A/N: Things get a bit darker from here; just be warned. Fitz is on his own.

Enjoy!

When Fitz opened his eyes, he was lying on his back. As he struggled to get his bearings, he realized that it was now dark outside and that it was very cold.

He sat up with a groan, rubbing the back of his head, which was throbbing painfully.

He looked around, his eyes working to make out objects in the darkness. He was still in the middle of the field where he had kissed Jemma, the wood behind him and the fortress in front of him. Both appeared deserted. Gone were his father and Grant's armies, and it seemed Maveth's forces had moved out as well. Fitz was perfectly alone.

Finally he stood up, stumbling slightly as he tried to regain his balance. His legs were stiff and his mind felt cloudy, like it was still waking up. Whatever the curse had done in knocking him unconscious had taken something out of him.

He walked toward the trees, stretching his legs as he went, hoping against hope that his horse had been left behind.

But he had no such luck. Gone were all three of the horses that had been tethered in the grove that morning, along with all their supplies. The only signs that he, Bobbi, and Grant had been there at all were the hoof prints in the dirt, nothing more.

Fitz took a deep breath and sank down against a tree trunk, rubbing his arms to try to keep warm.

It had all started with the cold. If it hadn't been so cold that Jemma needed a second blanket, she wouldn't have left the fire and wouldn't have been kidnapped and Fitz wouldn't have gone to rescue her and he wouldn't have kissed her because he was so happy to see that she was alive and the curse wouldn't have been activated and he wouldn't have been left here alone, about to freeze to death.

Actually… Fitz narrowed his eyes, thinking. Why was he alone? Surely even if everyone had forgotten who he was, they wouldn't have left an unconscious teenager dressed in royal finery lying in the middle of a field between two armies and an evil sorcerer. Right? That seemed like a serious oversight on the part of his parents. Unless something had driven all of them away. But, even so, nothing added up. He tried to remember those last moments before he went unconscious. Grant had been fighting with some of Maveth's men, but they had stopped to watch Fitz. And then there was that shadow behind Grant… it must have been Maveth, come out to watch his handiwork. But what had happened to Bobbi? Shouldn't she have been helping Grant or at least getting Jemma to safety? But Fitz hadn't seen her since she stepped through the door into the fortress following Grant. Could something have happened to her? Fitz hated to think about it.

He took a deep breath and stood up. He wasn't doing himself any good at all freezing to death in the woods. His only real chance of keeping warm and hopefully finding some clues about what had happened to his friends and family was to go up to the fortress. At any rate, the walls would keep out the wind and that alone would be an improvement.

Fitz walked up to the fortress, all the time keeping his eyes open for any sign of Maveth's men or his father's cavalry, but he saw nothing. As he crept in through the back, the same way he had entered with Bobbi and Grant earlier, he was assured that the fortress had been evacuated. There were signs of men having left quickly through the back: provisions spilled on the ground and not gathered up, the door they had listened at earlier wide open, swinging on its hinges in the wind.

Fitz stepped inside quietly but found the fortress dark and silent, save a slight glowing in the hearth. He finally allowed himself to smile as he hurried toward the dying embers. It seemed that in their hurry to leave, no one had bothered to properly put out the fire. Fitz had never been more grateful for a potential fire hazard in his life.

He was quickly able to build the glowing coals into a moderately sized fire, having had plenty of practice down in the basement lab where drafts often all-but-extinguished the fire while he and Jemma were working.

Fitz sighed gratefully, warming his hands by the flames, and then he stood up to better examine his surroundings.

The room was decent-sized with two tables that would each hold at least 10 or 20 men. He dug through a pile of bags in one corner and found a warm black cape, which he quickly put on, as well as some tough bread, which he ate greedily, not caring about the dryness that usually would have been tempered by some sort of soup or stew. No longer hungry and pleasantly warm in front of the fire, Fitz found he was dreadfully tired, so he pillowed part of the cloak under his head and curled up on the hearth, taking care not to get too close to the flames.

Fitz woke up the next morning rather cold. The fire had died down, though it mercifully hadn't gone out completely. Fitz built it back up again and ate more of the bread he had found, though he found it less appetizing than he had the night before. Fitz knew he was just keeping busy to avoid thinking about the events of the previous day, but he let himself pretend that everything was okay as he began to explore the rest of the fortress.

Most rooms were empty. One appeared to be the armory, though there were no weapons left inside, and there was a kitchen, though his search for more food proved fruitless. A few rooms had piles of straw lying about, apparently having been used as sleeping quarters for the men. There were two turrets with winding staircases. One had broken off at the front, but part of the structure remained. Fitz walked up through it but found that the air felt very strange. He would have bet anything that this is where Maveth had stayed while he had been there.

