Disclaimer: I can't take any kind of credit for this particular story except for the plot line, and even that is, obviously, Anne Bishop inspired. So, not mine; besides, I don't have nearly that kind of ability, thus cannot claim to be in nearly the same league as Anne Bishop.

Author's Note: I've finally been stuck with that oh-so-elusive inspiration and it won't fit into Lost Memories (my other story). I'm not writing this to fit into Lost Memories, but I may refer to this later on, as I'm still in the process of beating that particular story line out of my head. This is a one-shot.

I've taken a few minutes to revise the end of this, added a few paragraphs. I have to whole heartedly agree with Elah, that I did need to reach an important stage in their relationship, and I hope these last few paragraphs do just that. So, thank you, Elah. Changes are as of 1-15-08.

"Forgotten" is post Dreams Made Flesh, and may or may not be affected by the upcoming March release of Tangled Webs.

He never thought that he would end up here again. He was still a long-lived man in his prime, and had many more centuries ahead of him to live, but he never thought that any path he took would have ever led him back here. He'd been happy here for a few months, that was true, but it was a happiness tainted with bitterness and fear.

He had many happy memories of the gardens located behind the house, had been the setting of so many experiences that he cherished. He also had many bitter memories of the things he had experienced inside that house. He didn't miss the place, had added the memories made there to the others that he had gained over seventeen centuries of living. He'd made more in the last few years that he valued as much, and some, he felt a wolfish smile tug at the corners of his lips, some he valued much more.

He let out the breath he hadn't realized that he had been holding and turned towards the field that stretched, rolling and summer green, beyond his line of vision. He had more memories out there, memories of a sleek bay stallion who had once nearly pulled his arms out of their sockets, had watched his Lady as she savored the closest thing to freedom she experienced in this place, truly happy upon the stallion's back, had held the stallion's head as he lay in the ditch, broken in body and dying. Bitter sweet, as everything he remembered in this place was.

Daemon Sadi pushed his fingers through his thick black hair and turned again towards the manor house. He never thought he would return to the Angelline estate in Beldon Mor. He had experienced Jaenelle's childhood here, in the place that had nearly cost Witch her life.

Jaenelle was the reason he was here again. Jaenelle, who was, he hoped, back home in Dhemlan, Kaeleer, keeping her feet up and resting. She was six months pregnant with their first child; he didn't like leaving her at such a vulnerable time, but had faith in his father and brother to keep her well taken care of.

Besides, he nearly smiled, it was summer and her former First Circle was in residence at the Hall again. The Coven would care for her, and the boyos would look after them in turn. He would only be gone for a day, two at the most, then he would be back home, as she curled up in a chair in his study with a book while he attempted to get through the stack of paperwork on his desk.

He let out a sigh again, but this was a sigh of contentment, as he remembered the last few months back at the Hall. Who would have thought that the cold, jaded Sadist would become a benevolent Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, a husband, and, may the Darkness have mercy, in a few more months, a father.

The thoughts of Jaenelle reminded him why he was here, reminded him of why he needed to gather his resolve and enter the house.

The Angelline estate was, more or less, exactly as he remembered it. A well proportioned manor house that fit seamlessly into its surroundings. A place that wouldn't set his teeth on edge, he remembered. But now, it felt abandoned, neglected. He'd probed the house before he'd actually set foot on the estate, had made sure that Jaenelle's relatives weren't in residence before he intruded into the house.

No, they had left the place years ago. There hadn't been anyone in the house since Jaenelle had unleashed her maelstrom three years ago. He'd taken some time when he entered the city to speak to the populace and ensure that Alexandra Angelline and her entourage no longer lived in Beldon Mor.

If he'd met Alexandra, Leland, or Phillip while in Challiot, he would likely have killed them. Memories of Jaenelle's heartbreak as she had finally stopped trying to love the people who simply could never love her were still fresh in his mind; he had never forgiven them for what they had done to her.

He took a deep breath and walked into the house as he had done so many times years ago. The foyer was covered in dust, neglected over the years, but still held the echo of the beauty it once held. Moving with his typical predator's grace he made his way up to the nursery wing.

He didn't bother to step into the room he'd been allotted here, having taken all of his possessions that fateful winter day, when he'd planned on taking her away from Challiot and leaving her with Saetan. The night that Jaenelle had been raped, her mind shattered, the night he had seen her as Witch, the true Witch, for the first time. The night he had shattered his own mind.

