AN: I've pretty much given up on FFnet, and moved over to AO3. You can find me there as kaeltale. I'll continue to update my stories here, but that is what I consider to be my "main" account from now on.

The period of time after death is not unlike the period of time before birth. Even for a creature with no reliance on a physical body there is a division between the thoughts and senses attached to such a form, and the abstract existence of nothing but the soul. His anchor to reality was all but lost, and only a thread still held him to his melted remains. His soul slumbered, adrift in that timeless abyss between life and death.

Slowly, thoughts returned, like learning a language for the first time, and with them came an awareness of being. Blurred memories became vivid paintings, and he could hear himself echoing in the beginnings of a mind. He knew something terrible had happened. He knew he should feel, hear, smell, taste and see, but none of these were available to him. The abyss was now tangible; a sticky web that held him cocooned in its unrelenting embrace.

Memories resurrected pieces of his past, disconnected from their context; a woman on the banks of a river covered them both in her blood; songs sung by campfire light accompanied meals of fish soup; a white-haired man pressed a sword to his throat. Most terrifying was the scarred, laughing face of a man with a monstrous, bulging eye. He remembered the sensation as charred bits of his flesh peeling back in a column of flames. He remembered his baptism of fire; his atonement. That's when he knew he was in hell.

What is happening? Why am I here? Let me out!

His thoughts pounded against the walls of his mind. No feeling of his body, no smells of the earth, no sounds besides the racing panic in his soul.

I'm alone. Put me back! It's too quiet! Why is it so quiet? Why am I so loud? I can't shut it off again! Why? I'm so sorry, please don't leave me here! I'm sorry! Please let it end!

His thoughts consumed him, sending him on wild chases, endlessly circling the same questions, but never finding answers. He was helpless to the taskmaster of fear masked in logic; caught in a loop of madness.

Death does not kindly relinquish its playthings.

My Dearest Rhena,

I know not why I continue sending home my thoughts to you. I've long ceased hoping they would find you safely in Nazair. I've searched country sides and crowded cities both, finding not a trace of you. Recently, I returned to Metinna. The shop in which we met has been abandoned, but it serves me well during my stay here. No one has seen you, and I cannot help but feel the town has made an effort to forget your presence. Your memories no longer haunt the taverns, and merchants no longer whisper fears of your vandaguild. How long has it been since this town last saw you? Two years; three? Humans have such short memories to forget one such as you so quickly. I suppose to them you were just another bandit. That only I knew the true Rhena was ever a reminder of the exceptional bond between us.

Tomorrow I continue south, into Ebbing. I can no longer stay here in this town that's washed itself of you.

Eternally Yours,

Dettlaff

Warmth dripped over him like melted wax, meticulously molding into the details of his body. He was unsure how long he'd been trapped, and in the contrasting warmth he finally understood how cold his prison cell had been. Smells once again entered his perception, accompanied by the pain of raw, innervating flesh. The pain was almost welcome to his neglected sensorium, which desperately sought connection to reality. Anything to quiet his thoughts.

But he could smell again! And he didn't smell like himself at all; he smelled like himself, which, he remembered, was unusual. He should, for his protection, smell entirely different… wormwood, anise, basil… the herbs of his trade.

Jig-sawed memories fell rapidly into place.

I have a name, he thought, proudly, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy.

Regis' bedding shifted with the weight of another, and his tender skin seared and prickled. A vital, intoxicating smell saturated the air, drowning out all other scents and distracting Regis from his private epiphanies. He felt a hot, thick liquid coating his mouth and slipping down his throat, before falling into a doped, blissful sleep.

Cherished Rhena,

Alas, there is still no trace of you, though if there were I doubt I would be writing. No, I have not found you, but someone else most unexpected. I did not talk much of my younger years, so you'll not appreciate the irony of my discovery. In the ruin of a lakeside castle, I happened upon the remains of a flamboyant acquaintance from my past; a vampire named Emiel. I did not know him well, though I admired his charm. I recall, not so fondly, how I earned his scorn in my refusal to participate in his drinking games.

Now it seems fate has placed him in my care.

In light of this urgent situation, I must call off my search and return to Nazair. Though Emiel certainly had his faults, I cannot leave one of my brethren to suffer. I will find some way to help him. Please have patience for my gentle heart, as you would call it.

Ever Enduring,

Dettlaff

"My ocular nerve is reconnecting to my occipital lobe," Regis assured himself. "The light has always been there, I just couldn't see it before."

He couldn't quite shake the belief that light had just begun to exist, and that it existed purely to torment him. Dettlaff paid little attention to his distress, mercilessly throwing the curtains open to the morning sun. It was harsh; an unwelcome intruder, and with what little strength he had, Regis turned his head to escape it.

"Do not fuss," his caretaker scolded from across the room.

"Easy for you to say. You haven't been helplessly assaulted by sunlight since you were an infant."

"I cannot keep the curtains drawn forever. You'll never adapt." Dettlaff gave him a dispassionate stare. "Moreover, I do not go around antagonizing sorcerers."

"I'd take another 50 years in a grave over this any day."

"And here I thought you enjoyed my company. I wonder what lessons you'll reap from death this time. Perhaps the virtue of suffering in silence?"

Regis wilted in his bed, partly from exhaustion, but mostly from embarrassment.

