"Wake up, girl. Your food is here."

Gummy eyes creaked open as I watched Burt open my cell door and leave a tray of food. I moaned in pain from my aching wrist. Today all the bruises were finally hurting. My left arm was swollen from elbow to broken wrist, both legs and arms were mottled with livid bruises, and I felt like a bronto had stepped on my back. Worse yet, I hadn't eaten since early the prior day and my Warden metabolism was demanding fuel.

As plain as it was, the food beckoned me. Porridge, bread, cream, and even a pot of tea awaited me. I groaned again as I got up, picked up the tray and took it back to bed, ready to devour the far too small breakfast. My stomach growled loudly as I picked up the spoon and dug it into the bowl of cooked grains.

I stopped.

After what I had done to the Bann the night before, I'd be an idiot to eat food he had provided. If it were poisoned in retribution for slicing his face, I couldn't even attempt to heal the damage myself. I'd die puking and shitting in this miserable cell in his dungeon. Fergus and Bann Smugface would be laughing themselves silly. No thank you.

Sorrowfully, I picked up the tray and left it at the door to the cell.

"What's wrong?" Burt asked. "Why aren't you eating?"

"It's probably poisoned."

Burt looked at me and scratched the scruff growing on his chin. "Why do you say that?"

"After what I did to the Bann last night, humiliating him in front of his guards, giving him a very hard to explain slash down the side of his face—If my food isn't poisoned, I would be very surprised."

"Hm." That was all the templar said. He opened the cell door and took the food, locking me back inside. "We're not leaving until tomorrow. You need to eat something."

"I can go without." My stomach roared in protest, but I lay down on the bed and tried to ignore it. Eventually I fell asleep.

Later on my cell door creaked open again and Ernie came in an armful of carrots and large heads of cabbage. Dirt was still clinging to them. "I harvested them myself. Eat."

It was such a tiny gesture of goodwill and yet it almost made me cry. Oh great, Stockholm syndrome already? I nodded and took them, not bothering to brush off the dirt, and I devoured carrot after carrot. Then I began unwrapping the cabbage leaves and stuffing them into my mouth.

"Thmnks," I said trying to talk around the stiff cabbage leaf in my mouth. It filled the belly, but it wouldn't last long.

"Maker," Ernie said in awe of how quickly I could dispatch his armload of vegetables.

"It's a Warden thing. You wouldn't believe our food budget. My appetite will bankrupt Kirkwall and they will free me just so they don't go broke."

Ernie smiled at me even as he disabused me of my notion. "Don't count on it." He watched me devour a few more cabbage leaves. "We're going to leave in a few hours instead of tomorrow. We will go up to the port city there and stay at an inn. You're right. It is too dangerous for you to stay here. There's just one thing more we need to wait for."

I was too busy chewing cabbage to ask, but he could see the questioning tilt of my head.

"You'll find out soon enough," he said it gruffly. Any hint of pleasantness was erased. He got up and left me to finish the head of cabbage, not looking at me again.

With my belly full of vegetable fiber, and a good bit of dirt, at least it had ceased roaring. Relatively speaking, I felt better, so I lay down yet again and took another cat nap.

~o~o~o~

My next awakening was to the sound of boots clumping down the stairs. The afternoon light was filtering through a dusty window, but I could see the day was getting late.

"Leave us."

That voice knifed my gut. So this was the reason we needed to stay.

"My lord—," I heard Ernie start to protest.

"I said leave us. Or you can go back to your order empty-handed."

There was a pause and then I heard footsteps receding.

Oh shit.

I rose to face my brother but stayed near my bed.

Fergus turned the corner, standing within a few feet of my cell. He said nothing but looked at me while a small smile broke unevenly over his face. I met his gaze, conscious of how awful I must look in my dirty dress, bruises all over my arms, with a broken wrist. Perhaps I still had crumbs of dirt on my face from my meal. I swiped at my mouth, but then realized that with how dirty my hands were, I'd most likely just left a trail of dirt on my chin.

"This look suits you, Lucy," he finally said, his eyes dancing with merriment.

What could I say? I could threaten him with all kinds of things, but we both knew it was looking dim for me. I just didn't have the heart for false bravado at the moment.

"I'm sure you're going to love life at the Circle, my dear. They have unusual ways of dealing with mages, especially maleficars. But don't worry, sweet sister. I've been assured the rest of your days will be filled with tranquility."

