When Hal finally emerged, Giles could not help but allow his eyes to widen in surprise, and he rose to his feet as if greeting royalty.

"Do I look okay?" Hal asked nervously after several moments had passed. "Your silence is worrying."

The man shook his head, still stunned. "I'm damn good," he said proudly.

Hal rolled her eyes. "Yes, you have a knack for picking out pretty dresses. Congratulations."

"You must not understand how you look then, Hal. You look like you should be a member of the court. That dress commands attention. It was definitely the right call for the hearing."

Hal looked down, running her hands over the soft, velvet-like material. The dress was a deep green, so dark it looked almost black. It was lightweight, which was good because the wide, long sleeves and modest train made out of any other material would be heavy. The front part of the skirt along with the hem of her sleeves were made of a green and gold jacquard, and the collar and neckline were sewn with golden lace. The small belt that fit around her waist had flowers carved into the silver plates, clearly meant for decoration. And it matched the silver in her hair that was holding her bun in place. Hal had never worn anything so elegant.

"I still wish you had not gone out of your way for me," Hal insisted. "It is too much."

"If this goes the way I hope it does, then it will have been worth it. Now grab your cloak and let's go. We don't want to be late."

…

Murtagh thought the week leading up to his hearing would drag. Instead, he awoke up the morning of, wondering where the time had gone. Well, 'awoke' wasn't the right word; he hadn't really gone to sleep at all. He had stared at the ceiling, restless with nerves and desperation, but a small bit of hope as well. For the first time, there was a feeling of hope in him. He didn't know where it had come from, and he rubbed his chest as though to make sure the feeling was real and not an illusion. But it was still there, and he hoped it would stay with him as the day progressed.

As usual, his breakfast was brought to his room, and the less than stellar meal consisted of burnt toast and water. He sighed but did not complain. If the only form of antagonizing he would have to put up with was through his food options, then he would take it. Although truthfully, he was too nervous to eat, and had no qualms about setting the plate to the side.

He was allowed to bathe, and he scrubbed to make himself look impeccable and presentable. He wished Hal were here to trim his ends, the length well past his shoulders now, but he washed his hair and brushed it out as best he could before using a piece of string to tie it back. He was finally able to get rid of the beard now that they had trusted him enough with a razor, but the guards kept close watch and he was made to return the blade when he was finished. He pulled on a maroon tunic and black trousers that had been provided to him since he did not have his own set of appropriate attire to wear. Over the tunic was a suede jerkin with braided, leather lacing; and a long leather belt with a silver buckle.

He pulled on his own pair of boots, glad to have something familiar on him at the moment. He didn't have a mirror to double-check his appearance, but he felt like he looked decent. It would have to do though, because the door opened, the guards ready to escort him down.

…

A crowd had gathered outside the castle's main gate, people clamoring to catch a glimpse of the proceedings, wanting to be close when the final verdict was announced. Giles had whispered to her whenever he returned home that the protests and crowds had been almost a constant since Murtagh's arrival. This morning, despite how early it was, was clearly no different. There had to be hundreds of angry-looking citizens, and Hal froze at the sight, devasted that for all of their planning to avoid such a scene, it had been for nothing.

"Deep breath," Giles told her, wrapping her arm through his. "And remember why you fight."

She shot him a pained smile, thankful that he was there. Especially as the back of the crowd began to notice their approach, doing double-takes when those who had been there at the Court of Requests recognized Hal. They nudged those closest to them and began to whisper, some of their gazes becoming downright murderous. They moved out of her way as she walked towards the gate, Giles in step. She wished she had brought a dagger with her, but she doubted the guards would take kindly to her having a weapon on her upon entry.

One man suddenly stepped forward and spat on the ground, breadths away from her foot. She froze, and looked over at him, studying his unassuming features. And she made sure to force herself to meet his gaze, to hold it, before turning away as if finding him uninteresting and moving on.

"Well done," Giles whispered under his breath.

