Chapter Thirty-Five: "The Best Laid Plots…"

Hawke slumped into his mansion, his whole body done in, his boots scuffing the tiles, his packs and weapons and cloaks falling away as he slouched over to the chair before the fire. "Maker's breath, but I'm knackered!" He rolled himself over the arm of the chair and landed with a thump onto the cushions, exhaling loudly as he did so. "Just once, just for one single time, I'd like to be able to go someplace—anywhere!—and NOT run into dragons. Or darkspawn. Or demons."

"Speak of the devil," Fenris hummed under his breath, but if anyone heard him they gave no sign. All eyes were lifting up to the second floor balcony and the door that had just opened, the door that now framed a pale and wide-eyed Anders.

"Hawke, you're back! I… I thought… um… you might've…" Anders' words slowed to a halt, his eyes devouring the man slumped in the chair, completely unaware there was anyone else with them.

"Hello, Anders, my love," Hawke managed enough strength to smile up at him cheekily, "Miss me?"

"Every moment," he affirmed. Quickly he started down the stairs before he saw who else was with Hawke. His steps stuttered and hesitated a bit upon spying Hrodwynn, but only a bit, his desire to reach his lover's side was too great to deny. "I, erm, I wasn't sure why you had left, or how long you'd be gone. I know you said something about that mine of yours, but…"

"The Bone Pit," Hawke grunted, gaining his feet and reaching out to embrace him. "I told you before I left, Anders, that there was some trouble up there, and my business partner wanted me to take care of matters. You knew it was going to take a few days." It had been a lie, but not a complete one. There had been trouble at the mine—only no one could have known about it yet. "As it turns out, there was another dragon up there. A bigger one than last time. Good thing I didn't go it alone."

"You really are a shit magnet, Hawke," Hrodwynn groaned, gripping her shoulder.

"You…" Anders looked at her when she spoke, saw the way she was holding her arm, saw how badly Sebastian was limping even with Fenris' help, and guiltily turned his gaze away. He noticed then that Hawke wasn't entirely unscathed himself, "You were hurt, I mean, were you hurt? I could, um…"

"I'm alright, love," Hawke confirmed. "Didn't get bit this time. Perhaps a bit singed," he gestured to his side where there was a gaping, soot-ringed hole in his tunic, "But Hrodwynn here brews excellent healing potions. Hardly left a mark."

Anders' eyes hungrily examined the area where the wound had been, but the scaring from the burn was minimal, and the flesh beneath the slightly marred skin was whole and strong. "Oh, good, um, well then, perhaps Sebastian…?"

"I'm alright, Anders," he waved off the offer, "Just sprained my foot. Wasn't worth a healing potion, and there were only so many, and the others needed them more, so I decided to let nature take its course and have it heal on its own."

"I'll, um, help you, anyway, since you're here, I mean. And, ah…" Anders tried, he tried to look at Hrodwynn again, but she wasn't looking at him.

"We should get going, Hawke," she sidestepped to avoid him, but didn't come any further into the mansion, "Now that we've seen you safely back home."

"Your arm…?"

"Already took a potion for it," she answered Anders' question, trying to maintain eye contact with Hawke. "Should be alright by morning. Fenris' ribs, too, thanks for asking."

"I… I didn't know HE'd been hurt."

"You didn't bother to find out, either, did you!" she shot back at him, finally spinning around to face him. Her eyes were hard as jade, her nostrils flaring with simmering ire. "Go ahead and give Sebastian a hand, or a foot, or whatever the fuck it would be. Fenris and I can take care of ourselves!"

"Yes, I can see that!" he fired back, his eyes flickering to her right hand, full of meaning and more than a bit of his own irritation.

It hurt, it hurt like a motherfucker, but she did it anyway. She bumped into Anders with her injured side as she shoved past him, but the physical pain did nothing to dull or distract from the emotional pain. She should have waited outside. She should have left Hawke to stumble back home on his own! But it was late, well after midnight, and the man was exhausted and barely able to keep his feet, having carried Sebastian down the mountainside himself rather than sharing the load with Fenris, and before that there had been the dragon and the fighting and the cave-in and…

Fenris' hand in hers anchored her, holding her fast to him, to his calming presence, to the present. She stopped in her steps and remained at his side. Her vision cleared to fill with his face, and she gave him a small smile and a nod, letting him know she was alright now.

