Unexpected Encounters

He was delighted by the unexpected meeting, even if it lasted only a short while...

They must have been apart for over twenty years. Back when he was still young and inexperienced; before he was recruited into the service that forever changed his life...

She was his first, perhaps his only, love from those times. If love could be defined by the early heartbeat that kept him awake at night and took away his appetite for food...

For a short period, they met at their predetermined rendezvous, under the large acacia tree outside the city walls. They would then disappear together into the countryside for long walks, exchanging warm kisses and daring caresses...

A few weeks later, she had followed the intricate paths of her life, leaving him behind. It hadn't taken him long to forget her...

But now, he was truly happy to talk to her again. She hadn't seemed to change at all in appearance, despite the many years that had passed since their last meeting...

She was passing through their area again, she said, on one of her life's complex quests...

"If circumstances demand it, I would welcome having you with me for a while..."

.*.*.*.

Nasuada loosened the reins of her horse, allowing it to gallop freely across the plain that surrounded the rocky hill on which the city of Aberon was built.

Since the day the assassination attempt against her took place, Ajihad had assigned trusted guards to protect her. Their orders were not just to follow her discreetly from a distance, but to never leave her side. The men were present in all her daily activities, which Nasuada found extremely displeasing. She felt suffocated by this constant surveillance. In the mornings when she would leave her room – only to find that the guards were not only stationed outside her door but also throughout the corridor, having kept watch in shifts all night long – two of them would follow her wherever she went. Nasuada had noticed that, in addition to these two bodyguards, there were others scattered around, observing with suspicious eyes the movements of people – whether palace staff or not – who happened to be in the same vicinity as her.

At first, she had dared to complain to Ajihad, asserting that she was more than capable of protecting herself and arguing that assassination attempts like the one against her couldn't possibly be plotted every day. However, the leader of the Varden had remained resolute. There were two primary objectives in his life, he said. The first was the entire cause of the rebellion, and the second was the safety and well-being of his daughter. He would not allow, under any circumstances, for Nasuada to be endangered, nor for Galbatorix's agents to undermine his efforts indirectly by blackmailing him with the life of his own daughter.

In response to his words, Nasuada had no arguments of equal weight to counter with, so she accepted – albeit with obvious displeasure – his decision. She understood Ajihad's concerns, but found them excessive. Moreover, this close surveillance oppressed her to such an extent that there were moments when she could hardly bear it, even for the love of her father.

Nasuada was well aware that a request for an alliance had already been sent to the dwarves of Farthen Dûr, and if their king, Hrothgar, and the representatives of the clans accepted it, everything would change for the Varden. The leaders and their army, along with the women, children, and their herds, were soon to leave Surda. All their people would find refuge under the rocks of the Beor Mountains, within the secure yet underground cities of the dwarves.

This prospect brought relief to Ajihad, but caused his daughter additional discomfort. The blue skies, the lush forests, and the wide plains that she loved so dearly would be sorely missed. Even if she accepted being deprived of them for a while, she at least wanted to enjoy them as much as she could. And alone! Without the Varden's supervision.

The guards were persistent in following her, but Nasuada was resourceful and determined. Claiming that she wanted to visit the royal stables to check if her new mare was being properly cared for, she headed there that very morning, wearing the appropriate riding clothes underneath her dress.

There was great commotion in the courtyard outside the stables. It was the day the prince and his companions were scheduled to go out onto the plain for exercises with their horses, something Nasuada had learned the day before. Mounted young aristocrats filled the area, and servants along with stablehands were running up and down carrying out their tasks and duties. Nasuada demanded that her mare be saddled immediately, and while the guards who were obliged to follow her rushed to equip themselves with horses, she quickly discarded her wide skirt.

The frenzied throng of riders burst out of the gates, heading towards the winding road that unfurled down the hillside, following the rocky slopes to the plain. Nasuada, galloping with vigor and boldness, merged into their midst.

The group galloped across the plain, with the two guards following closely behind, only to realize in horror – when the prince and his companions regrouped – that the girl they were tasked to protect was no longer with them. Their persistent questioning, followed by the nobles' sarcastic remarks and irritation, yielded nothing. No one had seen Ajihad's daughter among them. Was it truly possible for a girl to be so adept with a horse that she could vanish from her guards' sight in the short distance from the palace to the plain? Were the guards certain that Lady Nasuada had not lingered in the courtyard in front of the stables, meticulously arranging the folds of her wide skirts on the small side saddle? Surely, she must still be there.