Tranquility? Oh, of course. Funny, I'd been thinking I was headed to a death sentence but instead they were going to make me like Owain? My gut clenched again. I couldn't be sure if it was reacting to the large bolus of fiber heading down the chowder chute or Fergus's words, but I suspected the latter.

"You'll pay for this, Fergus!" I growled, not even caring that my words sounded stolen from a 1960's B-movie script. "Loghain will— "

"What?" he cut me off. "Loghain won't have any idea of where you are. No one will. Granted, I don't like leaving loose ends, but long before anyone finds you—if they ever do—you'll be wholly accepting of your circumstances." He grinned, fully gloating now. "And quite content with them, I might add. I think mother and father would be proud we found a peaceful way to settle our differences."

"I am not your sister," I roared, lunging for the bars of my cell.

My anger just made him smile harder. His shit-eating grin had reached the corners of his eyes and he looked as if he were about to laugh. I didn't think I could stand that. His shit-eating grin looked like it was missing something critical. Not even thinking about what I was doing I seized the slop bucket, not minding the smell for once, and dashed it through the bars at him. He tried to back up but my aim was good and one of his arms was coated in filth from my very own alimentary canal. I hoped like hell he caught the darkspawn taint from it and turned into a ghoul, although I'd never heard of that happening.

My hasty plan worked. His face coiled with rage and the shit-eating grin was gone. He unsheathed his sword and lunged at me through the bars, but I was already out of his reach.

"Do you want to try it, Fergus? Get the guards to unlock the cell and let's see if you can kill an unarmed woman. I warn you, Ser Landry failed." I maneuvered so my bed was in front of me, ready to use it, or the bedding, to defend myself. "Bann Toady failed. Did he show you the wee mark I left when he tried to rape me at knife point?" I gestured widely with my arms and made a mocking bow. "So, by all means, dearest not-brother, try it."

I saw him considering it. His jaw twitched as he ground his teeth together and his nostrils flared while my slops dripped down his arm, but I also saw doubt in his eyes. Apparently even he had heard stories about me, like the ones Nathaniel had. I might not have my magic, but the wildest tales about me were about my fighting prowess. Even a ridiculously exaggerated version of my duel with Ser Landry had become an urban legend, vastly inflated above the reality. For once, I celebrated Leliana's over-the-top story-telling and ballad singing.

The fight went out of Fergus and he dropped his sword arm to his side. "No, Lucy. I prefer to think of you with your mind and will burnt away, an empty receptacle, unable to protest whatever degradations the templars might wish to subject you to. And yes, I hear that lot up in Kirkwall are particularly perverse."

He turned around and began to stride to the stairs, but stopped halfway there and pivoted to face me once more. "Do write." He laughed with vicious glee as he walked up the stairs. I was certain if he'd had a mustache he would have been twirling it.

~o~o~o~

"I don't think I can bend my legs," Anders complained after a full day, and then some, of riding. "Nope. My thighs are locked, and the only way I will get out of this saddle is to fall out of it and walk away in a squat."

"And here I thought you were this powerful healer. At least Lucy is laboring under that impression. Can't you twitch your fingers and heal your muscles," Zevran said as he deftly jumped out of the saddle. But as he hit the ground a fierce cramp that ran thigh to back began. "Cazzo!" He fell backwards into the dusty road, squeezing his cramping thigh and rocking with pain. "Mage, a little help here would be most appreciated," he cried.

"Wait a sec," Anders said. He reached around the back of his saddle, ignoring the cramping starting in his own back, and grabbed his staff. He first healed himself and then slid off the saddle with far less pain, although not completely restored, and went to see the Antivan rocking back and forth in the dirt, holding his thigh and swearing like a pirate.

Deep blue light came from Anders's staff and wrapped Zevran in a cocoon of relief. He sighed and gently tested his legs by trying to rise. When there was no further pain, he stood. "It would seem my Lucia is right about you. You are a talented healer." He dusted off his leather armor as he waited for the mage to heal himself. Anders looked half dead. He had barely slept the night before, spending the entire time in a lyrium trance, and he intended to do it again tonight.

"You need to sleep, my friend. I can stand watch. I will wake you a few hours before morning. That is when Lucia may be sleeping the best, no?"

It was true that sleepers are most deeply asleep in the hours just before daybreak. If she were in trouble, she might be having difficulty sleeping but during those hours it is hardest to resist sleep. "I can go another day or so without sleeping. I know a spell to keep me going," Anders said.