"I'll, um, have my business partner, Hubert, keep an eye out for the first shipment," Hawke called after her, sensing it would probably be best to let her—let them both go before someone said or did something truly regrettable, "And let you know when it comes in."

She turned her head, just far enough over her other shoulder, to see him standing in the middle of the room, his perfectly-mussed black hair now flecked with silver at the temples, his rugged face etched and outlined with long lines of exhaustion, and his warm brown eyes set off by heavy dark circles. The years of adventure were taking their toll on the man, she could see that, but damn him if the flaws didn't make him look even more striking than ever! "Bloody git," she mumbled under her breath, but then continued loud enough for all to hear, "Sounds fine. Thanks. 'night, Hawke. Sebastian."

She nodded to each of them, but when it came to Anders, she couldn't find it in her to either nod or speak. She turned away and, Fenris in tow, their hands still entwined, left the mansion.

"What was that about?" Anders wondered, his voice still a little hurt, still a little jealous, and beginning to become a little suspicious. "What shipment from the mine?"

"Oh, ah," Hawke helped Anders set Sebastian down in the chair, the beautifully warm and highly coveted chair before the hearth. With a sigh he turned away to allow Anders to work unhindered, and braced his buttocks against the side of his desk.

"There was some sort of rare element in the mine," Sebastian answered, his mind quicker as it wasn't encumbered with fatigue. "Glitterdust, I believe. Hrodwynn wanted some of it, for one reason or another, but we didn't have the right equipment to bring it down safely. I gather it's highly unstable or something. Hawke offered to have it brought down for her once the mine is back up and running."

"Oh," Anders had quickly lost interest, as he was sure Hrodwynn was going to use the glitterdust for one of her roguish little schemes, undoubtedly something to do with Fenris, and therefore he would have nothing to do with it. Besides, "This ankle is broken, Sebastian, not sprained. Have you put any pressure on it at all since it was hurt?"

He shook his head. "Never had the chance. I've been carried like a sack of potatoes for most of the way. Even when we finally reached the city, Fenris insisted on carrying my leg, keeping it completely off the ground, and only allowing me walk on the other foot."

"And you didn't take a healing potion for it?"

"We weren't expecting so much trouble, so we'd only brought three potions with us," he protested. "And the others needed them more than I. It was only a sprain, or so I was told." He shot the other man in the room a slightly hurt, slightly accusing glare.

"Hrodwynn knew the truth," Hawke admitted, unperturbed, stifling a yawn behind his hand before he continued, "And told me. I made the decision of who should get the potions."

"How… Andraste's knickers, how badly were you all hurt?"

Hawke sighed, coveting the chair so badly, but noting that Anders was almost done healing the ankle, he supposed he could make do for a little while longer. For some reason, he now felt the leg of the desk at his back, and the floor beneath his buttocks, but he couldn't be bothered to figure out how he had slid down so far. "Fenris took a blow to the chest, nearly crushing his ribcage and collapsing his lungs; knocked him out for the rest of the fight. Hrodwynn's arm was broken in three places when the dragon stepped on her, right after she'd given it a gaping chest wound. And I, well, it was right after I was finally able to kill the monster, ramming Fenris' dropped sword up through its mouth and into its brainpan. The damn thing gave one last belch of fire—and I was down wind. Most of my armor protected me, but there was one gap from earlier in the fight when a talon ripped through a strap, and the damned thing nearly burned me to a bloody crisp!"

Anders swallowed, feeling the guilt return; he should have gone with, he should have been there to help them, he should have been there to heal them immediately after the fight. "And when did you break your ankle?"

