I know yall probably don't remember this, but I've finally started posting for this story again. I rewrote this chapter ever so slightly from the last version.

Thank you for reading!

Updated: 09/02/2020

They knew.

He didn't know what exactly they knew, but how else could he explain the suspicious glares or the subtle but somewhat larger distance between him and passerby's, or even the occasional hiss of disdain directed his way as he walked past people in the streets of Dahngrest?

People he's known for years now, upwards a decade, suddenly treating him like a stranger… or worse, like they were enemies. It doesn't make sense… but one of the quickest ways to make sense of something was to find the sense, right? Something like that anyway…

As he walks up to the nearest food vendor (Sylvio, if he remembers right), a prickle on the back of his neck tells him eyes follow his every move. Creepy. "Hey, what's got everyone so uptight?" he asked, brows furrowing. Sylvio jumps, shoulders noticeably tensing before he forces them to relax, to be normal.

"S-sorry Raven, I'm closing up shop now," he mutters, quickly stuffing his wares in a bag and moving to leave.

He steps in front of the vendor, cutting off his retreat."Hey, hold yer horses, I'm just asking for information.'

"I'm really sorry, I gotta get home immediately," he said, pushing his way through the blockade before all but sprinting away.

What was going on?

Repeatedly, he tries asking people as he passes through the crowds towards the Staggitarious, and repeatedly he is rebuked with muttered excuses and stuttered explanations for why they absolutely couldn't spare one moment to tell him WHY people were being so weird.

Excuses like:

"I'm getting ready for a guild request"(Honestly plausible)

"I got a shipment yesterday and I gotta unload my wares"(You already did that. They're sitting right there.)

And "My grandpa is sick and I have to take care of him"(Your grandpa died YEARS ago! I'd know, we got drunk together over it! )

Nothing came of his many attempts to figure out what happened, what he did, and while asking the good folks who keep staring an unnecessary amount of malice into his back in a futile attempt to set him on fire, he figures its best to avoid those who would actively give him harm. This was… unprecedented, pardon his language. Something like this has never happened. Sure he's pissed off the occasional wrong guy but… never anything like this.

It was unsettling, to say the least, but at the moment he had to grab something Harry needed immediately. He had already spent too much time on this as it was. The sky was blood-red with sundown by now and people would genuinely start heading home and leave the streets bare, save the occasional straggler or group of those just looking for a good time. And so he was on his way.

Entering the doors of The Sagittarius, the usual rowdiness and chatter of a well-used bar greeted him. Smelling of sweat, peanuts, and lots of alcohol, it would be a second home to him if he even had a first home. Well...he supposes he does now… he should grab something for Karol while he's out…. Oh, wait he's still standing here.

It was silent.

Looking up, he sees half-stares and guilty glances directed in his direction.

And an alienation which felt so wrong because he was in Dahngrest, the only thing he had akin to a home these past ten years. The place where he was able to act without being stifled with the expectation of anything greater than getting the job done. The place where he made relationships with comrades and families of comrades(though he will be the first to admit that he never let any of them get too close).

It felt wrong, and he was very much so tempted to get to the bottom of this, but unfortunately, he once more had stuff to finish before all else…

Turning away, he ignored the stares and started towards The Don's Office.

"Traitor."

Well, heh. While accurate(and he wouldn't ever forget it) he certainly wouldn't expect someone of Dahngrest to say it.

Turning back around, he was greeted with the burly form of someone stumbling out of their seat.

Joseph?

A raised eyebrow."Whatcha mean, Joe?"

"Ya know entirely wha' I mean..." he said, an accusatory finger wavering in the air.

Man, he was slammed.

"I think ya might have had one too many, Joe," he said, walking over to sling his friend's arm over his shoulder(which felt kind of awkward, with the height discrepancies and all ). "Come on, let's getcha home. I thought you'd gone clean, promised Julia, that all this was in the-"

"Get offa me!" he yelled, flailing and essentially flinging himself off his support and sending himself sprawling to the floor. "And don't you dare talk about Julia when you're the whole damn reason for all of this!"

"Come o- Joe, seriously?" he grumbled, bending down to grab him once more.

"Get away!" he yelled, flinging out an arm to fend off his friend's hands. "I don't need yer help, ya traitor!" Clamoring to his feet, he sloppily raised his hands into loose fists. "Is it true, Raven?" His voice is hoarse, eyes red, and a glance over to Joe's spot on the bar, right next to his, confirms he's been here a while. "It's true, isn't it? Heh!"

"What are you-"

"I couldn't believe it at first but-" he starts, pulling out a picture, looking at it, at him, and "it really-"

"Joe, please-"

"A Captain of the Imperial Knights-"

He could have dodged. He could have dodged such a sloppy punch even bound and blindfolded. But at that moment he just couldn't because-

They knew.

His head snapped backward, rattling his skull and sending him reeling and nearly falling over the nearby bar stool. The sound of wood scraping wood filled the temporary silence as would-be allies jumped to their feet. But they did nothing.

"You lied to us all, for years!" thundered Joe. "You spied on us, endangered our families, lied to our faces!"

Raven caught himself, barely in time to fling himself out of the way of another punch. Nobody was looking at him now.

Nobody could look at him.

"How could you do that to us?"

Another swing, this time wide and nearly setting him on top of some nearby customers. He quickly whirled around, wrath setting his eyes alight, before preparing to launch himself once more.

"To The Don?"

And with that, Raven froze.

Breath whooshed out of him as the tackle flung them clear across the room.

His head clunked on the wooden floor, sending a spike of pain through his head and a strangled groan through the air.

Joe shifted then blearily pushed himself up. The rage was gone, leaving only hurt on his face.

Yet he continued.

"How?"

He began raising his fist once more.

"Not even denial? How-"

Raising, raising, evermore.

"To Henry?"

The fist was wound all the way back now, ready to hammer at any second.

"To me?"

Let it come.

It snapped down with a promise of pain.

Raven watched it approach with a dead stare.

Out of the corner of his eye, something flashed, and then-

It stopped. A dull thud reverberates next to his ear. Joe, above him, one arm bleeding his fist into the wood floor and the other futilely wiping away-

A drop of something warm and wet hit his face. Tears.

"I thought we were brothers, Raven- How?" His broken sobs echo throughout the silent bar. He did this.

"...That's enough."

Standing over them both was the bartender, Barry, a man they had both known for years, holding Joe up.

Surrounding them were their fellow guild members, drinks forgotten and conflicted glances flickering from person to the pair to person.

Two of the group walked towards them and pulled off their drunken companion, leaving Raven free and laying on the floor.

Slowly, he sat up, muttering a flat "Thanks."

He sighed, then gathered his bearings and thoughts before noticing some residual pain in his chest. Strange... he hadn't been hit there. He sighed once more then stood up and started walking towards Barry.

"Don't." he cut off as Raven opened his mouth to speak. "Just...Leave."

If he hadn't noticed the pain before, he would have noticed now.

It shot through him, leaving an agonizing streak that nearly sent him staggering before settling down to a dull throb.

"A-alright. Just...get him home safely, wouldja?" he said, voice cracking almost turned away, face hidden in the shadows, and left the tavern for the cold night air. But, he said one last thing, in a voice quiet enough to be a whisper.