A/N: The beginning to my official story, to which Uncertain Harvest is the prologue. I might end up separating this according to acts later on, I'm not quite sure. You don't have to read UH to understand The Quelling Verse, but I think it's inevitable that there will be some references from it. Also, the sadness here would be more poignant and tragic if you had read UH. --hint hint-- :)
Just in case it isn't clear, italics are recent flashbacks. Not sure if I'll ever use that technique again though... Edit: I made some minor edits before and after both flashbacks. Can't tell if I made it worse or better.

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Dawn

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"I really can't name it amongst my possessions anymore, seeing as how the both of you spent more hours dawdling over it than I ever did." He sighed, and his voice lowered. "Besides, I think she would want you to have it."

Piper stared down on the desk, where a single well-worn tome lay by itself, apart from the rest of Tarmas' collection. She brushed her dirt-stained fingers along the leather cover.

Volo's Guide To The Realms

Many deep creases decorated the spine from frequent use. She balanced the book vertically in one hand, the wide spine resting in her palm, and let the parchments drift open of their own accord. The familiar picture gazed up at her, its once vibrant inks now faded.

A cosmopolitan young woman sat on the back of a traveling caravan wagon, eyes bright with an adventurer's anticipation. A menagerie of scrollcases, pouches, and daggers lined the belt around her waist. She was scribbling in a parchment-book with a quill so flamboyant, Piper doubted it existed.

How many times had she and Amie flipped to this very page?

Little notes dotted the margin. Piper smiled faintly when she recognized them; observations they had made over the years: of the drawing, of Harbor life in general, and of their plans for travel once the 'grown-up world' came calling. Some had been crossed out recently and altered by the steadier quill-strokes of adulthood. One in particular caught her eye.

Must hire meat-shield along the way.
Wizard + Bard – Warrior, Most Certain Death

It was Amie's handwriting. It was Amie's humor.

Piper closed her eyes, and the book, firmly. There was a harsh finality in the act; it marked the close of more than just a musty old tome. She swallowed the aching lump in her throat.

Without turning, she tucked the guide into her knapsack and murmured, "Thank you, Tarmas."

Daeghun had told her to make haste, to gather all she could before leaving, and to say her farewells as quickly as possible.

But the villagers were sprinkled down the main pathway of West Harbor like a procession, clearing their lawns of debris and the dead. And her departure was unavoidably public.

They all had something to say or give; advice, condolences, well wishes, healing herbs, rations. Nanny Driscol rambled at length about 'young people and their flights of fancy' before shoving a jar of dried prunes into Piper's hands.

Even Wyl grumbled a half-coherent 'good luck' under his breath in passing. It was the least he could do. Piper's knees were still stained from where she had knelt in a pool of his blood; Bevil had braced him from behind for support, while she had pressed swamp moss into Wyl's congealed wounds. Amie had hovered in the background, calling him 'one lucky, lucky jackass'.

The thought of Amie caused Piper to wonder: did the eldest Mossfeld feel any loss at all? Did infatuations—even lustful, resentful ones—leave their mark? It seemed so. Webb gave her cheek a light goodbye kiss. Then again, perhaps it was just the influence of Webb that had finally lent Wyl a sense of newfound decency.

"'Bout time you got your ass outta here, Owens."

...temporary newfound decency.

For once, Piper had not a single quip for him in return.

She was fastening the straps of her knapsack so it wouldn't sag overmuch from all the clutter, when she broadsided Georg. His hand grabbed her arm to pull her out of the fall.

"Whoa there. Sorry about that Piper." Even in the half-light of daybreak, his hangover from last night's festivities was still evident in the grim line of his brow and the squint of his eyes. They were bloodshot. "I'm a little off-kilter this morning." He glanced at the smoking remains of the Starling barn, then passed a ragged hand over his bare head in frustration. "Blast it, we all are."

Piper nodded, but said nothing. He was veering too close to the grief for her tastes. She was surprised when he handed her a rustic club and hand-bound parchment-book.

"Georg, what—?"

He clapped her on the shoulder, jostling it, though a bit gentler than his usual. "Told you I had a little something for when you and...well, when you left. Of course, it's...a little sooner than you expected. Sooner than we all expected. Though I notice your father seems a little too eager to ferry you off to a big city." He grinned. "I'm helping you any way I can. And that there is the very club I won the Brawl with, no less than twenty years back, when I was about your age."