"I, well, yes," Sebastian managed to blush, not very becoming with his bright orange-red hair, "I tripped. The fight was over and done with, the dragon was dead, and I was walking over to help Hrodwynn to her feet, only it was nearly dusk, and the tail twitched in some sort of death throw just as I was stepping over it, and I stumbled and fell, and I think I found a rabbit hole or something, too, to step in. Anyway, I hurt my ankle, but seeing as the others were more severely injured than I, I couldn't very well use one of the potions for myself, could I? By the way," he pointed over to a semi-slumbering Hawke, "I think he needs your attention more than I, now that my foot's all better."

The two men looked over at the third, lying on the floor, his head cradled in his arms, snoring softly and contentedly. Anders couldn't find his voice, choked dry with so much emotion, but nodded his understanding.

"It was a long way back from the mine," Sebastian began to explain, putting his boot back on so he could help Anders carry Hawke to bed. "We were all hurt, and I know Hawke and Hrodwynn talked for quite some time before they divvied up the last two potions. Fenris got the first one right off the bat; he'd have died otherwise. But then the arguing ensued. Hawke was probably hurt the most after Fenris, though he tried to say it wasn't as bad as it appeared." He grunted as they started up the stairs, Hawke's limp body dangling between them. Sebastian reached behind to get a firm grip on Hawke's belt to help lift his legs and keep the toes of his boots from tapping each and every step as they climbed.

"Hrodwynn also tried to act as if she wasn't hurt as bad as she was, or at least that she would be able to walk," he continued to tell a silent Anders, "Which was true, I suppose. Would have hurt like the blazes, for either one of them to try to walk home, but at least they could still walk; it was certain that I would not be walking. Still, the two of them tried to find a way to give me one of the last two potions, either by postering or stubbornness—at one point they tried to share a potion or something of the sort, insisting that they only needed a little bit, that they could make do with that until we reached the city. I know those two have never gotten along, but I mean really! The things they invent to fight about!

"Finally," Sebastian continued, supporting Hawke's weight while Anders opened the bedchamber door, "They agreed that both of them should take the last two potions, and allow me to suffer. I truly wasn't hurting as bad as they, and they eventually had to admit it, however reluctantly. But Hawke insisted on carrying me," he swept said mage off his knees in example, "Bridal style. Somewhat embarrassing, as you can imagine, considering, well… ahem," he felt his cheeks burning once more, knowing the type of relationship between Anders and Hawke and… well…

He laid Hawke on the bed, propping his head up on the pillows piled high, and leaned back. "Fenris took most of the trip before he could fully support his own weight, much less offer to help me walk. So Hawke had to go it alone, the whole way down the mountain. Exhausted himself doing it, but he got us all safely back to Kirkwall. The others and I decided we'd see him safely back to his mansion, in return, and so here we are."

Anders wasn't sure why Sebastian had to give such an explanation, but he agreed nonetheless, "Here you are."

"You, ah, I mean," Sebastian rubbed the side of his nose, suddenly feeling like an intruder, seeing the way Anders was staring at Hawke, "I trust you can manage now on your own? Yes? Very well, then, I'll see myself out. Good night, Anders. Tell Hawke, well, when he wakes up, give him my thanks, would you?"

Anders nodded, sitting down on the side of the bed, his eyes only for his love. He didn't hear Sebastian close the door, he didn't even care if the door was closed—his love was home and safe.

If only… if only things could stay this way… he and Hawke… together in this house… living and loving… forgetting the outside world… forgetting everything else…!

But he still had other work to do. And after? Well, if there was to be an after, he'd think about it then. There was enough on his plate for him to worry about today. The blue-white light of Justice flickered in his eyes briefly before subsiding… for now.


"And that's when Sebastian stumbled over the tail, stepped into a rabbit hole, and broke his ankle."

Varric roared with laughter, slapping the table with the palm of his hand. "Now, Button, THAT'S a story!" A cloud of dust rose up and into the air, but he waved it away.

Hrodwynn leaned back, a little pleased with herself for having impressed a consummate storyteller with her own tale. They were all there in Anders' disused clinic, well, almost all of them.

"Where is Choir Boy, by the way?"

"Doing penance," Hrodwynn answered first and snarky, but Fenris elaborated.

