The first snowfall came when they were a day away from Vol Dorma. It made Hawke uneasy to watch their footprints impressed in the glittering white blanket that grew thicker on the ground all the time. As soon as the snow started falling, she had found a fallen tree branch with many thick clusters of needles and instructed Sebastian to drag it along behind their party. They trudged on through the snow in single file and the branch disrupted the footprints left in the snow enough to hide their numbers. Even so, if someone had been searching for their band, then it would still be altogether too apparent that travellers had come that way.

Serving to increase Hawke's anxiety was the fact that they had already been skirting around small towns for the past two days. Though they had not been seen yet by the meager populations of these towns, there had, on more then one occasion, been the need to hide from passing groups of villagers. There was no denying that their group, if seen, would attract attention and commentary. For one thing, none of them (save for Varric, perhaps) were dressed appropriately for the weather. Merrill and Hawke both wore velvet robes that were thin, soiled, and verging on threadbare, Sebastian wore the armour that his father had commissioned which was anything but subtle, and Fenris's arms and feet were bare and covered with goosebumps. Moreover, the lyrium tattoos that were branded into Fenris's skin were certain to grab the attention of anyone who saw him. And a dwarf, two humans, and two elves, were not often seen travelling together. If anyone were to ask after them, then it was highly likely that they would be remembered. Hawke ran these things over and over in her mind as they moved onwards closer to more concentrated populations.

Vol Dorma was not nearly so large as Minrathous or, for that matter, even Kirkwall. Largely, it was used as a hub for merchants who were making their way down the Imperial Highway. It was not a practical trading center given the lack of access to the sea, but it was nonetheless frequented by a good many traders who were passing through on their way to more prosperous cities. Consequently, that worked out exceedingly well for Hawke and her companions. With the large amounts of turn-over of travellers, it was all the more likely that they would be able to blend-in with the crowds.

"We won't be able to check-in to an inn all together, though," pointed out Hawke as Vol Dorma came into sight. "While it's true that we're not going to be as conspicuous in a city as we would be in a smaller town, we're still pretty damn noticeable."

"We should still stick together in the same place," Varric interjected. "In the event that some slavers made their way down the Highway ahead of us, I'd hate for you and the elf to get carted off while we're busy knocking back drinks all the way across town."

"Fair enough," she agreed. "We'll just have to stagger our arrivals then. How about Merrill and I check-in together? Varric, of course, can pose as a dwarven merchant with relative ease. And Sebastian, you're wearing armour so you might as well pretend to be Varric's bodyguard."

"And the elf?" Varric asked.

Hawke pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting back a tension headache. "Yes, I know. There's no denying that Fenris has a rather, um, distinctive appearance." She glanced over at him, saw the slight concern in his furrowed brow, and reached out to pat him lightly on his arm. "It's alright; we'll figure it out." She turned back to Varric. "Merrill and I will go on ahead and, before we find an inn, we'll try to buy a trunk off of an actual merchant. Now, since you're going to pretend to be toting along some wares, we can hide Fenris in the trunk and pretend that he's just a bunch of fabrics that you're transporting. I know it won't be comfortable, Fenris, but it's the only thing I can think of. Would that be alright with you?"

He shuffled forward closer to her side. "You and I… won't be together?"

"No, we will be," she assured him. "It will only be for a little while. Once we get to the inn, you and I will share a room together." She smiled. "Don't worry. I won't let you out of my sight for long."

From the rear of the party, she heard Sebastian clear his throat. "Are you quite certain that that's appropriate, Hawke?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" she laughed, glancing over her shoulder at him.

Sebastian ran his hand over the back of his neck. "Is it quite appropriate for a young, unwed woman such as yourself to be sharing a room with a man?"

