A/N: Special thanks to those who reviewed: Saraa Luna, Shadowed One 19, Professor-Evans, Free Thought, Airan's Enigma, and Blackish. Thank you all for your following the story patiently, sporadic updates and all. And a special thanks to you, whoever you are, for reading this. I also want to thank Free Thought for jabbing me in the ribs whenever I don't get this posted or get to quiet or something... Yes... Thank you for being a pain in my rear. :P (and for helping beta-read this chapter).

It's not like this chapter was hard. It was finding the time to write it. As some of you might know, I have a little godson now and there is a possibility that I might move in with him and his mom so that I can help raise him. Considering the other tenants of the house, I would say our lives would be like a poorer, more crowded version of Modern Family. :P Oh, and work... I have been working 47-50 hours a week lately, so that's a bunch of fun.

But enough of my complaining! More on the chapter. This one was a bit fun to write as it did have some long-awaited interactions. A warning, though - this chapter insinuates something that would make most people a little uncomfortable. It's nothing too graphic and mentioned only twice, but I feel obligated to say that.

Enjoy.

Light in the Shadows
Lord Keetch Garrion Swalestrom

"I'll find you. Don't worry. Just be on your own and I'll find you." - "The Graveyard Book" by Neil Gaiman

Exhausted and disheartened, father and son slunk back to Castle Terrace. As bright and beautiful as many of its guests had made it out to be, the architecture seemed as dazzling as an old washcloth. The servants hardly muttered a word to their masters as they accepted the work-worn cloaks. Any questions would have been answered by the looks on their faces, anyways.

Even when Corinne appeared at the top of the stairway, nobeast said a word or acknowledged her presence. She was always too hopeful for her father and brother, it seemed. Sensing their hesitation, she slowed herself to a halt in the middle of the steps and, with one arm, hugged her ream of papers to her chest.

Finally, Gavin decided to speak up. "No news is good news," he muttered, half to himself and half to anyone willing to listen; he received no response other than a second question.

"Have the guests returned?" Galen asked.

"Yes, m'lord," piped one beast. "They had returned for supper and have already taken to bed." It was customary for suitors (particularly the ones who lived far off) to stay within the hosts' home for the duration of the tournaments. And, in all the chaos, each of the suitors had contributed to the search for the missing lord. Whether or not the prospect of marriage with Lady Corinne was likely, there was always something to gain from Lord Swalestrom's favor.

"Where's your mother?" Galen questioned as he looked about. He didn't bother to look anybeast in the eye.

Corinne pursed her lips and shrugged. "I... I don't know," she admitted. That was all he had to hear before meandering to the adjacent sitting room. He held many fond memories of his son there. During his long nights of work and council meetings, Galen would oftentimes come home to find a sleeping cub curled on the couch with a book in his tiny paws. And Bellamy's face would glow whenever he scooped their son up in his arms and put him to bed.

But the sitting room was empty, though the flames still blazed to life for nobeast in particular. The skipper stood beside it, one paw in his pocket and another hanging limp at his side so that it could soak up the warmth. Was Keetch out in the chill? Wet and shivering from yesterday's rain? Did he have anything to eat? Without lifting his head, the sea otter raised his eyes and glanced over at the serving maids. It appeared that one of them had something to say.

"M'lady requested to be alone, m'lord." The mousemaid's words carried throughout the vast dead hall. It was strange, Castle Terrace without Galen's booming laughter, the two bickering brothers, Lady Arlyn's cries, or the chatter and bustling of servants.

Leaving the fire behind, Galen released another heavy sigh as he lumbered over to the winding stairways. "I have a feeling where she is," he murmured. Then, "Gavin, good work today. We'll pick up again a' first light."

The compliment was returned with a quick salute and a crisp "yessir." The servants, meanwhile, unfroze themselves from the depressing tension and scrambled to offer refreshments and a warm bath to the unpreoccupied lordling. For the first time that day, Galen afforded himself one flicker of a smile as he watched his son refuse comfort in favor of reports, maps, and a bowl of soup delivered to his study. It was not a month ago that the boy was sneaking pastries out of the kitchens and skipping rocks with rabble urchins.

"Father?"