"Our short trip took longer than planned…"

"As usual whenever Hawke's involved," she slipped in under her breath.

"…so Sebastian missed a few important engagements. He's making up for his absence at the Chantry. He doesn't really need to be here yet, anyway, considering it'll take a month or more before the drakestone arrives."

"Hawke promised," Hrodwynn's voice was meant to be heard, "Soon as his mine is up and running—again—he'll have his workers make the drakestone a priority. It'll be in the first shipment, anywhere from three to five weeks from now."

"And where is the man himself?" Isabela queried, the smirk on her face saying she already knew the answer. "You did get back yesterday, after all."

"Um," she glanced at Fenris, but he was even less willing to respond, "He, ah, he's a bit knackered, after this latest adventure, so he decided to have a bit of a lie in today. There's no point in coming, really…"

"…as there's no drakestone yet," Varric finished for her. "Right. And being away from Anders for a week didn't have anything to do with it?"

"No comment," Fenris ground out between his teeth.

"At least we were able to use their secret tunnel to get here," Hrodwynn shrugged and tried to steer the conversation towards safer ground, "So, where's Aveline?"

"At work," Varric answered. "She's still determined to come with Merril, Isabela, and I when we go for the sela petrae. Until we can, however, she's got to keep her day job."

Hrodwynn made a noncommittal sort of hum at that. "So, what happened with you then? I thought your little trip would have been loads easier than ours."

Merril peeped up at that. "Oh, it would, or should, but the wind's not in the right direction."

Fenris blinked at her. "I beg your pardon, did you say 'wind'? What wind? Surely there's no wind in the sewers?"

Hrodwynn's groan was answer enough, at least to tell him that she understood. "The chokedamp." She turned to face him and give a more detailed explanation. "The sewers aren't a closed system, Fenris. The tunnels all drain out into the sea. And sometimes, when the weather is just right, and there's a high tide and the stars align, whatever," she waggled her fingers in a sort of mystical-appearing manner, "The, erm, 'muck' has trouble draining. Little depressions start appearing throughout the tunnels, newer shit piles up on top of older shit making these little, messy, soupy-swampy sort of shit holes, and then it starts forming into sela petrae. Which is good, because that's what we're looking for, but it's also bad, because the process produces chokedamp. You can't breathe chokedamp, especially such a high concentration, like right where it's forming. So there's nothing to do for it, but wait for the weather to change and for the wind to start sucking the air out of the sewers, and sucking the chokedamp with it. Then fresh, well, fresher air will flush out most of the last pockets, and they'll be able to go for the sela petrae. Fresh shit, too, which'll be more potent, I suppose."

"That's… more than I ever wanted to know about the sewers."

Varric laughed at that. "Same for the rest of us."

"So…" Merril drew out the sound, looking around at all of them, "What do we do now? I mean, in the meantime, until the weather changes and the shipment arrives."

Varric sighed dramatically, placing his hand on her forearm, "The same as we always do, Kitten: drink piss-poor ale, play cards, and lose all our money to Isabela."

"Not all your coin," the lady pirate in question protested, fondling the necklace at her throat, "Or who will buy the drinks?"

Varric laughed, "Spoken like a true pirate—drinks first, booty after. Come on, let's go to the tavern. No use hanging around here any longer than we need to." He started for the door, followed by his two female companions, and Fenris brining up the rear. The elf didn't keep up with them, however, sensing that he was not being followed himself. He paused and turned on his heel, looking back behind them, to see Hrodwynn standing, alone and adrift, in the center of the long-abandoned clinic.

Hrodwynn was lost in disassociated memory, her eyes roaming the clinic, seeing what was around her but from the standpoint of it all having been a part of someone else's life. Everything was familiar to her, the table, the chairs, the old stew pot sitting next to the hearth, the scuff marks on the floor from where her ladder would set—but that had been part of another Hrodwynn, a younger Hrodwynn, a child who had been in need of a family, and someone who had found a man in need of one, too.

Then she was brought back to herself, her current self, when a voice called gently to her, as if trying to wake her from a dream, which in a way it was, "Amatus?"