The other turret was intact and led to a room that was actually furnished, as though the inhabitant had been staying there for some length of time or at least was planning to stay. All recognizable personal effects were missing, but there were still some clothes in the drawers and a blanket on the bed. Fitz set down on the straw mattress for a moment when he noticed a scrap of paper poking out from inside it.

Fitz pulled it out curiously but almost dropped it when he saw the words on the page. It was a letter written by Jemma.

Dear

I will try to escape this night, and if you have followed me here and found this, as I'm sure you will, know that I will return to you soon. I love you.

Yours always,

Jemma

It was just a couple short lines, certainly meant for him, but Fitz could only stare at the greeting. Not "Dear Fitz" or even dear anyone else. It was as though a name, his name, had been written there but had been siphoned away.

And then Fitz knew. It was the curse, erasing Fitz from Jemma's words, from Jemma's life, from Jemma's memory. And Fitz could do nothing but curl up on the bed where the woman he loved had been only the day before and cry. He buried his face in the black cloak that was still wrapped around him, one fist clenched, the other open so as not to hurt the only bit of Jemma he had. How could Maveth do something like this? How could he take away his family, his friends, his Jemma? It wasn't fair that their first kiss had to also be their last.

In his mind, he recalled Jemma's face, the last thing he had seen before the curse had taken everyone away from him. Jemma telling him that she loved him, needing him to know that he would always be hers even if she didn't remember.

Fitz let himself cry there as his mind worked over what to do. He had to find Jemma, didn't he? He needed to make sure that Bobbi was okay. But the thought that actually made him stand up and wipe the tears from his eyes was the realization that something very odd had happened in the armies and Maveth's men leaving the field so quickly, and, anything else aside, he had to figure out what had happened. Something didn't feel right, and Fitz needed to be sure that his family and friends were not in danger.

So he took a deep breath and wrapped up the blanket, knowing that it would certainly be helpful on the road, and then he folded the letter and placed it in the pocket of the cloak, needing to keep the last piece of Jemma with him. He quickly realized that the pocket was not actually empty, but rather contained a small sum of money. Fitz smiled slightly, seeing that it was enough for a few nights at an inn. At least he wouldn't have to worry about freezing to death in the woods.

So Fitz packed what was left of the food, the blanket, and some clothing he took from the dresser into one of the bags the men had left behind, keeping the cloak on with Jemma's letter tucked safely inside, and then he covered the coals in the fireplace and headed out through the front door this time, not seeing why he would need to use the back.

The sun was shining, making it seem more like a crisp fall day than a freezing winter one, much to Fitz's gratitude, and walking itself kept him warm. He wasn't quite sure of the way, but he knew how to follow the sun and that his palace was nearly dead south of the fortress.

By nightfall, he had reached a village with a cheery-looking inn where Fitz quickly rented a room, grateful to see that there was space available.

The man running the inn didn't give Fitz a second glance as he took his money, a sign that things with the curse were worse than he feared. Maveth had not been very clear on the exact parameters of the spell, and even Fitz's father, who had spent a good deal of time researching it, had been unsure if the effects would apply to just those in the castle or just people Fitz had met personally or to the entire kingdom. But Fitz knew that if the prince had very publically booked a room at an inn alone, someone would have at least been staring at him, but Fitz was noticed by no one.

"I heard the King came through here yesterday," Fitz said casually to the innkeeper and a few of the other men sitting around the fire.

The innkeeper nodded. "The King, the Queen, a few other royals, and two entire armies!" The older man stretched his arms out to represent the size of the forces.

"Uh, was the prince with them?" Fitz said after a moment, hoping for any sort of recognition.

But the group of men just stared at him.

"What prince?" the innkeeper asked. "There's no prince."

Fitz deflated at the man's words.

"Maybe he means King Grant," another man piped up. "Course he hasn't been prince for a while, but he used to be. And then there's Princess Daisy too."

The innkeeper nodded appraisingly. "That's true. They both came through here yesterday."

"So the King and Queen don't have any children?" Fitz asked, needing to hear the words explicitly.

"Course they don't," the innkeeper laughed, giving Fitz an odd look. "Everyone knows that. You aren't from around here are you?"

Fitz shook his head, feeling as though he was telling the truth based on how lost he felt. "No. I'm not."

The innkeeper smiled at him kindly as though he were some sort of simpleton. "Ah, well then, King Coulson and Queen Audrey are childless. Actually, it's kind of a tricky situation, I've heard. No one really knows who the heir is once the king dies. There aren't really any legitimate, living claims on the throne."

Fitz nodded his understanding, though of course he already knew that besides himself, the King really didn't have any sort of heir and that the kingdom would likely have been thrown into chaos at some point had Fitz not existed.

"They're good rulers though," Fitz said after a moment, "or I've heard so at any rate."

