Well I'm still abroad-have I mentioned I'd be out of country for a few months?-so I've been a little busy, but there's also ample amounts of time to write. I've just been out of my element, and it's been harder! Oh well. Enough drivel! This is still an interlude (as promised), so it's also vaguely short.

"I am so ready for this," Serra sighed, setting one final pitcher of hot water next to the washing tub in a room small enough to seem filled by two thin, lumpy beds, a heavily dusted pair of chests, one vanity-dresser, and a well-worn table.

"Mmm." Amberyl swished the water idly. After imagining Sain's attractive promise for 'the finest foods Lycia had to offer', the crowded quarters on the second floor of the crossroads inn had come as a surprise. She managed to contain her disappointment, however, as any bedding greatly improved her lot from sleeping on the unforgiving earth, and even this tight space compared luxuriously to single-man tent-snuggling with Lyn.

"I can feel the dust crawling on my skin."

"Mmm." As Kent had prohibited her from jumping in the lake—the threat of bandits alone hadn't been a sufficient deterrent—Amberyl felt as filthy as she'd ever been. Despite this, she'd summoned the grace to allow the others to bathe first. Lyn was clearly The Most Important Person, Florina simply too precious to take advantage of, and Serra could not be expected to bathe last under any circumstance. This left Amberyl to bring up the rear with quiet dignity. Fortunately, Lyn and Florina removed themselves from the list by flying off on a final scouting mission, searching for threats before dark. That was what they'd told the rest, anyway. Amberyl had overheard Florina had raise her timid voice in hinted longing for Lyn's company, and Lyn, being a charitable friend and perhaps equally deprived of Florina's shy company, happily went with her. The providence of Mother Earth and Father Sky thus clearing these two obstacles, Amberyl had only to wait for the esteemed Serra to finish her bath before she could clean herself.

"And my dress will smell of horse until it's thoroughly washed, of course."

"Mmm." These minor inconveniences all but disappeared in the shadow of the true dark contemplation corrupting her mind. Amberyl's Confession loomed overhead, an inescapable pall of doom, gloom, wretchedness, and also of many other descriptors along a similarly dreary vein. It beat out her other discomforts by a mile.

"What has gotten into you? You were much more excitable this morning."

Amberyl lifted her head, aware she was listing lifelessly. "Sorry. I'm just tired."

Serra sniffed. "Do try to be aware of your surroundings. You've the most insipid look on your face. Not that you are insipid—I should know, since you have the finest sense of appreciation for the important things of life—but do put some effort into your appearance. Now, help me undress."

Amberyl rose to obey, crossing the tiny room in three steps. She hesitated with her hands near Serra's scarf. How did one properly strip a cleric? The question was altogether unanswerable. Sain would know how to accomplish the delicate task, but Amberyl disparaged the thought that put 'Sain', 'Serra', and 'undress' in the same context. Only the fragile assurance that Sain's flippant declaration of disinterest in the other girl was heartfelt allowed Amberyl the composure to meekly enquire as to how she might assist Her Grace to disrobe. Serra sighed contentedly at this modest form of address.

"You are precious, aren't you? Hold out your hands." Serra proceeded to strip her dirtied gloves onto Amberyl's forearms. Amberyl snorted, switching to receive the articles into her hands to fold carefully aside.

"Lyndis said—oh I am sorry, it's Lady Lyndis, isn't it?—that you've been attacked by bandits five times already!"

Amberyl affirmed this, slipping Serra's soft shoes from her upturned feet as such attendance was clearly expected.

