Pain met Draco in the mist, slamming into him hard and making everything ache. His head swam with the feeling as darkness settled around him. The ground was lumpy and cold beneath him, a chill working its way into his bones and making him shiver.

Edward groaned and clawed painfully at the darkness till his vision exploded with the brightness of the day. He gulped and closed his eyes again, frowning past the pain to try and process exactly what he had seen. He was lying in a tent, of that he was certain, the drab muddy material of the army tents that were erected and as easily taken down when on the road. He'd seen the view so many times during his travels that he was almost certain that it was just another day. But it wasn't, he could feel it, the pain lancing through him was entirely new and completely inexplicable. He grit his teeth and opened his eyes again, blinking past the blur and managing to focus on the rain as it dripped through a gap in the tent. The wind howled outside and sent droplets of rain across his face and the sickly smell of death wafted with it.

Reluctant memories wormed their way out of the fog that had descended on his mind and flickered behind his eyes. They were a little blurred around the edges and great gaps of blackness opened up in the middle of them, but he remembered. He swallowed past the dryness in his throat, trying desperately to speak, his voice hoarse.

"Ah, Commander James," The voice was high pitched with a slight lisp, and Edward found himself wincing as the sound drove a lance through his already aching head. A small reedy man came into view; bright red hair hanging in limp strands around his face, his mouth opening in a grin that showed off a not quite complete set of crooked teeth. He passed a filthy, blood-soaked rag between his hands in what seemed like a nervous gesture, kneeling down by Edwards side.

"You're alive after all." He grinned again, and Edward – trying not to meet the man's unusually small beady eyes – glanced at his brown leather apron, streaked with fresh blood. He drew back a little in recognition – the man's clothing had been spoken about before around the campfires, pale soldiers telling tales of the Blacksmith of Bones to frighten the younger recruits and very often succeeding in scaring themselves – he was the encampments medic and he had a reputation for seeing people into the next life rather than helping them linger in the one they already had.

"Am I not supposed to be?" Edward croaked, trying to sit up.

The man placed a hand on his chest, showing surprising strength as he pushed Edward back.

"I wouldn't move yet Commander, it's really going to hurt." The man seemed to take great delight in this fact, his pale blue eyes shimmering with happiness. "Quite the mystery you were," He stated, wiping his hands on his rag absent-mindedly as he stood, "I thought they were having me on when they brought you in, not a wound in sight. Told them they could take your drunken arse to sleep with the pigs. But they assured me that you," the man turned, glancing down at Edward in an accusing way, "were dying. And yet, here you are." He shook his head, grabbing a wooden cup and dipping it into a large barrel that sat in the corner of the tent.

Edward turned to look around, recoiling as he noticed the body lay on a mat adjacent to his. His head was back, eyes wide - more white than pupil - his mouth open as if in shock. Flies buzzed happily around a large open wound in his side, where his hand was still frozen, trying to hold everything in.

"That one was a screamer," The man pointed out, making his way back towards Edward, the small wooden cup in his hands. "Wouldn't even shut up long enough for me to tell him he was going to die. Here." He knelt down and held the water out to Edward, which he took gratefully. It tasted like sickness, filth and rusty nails, but Edward thought it was the most glorious thing he'd ever tasted.

"Where am I?" Edward gasped, finishing the water and taking a huge breath, holding the cup back up to the Blacksmith of Bones.

"The King's encampment," The voice came from behind him, and Edward turned, "that's what the rich dicks are calling it. It's all just shit and mud if you ask me." Just behind the dead man lay another; his face grey, sweat gleaming across his brow and upper lip, beading in tiny drops. His cracked lips shook as if he were trying to say more, but he didn't.

The red-haired man rose, making his way over to the man quickly. With a flourish, he pulled back the blanket that lay over him, and the smell of infection smacked Edward in the face. Half of the man's leg had gone, and the bandages were filthy, soaked in a mix of pus and blood. With a shake of his head, the red-haired man tutted and replaced the blanket.

