ROD LAID HIS WIFE'S HAND ON THE BLANKET and rose with a smile of welcome and pleasure stretching the lines and creases of his face, a smile at the sight of his eldest son—but a muted smile, struggling to emerge through sadness, and through wrinkles that his son had never seen. Rod Gallowglass held up his arms, and Magnus leaned down to embrace his father.

After a few minutes, Rod's hold loosened; he stepped back to gaze up at his son with pride. "You came," he said softly, "you came in time."

"Praise Heaven." Magnus was surprised to find his own voice shaky. "Are you … are you well, Papa?"

"As well as can be expected," Rod said sadly, and turned to lead Magnus to the bedside. "Sit down, son, and tell her you're home."

Magnus sat. For another moment, he felt he was looking at a stranger again; then he saw the familiar features beneath the ravages of disease and took his mother's hand. But such a frail hand, so wasted and bony! The eyes opened, though; she frowned, puzzled, as she looked up at the hulking stranger beside her bed. Then she recognized her son, and her smile transformed her face. For a moment, the years fell away, and she was as he remembered her from his leave-taking. "You came," she said in the voice he recognized. "You came back." With great effort, she raised her arms a few inches.

Quickly, Magnus slid his arms under hers and leaned close to press her into a very gentle embrace.

Rod hovered near, anxiety warring with joy as he gazed upon his eldest and his wife. For a moment, his eyes clouded as he remembered the boisterous golden-haired toddler bouncing off the walls as he learned to levitate and the anxious young mother who rushed to collect him. Then the reality of the present became more important than memory, and he gazed upon the two with fond concern.

When Magnus let his mother go and laid her gently back on the pillow, she beamed up at him with pride and said, 'Tell me, now. Tell me all that you have done."

"But you know it," he protested. "Gregory must have told you."

'Told me where you have been and what you were doing, yes." She seemed to tire simply with the effort of speaking. "How can a few hours' talk speak of years? He could not tell me how you were feeling, nor of the people who filled your life."

Slowly, then, Magnus began to tell her—not about the people of Melange or Oldeira or Midgard, but of the emotional ordeals he had passed through on their accounts, of his fellow disillusioned bachelor Dirk Dulaine, of their shared trials and triumphs, of Dirk's falling in love and staying behind as Magnus's ship lifted off to find yet another planet of oppressed souls to free, and finally of Alea and their growing friendship.

His mother listened, her hand in his, opening her eyes now and again to meet his gaze at a particularly telling remark, but always with that little smile of peace and pleasure in his presence—and Magnus knew she was listening as much to the emotions and images that crowded his mind as to the words he spoke. When he could see how badly she was tiring, though, he said, "Well, enough for now. I'll talk to you again tomorrow; there will be time."

"Perhaps." Her eyes opened again, looking directly into his, and for a moment he felt again the old power, the authority of this amazing woman who had borne, birthed, and reared him. "Bring her," she commanded. "This shield-mate of yours, this Alea. I must meet her."

Magnus knew she must be over-tiring herself. "Tomorrow …"

"There may not be a tomorrow, my son." She had to work hard to say the words. "Bring her now."

Magnus stared at her, feeling another wave of the tide of grief, but he thrust it back and closed his eyes, nodding, then reached out with a thought.

In the room below, Alea felt his plea and broke off in mid-sentence, staring at the sisters-in-law before her, then rose and rushed to the door without the slightest excuse or apology.

The women watched her go, then exchanged smiles. "We cannot blame her for lack of ceremony," Quicksilver said, "when he needs her so badly."

"Yes, but does he know that?" Cordelia asked. "He calls for her aid, but does he know he has come to need her?"

"Does she know she has come to need him?" Allouette countered.

"She will not admit it to herself if she does." But Cordelia was still smiling.

Quicksilver met that smile with one of her own. "She has come a long way toward healing, whether she knows it or not."

Allouette nodded. "She is ready to risk loving again."

"But is Magnus?" Cordelia's smile grew into a grin as she relished the thought of teasing her big brother.

But Allouette's face darkened with guilt. "Will he ever be?"

GEOFFREY ROSE AS Alea rushed out, and paced with her to the stairway. "First door on the left," he told her. "Godspeed."

"Thank you," Alea snapped, and rushed up the stairs, wondering why he bothered to wish her well.

She burst into the room and froze at the tableau that met her gaze—at her friend and shield-mate sitting hunched on a chair that was too low for him, holding the hand of the old woman in the bed, and the aged man who stood hovering across from Magnus. She realized they must be his parents, then dismissed them as unimportant and went to Magnus, light-footed and cautious.

He looked up at her, sensing her presence, and his gaze was a naked plea even as his voice said, "Alea, I would have you meet my mother, the Lady Gwendylon. Mother, this is my shield-mate Alea, who has fought beside me time and again and always given wise counsel."

"A pleasure, milady." Alea turned to the old woman. "Your son has been my .. ." There she froze, for the old woman's gaze held her own, the dim old eyes turning youthful and vibrant again, holding Alea in a bond that should have sent her screaming within herself, fighting to tear free—but there was something so soothing in those eyes, so understanding and sympathetic, that Alea almost welcomed the intrusion.

And intrusion it was, for Alea felt Gwendylon's mind blending with her own, reading the history of her life, of the anguish of her lover's desertion, the misery and grief at her parents' deaths, of the terror and rage at the treatment of the neighbors to whom the judge enslaved her, of fear and panic as she ran from them, and her wariness of the young giant who befriended her, a wariness that waned over the five years they traveled together as Alea learned to trust again, but never completely, never without the fear of betrayal, even though they saved one another's lives time and again, even though he withstood her tantrums and replied with reason and patience to her attacks and arguments …

Then the vibrance of the eyes faded, and they were only the rheumy old eyes of a dying woman—but the smile that blossomed beneath them seemed to enfold Alea in a gentle embrace even as Lady Gwendylon said, "I am glad my son has found so true a companion—and I thank you for his life."

"He has thanked me by saving mine," Alea assured her, then wondered why she cared about the feelings of this stranger.

Lady Gwendylon turned to her husband; her fingers twitched in a shooing gesture. "Off with you, with both you men. We must talk of women's matters."

Alarm surged through Alea at being left alone with this stranger so soon after meeting her—but Gwendylon turned to gaze at Alea again, and Alea realized that the woman was anything but a stranger.

Rod came around the bed with a sigh, beckoning to Magnus. "Come along, son. There are times to argue with your mother, but this isn't one of them."

"But… but she is …" Magnus couldn't bring himself to say the word "weak."

"I shall find strength enough for this," Gwen assured him, and her voice was strong again. "Be off and tell your father what you have learned."