She awoke on the other side still in his arms. It was a long moment before she realized that they were no longer in his bed, safe in their apartment. The setting had changed to the damp and cold of the outdoors at night. Her heart picked up its beat, roaring in her ears as she sat up, searching their surroundings. Rand lay beside her, only now beginning to stir.

She grabbed his hand, emotions overwhelming her. "I'm so sorry, Rand," she choked out. She'd pulled him into her dream, into a dreamwalk. She thought she'd learned to control it. The dreams had come so rarely of late she'd let her guard down. He sat up slowly, glancing around only briefly before pulling her into his arms. He understood.

"It's okay," he soothed. "We've done this before. It will be okay."

She nodded and caught her breath. After what they'd just shared, her emotions were still raw. She didn't want this, not now. "I can't do this..."

He ruffled her hair and pulled her to stand. "Yes, you can."

She clung to his arm, face pressed into his shoulder. "It's not fair, Rand. This shouldn't be happening. Not now."

He stroked her hair, and looked around, getting his bearings in this strange place they now found themselves. "The dreamwalks have a purpose, happen for a reason, right?"

She nodded against him, wanting nothing more than to slip from this place, to enjoy a dreamless sleep.

"We are here for a reason. We figure out whatever it is that we are supposed to do, together." He caught her chin, tilting her face so she would meet his eye. "Better than being alone, isn't it?"

She shook her head furiously, stepping away from him. "No, no it's not! I don't know what can happen to you here. If it is just me, I know I'll wake up, eventually. You, though... " She sighed, head bowed. "I can't lose you, Rand, not now. Especially not like this."

"You won't," he replied simply, taking her hand and pulling her into a walk beside him. "Let see what we need to do. We won't find out by standing here."

The thundering in her chest, the panic dissolved as they walked through the nightscape of trees, hand in hand. There was nothing around them, no sign of civilization or even a path. Moss hung from the trees, swaying in the light breeze. The air was damp and cool, refreshing against her skin. With the moon lighting their way, she let herself relax and enjoy this unexpected journey they were taking together.

Perhaps it was simply the progression of her dreamwalking talent, and of their relationship. Having him beside her was comforting in its way. Though the possible consequences still weighed heavily in her mind, she pushed aside her fears and tried to focus. It wasn't like her to lack confidence in the dream world. This was her realm, where she was all but invincible, a guardian angel to those in need.

After some time, she realized they'd found a path and Rand was guiding them with a strange confidence and determination. She squeezed his hand, and he glanced down at her.

"I know this place," he explained.

She furrowed her brow, wondering at this strange revelation. She was rarely dropped into familiar ground. That Rand would know where they were only strengthened the possibility that they were indeed there for him.

"There is a cabin, just ahead."

And there was, though it was more than a cabin in her mind. What they found was a fairly large house in the woods, beautiful though in disrepair. It stood empty, the windows shuttered, the moss that hung from the surrounding trees had taken root in the roof tiles, hanging in long wisps along the porch railings. On the door was a heavy padlock, but that didn't deter Rand. He made his way up the steps, the boards squeaking in protest underfoot. He took the lock in his hand and studied it thoughtfully before digging through his pockets.

He turned to Ellette, grinning, key in hand. "Would you look at that? Dream rules, I bet."

"Rand, this is strange. I've never had something like this happen..."

"There's a first time for everything," he said, fitting the key in the lock with ease.

She glanced around nervously, though from the looks of the place it was unlikely anyone would find them here. "I just have a bad feeling," she tried again.

The lock thudded to the ground, and Rand pulled the door open on protesting hinges.

"You said you know this place?"

He nodded, taking in the room before them, the furnishings draped in protective sheets. He went about pulling the sheets loose, and turned to her, arms overflowing with white cloth. She stood in the doorway, uneasy.

"This was my mother's favorite place." He said, beaming. "We used to come here every summer. I can't believe it's still here, exactly as we left it." He came to her, taking her hands. "Come on, let me show you around."

She shivered despite his excitement. "Why would we be brought here?" she wondered aloud.

He tugged on her hands, drawing her into the dark, long-abandoned house. "We won't find out by standing here. Come on!"

"It's dark, and all the windows are shuttered..." she protested.

He laughed and flipped the switch on the wall. Much to her surprise, the room lit up. "Dream rules, right? Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if Father left the electricity on. He would find it more convenient to keep paying a power bill rather than having to bother with turning it back on should he decide to use the place."

