Sitting in a puddle on the floor with my hands tied behind my back to an uncomfortable support pole, with my poor foot outstretched, the sock just about hanging on by threads, seems to be the absolute cherry on the cake. Pathetic. It's about the only thing I understand about myself in this entire misadventure. I'm in a pathetic state and by process of elimination I can concur it's not going to go up from here.

My shoulders sag as I pull in a trembling breath, my lungs rattle a little, probably a sign of infection. By the throb in my head, and sickly sweat that runs down the nape of my neck and across my collar hones I'd wager that my short, second life is about to be very short-lived indeed. The irony almost makes me laugh, only my ribs and chest are too sore to even try.

The warrior who brought me to the captain's spacious tent spends most of his time guarding the flap of fabric that indicates the entrance. Except, when he enters to check the small fire in the centre, and ensure the embers still smoulder to an acceptable standard. The circular stone hearth is beside me, just to the left, and under a hole in the centre of the tent, where the stars glitter along with the points of terrific fir trees that might be as tall skyscrapers. Occasionally, when I have the strength to lift my neck I crane to see the stars and try to name the constellations to distract myself. My grandmother and I used to sit crouched at the head of her bed with curtains pulled back and watch the stars on a clear night. When I was older I realised it was just her way of distracting herself from worry about where my father was, and what ditch he drunkenly dived into. Oisín's little words about those passed on being our guiding lights come to mind and I take a fool's comfort in them. Maybe Grandma is giving me a little distraction.

A tear swells at the corner of my eye and plops down on the strewn rugs that carpet the floor and keep the damp earth at bay. My guard stares at me from the hearth, his brows furrowed and maybe that's conflict in his eyes, but I might be delirious. His skin is dark, like teak, and his eyes a bright green. Slender and athletic, like the rest of the Fae, I watch him move to a low table at the far side of the tent. There's a pallet covered in furs and a trestle filled with bottled jars and jugs. He opens a jug and pours the contents into a wooden cup, then bends to pick up a brownish tinged fur. He moves again, careful, almost keeping to the shadows until he's about an arms-length from me.

He kneels and offers me the cup. I shake my head. He scowls and retracts his hand.

"It's not poison," he clarifies and stretches the cup and it's sweet smelling contents toward me again. "It will help the fever."

"No thank you," I rasp, and firmly shake my head again. I don't trust them. I don't want any Fae-ish medicine, or whatever the hell it is.

He shrugs, stands, and drapes the fur over my shoulders. I immediately tense but the softness of the fur is the first welcoming sensation I've felt in so long. It feels like a hug and it starts the tears all over again. He seems startled by the reaction and takes a full step back. Embarrassment flushes through me and I wish I had the energy to care but I just want to curl into the folds of the blanket and give up.

Stay awake!

The voice booms in my head and I jolt, swearing at the intrusion. The sudden alertness has my guard swiftly exiting the tent with a concerned glance back.

"Leave me alone." I snarl and strain against the ropes that keep me pinned. "You did this."

Silence. Blissful quiet ensues and then I realise it's because he got his way. I'm awake. I make a disgusted sound at the back of my throat, and slouch against the pole again. How bored does a supernatural being have to get to be a pain in my ass? Can't a woman die in peace?

Die? That's a little dramatic.

I swear I feel the vibration of a snicker run across my bones. I glare at the ground, watching the tiny shifts in the earth ... tree roots ... jackass.

"I thought you couldn't protect me if I left the glade?" I mutter and recognise that my guard is sending alarmed glances at me and then at his comrades in the camp.

He doesn't answer, or perhaps the silence is the answer. The frustration only doubles the flow of tears. I'm so fed up with being toyed with. I'm so fed up being confused.

"Just stop," I whisper, my brow leaning so far forward I almost touch the ground.

There's no response, like I expected. Heartless creature. The only thought I focus on is Oisín and the command that he'll keep his promise. That he'll leave him alone. He can play his games all he likes with me but not the child. I don't know why those thoughts make my tears drive harder, but they free flow now, snots and all, until the little gaps of earth between the rugs is watered with them.

