Hal thought she might lose him in the woods somewhere. She hoped to. But she was such a wreck that she had none of her speed or agility, stumbling through the forest like she had never seen it before. Granted, it was dark, she was crying, and she was now afraid of herself more than ever.

It didn't take Murtagh long to catch up, not that she had really gone far. She could still hear the ocean waves and smell the saltwater. But by the time she heard him crash through the brush, she had already collapsed. Already given up. His breathing was still rather smooth, probably the uptick was more from her surprise and accidental attack rather than running.

She should've known better than to think he'd let her get away so easily.

"You must wonder why you even bother," she said, her voice harsh and hollow, "dealing with such a pathetic hypocrite."

The air was thick, Murtagh's breathing having grown more strained.

"Do not give it power over you, Halen. Your fear is nothing to be ashamed of. It does not make you weak. But too much of it — I know. I know how frightening fear is when you can't control it. And you're like me, Hal: you need control, especially after it has been stripped from you." She let out a sob, the truth hitting her hard. "Give it life, Halen. Speak life into what keeps you up at night. Make it real. As real as you, or me, or Thorn. And then kill it."

She gasped, taking a shuddering breath. "I can't. I am not strong enough."

"Yes, you are, and yes you can. I will be right here, Hal. I will not leave your side. Just let it all go."

She cried even harder, the words fighting to make their way up her throat. She felt like she was going the throw them up all over the ground. She moaned at the agony of it all. Please, she wanted to beg of him. Don't make me do this.

She rocked back and forth, sobbing hysterically, running her fingers through her hair, digging her nails into her scalp. She felt like she was having a fit, just as Murtagh had on the beach.

And then she saw it.

It was the spirit again. She stared at it, somehow feeling as though it was only showing itself to her. It was brief, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Yet her sobs eased some, although her body still shook with the strain of it all. And an unsettling calm claimed her, the words finding her.

And finally, for the first time in twelve years, Hal began to tell her story.

…

The first few words were the hardest, getting stuck in her throat like rocks. But surprisingly, after a few sentences had pried themselves loose, the rest flowed a bit more smoothly. The words tasted like acid on her tongue all the same, but she continued to talk. Sometimes slow, sometimes fast, trying to get certain parts over with as quickly as possible. Sometimes she was so overwhelmed with emotion she had to stop and cry, just let it out before she could press forward. But she talked, and Murtagh listened, and she hardly paused for breath until she was done...

After I killed the soldier, after I blacked out, I'm not quite sure how much time passed or what all happened. I think it had only been a few hours, though. When I woke up, I was in my bed, back home. The first face I saw was my mother's, and she looked scared. For me. Of me. But she was there, along with my aunt. My aunt was taking care of both of us. I suspected my mother had told her what happened, all of it. She kept urging my mother to rest, to not walk so much. I once saw my mother take no more than five steps to reach for something on the dresser, and she limped the entire time. But whenever she caught me staring, she would smile so sweetly that even I was convinced everything would be okay.

Sometimes, I hate that I killed him.

Sometimes, I wish I had at least killed him slowly.

My sister came to keep me company. We just told her I was ill. My father was on a fishing trip with several other men, and wasn't due back until the next day. But then, the following morning, I heard my aunt tell my mother that they had found the body. I still wasn't feeling quite well, so my aunt told my mother to hide me. That we should go into the forest and wait it out. But we were too late.

They came straight for me while my mother was trying to grab supplies. They broke down the door of our hut. They hit my aunt and my mother, and then they grabbed me. I was so scared. I thought they meant to kill me right then and there. I fought and I screamed, begging my mother to not let them take me. My sister, as tiny a thing as she was, kept trying to pull them off and I was so afraid they'd hurt her too because she was so small. I didn't know what to do.

The man in charge, I didn't learn his name. All I remember was that he had cruel eyes. He told me that if I was, indeed, a magic user, he would spare the life of me and my family so that I may serve Galbatorix. He said the king had no desire to spill the blood of a magical user so long as they cooperated and swore fealty to him. I didn't know what to say, I was too scared to respond. So, I didn't. But he said I still must face punishment for my crimes. That he would make an example out of me. He never asked me if I killed the man. I never confessed to it. But I suppose he knew all he needed to know.