Unable to handle the situation, the guards retreated back to the castle, unaware that Nasuada was secretly observing their ignominious return from afar.

Earlier, amidst the pandemonium of the downhill rush, she had prudently taken a sharp turn and slipped into a wide crevice in the rocks. There she waited quietly for everyone to pass by, soothing her mare. Afterwards, she simply turned, followed another path she knew well, and from there, galloped freely onto the plain.

Satisfied with her mastery of horse riding and pleased with her cunning escape from the guards' attention, she now galloped across the plain, breathing freely the northern wind that whipped her face. The thick braids of her hair fluttered like a black shawl over her slender shoulders, and her wide trousers did not hinder her movement and vigor in the least. Thanks to these clothes, which she also wore during fencing lessons, Nasuada could always ride her horse astride like a man.

At first, the desire to gallop around her city without supervision seemed entertaining enough. However, she quickly decided that she very much wanted to visit the dense forest northwest of Aberon, so she changed direction. The thought of being alone for a while, without the suffocating supervision of the guards and without palace courtiers around her, in the silence of the forest and under the deep-shaded canopy of the trees, drew her to that place like a magnet.

Reaching the outskirts of the forest, the concern that she might encounter hunters and their retinues from the castle's nobility made her head even further north. She knew well that in these parts it would be difficult for anyone from Aberon to stray, except perhaps for the residents of Lithgow traveling south, who surely wouldn't recognize her.

Nasuada entered the forest following a shaded path. She had been to this place before, accompanied by Prince Orrin and people from his entourage. She remembered that deeper in the thickets, where the trees grew denser, a babbling brook flowed with clear waters. It was there that she saw a deer for the first time. Orrin had claimed that there were many more. Herds that hid deep in the forest and occasionally came to the stream's banks to drink. This was just one from the herd, good hunting for skilled archers who would lie in wait there.

Nasuada headed toward the brook. The plain's wind and the frantic gallop had dried her throat, and she imagined the horse's as well. She longed to drink from the running water and quench her panting mare's thirst. When the path that crossed the forest became narrow and the layer of fallen leaves so thick that the horse couldn't see where to step, the maiden dismounted. Under the thin rays of the sun, piercing here and there through the golden foliage, she led the mare to the brook, holding its reins.

The two winding banks stretched out covered in greenery and fluffy, mossy stones as far as the eye could see. Among them grew small, golden lilies and many other humble waterflowers, which, standing out among the fallen leaves, beautified the place. Nasuada encouraged her mare to the brook, letting it drink as much as it wanted from the refreshing water. She then knelt beside it on the stones and, cupping her hands, drank eagerly until her thirst was quenched. Although summer was nearing its end, the sun was at its zenith and the day was warm.

Nasuada loosened her neckerchief and untied the top laces of her shirt, wetting her neck and bosom with the cold water. Then she sat on the grass and began to dry the water with her handkerchief while her mare grazed on the thick grass around the rocks. Among the dense branches, she heard the birds singing, loudly proclaiming the warm afternoon, as the sun's warm rays spread over the trees. A family of water voles slipped out of the brook, where they had been cooling off, seeking refuge in their burrow in fright. Two mallards popped out a little further behind the ferns, splashing water all around. The wild rabbits startled by their flight ran here and there in a panic for a few moments, only to disappear again among the yellow lichens and the shadows of the ancient plane trees and the tall, broad-leaved maples.

Nasuada smiled happily. Her heart opened like a blooming flower to the simple beauty of nature and all the tiny creatures she perceived around her. The thought that all this would be absent from her life for a while, as long as the Varden had to hide under the shadows of the dwarves' mountains, was far from her mind at that moment. She allowed her senses to be filled with the melodious singing of the birds and the delicate scent of wild berries, ripening somewhere nearby on their bushes. Leaves decaying mixed with the moist soil and the rotting wood spread their earthy scent, as a dense cloud of startled insects balanced above the brook.

Just as Nasuada's heart was filling with the tranquility of the sweet afternoon, the snapping of a branch behind her sounded jarring, startling her. She grabbed the knife she had hidden within the folds of her clothing and sprang to her feet, ready to face any intruder who appeared uninvited to disrupt the serenity of the moment. Her hand holding the knife lowered slightly, and her fierce eyes softened when she saw who it was.

