"Murtagh, thank you for joining us." Still moving stiffly, the dragon rider approached Arya and Orik who were waiting for him by the crumbling remains of the castle's front gate. Like him, they were dressed in leathers and furs to stave off the brutal cold, the sharp wind turning their faces pink. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thank you." Of course, it was more complicated than that. It had been another week before Murtagh was properly cleared for any sort of extraneous movement or activity, and his arm was still required to remain in a sling for at least another month. While that bit of news didn't thrill him, he was glad to be able to keep busy again. As much as he wanted to stay by Hal's side, he also knew that it wasn't the best use of his time. He could not help her sitting around doing nothing and waiting for her to wake, and she wouldn't condone such behavior when there was so much suffering to tend to.

Leaving Hal in the care of the Horstsson brothers and Juliet, Murtagh had decided to first venture into the city per Nasuada's instructions. He did not honestly know if he could be of much help, but it seemed like the best place to start.

Horses were brought to them to aid in the walk down, especially since Murtagh still had to take it slow to avoid further damage to his shoulder. He was surprisingly relieved to see Levi brought to him, glad to know that the horse had made it okay. Levi nosed his palm in recognition, which made Murtagh feel better.

"What all have you heard about what happened?" Arya asked as they began their descent down. The cobbled paths that led from the gates down to the city felt eerily quiet, where they once would've been bustling with castle staff and the occasional visitor. Now, hardly anyone left the safety of the castle these days, and security was so tight that many were wary of how difficult it could be to get back in. No one wanted to assume that Thea's influence was completely gone. Not yet.

"Not much that makes sense to me," Murtagh admitted, bracing himself against the cold as they were forced to ride against the wind. "According to reports from Roran who was there, the area only around where Hal was standing turned black, leading him to believe it was her magic that had done it. But as I told Nasuada, from what I've observed of Hal's magic, she's never been capable of such a feat."

"Is it possible she hid it from you?" Orik asked, with no suspicion or accusation in his question.

Murtagh shook his head. "Although Hal had performed magic once before in her childhood, it was nothing like this. The way she responded to it when I was there gave me doubts she had done any magic since. Whatever this was, it had to have been in response to Thea. Something was different this time around."

"That's what I speculated as well," Arya said. "Halen must've suspected on some level what Thea's magic would be capable of. Had she not acted when she did, all of the remaining soldiers in the city would've lost their lives, you, Thorn, and Roran among them. It would have taken many strong elves to do what she did."

She let her statement hang in the air for a bit, and Murtagh clenched his jaw, unable to come up with an immediate response. Of course, to those like Nasuada or Roran who may not fully understand magic, what Hal had done seemed like nothing more than an incredible feat. To the trained few like he and Arya, however, that was simply not the case.

"I know as much as you do as to how Hal managed to pull this off," he continued, half truthfully. "The last thing I want is for Hal to be put in further danger because of this. I'm as eager to figure this out as you are."

Arya didn't respond, just studied him carefully as if looking for a chink in his armor. Orik glanced between them both, looking like he could only half follow what was being implied. The rest of the trip was relatively silent as they led their horses down the woods. Once they reached the city, Murtagh felt his throat tighten. He had not had a moment to take in the destruction Thea had wrought until now, even during the battle. And while the brothers, Juliet, and Roran had painted vivid pictures in their recounts, it was nothing compared to Murtagh seeing it all up close with his own eyes.

At first, the most striking bit was the silence. A city like Ilirea was never quiet, even at night. Whether it was the drunks stumbling home late from the pubs or the night patrols gambling over a game of dice, there was always some noise to be heard, even when it was Urû'baen and ruled under Galbatorix. But not anymore. The wind cut through empty homes, doors and windows busted open from the rioting to escape or from the blowback of the many hits the city took over the course of the attack. Some parts still appeared relatively intact, but it was all abandoned just the same.