It's then that I feel the grass where it touches my fingers and bloodied toes. It almost sweeps at the skin, enough to draw my attention to the small patch of visible earth in my line of vision. A little bud pushes out between the blades of grass and dirt, blossoming open to reveal the white flowers with captured starlight from the glade.

You have my word.

The voice is quiet in my head. A sense of sadness saturates it and if I didn't know better I'd almost think he cared. A peace offering. Well, I'll hold him to it.

Voices outside the tent cut any further telepathic weirdness between Naisi and I. The ruckus pulls me up straight against the pole as the captain throws back the fabric and strides inside. He gives me a brief smile, shucking out of his cloak and carelessly tossing it on his pallet. He laces a hand through the feet of a stool and draws it up to rest beside me and the fire. Instead of sitting he plants a dirt stained boot on it and begins unbuckling the various leathers and blades strapped from his calf to his thigh. He works silently, then moves to the other leg, discarding the weapons and armour. Once finished with that, he starts undoing the ties and buckles of his upper body. Leather scales drop from his shoulder and arms. The whole undressing process is over in minutes and I'm not sure whether it's his display of power, or he's genuinely tired of lugging the weight of it around all day.

Once he's left in only a grey shirt and leather trousers, he stretches his arms above his head, sighs. I notice the little markings, like tattoos picking from his neck and a line of them that runs from his elbow to the crest of his wrist. Little nicks of black on a solid line. I know those shapes I've seen them somewhere. He drops onto the stool, lifts a log by the fire and nudges the embers, before adding it to the flames that start to lick a little more furiously around the edges.

"You look a little worse for wear," he says and tilts his head. "They tell me you refused drink. What? My hospitality not good enough for a selkie witch?"

"I'm not a selkie." I reply. "I don't even know what that is?"

"Well, if you came out of the water as my sources suggest then you're either selkie or Formorian." He chuckles and rubs the muscles between his shoulder blades. "Considering you're not abhorrent to my eyes and senses, I can rule out the last."

"Wonderful deduction skills, captain." I snap and he starts to laugh harder.

"My, what fight we have," he says and glances to the entrance of the tent, nodding once. My guard enters carrying a bowl, a plate, and a jug. The smell of roast meats, fluffy bread, and root veg makes my very stomach contract and squelch. "Ah, see, now I'm baffled, selkie usually prefer fish food."

"I'm not a selkie." I reiterate, but my entire focus is on the bowl he takes from the guard and peels off the cheese-cloth to reveal stew; piping-hot, delicious, thick, potatoey stew. I lick my lips and he smirks.

"Hungry?" His brows raise and mine furrow. "It's yours, if you start talking."

"I am talking," I answer flatly, scowling at him behind a curtain of matted hair and body stench. This is dehumanising. Cruel even.

"Good, then you'll have no trouble answering my questions." He rips an end off the loaf, dips it a little in the stew and pops it in his mouth. I practically chew it for him. "How'd you come by the knife?"

"You know how," I reply and strain against the ropes. "You said so yourself. You called him Naisi."

"Ah, so care to tell me why he let you live?" He sets the bowl by the fire and clasps his hands in front of him. "Or, why he staked you to a tree? How exactly did you a mere vagabond earn the protection of the Wild incarnate?"

"Hmm." I purse my lips and make a show of considering his question. "Well, let's see? After we had tea and cookies, and he explained his entire life story, and we bonded while braiding each-others hair, he thought it be a swell idea to stick me to that tree and bugger off."

The captain clicks his tongue, sighs, and sits up straight on the stool. When he reaches toward his pile of weapons I consider that my sarcasm might be a little misplaced.

"What do you want me to tell you?" I frantically hiss. "You'll not believe me anyway. You'll probably kill me. I don't know why he left me there. I was being chased by Formorians. I didn't even know who Formorians were until this morning. He killed them ... no ... he savaged them and left me alive. If you're such good friends why don't you ask him?"

My ramble is cut short when the captain's head snaps up. His jaw tightens and his fist forms around the knife in his hand. Naisi's knife. I swallow and register my heart is hammering in my chest again.