Hawke rolled her eyes and replied dryly, "Yes, because Maker knows that Fenris and I are going to be madly groping at each other the moment the door closes." She laughed lightly and added, "Come now, Sebastian. There's no need for all of that. We'll have two rooms: one for you and Varric, and one for Merrill and I. Fenris, I suppose, can choose to join either pair." She turned her eyes towards the subject of their conversation. He looked vaguely embarrassed to be the source of so much controversy. "Fenris? Would you rather sleep with me or with the boys?"

He hesitated, taking a long moment to consider what his answer ought to be. Ultimately, he murmured, "I'd prefer to remain at your side, if it creates no discord to do so."

Hawke smiled brightly. "Perfect. And Sebastian," she called, "with Merrill as our chaperone, you don't need to worry. Merrill, you'll keep me on my best behavior, won't you?"

"Oh, what?" Varric repeated the question to Merrill in a whisper; she had, apparently, been distracted by a flock of geese that flew noisily overhead. "Oh, yes! Of course, Hawke!"

It was then that Hawke directed Varric, Sebastian, and Fenris to stay put whilst she and Merrill moved onwards. As she began to move away from them, she felt a small twinge of sadness to have to leave Fenris behind. She was becoming quite accustomed to his presence at her side. Since she had lost her family, no one had needed her with this sort of desperation. Though it made her insides heavy with guilt, it was oddly pleasant to feel responsibility for someone else once more. It was almost reminiscent of when her mabari had been nothing more than a keening pup. She wished that he had been able to find someone more worthy in whom to place his trust, but she could no longer deny him what little support she had to offer. When that trust was lost and that support no longer needed—well, she would deal with that when and if the time came. Until then, she would keep him close to her for as long as he needed her.

As she and Merrill entered Vol Dorma, Hawke was almost too tired to make note of much. She noticed that the buildings were rugged and that there were stalls clustered so tightly together that she could scarcely distinguish one merchants goods from another. Over the lanes that passed between buildings there stretched fabric awnings that, though once purple she would guess, had been bleached a pale blue by the sun. The day was gray then and the awnings were gathering weighty snow. Soon, Hawke would guess, the foothills she preferred to travel through would be impassable. They would have to stay in Vol Dorma for a few days, she would guess. At least until the snowfall abated. "Do you see any good stalls?" Hawke said somewhat absently. "Something with luggage or crates or anything?"

Merrill glanced around. "I'm sure if we just spoke to someone they'd sell us their crate or something," suggested Merrill. "Varric always says that most dwarves would sell their own mother for the right price."

Hawke chuckled under her breath. "That's probably true, actually. Damn, sometimes I wish I had just dragged Bodahn along with us. I swear, he'd be able to find the wares we needed in a heartbeat. Alright, let's poke around." She ducked to the side of the street and sidled up to the least reputable looking merchant she could see. With any luck, he'd have to flee town before anyone could ask if he'd seen anyone behaving oddly recently.

"What are you in the market for, lass?" he asked, his yellowed teeth flashing as he smiled at her.

"I just need a trunk," she said casually. "I plan on doing some bargain hunting while in the city and my own luggage is packed to bursting."

His bright, observant eyes looked her up and down in one quick motion. "I don't see any luggage on you."

She shrugged. "It's back in my room, obviously. Much though I love carrying heavy bags with me all about town, I decided to deny myself that pleasure for the time being. So do you have any luggage you'd be willing to sell or am I wasting my time?"

The merchant grinned broadly. "A woman who knows what she's after. Be still my beating heart." He gestured towards his goods as he added, "See that fine leather trunk there? Lovely gold binding, top-quality drakeskin handles, and, for the woman on the go, even two fully-functioning wheels for your travelling ease. Now, I just sold off all the fine silks I had stored in there and, though it would pain me to do so, I'd be willing to part with the trunk for fifty silvers."

Hawke stared at him blankly. "And I would be willing to pay that because of the extensive brain damage I've suffered? Thirty silver pieces and we've got a deal."

"Forty. Look at that quality! You won't find better than that from any of these charlatans." He gestured to the other merchants that lined the street. "Forty. You won't regret it."