There was still a lot of pain there, having lost eight years of his life to madness, and Jaenelle having left her body completely for two years. They didn't speak of it, his family back in Kaeleer, had left that wound to heal as they waited for news that Jaenelle would heal from unleashing her strength and Purging the Blood.

His stride slowed as he reached the nursery wing, and paused outside the Craft library. He'd spent many nights here trying to dissemble the puzzle that was Jaenelle Angelline. It was a special place from her youth, like the alcove in the garden, which grew the witchblood she had planted for her slain friends. For remembrance, as a reminder.

Briefly touching the handle of the library door, he moved on towards the room at the end of the hall, situated in the corner of the manor. Taking a moment to ready himself for what he may or may not find inside, he held the doorknob in a painfully tight grip.

Pushing aside his reluctance, Daemon opened the door and felt the corners of his mouth lift in a ghost of a smile. The room still held the faint smell of the one who had lived in it for twelve years. Her dark, glorious psychic scent, he noted, had dimmed considerably, but hadn't faded. It reminded him strongly of the first few days when he had discovered that he had finally found her, that he had finally found Witch.

The room was as he remembered, unchanged despite Jaenelle's long absence. It was a little girl's room with its white dresser and wardrobe, flowered bedspread and gauzy canopy. Stuffed animals still lined the dresser, still only holding a taste of her psychic scent because they were in the room where she lived.

He paused in front of the wardrobe, whose doors where hanging slightly open, not as he remembered. Frowning, he gently opened the left hand door and immediately took a step back as a stone the size of his fist fell onto the floor, missing his toes by less than an inch. Giving the remainder of the items on the bottom shelf of the wardrobe a wary glance, he bent down and picked up the stone.

It was a large amethyst, the tiny crystallized gems glittering on the almost black stone. He felt his eyebrows pull together, echoing the frown upon his lips. This hadn't been there before. He'd searched the wardrobe before, twice. Once when he'd fist arrived at the estate, once before he left. There simply hadn't been this many things in her wardrobe.

He pondered the additions to her bedroom as he sorted through them. Rings, necklaces, small mementos that a young girl would treasure. They weren't things that Alexandra, Leland, or Phillip would have added to the room. Besides, had one of them put these items in her room they wouldn't have just piled them carelessly in the bottom of her wardrobe.

So, how did they get there, he puzzled.

Scraping his memory for anything he had noticed out of the ordinary when he had been packing Jaenelle's things. But he couldn't come up with an answer.

He was looking deep into the heart of a sapphire gem, the cold reaches of the colors.

And he remembered the night he had first entered the room, remembered reaching into the wardrobe and finding that cold, private corner. Remembered how he had planned to return and retrieve her prized possessions he was sure that he had left locked away in that corner.

He'd entered the room with the intention of finding a small piece of clothing, a toy that they could give to their child. He hadn't expected this.

But why were these things no longer tucked away in that spelled corner?

He chuckled as he made a guess. The maelstrom. When Jaenelle unleashed her strength, no doubt that she had inadvertently destroyed the shielding spells that had protected her treasures.

He studied each in turn, wondering at the stories behind them as he marveled at them. Rare artifacts, gems, stones, rings, and necklaces, all turned over and over in his hand before he vanished them, smiling as he anticipated Jaenelle's reaction to their return. He was sure it would be bitter sweet, as they would surely bring back memories of her life in Beldon Mor, but she had treasured them enough to hide them here and not keep them at SaDiablo Hall or the Keep.

As he reached the bottom of the shelf he held between his fingers a silver bracelet. It was hammered silver, a cuff bracelet; the one he had given her that first Winsol they had shared. He'd followed her into the Craft library that afternoon as they were opening the Winsol gifts and she'd finally broken under the stress of the gifts that were so at odds with what she was that she'd had to flee the room. He'd held her then, had given her the bracelet, and had received his first kiss from her. Had kissed her for the first time.

He caressed the bracelet lovingly before he slipped it into his jacket pocket. He smiled tenderly as he anticipated returning it to her.

Taking one last cursory look around the room he closed the wardrobe, exited the room and strolled slowly through the corridors of the estate. He'd wandered here before many times, had spent much time in the kitchen, listening to Jaenelle and Wilhelmina's chatter, relating the events of their days.