"Friends." He shakes his head and stares at the knife, his eyes glisten in what might be tears. "You've no idea what and who you speak of," he hisses between gritted teeth. "I was his friend. I was as close as a brother. Blood ... we were as thick as blood."

"And he, what? Upped and left you too?" I scramble for time, if I keep him talking then that knife stays away from my throat.

He lifts his gaze to mine. Something in it shatters and in all my years I've never beheld shadows of regret like it. Whatever happened it's not a pretty story. The look he has tightens my gut and I think of those scars, the frozen sky of stars caught in his blind eyes, and the similar horror echoed in Naisi's features.

"I couldn't save him," he answers in a voice barely above a breath. "The part of him that was my friend died. He doesn't even remember what he is anymore. The only thing keeping him tethered to this world is the Wild in his blood that endures." He makes a disgusted snarl. "It's keeping him alive when it shouldn't. What you saw in the woods was ancient and terrible, not my friend, and I am sorry for any pain he may have caused you."

I stare silently at the captain, then move my eyes to the flower still pushing defiantly out of the grass beneath me. My mind wonders to the voice. The voice that kept me alive and the power that pushed life through me when I didn't have the strength to do it myself. The hand that held my wounded face. The hand that steadied me. And those eyes. Captive eyes. I think this captain might he wrong. I think I might've been wrong. Or, at the very least not correct on the charges of an unfeeling beast.

"He didn't hurt me," I whisper. "He saved me. Granted, I think maybe for his own gains, but he never lay a finger on me. He kept me alive long before the Formorians."

"What?" He leans forward, gaze intense, like I've sparked hope. "How do you know he had any motive? How can you know any of that?"

"Well ... he told me?" I duck my chin and pick my words carefully, I don't want to mention Oisín. I don't need another on his trail. "I died. Or, drowned. I was in a car accident, there was a storm. I landed on this beach. I was a mangled mess. It was his voice in my head. He guided me. Then, when I was in the forest, and the Formorians attacked, he attacked back. Then he brought me to the glade. He wasn't a big conversationalist but he said I've crossed his land, and I wasn't leaving until he knew what I was ... I think? I'm human. Or, I was. I come from Éire. I don't know how I'm here. There was an old man. And, a tree. And, a storm ... and riddles ... and I don't know what else to tell you?"

"Stop. Stop." He holds out his hands, eyes wide, and almost as confused as I am. I register that I didn't mean to spill my guts but he already thinks I'm crazy, I may as well go the whole nine yards and earn a strait-jacket. "Human? The mortal Éire? No one has passed between worlds since the ancient days." He puts his head in his hands and breathes in. "Apart from that ... he spoke to you? You saw him?"

This is what he wants to get caught up on? Not the fact a crazy chick says she was resurrected on a beach and comes from another world entirely. Okay, maybe the crazy train left his station a while ago.

"Yes." I reply. "He was a mess. I've never known anyone to be so injured and be walking, let alone talking."

"By Danu herself," he gasps and sits back, hand clamped to his head, an almost smile on his lips. "He's trying."

"Huh?"

"He was so badly injured he lost form, it's been months now since he's been any more than a spirit it in the trees," the captain replies, standing to his feet and starting to pace. "I thought he'd given up. I thought we'd lost him. But, you ..." he says and spins to look at me. "You're not telling me everything."

"I am." I draw my knees to my chest, and angle away from the fury in his advance. "Look at me ... do I look Seelie to you?"

"Seelie?" He spits, but at least stops above me. "That's nothing but an infantile mortal name."

"Exactly," I mutter and nod my chin downward. "Human."

"Gods." He takes a full step back. The colour draining from his face. "You are telling the truth."

"Yes!" I cry and continue to angle my whole self away from him.

"Have you come across anyone else since you—" he pauses on the right wording, realising it's probably not easy to stomach. "Since you woke up ... here?"

I swallow. The pause too long, and he doesn't believe the shake of my head.