She sighed. "Let me test this fine quality you keep nattering on about; bring the trunk over here."

Still grinning smarmily, he heaved the trunk over to her. It was a good size, which was really all she demanded of her purchase. And, she was pleased to discover, the wheels did seem to work well. The latch was also good and strong so there would be no concern of Fenris toppling out as Sebastian and Varric moved him into the inn. "Alright. Thirty-five silvers and I take this off your hands." She held out her hand to him and, after a moments thought, he shook it. "Excellent!" she said warmly, fishing through her small change purse for the coin that she owed.

"Pleasure doing business with you," he said after weighing the coin.

"Fenris is not going to enjoy being carted around in this," whispered Hawke as she and Merrill made their way towards where their cohorts hid.

Merrill nodded. "Well, that's probably true, but it's better than getting caught, isn't it? I'm sure he knows that it's the best option. And you're the one who suggested it so I'm sure he won't mind."

Hawke grunted as she heaved the trunk over a particularly large stone that lay along the road. "Yes, well, just because he goes along with it doesn't mean I'm entirely thrilled about cramming him into trunks."

As it turned out, the fit was rather tight. Still, Fenris crawled into the trunk without protest and pillowed his head on the blanket that Hawke had folded inside the trunk for him. He was forced to pull his knees to his chest and his shoulders, it seemed, would be pressed rather harshly against the sides of the trunk. When he was situated, Hawke looked down at him lying there and frowned. He seemed so small then. Her heart aching, she leaned forward and lightly kissed his cheek. She felt him jerk, startled by the feel of her lips against his skin. But she had needed to offer that small touch of comfort before locking him away. "Don't worry. We'll get you out of there soon," she whispered. It pained her to the lower the lid of the trunk over him. She sighed, staring at the closed trunk that might as well have been a casket. "Alright," she said at last, lifting her face to look at the others. "There was a place we passed on the way into the marketplace. It was called The Wicked Thorn… or something…. Anyway, it has a sign with a rose and then on the stem there's all these little thorns that sort of look like bottles. There was also a vacancy sign so, with any luck, they've got two rooms above the tavern. If the place is just too appalling to so much as check-in… well, then I guess Merrill and I will just hide out and watch for you so we can intercept you and make other arrangements. Wait half an hour before following after us. It's not a lot of time, but with any luck it will be enough to throw the staff off. Okay! Questions? Comments?"

"Yup," responsed Varric. "How are we going to know which room you and Daisy are shacked up in?"

"Oh, um… I'll come down at sunset for a drink and one of you can meet me there. We'll exchange information then."

Varric gave a quick salute and smiled. "Sounds good. Now you ladies had better hurry off so we can all settle in soon; I could use a stiff drink and warm bath and I don't know how much longer I can wait."

The Wicked Thorn, as it turned out, was not nearly as revolting as it might have been. True, the floors were covered with the discarded shells of peanuts and, beneath that, Hawke was fairly certain she heard the not-so-subtle sound of chicken bones snapping—but it wasn't filled the brim with putrid, stinking lushes and so, as far as Hawke was concerned, it was already head and shoulders above The Hanged Man. There were a few men sitting around tables and drowning themselves in ale, but they looked too drunk and unobservant to notice anything amiss. While there was some light, appreciative hooting as Merrill and Hawke entered, there was no indication that things would get out of hand. "Good enough," Hawke whispered, turning back towards Merrill with a shrug.

"I don't know, Hawke," Merrill replied, her nose wrinkling with disgust. "I think I stepped on something."