They tied me to a post. The commotion from my mother and aunt brought about practically the entire village. And I could see in everyone's face how scared they were of the soldiers. Because no one but my mother and aunt tried to help me, but their efforts proved futile.

I think I threw up before the whip even touched me. He had cracked it once, just for show, and I — even then I was so humiliated by my reaction that I wished I was dead instead. And the pain…I don't really remember blacking out. All I know was that the whipping had suddenly stopped, and there were screams. And I heard my father shouting, fighting with the soldier who was whipping me. I hadn't even seen him return, but he and the other men had heard what was happening. Some fought the guards, allowing my mother to cut me from the post just as my father killed the soldier.

The man in charge declared us all traitors. He said our actions meant we weren't even fit for a life of slavery. To deny the king is an immediate guilty charge. And our punishment was certain death.

Some of the villagers tried to fight back. But it all happened so…fast. It was like the soldiers had been waiting for this moment. They got atop their horses while some of the villagers went and armed themselves. But we never stood a chance. It was an instant slaughter.

My mother, father and I managed to break away from the initial attack. They were cutting down anyone who got too close to their weapons. But we lost Thea and my aunt in the crowd. My mother didn't want to leave without my sister but my father insisted she couldn't stay so long as she had me. We searched the hut, just in case, but they hadn't returned home.

Some of the villagers tried to barricade themselves in their huts. Hoped they could wait it out. But our homes were made of wood. So they got torched. Burned alive in their homes. To this day I can still smell the burning flesh. But I think the screams were worse. When people realized what was happening. And if you dared run out of your home, you were cut down immediately. Some tried to flee into the woods, but they were simply chased down by the horses.

My father snuck me and my mother out by the stables. It was the furthest point from where the soldiers had begun their attack, so a few people were attempting to escape the same way. He made my mother and me ride out to his fishing boat on the beach. Said he would meet us there. Promised he would find Thea and meet us there. But I never saw him again. I'd like to think he made it out. That he and Thea found each other and…but no one ever came for me. I waited right on the beach where you found me and no one ever came for me. So I don't know. So many people were dying, and the soldiers were hunting down everyone. So I don't know.

My mother rode hard and fast, but two soldiers spotted us. Our horse was faster, much more accustomed to the terrain, so we had a bit of an advantage. When we reached the beach, my mother put me in the boat and began pushing it out to sea. I kept telling her to get in, but she kept pushing. The soldiers found us, and they had bows and arrows. One narrowly missed me, but they hit my mother in the back. But she kept pushing. And they kept firing. I watched her take five arrows, and there was nothing I could do to stop any of them. I just let her die. There was no magic to save her now. It had gone as quickly as it had appeared. And at what cost?

I just knew the soldiers would come for me. Or any villagers who had survived. But no one ever did. I thought I would die in the boat, no food or water. And the water was so still and my back wasn't healed, so I couldn't move to even put my hand in the water and row myself to land. I just drifted there in the middle of the ocean. But there was a storm that wound up crashing my boat on Illium.

I never understood why my magic revealed itself in that moment. But the entire time my people were being trampled and gutted? Nothing. When I was being whipped? Nothing. All those people. Dead. Entire generations of families. Gone. My mother who died for me. My father, who killed for me. My six-year-old sister even tried to protect me. All of them, gone. Massacred in a single night because…my hand twitched.

I made a mistake. And I'm the only one who did not suffer for it. I'm the only one left to remember. Or perhaps, this isolation is simply my punishment. But I am all that remains of the Sani Village and of my people.

She exhaled.

…

It was so quiet. Not even the wind seemed eager to move.

"Murtagh?"

Silence. Then. "I'm still here."

The words made her choke. She stared up at the sky, realizing it was growing light. "How did Galbatorix die?"

She could hear him struggling to speak, to hide the fact that he was crying for her and her people, and she waited patiently for him to gather himself.

He cleared his throat. "A lot…uh…happened, all at once. But, because my name had changed, I was able to strip him of most of his wards. He was still strong though and, at first, we thought we had lost. But Eragon and the Eldunarya cast some kind of Empathy Spell. Every drop of fear and pain and hurt and rage he had ever caused, he felt. He felt it all. And it became too much for him, to bear witness to the suffering he had caused. He killed himself to stop the effects."