The voice struck him out of his reverie. Corrine stood a few steps above him with that grim yet determined look of hers. He'd grown more and more accustomed to it as the days wore on.

"Is there anything that I can do to help?" With a brisk motion, she handed the ream of papers to the sea otter. He took it with a grateful nod, skimming the first page as she continued, "They're all ready for your signature. I gave you a little more room at the bottom like you wanted."

"It's perfect," he told her. His daughter took the affirming words with a lift to her chin.

"Are there any more letters I can draft for you?"

"Yes, yes." As the skipper motioned a bystanding servant to fetch the missives, he couldn't help but remember the by-gone times when Bellamy would have to coerce the girl with sweets just to make her touch a quill. He almost found a smile on his face but quickly swiped it off as the serving beast approached. The stack of parchment was thicker than ever and he inspected the damaged wax seals on some of the envelopes.

Corinne gripped her wrists tight as she took a deep breath. "It was me," she admitted. Better for him to know than to doubt his servants. Words between lords were not to be pried by simple folk, after all. Besides, everybeast knew that it would take a much more substantial offense in order for Lord Galen to raise his voice against his daughter.

"You were just tryin' to help," he agreed, shuffling the envelopes as he scanned each name. Usually it was Bellamy who put herself in charge of correspondences, though she had grown weary of late.

"These letters are all just a bunch of well-wishers and condolences," Corinne informed with an indignant sniff. "If you ask me, their time is better spent on the lookout than dawdling their paws in ink."

To that, Galen tapped the top of her head with the sheaf of envelopes. "Aye, but remember that's what you're doing too."

His remark was met with a righteous tone and a bit of her usual spark. "I'm requesting help," she corrected. "Those beasts are just wasting time. They should hold their quills unless they have something important to say."

"Maybe, but don't throw away kind words. They mean more'n you think." The lady only scowled, earning herself a light chuckle from her father.

"It's not funny," she huffed. "Stop treating me like a child. I can help if you'd just let me do more."

Galen wiped off his smile, sighed to regain a serious face, and placed a paw on her shoulder. "You want to do as much as you can for your family and I am so glad that you're so strong. But-"

"But?" Tears were already collecting at the corners of her eyes.

"But there's always a limit to what a beast can do and how much he c'n help." He paused as the finally broke away and trickled down her cheeks. He bent down to give her a soft kiss on the forehead. "I wish I could do more, too." The confession was enough to wrench at his heart, so he left it at that and headed up the stairs.

The bedroom was empty, though he could see the ruffle in the blankets where his wife had laid down for... who knows how long? Yesterday she had found difficulty in just trying to get out of bed. But even if her spirit had kept up, what could she have possibly done to help? Be a 'wonderful' hostess and indulge their guest-suitors in her attention? That burden had become Corinne's duty when her mother had taken ill, though Galen highly doubted that it was a burden she took gracefully.

With hollow pawsteps, the lord left the room in search of his wife. If she wasn't in bed, there was only one other place she could be. Down the halls, he went, nodding to the anxious servants as he passed them by. The journey was not a long one, as Keetch's childhood bedroom was always kept close. Slowly, the otter turned the knob and pushed the door so that a crack of light spilled into the dark room.

"Bellamy?" he whispered. Something shifted in the darkness and then he heard her voice.

"Galen?"

With another sigh, he opened the door wider so that he could survey the chamber. His eyes needed time to adjust, but he could already see Bellamy's form lying on their son's bed. Nobeast had slept in it for seasons and Galen wondered to himself if the bed missed Keetch, too. It was a stupid thought, but it felt like the entire world missed him. The lord left the door ajar as he approached her.

"Bellamy?" He sat down at the foot of the bed and laid a paw on her leg. "Are you alright?" His wife didn't stir, but she answered, "How can I be when he..."

"Don't you worry. We'll find him." It had to be the hundredth time he'd said that to her, the thousandth time to himself. And every time, he felt it as a lie. The words started out as a mantra to bolster his determination, then a prayer, and now a fortnight later, they were stripped bare to the desperate thing they really were.

"Do you remember when you first held him?" she asked. Her voice was heavy and beleaguered. "I am quite sure you cried more than he did."