"Who else saw you?" He grabs the pole and shrinks down beside me. "You tell me now. Your life depends on it."

"No one." I shake my head again. "There was the old man before the accident. Odhran. He had something to do with it. He said something about asking forgiveness for his intervention. That maybe it would save more lives. And then I died. I ended up here."

"Odhran. An old man." He begins to untie the ropes, freeing my hands. "Who did he say he was?"

"He never said anything of who he was," I reply and scramble away from him the minute I'm free. I shove my hands into the inner pockets of my coat and grope for the ring. I knew it would come in handy for something. "This was his. He wore it when we met. When I woke up it was with me."

The captain doesn't speak. Any trace of colour left in his features disappears. I swear even his lips turn grey. He straightens, but his eyes never leave the ring in my palm. With two strides he is upon me. I curl into myself, and kick away, ready to fight when he kneels. His hands spread as if to capture me, but they don't, they collide with my hand, and he clamps my fingers around the ring. His gaze lifts to mine and in it I see terror, and a flash of awe ... maybe hope ... and I stop fighting.

"You are an ever-light," he says softly, ignoring the pull of my brows. "It is rare. Too rare." He glances behind him, his chest heaving a shuddering breath as if he expects someone to rampage through the tent any second. When we remain blissfully interrupted he returns his gaze; a barely sidelong flick of his eyes. "You cannot breathe a word of who you were before. You forget Êire. You forget any mortal lineage. You are an immigrant from the far eastern clans. They were ravaged by war, it's a believable story, most won't question it."

"What? Ever-light?" I shake my head yet again, as if trying to dislodge his words, or maybe rattle them into some coherent sequence. "I can't hide that I'm human?"

"You're not human anymore," he states, hands pushing my hair back, reminding me of the ears. "The ever-light has transfigured any trace of mortality. It was given to you at the point of death. It's a divine intervention. A way to balance the scales."

"I don't understand?" I stare at him. None of his words makes sense. "Divine? Scales? I'm just a waitress. I don't have any skills. By human standards I'm not even that good."

"The Mother obviously thinks otherwise." He snorts at my statements, still keeping a firm fist around the ring. And, then I remember Odhran refer to a female entity in the tree, a being that he hoped wouldn't be angered, and that she watched.

"Who is Odhran?" I'm almost too terrified for the answer.

Pain breaks on his face. An actual tear drips from his left eye. "He was our King. He was Naisi's father."

"Was?"

"It is a long story," he says and pinches the bridge of his nose to prevent any further tears. "A story not meant for too many prying ears. Come." He cinches a hand around the crook of my elbow and helps me up. "You need clothes and medicine."

"I need more than that." I sway on my feet but try with what little strength I have to remain rooted to the spot. "An ever-light? What is that?"

"Not here," he hisses, his face inches from mine. "Do as I say. Don't speak a word. Let me handle this."

"Am I in danger?" It's a ridiculous question considering the lengths this Fae man is willing to go to keep me concealed but for the life of me I cannot understand why he'd even bother? "From Naisi?"

He laughs, leaning away to brazenly look me and down. "No, not from Naisi. At least not for what you are. But I cannot speak for anyone else."

"Even you?" I swallow and don't break our intense stare-off. Props to him, he doesn't either, but his brows do pull together. Conflicted.

"Not from me, but I do answer to a higher power in this forest. I don't know how far I can protect you, but I will do everything I can." He nods once as if satisfied with his own answer then levels me with a scowl and a pointed finger. "But you do everything I tell you ... do you understand? I'm sure you well aware of the mortal stories of our kind. Not many of us have any love for man."

"That, I'm well aware of," I reply and level my own scowl.

"And do you think your kind has anymore love for us?" He cocks his head, his nostrils flaring with indignation.

"Do you think my kind would stand a chance against Fae-ish mischief either way?"

His brows rise up his forehead and the scowl turns into a smirk. "My, my, mere moments with our kind and you already sound like us."

I consider an insult but considering that my precarious situation in the world is ultimately tied to this captain, I'll play nice. He does, after all, promise food. And, clothes. I could really use some fresh clothes.

