This is an AU. I'm not a stickler for accuracy in the details of the Neverwinter world, such as gods etc. but I do try my best. This story does have explicit sexual content, 18+. If you are offended by sexual themes don't start reading! There is artwork for this story at my deviantart account as aeltari.

"Casavir!!" Kyrie's scream echoed through the sleeping cottage, startling the small cat sleeping beside her bed. She sat bolt upright, eyes wide open, unseeing in the deep darkness. She ignored the sudden stab of pain on the left side of her chest, where a jagged, gaping wound had just begun to knit. Her arms flailed in the blackness and she half sat, half crawled across the bed.

"Casavir! Cassi….Cassi…where are you?"

There was no response from the darkness and she stared, trying to force her eyes to accommodate. She began to cry, a soft weeping as she spoke his name, desperation mounting in her voice. She called out again, louder, a hand outstretched. A soft voice whispered her name and she felt arms around her, trying to ease her back down onto the many soft pillows. She was crying openly, grasping at the figure.

"Casavir…my Cassi…" she realized the body she touched was far too slight to have been her beloved and she lashed out with her fists in sudden fear, screaming his name once more. The figure holding her let go and she tumbled onto the bed. There was rustling on the other side of the room and she heard words, chants, and several small glowing rocks sprang into a soft bluish glow.

Distracted from her fear by the ability to see her surroundings, Kyrie sat back sobbing and looked for the figure that had held her and given her light.

Suddenly a door opened ahead, and a dwarf, presumably female, stepped into the room. She saw Kyrie and bustled over, placing a small warm hand on Kyrie's forehead. "Och, ye wee lamb, look at ye, screamin' like a banshee. My poor wee girl. And look now, yer wound is bleedin' again."

She lay Kyrie back firmly against the pillow and set about examining the wound on her chest. Kyrie's eyes scanned the room. It was not a dwarf who had touched her and spoken her name, but she saw no one else. "S….someone was here, someone touched me…" she stared wide eyed at the dwarf. The little lady finished her ministrations and stood up, noticing the bright sunset color of Kyrie's eyes.

"Well now lamb, ye are not a lamb a' tall are ye? More of an angel with those eyes ye are. Now, have ye stopped yer wailin' and can ye talk to Magda now? Ye are safe, lamb. Safe in my home here."

"I…I'm an Aasimar…." Kyrie whispered, trying to explain her eyes, then those eyes filled with tears and her lower lip quivered.

"W...where is Casavir?"

"Cass-a-veer…is that where ye are from, lamb? Is that yer home? I canna say I…"

"No! He is my beloved, we were together, in battle…and…then …" Kyrie realized with horror that she couldn't remember. She remembered disjointed faces, names, places….bits and pieces of battles large and small but her mind would blank suddenly and there were no details. But always in the haze was him, the paladin Casavir who had pledged not only his sword but his heart and his life to her. There was no haze in the memories of their time together; his voice, the feel of his hair beneath her fingers, his lips on hers. Her sunset eyes blinked back more tears, but she couldn't stop them.

The memories hit her in a flash, a thousand images in one split second, and her tears coursed down her cheeks in rivulets. She sobbed, staring at the dwarf helplessly.

Kyrie remembered a night, when was it? Where was it? No details came to save her from the miasma of her fragmented memories. So much passion, Casavir promising her he would never leave her, that he would always be with her, that he would find a way back to her side if they were ever separated. Where was he now? What had happened to separate them? The dwarf watched Kyrie quietly, and then she took her hand.

"Lamb…I don't have answers for ye. Ye were found near death several weeks ago with that terrible wound in yer chest. I've done my best to give ye healin' but it's slow at best out here. I have nothin' to tell ye but that. Do ye remember anything else besides his name? A place maybe, lamb?"

"Several weeks…how did I…did I have anything with me? What of my clothing? What was I wearing?" She looked wildly around the room again, disoriented, frightened.

Magda lay her other hand on Kyrie's forehead and made soothing sounds until Kyrie calmed once more. Then she trundled off to the far side of the room and came back with what looked like a chain mail shirt, a simple ivory colored blouse and a brown nondescript skirt of heavy wool. She opened her hand and showed Kyrie several rings of various metals, some begemmed, some carved.

"This is lovely Casavir!" Kyrie held her hand out and admired the intricately carved mithril ring. She turned to him and he held out his arms, a shy smile on his lips.

"Only the best for you, milady. And even that, is not good enough."

His kiss was tender as she folded into his embrace. Touching his forehead against hers, Casavir whispered softly. "You are my heart, Kyrie. Without you I would be but a shell of a man, you have shown me that. Did you look closely at the ring?"

Kyrie brought her hand close to her eyes. There she could see, entwined among the carvings of roses and vines were the letters K and C…

"This one, "she whispered tremulously. "He gave me this, look it has our initials."

The dwarf peered closely, nodding. "I see the lettering lamb…and I ask ye…which are ye? This one or this one?" The little lady could not read, nor could she identify the lettering. Kyrie slipped the other rings on her fingers, but she held the carved one to her lips and closed her eyes. "My name is Kyrie, I'm the K…"

Magda smiled sadly.

"So ye have a name then lamb. Kyy-ree. If I hadna told ye before, I am Magda. This is my home, I found ye in the forest by the pond I did. Now….its time for ye to rest." She turned to the table and Kyrie heard her pouring something. She sat on the edge of the bed and held out a small glass. "Here lamb, this brew will make ye tired and keep away the evils. Might it also help with yer wound. Drink it all up now…there's a good lamb."

