"Drustan, look!" A young woman with braided strawberry hair leaned out over the edge of their small cart as it approached a bend in the road.

"What is it?" the driver responded, his hazel eyes darting in the direction that his passenger was pointing in. He quickly brought their mule to a halt before hopping off of the chassey and approaching the unconscious traveler.

"Is he alive?" the young woman asked worriedly. "Please tell me he's alive."

"He's alive, but he's wounded," came the grim answer. "Looks like he's been out here for days. I think he's sick, too."

"Then we can't just leave him here," she decided, looking determined.

"You're right, Sarina. We'll take him straight to Shirayuki as soon as we get back," he assured as he carefully carried the stranger over to his cart while his sweetheart laid out a cloak for the man to lie on. Drustan quickly resumed his position and urged his mule into a brisk trot.

"He does feel feverish," Sarina observed as she pressed her hand to his forehead. She wet her kerchief with water from her canteen and lay it across his forehead before she re-bandaged his arm. It wouldn't do much but keep the wound clean until he could be seen by the doctor. "Do we have much further to go?"

"Just a couple miles," Drustan answered confidently. "We're not very far at all. Is there any indication of who he is or where he's from?"

Sarina briefly inspected his pack and found very little. None of it told her anything about the man. She glanced back at him and noticed something that she hadn't before: a leather cord around his neck. She gently tugged at it and pulled the pendant out from under his well-worn shirt.

"He's wearing an Atlantean crest," she announced.

"What's an Atlantean doing so far north?" her companion pondered aloud.

"He has a knight's ring, too," she added. He wasn't wearing it on his finger, though; it was on the cord with the pendant bearing the Atlantean crest. He'd probably put it there so that it didn't get stolen. "But his scabbard is empty."

"He was probably mugged," Drustan muttered, clearly disapproving of the lowlifes who would do such a thing. "I'll bet they hurt him then stole his sword and anything of value he had with him."

"The poor thing." Sarina sighed sadly as she gazed at the knight's flushed face. The stranger stirred a little, but didn't wake.

"His fever finally broke this afternoon. Good thing, too. I was starting to wonder if he was going to make it."

He felt hot, so hot… Sweat trickled down the side of Hermos' face and dampened his bangs.

"His wound was infected, but not so badly that—Wait, I think he's starting to wake up."

He didn't recognize the calm, feminine voice that drifted into his ear. Something cold and wet pressed against his forehead, and he grunted in an inarticulate expression of gratitude.

"Can you hear me?" that same voice called gently.

Hands pressed to his hot cheeks, the palms cool and dry to the touch. It felt good.

"Hmmm…" He hummed his approval, his eyes still closed.

"If you can hear me, please speak," that gentle voice begged him.

Hermos made an effort, and after a few moments, managed to blink open his eyes. A dim, candle-lit room greeted him. He couldn't make out any details but one: the kind woman in front of him with a worried look in her eyes. Her hair was bright scarlet, short enough that it just barely brushed across her shoulders. She smiled down at him, and he returned the smile.

"Look, Zen, he is awake," she called, glancing up at some unknown person beyond Hermos' field of vision. "What's your name?" she asked him, pushing his wet hair away from his eyes.

"Dareios," he answered after a moment. He didn't want to use his real name. He was so far from home that nobody here would have heard of him, but he didn't want to take any chances. This was a chance for him to start over. "And would this lovely lady have a name of her own?"

The scarlet-haired beauty giggled, making Hermos grin.

"Careful how you speak to my wife, goodsir knight," a deeper male voice warned from behind his head. Hermos presumed that was Zen.

"Don't let him bother you," the lady assured with a smile. "He's just protective."

"I would be too if you were my wife."

"Hasn't anyone ever told you to think before you speak?" Zen asked, a cautionary tone in his voice.

"Of course, he tells me all the time," Hermos murmured, his smile fading as he remembered how Timaeus had often told him that very thing.

"Shirayuki." Her eyes were warm and kind as she smiled down at him and withdrew her hands from his cheeks to reach for something. "My name is Shirayuki."

Shirayuki. The name was foreign and strange, and Hermos sounded it in his mind slowly as he tried to accustom himself to it. She brought a flask of water to his lips and he drank greedily, his mouth parched from how long he'd gone without a proper drink.

"What is an Atlantean like you doing so far from home?" she asked gently as she capped the flask and put it away. Hermos stiffened, his eyes darting to her face as a jolt of panic hit him.

"How do you know that I'm an Atlantean knight?" he asked bluntly, suddenly on his guard.

"Your crest and your ring," she answered, undisturbed by his change in mood. Zen walked over to stand behind Shirayuki then, allowing Hermos to see the lean man not much older than himself. His hair was snow white, his eyes kind, but his posture one of defense, as if he hadn't made up his mind about Hermos yet. He was dressed quite well. They both were in fact.

"I ask again, why are you so far from home?" she repeated, now looking on him in pity as she began to sense that he was troubled.

"It's a long story," he muttered, his eyes falling closed again. This exchange had been brief, but he was weak enough that it had exhausted him.

"Then sleep for now, Dareios."

He could feel a blanket being tucked in around his shoulders.

"Rest and recover so that you can tell us your story soon."