"You know, if you wore shoes then that wouldn't be such a problem," said Hawke as she made her way towards the man who stood behind the bar. His eyes widened when he saw her and she knew that she must look a fright; weeks without a proper bath and wearing the same robes day in and day out must surely have wrecked havoc on her appearance. She had, on occasion, caught a glimpse of herself in particularly smooth water and knew well that she must indeed look uncivilized. Judging from the appearances of her companions, they had all fallen into quite the state of disrepair. Still, in spite of the growing insecurity that she felt under the man's stare, she smiled as charmingly she could and inflected her walk with that exaggerated sway she used whenever she needed to disguise the crumbling of her nerves. "Hello there, Ser," she said sweetly, "you haven't got any vacant rooms, have you?" As she spoke, her raised the pitch of her voice slightly and inflected her voice with the same Orlesian accent that she had heard from that red-haired laysister back in Lothering.

"Ah, welcome to The Wicked Thorn, I'm Fredrick and you're… Orlesian, ain't ya? What brings you so far from home?"

"I only had a craving for some travel," she smiled impishly. "But the carriage broke down and it's been three horrendous days of nothing but walking and drudgery." She tossed her hair, pouting extravagantly. "Planning was never a skill of mine, no? Ah, it's not so bad as long as you have a room to offer?"

"I have three, in fact," he told her. "Would you and your maid prefer to be placed in one room or two?"

Hawke looked over her shoulder at Merrill, who shifted uncertainly. The title of maid clearly rankled and Hawke considered arguing it for a moment, but the risk was too great. A lady and her servant may not attract too much attention, but it may well if she pressed the point of elven autonomy too much. She looked at Merrill apologetically as she said, "Oh, I couldn't do a thing without… Lachme. We'll take one room."

This time, she didn't haggle over the price. Instead, she merely asked that he send a girl to her room as swiftly as he could to bring water for a bath. As she mounted the stairs to the room, Hawke found herself actually growing quite excited for the prospect of a bath. Ultimately, the water that the barmaid brought was rather cold, but it was clear and heated quickly under the power of her magic. "I'll go after you," said Hawke, feeling a touch of guilt for having let that man think Merrill was her maid. Before Merrill could make any form of protest, Hawke fell back on one of the room's two narrow beds and stared absently at the ceiling. It was a decent enough place to spend a few days. The furniture was constructed of pine which, though it bore the grooves and scratches of much use, had been recently polished by a careful hand. Hawke suspected that Fredrick had the help of a female proprietor in addition to himself; he didn't seem like a diligent enough man to keep this room is such a state. After all, the bar had been… poorly maintained to say the least.

As she heard the continued faint splashing of Merrill's bathing, Hawke closed her eyes and allowed herself to sink into the bed. It was softer than she would have expected. Of course, the mattress could have been stuffed with straw and it still would have been more comfortable than the cold rocky ground upon which she'd become accustomed to sleeping. A pleasant haziness came over her as she allowed the warmth of the indoors and the comfort of the bed to mingle with the intense weariness that had been threatening to consume her for weeks. She might have slept, but there was an odd sense of loneliness that pricked at her consciousness. Though it pained her to admit, she'd become used to the silent figure who trailed at her side. She'd grown used to the sound of his breath as they drifted off to sleep; she'd gotten used to opening her eyes and seeing his body silhouetted against the canvas of the tent; she'd gotten used to his hand being within reach of hers. Whenever the guilt and the sense of failure and disappointment grew to be too much, she had only to reach out to him to remind herself of the one small way she had succeeded. As long as he was beside her and safe, there was the faintest, dazzling hope that he would, one day, be restored. Now, his absence worried her. She was sure that he was safe in the company of Varric and Sebastian, but she knew that she'd be unable to find peace without knowing with absolute certainty that he was out of harm's way. Lifting her eyelids with an impatient sigh, she directed her eyes towards the window and watched the sky as she waited for evening.

"I'm done," said Merrill, who was wrapping herself in one of the towels that the maid had brought for them. "Sorry that it took a moment—I'd forgotten how glorious soap can be." Appreciatively, she lifted her forearm to her nose and took a deep whiff of her skin. "It's so wonderful not to stink of pond."

