Chapter Five: Forsowrn

"Where were you last night?" Anders caught Remus mid-yawn, and he waited for the man to finish before asking again.

"What do you mean? I was in my room all night long," Remus answered, albeit slowly.

Anders crumpled the paper he held in his hands as they walked: invitations, slipped under their doors overnight to a "proper" breakfast with the Lord of the manor himself. It was all very ostentatious, and it left Anders with a sour feeling on his tongue that only something much stronger than water could wash away. He was reminded of the rich folk of Kirkwall's Hightown, foolishly donning servant's clothes to fail miserably at fitting in as they searched through the filth that washed down from their marble-paved streets for the Darktown doctor that would tell no secrets. Anders allowed himself a small balloon of arrogance in his chest: given the right circumstances, even the man with the richest clothes would dirty them to keep his secrets buried.

"No," he replied, "you weren't. I had to get up halfway through the night and your door was wide open, and you were gone."

"Did you flush this time?"

Naoya's sing-song voice trailed up from behind, and Anders' neck cracked sharply as he turned to glare. "Obviously not, or you wouldn't be here."

Naoya paid him no mind. "You're just mad because I wouldn't shake it for you," he grinned. "I had to teach him," he explained to Remus, with half a giggle in his throat.

Anders felt his fingers twitch and a spark of warmth die in his palms. Oh, how he wished that he could just shoot lightning at fools! Or perhaps a fireball. Or-oh, maybe a kinetic spell! Show that brat a taste of his own magic.

But he is not magic, Justice whispered in his head, and Anders frowned. "I know," he said aloud without thinking, rolling his eyes when Naoya laughed openly at him now. Anders sighed, taking longer strides to reapproach his query.

"So where did you go?" he asked again. Remus looked even worse than he had yesterday. Anders could see dark circles beneath his eyes as though he hadn't slept for days, and the way he kept touching his lips with an ever paler demeanor made Anders wonder if he wasn't vomiting all night long. "Are you ill? You look... tired," he said, not wanting to say 'awful,' even if that was the truth.

"I'm-fine," Remus said after a sharp, nasal sigh. "I'm just feeling a tad under the weather. I'm sure it will pass."

Justice's tone was sharp and clear in Anders' mind: He's lying.

Anders balked. What could he possibly have to lie about? But Justice's silence was both condemning and unsure: something was going on, but neither of them could tell just what. Not yet, at least. But Anders swallowed, his tongue dry and tacky as he pondered the situation. He didn't like this. Not at all. But the three of them continued on to the dining hall, by now knowing the way with relative ease. Naoya looked between the two older men, frowning at the anxiousness he felt in the air.

"Did you guys smell smoke last night?" he started, changing the subject. "I couldn't see anything from my room, but one of our guards told me it was just a house fire down in the town…"

When neither Remus nor Anders replied, his shoulders sunk and he folded his arms in a pouting resignation of their silence. The quiet tension between them was broken by Reaver, whose voice, even from a distance, carried over the hush like electricity through a wire.

"I don't want them burning down half the forest again!" Reaver almost snarled, but even his nasty tone was somehow silken-sounding. "It gives them less places to hide, but it makes the view positively hideous. I don't want to see a burnt forest from my bedchambers, unless I was the one who did it! I-" He seemingly stopped his rant as the wizard, mage, and psychic drew closer to the dining hall. "No more forest fires," Reaver started up again, his tone less harsh than before. "Dispatch a pack from the hive to find out where the blazes are coming from and put them out. We cannot afford the fires spreading to the whole city. Do you understand, Alastor?"

"Understood, Reaver," Alastor blithely replied.

"What was that?"

"Lord Reaver."

By the time the three had reached the familiar dining hall, Reaver was already seated at the head of the table with Alastor standing at his right hand - as if nothing was wrong, and any signs that Reaver had been so demanding just seconds before were nonexistent. Just as before, Naoya and Remus took the seats closest to Reaver while Anders sat directly across from their host. A small collection of well-dressed attendants saw to the table, setting it with a few food items and preparing a steaming kettle with a bundle of dried tea leaves.

"Trouble in paradise?" Anders asked, grinding his chair across the floor with a gaudy screech. He accepted a plentiful cup of tea with a wry, self-satisfied grin at the sight of a flash of indignation behind Reaver's ever-careful expression. He could smell the blood in the water, and after long enough licking his own wounds he thought it due time to return the favor. "If you and yours can't handle a blaze, I'm sure the three of us wouldn't hesitate to offer assistance. After all, you have been nothing but a gracious host these last few days."

"Oh, so you overheard that, did you?" Reaver wearily sighed, giving a fluid shrug and shake of his head. He offered a smile, very briefly flashing his teeth. "But don't trouble yourselves, you're all guests. It would be very rude of me to trouble company to deal with something as arbitrary as a brush fire."

"But we are troubled nonetheless," Anders continued, sipping his tea with an uncharasteristic nonchalance. "And not to belabor the point or anything, but that was not a brush fire. You said so yourself just now. Someone is after you."