"I'm amazed that you haven't had more injuries. There are so few of you, compared to so many of them. How frightening it must be! I would know, because I was dreadfully frightened myself, after all! Not having a pegasus to fly away on like some people, why, I was in a tight spot. I wonder if—what's her name? Florina, thank you! I wonder if she'll agree to ferry me, if I asked politely. How famous to float above the trees like some bird! Oh, but then I'd have to wash my dress all over again, for there's no doubt the beast carries the same odious fragrance as a common horse. Or perhaps chickens? Since they both have feathers, you see. It's a shame, don't you think, that one must choose between the vulgarities of walking for miles and of smelling like the shabbiest stable? I wish I had the means to hire a carriage—not that I don't, of course—but it isn't seemly for one of my calling to be seen flaunting excess wealth. I might prevail upon His Grace the Bishop to provide for one when I return to Ostia. Anyone can see that it's not a matter of wealth at this point. It's not safe to go about only as far and as fast as one's feet can take one. Am I expected to outrun a pack of thieves? As if that doesn't surpass the very height of absurdity! Did you see poor Erk? Shotwith an arrow! You can't outrun that, no matter how hard you try! And it looked monstrously painful. And—and! A cleric can't heal herself. If I had been shot, well, I shouldn't like to even think of it! At the very least, I'd be laid up for weeks with that odious paste on my belly. I'm certain the church would send another cleric to help, but by the time they found me—it doesn't bear thinking! If we'd had a carriage, why, we might have sped past all of the trouble without so much as a—a fleck of mud to dirty ourselves! As we haven't got one, and must traipse the lane like a pair of commoners, and became embroiled in that nasty affair, why, he's so lucky I was there to patch him up."

"I—agree!"

By this time, Amberyl had accepted the plush purple scarf and picked up from the floor a silk-smooth pool of cloth that had once been Serra's dress, the expensive satin weave proclaiming her to be a Lady of Quality. A few dexterous flicks of the cleric's fingers loosed the garment sufficiently to peel away from her body. This revealed such lacy threads as intimately decorated the places where underwear should have been that Amberyl shocked herself into momentary stillness. She recovered in time to utter her intelligent contribution to the conversation, before blushing at Serra's negligent divestment of these final barriers of modesty.

"There's no arguing he acquit himself well, I suppose. He's very devoted, actually, although he suffers from—well, I'd call it extreme fits of homesickness. Be a dear and fetch my soaps, will you? It's been an age since I've washed my hair. He's from—oh, I've forgotten where—but he's ever on about not going all the way to Ostia! The boy is remarkably respectable, though, being a mage and all. I couldn't abide the thought of letting him go before we make it all the way there. It wouldn't be at all the thing! Just consider what would have happened if I'd run into those bandits without a capable chaperone! I shudder to think of it. Though we could have both benefitted from the carriage—Oh! But then you would have been right out of luck! Another day of that horrid vulnerary and your poor hand would have been positively ruined. You're already stuck with a scar, but I'm sorry to say there's no help for that."

"I don't mind—"

"Of course you're bound to say so!" Serra pursed her lips prettily, distressed. "I know better. You're so nice to—to pretend for me—but such a hideous mark—well even if you can stand it, I couldn't do so. Oh, but I don't mean to be rude, since it's the only hand you've got—the only left hand, I mean—well,I'm sorry!"

"Don't let it bother you!" Amberyl managed with only a slight tremor in her voice, threading her fingers through Serra's unbound hair to raise a lather of bubbles there. Floral scents flew from the suds like a heavy perfume. "I think it's charming."

"Charming." Serra nearly upset the little tub of bathwater.

"A mark to remember you by. If it weren't for you, I'd be crippled forever! I'll admire my Little Scar every time I see it, thinking of how you healed me."

"You're teasing me!" Serra accused.

"Not a bit!" Amberyl assured her with what gravity she could muster.

"Well I suppose I won't try to—to dissuade you from so unnatural a position, if you want to hold to it. I can't help, you know, but to worry about things that might have been done better. Healing is such a—a delicate affair. It does make one feel—important, I admit! Not that that's why I became a cleric, of course, but there's such a fuss when—when you can't make everything perfect the way everyone thinks you should."

"Do they?" Amberyl rinsed Serra's hair, careful to avoid pouring suds into her eyes.

This innocent query prompted an impressive list of grievances inspired by such noble personages as Serra had occasioned to service with her healing, lords and ladies who hadn't found similar marks the least bit charming. These recollections lasted through the meticulous cleansing of her elegant person and well into the rough scrubbing of Amberyl's, so that Serra didn't seem to notice she'd obligingly offered her scented soaps up for the other girl's use, or that she agreed, in her distracted rumination, to service Amberyl's hair the same as had been done for her. She came to herself suddenly, pausing her massaging fingers.

"You have such short hair—it doesn't look awful, but you should let it grow out."

"Thank you!" Amberyl gasped through irrepressible laughter. She was still Doomed, of course, but Serra's burbling had lightened her mood considerably.

