A/N: So I'm wondering how many people could have possibly played (and enjoyed as thoroughly as I did) both Amnesia and the Harvest Moon Rune Factory games, which I'm beginning to believe is not a lot because otherwise someone else would have come up with this idea long before I have. But anyway, the more I think about this fic the more I think these two games were made to be crossedover. They complement each other just perfectly. And if even one person reads this and agrees with me, my life will be complete.

Chapter 1: I Wish I Could Ask You How Much You Remember

He stumbled along the road, barely acknowledging where his feet were taking him—not that he would have known, in any case. His mouth was parched and dry as the clouds of dust billowing around his feet as he trudged onward, one foot dragging in front of the other. He was holding something in his hand, he realized. It was an opened bottle, and he brought it up to his mouth eagerly only to remember after the devastating disappointment caused by the lack of sweet, cold water spilling like salvation onto his tongue that he had tried the same thing numerous times before, and it was still empty.

He squinted at the road as he left the forest into the bright sunlight, and his feet abruptly decided without the rest of his approval that this was a very fine place to stop indeed, maybe have a picnic or some such—and despite his brain ordering them to stop that ridiculous nonsense, there was no food for a picnic in the first place, they needed to get up and keep going to find some substantial food and water and, oh, fine, a place to rest—his feet, which were beginning to be persuaded, were already tripping him and he fell to the dusty ground with a thud. Dust did not taste good, his brain told his feet ruefully, and they apologized profusely, but assured him they were unfortunately unable to get up again. So he stayed. But not for long.

Somewhere very close by there was creak and a slam of a door, and it was the most comforting sound in the world.

"Oh my," said a voice, deep and resonant. It sounded kind of muffled, but he assumed that was because of the awful head buzzing. "What do we have here?"

He mustered enough energy to move his head in the direction of the voice and squinted up. A grave mistake. He let out some strangled half-noise and received enough of a shock to roll away and sort of sit up a more comfortable distance from the man's dangling nakedness.

"Erm," he started to say, but his throat was sticky and clogged with dust, and he hadn't actually spoken for a few days, at least.

The man waited patiently, his arms crossed over his bare, hairless chest and his blue eyes staring unblinkingly out of a sharp, defined face. His hair was white and pulled back into a painfully tight ponytail. He wished the man would put on clothes.

"I've—I've been—" He gave up and licked his lips. "Can I have some food and…water?"

"Oh, is that all you wanted?" The man went back into the house and came out with a rusty hoe and a watering can and put them in his lap. "There you are!" he said, looking rather pleased with himself. He stared down at the objects in his lap and the man laughed. "Excuse me, I'm a bit of a practical joker, but that was in poor taste. I'll get you something more, ah, substantial to eat and drink." He made another trip and returned with a tall glass of water and bread.

The water went mostly to his shirt, but it was a welcome relief nonetheless. "Thank you," he managed, through a lump of bread he had been far too eager to swallow.

"Mmm," was all the man said in reply. He continued to inspect him with an intense, blue gaze that he found somewhat embarrassing.

"The name's Alexander," the man said at last, extending a hand and pulling him to his feet. "And yours?"

"My name?" He wracked his brain, but nothing helpful sprung to his aid. Something waved and teased at the corner of his mind, but vanished when he tried to follow. "I don't know where I was when I was coming here. I don't even know who I am."

Alexander nodded sagaciously. "Hmm. So you mean you have amnesia."

He hadn't truly considered that. It hadn't been important up until now. "Yes, I suppose."

"Quite a serious ailment, then. I would offer my assistance, but I'm afraid I know little of the inner workings of the mind." He scratched his chin. "Even so, you should come up with something to call yourself."

Anything? He looked up into the sky and watched a cloud traveling lazily ahead, and tried to catch the fleeing thought once more. Clink. He looked down and saw that the bottle had slipped from his hand. He'd forgotten he had been holding it again. It glinted in the sun and rolled slightly to the side, and he noticed something he hadn't been interested in before, since it wasn't water and therefore held no significance at the time. Using his index finger and the neck of the bottle, he pulled the slip of paper out and unfolded it. In a hand that appeared to be rushed but otherwise meticulous, were the words that helped him click at least one thing into place.

Your name is Daniel. Don't forget.

That was it. Daniel. His name was Daniel. He let go of a deep breath.

"My name is Daniel," he told Alexander, folding the note and the bottle into his rucksack. There were still many other things he would have liked to know—including who wrote the note and how it had come to be in the bottle in the first place—but at the moment simply having a name was enough. Alexander nodded carefully, as if determining whether Daniel was a good enough name for him. It seemed it was.

"Well then, Daniel, how would you like to live here?" Daniel looked up, startled by the offer. Alexander smirked and went on, "I may not know the cure for you amnesia, but I do have an abandoned farm for you to work on, if you so desire. Hard work might help you regain your lost memories. And someone in town might know how to help you."

"There's a town?"

"But of course," said Alexander. "Here, you can keep the hoe and the watering can. My treat. I'll show you the farm and around town, how's that?"

"Oh. That'd be very nice. Thank you," Daniel said. He picked up the rusty hoe and the dilapidated watering can. It was squashed on one side and patched all over, but he filed it into his rucksack as well. He was still a little perturbed by Alexander's lack of clothes, and tried to keep his eyes politely to the ground.

Alexander led him up the road to the north, where a pleasant little farmhouse sat overlooking a spacious field and a nearby stream. Both the field and the farmhouse looked like they needed work—the field was rocky and overgrown with weeds, and the house looked a little like the watering can: patched and sagging. Daniel was far from discouraged, however. He felt a strange stirring at the prospect of fixing an old house.

"This will have to do for now," said Alexander. "This is Brennenburg Farm. Like I said, it's not much to look at. I hope you don't mind."

"Oh, not at all," Daniel replied. He would pull all those weeds, and then he'd have to find a way to clear the logs and boulders…

"Well, if you have any reservations, you can always live with me," Alexander offered, staring at Daniel in an attempt to meet his gaze. He was too occupied in his thoughts to pay him much attention and only answered with a disinterested, "Hm."

Alexander smiled indulgently and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Then I leave Brennenburg to you. The town is up the path to the north, if you wish to visit the folk. It's a holiday though, so everything might be closed."

Daniel thanked Alexander once more, and he left him alone in the fields. He told himself he should go into town and greet his new neighbors—introduce himself at the very least, maybe get some more food while he was at it—but he was suddenly very tired. He swayed on his feet and almost fell again, but he managed to reach the door of the old farmhouse before collapsing onto the bed. The sheets were dusty and filled his nose with the smell, but he was too exhausted to bother about it too much. Tomorrow was the day for hard work and spring cleaning and town visiting and (possibly) regaining some of his lost memories, although that was highly doubtful. He was optimistic nonetheless. Today he would rest.