She didn't respond. If she opened her mouth now, she might puke on his shoes and ruin the façade. She clenched her fingers into tight fists, hoping to hide how terribly they shook. She knew it wasn't from the cold, as the gloves Murtagh had purchased for her back in Teirm were made of leather and lined with a fine layer of fur.

"Traitor's whore!" someone shouted, emboldened by the act of the first man. Hal's cheeks burned with raw humiliation and she flinched as though she had been physically struck. A buzz of agreement swept through the crowd and Hal bit down hard on her lip, blinking quickly. The absolute worst thing she could do right now was cry. It would be the opening they needed to think her weak.

When they reached the front gate per the instructions they had received, a guard was waiting for them. He looked them over, his face expressionless, before stepping to the side to allow them entry.

But before Hal could move, a hand grabbed her shoulder and forcibly turned her around. It was the same man who had spat at her. His eyes made him appear feral, bloodshot as if he had been crying. But there was no grief on his face now. Only rage.

As the man could opened his mouth to speak, Giles stepped between them and shoved him back with enough force that the man stumbled in surprise. "If you were wise, you'd keep your hands to yourself," he hissed in warning.

"That bastard doesn't deserve life after what he's done to us," the man shouted. "Who are you to come in here as if you know better?!"

"Giles, let's go," Hal hissed, feeling like a prey being circled by a pack of lovuk. And she could not help but notice that none of the guards had so much as flinched to help them.

Giles grimaced, shooting the man a dangerous look Hal would not have expected him capable of before. He turned around to follow her plea for distance when the man lunged forward so quickly that not even Hal was prepared for it. He gripped the hood of her cloak and yanked her back, the material digging briefly and sharply into her throat as she fell back, crying out at the surprise of it.

She hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of her as Giles turned on his heel and landed a punch square across the man's jaw.

"Giles, no!"

But the fight was already underway, the crowd closing in on them as other men jumped forward. Two grabbed Giles by his arms, pulling him off the other man and holding him. The man who had spat at Hal jumped to his feet, lip cut and bleeding as he punched Giles across the face. Members of the crowd cheered, others looked stunned by the turn of events, stepping back as if ready to put distance between themselves if things escalated even more.

"Stop it!" Hal shouted, clamoring to her feet to defend Giles. "Leave him alone!"

She latched on to the attacker's arm as he pulled his fist back for a swing. For a moment, she was successful, because she was stronger than him now. Even as the man swore and grunted, trying to pry his arm free from her grasp. Before she could move to block it, a fist came out of nowhere and barreled into her stomach. Gasping at the pain, Hal released the man's arm while he was still swinging, and his elbow then connected with the corner of her eye, just missing the actual socket by sheer dumb luck. The pain was stunning, and she grunted from the force of the blow and stumbled back.

Then, as if to keep her from trying anything else, two burly arms encircled her, pinning her arms down so that she couldn't fight back. She kicked her legs out uselessly, her heart spiking in her chest as she was dragged backwards, panic seizing her chest.

Mama, don't let them take me!

"Let me go!" she screamed. "Let. Me. GO!" She shouted at the guards, even though it was useless. They looked bored. "DO SOMETHING! THEY'RE GOING TO KILL HIM, DO SOMETHING!"

It was only when she said it out loud that she realized that the possibility was high. Giles was slumped over, his face a bloodied mess of bruises and cuts. He didn't seem conscious. One eye was already swollen shut, flecks of blood flying as the man grew so exhausted that his fists began to slow. Hal couldn't breathe, her vision blurry as she screamed, trying to dig her feet into the ground, so desperate and terrified that she could feel her magic begin to pulsate in her veins, just as it had when the Ra'zac had tortured her.

"HELP HIM! SOMEBODY, PLEASE, HELP HIM! HELP!"

A shadow passed quickly overhead, and things momentarily fell still as the crowd blinked in confusion, wondering if a cloud could pass over the sun that fast. There was a resounding roar and everyone glanced up, faces twisting in confusion then panic as Thorn landed from seemingly out of nowhere and let out another roar so frightening that Hal felt her own stomach curl as the predator landed with such force that the ground shook beneath their feet, his gaze blazing in fury. Hal couldn't help herself, she began to cry with relief at the sight of him.