The innkeeper nodded quickly. "They are, certainly. That's why they were up here with King Grant, trying to take on the sorcerer. And they must have done something, since I've heard he's gone away for the winter. Seems even sorcerers don't much like the cold."

The other men laughed heartily at the innkeeper's joke.

"Sorcerer?" Fitz asked, deciding that he would be best able to collect information if he pretended to know nothing.

"You really aren't from around here then." The innkeeper shook his head slowly. "Well, a sorcerer was terrorizing a village up North, but now he's stopped. I'd say he's regrouping, and the King is doing the same. He really is a good man."

"Don't know if I'd say the same about King Grant," the innkeeper's friend interjected.

The innkeeper frowned slightly. "Oh yes, he strikes me a bit odd."

There was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the group in front of the fire.

Fitz narrowed his eyes slightly, thinking. He had always felt like there was something off about Grant, as though he was putting on some sort of mask, but then again he'd been so helpful in saving Jemma; Fitz knew he never could have done it without him. Fitz shook his head slightly. Just another bit of the puzzle for him to figure out.

"So where are you from, then?" the innkeeper asked Fitz curiously.

"Uh, far away," Fitz said evasively. "Long ways off."

The innkeeper raised his eyebrows but let it go. "You have a name?"

"Fitz," he said automatically, but then regretted it. "John Fitz," he clarified, deciding that calling himself Leopold when that was the name of the king's father would just attract attention to himself, and Fitz didn't particularly want that. He wanted to collect information about the extent of the curse and what had happened after he had been knocked unconscious, but there was no need for him to become the center of attention.

"Good to meet you, Fitz," the innkeeper said, shaking Fitz's hand. "Henry Albelin, at your service. What is it that you do?"

Fitz hesitated for a moment, but then decided to go with the nearest thing to the truth he could manage. "I'm a scientist."

All the men by the fire looked up with interest.

"A scientist?" Albelin said, intrigued. "Aren't you a bit young?"

Fitz shrugged noncommittally.

"Never met a scientist before," Albelin continued, with interest, "though I've heard they've some nice scientific things down at the palace."

Fitz nodded and seized the opportunity. "Yes, I'd heard, that's where I'm headed. I thought it would be a good place for my research, if they'll have me."

"You'll need a horse then, for certain," Albelin said quickly. "I can hire you one to a post couple day's ride to the South if you're keen."

"I am, thank you," Fitz said gratefully. As nice as it was not to be riding after days and days spent on horseback, it really was so much quicker.

The conversation soon turned away from him and back to general business of the village, and Fitz slipped away for the night.

The next morning, true to his word, Albelin provided Fitz with a horse and directions on where to stay the next night.

Fitz nodded his thanks and rode away.

The day was uneventful. He came across very few people on his journey, the cold weather dissuading people from traveling, but by evening he had reached the inn Albelin had referred him to. Fitz spoke with a few of the men talking in the common area, but he found that he really was exhausted. Still no one recognized him, and no one noticed when he left.

By the following night he had made it to the post where Albelin had told him to leave the horse, and Fitz knew that he was only half a day's walk from the palace.

Fitz secured himself a room at the inn with only a small sum of money remaining, grateful once again for whatever man had left the fortress so quickly that he had forgotten to take along his moneybag. He found some food and then took a seat by the fire.

After a while, a man sat down next to him.

Fitz looked over at his new companion with a casual curiosity which turned quickly to intense interest when he realized who the man was. Fitz had not seen Master Sitwell, the tutor who had directed he and Jemma's study of astronomy for several months when they had been 10 or 11, since the end of his brief stint at the palace. Master Sitwell had been rude and pompous, treating Jemma terribly even as he bowed and scraped to Fitz, and here he was, in the flesh, more than 5 years later, the first person Fitz had recognized in days.

"Yes?" Master Sitwell said sharply, narrowing his eyes at Fitz who had been staring.

Fitz shook his head slightly. "Oh, sorry, just you look like someone I used to know."

Master Sitwell shifted in his chair, his expression one of haughty superiority. "Right. Or perhaps you're one of the common folk, unsure of how to behave in the presence of someone as well-educated as myself."

Fitz fought the urge to laugh at Master Sitwell's complete and utter lack of self-awareness as he replied. "Actually, I'm a scientist, very well educated."

Master Sitwell leaned forward slightly at this pronouncement. "Oh really?"

"Yes, sir," Fitz replied with polite smile that he felt Master Sitwell really didn't deserve.

"I am a teacher of astronomy," Master Sitwell replied, refocusing the attention on himself. "Master Jasper Sitwell, at your service." He gave a nod that Fitz assumed was supposed to constitute a bow. "I'm currently on my way from the home of the Furnival family to that of the Touchet family – both are very prominent members of the nobility of this area," he explained.

Fitz knew for a fact that both the Furnival and Touchet families were on the decline and that neither had been particularly prominent to begin with, but he nodded anyway.