Reaver wrinkled his nose. "Well, who isn't," he curtly replied, resting his chin on his knuckles.

Naoya saw Reaver's hand slide under the table, resting on the leg that he remembered seeing a gun holster strapped to. Quickly, the teenager reached out to the plate in front of him, taking a thick waffle from the stack and putting it onto his plate. "These waffles are pretty big," he pretended to be amused rather than concerned.

"Not many people, I'd wager," Anders said, ignoring Naoya altogether. "We trekked through miles of forest and saw nothing but empty wilderness. No villages, no people, nothing outside of a single abandoned house-nothing, until your people. Whoever it is, they're beyond your control. And they're starting to get to you. Ah-!"

The quick kick to his shin from under the table would have hurt if Anders hadn't been wearing such thick leather boots. Naoya was staring at him, his tightly knit brows in odd contrast to his pleasant smile. He blinked at Anders, a sharp and altogether rigid action, and Anders suddenly felt his neck burning. He realized he had been leaning forward in his chair, and slowly sat back. He cleared his throat.

"Tell us more about the plants."

The Lord pouted, pulling his lips to the side of his mouth in annoyance, and with some effort he pulled his arm up and rested it on his chair. "Well, one would think that the plants are all indicitive of the person they take after," Reaver started. "You have, what was it, moss? So one could assume that you are common, stubborn, and it doesn't take much to sustain you." He shifted, arching his manicured brows. "It also has medicinal properties, and you did say were you were a nurse." Reaver seemed immune to the homocidal look he recieved from the mage, and paid no mind to the way Naoya almost choked on a waffle. His attention was drawn to Remus, who had been sitting quietly and out of the conversation. "Are you feeling alright, Mr. Lupin? You haven't touched a thing." He paused, adding in almost as an afterthought: "Then again, you looked dreadful last night as well. Is it the moon? There's old stories about the moon affecting one's hunger."

All eyes turned to Remus, who appeared ready to vomit. "I didn't sleep well last night," was all Remus said. He had pressed his forehead into his palms, resting his elbows on the table with the air of one who had never been more exhausted.

Anders felt his lips twitch into a small frown. Even if Remus hadn't been truthful about staying in bed, he looked sick as a dog. "You should lie down," he said.

"No," Remus replied, pinching the bridge of his nose and visibly struggling. "I'll be fine."

"Nonsense," Reaver waved the thought away with a lazy gesture. His cheek was pressed into the knuckles of his opposite hand and he grinned with a self-assurance that made Anders bubble with silent disgust. "You look dog tired. The next few days will be hard on you, I suspect. Go and have yourself a rest, and your companions will fill you in on everything you miss. Off with you."

Remus hesitated, holding a fixed gaze in Reaver's direction. "Yes," he said finally, with some effort. "...I suppose I'll be off, then."

But even then, he stood slowly and took his time in leaving. Reaver followed him with his eyes, and once he was gone he chortled quietly to himself. With another wave of a finger, Alastor was sent to follow.
Anders watched them both go, his empty stomach filling with bricks. Reaver—whatever Remus didn't want to talk about, it had to do with him. Almost certainly so, Anders thought, and he didn't need to ask to immediately know Justice's views were the same. That had to be it—Anders pressed his teeth together to keep from screaming it, but disgust had begun to mutate into thinly veiled rage inside him. Reaver was a snake, with a tongue laced with poison that sought out the wounded. Anders resisted the urge to get up and chase after Remus, to demand answers and to block the watchful eye of Reaver's servants breathing down their necks. He wanted to leave, to break out of this elaborate prizon. Singed fur and the cries of fallen balverines crept into his imagination, and Anders knew he would be overwhelmed before he even began. It was not a fight he would win-not yet. And Anders flexed his fingers in silence as he waited.

Whatever Reaver wanted them for, Anders would die before he got it.

But before Anders could say his next word, Reaver's presence loomed over the dining hall once again.

"Now then," the Lord finished as Alastor's heels disappeared around the corner, "I thought after breakfast that I might show you something you'll find rather useful." He stood, pulling his gold-buttoned vest taut and brushing his sleeve with an idle hand.

Anders felt his head pounding already.

Drums thundered inside his head as Remus walked; deep, low pulses that made lights flicker behind his eyes if he turned his head too sharply. Shadows darted in and out of the paintings and decorative statues adorning the hallway, and Remus paid no mind to the wallpaper when it started to crawl. He needed sleep. But there was no way it could come for him. There was too much at stake. Reaver had done... something. At first Remus had been uncertain whether the effect was real. Perhaps he had been too exhausted to filter himself as words that he wouldn't normally have ever willingly spoken slipped out in conversation. Perhaps his body caved when Reaver offered him the chair he had reluctantly taken. But it was more than that. Remus ran his hands up the back of his neck and through his hair, an instinctive response to a scratching inside his skull he suspected wasn't actually there at all. It was a whispering in the back of his mind, a feeling—a presence, perhaps—inside his most sacred thoughts. He could feel it trickling into his mind, an inky liquid manuvering through the creases in his brain matter to stain and taint.