She shook her head. She'd known he'd come from a well-off family but seeing the reality of just how wealthy his father was made her feel strangely out of place. She'd come from nothing, had no one. But this, this was was one of the nicest homes she'd been in, and it was only their summer cabin. He was clearly from another world, and yet, she'd never understood how different their upbrings were. Until now.

Reluctantly, she followed him as she took her from room to room. The living room was spacious, the furniture simple, but well made. Everything was coated with a thin layer of dust, but the quality of the furnishings and the house itself was still clear. The kitchen was large, a rack of pots hanging from the ceiling, an island with a counter and stools just below it. The stove was a monstrosity, a gas range with six burners. It was a kitchen for cooking and hosting parties, and when he led her through the dining room, this suspicion was confirmed. There were six rooms in all, two on the ground floor, four on the second story, each fully furnished.

He led her into a small room on the top floor, pulling the protective coverings from the bed and opening the window so he could unlatch the shutters. "This was my room," he told her, leaning on the window sill. "I wouldn't be surprised if there's still a guitar in the closet." He leaned over and tugged open the door, finding a case there just as he'd predicted. Pulling it out, he unclasped the case and removed the instrument, settling in on the window sill, strummed, and winced. He worked to tune the well-worn instrument.

Ellette found her way to the bed and settled down on the edge. "Why would the dream lead us here?" she wondered out loud.

He shrugged, smiling in his reverie. After picking out a few chords, he laughed and paused. "My fingers are like they were, I can play so easily here." He set the guitar down and went to her, flopping down on the bed like a kid and pulling her into a sloppy kiss.

She laughed and pushed him away. The unease hadn't left her, but his mood was contagious. It was like a gift, this place, him being here. Rand was naturally a cheerful person, his lightness often in contrast to her moody tendencies. But there had always been a darker undercurrent, a sadness within him, as was expected with all that he had endured. Now, in this place of his youth, his hands healed, he seemed to come to life in a way she'd never seen.

"Thank you," he said. "I haven't thought about this place in ages."

She smiled, taking his hands, turning them over in her own. They were flawless, long and tapered, beautiful yet well calloused; a musician's hands. As happy as she was for him, the sight of them caused an ache in her heart. If it wasn't for that night, if it wasn't for those men destroying these beautiful hands she now held, she would have never met him.

"I had nothing to do with it," her voice caught in her throat as she spoke.

"Without you, this wouldn't be possible," he said, pulling her to him, nuzzling her neck. She stiffened at his touch, his breath on her neck causing her to shiver. He dropped his hands from her, giving her the space her body language demanded. There was something about this place that set her on edge, something about this dream that was not right.

"I don't like it, Rand. I don't know why. Dreamwalking always has a price. Usually, the debt is paid by helping someone. Who are we helping here?"

He shrugged and stood, putting the guitar away, his mood noticeably deflated. "Let's go for a walk. Maybe the answer is out by the lake, one of the other cabins in the area. Though I doubt it. There aren't many people who come up here in the offseason."

She nodded, taking his lead, relieved to be leaving the cabin, to set off to find whatever it was that had drawn them here. They found a flashlight in the coat closet. After some rooting around, Rand found a second one and handed it to her. "The batteries seem good enough, but just in case. Let's just use one at a time, so we have a backup." She nodded, willing enough to humor him. Rather, she knew he was humoring her. If it were up to him, he'd surely be strumming at the guitar or searching out a flute to play. It wasn't often he could play without restriction or pain.

She shook her head and put the flashlight back down in the closet. "No, Rand. This is for you. It has to be. Go get your guitar. Play. You can't lose this chance."

It didn't take much convincing. She followed him back up to the room he'd stayed in as a child, Picking up the guitar and strumming. He played for what seemed like hours, sometimes only a light and somewhat absent-minded strumming while he told her stories of his summers in this place. Then he would lapse into intense flamenco-style playing, his fingers lighting over the strings with an intensity she'd never seen before. He'd tried before, his hands had known the placement, his fingers the rhythm, but scarred as they were, they hadn't obeyed. Now, though, his movement was unhindered, and he was free.

It struck her, like a blow to the chest as she watched him, his eyes closed, content. She hadn't helped him all those years ago. She'd failed him. His life had been in shambles, his family torn apart, but if she'd helped him sooner, he'd still have his hands. He'd still be able to play. Watching him now, it was so obvious. This was who he was, who he was meant to be. The music was what made him. And now, the man she knew, the man she loved was only a fragment of who he had been.

Guilt washed over her as she thought back to that night, that fateful dreamwalk.