"My knowledge is in high demand, you see," Master Sitwell added for emphasis.

Fitz fought back a laugh.

"I could probably teach you a thing or two," Master Sitwell continued, sitting back in his chair, and he proceded to launch into a bombastic, and flawed, explanation of basic astronomy that Fitz had known since before he had met Master Sitwell the last time.

Fitz would have been amused if it hadn't been so annoying.

"That's very interesting, Master Sitwell," Fitz interrupted after the other man's speech had gone on for far too long. "Thank you."

Master Sitwell smiled at him with a pretentious graciousness. "You're welcome…" He paused.

"Fitz," Fitz inserted quickly. "John Fitz."

Master Sitwell looked at him appraisingly. "You can't be more than 17."

"I was 16 this past August," Fitz affirmed.

Master Sitwell frowned slightly, almost impressed. "Where are you headed then?"

"The palace," Fitz answered. "I've heard of their lab and wish to work there, if the King will have me."

Master Sitwell sat up taller in his chair, his eyes widening. "Oh, I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"What? Why?" Fitz hadn't heard about anything bad happening at the palace, but he was instantly worried by Master Sitwell's tone.

"I worked at the palace some years back, and I was not well treated," Master Sitwell clarified.

Fitz took a breath, relieved that Master Sitwell had just been thinking about himself and not talking about any legitimate problem. "How so?" Fitz asked after a moment.

"I was hired to be a tutor for a young girl the king and queen had taken an interest in," he explained, "and she was horribly rude and not at all grateful for the opportunity that had been given to her."

Fitz's breath hitched in his throat. The phrase, "Excuse me, Master Sitwell, but I thought you were meant to teach us astronomy not gender roles," came back to him quickly in the voice of a 10-year-old Jemma. In this world where Fitz was forgotten, Jemma had taken astronomy alone.

"I'll have to look out for that, I suppose," Fitz said after a moment. "But I really should get some sleep. Very nice to meet you, Master Sitwell." He held out his hand.

Master Sitwell shook it. "I hope I've taught you something, young Fitz."

Fitz nodded again and left, rolling his eyes as soon as he was sure that Master Sitwell couldn't see him.

As soon as Fitz was alone in his room, he allowed himself to laugh. Master Sitwell was just as bitter and self-important as he had been five years before, and Fitz couldn't believe that the man still hadn't gotten over Jemma's comments (after Master Sitwell himself had clearly been in the wrong) all these years later.

I can't wait to tell Jemma, Fitz thought to himself but then stopped. How could he tell Jemma if she didn't remember him?

He'd been completely written out of everyone's lives, from the common people of the kingdom, to their old tutor, and presumable his family and friends and the one person he cared about more than anything. Fitz knew that even if every single person in the world had forgotten him, he would have been fine as long as he had Jemma, but the curse had taken her away from him too, or, rather, it had taken him away from her. Fitz didn't know what he was supposed to do without her.

Fitz sniffled and wiped at his eyes. He had barely noticed that he'd started crying.

Sleep was the only thing Fitz could think of to take his mind of everything, so he blew out the candle that was illuminating the room and crawled into bed.

He dreamed he was a child back at the palace, running around the grounds with Jemma, not a care in the world, as they joked about Master Sitwell and planned to meet Lady Mackenzie for tea.

When he woke up he was almost happy for a moment, before he remembered.

Fitz started late, despite waking early. The walk to the palace was one he knew well, but he felt a strange sense of foreboding. The scenery became more and more familiar as the hours passed. He recognized trees and houses and picnic spots where he and Jemma had been taken by Lady Hand or, more often, Dame Isobel. Fitz felt very clearly as though he was coming home, but, somehow, at the same time, he was terrified.

And so, at just about midday, Fitz approached the gates, running through his story in his head. His name was John Fitz. He was a scientist researching medicine and ways of reducing injuries on the battlefield (which was partly true at least; he and Jemma had done quite a bit of work with this). He had heard much about the laboratory at the palace and would like to ask if he could work there for the King for the winter. Straightforward enough.

Fitz saw a whole group of men, rather than the usual pair of guards, at the gate as he approached.

A few steps later Fitz realized that it was actually a number of cavalrymen, and, what was more, right at the front, nearest the gate and nearest Fitz, were Mack and Lance.

Fitz nearly stopped there, but he forced himself to keep going, holding his breath, waiting for a sign, any sign, that his friends recognized him, that he wasn't entirely forgotten.

"You! Halt!"

Fitz stopped at the voice of one of the cavalrymen.

Mack stepped forward as the senior knight of the group. Just a gate and a few feet separated him from Fitz.

"Who are you?"

Fitz let out the breath, his face falling. It was no use. He was forgotten. "John Fitz," he said, sighing. "I'm a scientist."

This was his life now, and he had to get used to it.