From there he strolled along the familiar garden paths to the alcove, hidden away and neglected deep in the gardens. He'd spent much time with Jaenelle there over the months they had lived there together. He'd learned how to air walk in this place, had had snowball fights, had built a snowman, had experienced a childhood here.

With great care, he stepped up alongside the witchblood that bloomed, full and bright as they did from the first breath of spring to the last dying sigh of summer. He bent over each bush, gently cutting a branch from each.

He wasn't excited about growing the plant at the Hall, but he knew that each of these plants grew for a friend, a Sister that Jaenelle had embraced in her youth. It was said that witchblood only grew where a witch's blood had been spilled or where a witch who had died violently was buried. He knew of no such place at the Hall, but if anyone could make witchblood grow, it was Jaenelle.

He wondered idly at whose names these plants would speak if she sang to them. But mostly, he didn't want to know, not unless Jaenelle sought to confide in him.

Casting one last glance at the estate, Daemon caught the Black Wind and followed the line to Cassandra's Altar.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

By the time he returned to the Hall it was nearly midnight. It was late enough that the Hall's butler, Beale, had already retired, so Daemon silently let himself into his home. With equal silence he made his way up to their suite of rooms, desperately wanting to crawl into bed, wrap his arms around Jaenelle, and drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

As he entered the bedroom, he noticed the candlelight glowing softly beside the bed. It cast just enough light in the room to make out the dim shapes of the furniture, the dim silhouette of Jaenelle. He smiled, a sincere smile that he'd only begun to use since he began living at the Hall, as he moved slowly towards her.

"You're home," she sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck as soon as he was near enough.

"I'm home, sweetheart."

"I missed you."

"I missed you, too." He lowered his head then, his lips gently brushing hers as his hands stroked her back with equal gentleness. She leaned into him, her slightly swollen belly brushing against him, and he lifted his hands to smooth back her golden hair. Pulling his head back slightly, he whispered, "I found some things for you."

"You did?" she breathed, her lips still brushing his with their nearness.

He took a reluctant step away and called in the items he had retrieved from her wardrobe. She gasped, and caught the rouge amethyst as it began to tumble off the table.

He chuckled, "I nearly lost toes to that one earlier."

She gave him a bemused grin, "Really, Love?"

"Really."

She laughed lightly as her fingers trailed gently across the items. "I'd forgotten about these. They were… they were in Challiot, weren't they?" she whispered, her voice tightened with pain. "The ones I put away in the wardrobe. Daemon, you didn't have to… you didn't need to do this for me."

He gave an elegant shrug, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and gazing again at her keepsakes. "I got these for you, too. You mentioned that you wanted something to remember those lost over the years. These are from the bushes you planted in the alcove," he called in the branches of witchblood and laid them on top of her treasures. He watched as the tears gathered in her eyes.

"Daemon… thank you," she turned into him again, her arms wrapping around him tightly as she buried her face in his shoulder.

He glanced at the clock hung on the wall. It was after midnight.

Gently stepping away from her again, he gave her another tender smile. "Happy anniversary, sweetheart," he whispered, reaching into his jacket pocket.

He watched her eyes widen as she marveled at the bracelet he now held before her. Slowly, her hand rose to grasp it, and a tear slid down her cheek.

"Daemon… thank you," she whispered before she kissed him, sweeter than the cold, winter day when he'd presented it as a Winsol gift.

Almost unconsciously, his hand slid down to her belly, resting over the child that grew within. Remembering the childhood Jaenelle endured frightened him, made him wonder what kind of world they would be bringing their child into when her time came.

"Daemon?" she whispered, sensing the change in his mood.

He pushed those feelings aside and smiled down at her. Her sapphire eyes searched his own golden ones, and he could tell that she wasn't reassured by his smile. He brushed her fair cheek with a golden hand. "I was just thinking about the baby."

She nodded knowingly, "We will just have to be sure that our baby doesn't have a childhood like ours were."

"We'll love our baby, always and without reserve," he whispered.

She nodded, resting her head on his shoulder. "We will remember to love, always. We will leave our own childhoods, with their pain, to be forgotten."

End

I hope you enjoyed this, and I would really appreciate any reviews you have to give. Please, any feedback is very, very appreciated.

I can add the same sentiments to Lost Memories, should anyone feel inclined to read it.

Thank you for reading, and thank you again for reviewing (am I hinting too strongly?).