Beginning Commentary: I want to thank the wonderful DragonofAnnoth for offering to write this short story for me! As I stated in my main fanfic, I wanted to write about other events that the main character wasn't involved in; however, said fanfic was in first person and I couldn't really get into the mindset of the other characters aside from the main one. So, when I asked for help, DragonofAnnoth was more than willing to help out!

The city of Chon'sin was crowded at best, and this hot day was no exception. Though the blazing sphere in the sky did nothing to signal its relent, the streets and markets were filled to the brim with people from all nationalities, happy to be able to trade as freely as they had before the Conqueror and his taxmen arrived. Thus, no one paid any mind to the pair of Shepherds weaving their way through the bustling streets towards the palace. Well, no more mind than anyone would pay a red-haired Roseanne woman dragging a distinctly uncomfortable Chon'sin swordsman. They were an unusual sight.

Cherche almost sighed as Lon'qu attempted once more to twist his hand out of her grasp. She tightened her grip enough to strangle any further thoughts of escape. It had been a miracle Lon'qu had agreed to leave the camp at all; it had taken her an hour to convince him there was a new monument on the castle grounds that was fantastic enough to warrant a special trip to see it. Ever since then had been a struggle to make him remember they were not going back to camp until they saw it.

'Fool man.' She thought to herself. 'If I had any other way to drag you along…'

A small rush of some unidentifiable feeling made her cheeks warm slightly.

'If I didn't think this necessary…'

Lon'qu renewed his attempts to gain freedom from her oppressive grip, and this time she DID sigh, and roll her eyes on top of that. A convenient open space cleared ahead of them, and Cherche yanked hard on the arm she had locked in her grip, sending the owner stumbling in front of her. Marching forward, she took his arm in a firm grip that brooked no nonsense. He stiffened on contact, but she gave him no time to consider and began guiding him through the crowd again. His only response was a grunt and to dig his heels in the ground in a way that was remarkably reminiscent of a stubborn mule. Cherche struggled to maintain a semblance of good humor. It was a long way to the palace.

The palace grounds had been divided into two sections. The inner section was reserved for the palace staff and the Royal Family, but the outer portion was open to any who could take the time. Despite this, it seemed the park-like area was deserted. Tall cherry trees scattered themselves around the grounds, overshadowing the winding pathways. Seeing the moment of peace as an opportunity, Lon'qu wormed his arm away from the death grip that had encased it. Taking a couple of quick steps away, he began to flex and rotate his arm as if she had cut off his circulation.

"Was it really necessary for you to guide me like that?" He growled under his breath.

He was glaring at her out of the corner of his eye now.

"I have neither heard nor seen evidence of this monument as of yet. Are you sure it's here?"

"Now why would I bring you out here if I didn't think you needed to see something?" She asked sweetly.

He simply grunted and turned to indicate she lead the way. The moment she had her face out of sight, she grimaced.

'I may have lied about the monument,' she thought, 'But I definitely think you need to see this.'

After she regained control of her facial muscles, she checked behind her to make sure Lon'qu was still following. He was, but he was directing a glare at the picturesque surroundings as though he had a personal vendetta against cherry blossoms. Or like he expected to see a ghost.

'The more I see, the more I doubt that it could be the one they spoke of, but I can't ignore his name….'

Cherche suddenly realized Lon'qu's gaze was meeting hers now, and returned her eyes to the path with a slight blush.

Without warning, the path opened up to a large clearing, and the pair of them stopped. At the far edge of the clearing, a small group of swordsmen practiced. No more than half a dozen students circled the master, clearly marked so by his impressive looking armor, if not his greying hair. The students seemed to be finishing some drill, their practice blades flickering in a half-dance. As they halted and stepped away, Cherche caught a glimpse of an old woman resting by the trees, her shoulder-length hair as silver as the blademaster's was grey. Cherche began to lead the way into the clearing, but stopped when she heard a strange choking noise behind her.

Lon'qu's face was overwrought almost beyond recognition, and his body was as an overstrained bowstring; one touch and either him or his support, whatever that may be, would snap. His eyes were unfocused and glazed. Hesitantly, Cherche waved a hand of his face, and jumped when his gaze snapped onto her. His words came out in a harsh whisper.

"Why… the hell… did you bring me here?!"

Then he was gone, tearing down the path as though hellhounds were snapping at his heels. A single moment of shock put Cherche behind him, and by the time she reached the streets, he was gone.