"Then just as we both need to be at our most alert, you cannot stay awake? No, trust me. This is better. I will catch a few hours after dawn."

Anders reached out and clasped Zevran's arm. "Thanks, Antiva. I will keep us both rejuvenated tomorrow."

Zevran set up the tent while Anders gathered some wood for a fire. Later, pouring over a map while eating, they debated which course to take.

"We should cut east," Zevran said, tracing his finger across the map. "This highway takes us through West Hill and across the southern edge of Cousland territory."

Yawning, Anders nodded sleepily. "Yes, I've traveled the North Road a few times. We can always cut into Highever if we need to have a chat with the Teyrn."

"Tsk, tsk. You look so tired, my dear mage. It's all this constant riding. I think I know what you need."

Anders looked up from where he was drowsing over the map. Zevran's tone was downright… seductive. "Oh?"

"Sleep, amico. Close your eyes and dream of a dozen desire demons, prancing about like they do, dressed in nothing but gold medallions hiding their nipples and a wisp of fabric concealing their charms."

Anders chuckled sleepily. "And a sudden wind-storm whips up? No thanks. I've seen enough desire demons to last a lifetime. I'd take a few hours of dreamless sleep though." He got up from the log he had shared with the elf. "Night, Antiva."

"Night, Twitch."

~o~o~o~

True to his word, Zevran woke Anders several hours before dawn. He had even found a lyrium potion and handed it to him.

"Find her, Twitch." He clasped the mage's shoulder for a moment.

"I will do my best." He quaffed the potion and shuddered momentarily as the power surged through him. "If she was awake all night last night, then it is unlikely she is again tonight."

Nodding, Zevran gave his shoulder a final squeeze and left the tent.

Anders lay back down on his bedroll and fought off the desire to go back to sleep, instead going into a deep and boneless lyrium trance.

~o~o~o~

This time the gold thread unspooled and didn't flap directionlessly like it did last time. This must mean she was in the Fade, he just had to find her and make contact. Once again he strode through the Fade ignoring various demons who sought to tempt him into a bargain.

"Warden Anders," a very familiar voice caught his attention.

"Justice?" He turned around, searching for the Fade spirit and then he finally saw glimmering bright light that was roughly man-shaped. "Well, fancy running into you here! How's it going?"

He couldn't really tell, but he thought the spirit grimaced. "Oh, about the same. In fact, incredibly the same. Nothing every really changes here. No seasons, no cycle of life and death. I'm finding it rather tedious after having spent time in your world."

"Really?" Anders answered, but was distracted by the thread he was following and the urgency of finding Lucy. "That's terrible."

"Enough of my problems," Justice said, heaving a sigh. "What brings you to the Fade?"

"I'm looking for Lucy. She's in trouble, we think. She didn't show up when expected which, well, you know how that usually goes for her."

"A perfect example! The Warden-Commander is a locus of chaotic change. We just don't get that here." Justice looked terribly depressed.

"Uh, well, keep in touch, Justice! I'd better go find her. I need to figure out where she is." He hurried on after the golden thread and ignored the miserable sigh coming from the spirit.

Finally the thread ended on the border of a dreamscape. Vague images flittered by. A desert scene unfolded and a horse wandered by, but that was replaced by something more substantial. A scene of a towering cliff and a woman in a red dress climbing… no, being hauled up the cliff on the back of a giant.

"Lucy!" Anders shouted from the base of the cliff. It was useless, they were too far up. He grasped the rope and began to climb. As he reached the top a swordsman helped him the rest of the way.

"My name is Inigo Montoya," the swordsman introduced himself.

"Yes, of course. Now, if you'll excuse me." He rushed past the swordsman and down the path in time to hear Lucy say, "My Westley will come for me!"

"Lucy!" he shouted after her, but she disappeared, pulled out of view by a short man.

Suddenly a disembodied voice broke through the chaotic dream. "Who kills Prince Humperdinck?"

An answer floated past him, spoken in the rough tones of an aged man. "Nobody. Nobody kills him. He lives."

"Who is Prince Humperdinck?" Anders thought. "Did he kidnap Lucy? I have to catch up to her." He ran even faster, but he only caught tantalizing glimpses of her red dress and then she would disappear again.

