was already moving, still gripping his hand as she moved him carefully along the rocks. They were mere breadths from the edge, from tumbling down into the water. Hal found a spot where she snaked her arm around a tree, standing. Murtagh sat down, able to rest his feet on an alcove of rock below. "What are we doing here?"

"Just watch."

"Hal —"

"I said," she gripped his chin, "watch."

She was forcing his gaze across the ocean, and they waited, some more patiently than others. She was sure he knew what he would see when he realized where they were, the direction they were facing. But when the sun finally broke across the horizon, he sucked in his breath and Hal smiled, sitting down beside him.

"This is the highest point of elevation on the island," Hal said proudly, as if she had created it from the earth herself.

That was all she said, for she did not need to explain further. The sun seemed to rise rapidly in the sky, hence, why she rushed them. She had seen this view quite a few times on her own when her sleepless nights caused her to wander the island on her own. It was something she felt Murtagh should see. Something she wanted him to see, in fact.

The vibrant colors of the sky, the mist over the water, the stars still in the sky slowly vanishing as the light took over its duty for the day. The animals emerged from their nests, bringing gentle noises of wakefulness. And they watched in silence as the island came to life. The sun was already warming their faces, and Hal leaned in, wishing she could fly into it. She breathed in the dew on the grass and moss, listened to the birds chirping their sweet melodies, and then she looked at Murtagh.

He was staring at the view beyond them, awestruck. She smiled, feeling her lips stretch across her face in the brightest smile she could give another person. This feeling, this joy she felt staring at the only magic she had ever known — and needed — made her feel whole. It was an emotion that, try as she might, she knew she could not hide, not even from him. So, she did not attempt to do so.

"I found this spot at the lowest moment of my life," she admitted slowly, staring ahead. "And it stirred something in me I had not felt in quite some time. Watching dawn break — watching the world start over with a new day with such beauty and grandeur. I find peace at this spot. Clarity. Purpose. Magic, can do amazing things. Man and other living creatures, can do amazing things. But this…we are not capable of this. Magic cannot replicate what nature produces on its own."

He swallowed. "Why are you showing us this?"

She licked her lips slowly, taking a shuddering breath. "I cannot offer you much, as a way to thank you for all you have done these last few weeks."

"Hal —"

"No, please, let me finish." He slammed his mouth shut. "These last few months have been really…hard." Her voice broke on the word, but she fought against her emotions, trying to remain calm. She breathed. "And for you and Thorn to have been there for me, means everything to me, rider. Denu too. And I cannot offer you much. But I can offer you this. A bit of peace and beauty that has brought me hope even in my darkest days. I hope it may do the same for you."

His expression briefly twisted with emotion; then, with tears streaming down his face, he began to laugh. It was clear and radiant, light and free. So different from the burdened weight he seemed to carry day in and day out. His tears were ones of happiness, that much she knew. And his smile…his smile reached his eyes, his face as warm as the sunrise they watched. Oh, how it transformed him completely. It hurt to watch, to know how rare this kind of smile must be, and she studied every curve and dimple and wrinkle around his eyes, committing them to precious memory. She would tuck this expression away, pretend that it was for her and her alone.

Thorn crooned loudly, scaring a family of birds in the trees overhead. Murtagh laughed again, but it was softer as he wiped his eyes.

"May I ask what you are thinking?"

He looked over at her, the ghost of a smile still on his face. "I am thinking," he said slowly, "that in all of my years, no one has ever given me a gift, let alone one as beautiful as this. Something precious to them as a token to me. And I can't help…" His eyes began to water, but this time, his face was twisted in pain, the hurt returning. "I can't help but wonder at the miserable existence I had led before this. And how you still see fit to treat me like a human being even though I do not deserve it."

His answer stunned her, and his breakdown shook her to her core. Hal unfurled without thinking, rushing to his side but he stopped her. "I'm fine. I promise, I just…" Now he sounded like her, muttering nonsense in an attempt to downplay true emotional outbursts. But he did calm down, and as he did, he took her hands in his.

"This is the greatest gift I have ever received, Hal." He flashed her that smile again and she felt her heart skip a beat. "Thank you."