However, as they moved further in, the damage became more apparent. Giant rocks had been tossed into homes and buildings like they had been thrown by a giant. Murtagh shuddered to think of the people inside, unaware of what had happened, even in their final moments. They had to navigate around the destroyed streets, blocked by debris that had yet to be moved.

Then they reached the crater.

The horses stopped, Murtagh feeling his eyes begin to burn as he beheld the remains of the explosion that had rocked the city from its foundation. It was deep, almost twice the size of Thorn. It was obvious that it had come from deep underground. What panic and chaos this alone must've caused. He tightened his grips on the reigns, Arya and Orik's expressions both heavy. He knew that Arya likely felt as he did. Even in his lowest moments, he would have never wished this on a city of innocents. The fact that there were no dragon riders to protect them when they needed it most…he felt like he had let them down. Arya had to look away completely.

They made it around the impact site, the wind blowing right into their faces. It carried the stench of rotten eggs that had him gagging before he could stop himself. Arya pulled out a scarf from her knapsack, passing him an extra one as Orik donned the one around his neck over his mouth and nose. Grateful that they had already come and had known what to expect, Murtagh muttered a quiet thanks before wrapping the cloth around his face. It didn't completely block the smell, but it was certainly better than nothing.

"I think it best we go on foot from here," Arya said, speaking a bit louder to be heard over the thick material covering her mouth. "The last time Orik and I came here, the smell became too severe for the horses and they nearly bucked us off trying to turn around."

Murtagh didn't need to be told twice. They tied the horses behind a still-standing, brick building, hoping that it would at least stop the wind from sending the awful smell their way. Murtagh's gaze took in the wreckage, mourning the bodies that had yet to be pulled from the rubble for proper burial. He imagined such a process would take many more weeks.

When they finally reached the demarcation line, the smell was so pungent that Murtagh's eyes were watering. Horrifically enough, he could even start to taste it on his tongue. He forced himself to look and gaze at the unbelievable sight before him.

"…tread not where the ground grows black and brittle and the air smells of brimstone, for in those places evil lurks…"

Murtagh had first heard those words six years ago from Umaroth. As he stared at the destroyed land before him, they came to him once more. It was startling, that he had not headed Umaroth's words and had still attempted to find such magic. But he had failed.

Until now.

He could not fathom how such land suddenly existed in Ilirea of all places. Or what was left of Ilirea anyway. The fact that Hal had somehow done this with her magic was even more unbelievable.

"…for in those places evil lurks…"

What did he mean by that? Was it just a coincidence or was it something about this kind of magic that drew out the darkness? Murtagh couldn't envision Hal's magic doing such a thing. It seemed impossible.

Yet, here he was, staring at it.

"Bleak, isn't it?" said Orik, his voice muffled under his scarf.

That was putting it mildly. As bad as the blackened earth was, it was perhaps only a fraction as devastating to behold as what lay beyond it. While what remained of the land was several meters thick all around, it wasn't so big that Murtagh couldn't make out where Hal must've been standing and the destruction she had shielded everyone from.

Gingerly, he took a small step forward, unsure as to why he felt like stepping on the black ground would send him combusting into flames. But nothing happened and he dared press forward, tears streaming down his face at the smell. When he reached the other side, he had to remind himself to breathe.

The rest of the city was gone.

Much like when Thea and Hal's magic had collided on Illium, every building had been flattened into rubble. Nothing was left standing. Murtagh doubted that any bodies had survived such an ordeal. Looking back at what remained of Ilirea over his shoulder only magnified what Hal had done for them all. The sacrifice she had made of her body so that everyone would not meet the same fate.

Seeing all he could bear to see, he returned to Arya and Orik before gesturing that they should step back a bit. Murtagh waited until they were at least downwind from the smell before pulling down the cloth around his nose and mouth so that he could speak clearly. "I admit that I don't quite have the words just yet for what I've seen here. It's worse than I expected."

