"Why do we have to train even here?" Aoife whined, stretching out her shoulders.

"You can't let your training go lax, especially your magical training. You're too close to a breakthrough to stop now."

"I'd rather spend time trying to break your curse."

"And I would rather spend time making sure that you have the best training possible so that you can take care of yourself without fear." He sounded grumpy, but Aoife's heart warmed nonetheless. It was his way of showing he cared, though she wished he wouldn't act like he'd be gone so soon.

She just wished there was something she could do to spark the same desire to live in him that he had sparked in her. She wished... She wished he would stay.

With her.

For a long time.

Fighting back a sudden flush, Aoife rolled her shoulders and forced herself back to the present.

Unlike when they trained at the estate, Tarran wore full red robes with his hood pulled over his face. Aoife felt slightly uncomfortable doing magic training out in the courtyard like this, where anyone might see them, but Tarran insisted that it was a necessary part of keeping up appearances. Other Enchanters and their apprentices would continue their studies while at the palace, and Aoife should be no different.

Only... there didn't seem to be anyone else around. Whether it was from fear of her power or lack of curiosity, Aoife didn't know, but no one watched as they worked, which was just as well.

"We need to work on your magic studies today. I'm not dressed to work on combat, and I don't plan to remove my hood so we can train."

"Fine," Aoife said, resigning herself to working on magic for the day. In truth, she preferred combat training to magic work- there was much less potential for something to go horribly wrong.

"Stop that," Tarran instructed, but Aoife just blinked back at him.

"Stop... what?"

"Being afraid of yourself. You're too timid, especially here, where you're in unfamiliar surroundings and you don't know anyone. Trust your magic."

"How am I meant to trust it if all it ever does is the opposite of what I want?"

"What if your magic has a will of its own, hm? What if it thinks its giving you what you need?" Tarran suggested.

"Explain." Aoife waved her hand in a manner that meant "go on."

"The more afraid you are, the more likely it is that your magic will lash out and react. Thus, it's better to practice with someone you aren't afraid of." Tarran held out his bare hand towards her, looking expectant.

"I won't keep hurting you just to practice," Aoife said firmly.

"Then don't," he said simply, shrugging his shoulders.

"You make it sound as though it's easy."

"Perhaps it is. Do you fear me?" he asked quietly, still holding out his hand.

"No," she whispered, but didn't move.

"Do you trust me?"

Aoife paused, looking back and forth between his hand and his face. "Against my better judgment," she mumbled. The tiniest hint of a smile pulled at the edge of Tarran's lips.

"Take my hand, Aoife. Trust yourself."

She reached out slowly, gingerly. Drew her hand back.

Reached out again. Drew back.

Tarran didn't move once, his breathing calm, his posture relaxed, only waiting for her to make the decision. Aoife's eyes squeezed shut, reaching out timidly over what she imagined to be a chasm of a thousand miles... and touched his fingertips with hers.

She immediately pulled away with a gasp, looking at her hand like it was a foreign object, and then back to him, still standing there, whole and hale and alive. Her heart pounded like a wild drum against her ribcage, seeming to shake her whole body in the process. Tarran's slow smile spread, still waiting on her.

"C- can I..?" she asked, reaching out again. He nodded firmly.

"Of course."

This time, she reached out even more slowly, letting her fingertips ghost over his palm, jumping when he moved his hand just a little. A slow shock settled across her features, eyes going wide and vision beginning to blur. Timidly, gently, she wrapped her fingers around his hand, amazed at the feel of his cool skin, of the callouses on his fingers.

One second.

Five seconds.

Ten seconds.

There was no crashing wave, no building of power. There was no burning sensation, no feeling that his life force was ebbing away in her hand. The magic was calm inside her, apparently content to let her touch this single person's hand.

It wasn't until the first tear landed on their joined hands that she realized she was crying.

"T-Tarran..." she whispered, intertwining their fingers, unable to take her gaze off their hands.

It was a miracle. A pure, wonderful miracle.

She couldn't make out her surroundings through the blur any longer, but she could tell when her vision filled with a wash of deep red, her body enveloped in a soft warmth. Holding her. Tarran was holding her, had let go of her hand to wrap his arms around her waist- somebody was holding her. At that moment, something inside Aoife that was stretched to the breaking point for far too long broke into a thousand scattered pieces. A sob welled up from deep in her chest as she wrapped her arms around him, tears staining a corner of his tunic as she trembled.

As she held him.

"That's it," he said softly, one hand rising to gently stroke her hair. The touch was comforting, but it only made her sob harder, clinging to him like a child. No one had touched her this way in so long, not since she was a child and her sisters held her after her nightmares. "There you go," Tarran murmured, allowed her to cry without complaint.

His heartbeat was strong and steady in her ear, the rise and fall of his chest feeling both foreign and comforting all at once. All the tension drained from her body as she sagged against him, unable to stop sobbing out of joy, fear, relief.

"I'm s- sorry," Aoife choked out as she took a step back, wiping at her eyes furiously. She couldn't stop her eyes from wandering back to her hands, though, and then to his hands, and back and forth between them.

"Be easy," Tarran said quietly, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips. He reached out hesitantly, a little awkwardly, and took her hand, pulling Aoife back towards him. She didn't resist, instead willingly wrapping her arms around him as sobs wracked her body.

Tarran's hand slowly traced circles on her back as he held her, the soft touch soothing some of her anxiety.

"It's like... it's like all I needed to do was to let go," she murmured against his tunic.

"You did well, Aoife."

"Wait," she said suddenly, backing away. "What if it comes back? What if I can't control it again?"

"Do you think that will happen?" Tarran asked, the picture of calm.

Aoife paused, thinking carefully. It was like she'd opened a lock on a door that she couldn't close again. The sense of serenity she felt at not thinking but knowing that she could touch someone without fear of harming them was like nothing she'd ever felt in her life.

"No," Aoife finally said. Something had changed inside her that day. Something big. Something she couldn't ignore any longer.

"I think that victory is enough for today," Tarran said softly. "Let's head back inside."

"Tarran? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I'm just feeling a little weak."

"Have you been up reading the whole night again?"

"Not this time, no," he said with a small smile.

That almost unnerved her more than if he'd been determined to stay awake. Something wasn't right. Something was off, and she couldn't pinpoint it.

"Can I get you anything? I can make a tonic if-" Aoife offered, but he just waved her off.

"No, no, that's fine. I think a nap is all I need."

Something was definitely wrong. Aoife didn't know how to ask about it, though, especially not in the state she was in right now. He wouldn't tell her a single thing until the last minute, and knowing that drive her absolutely insane.

"If you say so..." she murmured.

She just hoped she could fix this before it was too late. Tarran wasn't going anywhere so long as she had something to say about it. Curse or no curse, she'd make sure of it.