The young man was standing behind her at a small distance, having emerged from the bushes. He held a hunting bow in one hand and a quiver of arrows in the other; two small game hung from his broad belt. He had surely recognized her. His cheeks were bright red, and he gazed at her with shining eyes. A warm smile spread across his face, lighting up his features with evident joy.

"Lady Nasuada?"

.*.*.*.

"Murtagh!"

The young man took only two steps closer, maintaining the distance between them. "It's me, Lady Nasuada, I didn't mean to startle you. I'm sorry if I did so unintentionally." When she said nothing, he continued. "I'm here to hunt," he said, pointing to his bow. "I intended to set up an ambush at the brook. I didn't expect to find anyone else here."

With slow movements, Nasuada sheathed her knife once more. If he intended to hunt, he should have been more careful where he stepped. The noise of the breaking branch would have sounded an alarm for the game. Unless he had stepped on it deliberately to announce his presence to her in such a way.

"I wasn't startled by your appearance," she said, regaining her usual, commanding demeanor. "No one ever lost by being cautious." She always held great affection for her fencing master, Tornac, an affection that extended from the beginning to his son as well. Especially since the day he had participated in her rescue, disregarding any danger to his own life, Nasuada had considered him a friend. And now, even though she was alone in the forest, she believed she had nothing to fear from her friend and savior.

The maiden tidied her disheveled hair and clothes and retied her neckerchief. Then she called her mare over, which obeyed promptly. The young man hung the quiver over his shoulder and slung the bow across his chest. His entire demeanor did not indicate any intention of leaving, nor did he approach. He continued to gaze at her with the same bright eyes as before, while the blush on his cheeks revealed his embarrassment.

"Did you get separated from the nobility's retinue?" he asked with a tone full of interest. Throughout the day, he had been wandering in the forest and had neither seen nor heard any signs of others. But if Nasuada was here by herself... Had she gotten lost from her group?

The young woman laughed heartily and moved closer, holding the mare by the halter. Since the attempted assassination against her, Ajihad had abruptly stopped her fencing lessons with her teacher. He hadn't explained the reason to Nasuada, but she believed it was because of the imminent relocation to the dwarves. She missed Tornac and his teachings, as well as Murtagh and their intense and spirited sparring matches.

"Let's say… I got tired of all those with their stereotypical labels and propriety, and decided that I needed a day close to nature," she replied.

Murtagh nodded with understanding at her words. "I also went out at dawn to hunt," he repeated. "It was arranged for my father and me to come, but he felt... suddenly ill." His eyes darkened for a moment as he looked at the ground, but quickly turned back to her. His lips curved into a small smile. "I was coming to the brook intending to set up an ambush for a deer," he said.

"I haven't seen any while I've been here," Nasuada said, gently stroking her mare's forehead. Then she rested her cheek tenderly on the side of the mare's neck. For a moment, horse and young woman stood silently watching him with the same glistening eyes.

"You have a beautiful mare, Lady Nasuada," Murtagh said admiringly.

"Don't call me 'Lady Nasuada'. Just call me by my name," she protested.

Taking courage from her words, the young man came closer and stroked the mare's muzzle and forehead. His long fingers became entangled in the thick mane.

"How did you get here? By horseback?" Nasuada asked, examining behind him. Among the dense foliage, she couldn't make out anything, but she thought the distance from Aberon was too great for someone to have hiked all the way to the forest.

Murtagh shook his head. "I was walking from town, until I met a merchant with a wagon. He was heading towards Lithgow and agreed to give me a ride for part of the way. I hope to find another means to return later. Otherwise, I will have to walk back to Aberon, which will be difficult, especially if I catch a deer."

Nasuada frowned briefly. "There are no deer around here, as I told you." The thought of ending the life of such a beautiful animal, which she had admired on her previous visit to this place, upset her.

With evident embarrassment, Murtagh pointed to something on the wet ground, behind the bushes. "Look here, these tracks. They are deer tracks, and I've been following them for some time," he said.

The young woman moved closer, examining the tracks with intense curiosity and interest. "Do you really know how to read footprints on the ground that well?" Among the Varden, there were few who had such a skill, and their position in the army was enviable.

Murtagh laughed, his eyes sparkling with immense pride. "Of course, I know how!"