"I'm afraid I may have raised the ladies' expectations unjustly," Sain frowned. Wil observed the disgruntled knight with some amusement, Sain having propped himself against a solid table around which the males of their company—minus Erk, who preferred to capture such time alone as he could manage while Serra occupied herself with feminine concerns—situated themselves in the stolid but quite unremarkable tavern. They arranged themselves near to the cozily blazing hearth, provisioned by the efficient flurry of a buxom serving girl with such foodstuffs as could be procured on this fringe of Lycia.

Inwardly, Wil was inclined to agree. He did not personally require all the amenities of high society, but he had been hard pressed to contain his smirks upon their arrival at the Windy Crossing Inn. A perfectly functional place to recoup and resupply, its practicality fell flat after such a painting as the knight's dazzling description had inspired. Not one to draw out an embarrassment, however, Wil undertook the daunting task of extolling such virtues of the tavern as could be found.

"It's not bad fare for the edge of civilization. Fresh fruit? I'll not turn that down on account of the roof it's served under."

"It is far cry better than our poor provisions of the last week," Sain agreed, casting Wil a gratified look. "I only hope the fair women of our company can bear the poorer attributes of the establishment until supper."

Wil expected that the girls would be down to join them eventually, but it hadn't been long ago that Lyn and Florina had bundled upstairs after delivering a somewhat garbled report of 'Zero bandits tonight, Good Sirs, and this time we mean it!' Neither seemed to notice how all conversation in the tavern—of which Lyndis's Legion were by no means the only occupants—died off while they giggled breathlessly, cheeks flushed from the cold winds aloft. The sight of Lyndis in a girlish humor had sucker-punched Wil straight in That Part of a Man which responds to striking Sacaen beauty enhanced by a blushing titter. He'd recovered, but it had taken a pint to steady his nerves.

"If you're so set against travel rations, you could snare a rabbit to enhance our plates," Kent answered mildly. He reclined in his chair, at much at ease as Wil had ever seen him. They had all cleaned up and changed into what fresh clothes they had—or in some cases, borrowed from the landlord's own wardrobe—while that Honorable's young daughters whisked their things away for a good scouring. It came as a relief to discover that Kent, divested of his armor and put at rest on good Lycian soil, could relax himself to such an extent as to slouch his posture. With one ankle crossed over his knee and a mug of stout ale in hand, the Red Knight looked more similar to his companion soldier than the two ever had in armor.

"Snare!" Sain turned on his friend. "Kent, you've known me how long? Me, setting snares."

"At last," Wil feigned astonishment, "something the Green Lance admits he can't do!"

Sain scoffed. "Any simpleton can snare—I would have better said I refuse to do so. I could—and with much success!—but it's boring. Do you see the company we keep? The divine Lady Lyndis and her enchanting companion, the brilliant Amberyl; shy, demure Florina—and joined now by the immaculate Serra! Am I a monk, or a married man, that I should spurn such company for that of a rabbit?" This last was said with an apologetic glance towards Dorcas. "Not to, ah, disparage the married among us, of course."

"I take no offense," Dorcas said with admirable equanimity. "Even your Lyndis does not compare to Natalie."

"Even Lady—!" Sain came off his perch, checking his outburst with difficulty. "I suppose it's all well and good that a husband should adore his wife, but that's—why, I have yet to meet the female who casts Lady Lyndis to shadow!"

"You think my wife unsightly?" Dorcas asked lazily, his eyebrows lifting. Sain's mouth opened to the sound of no coherent thought, prompting sounds of amusement all around. Sain joined them with self-deprecating laughter and a small bow.

"I vow I don't know how to safely answer that question."

Will regarded Sain with surprise. "You've obviously never experienced the gratitude a brace of hares can inspire after a week's worth subsistence on dried meats, cheese, and hard-breads."

"No! Amorous gratitude?" A look of speculation entered the knight's eye.

Wil lifted a shoulder. He had been joking, of course, though he supposed a girl already wildly taken with her provident swain might respond in such a fashion. Which meant, he amused himself to think, that Sain actually had that slim chance with Red.

"Don't give him any ideas," Kent advised dryly.

"I don't need ideas. I'm doing just fine, thank you!"

"Yes," Kent surveyed Sain with narrowed eyes. "Perhaps we should discuss that later."

"Oh?" Sain contrived to appear wholly unenlightened.