"And you were blubberin', too. The entire room was." Galen looked about himself and saw the books that lined the shelves, the rolls of empty parchment waiting for words, and the shells and rocks that he and his son collected when he was small. The wooden toys he had made for him were probably hidden away somewhere safe and secret. Still in the corner of the room was the box that his pet tortoise had slept in. When he discovered the pet, Galen couldn't help but feel even more pride of his son's little rebellion.

"Or when he cried at night?" Bellamy reminded him, turning his attention back to her. "How I would wake up to nurse him and you would stay up with me to keep me company?"

"It was worth it. Heh. And you should'a seen King Darian's face when I fell asleep in the court. Dirk punched me in the ribs to wake me."

She inhaled a deep and shuddering breath. "I lie down in this room and I cannot help but feel these memories come washing back. I think about the time he first learned how to walk, when he started to laugh and speak, and how you played games with him. I recall how you took him on his first swim on his birthday."

He could hear the tears in her voice and he reached to grip her paw. "I remember that."

"He was so afraid at first, but he was laughing when the both of you returned - even when you had to dunk him."

"Aye. And he tried to swim on his own, too."

"What was that name you called him? Your pet name for him?" There was the smallest hint of a smile in her tone that time.

"Peanut? Ha," he chortled. "Keetch hated that name. My li'l peanut."

"He will never forgive you for calling him that."

"I know. And remember the time when-"

"M'lord! M'lady!"

Galen turned to the door where a servant had already begun rushing forward. His intrusion and lack of composure was strange, but the smile one his face was even stranger - foreign, even. He held out his paw to offer his master a letter.

"A messenger came from Fort Riddian. He says it's good news."

As woeful and wretched as it was, my previous state of captivity was pleasant in comparison to the second. It could have been the dank air laced with the scent of mold. Perhaps it was the hare, Havick, they called him, who oftentimes greeted me with his boisterous accent, a flick to the forehead, and a gleeful threat. But most likely, the culprit to the entirely new level of misery was that throbbing ache radiating from my left knee.

I recalled those wretched creatures throwing me down the stairs, barrel and all. It may not have been a full flight of stairs, but it did its damage, though I do not remember the pain well. I only know that I awoke in the dark, blindfolded and gagged, as customary. But instead of sitting upright on the floor, I lay on a hard table with ropes at my limbs and torso to tether me in place.

I was light-headed and my throat felt like raw leather. But the real pain began when I flexed my leg. Seasons. Just trying bending it was enough to make me perspire and groan with effort. My muscles (the ones still functioning) screamed at me to stop and I swore I felt a hot-iron nail drilling through my kneecap. And when they came with a chamberpot, it was all the more humiliating when I could not even bring myself to sit on the putrid thing. The first time, I stumbled and the contents... It does not matter. More pressing was the question: even if I did break free of my bonds, how was I in any condition to battle through the thugs?

And to add to the disheartening situation, the outside world leaked through the walls and doors. The outside world... Not a cheerful place by any stretch of the imagination. Bawdy laughter, drunken rants, brawling beasts, fists thrumming against wood. What was worse, however, were the other sounds. In my first hours adapting to my new prison cell, as my head pulsed and I felt like retching, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. They were like little voices that would come and go in the corners of my mind. They were not coherent, as they were muffled and weak, but they were so saturated with fear that it seemed as though a dozen of them called out at the same time.

It was not until the scum decided to pay a visit that I realized that the weeping sounds came from my fellow captives. Though I was hostage, the maids were being kept for other purposes. Fates afire, the things I heard from the other side of the wall... whimperings turned to stifled screams, our captors' vile words... and I was helpless to stop it. I was powerless to absolutely everything. If they held a knife at my neck, I would be able to do nothing save sob through my gag. But anybeast cruel enough to do the foul things they did would not be moved by whimpering. If he did, all the maids would have been released.

But at the very least they would live. Myself, on the other paw, was under threat of death every minute of every single day. My father was seeking me out. I knew him too well to doubt that. But any wrong move could spell my undoing; and after what I assumed was a month of captivity, I wondered if my father would manage to find me at all. Perhaps he was close... so very, very close. But what if I were to be crammed in a barrel and whisked away once more? Was I even still in Darry's Hill? It was likely, considering the malcontents that congregated in the upper floor of my cage, but what if I was wrong? What if my father's searches were all completely misguided?