She inhaled, afraid of what would happen if she let her emotions get the best of her. "Did he hurt? In the end, did he hurt?"

"Of that, I have no doubt."

She waited to fill something. Anything. But there was no satisfaction to be found. No joy. No relief. His death did not lesson her pain or her heartache. In fact, his death meant nothing to her.

Her family was still dead.

And she opened her mouth and wailed for all that she had lost.

…

"You don't have to stay, you know," Hal mumbled, poking at the wood in the fire, a wholly unnecessary action since Murtagh had used magic to light it. She had blown on it, poked it, and sprinkled it with water. It hardly moved. But the heat it radiated was enormously pleasant.

Murtagh looked at her. "I know."

She sighed. "So then why are you still here?"

"I will return when you do," he said matter-of-factly.

She watched him carefully, but his expression remained even and unbothered. She shrugged. He could do as he wished.

They had made camp at the bank of the river, still not far from the beach. Hal had refused to return home, her mood still raw and vulnerable after what she had told Murtagh. But rather than go without her, he had stayed. It had been almost another three days, but no matter what she tried, Murtagh just shrugged her off.

I'm fine, honest.

Someone should let Denu know I'm okay.

People will think we've been dishonorable.

People will think we're dead.

But all he would say was, "Then tell them you're fine yourself." Then he would go back to whatever it was he was doing. Which wasn't much, since neither of them had planned to be gone so long. What few provisions they did have were ones Murtagh had thought to bring. Hal didn't even have her sketchbook. Or a book. If she wandered the woods to occupy her mind, Murtagh trailed behind at a distance that gave her privacy, but kept her within sight. Otherwise, she poked and messed with his fire, her mind empty and void of all thought. She didn't want to think. She just needed to be.

Murtagh took it all in stride. He followed her, regardless of how far she walked. And if she stayed near the camp, he practiced his swordsmanship or magic. Sometimes she ignored him. Sometimes her eyes followed his every move, like a predator tracking a prey. But whenever he glanced at her, she would deftly look away.

They hardly spoke. He would ask if she were hungry. She would say no. She would tell him to go home. A swift no. And then they would stew in silence for hours on end until they fell asleep. It wasn't the most hospitable atmosphere, but it wasn't hostile either. It simply was. And as they were both used to long periods of silence and contemplation, neither one felt any inclination to talk.

But on the third night, Hal, after returning from relieving herself, walked up to him and said, "I plan on going back tomorrow."

He didn't express much emotion. He just nodded. "All right then."

She gave a swift nod of her own, although for what purpose, she didn't know. As she turned away from him, however, he suddenly reached out and grabbed her hand. She meant to yank it back, her skin already beginning to grow hot from where he touched her. Wanting. And she had no desire for her mind to be muddled along with everything else consuming her. But before she could, he turned her hand over, revealing her palm. He pressed his lips to it, quickly, as if he knew she would protest anything further. Then he curled her fingers inward, as if the very nature of it would somehow preserve the kiss in her hand. His smile was gentle and kind. More than she deserved.

More than she could bear.

He released her just as she moved to snatch it back, shaken by such a minor interaction that she stumbled away from him. "I'm going to wash off in the river before dinner," she said, forgetting she had no towel, soap, or change of clothes.

She was rather surprised he didn't follow, and somewhat relieved as well. And annoyed. But also grateful. They had kept their distance from each other the last few days. And while her heart ached, it kept her clear-headed. Overall, she was still smarting from her memories. Still raw from her own fear of failure. Her own, selfish desire to be more than what she was.

She was not prepared to face him just yet.

She paced the river's edge impatiently, more anxious to return to the campsite than she would have thought. But her hunger eventually won out, and after a while she did return. There was a bowl of stew waiting on the opposite side of the fire and Hal quietly went to it. There was a noticeable absence as she sat down.

"Where's Thorn?"

"He returned to the village. To let Denu know that you are okay, that we are not having sex, and that we are not dead."

Her glare cut through the fire but Murtagh smiled. "He also went to find his own meal."

She stared at her dinner.

"Your food will go cold," Murtagh offered, his voice less teasing. She could hear his concern, but Hal ignored it.

