The wet, rotting wood creaked as Teldryn adjusted to lean against it as he sat down on the ground. Streams of cold air from the drafty entrance of the cave hit the back of his head through the boards, sending a shiver down his neck as it chilled the obnoxious moisture that was collecting on everything. The trickling sound of the water dripping from the ceiling of the flooded cavern just beyond the main atrium was not entirely unpleasant. Not that he could hear it over the guards that huddled near a magelight on the other side of the semi-enclosed alcove, conferring over what should be done to retrieve the wagon and remains. He didn't think there was much to talk about, really.

Placing the tip of his pipe in his mouth, he lit it and took a draw.

Whatever conclusion they came to, it had better include continuing on their mission at first light.

As he exhaled he dug into a pocket on his pack, pulling out a strip of guar jerky. He shoved it in his mouth, trying not to think about how much he wished he would have gone without it. Fethis came shuffling through the entryway, gazing blandly over the guards before turning toward Teldryn and settling on a barrel next to him, with plenty of protest for his aching joints. Teldryn was taking another draw when a half loaf of bread landed in his lap and he looked up at the old mer, who was chewing on a large bite of the other half.

"I'm three-hundred-twenty, to answer your question," he said around the food in his mouth.

Teldryn inspected the bread for mold. "The sounds of your bones were answer enough." He took a bite.

"Bah," Fethis replied, grumbling as he produced a small glass bottle from a pocket. "A bit of this and I can forget those for a little while." He took a sip then extended the bottle down in offering. It smelled like flin and as much as Teldryn could use a strong drink, he'd prefer it unlaced with another's spit. He shook his head and continued eating. Fethis rested the bottle in his lap and sighed as he reclined against the wooden slats.

"You had the right of it, Teldryn, I've been an idiot," Fethis began after a few moments. "Frozen in time, somehow believing I could regain what I lost to the Mountain. Ahh, Balmora," he drawled before leaning over a bit, his voice lowered. "You could get anything there if you knew the right people." He straightened back up, resuming in a tone that was energized by his memories. "My market stand in the Commercial District did fine- don't get me wrong- but there were some things that only passed through the East Empire Company." He took a swig, grimacing. "B'vek, I must have been your age when I got in with them. Did so well I could afford a place in High Town- and it was a rarity to break into that group of nix-hounds. And by that time I'd even gotten Iman to marry me. Best swindle I ever managed, by my account. She helped me hang the sign," he said, the lightness in his voice fading. "I can still see it swinging clear as day. Alor Mercantile."

Teldryn focused on a root climbing out of the far wall, chewing languidly on the last of the bread. He didn't have to see it to know the distant look that always followed these wistful tales. His mother did it, his father had done it, they all did it, all those that shared a glimmering thread of a lost paradise.

"I was on my way back from Hla Oad after picking up a special order." Sorrow curled in the words. The guards had gone quiet. "I watched from a boat on the Odai as death swallowed my home. So close, and yet what could I have done? Even I was struggling to survive as the land and water revolted. By some miracle, I found her. She didn't even know how she survived. One moment she was straightening the alembics, she said, the next she woke up on a cot covered in bandages, coughing black phlegm. It never left her, the cough," he said bitterly. "That insidious poison of Red Mountain weakened her until it destroyed her from the inside out. We never thought we'd have a child, and even when she conceived I did not dare to hope." He tilted his head back against the boards, continuing hoarsely, "but when Dreyla was born and I heard her cry...I just wanted to hold her, protect her, make her happy. Make it so that she would never cry again." He gave a dry chuckle. "The foolish dreams of a new father."

They all waited in his silence, reverent, the stillness permeated by the echo of the weeping cavern.

Fethis cleared his throat. "I tried to start over in Blacklight, but things were so different. Not that I blame House Redoran for having such a heavy hand in commerce in such times but it was...," he made a dubious sound,"...oppressive, to put it lightly. I saw Raven Rock as my chance to rebuild, perhaps we could breathe a little lighter, I could try to graft back into the flow of trade. Not to mention Dreyla was coming of age and drawing far too many suitors." A groan issued forth from his chest, heavy with resignation. "Little did I know the cliff racer of a man that awaited us."

The next part of the story did not need articulation as it was common knowledge. Travel by ship was treacherous for the infirm and Iman had been no exception. An illness that others had shrugged off had ravaged her in her frailty, finally taking her life just days before they reached the port.

"I failed them both, and for what? Grasping at something that has been scattered beyond my reach, like trying to drag a net through clouds to collect the rain. The gods have been telling me all along that I am a s'wit and I've been too much of a s'wit to catch on. And through it all, I have denied Dreyla the only thing she has ever asked of me. I'll do it no more."

Teldryn tapped the ash from his pipe onto the ground, thinking perhaps he'd been a little hard on Fethis earlier in the woods. The old man's conscience seemed to be giving him a thorough enough whipping.

"Azura preserve me, if the boy had been killed..."

He raked his fingers through his dampened hair, disgusted by the overbearing humidity. He'd had enough of this day.