"Oh, it's fine Merrill," said Hawke as she lifted herself off the bed and quickly stripped herself of her clothes. "I was just wallowing in a sea of self-loathing and sadness." She lowered herself into the water, sighing with relief as she did so. Though the tub they were provided with was small, it felt impossibly luxurious to be immersed in the warmth of its waters.

By the time that she was clean, dried, and dressed, the sun was very near to setting. "Want to come downstairs with me and wait for the others?" she asked Merrill, who had been sleeping happily on one of the beds. Merrill opened one of her eyes and nodded a bit grudgingly. "You don't have to," chuckled Hawke. "You can keep sleeping if you'd like; it's only that I didn't feel like waiting down there all alone."

"No, no, it's perfectly alright," said Merrill as she sat upright. "It looked a bit dodgy down there and it's probably for the best that you don't have to sit all on your own where anything could happen."

"Good," said Hawke with some relief in her voice. "Just remember that we don't know Varric or Sebastian and that your name is Lachme and I'm… Maker, I forgot to make up a name. What do you want to name me?"

Merrill paused thoughtfully. "Lyna, do you think?" She smiled nostalgically as she added, "There was a girl in my clan with that name. She was always kind to me."

"Lyna it is, then," agreed Hawke as they made their way to the door.

The tavern, they found, was much more crowded than before. The few wastrels that there had been during the late afternoon were now surrounded by a fresh wave of rambunctious patrons. Hawke scanned the crowd with a glance that was meant to appear casual and, seeing a fair-haired dwarf seated at a small table in the corner, she made her way towards him with her head hung low so as to prevent herself from drawing attention. Fortunately, the man who had been behind the bar when Hawke and Merrill had arrived before had been joined by a robust middle-aged woman who seemed to be attracting the majority of his attention. Several other barmaids were also roving the floor now and the presence of two additional females was not by itself worthy of much notice. Though eyes turned towards Merrill and Hawke as they passed, no one seemed to track their movements long. Covertly, they sat in two of the available seats at the table Varric had claimed. "Hello there, I'm Lyna," lilted Hawke in her Orlesian tones. She leaned forward and added, in a whisper, "And this is the best Orlesian accent I can do so if you make fun of me I will have no choice but to slap you across the face."

He laughed. "Fair enough, my lady. Would you and your lovely companion care to join a poor, solitary dwarf for a drink?"

Smiling, Hawke replied, "While it would be my pleasure, messere, I fear I cannot stay long." She added, in tones no one listening in would be able to hear. "Which room is yours?"

"Second door on the left, Lyna," he uttered quickly. "But you're not going to leave me all alone here, are you? Surely your friend can stay for a quick pint. I'll look pathetic if I'm here drinking on my own. And, believe me, I plan to keep drinking."

Hawke smiled and looked towards Merrill. "Do you mind? I thought I'd be able to stick around but I'm honestly so high-strung right now that one drink might set me off vomiting."

Merrill nodded, wrinkling her nose at the thought of vomit. "It's alright, Haw—Lyna." She smiled apologetically after the near slip up.

"Alright," said Hawke, rising quickly, "you two crazy kids have fun."

She wanted to sprint to the top of the stairs and tear into Varric's room just to see with her own eyes that nothing had gone wrong. But she paced herself, forcing her body to take measured strides over to the bar where she flagged down Fredrick's attention. He smiled when he saw her and, with female companion on his arm, he sidled over. "Well, well, if it isn't the little Oslesian. A bath has done wonders for you."

"Thank you. I believe I have nearly washed the stink of travel of myself. Now, Fredrick, if you don't mind my asking, is there any way I might be able to find a hot meal in your establishment?"

"We have a few things," said the woman who was resting her head on his chest now. "Bit of fresh fruit, some meat, and a loaf of bread would get rid of that hunger for you, I'm sure. Would you prefer to sit amongst the rabble or shall I send up a basket to your room?"