With nothing more to discuss and solitary nod on my part, he leads me out of the tent and across the camp. It's fairly quiet, most small tents dotted around the glade are in darkness or with faint light. Any warriors in sight seem to be stationed at various lookout points. A few man the main fire, but none of them dare chance a peek our direction. I consider this must be testament to this Captain's scrupulous command. He runs a tight ship, that much is obvious.

We get halfway across the glade and my legs give up. With a head already swimming with exhaustion and the rigours of a pretty fierce fever, I shamefully slam to the ground. The crack that shudders through my knees when they hit the earth feels like a jackhammer. I try to brace my hands in front of me and get up but the earlier adrenaline is swiftly leaving me and I'm about tanked.

"Easy," the Captain's voice sounds a little more echoed than I reckon it should.

"I'm okay," I mutter and try to stand, only to slump to the side.

He catches my shoulders and suddenly I feel a hand scoop under my knees. In less than a second I'm in his arms like I'm nothing but a feather. He doesn't even break stride. I'd protest but frankly it's too much energy.

"You're not okay," he says, then sighs. "Your foot is a mess. How far did you run?"

"Not far," I mutter, unsure whether I should be alarmed that the gentle sway of his stride is oddly comforting, or worse, that the feel of his shoulder against my ear is a pleasant pillow.

"How did you escape the sea? Those caves and cliffs are treacherous?" His voice has a hypnotic lilt, something between a hymn and rainfall. Peaceful ... I feel like I'm floating.

"The boy." The words tumble out and I try to claw them back but my lips are like jelly, and my tongue frozen.

"What boy?" His stride suddenly stops and he gives my body a firm shake. "Who did you see?"

I'm frozen with fright. The cloudiness in my head not clearing fast enough for me to think around the mammoth miscalculation. But, this captain glares at me with his features pale in the moonlight, the same panic written in his as I can sense in myself.

"Was it Oisín?" He cries giving me another frim shake. "Was the child called Oisín?" He takes my silence as answer. "Where? Is he safe?"

"You tricked me?" I garble out the words. "You put a spell on me?"

He doesn't answer, he just starts moving again and the next thing I know I'm inside another tent. Larger than the one before. He calls for someone, a frantic tenor in his voice. It's hard to stay focused, that overwhelming fog and tiredness just seeps into my bones, but I do sense hands on me. Then the firmness of a mattress beneath me and more voices, bickering.

"How was I to know?" The Captain snarls at another. "She was in pain, I thought it best to ease her suffering. I didn't expect to her have crossed paths with the child. Can you rouse her?"

"She's too weak," the other masculine voice replies.

"Damnit."

Something smashes and the second individual gives a warning tsk. "Ardan ... take your temper outside my tent. This is a healing space."

"Oisín is out there. Alone." I feel the weight of two fists that create divots in the mattress by my side. The panic in his voice sounds real. Frantic even. "He's my—"

"He's not your responsibility," the other interrupts. Those fists retract with the sound of a swift inhale. "Peace. I know you'd give your life for the boy, truly, I do." The other voice quietens, and I can barely draw my eyelids open to place their face as their hand presses down on my forehead. "But, Ardan, you're not his father. He needs Naisi ... not you or any one of those useless council lords that claim guardianship."

Naisi?

Naisi is Oisín's father? I writhe against that hand, fury and frustration clearing fog in my head. Every angry thought I burn with intense focus. You liar. Coward.

Nothing but silence resounds in my head. But not like before, this silence is deafening. Like a clanging, damning, resound of truth.

"Liar," I hiss through gritted teeth, trying to sit upright. "He lied."

"Who lied, dear?" The unfamiliar voice asks and tries help me to the edge of the bed. "She's burning up. She needs fluids and rest. Maybe a healing bond ... I will have to sedate her I'm sorry."

"No." the captain I now know as Ardan, is swift to rebuke this healer Fae who blurs into my vision. Tall, like the rest, less muscled than the others, finer featured, with inky hair and russet tones to his skin. He stares warily at Ardan, who must be directly behind me for I feel his hands slap onto my shoulders. "Naisi left her to my care. She told me a spirit intercepted her in the woods after her company was pursued by Formorian scouts. She's in shock. That's all. Her company was wiped out."