He hadn't noticed the sensation at all until after his encounter with Reaver in the Library. Once safely back inside his bedroom, Remus had hoped that would be the last of it. But the hair on his arms continued to stand on end, the goosebumps that warned him something was horribly awry would not cease. What little sleep he had managed to get was disturbed by images of savage hounds and the overbearing presence of aristocratic laughter. Each time he awoke, he was covered in cold sweat and shaking terribly. But the nightmare grew worse each time he went back to sleep, haunting his waking thoughts. Splashing water on his face did nothing to alleviate the strange feeling clawing at the back of his eyes, pulling at his thoughts and weaving through his mind. Remus thought it was his exhaustion at first. But it grew by the hour, like a toxic flu, and he found that he could not ignore it.

Was it something in the food, the drink? A potion could cause these adverse effects. No. Neither of the others seemed as disturbed as he was. Anders visibly detested Reaver and Naoya was almost enjoying himself here. If it had been a potion slipped into their drink, it would have affected all three of them most likely.

But it wasn't. None of this was happening to them. Remus felt his fingernails bite into his palms and he crushed a tiny branch of panic threatening to blossom under his lungs. Reaver was-controlling him. Somehow. Influencing him. Not completely, almost not at all, really-not yet, anywway. The longer he was around Reaver, the worse the effect became. Remus could resist if he tried. But it was becoming harder. He couldn't have stayed with the others just now if he had wanted to, and that thought was overpowering.

Remus didn't want to believe it. It was so outlandish-to be controlled by another was not unheard of, but he expected it to happen about as often as a being abducted into an alternate universe. The signs were there, but he had enough to worry about with tomorrow's upcoming full moon-

He stopped: a full moon that, if his theory was correct and he was being influenced, Reaver could use to his advantage. How was not important-the thought of an unsafe werewolf was enough to chill Remus to the core.

He had to get out of here. There was no talk of leaving Reaver's manor yet, outside of the as-yet unconfirmed belief that they were not welcome to come and go as they pleased. Their need for information was killing them, forcing their hand. Even if Reaver did have the information he said he did, Remus was not at all inclined to believe Reaver would just let them go, not when he still wanted something from them. That was the only reason they were still alive. An escape was needed. But Remus spared a passing glance out the windows as he kept walking: the forest was no place for him, not for any of them. They had no idea where they were. They had no idea where they were going. And they had no idea what happened to bring them here in the first place. They had no chance without Reaver. The mansion was an oasis in the mysterious and savage landscape surrounding the polished grounds. When even balverines lived behind closed walls, what hope did a pair of unprepared wanderers have in the endless wood?

How would he fare by himself? Remus saw himself traveling with the others in his mind's eye, picturing a hasty escape under cover of darkness. But the truth of the matter was that he put them in just as much danger during full moon here as he did out there. And he couldn't do it by himself. It was a fool's errand to try and survive alone out there. He needed the others.

They needed to know what he was, then. The way his gut instinctively clenched made him sick. But did he have much choice? Remus licked his lips as a disturbing line of thought followed the question: Reaver knows, and he will use that to his advantage somehow if given the chance. He shouldn't be given the chance.
He had to tell them.

Remus wanted to throw up. But the truth of the matter could not be denied. Bound together by the most impossible chance, would they abandon him—shun him as so many before them had, once they learned the truth? Or would their situation keep them together, force an understanding? Remus didn't want to think about the possibility of winding up alone even after all of this was said and done. He could try to make it, but how far was anyone's guess. Still, that was better than playing a part in their ultimate ruin by being a coward. He shuddered.

There was a sudden drop in air temperature, and Remus frowned. "I know my way," he said hotly, trying to drag himself down the hallway as slowly as possible but too anxious not to pace. "You needn't follow me."

"It is not my wish to do so," Alastor responded. His voice was deceptively calm, laced with a control that Remus simply didn't have at the moment and it only made his mood worse.

"Then why are you?" He whirled around to face the balverine alpha, glaring up at him. "We know that none of you want to be here! And yet you are! You do his bidding when none of you respects him. Why not kill him and be done with it if that is what you truly want?"

Alastor frowned, and one pale brow rose as if to ask, Really? "The same reason you are storming down this hallway like a frightened child."
"I am not afraid of Reaver," Remus spat. He turned heel and continued down the hallway once more.

Alastor caught up with him in but a few strides. "But you are afraid."

Remus bit his lip to stifle an irritated snort. "If you have just come to belittle me, I would appreciate it if you would kindly sod off."
"He's in your head, isn't he?"

Remus jerked to a stop. He turned, staring-discomposed. "How did you-?" He started, but stopped, opening his mouth uselessly and snapping it shut. After a grinding moment's contemplation, he spoke again, hesitant and distrustful. "...I don't understand what's happening."

Alastor was silent for a long time. He broke away from the conversation and continued down the hallway, a raw chill swirling through the air in his wake. "Come with me."