And what if Havick carried through with his threat? Carving my throat from ear to ear before depositing my body in the center of Southard Square. "All trussed up in a spiffin' new red cloak with the Otterguard symbol on it. Like a nice little present to your pater," he had chimed as he pat me on the cheek. Going by his mental state and his past deeds, I did not doubt that he was capable of such a thing.

As it was, death would not have been the worst route for me. The worst would be to remain in my confines, suffering in shame and in agony. As rivers beat against rock to shape the land, my strength was washing away. My drive for vengeance was gone, drowned by the sheer impossibility of it. However, I knew that my family would suffer most from my passing.

My parents would be devastated. Completely and utterly at a loss. I imagined that my father would no longer have any reason to hold back on the criminals. He would dispense his own wrathful justice on them, but upon arriving home after the slaughter, he would be all but victorious. Mother would open up the chest of her old maternity keepsakes. I pictured her on her bed, taking all of those small blankets and things into her arms and hugging them against her chest as she wept. And Gavin and Corinne, with their blissful childhoods, never had to confront grief before. To hear of my death would break them - Corinne especially.

I would never be able to see her wedding. I would never know if she would have a husband that would give her the care and consideration she required. And who knows the kind of air-headed girl that Gavin would marry? But at the very least, the family name would live on through him.

Would my brother even be able to carry the family with the pride and respect it deserved? Would he be an incompetent, blundering idiot? Perhaps he shall stand for nothing, simply stepping out of the way whenever opposition chanced upon him? Would he let General Dirk have his way for every council? General Dirk. He must be glad to be rid of a threat. But Gavin was good at heart and my father would groom him well for the role. At least there was always that to consider.

And Ayda... my wife would shed tears at my passing, to be sure. But she could always remarry if the situation suited her and that... that would be an understandable and likely course of action. Along with her family's wealth and a reputable name, she had also proven herself capable of birthing a child. Only a daughter, but a child nonetheless. A season ago, when I feared her barren, a good match for remarriage would have been highly unlikely. The life of a young widow is only worsened by the inability to carry, after all.

But on second thought, if Ayda were to remarry she would have to leave Arlyn's to the care of my parents. She was a Swalestrom, after all, and it was inappropriate for an outside lord to raise her. No, Ayda was unlikely to tear herself away from her daughter. Besides, Mother and Father were sure to care for the both of them. And when my parents grew older, I could always rely on Gavin to watch over both females. I imagine Arlyn would live without want, as he would look upon her as his own. And Arlyn... Her perception of me...

From childhood, I was always reminded of my father's lowly origins. Gavin was too dull-witted to remember, but our father was snubbed by the other lords numerous times. So I lay there, mouth parched and body throbbing, grimacing at the notion of my own child ashamed of me - an arrogant lord that fell to the paws of ill-bred miscreants... one that died of his own foolish carelessness. I was never proud of my father's lowborn blood, but I was at least able to know and grow to respect him. Arlyn, however, would only come to understand and resent me from the mouths of other beasts.

As I contemplated this, I heard the metallic rattle of a turning doorknob. My meal and chamberpot had only just departed, so as you can imagine, I dreaded whatever objective the visitor had in mind. The door clicked open and gently shut with hardly an interval in between. No announcements, no jeering or cursing, not even pawsteps. Whoever the beast was, I had never encountered him before and my instinct told me that he came with a different set of motives.

"Is he dead?" somebeast whispered. Of all things, I did not expect a child's voice. Judging by his pitch, I suspected no more than fourteen.

"Don't be styoopid." That voice was all but youthful and contained traces of malice. "Why bother tying up a deadbeast? See? His chest's still risin'... and it's goin' too fast for him t'be asleep." That last statement was clearly an indication for me to interact somehow. Having nothing to lose, it was all I could do to turn my head towards the source of the noise.

"He's looking bad," the youngster murmured with horror. Yes, I imagined that in my neglect, I looked like some savage that lived in a hole in the ground. Strangely, rather than shame, I felt some missed and very welcomed hope begin to well in my chest. The voice, after all, held plenty of concern and goodwill.