Hawke smiled gratefully. "My room, if you wouldn't mind. And would you mind including a bottle or two of wine? I must calm my nerves after all this travel."

The woman nodded. "Sure thing, sweetness. I'll send a girl up in a moment."

Hawke gave the woman her payment and made her way up the stairs. It was more difficult than she could have ever thought to walk past that second door on the left. She couldn't go to him now—not while there was still a barmaid in transit to her room—but she could almost sense him behind that door. Forcing herself not to touch the handle, she lightly swept her fingers across the wooden panel of the door as she passed by and hurried towards her room. Sitting on the bed with her feet on the floor, her legs trembled as she fought the impulse to rise up and rush down the hallway to the room where she knew he was. He would be waiting for her, she knew. She smiled to herself, imagining the relief that would pass over his face when he saw her.

Fortunately, the food and wine arrived quickly. It was not of good quality, Hawke saw, but there was plenty of it as well as two bottles of wine. Happily, Hawke accepted the basket, dropped a small amount of coin into the girl's hand for her trouble and waited long enough to be sure that the way was clear to the other room. As soon as she was sure that the girl was back downstairs once more, Hawke threw open the door and walked briskly down the hallway. She knocked thrice and, the moment Sebastian held it ajar, she forced her way in. She smiled with relief when she saw Fenris sitting, whole and unharmed, on the foot of the bed.

He rose when she entered and returned her smile with one of his own. "You look… clean," he said inanely. He did not know why such a thing would surprise him, but it was a rapid visual change that he could not fail to notice. It was odd to see such a dramatic shift from the last time he had seen her. Her hair, though it was still damp, was drying already and now fell in loose waves over her shoulders as opposed to the sloppy bun that she'd taken to wearing over the past few weeks. It looked soft and downy; he wondered if she smelled of orange blossoms once more.

"Yes, I bathed," she chuckled. "There's still water in our room, if you like to make use of it." Sebastian coughed disapprovingly and she looked at him. "Oh, lighten up, Sebastian. It's not as if I'm some lecher who's going to be sitting there with a pint of ale and a sketchpad." Fenris blushed. Nonsense, considering the amount of eyes that had seen his skin. But the thought of her eyes on him seemed… different. She'd seen him bare before, he knew, but not alone. It hadn't been for her last time and it hadn't been his choice.

"It's still not appropriate, Hawke," Sebastian said. "Perhaps you and I could remain here whilst Fenris bathes?"

"Or," she ventured, "you could go downstairs and stop pretending as if I am some blushing virgin who must be sheltered from the world? I'm sure Merrill and Varric would be glad to have your company. Fenris?" He lifted her eyes when he heard her say his name. "Why don't you and I go to the other room and get you all fed and washed up?"

The mere mention of food made his stomach growl. He nodded in assent and followed her as she led him away down the hall. The other human, Sebastian, was glowering as they left. It occurred to Fenris for a moment that perhaps Sebastian was jealous. But the idea that Sebastian could be jealous of him simply because he was also male seemed ridiculous to Fenris. Hawke was kind to him—kinder now with a consistency that made her presence comforting—but there was never anything more than simple kindness. Even when she had kissed his face before closing him inside that foul trunk, her lips had been light like a mother's. For Sebastian to imagine that she, a human and a mage and clearly a woman of power, would show a former-slave partiality out of some form of romantic feeling was madness.

When they entered her room, she hurled a small fireball suddenly onto the hearth and he felt his stomach turn. She used magic so casually sometimes that it alarmed him; it was so easy to forget that she was a mage most of the time. He watched as she rolled back the sleeves of her robe and dipped her arm into the water of the tub. The water seemed to glow as she moved her hand within its waters. "So," she said as she heated the water, "you weren't scared at all being in that trunk for so long, were you?"

"No. I knew you'd come for me as you always do."