Orik's expression was somber. "Aye, I almost didn't want to believe it myself. The smell is atrocious, but we can hardly complain. The Shade's magic flattened everything else to rubble. The rotting egg smell is certainly preferable to that."

"It must have something to do with the scale of Hal's magic. I've never seen her create anything like it before. I know there's a similar spot up north that I was warned of once before."

Arya nodded, her reaction indicating she had already thought of this as well. "Yes, I've heard of it too. Far beyond Du Weldenvarden and the Alagaësia borders. We elves have stories of such places, but even among us none have dared tried to find it. I'm not sure if it's truly significant or not, but I let Nasuada know that I would look into it at the elven archives and see if it can tell us anything. Perhaps it might lead to a clue as to the Shade's magic or how to restore magic altogether."

"Does this mean you are soon preparing to return home?"

She smiled. "Aye, we both are." She gestured to Orik. "My people have woken up without magic. I've done all I could to help stabilize the queendom, but now I must tend to my own."

"Same here," stated Orik. "Although we dwarves do not rely on magic nearly as much, I imagine my people can still sense that something is off. We will all have to lead our respective groups carefully during these heavy times."

"Of course. Your support has been greatly appreciated."

"I shall keep you and Nasuada abreast with any findings," Arya added. "I trust you will do the same?"

"Aye."

"Good. Then let us head back. There are many things we must still discuss before Orik and I take our leave."

As they made the return trip, Murtagh said, "Has there been any conversation about sending a messenger to Eragon? He may be aware that something is wrong, but he too should be made aware of the specifics."

"Nasuada and I have discussed that at length," Arya offered, keeping her eyes forward. "I admit that I am split. Eragon's assistance would be assuring, but this attack only proved why we need more riders. You and I cannot manage the threats against this land alone."

"It would not do to tell him nothing though," Orik argued. "What if the Shade should target him next?"

"A concern Nasuada also expressed. That's why she sent a messenger a week ago."

Orik and Murtagh both pulled gently on their horses' reigns, stunned. "She already sent one? Why were we not made aware?"

"Because right now, we do not know where enemies may lie in wait. The biggest advantage of Eragon leaving was that only a select few knew where he was taking the dragon eggs. If word got out that we were sending a messenger…"

"The Black Hand," Murtagh finished, understanding. Arya nodded, pushing them along again. He sighed. "I imagine my priority once I'm in better shape is hunting them down. So long as they are out there, we are still too exposed."

"Nasuada mentioned that she had Mr. Brighamson mention her concerns regarding their potential activity," Orik commented.

"Yes. I have Baldor and Albriech on Hal at all times. I fear they may go after her again in an effort to get to me."

Arya glanced up at the grey sky as if calculating something before she spoke again. "I'm glad she has security you trust. I would be remiss if I did not also mention to be mindful of your food and surroundings as well. While it would not do to be overly paranoid, you and Nasuada will have targets on your back. We cannot risk losing either of you. It would spell ruin for a still infant queendom."

When they reached the keep, a stable boy appeared to take their horses back for rest. Orik mentioned something about checking in with Nasuada and bid Arya and Murtagh a farewell for now. When the two riders were alone, Arya turned to Murtagh with a gentle smile. "I did not want to say as much in front of Orik, as I know his situation is a little different from mine. But I did want you to know that, should you ever find yourself up north, you will always have a place to stay with the elves."

Murtagh blanched at the invitation, which he did not take lightly. Recalling his conversation with Orik that Arya must've been referring to, he blurted, "Are you sure it is safe for Thorn and I to go to Du Weldenvarden?"

Her expression darkened some. "You believe my people mean you harm?"

"No. Well, yes. I mean…" His face grew red, his throat tight. He wondered if he would ever be free of his shame. Ever be finished apologizing for what he had done. "I killed Hrothgar. As I'm sure you have gauged or been told, Orik made it clear that regardless of how he perceived me, we would not be welcome amongst his people. Which, of course, I understood. And with the elves…"

He faltered, but his anecdote was enough that Arya's expression softened with understanding. "Oromis Thrándurin and Glaedr."