A riot instantly broke out, people screaming as they fled from the scene. Hal was finally released, shoved away, her hair wild from having fallen out of her bun. She ran to Giles, pushing his attacker forcefully — he had become frozen, stunned, as he stared at Thorn in wide-eyed horror — that he fell to the ground. The men holding Giles stumbled back in fright, struggling to run as Thorn let out another roar circling around Hal so that she remained shielded behind him. Giles' face was covered in blood, every inch swelling and bruising. He was completely unconscious; while Hal wanted desperately to shake him awake, she knew better than to do so with such injuries.

Thorn's tail swung violently and knocked down a portion of the curtain wall. Soldiers jumped out of the way to avoid being struck by Thorn or the falling debris. Hal could see they had begun to arm themselves, archers on the high walls having notched their arrows, waiting for the order, panic in their eyes. Genuine panic. For the briefest of moments, she wondered what war was raging in their minds at the sight of the red dragon. But, sympathetic or not, Hal would let death take her before she let any harm come to Thorn. Especially because he was only here to protect her.

"STOP, DON'T SHOOT!" she screamed, trying to diffuse the situation, and doing a terrible job of it. "DON'T HURT HIM, PLEASE STAND DOWN!"

There was too much panic, too much tension that the soldiers had allowed to build with their inaction. No matter what, she could not let Thorn get hurt because of her. She would not stand for it. But no matter how hard she tried, if she stepped too far away from Thorn, his tail would wrap around her waist and pull her back behind him, baring his teeth and snapping his jaw menacingly at those who dared to approach.

Hal was moments away from using her own magic, consequences be damned, when a voice shouted above the fray, strong and frightening in her anger. A tall lithe woman with dark hair and almond-shaped green eyes rushed forward, clad in leather pants and an elegant cape that was clasped around her shoulders. Because her hair was pulled back into a bun, Hal could see the pointed ears that indicated she was elf. The woman's palm was green, glowing just as Murtagh's did red when he used magic. There was a burst of wind that rendered all weapons in the vicinity useless, cleaving the wooden bows, arrows, and spears in half before any soldier had a chance to fire.

Hal only had a moment to be relieved when she felt a hand grab her shoulder. "Leave me alone!" she screamed, spinning around and punching the man across the face. He grunted in pain, barely stumbling back. She raised her hand to hit him again. He lunged out and grabbed her wrist, coming face to face with her and shocking her into silence.

"It's me, iet dunei," Murtagh breathed. "It's me. You're safe now. You're safe, it's okay."

Hal blinked, several times, his face finally coming into focus. It was almost unreal, to see him standing before her so suddenly after all this time. He was clean-shaven and well-dressed, just as she was, in preparation for his hearing. But his skin was paler, like he hadn't seen the sun properly. His hand slipped from her wrist to cradle her cheek, and a surge of anger released itself at once. Hal shoved him back, away from her. He raised his hands in surrender, his face twisted with remorse and the sting of her rejection. Hal ignored it, stepping forward and striking him across the face. She knew it couldn't have hurt with her glove on, but the punch had been an accident. This was intentional.

He didn't try and defend himself. She was so indignant and scared and happy to see him all at once, that she pushed him again. There was not nearly as much force in it as the first one, and she hit his chest weakly before bursting into tears, slipping into his embrace.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I'm so sorry; none of this was supposed to happen. Hal, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She was ashamed of how scared she was. She had expected to have to be on guard. But for the first time, she was realizing that she had truly underestimated Murtagh's warning from before. She had charged in, fully thinking she could handle the situation. She had been so wrong, and she was embarrassed and ashamed.