He showed her many other tracks of birds and animals. Rhythmic movements, their habits, and actions imprinted on the soil, on the decaying leaves, or even on the half-chewed low foliage of the trees and the broken tender branches of the bushes. He told her how to distinguish the elongated print of a water snake from the slithering of a lizard; the unsteady steps of a hedgehog laden with food for its nest from the quicker stride of a badger; the frantic, fear-driven run of a wild rabbit from the calculated leap of a hare. And there were the cloven hoof prints of a doe, lighter than those of a male. This one had injured her left hind leg somewhere and was limping. Eventually, she would tire and stop at the brook to drink... to rest... an easy prey.

Nasuada allowed the mare to graze again near the water as she keenly followed his steps along the shore. His vivid descriptions painted a clear picture in her mind of every animal and bird that had once visited these cool, leafy-covered waters. Enchanted by his words, she felt as though she was experiencing the habits of these creatures herself. Murtagh must have spent countless hours immersed in nature, observing the forest and its inhabitants.

The young woman couldn't remember ever having so much fun on those short excursions that the palace residents organized for walks or hunts. She often found herself giving him sweet smiles, influenced by his comments. She particularly appreciated the moment when he intentionally missed one of the wild ducks, startled by her tinkling laughter as they fluttered in the shallow stream. Nasuada had expressed her admiration for the shine and beauty of their gray-black wings and the glossy green feathers on their heads. Her subsequent comment, that it was not proper to separate such a well-matched pair, seemed to leave an imprint of boundless satisfaction on his face that bordered on happiness.

When Murtagh asked if she knew how to use a bow, she replied that she didn't. He immediately set out to teach her. First, he crafted an improvised bow from a suitable branch. It needed to be smaller and more flexible than his own long, hard, and unwieldy for her bow. He then carved notches at both ends with his knife and secured the string. Setting as Nasuada's first target the thick, dry branch of a fallen log, he guided her hands into the correct position and explained the proper archer's stance, giving information about various angles according to the height of the target and the distance from which the archer stood.

Nasuada felt his chest almost touch her back and his chin brush against the top of her head, causing her to feel a bit awkward. His current stance was nothing like the fencing lessons they had shared in the Borromeo hall. Such closeness she had never experienced with anyone, except for Ajihad, when he would lift her onto his knees as a child, letting her play with his thick beard, or hold her tenderly in his arms while reading her the first letters. Yet, her desire to learn archery and his overall gentle behavior did not repel her.

Murtagh always stood by her, correcting her missed movements, encouraging her failed attempts, and praising her every success. She quickly discovered that besides being a skilled swordsman, he was also an excellent archer. She was pleased each time her arrow hit the target. She appreciated the archery lessons and realized that shooting with a bow might suit her better than fighting with a sword. It was something she truly enjoyed.

"You need to learn how to hunt," Murtagh declared, satisfied with her successful efforts so far. Now, only a few tattered fragments remained from the previous target he had set for her, and the log stood battered and full of holes. "Hunting, as my father says, is an art that everyone should know, as it has never left anyone with an empty stomach."

Nasuada laughed. "And what does my teacher want me to aim at?" At that moment, she was ready to aim at anything to prove her worth to him; except for a deer, of course, and perhaps the previous pair of wild ducks.

Murtagh looked around, observing the life in the trees. No… the melodic bird wasn't worth targeting… Tornac called it a senseless death for those tiny creatures, with only feathers and a little meat on them. When there was no need… His eyes scanned the tracks on the ground and the wet leaves again. He silently motioned for her to follow him upstream. A bit further up, the stream widened slightly, and a cluster of broad stones formed a small pool, like a little pond. Murtagh suddenly crouched behind the ferns, and Nasuada quickly followed his movement. The young man silently picked a small arrow from his quiver and pointed it across the bank with its tip.

He didn't even need to make that move. Nasuada had already seen the moorhens perched on the wet leaves, and one of them still swimming in the calm water, dipping its head below the surface in search of food. She carefully took the arrow offered to her and, with slow movements, nocked it on the string. Without raising her body above the bushes more than necessary, Nasuada took aim.

The target she chose was the outermost of the still moorhens resting on the leaves. She hesitated for just a moment before letting her arrow fly. The huntress would kill only one bird to feed herself. The art of hunting was such that it never left anyone with an empty stomach, as Murtagh had said a little earlier. And she herself was hungry. The rumbling in her stomach that she had been feeling for a while returned, reminding her that it was past midday. Her hunger made her haste. However, the prospect of taking a life forced her to convince herself that the moorhen was not a living thing but just a target.