They travelled in silence, walking deep into the belly of the mansion. One left turn, another right, down several flights of stairs. Remus felt it cooling down the farther they went, and there were no more windows in this area of the mansion. The decorations slowed to a trickle, dabbing the walls like splashes of paint here and there until the trickle became dry and there was nothing left but the occasional candlestick or oil lantern to shine the way in the dark. These must be the servants' quarters, Remus realized. Around another bend, they appeared like tombstones in the fog: doors, lining a long, claustraphobic hall that ended in shadow. Alastor walked forward with his head high, but Remus craned his neck to take in everything. Bunkbeds and bare dressers, end tables with a single candle burned until nothing but a stub remained, and eyes-golden eyes, illuminated from within, following him with unblinking stares. Remus recognized the pair of women who had dressed the dining table in one of the rooms, one sitting atop the bed as her sister tied her locks into a braid. At the far end of the hall, Alastor held a plain white door open for Remus to pass through. Glancing behind him, he saw the yellow eyes fix on him. Remus had the distinct impression that they would not dare enter that room on their own, and their curious glances sent the hair on the back of his neck climbing upwards. He swallowed, and then headed inside.

The room was perfectly square and fairly large, with a tall ceiling high enough for Alastor to stand comfortably in his human form. A writing desk sat opposite, directly across from Remus as he stepped inside. A leather-bound journal rested atop the dark, wooden surface, with an ink bottle and finely crafted quill ready to use beside it. There were no windows in this room, and so the unadorned bureau seemed sucpiciously empty of clutter as Remus took in the sight. The entire room was quite minimalist, and he wondered if Alastor actually used it at all. A double bed sat against the farthest wall, perfectly made without a single wrinkle in the bedding - aside from the indentation made by the auburn-colored balverine that was curled up in the center. Remus recognized her immediately as the same balverine that accompanied Alastor after their first night in the mansion. She opened one eye lazily, perhaps expecting to see the Alpha enter—but her nose rose and her ears perked as Remus made his way slowly through the doorway. She sniffed, a clutch of fir standing at the back of her neck, and her quills gave a soft shudder.

"Shh," Alastor said, coming up from behind Remus with his tone oddly gentle. "Be still. I brought him here."

The balverine gave a quick puff from her snout, but otherwise returned to her previous position on the blankets. Remus could see her watching him, though, alert to each of his movements.
Alastor pulled the chair belonging to the writing desk out for his guest. "Sit."

Remus did so. Alastor loomed over him even when both were at full height, but now that he was sitting beneath the man Remus felt very small indeed. He glanced out into the hallway of doors one last time as Alastor swung the door behind him, and aside from the balverine on the bed, they were finally alone.

"No one will disturb us here," the alpha said, having caught the look.

Alastor did not meet his eye for a moment, tapping his chin lightly as he furrowed a frosty brow in thought. Remus dared not move, and he debated whether to let go of the breath he had been holding, fearful that it would make too much noise.

"You are wondering what my reasons for this are," Alastor said finally. "You are wondering why I have brought you here."

"Information," Remus replied, half-guessing. He sat back against the chair, one leg crossed over the other and his arms likewise closed off. He observed Alastor cautiously, thankful for the feeling of his wand tucked into his belt loop. "You have information. But you are not willing to part with it for free. Surely there will be consequences when Reaver finds out about this."

Alastor looked bitter. "Reaver will not learn of this."

"No?" Remus pointed towards the door, and then the sleeping balverine on Alastor's bed. "There are plenty of ears down here to share a few words with."

"That is Nadine. Her breed is... incapable of speech. As for the others, they will obey me," Alastor shot. "Unquestioningly. I am their Alpha."

"You bow to Reaver."

Alastor made a low noise, and Remus imagined he caught a glimpse of sharp teeth lining the man's mouth; jagged points where there should have been smoothness. "I bow to no human; whether they are of Reaver's breed or not. Reaver has no control over me like he does with you, like he does with all the lesser balverines. My blood runs older than his power, and so I am free of it."

"But I am not a balverine," Remus said.

"No," Alastor replied, observing him with a sour mixture of pity and disgust. "You are not. But you are more like us than you care to admit."

It wasn't a question, but Remus hesitated, unsure if it was meant as a statement or a declaration. "I don't know what you mean."

Alastor clasped his hands neatly behind his back, staring down at Remus with a hungry expectation. "I do not have time to play games. I can smell it on you."

Remus scrunched his nose. "Smell what?"

"There is a wolf inside you," Alastor said. "But you are not like us. As you say, you are not a balverine."

"Nor is Reaver," Remus replied coldly. "And yet you follow him. I should think it wouldn't matter what I am."

"I do not care what you are," Alastor breathed, and his eyes narrowed. "You are not my kind, so you are not my charge. But Reaver does care, and it does matter to him."

"Why?"

"The teenager is clever," Alastor frowned. "He is correct: the balverines do not serve Reaver willingly. They are slaves. And so long as you are under his influence, so are you."

"But not you?" Remus couldn't fail to notice when Alastor kept referring to "them," instead of, "us."

"No," Alastor said, shutting down such questioning with a harsh look.