"Jis' shaddup and guard the door." His companion, however, sounded very much alike to my jailers. However, his lowered volume was enough to make me trust him. After all, a guest of Havick's would have no need for secrecy. There was a pause in which I assumed that the child left; though if he completed his order, I did not hear his pawsteps. Were they just my imagination? Had I gone mad?

A jerk to my chin reaffirmed me of my sanity. I grunted in discomfort as the creature gripped my lower jaw in his paw, tilting it in the direction that I assumed was towards his face.

"Listen t'me, you." His fetid breath was enough to render me unconscious. It was by sheer willpower that I was able to maintain focus. "You caused a lot of trouble fer me so do me a favor and shaddup." An easy enough request, considering the gag in my mouth. At the end of his statement, he released me and a quick succession of dull clacking sounds followed. The sound was a familiar one and I saw a faint glow beyond my blindfold.

"I don't think they heard it," the child said from farther away. "Some pretty drunk sleep they must be in." His companion merely grunted as he placed the lamp on the table next to my face. I could feel the heat by my whiskers and the light stung my eyes despite the blindfold.

Again, the beast gripped my jaw in his paw, that time lifting my head off the table. "If ya want t'live, not a word," he whispered. "Not a sound." I nodded in understanding and he let my head collapse back in its usual place just as a claw hooked around my gag and tugged. The knot strained hard against the back of my skull but my aid loosened it so that the gag slipped under my chin.

As per habit, I braced my unrestrained tongue against the roof of my mouth. Once again, it had the texture of sandpaper and felt heavy as lead. Somewhere above me, I heard the pop of an uncapped canteen.

"Drink this." Again, his paw wrapped around my face and, in order to avoid further discomfort, I opened my mouth and accepted the flask. Normally, whether I was willing to cooperate or not, my captors compressed the sides of my face to force my mouth open as they poured water down my throat (and sometimes my nose).

But the new visitor, I appreciated. He at least released my face when I was willing to cooperate and cradled my head while he tilted the flask. While it was strange to be 'bottle-fed' some water - clean water, I might add - the gesture seemed more caring than demeaning. When I had emptied the container, he removed it from my mouth and I felt him hook his claw around my gag.

I jerked my face away just as he tugged upwards to fit the cloth back into place. "Wait!" I said as softly as I could muster. "Please. Just wait." Miraculously, my benefactor did as asked, though he kept the gag poised for my mouth. "Who are you two? Why are you helping me? Is my father-"

"Your da is on his way. And who are we? Let's jis' say friends of a friend of a friend."

"You are not one of my father's beasts?" How could they when they treated me so poorly? I felt the gag lift once more and I turned my head.

"Please. Not the gag. There is no need."

"Can't have ya yappin'," the beast grunted.

"I will keep my voice down," I promised. "Please." His hold on the gag tightened then slacked as his claw removed itself from the cloth.

"Fine," he grumbled.

"Thank you," I sighed. "And my blindfold?"

"Not a chance. Just talk only when ya need to," he snapped. "And don't thank me yet. I still have t'take a look at that leg of yours."

"My knee?" At the mere mention of it, the dull ache suddenly came back to my attention.

"What happend t' it?" By the volume of his voice and the way the glaring light faded, I could tell that he had moved down to my lower half. Before I could answer his question, he muttered to himself, "Looks bad."

"In what way? May I see it?"

"No."

He had failed to answer my first question. "What does it look like?"

"Bad." I heard the sound of a cork unstopping. "Just a tiny bit so they won't tell the diff'rence. This'll sting, but it'll help." He did not even leave me time to prepare myself for the pain. I winced as he smeared the ointment onto the wound. It felt like it was on fire and the softest of whimpers escaped my lips. He must have heard my moment of weakness because he told me, "It'll stop soon." To me, his tone sounded almost sympathetic and he actually spoke the truth.

The fiery sensation melted into something cold and refreshing. It still stung, mind you, just less so than before. "How long have I been gone?" I said, a half-moan, half-whisper. Anything to distract me from the discomfort.

"A li'l over a Fortnight." A fortnight! That was all?