The arrow flew, startling the remaining birds, which hurried to take off along the water with strong splashes of their feet. Only one of them was left, fallen and motionless on the semi-rotten leaves, its black feathers speckled with blood spots, red like its crimson forehead. The arrow had pierced it.

Nasuada remained still, somewhat bewildered. It was Murtagh who hurried to cross the water and bring back her prey. A few moments later, he presented it, holding it high by the bloodied tip of the arrow. "Not even the most skilled hunter could have done better," he said, his voice full of admiration. "Lady Nasuada, your skill as an archer surpasses many."

"I told you, don't call me 'Lady.'" Her tone was annoyed, more for his words of admiration for the kill than for the title. Men did not regard the life of a bird as such when they were hungry. They did not even consider human lives when they fought. But wasn't she herself hungry? She had killed to eat... and she would do it again. Ajihad had taught her to respect lives that didn't need to be lost. But they were at war... at some point, she would kill in battle. She had to get used to it. Not wanting to seem unfairly upset with her friend, she turned apologetically towards him. "Call me Nasuada," she said simply.

Murtagh laughed. A huge smile lit up his entire face, and he decided to immediately act on the previous encouragement. "Nasuada!"

Her name sounded strange from his lips. He drew in the initial 'N' slightly, giving a warm length to the 'Z.' The second 'A' sounded rounded and internal, delivered with a sweet dimension. It was as if he held it with his breath deep within his soul. After letting it flow through his veins, he brought it back to the surface of his lips with an exhale, adding a bit of himself to it. The final 'Da' came out calm, quiet, and shy. "Nasuada…" the young man repeated once more, and to the girl it seemed as if her name blossomed on his lips like a flower.

She extended her hand towards him, not to take the dead prey, but to grasp his warm hand. Under the shadows of the foliage, she noticed his cheeks turning redder as he silently accepted her gesture. For a while, they walked together slowly, silently along the bank. His grip was both gentle and firm, exuding the confidence that his actions always seemed to have. She felt his palm rough, presumably from hours of sword use, yet it also conveyed a sense of strength and reliability.

Nasuada allowed herself to be guided by his steps. The tracks of the wounded doe were now clearly visible on the damp soil. And they seemed fresher than before.

Murtagh's interest was immediately rekindled. His attention turned again to the tracks. He sniffed the wind, his senses on high alert, but he didn't let go of her hand, which had so simply sought his own. The tracks led to a small thicket, where the wounded doe had likely sought refuge. Around them were fallen fresh, half-chewed leaves. Small branches of the bushes hung broken, their thin stems still dripping green sap.

Murtagh knelt to the ground, pulling Nasuada down with him, signaling her to stay silent and still. With silent, practiced movements, he readied his bow and an arrow. Nasuada's heart tightened. Through the bushes, she could clearly see the chestnut-colored soft fur... the trembling movement of a long leg... a thin, pointed snout that was chewing. Murtagh raised his bow and arrow, aiming at the doe.

Without wasting any time, Nasuada gently placed her hand on his shoulder in a dissuasive gesture. "I don't want you to kill the deer," she requested with a polite and calm tone. "I have seen a deer like this before. I have admired its beauty and sweetness. Please, don't kill it…"

For the first time in a long while, she shed her regal demeanor that she usually maintained while in the palace among the lords of Surda and the Varden army. Her hand tightened on his shoulder, and this gesture clearly left him more startled than their previous holding hands. Murtagh lowered his bow. "If my lady, Nasuada, wishes the deer to be alive, so it shall be," he stated plainly.

The girl gazed steadily into his eyes. "I want it!" The pleading tone that had been in her voice moments before vanished abruptly. She swiftly resumed her regal demeanor, as if she were once again mingling with a noble from Borromeo. "I know that your father will be expecting to be fed from the hunt, but..."

"Do not fret," the young man responded quietly. "My father will have his own share with the two small game." He was evidently referring to the two small animals already hanging lifeless from his belt.

"You may take the moorhen with you," Nasuada said eagerly, pleased with his obedience. She was very hungry and the hour was late, but she would satisfy her hunger at the dinner in the king's grand hall, if she managed to reach the castle in time for the table to be set.