Kyrie drank it down quickly, then opened the hand that held the mithril ring. She slipped it on her finger and stared at it for a long moment. "Magda…someone was here, they spoke my name and chanted something, magical words…who was it? Where did they go?"

Magda replaced the glass on the table and headed for the door. "Tis a guardian, nothing more. Don't worry yer pretty head for it, it willna hurt ye, lamb. Rest easy now."

Emotionally exhausted, Kyrie fell asleep, lulled in part by the drink and the silence and the soft glow from the stones. She didn't hear the soft voice that returned the room to darkness, nor felt the gentle touch of a pale hand on her brow.

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The soft morning light filtered into the room through a set of gossamer curtains. Kyrie opened her eyes very slowly, still dazed from the drink. Coming back to herself, she turned her head, part of her half expecting to see her beloved Casavir sleeping beside her. But she knew she would not see him.

She had not felt warm, strong arms around her holding her close, and that meant she was alone. A night did not pass between them that did not find her entwined with his body. He did not ever rise from the bed and leave her, instead he would awaken and watch her sleeping, his steely blue eyes awash with love. Kyrie realized that waking up and seeing just a room instead of her lover's eyes was an empty and passionless way to see a new day. She couldn't remember anything aside from him. She tried to put names with the faces that swam in her mind's eye, but she just couldn't remember. She only knew she longed to see some of them, whatever the reason.

Kyrie got slowly out of the bed, the wound in her chest aching slightly. She dropped her pillow and as she bent to retrieve it a cascade of ebony hair fell forward and she touched it as though for the first time. I have ebony hair, she thought, just like Casavir. It was an odd feeling, even odder to realize she didn't know what she looked like. There was no visible mirror in the room, only the simply carved bed, table and a few chairs, with glowstones attached to the walls in various places.

Kyrie wandered to the window and pulled aside the curtains to look outside. She saw the forest and a few animal pens with cows and a few horses inside. It was sunny, and a breeze ruffled the large tree beside the little cottage. Tears pricked her eyes again.

She turned from the window and looked at the chair which held the chainmail shirt, blouse and the woolen skirt Magda had said she was wearing. Kyrie didn't understand the clothing. Something inside told her that something, many somethings, were missing from that pile. It just seemed as though she should have had far more. She removed the simple linen shift she was wearing and donned the blouse and the wool skirt. There were some worn leather shoes beneath the chair, and as she slipped them on her feet Kyrie was sure that these were not her clothes.

She opened a few of the drawers, unsure of what she was searching for but sure she would know if it were found. There was an old leatherbound journal, an old feather quill, a well of ink and a bowl of sand to absorb it. She also found a small mirror and held it up.

With a gasp Kyrie saw her eyes. She had never imagined such a color before and she touched the edges of her eyes in wonder. Long black lashes that matched her ebony hair fringed them making them even brighter and larger.

Aasimar. The word echoed in her mind. What did it mean? She stared into her own eyes for some time, and words began filtering in. Celestial. Angelic. Outer Planes.

Then she remembered a voice, a rather unemotional male voice from her past telling her that she had a celestial ancestor, and her eyes, the color of a sunset were a by-product of that bloodline. She remembered that the way he had said it made her feel extremely ugly.

She looked at herself again with a critical eye. She had been wrong.

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Magda poured the tea into his cup and shook her head vehemently. "She is just barely with us now, it wouldna do her good for ye to come traipsing back into her life this way with yer stories! By the gods lad, ye heard her wailin' like a banshee in the night! If ye watch her eyes ye see the tortured feelin's crossin' back and forth. Ye canna do it, not yet."

"Watching her eyes is precisely what I had in mind." Said her visitor, sipping the tea. "You don't seem to understand. I have known her for a long time. She is a strong woman. She must know the truth of what happened. Truth has always been the most important thing to Kyrie. I made a promise to her, to always remain true no matter what the cost to myself."

"To yerself lad? What about the cost to her? Her heart is cryin' out for her fella, she willna take lightly to ye tellin' her he's dead. If ye love her lad, let her be. Let her heal some before ye come back. She doesna even know where she's from…"

A soft tinkling stopped them both. The man at the table suddenly rendered himself invisible.

"I will continue to watch her for a short time;" he spoke softly "but I will make myself known to her before too long. Its better that way."

Kyrie heard the dwarf speaking to someone briefly, but hearing no response she wandered into the kitchen. The little lady looked up and smiled warmly.

"Well hello lamb. I tell ye it's nice to have ye walkin' about a tad now."

"Were you speaking to someone Magda?" Kyrie asked looking around. The dwarf shook her head and got up, opening a bread box and bringing out some freshly baked bread and marmalade.

"Just the cat, lamb. She gets into all sorts of things, the wee beastie. She's all I have up here. My boys have all grown up and gone to seek adventure, and their father, well rest his soul has been gone from this world for…." She suddenly stopped, realizing what she was saying.

Kyrie was looking back at her with those remarkable sunset eyes.

"I'm sorry, Magda. That must be very hard for you. I would not last long in this world if my Cassi were gone. But…." She suddenly fingered the mithril ring and closed her eyes.

"But what, lamb?" asked Magda softly.

Those eyes opened and turned to her, alight with certainty and knowledge. "He's not gone. I would know it if he was, and as sure as my love burns for him, he yet lives, and I must find him."

With a sigh of deep sadness, Magda lay a hand on the side of the girl's head, and gave her a small smile of sympathy.