"Not long now, Oren," He muttered, tapping the dying man's shoulder.

"I know it, Vard, stop fussing." He replied gruffly.

Oren's face had the look of a thousand battles, the weight of them sinking into the lines on his face. He was dying, of that Edward was sure. He'd seen the deaths of so many, known how it looked, how it smelt, and he recognised it now, hovering above Oren's bed. There were many different ways that men had reacted to the darkness of the unknown; some had stared into it with wide eyes, as if they had never seen anything so black, others would beg and plead for life, for home, for all those that had been left behind. It was rare though to find those that met death as if standing on another battlefield and facing yet another enemy. He knew only real soldiers, real warriors met death that way. Edward saw it in Oren and felt a deep respect for the man.

"As Oren says, this is the King's Encampment, just outside Menar." Edward started at the name, recognising the small village where he had found Mina in the market.

"Menar? Why?" He asked, forcing himself to rise, gritting his teeth as pain shot through his back. Vard shook his head.

"Lord Morax has been purging the village." Edward sighed, pausing to allow the pain to ebb away before he tried moving again. He wasn't surprised that Tharin had been murdering more people, he only felt guilty that he wasn't able to do anything about it.

"They start officially at dawn." Vard shook his head, as if he found the idea incredibly detestable. "The witch that cursed you is to die today apparently, to set an example." Edward froze his head snapping up.

"What?"

"The witch that cursed you, heard some of the men say that she is to hang at dawn, signalling the start of Lord Morax's stand against the darkness," Vard chuckled slightly to himself.

With great effort Edward heaved himself onto his feet, glancing around for his belongings. "Where are my things?" He ground out, limping towards Vard, his face set in determination.

"I don't think it's wise to be moving around as you are, Commander, there is no telling what damage the witch has done." Edward ignored him, pushing past the small man's shoulder, and examining the table he'd been stood near. What looked like instruments of torture were strewn across the wood, soaked with blood, long forgotten rags lying pitifully between them like fallen soldiers. Beneath the table was a pile of belongings; swords, shields, armour and various other instruments of war all piled haphazardly. Edward dug through them, smiling slightly when he found his daggers. They were nothing special, the hilt a leather strap wrapped around wood, and the daggers themselves were iron tipped with silver, but they were all he had left of his father, so he held onto them as if they were priceless. Quickly he rose, tying the belt around his waist and heading for the front of the tent, only glancing back to check on Oren's progress. The man was still, his eyes staring past the things of the world into some distant realm, that Edward himself had seen twice, but no breath passed his lips. He had fought his final battle and death had won. Shaking his head, Edward stepped out of the tent.

He quickly weaved his way through the encampment tents, ignoring the drunk soldiers as they stumbled into the mud, heaved up by the women they'd managed to find. Prostitutes waited in groups, their bony hands grasping at his shirt as he limped past. He ignored them as they gave him sultry smiles and told him he could put his sword anywhere. The sky lightened as he made his way out of the encampment, and towards the village. Though the rain fell, the splashes and patter of raindrops reaching his ears, there was an eerie sort of hush, that made him feel uneasy. No one wandered the winding streets between the small huts, he could hear no other voices, no other footsteps. He rounded the corner of a hut, a pig snuffling in the earth at its feet, and paused. The whole of the village's occupants were stood in the square, marked by a small well where everyone got their water. He remembered when the well had been a blessing, people had danced around the bricks and sang songs, now they stood, hunched and motionless, leaning their heads closer to one another as they whispered secrets and suspicions.

Edward gulped as he saw the gallows. He knew how easily they were put together and taken apart. They would kill Mina's friend and dismantle it as if nothing had ever happened. He gripped the hilt of his knives as he strode forward, his boots sinking into the mud, and splashing water up his legs.