Fenris voice was right at her ear, soft against her skin, and hot, and sent a pleasing sort of tickle down her spine. Almost like old times… like before…

She turned around to look at him, to truly look at him, to see HIM—and to at last banish the nightmares and no longer see Matthias' poor impersonation. Oh, true, the bloody git had done a fair job of mucking them up. The dark and deadly spiky armor had been the same. The pattern of swirls and dots of lyrium had been the same. But that was all—that was where the sameness ended! The hair… the hair hadn't quite been the same, Matthias' hair too short, too neatly trimmed, and the white powder he used had to be reapplied every time, leaving dust behind each visit. The body beneath the armor and lyrium had been different, too, taller and broader, and yet somehow less powerful, less skillful and more reliant upon brute force that her Fenris. Matthias' eyes, too, had been so very different, a light blue, so very dissimilar from Fenris' dead-appearing eyes, cold and unyielding like jade, but with a tiny spark of life and fire buried deep inside.

The voice, though, that had been the most different. No one could impersonate Fenris' voice. No one could match that deep and rough rumble, like carriage wheels driving over gravel, like distant thunder painting the horizon, like the growl of a feral wolf…

Like her wolf. "Fen." Her hand lifted of its own accord, the fingers light against his cheek, stroking out towards his ear. This was HER Fenris, HER man, HER love.

"Did you leave something behind, the last time you were here, when you moved in with me? Would you like to go take a look?"

At the little burrow of confusion creasing her brow, he nodded towards the trap door in the ceiling that led to her old loft.

"What?" she could barely tear her eyes from his face, but she managed it to see where he was gesturing. Upon realizing that he meant her old chambers, she gave her head a short jerk in a negative fashion, quickly dismissing the offer. "Oh, no, no, there's nothing there anymore. Nothing but memories," she looked back at him, "And those I already take with me."

Memories. That one word pained him more than any break of bone or slice of steel or blast of magic. Memories of a time when she had been younger and life had been simpler. Or memories of a past she no longer possessed. Or memories of torment that kept them apart.

"Hrodwynn, I…"

"We should get going," she said at the same time, "Catch up with the others, before they wonder where we are. Actually," her brow furrowed again, though this time it was from her mind spinning quickly, "Um, actually, I can't go that way, can I, through Darktown. Why don't you go catch up," she started pushing him towards the door the others had left open, "And I'll take a different route, meet you all at the Hanged Man, say in about an hour or so?"

"You're, er," he tried to resist her shoving, but the woman could be stubborn when she set her mind to it, "You're not taking the passageway back to Hawke's mansion, are you?"

"What? No!" she hastily answered, then kicked herself, as that would have been a fairly good plan, at least to get him off her scent. "No, I don't want to disturb Hawke and…" her words sputtered to a stop; it was still too painful to think of Anders/Justice's rejection and the friendship she had lost, "…disturb those two. I'll, um, I know another shortcut, well," again she paused, reconsidering her words, her mind spinning so quickly she was nearly breathless, "It's a shortcut out of Darktown, but it might take me a while to reach the Hanged Man, yeah, so I'll need to get going."

"I should go with you…"

"No!" again she answered too quickly, too desperate for Fenris to leave her alone. "No, you can't. I've, um, got to go through this, ah, women's changing room area, at a theatre, and you aren't exactly inconspicuous, much less a woman, so we'd be noticed and…"

"Alright," he put up his hands to head off any more of her stumbling explanation, though not entirely believing it. He could tell she was holding something back from him, but what it may be eluded him… for the moment. "Alright, I'll trust you," he said those words with slightly more emphasis than the rest, "To make your own way to the tavern. But don't take too long, or I'll come looking for you."

His hand cupped her cheek, and she closed her eyes to lean in to the gesture. It had been easier at first, she could admit it, to simply close her eyes and ignore whatever she was seeing, and focus on what she was feeling. No one had ever touched her as Fenris, and no one ever could, and it worked so well in banishing the nightmarish events. But this time she made herself open her eyes, open and see and confirm who was touching her—that Fenris was touching her.