Lon'qu staggered to a halt beside the river. The woman that had been following him was long gone, but he still felt her eyes, and those of Ke'ri's parents. Shuddering breaths ran through him, but they left before giving him the air he needed. Frustration tore through his mind, followed by irritation, shame, and several others he had yet to identify before cycling back and repeating. Grinding his teeth, he slammed his fist into a nearby tree.

Then, he stopped.

There was a shape carved into the tree, hidden under his fist. He removed the obstructing hand to find a small heart graven in the bark, a pair of letters inside, written in as delicate a hand as a person could have, cutting into a tree. His breath, that he now realized he was holding, slowly began to shudder back into a speedy tempo. Looking around the little clearing, he found another damaged tree, this one hacked into with some type of weapon. Nearby, almost hidden by moss, a rusty, dilapidated axe lay in the dirt.

At the far end of the clearing, a small, simple gravestone sat. Lon'qu's stare didn't leave that gravestone for a long time. Even after his knees gave out, he stared, never looking away or blinking, despite the tears that obscured his vision before falling to the grass below.

Cherche gazed into the horizon, listening to the sound of training weapon strike target. The sound was monotonous, never erring from the precise, curt, clacking that hadn't halted since supper had finished. The sun was setting now, and she could hear no signs of slowing, much less stopping.

Lon'qu…

She thought back to the elderly couple. The name is the same, but they described a much friendlier boy. Not this silent, dour man that never seems to stop for rest. She listened for a few seconds more before turning to the wyvern resting its head beside her, looking at her with silent, wide, eyes. Cherche smiled a little and rubbed Minerva's crest.

"Don't worry about me, Minervykins. I just wonder about him…"

She turned back to where the sounds of training continued. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the encounter, hoping it would go better than the last. Firming her resolve, she turned around and walked into camp. Only a few turns later, and she arrived at the training grounds. They were empty of equipment and people, except for a single man in the corner of the grounds. His practice sword flickered out, hitting the target with almost impossible accuracy despite the sweat rolling down his face. He was so focused he did not notice Cherche's arrival.

"Lon'qu?" She called hesitantly.

The sword stopped. His eyes flickered to take in who had intruded on his practice.

"You again." His tone was strained. "Begone!"

His sword resumed its pattern as if it had never halted. Cherche grimaced slightly, but was fixed on her intention.

"We have to talk. There's more to the story of Ke'ri and her parents-"

Lon'qu abruptly cut her off.

"I have no wish to hear it."

His already furrowed brow deepened, but he did not stop his practice. Cherche tried to start again, but he cut her off in a low voice.

"If you have any mercy in your heart, you will drop the matter and never pick it up."

His breathing was heavier now, and his forms were getting sloppy.

"You will want to hear this, Lon'qu." She spoke calmly, as a statement of fact.

A loud crack sounded as the wooden practice sword broke on the practice dummy. The head slowly toppled to the ground, the wood holding it splintered under the weight of the blow. When he spoke, each word was slow and deliberate, anger and fear bubbling just under the surface.

"I… think… not!"

Cherche almost stepped back at the ferocity, but decided the best way was to tell him everything at once, so he couldn't run away or interrupt.

"Her parents did not hate you, Lon'qu! They were grateful! It's true that when Ke'ri died, they blamed you for her death, but they didn't hear how desperately you had tried to save her!"

Lon'qu took a half-stride away, but Cherche began to advance.

"When they tried to find you in the slums to apologize, you had disappeared, and they both knew it was their fault!"

Lon'qu shook slightly, as if wanting to run, but seemed held in place by her words. She was almost behind him, now.

"Soon after Ke'ri died, they had found her diary. Reading it, they found that you had been her best friend ever since you two were little, and had become even more before her death."

Cherche was right behind him now, and she stopped. After a moment's hesitation, she reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder.

She spoke softly. "Your friendship made her happy, and that, in turn, gave them happiness. They don't hate you. Not anymore. They've always wished for a day where they could apologize to you."

A long moment passed as they stood unmoving. Cherche jumped slightly as she realized she still had her hand on his shoulder and removed it. He seemed to jump slightly as well. Rolling his shoulders, he took a few steps away as he collected himself. Glancing back over his shoulder, he looked Cherche directly in the eye.

"Thank you… for telling me this."

"It's my pleasure."

He turned to face forward again and walked away with heavy steps, but head held high. When he reached the tents on the side of the deserted training area, he stopped again and spoke without turning around.

"It… is good to be forgiven. But… I doubt… that this wound will ever heal."

With that, he left for his tent. Cherche stood, looking after him as the sun dipped under the horizon. With a heavy sigh, she turned and walked for her own tent.