"Until he dies."

"He's been beaten utterly senseless."

"They aren't done beating him yet."

"Don't worry, sweetheart, it's all over now. We've beaten him until he dies."

"The bear is coming, get the net! Fire will kill it!"

"Burn it, burn it, burn it!"

"You cannot trick a bear."

"Why don't I just grab a hare?"

"Don't worry, sweetheart, we're going to gently kill them all. They'll be fine."

"Shoot it! Shoot it! Shoot 'em all!"

"The prairie is on fire!"

"Cut…here."

"Perhaps I should send you to your father."

Lyra woke up.

The dreams had been a jumbled mess of half memories and fear; some parts so real she could smell the blood splattered from Mr. Lee's exploded head (and that never happened, and the dream changed through sheer force of will, but then Mr. Lee was still bleeding and dying and that part was real), and some parts vague, more feeling than sight or sound, the sure knowledge that Iorek was dead and Mr. Lee was dead and Hester was dead (and in the dream, there was a small hare body, like there never would be in reality).

Lyra was a master storyteller, and her every instinct said she should have woken up screaming. Instead, she woke up silently, without stirring, without opening her eyes, while the residue of fear paralyzed her.

She could still hear her mother's words, spoken so clearly she was not convinced she hadn't heard them with her waking ears.

She did not dare to move. That was how nightmares usually took her; no dramatics, no screams or tears, just a terror in the dark and then lying still and frozen and awake, waiting and listening to be sure the monsters weren't real, ready to pounce the moment she moved. Sometimes, Pan would shift into something fierce, then look around and tell her all was safe. Sometimes, when he was as taken as her by the nightmare, he would huddle in her arms and not move. This was one of those times.

They were not afraid of monsters, though, not this time. They were afraid to remember which part of the nightmare was true. What if Lyra only dreamed that they won. What if Iorek was burned up and shot, and Mr. Lee burned away with fever and bled out and died. And the men took her to her father, and her mother was there, and that was why she heard her voice?

And in that moment, upon first awakening, there was one fact Lyra was absolutely certain about.

She did not want her father (or uncle, as she secretly still thought of him). She wanted Mr. Lee. And she was terrified that Mr. Lee was gone, and Iorek was gone, and she felt more an orphan in that moment (never mind her living parents) than all the years she was at Jordan. And she stifled a sob.

"Mm…Lyra?" said a sleepy voice.

Her eyes shot open, and she sat up at once, turning, almost wild to see that her ears had not deceived her.

Mr. Lee was alive, it had been a dream, and half wild with relief Lyra dove for the man. Mr. Lee flinched back even as he opened his arms, but even in her desperation for reassurance Lyra was careful, a strange combination of gentleness and raw need.

Mr. Lee had not sounded fully awake, but he was propped up like he hadn't been sleeping; his own sleep had become haphazard, his need to heal pulling him down while his improving health started to leave him restless, and sleeping in the day was starting to lead to sleepless nights. It was dark out, but for the flicker of the campfire and the blaze of stars overhead. Lyra huddled against his side, wanting to feel his heart beating, to feel him breathe, and know the nightmare was a lie. Pan huddled almost as close in the form of a cat and Hester, yawning, climbed half on top of his smaller body like a mother hen settling over its chick.

"Lyra? Pan?" said Mr. Lee, sounding more awake this time. Then, with great sympathy as his hand settled warmly over her back, "Nightmare?"

"I didn't face the fear," Lyra said, mostly into his blanket because she did not dare burrow into his side like she wanted to in case she hurt him.

"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Lee. "You are the bravest girl I know."

"In the nightmare," said Lyra. "I didn't face it like…like Iorek said. It just ran over me and…and everyone died. Because I didn't lie right, and…and I was alone again."

"You're never alone," said Pan, slightly muffled from under Hester.

"One of those dreams, huh?" said Mr. Lee, voice filled with sympathy. "Had a few of those myself. Only it was you and Iorek doing all the dying. Those are the worst, huh?"