The real Fenris, not the false Fenris.

Her love. Her amatus. Her Fen.

Hrodwynn's hand covered his, holding it there as her eyes held his gaze captive, feeling far more confident that she had a right to be, and answered clearly, "I'll be fine."

Something, some little nagging voice, some small part of him that refused to believe or hope or dream, told him her words were a lie… but he ignored it. "Be safe."

He shifted closer, daring himself, daring herself, his need so great it warred with his anxiety over her shattered emotional state. His ebony brows curved over his soft green eyes, overflowing with desire and desperation. His fingers gripped a little tighter, still gentle, wanting to but trying not to encourage her head to tilt just that little bit more…

Hrodwynn closed the distance and kissed him.

Then she was gone.

Fenris stood a moment too long, stunned, unable to believe it had just happened. He feared it had been a dream, a vision brought forth from his longing and yearning, something imagined and conjured and not real. She was no longer before him, after all, and his hand no longer touched her face, but in bringing his fingertips to his lips he could feel the moisture leftover from her mouth.

She really had kissed him.

His heart raced, skipped a beat, jumped into the air and clicked its heels for joy. Hrodwynn had kissed him. He wanted to savor the victory, great and small as it was, but this was not the time, and definitely not the place. He spun around on his heel, intending to see her before she could leave, confirm for himself that she had been there and done what she'd done, perhaps catch some little flirtatious smile on those Agreggio Pavali lips of hers that would shine like a confession… but the door was closed and he was alone. Racing to yank it open and glance around outside, he found he was too late to see where she had gone.

Again, that disgusting little nag inside him scolded, claiming she had only kissed him to distract him long enough to allow her to get away. He should have remained focused. He should have followed her, discreetly, to make sure she was going where she said she would. He should not be trusting her…

He slammed his fist against the doorframe, effectively silencing that ugly and petty part of him. He did trust Hrodwynn. He did, because he loved her, and she loved him, and she had kissed him, so they were making progress and things were getting better and he was only trying to find an excuse not to believe it because he couldn't allow himself to believe that he could have a good life…!

He felt a sharp pain and looked over at his hand, only then noticing how his talons had created gauges in the wood, deep gauges that had left a splinter to burrow in underneath a fingernail, judging by the pain. He stared at the injured digit for a moment, studying it, savoring the pain and the clarification it brought, before plucking out the offending sliver of wood. Then he set off for the Hanged Man, trusting Hrodwynn to her fate.


'I should not be doing this,' Hrodwynn thought to herself for the umpteenth time, 'I should definitely not be doing this…'

But she was, she was doing this, and it could not be denied. She was lying to the man she loved, sneaking off without him—behind his back truthfully—and it was to find another man.

Sure, that other man was an ancient and crippled elf who spoke of himself in the third person and recited nonsense limericks because his brains were scrambled, but did that matter?

Perhaps it did, she could admit, perhaps… but only because Fenris didn't believe her. He didn't believe Everyone or that the beggar was important to her, to her past, to… well, to everything!

But, then again, perhaps it didn't matter that she was doing this without Fenris. Never mind what he thought, SHE believed! She knew, if only she could find Everyone and get him to tell her that one particular poem again… She knew, if only she could study it, learn the words, discover the mystery wrapped up inside them… She knew, if only she could figure out why it had seemed so familiar to her, then her memories would return. Then she'd know her past. Then…

Hrodwynn hunkered down on her haunches in the crook between two buildings, deep within the shadows of the Alienage, almost panting to keep any unworthy or wayward thoughts at bay. She hadn't wanted to do it this way, she reminded herself, sulking in alleys alone like a thief, but Fenris hadn't given her a choice. He had made it very clear that he wasn't going to help her recover her memories. In fact, he had refused—refused to help her anymore, refused to acknowledge that Everyone knew something about her or her past, the past she and Everyone shared.

And this was after he had promised! She raged to herself, fisting her hands on her thighs. He had promised to help her, promised to find Everyone and learn more about him—er, sure, right, they had found Everyone and learned more about him—but that wasn't the point! Fenris gave up too soon. He brushed it aside, discarded it as useless, worthless, irrelevant, unreal… the very first clue that came along.

