A/N: I apologise for not being able to explain further, but this is as best as I can muster. Please read, and enjoy!

Chapter 20: Explain, please.

The stew was already cold, on the account of our… exertions, but my bella heated the bowls up with a tiny flame, conjured on the tip of a finger. I must say that mages really fascinate me with their abilities, especially when one could think of very many ways to abuse the spells for other purposes. Things that would definitely not pass in polite conversation— if you get my drift. This was apparently, also Kiera's first introduction to Antivan fish stew, purportedly made by the mistress herself. Lazarus did mention that he was terrible at cooking anything without legs.

"Wow. This is marvellous." Kiera muttered as she swallowed the mouthful of steaming food. We ate ravenously, in utmost silence—our stomachs making the motions of replenishing energy quite…mechanically.

Her face became sombre, when the initial delight of the delicious fish stew wore off. Whatever she was thinking, I swore to distract her from it.

"I never got to thank you fully for healing my arm…" I began, my face nothing but the most earnest of expressions.

Kiera chuckled— that gentle, bubbly sound lifting my heart. Perhaps she was not as melancholy as she looked.

"Didn't you already 'thank' me?" Her eyes glinted impishly once more. "Many times, as I recall."

"Ah… I assure you, my appreciation can be expressed far more profusely than I have previously demonstrated. I am quite able to 'thank you' a good two or three more times, my love. Or, if we pace ourselves, you might be thanking me till midday. Perhaps if we get the proper… sustenance, coupled with that spell you enjoy abusing, of course." I waggled my eyebrows at her, knowing that she could not resist.

And of course, my Kiera began to blush, but she seemed more intrigued by the idea than embarrassed by my lack of… embarrassment. Shameless, that, I am. And will very likely, always be.

"I'll… take you up on that, but after some rest. We both need it."

Her hand brushed against my own, almost suggestively, and she moved slightly, making room for me on the bed. I settled upon the thin mattress, laying my head on the pillow next to hers, slipping one arm around her slim waist. This seemed right, though it felt completely foreign to me; this sleeping without first partaking in the joys of the flesh. And we slept, side by side,

I dreamt of a girl, and a young boy. They played together, laughing and running in daylight. The girl was Kiera, delicate and lovely- and the little boy...a spitting image of myself as a child. The shirt the elven boy wore was one I had during my childhood, coarse, old and threadbare while she was in robes. Dark red robes. Wisps of power surrounded us, all shapes and colours, and she seemed aglow with the light— far outshining the sun. It was hard to look at her, after awhile.

I— He stopped chasing, having lost her amid the glow. He was the Shadow. Darkness spread where he touched, and it threatened to sap what brightness that had illuminated her.

He saw a figure, and wanted to continue their fun, but—he was afraid.

She reached out, offering company through their differentiated spaces. He swallowed, and took her hand, when the shadow spread, and ate up her arm.

Fear.

Fear filled those eyes of blue, and she tried to outrun it, all the while dragging the boy—me— along.

It was all too late, for she did not let go of my hand. And it consumed her, and then, there was no light. Only blackness, overtaking the sapphire of her eyes.

I awoke. And I found those same lovely jewelled eyes watching me, having intently observed my fitful slumber.

"Watching me sleep?" She was tracing the tattoos on the side of my face, the tender press of her fingers slowing the panic that had struck when the girl in my dream disappeared.

"Mmhmm. Because you're so very handsome and—"

I did not wait for her to finish that sentence. My heart still pounded from that image, of her, swallowed by a taint. My own.

I sat up, watching as she did the same, her hair catching the light of the little wisps that had been conjured, floating above us, near the ceiling. "Tell me, my bella. What do you see in me?"

A hesitation followed as she attempted to quantify her feelings. I felt a fool to have asked her. I opened my mouth to laugh it off, to make a joke where I felt none, when her single-worded answer silenced me.

"Everything."

I must have looked confused, for she continued, explaining her reply. "My everything. Oh, I know it sounds so shameless to say it aloud bu—"

I kissed her again, and a furious heat glowed in me. I knew I had to have her.

xOxOx

Lazarus

It was, from the beginning, apparent that whoever tried to rouse the lovebirds would earn their wrath. Sad to say, that duty had been carried out by the young templar, who had walked in on quite a scene. Something involving an explicit misuse of a frost spell. That was the reason I opted to remain aloof from the pair, though thankfully, they finally relented, and decided to ascend the steps to the main tavern.