"I myself dreamed of death," came Iorek's deep voice. "I looked at all the ways I failed."

"You didn't…" Mr. Lee started to say, but Iorek kept talking and Mr. Lee never finished his sentence.

"I saw all the ways I could have done something different. And each time I died, or Lee Scoresby died; sometimes even Lyra Silvertongue died, and that was the worst of all. But that is not how things happened. There is no better way for things to happen than how they happened. Because we all live and we are together."

There was silence for a moment after that.

"Iorek," said Lyra then, "How do you face your fear…when you're asleep?"

"I look it in the eye," answered Iorek.

There is a longer moment of silence, and Lyra feels herself starting to drift down in spite of herself, only to jerk herself awake again, heart beating fast.

"I don't know I can," she whispered, continuing the conversation some five minutes after everyone thought it ended. "I en't brave enough."

"You are brave when it matters," said Mr. Lee.

"You are the bravest human I have met," Iorek said, then, speaking over Mr. Lee's muttered 'hey!', "Perhaps humans face dreams differently than bears. Bears have armor. You have daemons. Perhaps…"

But he did not finish, trailing off into thoughtful pondering.

"Maybe I can fight in your dreams," Pan suggested.

"Hear that, Lee?" asked Hester in a sleepy tone. "Next time you're tossing and turning, call for me."

"Should call for Lyra," Mr. Lee mumbled. "Iorek's right. She is the bravest of us."

"Now you're just teasing me," said Lyra, scowling, but at the same time careful not to pull away or do anything to make the hand that lightly rubbed against her back stop its motion.

"I did not say she was the bravest," said Iorek. "I said she was the bravest human." Then, after a long moment, "I do believe Hester is the bravest."

Both Hester and Mr. Lee laughed out loud at that. Under Hester, Pan complained, "What about me?"

"You are as brave as you need to be," Lyra told him.

They lay in silence a while longer, and Lyra started to drift again, then jerked herself awake. She did not want to be brave, just then. She wanted to lie awake beneath the stars, and feel Mr. Lee still alive, and hear Iorek close (still alive too) and just know that everyone was alive and maybe she would never sleep again.

Mr. Lee paused in rubbing her back when he felt her jolt, then started again. Lyra could not in all her life remember a touch like that. Her mother never had; at most she held her hand, and sometimes pushed her around to get her to move how she wanted. Sometimes her touch was gentle, but it could just as quickly turn violent, a hand on her shoulder suddenly digging in, a quick hug turning into a shove. Back in Oxford, sometimes an adult would scrub her down when she got too dirty, or smack her if she was particularly misbehaved. Sometimes with other children they would hug or they would wrestle or they would fight, but never anything gentle.

All those years of living, and all those different hands touching her, and she never knew it could feel so good just having a hand rub up and down her back. She wondered if Pan felt that when she petted him, and no wonder he always wanted more.

"You don't have to be strong now," Mr. Lee whispered. "Never mind what Iorek said about facing fears. You just close your eyes, darling, and I'll be at your side all night. Nothing will hurt me, and nothing will hurt you."

Then he began to sing, soothing and soft and familiar. She had thought she had never had anyone to sing a lullaby to her before, but Mr. Lee had been singing that song in their camp for a month. She just thought Mr. Lee liked singing in the evening, and it happened to be generally around the time she snuggled down for sleep. Maybe he did, too, but maybe it had been on purpose all along, to lull her to sleep. That thought was almost as lovely as the hand on her back.

This time, when sleep pulled her down, she let it. The song followed her into her dreams, and perhaps that was why this time the nightmare didn't come. Perhaps she had faced her fears…in a way.

And she slept.

Lee Scoresby kept up the soft lullaby until he felt Lyra's breathing even out, and even then he continued to hum until he was absolutely sure the child was asleep, and not likely to startle awake again.

Then he lay in silence, and, to himself, admitted how much he needed her closeness just as she needed his. She was not the only one whose sleep was disturbed.