Heading that conversation off, Wil raised an issue of some import while the group was together—or at least such minds as could be expected to contribute to the answer. "So we're done with the Ganelon. Now that we're in Lycia, do we have anyone to worry about besides Londongrat?"

Kent accepted the diversion, but not without a speaking glance Sain's way. The answering look he received was exceedingly bland.

"Lord Lundgren poses the most substantial threat, although our evidence that it is he who has attempted to arrange Lady Lyndis's demise is—circumstantial."

"Come off it!" Sain departed the edge of the table once more. Noticing heads turning their way, he scowled, going to rest on the fireplace mantle instead. "Who else would even try?"

"None that I know," Kent admitted. "Yet we would do well to guard against the possibility. To conclude that Lundgren is the only villain at work here blinds us to other possible dangers." Kent lifted a hand to forestall complaint. "An observation only. We will proceed as though Lundgren has betrayed Lord Hausen and his heir."

"And what does that entail?" Wil prompted. He admired Kent's rational ability, but he wondered if the knight didn't sometimes find four sides to every triangle.

Kent leaned forward, steepling his fingers under a controlled frown. "Lyndis's claim to the Marquess's bloodline is legitimate, while Lundgren's would constitute an attempted usurpation, if not open rebellion. If we can convince Marquess Araphen of this truth, we may apply to him for aid."

"Araphen?" That was a surprise. Wil been absent from Lycia for some time, but it hadn't been his experience that Marquess Araphen was known for his charity.

"Araphen and Caelin have enjoyed an alliance of sorts for many years," Sain supplied, though a faint look of displeasure creased his brow, as well. "I've also had the, ah, pleasure of meeting Marquess Araphen none too long ago. He's a sour fellow, but if we can rely on that old man for anything, it'll be preventing a rebellion. Any ruler jealous to protect his throne would discourage that sort of thing, even in neighboring lands."

Dorcas rumbled his accord. "That is true. It is difficult to maintain your own land when all the surrounding territories are in turmoil or collapsed. The strongest defense is a good ally."

"Speaking from firsthand observation," Wil murmured. He wondered at the reserve which seemed to afflict both knights concerning their plan to apply to Araphen. It was evident that this was not their preferred recourse of action. Perhaps they were as skeptical as he was for its chances of success.

Especially, Wil realized, if Araphen didn't buy their story that Lyn was the real heir. He grimaced, disliking to be the one to 'what if' the situation, but such an obvious question had to be asked.

"Lord Hausen renounced his daughter and, along with her, his granddaughter. I, ah, guess his change of heart was pretty recent?"

"And not particularly well known," Kent affirmed, considering Wil closely.

"Say Lindburger has already taken over. Araphen risks sparking a war between himself and the angry uncle if he backs Lyndis as the true heir. Do you think he'll be willing?"

Sain scowled darkly into the fire. "He should—but not if he thinks the banishment is still in effect. Damn! Eighteen years of unrelenting bitterness will be hard to gainsay."

Kent's study of Wil had gone from inscrutable to something approaching faintly pleased. Wil felt as if he'd passed some sort of test. The knight took a drink, marshaling his thoughts as he leaned back. "At best, Lord Araphen will furnish us with such an entourage as Lord Lundgren will be unwilling or unable to oppose with the forces he can convince to join his usurpation. At worst—"

"At worst, Araphen disbelieves the truth and throws his lot in with the treacherous dog," Sain clipped. "In which case, we'd best be prepared to fight our way out of the city, for there's no doubt he'd appreciate the chance to make an offering of Lyndis to curry favor with the new marquess!"

"At worst—" Kent gestured, "—that. We can only pray is not to be the case. All of this may be moot if Lundgren has not yet contrived to dethrone Hausen. It is impossible, at this point, for us to know."

"If he has, though, we're up against the whole might of Caelin?" Wil pressed.

Kent drummed his fingers. "Lyndis must arrive with haste to prevent Lundgren from deposing Lord Hausen. If he has already done so, we risk—much—by not proceeding cautiously. There would be no guarantee of safety anywhere."

"Lyndis will not wish to act slowly," Dorcas interposed. "She will move to ensure her grandfather's safety over her own. She is decisive that way." He smiled briefly. "Making our job more difficult."