"Funny how Naisi's spirit can commune with only you?" The healer raises a brow but there's a weightlessness to his warning.

"I wouldn't call it direct communication, I just understand my old friend's ways," he answers far too swiftly.

"You're a poor liar, my friend."

A chuckle resounds from behind me. "Trust me, please, let me deal with this one."

"Only because I do trust you, Ardan," the healer replies and takes a step away. "I'll fetch clean clothes and bandages for her foot. You'll need water. She needs to bathe. And eat. She doesn't go anywhere and you don't interrogate her until she's clean and there's food in her belly, you understand me?"

"I understand."

"Good." The healer kneels down, his long hand stroking my face. His warm features are void of any judgement and he smiles. "Hello. My name is Cathal, I am a healer, you know I am sworn to protect you." I just stare at him but he doesn't seem to mind. "What is your name, young one?"

"Clara," I say and fight a yawn, still blinking furiously to keep my eyes open.

"It's a beautiful name," he answers and flicks his gaze to Ardan with a quirked brow. "Not a common name I hear often in these parts."

"She's from the Eastern clans, they like strange names there," he answers breezily but this healer guy is not convinced.

"And who lied to you?" He asks and I swallow when Ardan's fingers tighten around my shoulders. A warning.

"I'm sorry," I mutter and lift my hands to my head. "I think I was dreaming."

"Ah," he replies and takes one of my hands in his. "That's understandable. Well, you rest up now. My places of practice are sanctuaries for those in need." He eyeballs Ardan and I clamp my lips into a thin line. "Remember that, Captain."

"I wouldn't dream of betraying the healer vows," he replies in that perfectly charming tenor. "She's safe with me."

"Mhm." He tuts, rising to his feet and pulling a taut brow. "She should have been brought to me sooner. But, I won't be long. I expect Clara to be resting on my return."

"Yes, sir," Ardan says and we both remain still as statues until he disappears behind the tent curtain.

After about a moment of tense silence, Ardan steps up onto the bed and then over it, until he is facing me with a resolute glare. I've got a pretty pissed off look of my own to level back.

"Where is Oisín?" He asks and holds up a palm. "I won't hurt him. I only want to find him and keep him safe."

"From who? His father?" I seethe, but my head swims and I have to throw out my arm to brace against the mattress.

"No!" Ardan exclaims and reaches to try and prop me upright. "Naisi would never hurt that boy. He'd tear himself apart first. I know there's not much of anything civil left in him but believe me he is not in any danger from his own blood."

"Yes. And I'll throttle him because of that," I snarl, pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. "Oisín is looking for his father. He's looking for a treehouse they used to play in. That lying, rotten, good-for-nothing, arrogant prick."

"Who? Me?" Ardan sounds hilariously offended, and I'd laugh despite the vertigo and blood-boiling anger.

"No. Naisi!"

My exclamation earns a moment of silence while Ardan clicks through the evidence I'm providing. After a moment he clears his throat.

"I am going to take a wild stab in the dark and assume Naisi painted a very different picture of himself and the boy, to you at least?"

"You could say that," I growl, but need to lie down on the mattress to stop the room spinning. "Let's just say in order to maintain my compliance he threatened me using Oisín. The whole reason we collided was because I was trying to save the child from the Formorians."

"Sounds like you both might've been on the same mission?" Ardan smoothly answers and I glare at him between fingers splayed over my hurting eyes. When I don't answer, he moves to the foot of the bed and takes my sliced-up foot in his hands. "Is that true, did you risk your life for the child?"

I stare at the dark green fabric of the tent above my head, wincing at the pain. "Yes," I mumble.

"Why?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?" I peer at him and frown when he doesn't look at me. "He's a defenceless child. An innocent little boy. Of course I'd risk my life for him, any decent creature would."

Ardan lets out a strangled laugh, his shoulders sagging. "You would imagine so."