Thorn crouched protectively at her back, relentlessly still baring his teeth at every soldier who looked their way, slowly but surely curving his body around them, blocking them from the world. When she fell to her knees, too overwhelmed to remain standing, Murtagh continued to hold her tightly, murmuring repeated and desperate apologies that she couldn't even hear over the noise of her terrified sobs. She was afraid to release her grip on Murtagh, lest he disappear again. Afraid to step away from the safety of Thorn's defenses. So, she sat there and cried until she had nothing left in her to give.

…

Hal had been sitting with her head in her hands, unmoving, since she and Murtagh had been brought into the queen's private office. The same room she had first brought Murtagh to. Only this time, they were waiting at the two chairs across from the desk, and they hadn't spoken a single word to each other. Hal had stopped crying, but her hands would not stop shaking. Murtagh could see even that much from where he sat.

He wanted to reach out to her, but after letting him hold her while she cried, Hal had refused to let anyone touch her. Even him. While he knew he deserved it, the rejection still stung.

They were left there for nearly an hour when the doors opened. Hal didn't even move, but Murtagh turned in his chair and rose respectfully to his feet as Nasuada entered the room. But he felt the blood drain from his face when he saw who followed in after her.

Arya looked no different than she had six years before. And for an elf, he was sure six years was nothing. Her dark hair knotted in a bun, making her eyes appear as striking as Murtagh had forgotten they could be. She wore leather pants and a soft tunic, her boots quiet on the marble floors, a stark contrast to Nasuada's flowing indigo dress and clicking heels.

But it was those who followed her that made him weary. Behind her filed in Orik, king of the dwarves, whose eyes narrowed in on Murtagh with distaste before he looked away. Like Arya, his attire was not dreadfully formal, his tunic loose and the leather drawstrings at the collar undone. But he carried a war hammer at his hips, his hand reaching for it when he noticed Murtagh's gaze.

Behind him were two others Murtagh had not met personally but knew of them from his time in the war. The first was Orrin, who Murtagh had heard of as he was the King of Surda. He held himself proudly, although he wore a similar expression of distaste as Orik did when he spotted Murtagh. Then, looking vaguely like Eragon himself in a morphed sort of way, was the renowned Roran Stronghammer. Murtagh's own soldiers had told stories of his feats. There was a humbling expression about him, something not nearly as threatening as the other two, or as impassive as Arya. He even gave Murtagh a curt nod as he came in, the guards shutting the door behind him as everyone filed inside.

Nasuada looked at Hal, who still had not moved, then up at Murtagh, who sadly shook his head. She was still shaking, but he was beginning to suspect that something was building in her silence.

Nasuada went behind her desk but she did not sit down. She set her palms on top of the dark wood and breathed, struggling to keep the anger out of her voice as she spoke. "I cannot begin to express how sorry I am that this happened," she began, looking from Murtagh to Hal. "The behavior of my soldiers is, unfortunately, a reflection on me, even though they do not speak for me, nor do I condone any of what took place here today. All of those on patrol at the gate have been severely reprimanded in addition to being relieved of their duties effective immediately. Additionally, we were able to locate two of the men who took part in the beating of Giles Brighamson and have brought them into custody as well. They will be dealt with accordingly."

Murtagh was listening, but he could not help but stare at Hal, expecting her to react to something. Anything. He felt his throat constrict as worry began to really set in. She had not been like this since the immediate aftermath of Denu's death. It was this that he had been trying to avoid and he had put her in the crosshairs all the same.

"As to the wellbeing of Mr. Brighamson," Nasuada continued, speaking slowly as she also began to glance nervously at Hal as well, "I have been told by my healers that he will be fine. The swelling should go down overnight, and they haven't found any internal damage. He's resting, but he will be all right."

"Thank you, your majesty," Murtagh said, finding his voice.

Nasuada shook her head. "Do not thank me for this. It's the least I can do after today's unmitigated disaster." She glanced over at Hal again, who still had not moved. "I won't make this long," she continued, and Murtagh was relieved. "The date for your hearing will be pushed back, but more on that later, when we've had time to discuss." She gestured vaguely to the others in the room, but Murtagh refrained from looking at them. "In the meantime, I will have Mr. Brighamson and Halen stay here in the castle where a detail I trust will be able to assure their safety and well-being moving forward. I'll see to it that a trusted attendee fetches their belongings from Mr. Brighamson's estate. If that's all right with you of course, Halen."