Piper weighted the weapon in her hand as he spoke; the grain around the grip was smooth and worn. And there was something, like a tingle where her fingers met the wood...

"This has some enchantment to it, doesn't it?" She cocked a brow.

He blew a dismissive puff through his mouth. "There was no harm in magicked weapons when I was a contestant." He lowered his voice. "Merring hadn't yet come to town, you see. Still in Waterdeep or some such. It was him who brought all ideas of 'fair play' into the Brawl." He chuckled, and then tapped the head of the club with a finger. "This isn't some piece of driftwood. This here is the Addler. Has a kind of charm on it. Knocks a grown man flat, unless he's got a mind like a steel trap. Or is some kind of bullheaded angel. Don't think you'll come across any of those on the road."

Piper saw that familiar glint enter his eyes; he was just itching to tell some overblown story. It was a feat, especially for Georg, that he instead gestured towards the parchment-book held in her hand.

"That...was for Amie. Wizards have to jot their spells down somewhere, and I reckon bards are no different. Am I right?"

Piper nodded, and smiled finally. "Sure, Georg. No doubt I'll need these extra pages."

He croaked out a laugh. "Aye and you'd best take advantage of the city and bring back a few worthwhile stories for us, eh?"

She knew that when he said 'us', he was actually referring to himself, since most of the other villagers would rather piece together rag rugs for next year's merchant run than trade folktales.

"Go on now, so you can hurry back. I need to round up a few men and get a fire pit going before these gray dwarves start stinking." Georg left, and Piper nestled both the club and parchment-book inside her belt next to her mandolin.

She fidgeted for a moment, adjusting straps and buckles; all this extra gear was pressing against her sides, making it a bit hard to breathe. She was reminded of a few passages in one of Daeghun's books, about those corset things that city women wore. She only hoped she could visit Neverwinter without wearing one herself.

"You look like Liddy when she fusses with one of Mother's aprons."

Piper wiggled Georg's flute into a pocket. "Oh? How is her head by the way?"

"Brother Merring mended the cut well enough." Bevil looked so tired. The laugh lines around his eyes were more prominent than she remembered. Or maybe she was just now taking the time to notice them. "Todde and Ethan are still hooting and bragging about how they fought like real militiamen. I don't know if their heads will ever deflate from that." He sighed. "Thanks again for being there, Piper. If you hadn't been there to help..."

"Yeah, Bev, I know..." She grinned up at him. There was an understanding silence that passed between the two of them that caused her to avert her eyes. She was still embarrassed after what had happened...

She was keeping her head fixed on her feet, half expecting that each step would drag her further into the marsh. The heat of action, that desperate need for immediacy, had passed. It was just drudgery now; reality was getting its second wind. The weight of it struck her low in the gut all of a sudden, and she couldn't walk forward anymore.

"If your father was right, the ruins should be just ahead, just around this...Piper, are you alright?" Bevil's grip was like iron on her arm.

The words couldn't form themselves in her mouth. "Bevil, I just can't...it was...Amie, she's..." She brought a hand up to her mouth to mask the sob, but there was no hiding it. Her knees bent dangerously towards the ground, and Bevil's arms went around her.

...there weren't any elaborate words for it. She had wept, and so had he, if the slight dampness that she had felt in her hair where his cheek had been was any indication. He had made no sound and turned away too quickly for her to be sure.

He wasn't turning away now. He was looking at her square in the eye. "There's no shame in a few tears, Piper. 'It's better to drown in tears for an hour than in sorrows for an entire lifetime', just as Mother says."

Piper caught sight of Daeghun as he tapped a wooden grave marker into the ground with a mallet. "You were raised a tad different that I was, Bevil. Besides, I wasn't drowning..." She grumbled. He chuckled, dragging her into a bear hug. The gear in her pouches and belt poked her mercilessly.

"Whatever you say. " He pulled back, and squeezed her shoulders. "Just do one thing for me. If you ever come across the bastard who killed her, stick a blade in his gut."

She raised her eyebrows; Bevil wasn't normally so vehement. But she smiled anyway. "Maim an alien creature. Got it."