Remus paused. "How is he doing this?"

"The cane," Alastor said. He glanced to the door for a fraction of a second when a series of unruly barks and shrieks came from the other side, from one of the rooms along the hallway. "The stone that crests the top is no ordinary gem: it is from an ancient civilization of Reaver's homeland known as the Old Kingdom, and it has been long-since lost to history. Artifacts dripping with ancient and unpredictable magics are still discovered every century or so, and the one Reaver has in his unfortunate possession is designed to imbue the user with the ability to control and impose his will on balverines and any creatures that may be considered... cousins to us."

"That... explains why the crystal influences me," Remus muttered, his expression stiff. He shifted his weight, uncrossing his arms to knit his fingers across his knees. "Reaver was a conquerer when he arrived, then," he said. "He arrived after you, with the crystal already in his possession. You were helpless to stop him."

"Reaver had help," Alastor said, and he closed his eyes and breathed deep. "The balverines do not follow Reaver because they want to. They do it because they have no choice. He killed the last Great Alpha, my friend, Lugaru, and made it his mission to control every balverine present in the Hive. I, much like the traitorous balverine who assisted Reaver, am one of very few who are capable of resisting, because we were imbued the will of the great Balvorn. But Reaver must believe that I am his entirely, or else he would kill me and all hope this hive has of freedom is lost."

Alastor crossed his arms, examining Remus: "Your scars are unnatural. You lose control when you transform, like a newly turned or lesser breed." He paused, shaking his head with a look of soft pity. "I have noticed your scent grows stronger each day. Tell me if I am wrong, but soon enough you will not be able to maintain this form?"

"...No."

"How long?"

Remus hesitated. The words were difficult to say, and they formed like a block of melted rubber against his tongue. "Full moon."

Alastor nodded to himself. "You are struggling to hold it back. The closer you come to the transformation, the stronger the hold is on you. You feel it."

"...Yes," Remus said, growing pale. He pressed his fingers together and brought his hands to his forhead, kneeling forward onto his knees. He sighed, realizing that even sitting far away from the man and his cane that the strange feeling was ever-present. It was a tumorous connection to Reaver, and it made Remus sick. "I want to stop it."

Alastor lacked emotion in his eyes now. "You cannot."

"Then what do I do!?" Remus half-shouted. He saw Nadine lift her head as he fought his desire to stand, pressing on his knees with white-knuckled fingers to keep him pressed against the chair. "I will not allow him to control me! The longer this goes on the greater threat there is to the others! You have to get them out," he added suddenly, eyes widening. "Whatever this has to do with me, you cannot let the others come to harm!"

"I can," Alastor replied. "You fail to understand your station, Mr. Lupin. I am only concerned with the hive."

"Then why bring me here?" Remus demanded. His hands were trembling now, half in fear and half in rage. "Why talk to me at all?!"

"You are not a balverine," said Alastor. "But you are close. My sympathy is not lightly given, and I suggest you use it well."

Remus drew his hands over his face, shoulders shuddering as a massive sigh rippled through his flesh. "Alright," he said, though the words pained him. "Alright. I'm listening. ...You're his right hand man, no? What does Reaver even want with all of us?"

"Freedom. Reaver wants his freedom. He cannot leave this land. This place is his prison, we may be slaves but he is the prisoner."

"This is the only safe place for miles around," Remus protested. He flung an arm out, indicating the outside. "The forest is no place for any sane person to go. I wouldn't dare set foot out there again if I had the choice."

"Reaver does not have the luxury of choice. If the powers that put him here had their way, he would be imprisoned here. Forever. With no regard to who or what this land rightfully belongs to, and with no care as to who he hurts trying to get out."

"If he was imprisoned, what was his crime?"

Breathing in dryly, Alastor seemingly resisted a faint grimace of a smirk. "What wasn't. Have you not spoken to the man?"

Remus nodded, rolling his eyes. "Fair point. So then, who put him here?"

"Someone I hope you or I never encounter, if the stories are true. He is older than the one who gives me my resistance, and his power is like nothing in this realm. He hunted Reaver for centuries before finally trapping him here for eternity."

"Or, so he thought," Remus added. "Or else we wouldn't be here."

"Yes." Alastor gave a stiff nod.

"But he tried to have us killed," Remus added. "The plant trails made him stop. That part I don't understand: what does any of this have to do with the plants, and why are they so important?"

"Others before you were gifted with such a trait. It is unusual, but not entirely rare, per se. Reaver did not spare you: I did. It began with a mission to hunt down the humans starting the forest fires. My pack and I were patrolling in the area when you fell from the sky, and per Reaver's orders I was to kill everyone that was not one of ours. But, you proved yourselves much stronger than those who came before you. Perhaps strong enough to suit my needs."

Remus gave him a suspicious look, but Alastor didn't flinch. "What needs?"

"Simply put," Alastor said, bending low so that he nearly breathed into Remus' ear, "I want to remove 'Lord' Reaver from his post. I want him gone. I convinced Reaver that one of you might be the one to free him from his prison. Your plant trails were indicative of your unusual nature, and they were enough to interest him in you further."