At first, she didn't move; she made no indication that she had heard a single word Nasuada had said. But slowly, Hal finally raised her head. And her expression was heartbreaking, and the mood of the room shifted. Her eyes were red, wide with fright. Murtagh knew that look. Whenever Hal had worn that expression, she had been talking over her past. That childlike, petrified look. Voice and hands tremoring, it took her several moments to speak. When she did, all she said was, "I n-n-need to be alone."

Then she stood from her seat and left the room.

Murtagh only had a moment to think before he jumped out his chair and chased after her, guards be damned. He couldn't let her leave. Not like this.

"Hal, please just talk to me," he called out after her, jogging to move in front of her. He didn't want to grab at her. Not after how she had reacted last time. Clearly, she had been frightened then, and he didn't want to make things worse for her now.

"You have some nerve, asking me to talk," she snapped, trying to step around him.

"I know," he sighed, moving in front of her path again, trying hard to avoid staring at the bruise around her eye that had grown darker the last few hours, taunting him with his mistake. She had refused to let anyone near her to heal it. "I know, Hal, I know."

"No, you don't know. You have no idea —"

"How it feels to watch the person you love most in the world leave you behind? To have no idea the fate that awaits them? Wondering if they're safe? Or are you forgetting that you abandoned me in the tunnels?"

"Don't you dare make this about me," she seethed. "That was different!"

"How?"

"There was no plan, Murtagh!" she snapped loudly, her voice reverberating across the stone hall. Realizing how her voice carried, she quickly lowered it. But the edge was still the same. "We actually had a plan this time! It may not have been a great one, but it was something. And after what happened on Uden I was under the impression that we were no longer making massive decisions without at least talking to each other about it!"

"Hal, I'm—"

"Do you have any idea what it has been like, to listen to the disgusting slander these people have said about you," Hal continued, cutting him off with a strangled sob. "And I can't defend you. I can't even tell these people how good you are, because if I do, then I'll apparently get mobbed down by a crowd. And I can't…I can't, right now, Murtagh. After today, all I can think about is Uden, and how my people were treated no differently than the soldiers treated me here today. They just sat there and did nothing. They treated me and Giles like we were nothing. And I can't get it out of my head. I just want it out. I just want it to stop."

"Okay," he said quickly, trying not to completely crumble from guilt at the sight of her clutching her head. "Okay, yes. Let me ask Nasuada about a room for you. Just wait here, just wait here, I'll be right back. Just wait. Please, just wait."

He ran back inside the office, terrified that if he took his eyes of Hal for one moment, she would walk away and disappear. Nasuada straightened up as he approached. "Is everything all right?"

Murtagh hesitated, not wanting to get into the specifics of Hal's emotional state. He was sure they had overheard anyway. Instead, he said, "I would really like to get her somewhere where she can rest. Is there a room she can occupy for now?"

Nasuada gave him an understanding smile. "Yes, of course. I'll call for the head steward, he will show you to the room I have pre-selected for Halen. It is near yours, if that is any consolation."

"Thank you," Murtagh said, bowing his head.

No one spoke as the steward led them down the hallway, up the tower stairs, and down another hallway. Like Nasuada had said, the room was not far from his, just across a breezeway. As they walked over the bridge, Murtagh glanced out at the gardens beyond. There seemed to be at least an acre of land that wasn't there before, carefully cultivated like the rest of the grounds.

"Here we are," said the steward with disinterest. They had stopped before a set of doors, the heavy oak carefully sanded and refined. No one moved for a moment, and Murtagh cleared his throat before stepping forward to push the doors open. He did a quick scan of the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary or suspicious. Unlike before, when his wards on Hal had gone off, letting him know she was in danger, he felt nothing. Nor did he see anything of concern.