"I do not mean to insinuate that your people would go against your orders and harm myself or Thorn. However, I am also aware of the situation this would put you in."

"You think I couldn't handle it?"

"I do not think anyone else should bear disdain because they have chosen to show me kindness. Or even allyship. I simply do not want to cause trouble where there was none."

Arya's green eyes studied him a moment, seeing the seriousness in his own gaze. "I admit, when put like that, I can understand your concern. But the elves know and understand that it was not by your own hand that Oromis and Glaedr were cut down. I assure you, neither you, Thorn, nor Halen will find any opposition to your presence in my courts."

He breathed, unable to hide his relief. "Thank you."

"Do not thank me, Murtagh. Just continue down the path that you are on. So long as you remain true to the fealty you have sworn, you will have an ally in me and in the elves."

Murtagh stood outside, watching Arya disappear to find Fírnen. I admit, I keep expecting there to be added stipulations to this newfound alliance, Thorn commented, still holding his spot under Hal's window to keep an eye on her. But it is nice to be proven wrong as of late.

Indeed, Murtagh said, turning back to climb the stairs towards the room where Hal slept.

I must also admit that I am rather excited to see Du Weldenvarden properly someday.

That would make two of you, he said, meaning Hal.

Don't even pretend to be annoyed. You know you adore seeing the look of wonder on her face. And if she cannot see the Beor Mountains then Du Weldenvarden is the next best thing. Plus, I think the setting will do her and us some good. With all respect to Nasuada, I have a feeling that Arya's people would be less bold in their disdain and disrespect.

Murtagh blushed, still stuck on the idea of Hal's face if she were to ever step foot in the land of the elves.

Told you, Thorn said smugly.

Oh shut up. I ought to leave you behind and rid myself of your ridicule.

I would certainly give all of my fangs to see you try.

…

"Don't touch me, traitor!"

The first woman Murtagh tried to tend to was sharp, eyes wide with fear when he had attempted to approach. Keeping his voice calm, he said, "Please. I mean you no harm. I just want to help."

"You can help by staying far away from me. We were fine until you showed back up here. I bet all of this is your fault!"

It would've hurt less if she had slapped him. In between his meetings with Nasuada, she had insisted he find some means of occupying himself around the castle. He decided to assist treating the wounded with Roran and Giles until he was ready for heavier tasks, knowing the healers were still very overwhelmed. Or at least, he attempted to help. But despite the soldiers, having seen him in action, who seemed to tolerate his presence more, he could not say the same for the citizens.

He swallowed his hurt and nodded the he had heard her, backing away and trying to move to the next person.

They spat in his face.

"HEY!"

The man who had done it paled as Roran approached, brown eyes flashing in a heated rage that let Murtagh know he had seen what had happened. Perhaps he had even overheard the first woman's objections. Considering the surrounding crowd was turning to look, Murtagh surmised that most had probably heard the stark rejections. Mortified, he wiped his face with his hand before wiping his hand on his trousers, trying to keep his movements subtle.

"What's going on over here?"

The man squared his shoulders, his hands clutching his broken leg that stretched out in front of him. "I won't be treated by no traitors."

A small chorus of agreement went up around them. Murtagh, his face hot with humiliation, had already risen to his feet. "It's fine, Roran, I can make myself useful somewhere else. I don't want any trouble."

Roran seemed not to have heard him at all. Staring the man down he said, "Then you must not want to be treated at all then?"

The man's face grew indignant with disbelief. Before he could retort, Roran cut him off again, his tone sharp and chilling. "This city has faced an unprecedented attack from an enemy the likes of which we have never seen before. An enemy who slaughtered innocents, who let a hoard of Ra'zac into people's homes. We were overwhelmed, and the only reason we had a fighting chance is because Murtagh and Thorn fought alongside Nasuada's soldiers, myself included, to defend this city. Anyone alive in this room owes it to this man right here."