Yet she had never done that with him! After all the hiccoughs that occurred in trying to rediscover his past, in trying to track down his sister—it seemed she kept moving all over Tevinter, one job to the next, one city to the next, and they had always been just a few steps behind her, a few weeks too late—for three years! It took them three years to find Varania. But she never once gave up. She never once backed down when things got challenging. She never once voiced an opinion that they were at a dead end and should give up!

She had even wanted to be the one to go to Tevinter, to meet Varania, to bring her back here to Kirkwall, leaving Fenris safe at home the whole time…

'…and looked how that turned out,' an ugly little voice inside her head snipped. She had been the one who suffered. She had been locked up in a dungeon for weeks, while he sat safe and sound in Kirkwall. She had endured humiliation and torment, while he had simply waited for news. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right!

And now, now when she had a clue, now when she might have found someone who might know something about her, and right here in Kirkwall, where it was easy and safe and convenient? Now HE was giving up on HER? Now he refused to help? Now he dismissed it all and walked away?

Was he concerned this might actually lead somewhere? Was he jealous she might regain her past, restore her memories…

…and then she'd be even with him?

'And all without paying a price,' that ugly voice hummed poisonously in her ear, 'Definitely no where near the cost I had paid for Fenris to regain his memories…'

One of her fists lifted to shove itself into her mouth before the sobs could begin.

'No no nonononono… That wasn't fair,' she argued with herself, 'That wasn't right. We couldn't have known that Danarius was using Varania as a trap. We couldn't have known, or Fenris would never have allowed me to go. He would never have allowed me to suffer any harm!'

'But I did suffer…' That was a truth neither one of them could change. Yet what did it mean for them now? Was she supposed to ask him to suffer for her, as she had for him? Was that what she expected, for him to pursue this old beggar, fall into a trap, and be forced to endure pain and torment and humiliation and hopelessness as she had?

Would that make them even? Would that make things fair? Would that make things right and balanced between them?

Was she truly expecting that? Of him? Of their situation? Of their life together?

Of this quest of hers?

No! Hrodwynn banged her fist against the building, feeling the edge of a brick cut the side of her hand, feeling a bruise begin to swell and puff out her skin. No, she didn't want Fenris to suffer for her. EVER! She didn't want him to hurt or bleed for her just to prove his love. She didn't need that, had never needed that, of him or any man! And she certainly didn't want him to be tortured just so she could recover her memories.

'Don't I?' she blinked, hating that other voice, wishing it would go away, wishing she could ignore it, but somehow knowing there was at least a kernel of truth buried within the irritating thoughts.

Was that what she feeling? Anger? Hurt? Jealousy? Guilt? Vengeance? Pettiness? Even the smallest amount of… what… she couldn't exactly put her finger on it, but it was something… ugly. Wrong. Sick. Like the voice inside she couldn't ignore.

…madness…

Hrodwynn slammed a door within her mind, shutting away the concept before it could take root. She had to fight it. She had to deny it. She had to keep it from getting out, keep anyone else from seeing it and recognizing it for what it was… or else, what would they all think of her?

Yet what would she think of herself?

"Do you cry for me?"

The voice was querulous and thin, like the wind through the reeds along the shore of a pond. Immediately her tears dried, her face lifting from the mire of her emotions, and she sniffed before answering, "Everyone? Is that you?"

"Who?" he responded, shuffling further along the alley towards her, coming closer and closer to the light. "Who am I?"

"You're…" she had to sniff again, wiping her nose on her sleeve, bracing herself against a wall as she gained her feet. "You're Everyone."

He shuffled along, shuffled closer, and almost seemed as if he would shuffle right on past her. Yet he stopped, stopped just as he came abreast of her, stopped and turned and lifted his face as if his empty sockets could see her face. "Do… do you… know Everyone?"

"Yes!" she eagerly responded, even to the point of taking hold of his arm, "Yes, I know you. You're Everyone. You're my friend. I do know you."