"Indeed!" Sain flashed an answering grin, though he quickly fell back to brooding.

Kent's wry look softened with regret. "Saint Elimine herself could not shield Lundgren from Lyndis's wrath if he has harmed Lord Hausen. She has suffered too much loss already."

A heavy silence descended. Wil regretted dampening the mood, but he felt better for mulling over the long-term challenges to their quest of restoring Lyndis to her grandfather. Kent and Sain had clearly already considered certain aspects, but Wil appreciated his inclusion rather than casting implicit trust.

"Where are our women?" Sain demanded, pacing.

"Only just realizing you haven't flirted with a woman for more than an hour?" Wil needled.

"Hardly! There was the serving girl and the landlords daughters, if you recall."

"Lyn and Florina just went up a little while ago, and it's probably too soon for Amberyl and Serra to come down."

"Too soon?"

"You don't actually know very many women, do you?" Wil murmured. This unleashed such a rebuttal as to include the description of a great many females of Sain's intimate acquaintance, the discussion of which Wil skillfully excluded himself from by finding his mouth occupied with the important business of chewing bits of apple whenever a pause came about.

"What do you mean, 'is that all?'" Amberyl demanded, recovering her voice. Wherever it had gone, it had come back an octave higher. The composure she'd regained through the copious application of florally scented soaps was no match for this ludicrous response.

Kent appeared bemused. "Failing to disclose your situation is hardly grounds for us to cast you from our company. You can't mean to say that that is what you wished?"

"I lied to you," Amberyl repeated. "All of you."

"We have a cleric to absolve you of your sins," Sain supplied helpfully.

"As long as she's sorry—"

"This isn't a joke!" Amberyl kept her eyes on Kent. His lips twitched up at the corner. Was he smiling? Curse the knight and his infuriating unpredictability! She'd known Kent for days. There was no way he would accept her disclosure so calmly, and he rarely smiled except for wryly.

"To be honest, I must say I'm relieved."

"Relieved." Amberyl planted her hands on the table with enough force to rattle the utensils. She found herself standing with no recollection of getting there. "You dare—"

"What I mean to convey," Kent controlled her outburst, "is that I was beginning to dread this 'revelation' which you had planned. This is perhaps the most benign answer you might have presented us."

"Of all the—all the nonsense—You let me act as tactician!"

"Rest assured, lady Amberyl," the dryness she expected now supplied, "I never did so on the understanding that you had received formal training of any kind."

Amberyl worked her mouth, again reduced to incoherency. She looked to Lyn, but the nomad surveyed her curiously with no intent to intervene. Florina gave Amberyl an unexpected nod of encouragement, a reminder of the pegasus knight's own response to her Big Secret—that totally underwhelming reaction where Florina didn't seem to understand that the Big Secret was a Big Deal. None of them seemed to. She had been gratified before, but this—

Sain brought her back to the moment with a snap of his fingers, exclaiming in epiphany. "So that's why you pushed me away!"

The blood smartly fled Amberyl's face. She met Sain's examining brown eyes, marshaling herself to give the perfect explanation that she was sorry, but she could be a married woman, only she didn't know it, and she hadn't meant to lead him on but she wasn't an experienced flirt like he was and if she'd made a mess of it well that was really his fault for being charming and handsome and friendly and if only he hadn't smiled at her quite as frequently or with such warmth in his eyes maybe she wouldn't have this heart-squeezing pressure when she thought about where her longings lay and where they ought to lay and she really couldn't romance him while her own availability remained in question!

Amberyl inhaled deeply. "I'm sorry, but I could be a married woman—"

"I think not!" Sain derailed her instantly. "Why, you haven't got a ring!"

"What do you mean?"

"You're from Bern, aren't you?"

"I don't know," Amberyl clenched her fists, trembling. "For goodness sake, it's like none of you were even listening!"

"Well, take my word for it. Your hair, your eyes—your temper!—Bernese, I'd wager good money. Kent?"

"Plausible," Kent said, wisely hiding his lips behind one speculative hand.

"I'd say so," Wil added. Beside him, Dorcas nodded.

"Yes," Erk scrutinized her closely.

"Maybe?" Florina hedged.