The dream began to change, at last. He slowed his steps, realizing he wouldn't catch her by running after her. There was a rocking motion, creaking sounds, and the taste of salt burned on the tip of his tongue. He saw her behind the wheel of a ship, dressed in a ragged, dirty dress and a rope… no, a noose hanging around her neck.

"Lucy!" he said, relief flooding through him. Remembering the wise words of Luprous Grayson, he cast a healing spell at her. She immediately saw him.

"Anders!" She left the helm and it began to turn wildly and a storm whipped up. They were sailing directly into dark rocks illuminated only by lightning.

"Lucy," Ander said. He gripped her shoulders with his hands and made her look into his face. "You must tell me where you are!"

"I'm at sea," she yelled, trying to be heard above the storm that had just started.

"Yes, I can see that, sweetheart. Where are you going?" He dug his fingers into her shoulders, trying to get her to focus.

"I'm scared Anders. They're going to hang me."

Her dark eyes were huge with terror against her pale skin. The rain was drenching her and she clung to him.

"Shush, Lucy. Zevran and I are coming for you. You just need to tell us where you are. Please… concentrate."

"The Gallows, Anders. They're going to hang me. No wait… that's not right. The Gallows, but for something else. Something that would make mom and dad happy." She began to sob and clutched him hard. "I don't want to be tranquil."

"Tranquil? Do templars have you? Where are they taking you?" He smoothed his hand down her wet hair, letting her cry into his neck. "Lucy, you have to tell me. Where are they taking you?"

"I told you! The Gallows."

Suddenly it hit him. The Gallows was the name of the Mage Circle in Kirkwall. "Maker's balls, Lucy! Are they taking you out of Ferelden?"

"Yes!" She nodded, let go of his neck, and tried to smile but her mouth kept twitching downwards.

"Kirkwall? The Gallows in Kirkwall?" he asked, scarcely daring to believe it.

"Yes! Yes!" she cried. "Don't let them make me like Owain."

"Oh sweet Maker, I won't, Lucy. I promise. Zevran and I are coming. Just… be good. Try to go along with them. Don't give them any reason to do it."

She shook her head. "It's too late. I've pissed off pretty much everyone, except maybe the muppets." She turned, saw the ship was about to strike the rocks, and screamed.

The scene in the Fade dissolved and the golden thread fluttered to the ground. Lucy had left the Fade.

~o~o~o~

Sitting up all night, watching and waiting, Zevran had more than enough time to think about what was important in life. Pleasure in the here and now was what he had told Lucy when he had flirted with her during the Blight, but that had changed. Now it was far more specific than a bowl of fish chowder, a couple of prostitutes, and a corrupt politician. Lucia and Danny had ignited something fundamentally deeper and longer lasting than pleasure: satisfaction. Even this, chasing after her, finding himself willing to cross Thedas for her, had a grim sort of pleasure in it. Cutting down anyone who stood in his way, yes, that would be pleasurable as well.

Now was there a bridge too far to cross? And was Anders that bridge? The man was handsome, undeniably. He was intelligent, unquestionably. If he had never met Lucy, he might have made a play for the mage. What had changed that made him reluctant to share Lucy? Perhaps when it had all begun he had been a different man. He had admired her, and desired her, as well as Riordan. But when the Blight ended and Riordan was gone, they'd both suffered a great loss and it had knit them closer together. They had propped one another up, making it through that time together.

All right, but time changes everything and now there was another man. This is a problem how? He chuckled to himself, amused by how much he had changed. Now, however, that man was off looking for Lucy, chasing her to a place he couldn't follow.

One problem at a time, Zevran. He peeked into the tent and watched Anders as he lay motionless in his lyrium trance. Wandering back out to the fire, he sighed at how helpless he felt.

~o~o~o~

"Lucy!"

Anders's hoarse cry fractured the night. Crickets stopped their shrill creakings, night birds hushed their haunting calls, only the pop and sizzle of the camp fire remained. Zevran dove into the tent at top speed and grasped the mage by his shoulders. "Did you did you find her, amico?"

The mage looked disoriented, worry twisted his brow. "They're taking her to Kirkwall." He coughed, his mouth dry and ashy tasting from the lyrium. "The Gallows."

"Cazzo! They're going to hang her?"

Anders sat up slowly, still dizzy from the trance. "No, The Gallows is the Circle in Kirkwall."

"An ill-omened name. What do they mean to do to her? Who did this?"

