Tarran was still asleep when the insistent knocking came at his door. He groaned, debating if he should outright tell them to go away. His head was pounding, though not from the wine. He'd spent the majority of the night looking through scrolls in the castle library, attempting to uncover something that could offer more insight into Aoife's power.

The only person who could have offered him any true insight was long dead, and she hadn't spoken much of it when she was alive. In fact, she'd even outright refused to participate in the Fae Wars because of it, claiming that her magic did not exist to be used for war, but for balance. The Queen likely would have killed her for the refusal, if it wasn't for Silas keeping her grounded.

Unfortunately, due to poor handwriting and his own shoddy translation skills, he'd barely made it through a third of the scrolls before daybreak and hadn't touched any of the books. He needed sleep if he was going to recover enough sanity to be able to make it through the next evening, and he'd instructed the staff to leave him be until well into the afternoon.

"If you don't open this door in ten seconds, I'm coming in."

Aoife?

They were free to wander the castle during the day, but what was she doing here? Just as he decided to roll over and drag himself to the door, Aoife apparently decided his ten seconds were up and opened the door. In his drowsy state the night before The chain stopped her from opening it entirely, but she did nothing more than huff, close it slightly, and slip her tiny fingers through the crack to undo the pin. A moment later the door burst open again and she came bustling in with a book in her hand.

"My word, your hair is unsightly," she muttered, likely more to herself than anything.

"Has it occurred to you that in another life, you could make an excellent thief as well as a seamstress?" Tarran said with a groan, ignoring the comment about his hair. "Or that it's considered extremely indecorous for a young woman to enter a man's room while he's still half asleep?" Aoife simply sat down on the edge of the mattress, shrugging.

"Firstly, I'm approaching spinster territory by some standards. Secondly, you're speaking as though I have not had to wake you up from the sofa in the tower so you could come down and eat dinner before. You're also speaking as though you haven't passed out fully dressed. Again."

"Touché. Though you might be pushing it by sitting on the bed." He did not move.

"Right. I'm so worried someone else will barge into the terrifying Great Enchanter's room without invitation," she deadpanned. "Were you up late doing something or are you actually hungover?" Aoife asked as she flipped through the book.

"Library," he mumbled.

"As expected." She kicked off her simple shoes and swung her feet up on the bed, leaning back against the headboard as she tried to find the page that Camilla had pointed out only a few minutes ago.

"Now they really will think you're here to proposition me," Tarran groaned, finally sitting up. His clothing was in disarray, red robes half falling off of him, revealing his simple shirt and pants underneath. Aoife shook her head at the sight, going back to flipping through pages as Tarran looked over her shoulder. His skin was overheated from sleeping under the blanket in all his clothing, and she unconsciously leaned towards the warmth for a moment before pulling back.

"Proposition: You read. I'll fix your hair." Aoife plopped the book down in his lap, and he only sighed.

"I suppose it could be worse."

He cracked open the heavy tome, thankful to find it was written in a familiar language. It was easy to see why Aoife needed help with this one, though. The language was archaic at best, not exactly beginner material, and the text was ornate. It was certainly readable, though.

While he skimmed the table of contents, Aoife carefully worked a brush through the ends of his long hair, muttering under her breath when she encountered a tangle.

"Aoife?"

"Hmm? Do you ever brush your hair?"

He ignored that comment. "This is a book of fairy tales."

"I'm aware, considering I found it in the children's section when I was looking for practice material," she said, continuing to slowly detangle his long white locks. "I'm interested in the one called the Origin of Magic."

He hadn't heard that tale in a long time. It was a household staple at one point, but it was a bit dull for a fairy tale and not too popular for children, so it mostly showed up as a legend referenced here and there.

"All Fae magic stems from three original sources of power given to the world as a gift," he read. "The first is the power of Life..." he trailed off, muttering under his breath. There were two others mentioned in the tale, but he wasn't interested in those at the moment. Aoife was his primary concern.

"Could I braid it?" Aoife asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Your hair. Would you let me braid it?"

"I, um...if you like?" he stammered. He should have expected this out of her by now, but she always managed to surprise him. "Where was I? Ah. The power of Life was granted to one with a soft heart, passed down through generations to those worthy enough to wield it... Aoife, are you telling me you think this fairy tale is real?"

"I think it's worth looking into if it will give us some useful information about my magic. Don't you?"

"Typically I would dismiss a legend as nothing at all, but considering that we've exhausted most other options..." He paused, mentally calculating.

There were a few versions of the tale passed down, though Tarran struggled to remember the exact nuances of each. It had the same general arc through all versions of the story: When magic was bestowed upon the world, it was gifted to three deserving souls. Their descendants became the Fae, and eventually they acquired more diverse types of magic, including elemental powers, speaking in tongues, future sight, and more. However, though many Fae might be blessed with the ability to control water or speak to animals, those three original gifts never appeared again.

"Life, Fate, Passion," he read aloud. "Those three gifts were strong enough to remake the world if need be."

"Passion?" Aoife repeated as she finished braiding and shifted to sit beside him on the mattress.

"It's sometimes translated as Emotion or Empathy in other versions," he explained. "There's little detail on the exact process, as little as on any of them, probably because the person possessing it didn't exactly feel like detailing their power... And also because it's unlikely the holder has changed for a very long time..."

Gods, how could he have missed this before? True, he'd discounted it because it was an old tale, but Aoife was right. Any information could be useful when you were working entirely blind.

"You didn't start exhibiting magical powers until after your grandmother's passing, correct?" Tarran turned to her, eyebrows raised.

"Right." She nodded.