She watched him walk away to separate Todde and Ethan, whom both had decided to reenact their 'defeat of the mossy-grey runts' but had started arguing over which of them had done a better job of it. Farrah had her arms around Liddy and little Danan, while Sheryl was giggling and chanting 'twin for the win' at Ethan's inspired antics.

Piper glanced again at Daeghun. Her family. The great bard's tales never mentioned that envy tasted like bittersweet herbs.

As she approached him, the paranoid feel of curious eyes crept over her back. She suppressed the almost irresistible urge to whirl around and waggle her hands at the gawkers. Piper sighed. She hadn't meant to shout earlier, but with Daeghun so frustrating at times...

"There was a blinding, white light at the end of the battle those many years ago. I believe the explosion was responsible for these bits of metal, splintering them in a dozen different directions. But Duncan and I discovered only the pair. There may be...others, perhaps...tarnishing in the swamp or gathering slime in the hands of some beast or another."

The entire situation fascinated her. But her curiosity didn't numb her to the slight hesitation in his voice, so strained. "Others, you say?" His breath hitched, and she pressed. "Are you sure you're telling me everything I need to know?"

He bristled, almost feral, as if insulted by something she'd said. It was the barest of irritation in an outsider's eyes, but it was the most she had seen from him. "You have enough information to go on. There isn't time for irrelevancies."

"There's no need to get defensive. I don't understand why you would anyway, especially if you've told me everything."

He pursed his lips and, despite the fact that she was taller, managed to gaze down his thin nose at her. "Perhaps you should listen more and question less, to prevent confusion."

Something snapped. She was thrusting her forefinger into his chest and raising her voice before she could stop herself. "Perhaps I should physically vent my frustrations on you more and hold my tongue less, to prevent you from treating people like dumb, worthless oxen." The nearby chatter quieted considerably. She turned her head to see some of the village busybodies gaping at her. Well, at least this would give them some new material to babble about, besides Brother Merring's new beard.

She backed away from Daeghun, whose expression had slipped back into that inhuman patience once again. She ran a hand over her hair which had gradually worked its way out of the twine. A sheepish laugh escaped her hoarse throat. "I'm sorry, father. You'll forgive me if...if my nerves are thin tonight."

His face softened, but his voice was still crisp. "I know, child. I did not mean what I said, as I'm sure you didn't either. I do not wish to fight. There isn't the time. You must leave West Harbor. Tonight."

...for once, Piper had taken comfort in Daeghun's rational nature; he was never one to resent a disagreement and then berate someone about it later. He conceded a point and moved on.

Still ignoring the stares, she heaved her pack further onto her shoulders. Daeghun peered up from the tree stump. He was shaping a length of wood with his knife; yet another grave marker.

"You've wasted much time, so I'll keep this brief." He nodded at her bowed shoulders. "I would send Glorwen and the mulecart with you, but she's grown slow in her years, and you should travel faster on your own two legs. However, you will not go alone."

For a moment, Piper forgot about the load on her back. "Bevil changed his mind?"

"No." His gaze flicked to a place at her side.

Piper almost jumped, but then bent her knees to scratch the coyote behind his ears. "Does father always tell you to sneak up on me, Rana?"

"Rana will share your path until you reach the Willow, but after that he will turn back." Daeghun paused in thought. "Galen is a talkative man, perhaps he's been delayed by company enough for you to catch him on the way. It would be wise to travel with him." Piper recalled the twin sellswords he had hired for bodyguards this year. Surly, tight-lipped, but martially endowed. Wise indeed. "With or without, though, follow the stream northeast until it pools into stagnant waters."

"Isn't all water in the Mere stagnant?" Piper mumbled.

He stared for a moment, then went on. "It should take no more than a few hours on foot, if you pace yourself and make haste. Jorik Tanneset is the innkeeper there. He's a reliable sort, and has the only provisions between here and Fort Locke so make use of what he has to offer." With a last snip of his wood-knife, he rose with the marker in one hand. "There's nothing more I can do for you, daughter. Except give you a warning: any dalliances from now until you reach Neverwinter will put you at risk. Constant action—constant movement—may be the key to your success."

And your survival.

Piper knew he wouldn't say it aloud. But then, he didn't have to.