The worst of his dreams did end in everyone's death, just as he told her, but there were others, some just as bad. Hands on Hester, not images just a sort of echo of the sensation. The gag. The blindfold. The cane against his back. Perhaps Iorek had some truth in speaking of nightmares as battles; it felt like his mind was wrestling with all that had happened every time he closed his eyes.

Half the time he slept anyway because his body demanded it, but never as long or as deeply as before when he had Serafina Pekkala's help.

Serafina Pekkala had left with her sisters, but had waited until he was awake to say goodbye.

"I must leave, or I will do harm," she said. She did not explain her words, though Lyra asked. Then, after she left, she asked Lee what the witch meant.

"I suppose it is part of being a witch," Lee had answered. "She might look young but she has lived centuries. Living that long…I guess it gets harder and harder to be friends with people so short lived as we are to her."

That had only confused Lyra more, but she finally accepted 'it is a witch thing', and later he heard her whispering to Pan, "I'll bet she's so full of magic she burns other people if she en't careful…I'll bet that's the harm she's avoiding. Let's play I'm a witch and you be a bird."

It was good to know the child could still play so lightheartedly. And Lee was very grateful that Lyra could not understand what harm Serafina Pekkala spoke of. Because, unless Lee very much missed the mark, he rather thought she spoke of harm to herself.

How much loving someone could hurt, knowing how soon you would lose them. Better to let go while you still can.

He held Lyra close in his arms and continued to rub her back even as she slept and wondered if he had put it off too late to not hurt himself. Better to enjoy now, and not think about Iorek returning to his people and Lyra and Pan returning to theirs and being left alone with Hester in a great big airship.

As if reading his thoughts, Iorek shifted closer, then said, "You should return to sleep, Lee Scoresby."

"By and by," answered Lee, admitting to himself, if not to Iorek, that his eyelids were starting to droop.

Being allowed to hold Lyra, to soothe her, felt like a gift. He had said he thought of her like she was his daughter, and he did, but up to that moment he had not fully understood how dangerous love could be.

He would defend her with his life, that was always true, but now he knew what it felt like to be the one turned to for comfort, to hold her in his arms, for her to find safety there enough to drift into sleep at his side…and he knew that this was a borrowed gift. The girl already had a father, and her mother had paid him to bring her to him. He had no right to her, none, and he knew in that moment that giving her away was going to break his heart.

"Hmm…Lee?" said Hester's sleepy voice. It was rare for one of them to drift into sleep without the other, but it could happen, and had been happening more often lately as Lee's need to heal had been greater than Hester's (at least for physical wounds).

"Yes?" whispered Lee softly, wary of the girl sleeping at his side. She did not stir.

"We could keep them," said Hester.

Lee knew exactly what she meant. And he was shocked to the core, because he never expected Hester to suggest it. He was so shocked, for a long moment he could not answer.

"What, are we thieves now?" he asked in the end, voice a soft whisper.

"You can't steal what someone threw away," Hester answered.

Lee said nothing to that. He understood Hester's words, but they couldn't be right. Lord Asriel hadn't thrown Lyra away (how could anyone throw away a girl like her?). Lee didn't even know the man; for all he knew, Lyra's father had expected her nearly a month ago and was desperate with worry. Lee would be, in his place. Lee had to take her to him. He couldn't be so selfish as to try and separate a girl from her father, just because his own heart was breaking. That wasn't fair to Lyra.

But if Hester was right…if the impossible happened and Lord Asriel did not love his child with every fiber of his being…

Lee could not think on that. He knew it would hurt giving her up. It would destroy him if he imagined there was a chance she could be his, and then it turned out he had to give her up anyway.

Then Iorek started humming. He tended to do that whenever he got it in his head that Lee Scoresby was thinking too hard and fighting against sleep.

"You need sleep too, you know" Lee mumbled towards the bear. "First thing tomorrow, I'll stay up it's your turn to sleep."

Iorek did not stop humming, and, smiling in spite of his grumbling, Lee let himself drift downward.

There were no more nightmares that night.