"She thinks they're going to make her tranquil."

The string of Antivan that came from Zevran's mouth was unmistakably foul, if incomprehensible to Anders. The words seared like curses that would pox centuries of templars and Chantry busybodies. "Where are they now?"

"At sea. If I were to guess, it is a stormy voyage, although perhaps the storm was more a reflection of her inner state."

"There is no way we can get there before her?" Zevran asked.

"I doubt it. Let's look at your map. We have to cut north, find a ship, and hope for good winds. I don't see how we can possibly do it."

"If you flew?"

"I don't know if I could fly that far. I don't have that much experience with shape-changing yet. I'm not certain I could stop them, even if I caught up. Not with templars."

The two men crawled out of the tent. Anders grabbed the map and took it with him.

"We're here, aren't we?" He jabbed his finger at a point West Hill.

"Yes."

"If we went to Denerim we could enlist Loghain's and Alistair's help. We could take ship from there. An armed force could demand her release. If they refused, it would cause a diplomatic incident, perhaps even war," Anders said.

"Four days riding top speed, minimum." Zevran began to pace. The need to act was like an itch he had to scratch. "But one day, maybe less, from here to Highever. Two days, we could make Amaranthine."

"Yeah, Highever could be tricky for us. I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure Teyrn Fergus knows who I am," Anders said.

"Yes, I met the man myself. I think I threatened his life." He scowled at the memory of the Teyrn threatening Lucy. "He may remember that," Zevran admitted.

"But Kirkwall is just a day or two away on a ship. Dammit!" Anders stabbed his finger at Kirkwall. "It's so close!"

"All right. We're both known to Fergus, but how likely are we to be caught? Not so likely. However, if we take ship from there we can't get word to Denerim—at least, not reliably. A courier might decide to inform the Teyrn before carrying a message."

"Then we have to take the extra day and go on to Amaranthine," Anders said. "The extra day could do us in, but if we need support from Loghain, it might end up being worth it."

"That will make the trip by ship longer too. It adds at least another day. Cazzo! We can't spend that much time."

Anders nodded. "You're right. Let's head for Highever and take the first ship we can. I know someone at the Circle in Kirkwall. Maybe he can help us."

Nodding, Zevran clasped the mage on his shoulder. "Good work finding her, Twitch. Can you ride again?"

Anders gave a cocky half smile. The assassin might be Mr. Perfect, but he didn't have magical healing spells and rejuvenation. "I've got enough magic in me to keep our asses perky all the way to Seheron. We don't need to sleep until we're on that ship, but I warn you the crash will be bad."

"Don't bother me with trifles. Let's go!"

~o~o~o~

Tied-up, gagged, burlap sack over the head, being carried over the shoulder of a muppet—Burt probably, I could smell onion-breath—my day was getting off to a very good start.

I'd woken in the night with a gasp. I'd just dreamed that the ship had crashed onto rocks. Such a realistic dream. I'd been talking to Anders—Anders! We spoke in my sleep. He asked me where I was, I remember that. Did I tell him? Was he dream-walking? Think, think, think!

I could have slapped my head with my hand, but it was bound to my side. Of course Anders would try to contact me. By now they were figuring out something had happened. I remembered that book Anders had: Navigating the Fade. It was very likely that I truly did speak to him last night. I could only hope I said something sensible.

Oh crap. I don't think I did. I remembered dreaming that I was Princess Buttercup being kidnapped by the minions of Prince Humperdinck. Was Anders the man in black? What had he told me? I mused over the dream, trying to ignore how incredibly uncomfortable it was to be slung over a man's shoulder, especially when he was wearing plate mail armor.

I couldn't remember much, just his soothing presence in the moments before the dream ship crashed into the rocks. Then it came to me, as dreams do, surging up out of the subconscious: "Don't give them any reason to do it." Those were his words of advice the moment before my dream shattered on those rocks.

I knew what that meant. He was telling me to cooperate with them and not give them a good reason to make me tranquil. I had been fairly cooperative with the muppets, especially after they defused that situation with the bann. Ernie had explained that they were ordered to haul me in like this, hinting that there were a lot of Fereldans in Kirkwall. I suspected that they were worried some of them would recognize me.