I don't know what he means, but I know there's darker story there. It's not forthcoming, and I've more pressing questions. "So, that's why you're here, right? You've been searching for him?"

He nods, slowly turning his eyes to meet mine, their heavier than before. "Oisín is the heir to our kingdom, but without a parent his care falls into the hands of our Steward, and the council lords running our home in the absence of a fit monarch." He breathes in and looks away again. "Oisín cannot accept his father's absence. And his legal custodians do not help by keeping the truth from the boy. So, it is little surprise to me that he took things into his own hands." Ardan gives another faint chuckle, his gaze distant. "He has his father's reckless stubbornness. You will not dissuade him when he has his mind set."

"That's for damn sure," I mutter, inching up a little on my elbows. "Why did Naisi leave him? Why doesn't the child know?"

Ardan swivels right around, giving me his full attention. "Clara, is that not obvious?"

I swallow, hard. The memory of the beast. The savaged face and limbs. The barely coherent words. The wild and dangerous actions and a feeling that still leaves me utterly unsettled. But those eyes? Those lost and haunted skies. There had been something shattered in them, and though I'm still completely prepared to throttle what's left of Naisi, I might be persuaded to hear his side of the story. Likely, I shan't agree with it. He abandoned his child and put him in danger, and then threatened him to keep me complicit? There's a number of names I have for that type, and none of them suitable for company.

"What happened to Naisi?" I try my best not to sound like I'm grinding out the name.

He drops his head again. "Horrors I've yet to find the courage to speak out loud."

"Oh." I shift on the mattress and lie back down again. There's a story here, and it's starting to make a little bit of sense, if any of this can be made sense of.

"Clara, if I may call you that?" He asks and I nod, though don't lift my head. "I'm just as much to blame as anyone for forcing that little one to run. I should have explained to him. I should have been what my friend can't be. But, I need to find Oisín. I need to keep him safe, from more than just politicians and the truth about his father. He's a special little one. I owe it to Naisi to keep his son safe. Please, can you help me find him?"

I twist onto my side. Using the last bit of power in my heavy limbs I push up and manage to hold myself in a seated position. I take in a deep breath and stare at the floor.

"You promise me you don't mean that little angel any harm?" I ask, not daring to lift my eyes in case the room spins off its axel again. "You tell me now that you mean every word of that grand statement of yours."

"Every word," he answers, "and with my life."

"Then, yes, I'll help you find him," I reply and twist my head to meet his wide and searching eyes. "But I'm coming too."

"No," he shakes his head. "You need rest. I'll be faster on my own."

"He won't trust you," I say and hiss as my injured foot stings where it meets the ground. "He wants to find his father by any means possible. He's hiding from you all. But, he is waiting on me. I can coax him."

"You would do that?" Ardan seems a little more shocked than I imagine he has right to be.

"Yes," I say and keep a firm grip of the bed beneath me. "Under one condition."

"What is that?"

"You tell him about his father. He deserves to know."

Silence. And then, "he does."

I nod and draw in a deep breath. "Right. Good. I just need my foot dressed and some food, and I can keep up."

Ardan nods, a smile twisting up his lips. "I bet you can, Clara. I bet you can."

***************************************************************************

A/N: TADAH. I do hope you enjoyed meeting 'Ardan' the Irish cousin of our beloved 'Aradan' - literally Ardan is an old Irish name, and in folklore, I believe he was considered the warrior, Naisi's brother ... isn't that a coincidence? :P

Guys, I just learned my fanfic is trending No. 1 on Wattpad right now in the LoTR fanfic right now so thank you so much for reawakening the beast. Mahoosive thank you and cheers to you all for the endless support, and here's to creating more magic with this revamp.

All the love this story is getting. I AM thrilled. Making it all worth it. As always tell me what you're thinking, this is the very first raw draft so just posting as I'm writing, and very happy to listen to your ideas and feedback. Which have been wonderful to date. Keep 'em coming. xxx

Media: Lindsey Stirling Feat. Alexander Jean - Stampede (because there's defo a little tension going on there ... mhm).