Light flooded into Murtagh's eyes. Squinting at the sudden brightness, his head throbbed painfully. The pain didn't feel as if it was from the light though... putting his hand to his head, he felt a bandage on it - that'd odd. What happened?
His eyes opened more, and the paled face of Darcie loomed over him. He relaxed slightly, knowing she was still there. He saw her let out a breath she seemed to have held in for some time.
"Wha... wha' 'appen'd?"
"You fainted and you hit your head on the edge of my desk," Darcie responded flatly.
"Why'd I faint...?" he asked slowly.
"What do you remember?"
He recalled the last time he heard those words. The closest to a chuckle he could get without pain was grinning faintly.
"Being kicked out of the tent..." he saw Arya's face next to Darcie's and stopped.
"Anything else?" Arya asked.
"Sitting down...?"
"That's it?" Arya asked, seeming slightly surprised.
"Everything's black after that other than one word. What time of the day is it? Is it still the same day for that matter?"
Darcie smiled warmly. "You fainted only a matter of minutes ago."
"And I don't recall being told why..."
Darcie's hand now lay on Murtagh's far cheek. "Don't faint again when you're told... please."
Murtagh's eyebrow rose in confusion. Darcie seemed to struggle with her words and looked at Arya. They whispered to each other for a moment, appearing to be bickering. All he caught is, "You should say..." which was clearly half of the sentence.
"Shall I rephrase?"
This stopped the two girls from bickering quietly.
"What was it that is making you sick?" he asked, directing his question at Darcie. Her face seemed to be a mix of gloom and happiness. She brought her other hand to her head, appearing to be in pain, despite how she tried to mask it.
"Please?" she asked Arya. "I can't think straight anymore, my head is pounding too much..."
Arya closed her eyes for a moment and then said, "Murtagh, there is a possibility you will be a father in 8 to 9 months."
Memories flashed through Murtagh's mind of his younger childhood with his father. The paranoia, the fear, the threats, his scar...
"You're not Morzan," Darcie cut into his thoughts, well aware of what they were. "You are your own man; you can choose your life. You'll be a great father, a true parent, and I... know it," she finished quietly as she saw Murtagh pass out again.