"Why did you leave her?" she blurted. He looked up at her in surprise, his eyes wide at the question. Hal clutched the bowl tightly in her hands, feeling the heat in her fingers.

Realizing she was adamant about hearing a response, he leaned back. "I've already told you. It would not have worked."

"But you said you loved her. Was all truly so hopeless?"

His shoulders became heavy with her line of questioning. He looked like he had little desire to discuss Nasuada, but Hal could not help but feel a strange wonderment as to the kind of woman who had so captured his heart.

"What was she like?" Hal asked, hoping perhaps it was an easier question for him to answer.

He sighed, as though realizing Hal had no intention of dropping the subject. "She was…strong. Of both mind and body. And she was compassionate, even to me. As both friend and foe of the Varden. I was quickly taken by her — partially and probably because of this — although I did not realize how strong my affections had become until I had to take her to be tortured by Galbatorix. Even then, she did not yield to him as many had done before her. And I would do my best to minimize her suffering, and visited her as often as I could without arousing suspicion. It was during that time that I told her how I felt although, I presumed she already knew.

"She could not forgive me, for what I had done. Even though she understood that it was not my choice. Maybe…maybe in time, she would have changed her mind. Maybe not. But our paths were not meant to cross in that way. She was meant to bring about a new age for Alagaësia. And perhaps she would have someday wanted me by her side. But she could not have both me and the crown. Alagaësia needed her, much more than I. And in that new world, there was no place for me and Thorn. No place for me by her side."

"And you have accepted that?" Hal inquired, trying to understand.

His gaze became more assured. Hal reeled back in surprise. "I have."

"You have?"

"You think I mean to deceive you?"

"I think — I don't know what to think," she admitted. She stared at her bowl, still warm. And she was still hungry. And yet the thought of eating when her stomach was in such knots…

Murtagh was suddenly kneeling before her, carefully removing the bowl from her hands and setting it to the side. He took her hands in his, his eyes boring into hers. Full of more certainty than Hal was currently feeling at the moment.

"You think I regret my choice," he continued, his voice full of sorrow when he realized the truth. "Or that I someday will."

"How could you not?" Tears filled her eyes, doubt and jealousy feeding a monster she had never had to deal with before. "If you loved her, why did you not stay? If she was so wonderful, why did you not fight for her?"

"Halen —"

"How could you possibly compare someone like me to someone like her? How could you possibly want me after loving someone like her?"

She could barely see past her tears, and Murtagh leaned forward to cup her face, smoothing down her hair and attempting to wipe her tears as they fell. He murmured her name repeatedly, trying to comfort her. She wiped her nose, sniffing and attempting to get a hold of herself.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she snapped. "Just please…answer the question."

She could not fathom why she desperately needed a response from him. But she held her ground all the same. Murtagh gripped her tightly, but he soon released her, pulling his hands back down to his lap. Hal wringed her hands anxiously.

"Those words," he said slowly, "were spoken when I did not know you as I do now. It was foolish to compare the two of you. And unfair."

Hal nodded. She had suspected as much. It took a weight off her, although she did not feel any better for it.

"Nasuada was meant to lead Alagaësia," he went on. "That was what she wanted. She no more chose me than I chose her."

"And it's as simple as that?"

"Why does it have to be difficult?" Hal didn't answer. Murtagh huffed, and Hal could tell he was becoming frustrated. She felt petty and childish and was about to tell him to forget she said anything when he spoke again. "She didn't choose me," he repeated. He spoke carefully, each word articulated slowly as if he were processing them as he was saying them. "And I didn't choose her. Therefore, there was nothing to fight for. No relationship. Nothing. My affections for her, in the end, were just that. You cannot build a life together with someone based on affection and love alone. If I had stayed, it would have been on the hope that one day she would come to see me as someone she could lay beside. Someone she could marry. But the trust — the time it would have taken to rebuild that trust may have never come to pass. And despite my love, I could not risk my freedom, or Thorn's, on hope. I would not. Leaving was the best option for both of us, in the end.