"That at least supports the possibility that only one person at a time possesses this magic. It's likely that it's not just rare, it's entirely unique." He tapped his fingers on the page as he thought.

"That might also explain why grandmother didn't tell you much about it," Aoide suggested. It was a logical thought. Tarran supposed that if he possessed a legendary magical ability, he really wouldn't want to go around advertising it, either. That was doubly true when something like Aoife and Elina's magic could be so incredibly destructive. He shuddered to think of it in the wrong hands, and though Elina did trust him when she was alive... Well, the fewer people who knew, the better.

"Together the three, in the hands of those with immortality, stands a key." He paused for a long moment, reading on silently as Aoife fiddled with his hair, braiding the newly untangled locks. "A key to what, you stupid book?" Tarran muttered under his breath.

"It's just... I thought... Well, I thought that I might be able to use my magic reverse your curse."

"You what?!"

"I know we suspected that my power was life before, but if that's true, if this is real, then shouldn't I have the power to counteract a death curse? It's in the name!" she insisted, reaching around him to tap on the page of the fairy tale book.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but unless you possess true immortality of the extinct variety, I think that is beyond your grasp."

"" he trailed off, eyes slowly dragging upwards to meet her face.

"I would argue I am immortal," Aoife mumbled. It was a fair assumption with how many times she'd escaped death, but it wasn't quite correct.

"Yes and no. Your immortality comes from your magic, not your body. You can draw in enough life force to compensate for the fact that your body isn't producing enough to meet the requirements for immortality, but it's not because you were born with an immortal body," he said carefully, trying to think of how best to explain. After all, he'd promised her the truth. "Immortals produce a constant resupply of their own life force that is near infinite, and multiplied by your particular powers could be enough to practically remake the world in the event of a disaster, but there's a high possibility it would kill you without that extra push."

"That... sort of makes sense," she said slowly. "So are you immortal in that way, then?

"No one is any more, not even the Fae," he said sadly. "An immortal body produces life force faster than it can be drained by anyone, including your own power. This curse hasn't affected just me, though. It has roots in the land, the water, the crops, and it's only spreading. Even a true immortal might not be able to fully repair the damage, and I'm not sure it would break the curse. It might only give us a little more time, at best."

"I'm close enough!" she protested. "If it would buy us time, I could try-"

"You will do no such thing!" Tarran snapped. "If you try to use your own life to replenish the land, it will kill you."

"It might not."

"It will. Your body would likely give out before it even came close to making a dent in the damage the curse has done." He put his hands firmly on Aoife's shoulders, meeting her gaze as he spoke. "You will not die for this. We will find another way."

"What if there isn't?"

"Are you really alright with the idea of sacrificing yourself for a possibility?!"

"I..." Aoife paused, thinking. Months ago, she would have said yes without hesitation. Yes, she would sacrifice herself. Yes, she would be fine sacrificing herself for anything. Yes, she might as well, because what other good could a person with a Touch of Death give to the world?

But...

"I would like to live," she whispered.

"I'm glad to hear it," Tarran said with a curt nod.

Aoife smiled softly at that.

"How long do we really need to stay here?" she asked. "If the curse progresses faster when you're away from the estate, we shouldn't be gone for long."

"I'll be fine for a few days. Besides, we should make use of the library access we have while we're here. We might find something useful."

"I would argue that we already found something useful, and we should take that information and go home," Aoife said pointedly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'm interested in the human version of the Faerie Wars history, and all the archives are kept at the castle. I only know the Fae perspective, for the most part, and I'm hoping there might be something among the records to deal with the Queen when she wakes."

"So... the short version is that she's going to wake up either when you die or when we break the curse so you don't have to die."

"Correct."

"And she's... where, exactly?"

"The inner courtyard of the palace in Fae territory. I haven't seen it myself, of course, but the last I heard from anyone at Court was that someone had the bright idea to place her in a glass coffin with her crown still on her head to keep her alive. There is an entire platoon of guards dedicated to her safety until she wakes."

"That seems... a little dramatic."

"I agree," he grumbled. The woman always did have a flair for the dramatic, but this was a little beyond what he might normally expect, especially if they were trying to keep solid control over Fae territory. Not everyone was loyal to the High Queen. Displaying her body like that was a risk, no matter how much security they had...

So why take the risk? What were they telling the people?

"Wait- if she's asleep, who is responsible for ruling Fae territory?"

"I wish I knew the answer to that, but I can't get anyone to investigate for me. My influence is limited inside Fae territory due to the fact that- Well, the Queen cursed me. It's rather difficult to find allies when the most powerful Fae in the land is out for your head."

"Makes sense," Aoife conceded. "So... we worry about the Queen after we break the curse, then?"

"Aoife..." Tarran said carefully. "I don't want you to worry about breaking the curse."

"It's too late for that."

Tarran stiffened, mentally fighting the urge to snap back at her. Something about Aoife made him feel both too soft and too strict at once. He felt a ridiculous urge to protect her, to make certain she was safe, to watch her as she learned, to run his fingers through her hair...

Tarran cleared his throat, shaking his head as if to clear it.

"Do not put yourself in danger for me," he said firmly. "My end is nearly inevitable. I can accept that even if I would like not to have to accept it. It's not preferable, but-"

"No, your death is certainly not preferable," she snapped.

"Aoife-"

"I get it, I do. I get that it's easier to not have hope than to be disappointed over and over, but I'm not going to give up and let you die without a fight," she said, glaring. "You can keep researching the Queen and the wars as long as you want. I'm breaking this curse. I'll find a way."

With that, she picked up the book and marched out of the room, the door slamming closed behind her.