Her hand stilled in the water; his words seemed to have wrought a strange effect as they did at times. He wished he knew why. At last, she rose, shaking off her hand, and turned to smile at him in a way that looked rather forced. "Alright. It's warm now. I'll keep my back turned, okay?" He nodded his assent.

She sat on the bed with a bottle of wine while he began to undress. He glanced towards where she sat, facing the wall, and saw that the fire in the hearth created a long shadow of his body as he slid his armour from his body. But her eyes did not even watch that vague, distorted version of him; instead, she stared downwards at the bedspread and took deep swills from the bottle she held. She stayed immobile even as he sat in the tub of water, scrubbing at himself with a rag and the sweetly-scented soap that had been provided. He found himself glancing towards her, wondering what she occupied her mind with while they sat in silence. She didn't think of him, that much he knew. In her sleep from time to time she murmured a man's name that he had not heard before.

"I'm finished," he announced once he had dressed in his trousers and tunic once more; he left his breastplate aside.

"And I'm very nearly finished!" she said, raising her bottle of wine into the air. He heard the remaining wine sloshing against the sides of the bottle and guessed that she had finished all but the last sip of it. When she turned to face him, she was smiling brightly with her eyes bleary from the drink. "Are you hungry? I'm hungry." She hopped off the bed, stumbling slightly as she did so.

He stood while he watched her spread the plates across the center of the floor and then plop down beside a bowl of fruit. "Come on!" she said, a bit too loudly and bit too enthusiastically.

Obediently, he sat across from her, folding his legs. He followed her lead and helped himself to some bread and meat. The bread was soft and fresh and the lamb was well-seasoned; it was all much better than anything they'd eaten since leaving Minrathous. She ate with relish and he watched her. There was something unsteady about her now that came with having too much drink. Her hands shook as she opened the second bottle and he wondered if it was being alone with him that brought on her nervousness. He couldn't ask, he knew, but he would like to. There were a great many things he would like to do. He wondered if her flushed cheeks would feel hot beneath his hand. He looked away from her quickly; such foolish thoughts came only from having gone too long without touch.

There was the soft clunk as she placed something in front of him. He looked at the floor before him and saw that she had taken one of the two wooden goblets that had been among the goods and filled it with wine.

"I am not allowed to drink," he said without thinking. Immediately he wished he had said nothing. She rolled her eyes and groaned loudly. He hated the frustration she felt with him.

"Oh, damn it, Fenris!" she slurred. "Just drink the wine. You always drink the wine."

He indulged her and sipped at it without enthusiasm. As he swallowed, it burned his throat. He fought the impulse to let the disgust show on his face. She laughed at his hesitation and, raising her own full goblet, said playfully, "Race you?"

"Race me?"

She rolled her eyes again. "Whoever finishes first wins and whoever wins gets to feel superior."

She finished before him, but he could tell from her queasy expression that she did not, in fact, feel superior to him.

"You may have had too much," he said hesitantly.

She just stared at him, studying his face with wide eyes that seemed to drift in and out of focus. The longer she looked into his face, the more sadness seemed to seep into her eyes; it was always that way. Perhaps she was disappointed with him. He averted his gaze. "Perhaps we should rest now," he murmured. He began to stand, but her hand darted out to grab his forearm and arrest his attention. He looked back at her, startled and she pulled him back to a seated position. Her gold eyes were squinting as she tried to focus them on his face. He was about to ask if she were alright when she said, "Maraas shokra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun." Her accent was truly atrocious. There was nothing to do but to stare at her, watching her dance of changing expressions as he waited for an explanation.

"Do you know it? Do you know what it means?"

He cleared his throat and lifted his goblet back up, clutching at if only to have something to do with his hands. At long last, he answered, "Yes. I know it. 'There is nothing to struggle against. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless.'" He looked back up at her face, keeping his chin still close to his chest. "Why do you ask?"