"And no, I do not have any regrets. Maybe, a few years ago, I would have spoken differently. Maybe even a few months ago." He took her face in his hands once more, and Hal was stunned to hear the emotion in his voice, to see it in his eyes. She had made him cry again. "But Halen. My Halen. You have brought me so much joy, and peace, and laughter when I thought there was none left in the world for a man such as me. And on that beach, when you told me that you would be there for me, when you said it again in the Ancient Language, you gave me the one thing Nasuada never could: you chose me, Halen."

He had practically pulled her into his body, nesting her between his legs. Hal didn't even recall moving. She could not tear her eyes away from his. He brushed his nose against hers, his lips brushing the skin of her cheeks and jaw. And she immediately forgot that she had been keeping her distance from him. How quickly and easily she had become undone by him.

"And you were the reason I stayed on Illium," he continued, his voice wrapping around her like silk. "I was being a stubborn ass about it, but — my heart couldn't bear the thought of being separated from you any longer than necessary."

"I told you not to stay because of me!"

He laughed shaking his head. "I stayed for you, Halen. Not because. I chose you. I wanted you. I needed you in my life. I wanted to laugh with you, and argue with you, and watch you continue to grow as a fighter, and watch you read, and study magic, and talk with Thorn and our friends. I wanted to see your smiles and the irritated look you give me when I get on your nerves —"

She glared at him.

"That's the one." He kissed her forehead. "Do not compare yourself to Nasuada," he added in a low voice, pulling her in close so that his lips brushed against hers. She shivered in delight, feeling the warmth pool in her belly in anticipation. "Regardless of what accomplishments you perceive as important, you will always be the woman who dove into the ocean to save my life. The woman who spent hours practicing magic and swordsmanship so that she may protect her people. And the woman who led a group of Ra'zac out of a village so that no further harm would come to it. From where I am standing, you have just as much heart and courage as any queen or dragon rider. And it is because you are neither that I am choosing you. And I will always choose you, Halen."

Hal's resolve crumbled. Crying, she leaned forward and kissed him with a hunger that felt almost too big for body. Every touch and every kiss she had denied herself had come to claim some part of him. Her tears fell onto his cheeks as she used her position of sitting in his lap to carefully push him backwards until he was pressed against the grass. His body was hard under hers as she straddled his hips, never once breaking their kiss.

Her body was hot, bursting at the seams and ready to become undone. Everything felt precarious. One move and she would snap. Murtagh deftly rolled her over, pushing his knee between her legs as her name fell from his lips between breathtaking kisses. He held one arm under her head to cushion it, pressing their bodies together so tightly that Hal was rolling her hips to try and maximize the contact. Her fingers pushed up the hem of his shirt, her hands running up and down the length of his back, his skin delightfully warm and taut. She could feel how the muscles in his upper back moved, stretching and pulling as he ran his hands along the curves of her body, groping and kneading the tender flesh of her breasts through her top until she was moaning in his mouth.

She gasped softly as his lips trailed kisses from her mouth to her neck, his teeth nibbling, his tongue tasting. He ran his lips down her chest, her skin burning even through her top. But she wanted to feel his kisses on her skin. He kissed her between the valley of her breasts and down her stomach, finally slowing to a stop where he looked up to observe what he had created.

Hal's cheeks were stained with her tears, which had only just begun to slow in the throes of lust. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, eyes shining in the fire at the pleasant burn coursing through her body. Her skirt was hiked up to her thighs, and Murtagh was running his fingers gently along the skin on the inside of her legs, the temptation to finish what he had started overwhelming.

Hal felt dizzy as she tried to calm her breathing, shivering and shaking at every touch on her bare skin. She wanted him. Desperately.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, his voice breathless as he stared at her. "Everything about you: your mind, your spirit, your heart…you are as beautiful inside as you are out, Halen."

He slowly crawled back on top of her, his grey eyes enchanting as he laid down beside her. Hal turned to face him, her mind still a flurry of emotions and feelings that she tucked away to sort through later. For right now, all she knew was him. And for right now, he was enough.

As she felt her body begin to relax, Murtagh's fingers smoothing the hair from her face in a tantalizing manner, she said, "Thank you, Murtagh, for staying. Not just here, on Illium, but with me, these last few days. I don't know what happened I just suddenly felt so lost and alone. I felt like I was suffocating. I felt like a failure and I panicked."

"Because of what happened at Berjis' village?"

