You dream of Yarne and you cry because you think you're dead. He doesn't really do much other than fight. You cry just seeing him, and apologize to him for everything, for not protecting him, for driving his mother to desperation, for failing. He doesn't respond, he can't hear you, but he's smiling, and you figure that is all you have left of him.

You wake up to see Panne there.

She's not running, she's not hiding, she's not fighting, and even as long as you hold her hand she doesn't evaporate into nothingness with the rest of the world.

You fall back asleep before checking if you're dead.

You wake up again in a dreamlike state. You don't expect to see her there, but there she is. She's sitting on the chair nearest the bed you rest on, a bottle of balm near her. You feel searing pain in your arm and on your feet, as well as a deep sense of exhaustion.

You hold her hand to make sure she's real, and smile.

"Thought you were gone," you say far too casually.

She smiles sadly.

"How long has it been?"

"Not long."

You close your eyes. "That's far too relative." She chuckles, and you add "Do you mean 'a few weeks' not long, or 'a few years' not long?"

She shakes her head. "Only really between the fire and you first getting here."

You're content with that answer for a few moments. A few. Then, with a gleam in your eye: "No, silly. Between you leaving and today. I'm afraid I lost track of time."

She closes her eyes, trying to hide her embarrassment. "I would like to say 'too long' but I know that will clarify nothing." She thinks visibly. "Probably just a few weeks."

"Oh." You smile, trying to prop yourself up. "That does sound about right." You close your eyes. "That's good."

Then you lean back down and sleep again.

Fire is all you see before you wake up, breathless. She runs across the room and holds your hand out of concern. She doesn't know exactly why you reacted this viscerally or what to do, but you hold the bracelet to your chest and let your breath settle from panicked to peaceful.

"Falchion," you gasp. "Where is Falchion?" You start coughing so hard you shake on the bed as though possessed.

She raises her free hand, watching you with concern. "Falchion is safe," she insists. "I promise this."

You manage to cough out "Where is it?"

She places said hand on your chest. "Peace. It is under the bed here. Do you wish for me to show you?"

Part of you does, but you imagine the blood hasn't been cleaned off the blade, so you shake your head. She nods and hands you the salve. You clumsily grab some with your good arm and place it on your chest, under your gown. The coughing eventually subsides, and you take deep breaths once more.

"Bad dream," you choke, now realizing how burnt dry your throat is.

She nods and lets you adjust, still surprised and alert. You thank her, and she traces a circle onto your hand.

"I have nightmares too sometimes," she admits. You look at her knowingly, not at all surprised. "About fire. Usually."

You hmm sadly, reminded of the brutal end of the warren. You want to apologize at the idea of someone facing the same sort of reaction to trauma as you have, especially one so regal and ethereal, because all you want to do is beg forgiveness for every slight against her.

But you can't. She wouldn't let you.

You're tearing up again, but blink them aside. A thought occurs, and you roll with it to avoid getting emotional. "But you're always the one to stoke the fire."

She hmms, her way of saying nothing while meaning everything. "You're right. I suppose I wanted to be in control."

You smile because you're about to break. So much for not getting emotional.

"I don't know why you decided to return to me," you say, sobs strangling the words in your raw throat, "but I'm so glad you did."

She closes her eyes, holding her hand to her face as if she committed a sin that you inexplicably forgave her for. Like she can't believe it, and all she can do is thank you.

But you can't figure out what mistake she made.

She was gone, and now she is here.

You try and make out where you are by looking around you and out the window. There's simply a bed that you are in, a chair Panne is still sitting in, a wardrobe, a lantern, and an adjacent room you deduce is the washroom. More than likely, you're temporarily residing in an inn before you face the fire damage. Out of the window, you can vaguely see the same cobblestone path and fountain familiar to you from the same town you neighbor and visit.

"Home."

Your childlike utterance alerts Panne, who was thinly sleeping in the chair. She looks at you, surprised. You motion for her to stand down with your hand. Your arm stings from the action, causing you to seethe, though you notice that it has gotten better than before the fire. Impressively, she stays seated, when you imagine many in her place would worry and baby you.

Then you remember.

"Home?"

So strange to say, but it's true. It's your home. Then you frown, because it very possibly was your home, rather than is.

She looks down. "Your house is…" You wait eight terrified seconds for her to find the right word. She settles on "Damaged."

"Damaged," you repeat. "Just damaged."

She nods. "It will take work to repair. Work, and finances, but it's easily possible."

You sigh, incensed. You force a smile to sate her, but the less authentic it feels, the more you let it slip from your face, because you've lost something you did on your own before anyone knew that you still could.

"I spent so much time making it better…" you admit tearfully. It's all you can say, and you're worrisomely sad, because though the damage might be slight, it's still a violation not just on your house but your psyche.

She closes her eyes and places her head in her hands. You look at her, worried she has a headache or there are noisy kids outside, until she moves closer to you, carrying her seat and plopping it down.

"Lady Panne," you breathe.

She smirks. "You've seen me nude. You can dispense with the 'Lady'."

You blush. To be fair, you blacked out through its entirety, which in retrospect gives her unfair leverage on you since you've no doubt you were nude as well.

She clears her throat. "I don't know if you expected to see me again. If you wanted to."

"I absolutely wanted to," you insist. Sounding too much like Severa, you ask "are you daft?"

Panne smirks. The rope was slack, and you yanked it. "I'm trying to be heartfelt, you fool," she responds, pulling at a loose strand of your blue hair. She turns her head, impressed at its improved upkeep.

"We can admire each other later," you smirk. "You were being heartfelt?"

She blushes furiously, and you giggle, accomplished. Red suits her very well.

It becomes silent, and you can tell she's trying to find the right words. She seems to stop, then furrows her brow, but you never see her think again of something else.

"You know about Yarne, obviously."

You hear his name and breathe sharply.

"You took care of him," she says. "I thank you for that. And I think because of that you know what he means to me."

You choke up and start crying at her compliment, because she's wrong. "I didn't," you say. "I couldn't protect him, and I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Panne."

She turns her head sharply, and you can see in her eyes… not pity, lest your teary eyes deceive you. It's warmer. It's knowing. It's the look of someone who shares the same pain you do. It's the same look you realize she always had.

Empathy.

She strokes your hair only once, holding the azure strands in her hand. "You did well," she says. "You gave more effort than anyone in the Shepherds ever did save myself." She turns away, as if hit. "His passing was never the fault of someone who gave him more than anyone ever did."

You choke down further tears and try to compose yourself, but your emotions are too high. "It was never my intention," you choke between sobs, "to do this to you. To hurt you as well."

She strokes your hair again. "Then do not blame yourself," she says with the sort of firmness that holds back emotion of her own. "I was the only one who gave him more of myself than you did. If you think you have failed, I have failed doubly." She clears her throat as you process her words, looking every bit as daft as you accused her of being. "And I would like to believe with no doubt that I did not fail my child."

You take her hand, because you know she didn't, but you cannot reverse the guilt you feel in a day. All you can promise her is "Then I will protect you."

"Are you ready for that sort of commitment?" she asks quietly, almost a whisper as she leans towards you. She wants to say more, but doesn't, as if in awe.

You know what the implications of that are, and the idea of failure again scares you, but you nod, because it's a purpose, and you need it.

She places a hand at the back of your neck. You shiver. "Then I will protect you as well, my lady."

Damn her, did she not know you were already close to tears? "Panne…" You choke back a sob, but you are incredibly happy.

She kisses you with comfort, and every turn of her head lets you know that she will stay. Your kisses are reverent of her own.

You believe that you are deserving of them.