Satisfied for now, he turned to thank the man but found that he had already left. Hal hesitated before walking in, her eyes taking in the medium-sized room. It was generous, with a large, four-poster bed pushed against the wall. Opposite the bed was a fireplace and two armchairs. There was a small wardrobe tucked into the corner and a vanity on one side of it, a full-length mirror on the other. There was a set of doors that led out to the balcony, and Murtagh went to check the lock and make sure it was secure.

"Do you want me to run you a bath?" he began, turning to face Hal. "Or do you prefer to —"

But his eyes lowered to where Hal had already climbed into bed and seemingly fallen asleep. She was curled so tightly that he imagined it couldn't have been very comfortable; yet, all he could see was how small she looked.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He didn't know why he imagined that, just this once, something in his life would go completely right. He had hoped that the next time he saw Hal again, it would be as a free man. He had wanted this accomplishment not just for himself and Thorn, but for her. And he had made a mess of things once again.

Not wanting to intrude, Murtagh forced himself to leave, casting back one final look before quietly closing the door behind him.

In all of the chaos of the day, it did not escape Murtagh's notice that the guards usually posted at his room were gone. While he wasn't about to complain about the newfound privacy, it made him feel wary and in a foreboding sense of limbo he had not anticipated. Not quite a prisoner, still not free. But he had no desire to push his luck and wander anywhere he shouldn't, shutting the door behind him.

He changed out of his attire, feeling as though he had wasted it. He neatly folded his things and set them on the only other piece of furniture in the room — the small dresser. He scratched at his bare chest, unsure of what to do with himself. He was too frazzled from the day's events to sleep.

I don't think she'll ever forgive me, Murtagh said, the words making him feel sick to his stomach.

Do not say that, Thorn chastised gently.

How can I not? You saw her for yourself. She had flashbacks of her family's murder because of that mob. A mob she never would have had to deal with had I not turned myself in. This is all my fault.

Murtagh raked his fingers desperately through his hair, his chest growing increasingly tight. His breathing grew shallow with panic. She's never going to forgive me for this.

Hal is upset, yes. But she has been upset with you before and has forgiven you all the same. It does not negate her love for you.

But could it? How many mistakes could he make before Hal had decided she'd had enough?

Don't you dare insult Hal by projecting your insecurities onto her, Thorn snapped, his tone so ferocious that Murtagh flinched in surprise, then in shame. His feelings were strong enough that Thorn softened some, but his tone was still firm. Do not let these people come between you and Hal. Do not give them that power over you. Do not let them think that what you earned on Illium was a fallacy. When Hal is ready to talk, she will talk. But today was hard on all of us. Let her breathe and cope. You should do the same. I can tell you are still tense, even now.

I could say the same thing about you. You nearly took down the queen's army today.

I nearly took down the city. These people are roaches, and they forget that I could squash them like bugs under my feet. And the next time they touch Halen like that, I will.

Something about his violence comforted Murtagh in that moment. Perhaps it was because he himself still harbored dark thoughts about his own fury towards the harm she and Giles had endured today. He felt less guilty thinking about wringing the necks of soldiers if Thorn was of a like mind. But it did make this whole pardoning process seem that much more daunting. How in the heavens was he supposed to ally himself with these people now? Did he even want to after how Hal and Giles had been treated?

He wiped his face before the tears could fall. Before his emotions could get the best of him once again. But it was like today had unleashed in him a torrid that he was no longer strong enough to hold back on his own. He had not wanted to feel helpless. He had wanted to have hope, like Hal did, that he could do this, so that they could defeat Thea and go home. He had not expected a warm welcome, but he had not anticipated a riot. He had not anticipated that it would hurt him this much to remember how loathed he was. He had no one to blame for that except himself. But he had not wanted Hal to see the ugly truth of what he faced here on the mainland. Had not wanted to drag her through the filth of his past like she had been today.