"If Vanya had been-"

The dilapidated wall protested the sudden movement as he pushed to his feet. He might be ill if he stayed in this place any longer.

"I could never have forgiven myself," Fethis finished quietly as Teldryn walked through the doorway of the alcove toward the exit.

An icy blast of air assaulted him as he went through the rickety door, his relieved exhale floating up in front of him. The cold seeped into the wetness on his eyes and he clenched his teeth, marching toward the cliff where a boulder rose up enough to block the cruel winds that thrashed wildly over the ridge. The tips of his ears ached from the chill by the time he reached the outcropping and he leaned his back against the stone as he slid down to the frozen ground. He realized too late that he'd left his helmet sitting on his pack in the mine so he tugged her shawl over his head, insulating himself in a shroud of deep blue. His breath warmed the interior drawing forth the juniper and hearth fire weaved into the threads, conjuring images of honey and the dark silk of her hair over his pillow.

Within this illusion of his own private paradise, he wept for what he'd nearly lost.


Cold.

A shiver passes over her skin as she opens her eyes, looking down over the tops of trees passing by underneath. Little trails of smoke weave their way out from the dense, deep green foliage of the forest that sprawls from snow-peaked mountains down through the heart of the valley that connects them. The view seems like a place she should know, yet she has no memory of this landscape she's flying over.

Flying?

Her stomach lurches uneasily and she looks down at her body, suddenly disoriented she reaches out her hands, finding purchase on the wooden railing. She's standing on a balcony. Has she been here the whole time? She looks up at the pine trees towering over her then peeks over the edge of the railing where the mountain slopes away sharply, the scent of the smokestacks wafting up through the pristine air.

"Vanya?"

She whips around, the voice coming from inside the cabin. She's been here before, she remembers the green checkered upholstery of the deck chairs.

He calls her name again, devastatingly familiar and foreign at the same time. Dread mingles with hope as the figure approaches the open door. The bright sun reflects warmly off his chestnut hair as he steps out into her space, his hazel eyes curious.

"There you are."

Impossible. "What are you doing here?"

"What?" His lopsided grin is a lash against her heart. "We came here together."

Something is terribly wrong. It can't be him, he's lying. Her eyes search every line of his face for the deception. She realizes she doesn't even know what that would look like. "Where have you been?"

"You said you were cold, so I went to get your sweater from the car." He holds out her favorite over-sized blue pullover. But that's not right, it's gray. Her favorite sweater is not blue. It's gray.

"Vee, are you alright?" He steps forward and she retreats, putting her hands out.

"This- this can't be real," she says to herself. "It isn't real. It's a dream."

He chuckles. "I'm glad you think so, I put a lot of planning into this trip."

"Stop!" she cries. "Stop it! Why are you here?"

His smile fades, his expression flickering as if on the edge of understanding. He lowers his outstretched arm.

"Sam, you're..." She doesn't want to say it, to tear out the part of her that she's buried. The words sting like acid as she does. "You're dead."

He looks over himself, patting his chest. "I am?" His eyes are distant even as he observes their surroundings until they land on her. "Are you?"

She examines her body again, gliding her hand over her left arm in search of the wounds that should be there. Then she bends down to pull up her right pant leg. Her mind reels as she reaches out to touch the smooth, unharmed skin. As soon as her fingertips brush her shin a searing heat splits a gash into her flesh causing her to cry out with the shock. She falls to her hands and knees, her gorge rising as steady rivulets of blood run down her arm, pooling until all she can see is red between flashes of white from the pulsing agony tearing through her.

Her mouth is flooded, smothering her screams as the floor gives way and the rocks rise to meet her.


"She's just coughing it out!"

The liquid burned in her nose, invading her airway, running down the sides of her face as her throat rejected its entrance with violent heaves. Her body wailed at her silently and she writhed in protest, trying to catch a breath to give it a voice.

"Azura's mercy, Niyya. That's because you're drowning her, give me that cup!"

She was pitched forward, still sputtering as a firm hand pounded on her back. Her eyelids felt weighted as she tried to open them, managing to catch a glimpse of golden hair before they clamped shut again upon a fresh wave of stabbing torment.

"I'm sorry, Vanya." Niyya's voice was tearful. "I'm sorry. I panicked. I'm sorry." A damp cloth was rubbed across her face and neck.

I don't care, just stop the pain. Please, stop the pain.

She opened her mouth, a dry croak escaping as she tried to speak.

"Shh, shh. My dear," Milore soothed, laying her back down, a shiver of relief radiating from the press of a hand on her chest, slightly dulling the feeling of a hot poker in her calf. Finally, she took a full breath. "I know it hurts but we have to drain it. Bite wounds are always temperamental. Drink this." Her head was lifted as the rim of a cup pressed to her lips. "It will make the pain go away."

That was all she needed. She sucked down the elixir, gratefully melting into blessed numbness with each gulp.

She floated back into the ether to answer his question.

I'm not dead.

Are you?


A/N: And in the parody version of this universe, Fethis' store is named Goods G'Alor.