The room had fallen quiet as Roran spoke, his voice now projecting as he made his stance known. Some soldiers were even nodding in agreement. "If anyone decides that they are too good for his aid now, then that is your choice to make. But know this: slander against Murtagh, Thorn, and Halen, who traveled with them, will no longer be tolerated by her majesty. If you do not want his help, then we will be sure to put you up in accommodations where you can fend for yourself. Since you must not be that injured if you can deny assistance."

Roran eyed the man challengingly, and he said nothing. Roran turned on his heels and left. Murtagh stunned, humbled, and a bit embarrassed, quickly followed after him. He had no desire to remain in the room where he could feel the stares of hate being tossed his way as he left.

"You need not go through such trouble on my behalf," Murtagh said, speaking quietly. "But thank you."

Roran stopped suddenly and turned to face him. "You and Halen do not easily accept help or accolades, do you?" Murtagh's throat tightened at the mention of Hal, and Roran seemed to sense this and he gently steered the subject elsewhere. "Regardless, I meant what I said in there. When you and Thorn showed up when you did…" Roran shook his head, and, for a moment, Murtagh thought he might cry. "I was so relieved at the sight of you both. As were my men. I can't pretend otherwise. The citizens may not see it yet because they do not yet understand the gravity of what we are dealing with. But the soldiers and I do. And Halen…" Roran shook his head. "Eragon could not have done what she did. I never met him, but I don't think Galbatorix could have either. We owe all three of you our lives. You have my undying appreciation for that, cousin." Roran clapped him on his good shoulder. "Don't force yourself here. Be sure to get some rest."

Murtagh nodded that he'd heard him, but spent the next few days doing anything but. One morning, he went with Giles to assist a small room of people needing aid who seemed trepid around him, but less resistant. Giles had insisted he come, so Murtagh had a feeling the man must've asked these people first, because they did not seem surprised to see Murtagh there. Only nervous.

Murtagh helped them reset dislocated joints, clean infections, and the like. He kept his tasks small, since his left hand was a bit useless. He told himself he was channeling Hal, and how gentle her hands always seemed when tending to others. Not to mention that he did not want anyone thinking he was being rough. He was too aware of himself.

As he worked, one old man was vocal and tearful in his appreciation as Murtagh applied a balm to the severe burns that covered his legs. At first, Murtagh didn't understand why until the old man gestured to a small boy beside him, his leg in a tight splint that someone else had done. "You traveled with the dark-skin woman, yes?" the old man asked.

Murtagh barely lifted his head, wary of where this question was going. "Aye. Her name is Halen."

"Is Miss Halen alive?" the child asked suddenly, his wide brown eyes pleading with Murtagh. "I want to see her again."

Again? "Aye, but she was terribly wounded. She's resting now."

"She saved my grandson's life," the old man said, pressing a hand to the top of the boy's head with tenderness. "We had been separated in the ensuing riots. I felt awful, trying to run back to find him. But I couldn't walk." He gestured to his legs and Murtagh nodded in understanding. "Some gentleman brought Frankie here to the infirmary, and he kept going into detail about the woman who had tended to him."

"She was like a guardian angel!"

Murtagh was staring at the child with tears in his eyes and quickly blinked them back. "She saved my life too, you know?"

"She did?"

Murtagh nodded, describing their first encounter over the Nïdhwal. And it had the intended reaction he had wanted. The boy was entranced, listening raptly as Murtagh tended to his grandfather. When he was finished with both his tale and the old man's injuries, he added, "I try to be as brave as Miss Halen when I'm afraid. That would be my advice to you. I know things are pretty frightening right now. But just be as brave as Miss Halen."

"Aye, sir!"

The grandfather chuckled, as he gazed at the child, then looked over at Murtagh. The man leaned forward and took his hands in his. "Thank you, young man. He is the only family I have left. That your beloved took care of him, and that you are taking care of all of us, is appreciated, even if others are too afraid to say as much. Just know that you will find no pushback from me."