"Alright. We have t'leave, but we'll tell 'em we found you."

"But wait. Who are you? If you are not affiliated with the Otterguard, then who... Sword?"

His voice hovered over my face as he answered, "None o' yer business."

That answer, I had expected. "I simply wish to thank you properly once I am freed."

"Not gonna happen."

I truly did mean it when I had offered to thank them properly. A shame, as it would have left the both of them with a hefty reward for their troubles. But other questions worried at my mind. "How did you find me?"

"The weasel wench spoke up a couple days ago." I winced at the familiar sting as he applied more ointment onto my knee.

"Scala?" It was true that I had been moved prisons, but linking the two locations was only a matter of time. And if they had discovered me through Scala's information, it was likely that Swordbeasts were my rescuers. But all the same, why the secrecy?

I felt the gag lift from my collarbone and I desperately refused it for a chance at conversation. What if they were captured on their way out? What if they never returned? What if Havick discovered their interference? "Must you leave?" I asked. "I know there are only two of you, but is there any way for you to create a diversion and carry me out? Is reinforcement already on its way?"

"Nobeast'll know where you are if we don't tell 'em."

"You can still surprise and overpower the guards if you wait un-" His gloved paw clamped hard over my muzzle.

"Shhh!" he hissed. I nodded hurriedly, hoping to all things good that the incident would not convince him to leave me behind. Maybe it was too much of a risk to take on the beasts, drunk or not. If they could perhaps poison their water supply... But that would also expose the maids to a potentially painful death.

My heart thrummed in my chest as I counted down the seconds. Finally, the youngster on the lookout said, "Doesn't look like anybeast's heard."

Satisfied with the report and my silence, the beast released me. "When will help return?" I gasped. "You do realize that there are other prisoners here? Ones which also require medical attention?" If anything, the mention of that might have driven them to stay within an earshot for just a while longer.

"Our orders never said anythin' 'bout maids," he said in a hurried tone. The more he spoke, the more I suspected him of an affiliation with Sword.

"But-" He lifted the gag and I said,"One last request." I did not even wait for his permission before the sentences started spouting out what might have been my last words. "And should I perish, tell my father that he tried his best and that I do not blame him... That my last thoughts were of my family. And tell Ayda - my wife - tell her that I thought well of her."

"Real romantic," he snorted. "Well I'll definitely make sure you survive. Hell, if your family and wife are anythin' like you, I'd do anythin' to avoid talkin' to 'em." Before I could reprimand him for his comment, he stretched the gag back into my mouth, though he kept it relatively loose for my comfort.

"C'mon, kid," the beast said to his companion. "Gotta go."

"Actually, sir... I think I should stay."

"What?"

Yes, please do.

"Something could happen between now and the rescue. I should be here to watch over him. And- and there're barrels and everything to hide behind. I'll be careful, sir. You've trained me for stuff harder'n this."

Ah, I thought. Mentor and apprentice. Or father and son?

The beast contemplated his options for a moment while I willed him to concede to the logical idea. Finally, he said, "Got it. Jis' don't be stupid."

"Yessir." With that, the dim light went out, and the door opened and clicked shut in almost immediate succession. Barely a sound came out of the departure, which reassured me of my newest bodyguard's capabilities.

"It's alright, Mister Swalestrom," he said in a hushed tone. His voice sounded like it was on the other end of the room and probably within the shelter of a barrel.

Lord. Lord Swalestrom.

C/N: Ah, had to end the segment on a more humorous note, Miss TeaLeaf? I do not know who those creatures are but even so, I owe them a great debt. And I admit, I had never in my lifetime felt such a wash of relief... relief and perhaps desperation. With hope, the next chapter shall see me home safely, though nothing can be guaranteed - especially Miss TeaLeaf's rate of updates.

But as she collects herself and puts her life back in order, please take the time to critique her writing. I understand that she delayed this chapter for thrice the duration of my captivity, but I was always taught to be patient to those lower than me... including the incompetent.

For now, I await the next installment... whenever that may occur. Until then, should you choose to pour your concern over my well-being into a review, I will make myself free to read and respond to it.

Sincerely,
Lord Keetch Garrion Swalestrom