Well, regardless, I stopped squirming and steeled myself to be as cooperative as possible. If they did tranquilize me, so to speak, I'd be extremely cooperative anyway, right? Perhaps I could simply be really nice and agreeable and they would find me too charming to lobotomize. One can always hope, well, as long as you haven't been… I sighed and let that thought go unfinished.

Finally the bouncing came to an end and I was unloaded into a chair.

The sack was pulled off and I was looking into a pair of very blue eyes that were disturbingly close to my face. A bald-pated man was leaning on the arms of my chair, his strange blue eyes staring into mine. He had an ample, if droopy, mustache and beard, gray as steel. He sported a rather upgraded version of the usual templar armor. The Muppet-Commander?

"So this is the Hero of Ferelden?" he said. "I admit, I was curious." He straightened and walked around my chair.

I couldn't answer, due to the gag still in my mouth, but I felt his fingers untying it. It dropped off into my lap. "Thanks," I said. Keeping Anders's advice in mind, I reminded myself to stay calm and, above all, be polite.

Burt and Ernie were standing at parade rest, across the room. Ernie's eyes looked concerned. It wasn't like Ernie and I were best friends, but he did seem to have a little regard for me. Burt, not so much. I think he saw me as a promotion or fat raise.

"She's just a girl," the older man said. "I can't imagine she is truly worthy of all the fuss. But we were paid well to handle this problem for the Fereldans. How can we deny help to our southern neighbors? Well, no matter. If they can't handle their apostates and maleficars, we can."

He reached out a hand and smoothed down my hair, his eyes showing curiosity, kindness even. The man had such a calm, gentle way about him. It was as if he could deliver the details of your upcoming dismemberment in a very placid manner. It was creepy.

"Ser," I began to say. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've been properly introduced. I am…"

"I am Ser Otto Alrik, Lieutenant to Knight-Commander Meredith. I know who you are, Elissa Cousland, or that is who you claim to be. But your brother says you've already been claimed by a demon who prefers to be called "Lucy". Am I correct?" he asked.

"Well, no ser. My brother's wits were addled by a serious head wound taken when he was lost at Ostagar." The lie sprang to my lips smoothly. Thank you, brain.

"Hm, that may be. I suppose we shall have to determine that.

"If you are Elissa Cousland, then you've been a mage your entire life and have managed to escape detection. The proper arrangement is, of course, placing you in an appropriately supervised Circle and having you undergo a Harrowing. However, most hedge mages fail that test since they've never been properly instructed in how to enter into a Fade trance. In truth, that does seem somewhat unfair and I've been working on a different sort of test, which holds far more promise."

He crouched before me so his eyes were level with mine. Taking my hand he peered intently at me as if he could see the truth of who and what I was.

"I think there's more to you than meet the eyes, my dear. It would be a pity to leap to an assumption before I come to know you and what you represent. You certainly don't look like a demon, but whether your demon is just biding time, waiting for your control to break, must be determined.

"And, personally, I find the stories of your exploits intriguing. Can you truly move so fast the human eye cannot follow you? Are you a shape-changer?"

I shook my head and looked at him sorrowfully. "My reputation is enhanced by talented story-tellers, Ser Alrik. I am a good fighter, true, my strength and stamina enhanced by Warden tech—err, secrets. My magic is purely second rate, only as good as it is due to the tutelage of a few mages from the Ferelden Circle during the Blight."

"Hm," he murmured. "You do speak fairly, like an educated noble, but the scope of your power, and your ability to control it, that is what I shall determine in good order."

He stood up and gave me one last kindly, creepy smile. Turning to the muppets, he dismissed them. "Oh, one more thing, do send Knight-Captain Cullen in," he instructed them.

Cullen! My heart gave a happy bounce. Then I remembered how I had last seen Cullen. He was a traumatized, mage-hating templar who would have enjoyed spitting and barbequing every last one of us.

~o~o~o~o~

Notes: This chapter was brought to you by the letter M and the number 4.

Thank you, Biff McLaughlin, for beta-reading on your day off. You rock! Thanks to Zevgirl and Biff for their help on G+ and being my sounding board for ideas.

Huzzah for the reviewers! FloridaMagpie, Jenna53, Wedger, Zevgirl, rubberleg, Biff McLaughlin, 1ScaryLady, Lady of Embers, KatDancer2, melgonzo. I love hearing from readers. Please take a moment to drop a review, if you can.

Nearly forgot! Credit to Biff for the idea of throwing the slops at Fergus. I loved her idea and used it!