She laughed and her heard the manic edge in the sound. "You know it," she rasped. She shook her head, hair falling across her flushed face. Then, more to herself than to him, she began to mutter in a rapid stream, "Did Danarius leave it there? Did he not think to take that much away? Did he not know? Is it all there? All there—all tucked away in your mind just waiting to come out. When will you remember, I wonder? It's there; I know it. You'll remember. I know you will."

While she twirled her hair around her twitching fingers, he watched her with wide, uncomprehending eyes. She was so distressed now and he was not the least bit certain what to do. "It is… not a memory," he explained slowly, trying to guess her meaning. "Not from when you mean, I don't think. I have spent most of my life in close proximity to Seheron. I have never spoken their tongue, but I am acquainted with it. I have listened. I've learned."

Again, that manic laugh that seemed to cause her pain as it burst from her. "So smart. So clever. Can't even read and yet you know. You listen and you know. More clever than I. You learned to read so quickly. It came so easily to you. It all comes so easily to you."

He felt an instantaneous jolt at her words and, puzzled, furrowed his brow. With some small measure of awe in his voice, he asked, "Could I… could I read?"

"Yes. Yes you could read. I taught you the best I could when I had the time. Why did I do that? Was it kindness? I wonder." Her mood seemed less frantic now; she seemed to melt forwards as her body slumped in weary defeat. "Was I being kind?" she went on, shaking her head. "I couldn't have been kind."

"You've… had too much to drink."

"Ha! That's rich, coming from you. You've been drunk on Aggregio since I've known you." He said nothing; there was nothing to say. "Why did I drink with you? After I was done healing you, why did I stay? What was there to gain?" Desperately, she searched his face with her wild eyes. "Was I being kind? Was I lonely?"

She waited for his answer but there was none to give. "I… don't understand," he managed.

"No, you don't," she agreed. "You don't understand. You don't understand what I am." She hid her face in her hands.

"You're a mage," he volunteered.

She ignored him. "You deserved better than me. You deserved better than all of us. All you gave. All you sacrificed. You deserved better. Than him. Than me."

He could see tears welling in her eyes now. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. He wanted to help. Twice he held up his hand to touch her shoulder and twice it fell back to his lap without making contact. "You have given me more than I ever hoped for. You have given me… freedom. You have given me more than I had any right to expect."

"That's not true," she sobbed, huge drunken sobs shaking her body. His words had only served to upset her more. As always. "Where are you? Why aren't you Fenris?" She sniffed loudly. "Where did he go?"

"You need to rest," he said insistently, finally standing. He walked over to her and fished her off the floor. She did not fight him as he slipped an arm around her and began to guide her towards the bed furthest from he door. She climbed beneath the blankets without being told and he released her, standing upright and watching her with some concern in his eyes. She was still crying, but the sobs were lighter now. He had no wish to repeat the experience of seeing her reduced to a state of alcohol-induced fragility. It was unsettling.

She must have felt the weight of his stare, because she looked up at him sadly. Then, in a voice of slow, accepted defeat, she said, "How were they rewarded? It killed them too, when they showed you how to be free. It killed them all." She took a deep, rattling breath to steady herself and then, pressing herself deeper into the pillows, pinched her eyes closed in a clear attempt to shut out the world enough to find sleep.

He was so far past wondering about the nonsense of her words; she made little sense without drink and less now than ever. Instead, he allowed himself to think of sleep. The bed was wide enough for both of them. He wondered if he would be allowed to lie beside her; he had not asked for permission but then he knew that she disliked it when he asked if he were allowed to do things. Carefully, he crawled over her and positioned himself between her and the wall. Within moments, he could tell from her deep breathing that she was already asleep. The drink must have accelerated the process. As he always had through the canvas, he curled up close to her. Now, however, without that barrier, it felt strange to do so. He could feel the smoothness of her skin and watch as his own breath made her loose waves of hair tremble. In her sleep, she sighed contentedly as his breath fell across her neck. He pulled back quickly and rolled to face the wall. Shaking even though the room was warm, he tried desperately to force himself into sleep.