"Your tunic is from Bern," Serra said critically. "I'd recognize that stitch anywhere. I wasn't going to say anything, because it's not polite to point out a person's flaws—"

"Flaws?" Amberyl rounded on the cleric in disproportionate wrath. "There's nothing wrong with my tunic. My tunic is the closest thing I have to a history! It's soaked up enough of my blood that it's the closest thing I have to a relative—"

She intended to go on, but a very cool-eyed Lyn pressed her firmly back into her chair. "Your point, Sain?"

"My point, my lady, is that the married people of Bern exchange rings, and they almost always wear them from that point on!"

"Almost always?" Amberyl lifted her glare from Serra long enough to probe Sain over this qualifier.

"Well—you might hide it for a tryst with a secret lover," Sain admitted. "But not, I think, a stroll in the plains!"

"Sain—" Kent began in that dangerous tone.

"The very opposite of what you're thinking, my valiant comrade. It's worth more than my head to dally with a married Bernese woman."

Sain's words penetrated Amberyl's understanding slowly. She looked to her lap, uncurling balled fists to study her fingers closely. Setting aside the irritating lack of sympathy and the mysterious absence of indignation from her companions—was it possible that she was married, and had simply removed her ring for some reason? If what Sain said was true, it was unlikely she would have done so for a trip to Sacae. And unless she'd been very recently wed, there should be a mark where she normally wore a ring. Amberyl stared harder. She didn't see any marks, much less any rings. It wasn't a perfect confirmation, but it was probably the best she would get, short of the total recollection she desperately desired.

"So… I'm…"

"Blessedly single!" Sain flashed her his handsomest grin.

"I think—I think I need to go lie down."

HA! Joke's on you, you thought I'd have gotten farther. Alas, the next 'chapter' will still be an interlude. For some odd, it just seemed like it wasn't *quite* a direct enough continuation to be in the same 'chapter'. Fortunately, however, its all but finished (I may tweak, like, 25 words yet), and shall go up shortly. Then it's on to chapter six, with Matthew and Rath and e'erbody else.

Sparks101; I'm glad to hear Amberyl's struggle has been more engaging than plot-bogging! When I set out with the 'lost memories' thing (like, way before awakening did it, I swear-I just hadn't published then!), I hadn't had the foresight to realize just how mind-blowing that experience would actually be, and how deeply it would affect ALL OF THE THINGS. She'll grow more accepting over time, tho'. "A girl can get used to anything", after all!

Wool; Thanks so much for the kind review! I came into this story hoping to improve my character development of multiple characters from different points of view, and it has been a fun challenge. I'm glad to find it has been worth the effort! I'm afraid I haven't been at all accommodating with my update schedule, though... I'll post more frequently in the near future, I promise! I've been 'traveling' since mid November, so I've been out of my element and finding it difficult to find the right environment to write in, despite having the time to do so. / also, your English seems quite fine to me!

Honorable Guest; Yes, it was rather a quick turn around - those three months ago _ Prepare for another one of those, tho', with the next interlude. Creating a false shortage, I am! I could easily post this and the next together, but somehow it seemed more appropriate to separate them, even if I do post them at the same time. *checks watch* And the limiting factor there will be 'time left in the day' before bedtime tonight. I'm also delighted with your observations of the characters! I struggle with keeping them true to their overall image, while also progressing their relationships with-well, mostly with Amberyl, but also with each other. The FE script keeps the central players rather well developed, but everyone else does tend to fall to the wayside as the Plot Armor closes protectively around only a few.

GameFreakimage; I have lapsed into lateness once again! And not even a full chapter. I've a terrible habit towards letting time pass me by. Never again a whole year, though, between posting. Already, three months is too long. I'll have to figure out where Erk actually fits in to the group. He'll have to have a more prominent role in chapter six, methinks, or else start the trend of "Look guys, I can't keep giving you screen time! bugger off!" I suppose, as He Who Incinerates People Through Inordinary Means, he'll HAVE to get screen time, because he's s'damn useful-AND the magic expert. Dorcas has already given me trouble, drat the man. He's rather a bit reserved to partake in the hijinks, and he's got zero potential for a romantic entanglement! sheesh.

Anyway. On to doping with the next pseudo-chapter... almost done. I won't lie to you all, though. Ch6 is, like, not even remotely started. I'm still determining whether I'm going to stick to the script. Ah, who am I kidding. I'll keep it cannon (mostly)...(ish).