"What makes you think we would help you?" Remus asked. His voice was low and calm, and neither knew there was any real threat in it. But Alastor stood to full height again, making sure to tower overhead once again.

"You help me," he said, "Or all of you die. If Reaver does not shoot you first, balverines will not stop hunting you, no matter how far you go."

Remus was still. He recognized the seriousness of Alastor's tone, and understood the severity of the threat. But there was an underlying feeling in Alastor's words that made him press: "What makes you think we can help? Why tell me all this, when you know I'm under Reaver's influence? One slip and I suspect he wouldn't hesitate to pry this information from me. We would all be in danger."

Alastor turned, pacing back and forth with is hands clasped behind him. "Reaver needs a soul that he cannot control. The participant must be completely willing. Therefor, you are not at risk. And for reasons that I have not been able to determine, he is terrified of that boy."

Remus' brow shot up and he choked with surprise. "Naoya? Reaver is afraid of Naoya?"

Alastor went on, "This is why I choose to tell you, and you alone."

That, and my 'condition,' Remus thought, frowning. "What do you need from me?"

Coming to a stop, Alastor was directly across from him once more. "I need your trust."

Remus sat straight back in his chair, taking in Alastor completely as if to weigh his demeanor against his words. "You are Reaver's right hand. Why should I trust you? This could be the setup to an elaborate ploy. It is not so much an issue of trust as it is mutual interest, and any bargain in which we are at risk is no bargain worthy of trust."

"It is not," Alastor agreed, "but you are not going to find a better solution before all of you are slaughtered when Reaver is done with you."

Remus felt something cold run down the length of his spine. It was an answer he had expected, but to finally hear it was hardly less chilling than the anticipation. Alastor was looking at him expectantly, and Remus tried to swallow a sticky lump in the back of his throat. He breathed out hard, pressing his knuckles into his knees and flexing his fingers, only to repeat the steps over and over again as he gave their options some very serious consideration.

What was he to do? If he did nothing, would he be risking more lives than his own? What happened when the full moon rose tomorrow night and he was helpless to do anything about it? Reaver needed them alive for now, but when his secret was exposed and their carefully constructed balance turned topside? Remus was pressed against three walls, and the fourth was no better looking than the others. But it was the closest thing he had to a way out. It gave him the best chance he needed to be safe.

"Give me your word that you will protect Anders and Naoya, even from me. Keep them safe, and you shall have my trust."

Alastor considered this for a moment, and then his stiff shoulders gave an affirmative shrug. "This is what I need you to do:"

"They serve a purpose, believe it or not," Anders replied cooly, brushing off the front of his robes and holding the sides of his coat out as if to demonstrate his point. "Energy must be allowed to flow freely when casting spells, and loose clothing allows that much better than a tight suit of armor."

"I understand that," said Naoya. He pointed at Anders' coat, aiming his finger high. "But the feathers are for...?"

"I happen to like them," Anders said. "These are hardly bold; you should see some of the robes from Tevinter. At least I try to look halfway decent."

"I think there's a difference in decency between our worlds," Naoya folded his arms over his chest.

Anders snorted in agreement as they rounded the corner to the hall that lead to their bedrooms. At once, their fast pace came to a slow and their footsteps lost volume: the last time they had seen Remus, he was headed here to sleep. The last thing they wished to do was disturb him, and Anders was glad that this was something he and Naoya both seemed to agree on without any words.

Actually, he had been surprised by the teen today: each time Anders had come close to snapping, Naoya had been able to swoop in and relieve him of Reaver's overbearing arrogance. Anders was grateful for it even if he had been cross, but being pushed into the back had allowed him the luxury of watching the scene instead of participating, and that was when he noticed it: noticed Naoya, darting in and out of conversation with a skillful tact that Anders had been too involved to notice before. Duelists, he and Reaver fenced words around one another and demonstrated their verbal footwork. If Naoya had been Orlesian, he would have been a capable opponent in The Game.

Anders was reluctant to admit it to himself, but perhaps Naoya was more than he appeared. His behavior at the mansion had proven that he was not the ignorant teenage boy he portrayed himself to be in the forest. But what kind of person Naoya was underneath all of the illusion was still a mystery, and Anders was not in any hurry to push buttons so soon.

"Robes have more practical uses outside of magic as well," he continued seriously. "When you live under constant watch and scrutiny, they're perfect for a quick fuck between bookshelves. And," he reached inside the lining of his coat and slid out a delicate piece of folded parchment, "they're useful for discrete 'appropriation.'"

Naoya paused, glancing between Anders and the paper. He wrinkled his nose. "Where were you keeping that?"

Anders rolled his eyes, pushing the door of his room open with an exaserbated sigh and inviting Naoya in. With a wild and furious motion, he cast the sheets and pillows off onto the floor with enough force to billow the curtains and allow streaks of daylight to dance across the floor for the briefest of seconds. He sat himself squarely at the head of the bed, splaying the parchment open across the bare mattress.