"Because of everything! I was doubting every little thing I was doing, picking it apart until there was nothing left." She rolled onto her back, her tears running into her hairline. But she focused on the nighttime sky peeking between the trees. Focused on Murtagh's hand on her stomach. She took a few deep breaths. "I thought…" She wanted to tell him about the spirit. About how she had hoped it had been a member of her dead village. But after sharing her story, she knew she wasn't quite ready, and backpedaled quickly. "I think I can use magic without the Ancient Language."

He shuffled beside her. "I know."

She looked over at him in surprise. "You do?"

"You did hit me with a ball of air without saying anything." His voice was teasing, but Hal felt shame at her own lack of control. She looked away from him but he only pressed his lips to her ear, trailing kisses down her jaw. "Please don't be upset. I know you would never hurt me."

"I could have. It's not funny —"

"You wouldn't. I know you." He sounded so self-assured and confident that Hal only shook her head, not bothering to argue with him. "And I suspect you did not use the Ancient Language when you broke off that chunk of the cliff with the Ra'zac."

"No," she said in a low voice.

He nodded. "It is unusual, I will not lie to you. It seems like you do not typically use magic without the Ancient Language unless your emotions get the best of you, but still, try to keep the language in mind when you can." She nodded slowly. "But we will figure it out, Hal. Do you trust me?"

She looked at him. "Of course I do."

"Then hear me carefully when I say this, Halen Zarasdaughter" — she shivered, realizing she had not heard her full name in twelve years, and there was a power in it, a reclaiming of an identity she had let go of — "no longer do I want you to feel trapped by your fears. Use me. Whether it is your past or your magic or something else — if you must run, run to me. We are stronger together. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you."

His gaze softened. "Then also know this: there is no blood on your hands. What's happening right now, what happened to the Xano Village, was not your fault. What happened to the Sani people — your people — wasn't your fault," he said tightly. "None of what is happening is your fault. The Shade and the Raz'ac did this. Galbatorix did this. His soldiers did this. There is no blood on your hands, Halen. Look at me." She begrudgingly met his gaze as he stroked her cheek. "You have done nothing wrong. And I am not so arrogant as to assume my words will make your pain go away. But you know that I have never lied to you. And I will not start now: there is no blood on your hands. Say it."

Hal looked at him with wild eyes, unsure she had heard him correctly. He gave her a knowing look and she licked her lips.

"Say it, Halen," he repeated, his voice firm but gentle.

She hesitated for what felt like a lifetime. For every second that passed was a second she had internalized the very opposite. Murtagh could see her desire for relief from her demons with her habits clashing as she tried to cover her eyes with her hand. But he wouldn't have that. He wanted her to look into his eyes.

"There's no blood on your hands," he told her.

She swallowed. "There's…no blood on my hands?"

He smiled encouragingly. "Again."

She swallowed. "There's no blood on my hands."

"Again."

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she fought to maintain her composure. "There's no blood on my hands." A shuddering breath. "There's no blood on my hands." A choked sob. "There's n-no bl-blood on my hands. There's no blood on my hands. There's no blood on my hands. There's no —"

He cut her off with a searing kiss and she let out a small sound of surprise before responding to him. When he pulled away, he laid his forehead against her, his own tears splashing onto her cheeks. "Oh Halen," he breathed. "My Halen."

Hal decided to let herself get lost in him, if only for a few more hours. Never mind how he muddled her thoughts, how she felt herself letting go of her inhibitions in an effort to hear her name fall from his lips like it was the taste of water after a drought. She wanted to run her fingers though his hair, feel his hands on her skin. She never wanted to hear her name fall from another's lips the way it did his. Never wanted to imagine that anyone else could make her feel the way Murtagh made her feel in this moment.

For the longest time, when it came to her feelings for Murtagh, it had felt like teetering back and forth over the edge of a cliff. She had never liked the idea of falling, preferring the option where her feet were firmly planted on the ground.

But she had fallen. Dived, actually, towards the water on the wings of a dragon. And she hadn't felt frightened.

She'd felt a rush.

And she wanted to feel that again, with Murtagh. Wanted to know what it was like to completely let herself go. To bask in the insanity of her emotions. To make real her fear of losing him and use it to hold him tighter, not push him away.

So, she took a leap of faith, and threw herself over the edge.