So, in the comfort of his room where no one could see or hear him, Murtagh allowed himself to cry. It was painful and freeing. Only in moments of weakness had he allowed himself to grieve before this. The shock of all that had happened on Uden and Illium, his focus on Hal and the Tenari, had guided him through those tough weeks. He had arrogantly assumed he was strong enough to handle it, so that he would not crumble. He had never been good with grief. But this was almost cathartic, and he laughed at his own ridiculousness. Maybe if he had allowed himself to cry more, he would not have been so broken for so long.

He heard a hesitant knock on his door and he stopped crying immediately. He sat there a moment, horrified. His face was a mess, and he was sure whoever had knocked had to have heard him crying. His face, already splotchy from his tears, burned hot as the visitor knocked again, this time a bit more firmly. He wasn't sure why they didn't just announce themselves.

Unable to pretend like he wasn't awake, he did his best to wipe his face, clearing his throat as he went to open the door. He only then remembered that he wasn't wearing a shirt, but when he saw who it was, he forgot about his attire altogether.

"Hal?" he breathed, as if unable to fathom what she could possibly be doing here. As if afraid to get his hopes up.

I told you, Thorn said smoothly. Then he quietly pulled away so that Murtagh was alone in his mind.

She still wore her dress from before, and Murtagh realized she probably did not have any clothes to change into. Of course. That must be the reason she sought him out.

"Hang on, I'll find someone to ask about getting you a nightgown and robe," he said quickly, turning back into his room so that he could find his shirt. But the light from the hallway vanished, casting his room in darkness just as he heard the click of the door behind him.

He turned to find Hal leaning against the door, her hands behind her back on the knob. He knew she did not have the strength to speak, but her expression was clear as any words: you know I did not come here over a nightgown.

He knew. But the thought that she had come for him was more optimism than he could face at the moment, regardless of what Thorn said. Feeling sheepish, he felt his shoulders slump as Hal continued to watch him. Her expression sent chills down his back. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his head falling.

"I feel so stupid," he said, the truth readily offering itself to her. His eyes burned at the admission, but he did not hide his tears from her now. "I did not want you to bear this burden. I did not want you to face the very ridicule and isolation that you have because of me. I wanted better for you. I still do. Even though I knew my actions would cause you despair, even though I knew they were cowardly and cruel, the hope I had that the next time you saw me would be as a free man was almost too strong to ignore. I thought I could do this without any harm done to you. I thought…I thought I was at least capable of that much. But it seems I am no better at protecting you here than I was on Illium."

He felt her before he saw her, how close she now stood. He felt her hands in his hair and he his head plummeted further in shame as a shudder raced through him at the same time. He did not deserve her touch. But for so long he had thought of nothing but. Her very presence already began to ease the ache in his chest. Because despite how much he had messed things up, she was still here. There were no words to describe how terribly he had missed her these last few weeks.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "I'm so sorry, Halen. For everything."

Her fingers in his hair grew still, and he sniffed pathetically, assuming she was angry. He could feel the tension in her body and he braced himself for the onslaught.

"You think…you think I'm angry at you because of the mob? You think I would blame you for what others did? I would've thought by now you'd trust me more than that, rider. Unlike the Varden, I am actually capable of separating your actions from those you have no choice in associating with." He flinched, embarrassed. She certainly had him there, and he felt increasingly guilty now. "You think I did not know — you think Giles did not warn me — of what would happen the moment we publicly declared ourselves your allies?"

He struggled to look up at her, tears running down his cheeks again. But he need not bother. She was lowering herself to the ground, kneeling before him so that she could meet his gaze. Her expression sunk him. How she could look at him, a man with and made up of nothing, like she did, made it hard to breathe.

"By your side, rider. Always." She brushed his hair back from his face, wiping the tears as they fell. "If I am angry at you, it is because you left me in the dark. You did not give me the chance to support you in this. You let me needlessly worry for you when all you had to do was tell me that you would rather turn yourself in alone."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I thought…I thought you wouldn't let me go. I was afraid that I couldn't do this unless you were with me. If I had told you what I was thinking, and you had insisted on coming…I think I would have caved and let you. Because I feel safer with you, Hal. But just how you ran from me in the tunnels to try and spare my life, I had to take this leap of faith on my own and hope that it would still lead me back to you. Just like always."