Murtagh chuckled softly. "The moorhen is yours. You shot it, and you must be hungry by now." He rose from his seated position, crossing the bow and quiver of arrows over his chest. "Up ahead, there's a small clearing that's perfect for making a fire and roasting our catch," he suggested.

At his words, Nasuada felt her mouth water. The exercise with the horse in the countryside, the activities in the forest, and the prospect of sharing a meal with him excited her. "The moorhen is small," she said, pointing at the game he still had skewered on his arrow.

"One wing is enough for me," Murtagh responded. "You can have the rest. After all, it is your catch."

"One wing and one leg each," Nasuada stated with a tone that would not tolerate any objections. "And whatever else is left, we'll share equally."

"As you wish... Nasuada." This time, he let himself freely say her name. His somewhat rough, boyish voice startled a flock of birds from the trees above them. His steps quickened, pulling her along behind him. He was in a hurry.

"My horse..." Nasuada recalled her mare.

"It will stay to graze," Murtagh responded. "But if you wish, we can go back for it. There's another path to the clearing that is suitable for your horse."

"I would prefer that."

.*.*.*.

Having grown up in Borromeo Castle with all her needs attended to by the servants and maids that King Larkin graciously assigned to the Varden's high-ranking members, Nasuada never imagined she might one day need to light a fire in the wilderness. Murtagh showed her how. He first dug a pit in the soft earth using a stone, and together they arranged the firewood in a crisscross pattern at several levels. They added dry leaves as kindling between the logs, and their fingers often intertwined during this shared task.

Their efforts were rewarded with a warm, lively flame, which caused an abundance of cheerful laughter and smiles. Murtagh then prepared the bird, skewering it with a willow rod, and secured the spit between two forked branches above the embers. The fat from the moorhen dripped and sizzled in the fire, releasing a wonderful aroma of roasting from its blistering skin.

Nasuada took a deep breath. The sensation of hunger returned, stronger than before. To distract herself from the intensity of the feeling, she began conversing with him on various topics. They discussed many subjects that seemed to interest them both until the food was ready. Then, Murtagh divided the portions onto broad leaves using his knife.

Nasuada initially found it unusual to eat with her fingers, but she quickly adapted, thanks to her ravenous hunger. She devoured the first hot bites like a famished wolf and quenched the burning sensation on her tongue with his flask. She stripped the meat from the bones, ignoring propriety and etiquette, allowing herself to relish the moments in nature without other worries. As she ate, she noticed the boy's laughing eyes discreetly watching her. He was very considerate for not commenting on her voracity and also generous, as he eventually offered her part of his portion, saying he was satisfied and no longer hungry.

As time went by, Nasuada found his company increasingly desirable. She preferred his presence over that of many other young nobles of Surda, including Prince Orrin himself. He was courteous and well-mannered, and despite being merely the son of a fencing instructor, his education appeared to be exceptional. His knowledge surpassed that of many other nobles, and Nasuada happily realized that she enjoyed exchanging opinions with him. Their discussions were not only enjoyable but also aligned perfectly with her own understanding of history, poetry, art, and mathematics.

She was further surprised to realize that, despite the immense love she had for her father, the companionship of another man and his beliefs could influence her so profoundly. She knew she would often ponder this young man's ideas, turning them over in her mind at night, much like she did with Ajihad's. Wasn't he just as proud, with a type of self-assurance that Nasuada deeply admired? He was proud and undeniably confident, yet without the arrogance that she often saw in the nobles she interacted with. His vast knowledge on all subjects seemed to flow naturally, without any hint of showing off or hollow display.

Many nights, before sleep would embrace her, the memory of the seer's prophecy would repeatedly resurface in Nasuada's mind. Mama-Assefa had foretold that her beloved would be from a great lineage, but marked with a dreadful scar. Nasuada spent countless sleepless nights pondering about the scarred one in the prophecy. None of the young lords of Surda matched this description, nor did any of them earn her special attention. This young man was indeed unmarked and not of great lineage, merely the son of a fencing master. Yet, as she watched him speak and care for her, Nasuada thought that perhaps Murtagh could someday become her beloved.

As wonderful as the hours spent with him had been, the afternoon was swiftly slipping away, and Ajihad would soon be seeking his daughter. Nasuada glanced around the small world of the clearing with a gaze filled with profound melancholy, realizing that all of this would remain, even when she was buried deep in the dwarven lands. She promised herself she would return one day. The vast plains and open skies, the forest with its deer, and the clearing with its green grass would always be here, waiting for her return.