Dettlaff frowned at the sight, and crossed over to his bedside. "I'm sorry. That was—"

"Honest," Regis intervened. "I'm the one at fault, my friend. I've spent too much time as a surgeon to be a good patient."

"I would appreciate some cooperation." He hesitated before adding, "At least until you are able to clean yourself."

Shame became a palpable sensation between them and both vampires avoided the gaze of the other. Dettlaff busied himself with the cloth and water bucket he had brought in earlier.

"This must be very difficult for you, too." Regis finally broke the tension. "From my perspective I was lost in a fog for the past, what was it you said, 5 years? Only in recent months have I been a part of the physical, conscious world, but for you it has been years of endless, thankless toil over what was, no doubt, an entirely grotesque companion."

"It was… nothing." Dettlaff shook his head as he wrung out excess water from the cloth. "Nothing you would not have done for any of your patients."

"Don't be so humble, it doesn't fit you," Regis chided. "I myself am not so sure I could have endured it as you have."

"And you endured 5 years of solitude. I would be just as restless in your position."

Dettlaff sat beside him on the lumpy bed roll. His gentle hand cupped the side of Regis' face. The warmth was comforting, and brought with it the smell of cedar wood and leather; smells Regis had grown fond of in the past few months.

"But thank you," Dettlaff smiled down at him. "Now, forgive me for this intrusion, but you're in need of a bath."

Regis tensed as Dettlaff removed his soiled and musty blankets, exposing his emaciated frame. Blood crusted the bedding beneath him, and accumulated amidst the crevasses of his torso. He was no longer a shapeless mass of flesh and nerves, but it was clear how far he had yet to go in his recovery. His muscles were too thin and fragile to even lift an arm without assistance. Any form of self-care was still a distant goal. Regis was not embarrassed by his nudity – in his present state it was convenient for his care – but felt wounded nonetheless, and he focused on the ceiling as Dettlaff went about his work.

The room was still apart from the sopping squish of the cloth, and drips of water plopping on the floor as Dettlaff moved to and from the bucket. He carefully lifted Regis' arms, and then his legs, sparing no part of him. Neither man attempted conversation throughout the procedure, choosing to reflect on the situation in their private thoughts. Regis wondered if Dettlaff had anticipated the sordid details of the recovery process when he'd chosen to revive him. When rescuing a body, it is easy to overlook the needs that body may impose. When Dettlaff had finished, he turned to grab a fresh sheet. Regis tried to hide his face in his pillow, but his efforts were met with Dettlaff's worried gaze.

"Tears?"

Regis strained himself to look away as best he could.

"It's nothing."

"We both know better. I feel it just as you do." Dettlaff spread the fresh, clean sheet over Regis before lying beside him on the bed. "Give it a voice for both of us."

Regis clenched his jaw, willing back the surge of emotion, but a wave of compassion hit him in response.

"This… bond we have," Regis fought for his composure, "is quite unfair."

"Perhaps. But in a way, it is also comforting," Dettlaff positioned himself closer, "You do not have to suffer alone."

Regis relaxed at the contact of his companion through the sheet, and his tears flowed without restraint, "This helplessness is damned frustrating!"

Dettlaff pulled Regis into his arms, resting his head against his shoulder.

"I know."

"I don't remember!" Regis cried into Dettlaff's shirt, "I don't remember if he lived or died. I don't remember if I saved him! I was there and then I was gone, and I still don't know if I changed a single thing!"

Dettlaff ran his fingers through Regis' hair, trying to sooth his pain.

"Soon… as soon as I can leave you safely, you know I will find out what I can for you. You'll not wait much longer to learn what happened to your witcher."

Dettlaff waited for Regis to calm, wordlessly willing relief through soft caresses. Regis could have stayed there for hours, soaking in the compassionate embrace, but once his sobbing ended, Dettlaff placed him back against the pillow and wiped his face dry with the hem of his sleeve.

"I was too sure of myself, and too sure of human frailty," Regis continued pitifully, though no new tears welled up. "I was too damned arrogant!"

Dettlaff cracked a wry grin, "That is nothing new."

"Oh, fuck it all!" Regis groaned, "Can you help me up? I require the chamber pot."

Dear Rhena,

I cannot remember when I wrote to you last. I suppose it seemed unfitting to do so from my home when I have nowhere else to send these words. In many ways this is a letter to myself, and for myself, to fill a need I've found. A need for closure. I remember my promise to return to your trail once I'd seen to the recovery of my friend. I've felt a growing awareness that I will not be able to keep that promise.

This project of mine has become more complicated than I predicted. You see, to regenerate another vampire I fed him my own blood, accelerating a process that would have taken centuries otherwise, if it occurred at all. Though I was aware of the consequences of this act, I did not fully grasp the gravity of those consequences. I may have been hastened by the urgency of the situation, but I do not regret my choice. The bond I have created with Emiel is new and perplexing to us both, but it has made me realize the time has come to move forward with my life.

Though I will never understand how or why you left me, it is clear that forces I cannot control hold us apart. Perhaps you have already left this world, and that is something I must come to terms with. I will never forgive myself that I failed you, and I will honor your memory always, but half a decade marks the time since our separation, and I need to learn to live anew.

Wherever you are now, I hope you have found happiness, just as the heroines of your fairy stories.

Goodbye my love,

Dettlaff