"Look here," Anders said, waving Naoya over. Once the boy settled opposite him, Anders went on:

"This is where we are now," he said, jabbing a calloused finger directly in the center of the map. In a neat circle, the walls of Reaver's city were clearly defined with a large, blotted "X" at the site of the mansion. Stretching for miles surrounding the tiny blip of a city, illustrations of the massive forest spread like a generous smear across the landscape. The snow-capped mountains that could be seen through the windows seemed much farther away on paper, and that was only one brief section of the map. Anders pressed his index, middle and ring finger against three small, red 'x' marks in the mass of trees, uncomfortably close to the city. "You said you smelled smoke last night," he said, "And Reaver said that the forest fires could be seen from his wing of the mansion. I think these are the locations of the fires."

"You're thinking of escaping, aren't you," Naoya lightly smirked at Anders. "We still don't know who's setting the fires, though," he then sighed, frowning thoughtfully. Hazel bangs fell from behind his ear, hanging into his face. "They wouldn't be setting the fires close to home." He pointed to the forest on the opposite side. "That leaves this whole area..." His voice trailed, his shoulders sinking, already exhausted at the mere thought. "If they're out there, we wouldn't know what to expect."

"No," Anders agreed. "And I'm not saying we should run to them. We don't know anything about them, and the farther we can stay from any sort of danger the better. However," he frowned, "we know they are enemies of Reaver. We don't have any allies now, but if we had to choose I would take a chance on them at least being willing to hear out those who are no fans of the Lord. It would be a fools' hike to head off into the woods without a plan, and as much as they are a threat to us they have been able to survive in that blighted woodland. We may need to seek them out."

"What's all this, then?"

Anders turned at the sound. "Remus! How are you feeling?"

Remus pressed himself against the doorframe, looking pale. "Well enough," he said, pointing at the map. "Where did you get that?"
"Reaver took us to his archives while you were sleeping," Anders said, but the tone of disgust could not be disguised. "I thought for half a second that maybe he meant that bit about showing us something useful, but after an hour of nothing but his senseless talking I tried to do some research for myself. This," Anders jerked his thumb to the map, "was slid into a stack of papers waiting to be sorted. It was easy enough to slip into my robes without anyone noticing."

"Then we're thinking the same thing," Remus said. "We need to get out of here."

Naoya shifted, sensing unease. "Something happened while we were gone."

Arms crossed, Remus explained about his meeting with Alastor, and the balverine's desires. "He's going to try to use us," Remus said. "We need to leave before that happens. Tonight."

"So I was right: Reaver is stuck here," Naoya lightly huffed.

"If he's trapped here, maybe he can't follow," Anders said hopefully.

"Not him," Remus replied. "But the balverines can. And they will hunt us."

"So what are you suggesting?" Anders asked. "How do we avoid Reaver and his pack long enough to escape them?"

"Don't forget about the plant trails," Naoya said. "The plants will lead right to us."

Remus frowned, nodding darkly. "The best cover we have is the cover of darkness. We're left largely alone after dinner-that should be our opening. If we can make enough headway overnight without drawing attention, we might make it out long before anyone notices."

There was a pause as each of them considered their plan.

"Then we have no real options," Anders said in a low, uncomfortable tone. "Naoya's right: the trails will doom us to recapture sooner or later. We'll need help. Looks like we have no choice but to try seeking out the fires."

Naoya leaned back, eyes scanning the ceiling in thought. "Or we leave, and light a fire ourselves." With his companions' attention, he went on: "If we light a fire big enough, it could distract enough of the balverines to give us a chance to escape and the plants might get burned in the process - which means no real trail to follow afterwards. By the time they find any green plants we should be long gone. Plus, the people starting the wildfires would get blamed."

Anders and Remus exchanged looks.

"That is... a very good plan, actually," Remus said, visibly surprised.

"I like where this is going," Anders agreed. He patted Naoya on the shoulder, earning him a cross pout and a pained swat as the teen tried to banish his hand.

"So then, after dinner we make our move?"

"I think so," Anders nodded. "I just wish we had access to supplies. If we don't find these rebels, we'll be hard-pressed for resources."

"We have to try," Remus said.

"Well," Naoya lightly snorted, "this should be fun."

The walk down to dinner was unusually quiet, though it was not the same silence that accompanied the Trio before. The afternoon was spent largely on their own, each taking the time to rest and gather themselves as needed for the night ahead.

Anders spent his time browsing through their bookshelves one last time, and daring the neighboring rooms for anything at all that may have had the remotest use to them. Naoya's bookshelf had yielded a hand-bound script on unusual flora—some of which, Anders recalled, he had seen in the forest. It was a language he couldn't read, but the illustrations were clear and the ink had been colored in places that he thought may indicate useage: red ink pointing to inedible or unusable parts, and black ink for otherwise mundane information. There was a small section in blue, even, but that meaning was altogether unknown. Anders slid that into the pocket with the map, not for the first time grateful that there was plenty of pocket-space in mage's robes.