Sighing with hope, she let her eyes settle once more on her friend and unexpected companion in today's happiness. Although she had decided to always love her father and stay by his side as his faithful aide, she owed her life to the young Murtagh. In that moment, she decided to keep a part of her heart for her friend, offering him her eternal friendship.

"It's time to go..."

The happy smile faded from his face. Silently, he stood and gathered his belongings. He extinguished the remnants of the fire by repeatedly stomping on the embers with his heels and strapped the small game back to his belt. He crossed the bow and quiver over his chest and extended the lighter, smaller bow he had earlier crafted for her. "Keep this bow until you find a better one," he said.

Nasuada secured the saddle on her mare and led the horse onto the path, holding it by the halter. "Show us the way out of the forest," she requested. "We will walk together to the city limits since you have no other means."

They walked in silence across the meadow, side by side. The only sound breaking the silence was the clatter of the horse's hooves on the hardened ground as Nasuada led it behind her. The clouds passed slowly above them, spreading their golden and crimson hues across the sky, borrowed from the sunset.

"Perhaps you are unaware, but the Varden are soon to leave Surda."

Had a sudden bolt of lightning struck in the quiet afternoon, it would not have surprised him more than her words did. His heart skipped a beat, his pace turned hurried and anxious. His lips pressed together as he struggled to contain the urgent question. "Why?"

"After the attempt on my life, my father believed that all the Varden were in danger. Since the king's reach has extended to us... we are going to seek refuge in the land of the dwarves." Nasuada paused for a moment, causing him to halt as well and look at her. He appeared stunned by the news he had just heard. The steel in his eyes seemed to harden briefly, his brows knitted together, and the blue vein on the side of his forehead began to throb. "In a few days, the Varden will move towards Farthen Dûr."

Murtagh let out the breath he had been holding. "And you..."

"I will go with them!"

He reached out his hand slowly but steadily, briefly touching her cheek with his fingertips. "This means..."

"... that this is our last meeting," she added, giving him a sad smile. "At least the last for a long time. You know, I will miss your father's fencing lessons and... our matches even more." She wasn't saying this just for comfort; she deeply meant it. "But for the good of the Varden..." As a daughter dedicated to the same cause as her father, Nasuada embraced Ajihad's beliefs in the safety and triumph of the rebels.

"But... is the danger really that great? Surely..."

"This is what's best for the Varden, trust me." She looked confident, and her calm demeanor forced him to act similarly.

"Will we meet again before you leave?"

"I doubt it!"

Murtagh brought his face closer to hers. "Nasuada, I have... the best feelings for you, my friend... If only there were time..." His voice cracked. Within the words he dared to say spontaneously, a newfound tenderness emerged, surprising even himself. He realized that a part of him had escaped that didn't even feel like it belonged to him.

Despite his boldness, the maiden smiled, for she saw no trace of insolence in his words. Nasuada took his hand and gently squeezed it in her palm. "I consider you a loyal friend," she said warmly. "I will never forget that I owe my very life to you. Know that you will always find a friend in me, someone who will support you as much as they can." His earlier words had flattered her. Although she saw her future as belonging to her father as his assistant and to the cause of the Varden, she appreciated the implication that she had his love. A love she neither accepted nor rejected.

Nasuada let her hand fall loosely as she gazed at the setting sun. "I am very late," she stated. "My father must be – and rightfully – worried."

They rode together on the same saddle to the base of the hill, where the winding road leads up to Aberon. Nasuada halted her mare and Murtagh reluctantly jumped to the ground. Seeing his evident sadness and wanting a better farewell, she dismounted as well. They stood silently facing each other for a moment, looking into each other's eyes as the fiery sunset enveloped them.

"Farewell, Nasuada. Know that my thoughts will accompany you on your journey."

His words brought a smile to her face. "Farewell, Murtagh. Farewell, my friend. I had a wonderful time with you today. Perhaps one day fate will bring us together again. Until then, I will think of you at every sunset, even if I live under the shadows of the world. I will always consider you my savior and my best friend."

Without waiting for a response to her words, she swiftly mounted and spurred the horse, galloping uphill, raising dust behind her with the mare's hooves. Murtagh was left alone, watching her beloved figure vanish behind the sharp bend leading to the walls of Aberon. With profound melancholy in his heart, he too began to move slowly towards the city gates.