Murtagh blinked, trying not to let his emotions get the best of him. He bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you, sir. I will continue to earn your trust in my service."

Murtagh stepped back from the two feeling lighter than he had in a while, stunned even. He wished desperately that he could tell Hal. Before he could write it off as one interaction, the next injured civilian he went to next did not hesitate to speak to him and tell him what ailed them. In fact, that the other injured people in the room seemed to become much more open to Murtagh's assistance as he made his rounds. He felt awkward and stiff, his smiles of comfort feeling forced, his hands almost shaking with nerves. They thanked him quietly, with their eyes, or, sometimes, not at all. But he did not mind their silence. They still allowed him to help.

…

Murtagh yanked himself awake, his heart racing with a terror he hadn't known since he was a boy. He felt the blinding pain of Za'roc on his back as if the wound was fresh. Feeling ill and covered in a thin layer of sweat, he slowly sat up in the chair he had fallen asleep in, his mother's diary spread open on his chest from the entry he had been reading before drifting asleep.

"That's a cursed child if I ever saw one."

He picked up the book, unnerved by how vivid his dreams had been. He closed it without even glancing at the writing, ignoring the way his eyes burned as he set the book down. He felt Thorn reach out to help soothe his racing mind, and Murtagh was grateful for the quiet support. Part of him knew, deep-down, that this was why he didn't want to read what his mother had left behind. He wanted nothing more than to leave her and his father locked in some dark corner of his mind. Prove that they did not influence him at all as he set out building a new life for himself. Acknowledging them in any capacity, even a negative one, he felt, was more than they deserved.

He went over to the basin and quickly washed his face with cool water, letting the act clear his head and wake him up. Patting his cheeks dry with the towel, he looked up at Hal, his throat tightening at how she continued to sleep, unaware of his nightmares.

Her absence greatly felt in moments like this, he walked over to the bed and sat down in the small stool that remained close by. He wanted to hold her hand but feared that her broken bones had not fully healed yet. Instead, he preoccupied himself by taking the clean rag Juliet had left and wiping Hal down to keep her clean. He brushed her hair gently, detangling the knots before letting it fall across her shoulder. It wasn't necessary — Juliet often took care of such things during the day. But until Hal awoke, it was the only way he could feel close to her.

It seemed like night after night passed in this manner. Murtagh would fall asleep to some new entry of his mother's diary, perhaps more if he could stand it, and wake up from his vivid dreams and memories before tending to Hal. Soon it became a routine, one that eased the growing ache in his chest as days turned to weeks and Hal showed no sign of life except for her slow and steady breaths. Orik, Arya, and eventually Roran returned home, Roran extending an invitation of his own for Murtagh and Hal to come visit sooner rather than later. He seemed so eager for it that Murtagh could not help but promise to do just that before walking away feeling as though he had made a terrible mistake. The last thing he was ready for right now was meeting extended family.

One morning, he was called to Nasuada's office. When he arrived, he had to brush the light coating of flurries that had been blown onto his cloak. They were now fully into winter, and conditions were growing concerning as everyone sought out proper shelter and provisions before it was too late.

"You asked to see me, your majesty?" he said by way of greeting as he stood back up from his bow.

"Yes, please." She gestured to the seat in front of her desk and he quickly sat down. Once he did, Nasuada took a deep breath and said, "I do not wish to make light of things, so I will get straight to the point: I know Hal's condition has not improved these last few weeks, but it also has not worsened. I cannot hold off any longer: I need you and Thorn to assist me, starting with investigating these reports regarding movement by the Black Hand."

Murtagh opened his mouth to respond, then thought better and closed it again. He flexed his fingers against his thigh, suddenly anxious.