Remus had tried to force a few hours of rest with his time. He knew this point well: when his limbs had begun to shake and unseen figures darted in and out of his vision, he was reaching a critical depletion of sleep. He had been awake most of last night, and tomorrow night he would not sleep a wink—but he was not ready to think about tomorrow. He was not ready to think about what he still had yet to do. His nightmares were full of creatures with long snouts and sharp talons, the bars of a cage he could not break free from, and the sound of posh, velvet laughter.

Naoya had returned to Reaver, to bear the brunt of the burden the absence of the older men caused. "Anders is watching Remus," he'd lied with a deceptive shrug when Reaver asked. "He's a doctor." But he took the perch of an eagle, observing closely the schedules and movements of the household as the evening drew in. The Lord seemed oblivious to them all—oblivious to the tension that almost made Naoya's eyes spin and his throat go dry with the pressure of it on his senses. Still, through it all he kept Reaver's eyes on him and away from the two men who desperately needed time to prepare for their flight. He returned when it was time to collect them both, and the plan launched.

They left their rooms as they found them: devoid of personal affects. They carried everything on their backs, though it was not much. They had no food, because a raid on the kitchens would draw far too much comotion. Slipping food from the dinner table would have worked wonderfully if they had pouches or bags, but the clothes on their backs were all that they had. It was a boon that they would not need water skins or canteens: Remus had demonstrated his ability to draw water from the ground or the air with the wave of his wand and a few incantations. But the escape plan was not guaranteed success, least of all when they had no shelter or protection from the forest they were diving into. Their steps descending the length of the mansion pounded against the carpeted floors, weighted down by the knowledge that this could potentially be disastrous in a number of ways.

"Once dinner is over," Anders said in a low tone, "we get ready. The staff will be distracted, and we can escape with minimal eyes on us."

"Right," the others replied. None of them sounded certain.

Reaver saw them in with his usual flare, and the already half-emptied wine glass in his hands sloshed with liquid gold as he welcomed them. "Ah," he said, and his voice hummed. "Finally. I had hoped to talk to you all together tonight. I believe I have finally found something that will set things in motion for you."

Anders turned his head so that Reaver wouldn't see him rolling his eyes.

Once seated, the staff saw to it that all their needs were met. Previously hesitant to take much, both Anders and Remus openly accepted about the amount of food served to them. The more calories now, the better. The female balverines, finely dressed and hair in tight, elegant braids, finished the display of wealth and skill by topping off three crystal glasses with their own doses of the yellow liquid.

"A toast," Reaver smiled, his teeth gleaming in the ambient light. "To the beginning."

Wordlessly, they all drank.

The silence continued into the evening. The chink of silverware against the china became the overtone, soon becoming overbearing and scratching painfully behind the ears. Communication was wordless: glances across the table that could express volumes in a few short feet. Anders glanced at Remus, who glanced to Naoya. Shoulders were stiff and legs were coiled like springs, ready to jump at a moment's notice.

Finally, after what seemed like a small eternity, the balverine maidens burst through with a tray laden with tiny cakes for the ending course. Reaver grinned from behind a ruby cloth napkin.

"Ah, splendid," he sighed, pressing his elbow against the table and laying his cheek in his palm. He watched the women with his eyes as they set a single dessert in front of each of the three guests, and then finally the Lord himself.

Alastor appeared, silent as always, carefully refilling Reaver's cup with an expression devoid of emotion. Remus swallowed, his mouth dry with anticipation. He tried to catch the balverine's eye, to spot the slightest hint of the man who had spoken to him only hours before. Alastor's poison-yellow gaze flickered to Remus for only a split second, however, and Remus was left with nothing.

Dessert went down quickly, and dinner was finished in the same brooding silence in which it began. The Trio washed down the last of the food with the water provided and Reaver busied himself once more with the napkin, dabbing at his mouth. Once finished, he stiffened in his chair, sitting up at full attention.

"Now, then. Onto the matter I mentioned earlier," Reaver started.

His words sank in like a knife only when Naoya slumped forward onto the table with a small moan. Anders' chair scraped across the floor as he made to help, but as soon as his head reached full height he began to blink. His brow stitched together uncomfortably, and Remus saw him begin to sway uncomfortably. Within another minute, he was on his knees, struggling to stay awake. Remus was the last one to succumb, and with his vision beginning to swirl he fought for a clear glance at Reaver. The man was practically glowing, looking down at his prey like a lion about to feast. His icy blue eyes were backlit with a wild hunger, and an anticipation that clutched at Remus' throat. In loose fingers, Reaver dangled his empty wine glass with a smug satisfaction. Remus felt his body give before he could stop it, and his head fell against the table as he too blacked out.

Reaver signalled for the staff with a casual wave, and the maidens hurried in to begin clearing the table. Alastor reappeared at his side, and Reaver gave him a sideways smile. "You know," he said, sighing contentedly to his butler, "I do love it when I win."

Alastor swept past Reaver, and he looked upon the unconscious three at the table, his jaw tightening as he pressed his fangs together inside his mouth. After a brief pause, he moved to grab Naoya's lax form.