She took a slow breath, her arms on his thighs and her chin on top as she gazed up at him. "Do not say such sweet things, rider. I'm pissed at you."

His lips twitched in a smile, but he saw how Hal's expression had softened and he did not feel bad for it. "My apologies."

"I admit that Giles told me much of the same thing regarding some of your motivations," she admitted. "so, I feel that I must admit that you are right. For what you wanted to achieve, not telling me was the better call. I feel so protective of you that I admit that my worry can supersede reason. But I would not want to feel like I cannot make my own decisions, and you deserve the same. I will be better about that too."

Murtagh felt tears of gratefulness burn his eyes. "Why are you so good to me?"

She didn't even hesitate in her answer. "Because you are deserving of love. You are deserving of kindness. I will not let a moment go by where I will let you forget that."

He nodded, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear, his finger stroking her cheeks. She did not pull away from him this time. "Thank you, Halen."

She closed her eyes briefly, relishing in his touch. "I know you did not act out of cruelty or cowardice. You were so brave, both you and Thorn. I'm so proud of you for standing in your truth. I'm just so relieved you're okay and in one-piece, from what I can tell. Did they hurt you, Murtagh? Did they hurt Thorn."

Her fingers ran over the place where the rock had struck him, remembering. Not wanting to tell her about getting kicked in the face and his food being withheld, he shook his head. "Nothing we couldn't handle."

"You're just saying that so I don't tear this castle to shreds." She sighed, getting up slowly and sitting down beside him, moving with a weariness that mirrored his own. "But since we need it intact to earn your pardon, I will withhold my emotions for the time being."

Murtagh hiccupped a laugh. "Thank you for your continuous restraint in not destroying buildings for my sake." They shared a brief smile as he raised his head to look at Hal, who was watching him carefully. He took her face in his hands. "I missed you, Halen. I thought about you every day."

For some reason, the words made him feel more vulnerable than the entire conversation he'd just had. He wasn't quite sure why, but he soon forgot to care when her smile widened at his confession. Then her lower lip trembled with emotion as her own face twisted in anguish that was a knife to his heart. "Oh Murtagh. I missed you too."

He took her hand and held it to his lips, kissing her palm. He pushed back her sleeves to kiss her wrist, her arm. He heard her breath catch when he gently bit down on the skin, his body unconsciously reacquainting itself with hers after a month apart. He didn't realize it was possible to miss someone this much. He had thought of her, had familiarized himself with the curves of her body, the warmth of her smile, the love in her eyes. They had gotten him through these last few weeks.

Now, returned to the real thing, he realized how even the smallest of details had been missed. The groove of her dimples, the cadence of her voice when she was worried about him. And for just a brief instance, he became afraid. Afraid that any further time apart could cost him his memories of Hal.

He hesitated only for a moment, searching Hal's gaze to make sure it was all right, before he leaned forward and kissed her, a hunger burning him from the inside out. Her lips were like velvet, softer than he remembered. How could he have forgotten? She kissed him back with a ferocity of her own that untethered him from his body, then sucked him back in with force. The way she touched him, the way she held him, beat back the darkness that had been closing in on him. Although the shadows still danced around him, all he could see in that moment was how blinding her light was.

Suddenly she pulled away, and Murtagh nearly fell forward before opening his eyes in confusion. Her eyes were shining in the darkness, but her expression and tone were stern. "Make no mistake, Murtagh Morzansson, I am still very much pissed at you."

He nodded quickly. "That's fair, iet dunei. That's completely fair." And then he pulled her back down, drinking her in like she was water after a stretch in the Hadarac. Her hands were warm on his chest, carefully stroking the scarred flesh in the same manner with which Murtagh ran his hands up her side: seeking out the familiar, finding solace in it, and holding on to it tighter than before.