The moment Kiera set foot on the flagstones; there was a sudden call from the templar, a determined warning. "Stay back. I won't hesitate to smite you, bl—"

"Say that word. I dare you. I can hit you from waaaay over here." She was understandably, not in the mood for his nonsense. But between her conjuring of flames and the young man's threatening steps towards her—there seemed no other way of stopping this before the Argento burned down.

I called out in the hushed silence that had ensued. "Calm down, both of you. Kiera, put out that fire before you set my ale ablaze. And you—if there's any smiting to be done, it'll be done by me." Even the usually good-humoured Wardens were quiet; cowed, by the display of animosity. Everyone seemed to be getting ready for a right battle.

There was silence, as the truth sank in. I had not meant for it to be this public, but…

"You're a templar?" The same horrified stress was laid on the word came from both mage and man. Was that so hard to believe? Mariá was laughing, the imp, practically chortling in her mirth. She sat, watching from the table where the Wardens were, eyeing the spectacle everyone else now tried assiduously to ignore.

"That explains a lot." Kiera flashed a tentative smile, taking a seat quite near the confused young man. Zevran and her appear to have not wasted any time, a glow seemed to emanate from those pink cheeks, their manner and lack of distance from the other said plenty about their mutual adoration. The former was still eyeing the boy with no small amount of watchfulness, fiercely protective of his lovely maiden.

This Pascal fidgeted, evidently more than a little disturbed by their proximity to him. To be honest, I was rather more intrigued by the young man's distrust of Kiera, who, beautiful as she was, hid a surely tragic past with someone the boy had— loved?

He had only downed a mug of our weakest ale, and yet seemed ready to fight a drunken battle with his apparent arch-nemesis.

Mariá had told me of what they had found, in that fateful clearing just ten miles shy of the Antivan Circle. We had our suspicions, but we also respected privacy. Some things were just not meant for sharing, and only if they told their story would we get involved. There was still that difficult business with Drago to settle. I was quite glad that my wife had returned in time, responding immediately to the missive I sent after her, saving our guests with gusto. I planned to reward her as soon as we could be alone, when I could close the bar, and have her all to myself. It had been quite a long time since we were together last.

As I understand it, the two youths (though paradigm opposites) were the key players in the affair—and would very likely prefer it to remain that way, untouched by a third party. Zevran's looting of the key letters appeared to have contained some information of import, but since none of us could read the flowing Orlesian script, a translation from the two was urgently needed.

Pascal was forced to move closer to the couple, his curiosity getting the better of the repulsion Kiera inspired. They pored over the parchment, damp from the rain, lamenting softly about smudges that had been created by some pesky drops of water (I think I spilled a smidge of wine on one. Maybe.).

T,

Your mission is simple. Bring her home, where she belongs. Pay no heed to the other templars. They have already been briefed, and will assist you to the best of their abilities. The captain's life is not essential for the completion of this task; he is a fanatic, driven mad by his personal issues. Celeste must come back unharmed.

Do not fail me—L. R.

Cont: The Order has assured me that they will look away if you return without him. I enclose his assurance.

Lord R,

I will accept your naming of T, and will ensure that all will go smoothly on our end. He will not have to worry about P.

F

P,

The apostate, who shall not be named, will be under your charge when you have tracked her down. Do not hesitate to use force if she and those who travel with her are not cooperative. Bear in mind that delicacy is still key; our relationship with the Antivans must above all, be cordial.

Maker speed your journey,

Knight-Commander Francois.

Postscript— I will assign Tristan as your second. He comes with very high recommendations from our outposts; so do not antagonize each other.

I watched the man read the papers with a growing despair, frustration almost manifesting in an eagerness to rip the offending papers apart. Poor Pascal. I almost felt sorry for him, if not for the fact that he had caught us at a most inopportune moment.

P.S.: Let me know if it helps? Or makes you even more confused? I hope this explains more. *hint, review?* :D

Thanks for reading, and Happy Mother's Day!