Nasuada's expression softened. "I know the last thing you want is to be away from Hal should things change. My hope is that I could pull you away for only a few days at a time. Your presence in Ilirea has made a big difference, and I've heard the wonderful things people have been saying about you and Thorn's efforts." She sat forward in her seat, setting her hands on her desk. "That influence and guidance is needed in other cities too. Arya has left and we need a rider."

He took a steady breath, calming his nerves. After a few moments, he raised his head and met her gaze. "And you will have one, your majesty. Tell me what it is you need me to do."

Murtagh decided it was best not to prolong his departure. Ideally, the sooner he left, the sooner he could return. Based on what Nasuada had laid out for him, most of his trips should not last him more than a few days at most, and he would be allowed to return to Ilirea in between to check on Hal and rest. He had several places to visit in Surda first, since the Black Hand were believed to have been in hiding there. Then he had to work his way up to Feinster, Belatona, then Dras-Leona, Bullridge, and Gil'ead. It was certainly not a light load, but he was grateful he could spread out his travels.

The morning of his first departure, he stared at himself in the mirror, taking in his appearance with trepidation. It would truly be the first time he and Thorn would be on their own. And while he knew he could handle whatever may happen when he arrived in the first city, he would be lying to himself if he thought he wasn't wary all the same. He had no desire to experience a repeat of his time in Ilirea.

Juliet announced herself, waiting until Murtagh recognized her before entering. She shot him a kind smile, noticing his new attire immediately. "You look mighty handsome there, Master Murtagh. Gifts from her majesty, I presume?"

"Aye, although I do not know if they count as 'gifts.' I am doing business as her representation after all. I should at least look the part."

Not that he was fully complaining. In light of much of his attire being destroyed in the attack, Nasuada had planned ahead and already had preparations in place. She had sent him a few small items, thermal tunics, leggings, socks, and trousers, a secondary pair of leather boots, leather jerkins both long and short, and his own armor. Likewise, Thorn had also been properly fitted with new armor to wear so that his hide would no longer be exposed, for which Murtagh was endlessly grateful.

He had chosen a deep green jerkin, black pants, and cream tunic for his first look, having second-guessed almost every other combination before landing on this final outfit. Noticing his glances at himself in the mirror, Juliet asked softly, "Nervous?"

He felt his cheeks burn. "Am I that obvious?"

"Perhaps a little." She shot him an encouraging smile. "But you have persevered this long. I know it may not feel like it right now, but the hardest part is already behind you."

He knew what she was saying. He had already walked in exposed and vulnerable, already faced the ridicule and the lashes, the hatred and the bitter words flung his way. What more could they possibly do to him?

And yet…

"It felt easier, knowing I could come back to Hal," he admitted with a pained smile. "Even though I walked into this city alone, I was strengthened knowing she was out there waiting for me. And when we were reunited, I had her by my side. She always teases me for it…how hopeless I am without her. But these last few weeks especially, I can't find it in myself to think she was wrong."

Juliet gave him a sympathetic look. "Miss Halen does not strike me as the type to ever leave you alone. Her influence over you will always be felt, even if you two are apart. You have to simply hold on to that until she awakens. And I know she will awaken, Master Murtagh. When she does, she will be so proud of how far you and Master Thorn have come these last few weeks."

He nodded. "Thank you, Juliet."

When she left, he packed up the rest of things. He hesitated for a second, then decided to pack his mother's diary. He'd made it just a little more than halfway, no point in quitting now. When he was done, he turned towards Hal one last time. Taking a deep breath, he could almost imagine her doing the same, her smile hopeful and full of promise, just for him. She would not let all her worry show for the sake of his nerves. He strapped Zar'roc to his waist before walking to her bedside. Leaning down, he tucked her hair back and kissed her forehead, lingering for several moments. Then he placed his forehead against hers and whispered, "To me, Hal. Come back to me soon, my love."

And for the briefest of moments, perhaps only in his imagination, he could've sworn he felt the barest of brushes against his mind, familiar and tender as ever.