Her body was starkly pale against the grey morning, every inch of it covered it wounds in various stages of healing. Her face was barely recognisable, swollen and bruised from repeated beatings. Anger rose as bile in his throat. He had killed men in various horrific ways, watched the blood drain them pale, but the cruelty was abhorrent, and it filled him with more loathing than he'd never thought possible. Any attempt to save her would end in his death, of that he was certain, but he figured there were worse ways to go. With a sigh, he straightened his shoulders, moving to unsheathe his knives as Aygust began making his speech, his voice carrying across the crowd and pushing Edward forward.

He paused in his process when he saw her. She was frozen in place among the spectators, her eyes wide in terror, hair wet and plastered across her face. His heart ached as his eyes took her in; it had been so long since he had seen her and she was still as beautiful and breath-taking as the first time.

He began to panic as Mina's face contorted into a look of pure determination, pushing her way through the crowd. He cast a glance between the woman on the podium and Mina, his heart racing in his chest as he felt the familiar pump of adrenaline. Even as he hesitated, stuck between the woman that had saved his life and the woman who had brought him back to life, he knew it wasn't really a choice – it would always be her.

He followed her through the crowd, grabbing hold of her, yanking her away from the podium with all his strength, ignoring the pain and her protests. His hands shook with how good it felt to have her in his arms again, and with how much he wished their circumstances were different.

"Let go of me." People were beginning to notice, so he took a deep breath, bracing for the pain as he lifted her off the ground heaved her away from the curious faces. He didn't stop till Mina's friend was just a bruised outline in the haze of raindrops. The rope around her neck, standing proud and naked, her chin turned up – defiant to the last.

"Mina," he said, breath choking in the back of his throat when she stilled and looked up at him. He didn't want her to see, couldn't let her live with that vision, so he held her gaze as the lever was pulled and the trapdoor opened. He let her beat his chest and cry as her friend died. The witch that had saved him flickered through his mind, and he felt the familiar stab of guilt in his chest. He knew he couldn't have saved both of them, it would have been impossible, but he felt like he should have, at least for Mina's sake. Tears filled his eyes as he buried his head in Mina's hair and held onto her, promising himself that he would never let her go.

Draco pulled back slightly as he realised his head was buried in Hermione's bushy hair, her forehead pressed against his chest. He gulped. She gripped his shirt in her fist and Draco wondered if she could hear his elevated heartbeat, could hear his breath stuttering in his lungs.

"Er, Granger?" He muttered, swallowing his nerves and trying to pull away, removing his hands from around her waist.

"Can you just - just not be a dick for a second?" Hermione muttered, gripping his shirt tighter and burying her forehead in his chest. The sheer leg shaking, gut knotting feeling of it made him blink stupidly for a couple of seconds. His cheeks reddened as he stepped into her space, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close as she shook with the hurt. Hesitantly he rested his chin on the top of her head, breathing in the heady scent of strawberries.

"What if - what if Harry – "

Always with the boy-wonder. He stepped away as felt Potty muscle in between them and their moment, always rearing his ugly spectacled head, because he just had to be the centre of everyone's attention. But he stopped, because she was looking at him and his heart ached with a feeling that he recognised. It was Edwards. The whole stinking thing was how Edward had felt when he'd looked down at Mina and seen her so broken. He'd wanted to fix it, to make her happy, to take the pain from her, tuck it inside himself if he had to. He had not time to delude himself into believing that the feeling wasn't his, because he'd lifted his hand, thumb brushing the softness of her cheek to wipe away a stray tear.

"Potty isn't in the habit of dying, is he?" Her mouth opened slightly, her full lips red and glistening, brown eyes shimmering with questions and sadness. Then she was hugging him, throwing her arms around him like he had seen her do so many times with Potty and Weasel.

He tried to calm his heart and breathing, both working overtime as he stared in shock at the door. Just before she'd hugged him, before she'd thrown herself into his arms, he'd been about to do something stupid, something that would have destroyed the balance between them, beyond repair. He, Draco Malfoy, had been about to kiss Hermione Granger.