He smiled, his face lighting up, the years and decades lifting away as a cloud passing from before the sun. "Everyone knows," he leaned in closer, almost touching her forehead with his own, "Everyone knows she'll know me."

"I…" she felt a cold breath of melting ice slide down her spine at those words, the same words she was sure were in that very poem she wanted so desperately to hear once more. "I do, Everyone, I do know you. You're my friend. You're my friend, and I know you, and I want to ask you a favor, as a friend of mine."

"Of course, my little dove," he nodded pleasantly.

"Share with me your poem," she dug into a pouch, pulling out a stylus and a scrap of parchment, "Your poem, your special poem, about your little dove, about… me… and how I'll know you."

"Why?" he sounded confused, truly confused, "Why would you need to hear it? You already know Everyone."

"But it's such a beautiful poem," she insisted, trying to stay calm while using her best wheedling voice, "And it's a poem about me, and I want to remember it, because my very special friend made it up, just for me. So, please, Everyone, could you recite it again, just for me? Please?"

"Oh," he patted her cheek, "Oh-ho-ho, you are such a crafty one, aren't you, little dove? Yes, alright, very well, but only if!" he held up a finger and waggled it in front of her face. "Only if your Mama says you have been a very good little dove, and finished all your studies."

"I have," she played along, no idea what he was talking about, but hoping to placate him—anything!—if he'd only recite the poem. "I'm all finished. Like a good little girl—little dove. Now, please, Everyone, your poem? Please?"

He looked at her a moment longer with his sightless gaze. She was suddenly given the impression that he was imitating a common gesture of his from long ago, and she could not tell if she was truly finding the gesture familiar or merely wanted to so desperately that she had fooled herself. But he finally answered her, and she had to focus on him and what was happening, "Very well, little dove. Let's sit down, over here by the window, and I'll tell you once more."

They moved off a few steps, Hrodwynn having no idea where this 'window' was he spoke of, but continuing to play along. At some point, not too far thankfully, he must have decided they were at this 'window' of his, and he sat down, sighing as if easing his ancient and aching body onto a pile of silk pillows, and not an old discarded crate half stuffed with straw. She settled before him, crossed-legged on the street, and with pen and paper in hand waited for his next words.

"I once had a pet

An innocent dove

So pure and white

My little love…"

Hrodwynn scribbled furiously, her hands scrawling and threatening to tear the parchment, as she hastened to keep up. It wasn't easy, trying to write down everything he said, but she did her best to copy it faithfully. Still, there were gaps, places where she wasn't confident she hadn't missed a word or two, or more, or gotten them jumbled, or substituted her own words instead. When he finished, he leaned back and settled against the wall behind, acting as if he would take a little nap. She couldn't allow it, not yet, not when she was so close, not when she had been only partially successful.

Inspiration struck her and she clapped her hands, applauding, "Brava! Everyone, brava! Excellent! Such a wonderful poem. I love it."

Everyone leaned forward, reaching out as if to tweak her nose, but missed thanks to his absent sight. "Of course you do, moppet. You are such a little dove."

"Tell it to me again, please?"

"Oh, no, my dear, it is time for your nap. And mine. I am so tired these days…" he sighed, leaning back against the wall again.

"But, Everyone, please," she begged, unable to help herself. In desperation she also reached out towards him, one hand gripping his forearm while the other clutched at his gnarled and arthritic fingers, "Please, Everyone, just one more time. Tell me once more, and then I promise I'll be a good girl and take my nap. Please? Pretty please? For me?" She lifted his hand to touch her cheek, stroking the backs of his fingers against her smooth skin, praying and willing and hoping and…

Everyone sighed, sounding so very tired, so very old, and so very indulging, "I can never say no to you, little dove. Very well."

Hrodwynn focused on his words, scribbling corrections on the parchment as he went along, telling herself that this was working, that this was the right thing to do, that this would bring back her memories, and that this sneaking around behind Fenris' back would not count against her, would not seem quite so bad.

All the while ignoring the ugly voice that told her Fenris would see this as a betrayal.