Nameless, Faceless

Blade spun on her heel. And then froze.

Hannah stood at the foot of the staircase, shaking her head, looking at her, an expression crossing her face that was a strange mix of astonishment and joy, "It is you! It's... it's... you!"

"Good observation." She replied, a grin moving onto her face.

The girl laughed and moved over to her, pulling her into a rough, one-armed hug, "You old slag! You're back!"

"Wow, thanks, what a greeting..."

Hannah shook her head and pushed her away, "Oh, shut it." She took a deep swig from a glass of some questionable, brown liquid, and then dumped it down on a table. "Let me take a look at you!"

She circled her, looking her up and down, carefully. Jaina stood still with an amused smile, waiting for the Hero to come back into her line of sight, "Man, you look good, considering. Seriously, you're a bit older, though, look like my own grandmother!"

"Oh, and like you look like the Temple of Light yourself!" then she glanced her over, "Though you do look different - have you changed the hammer?"

She shook her head, smiling, "Ah, who's the funny one, still not lost that sense of humour, I see."

Jaina tilted her head slightly to one side, cockily, "Well..."

Hammer laughed. Then she looked at her, shaking her head again, "I... I really can't believe it. You're really here!"

"Yep. Really really."

"And you did it! You rescued Garth! Took your sweet time, alright, but you did it!"

She raised an eyebrow, "Well, thanks..."

"I never gave up hope. Seriously." Then she shook her head, "Well, kind of hard to when every day someone's whispering in your ear about 'their vision of the Hero's safe return'. Honestly, there were a few times there I wanted to smack Theresa!"

A reflexive grin moved over her face. She hadn't felt this good in years. "Yeah. I get that a lot. You weren't there when she met Garth..."

"When d'you get back? Dock at Oakfield? Went to see Michael and the gang first, of course, yeah? By the Gods, bet that was some reunion!"

"No, I..." she trailed off, her smile fading. Her heart thumped. Hannah had touched on the one thing she didn't want to talk about. She shook her head, slowly, "I... I haven't been back to them yet."

Her face was completely incredulous, "What? Then what are you doing talking to me for?! Go on, get back to them!"

Michael.

Brown hair? Blonde? Dark? Green eyes? Blue? Five foot eleven? Six nine? Limp on one leg? Right handed, left handed? Black, white?

No idea.

She shook her head, slowly, "Hannah. I... I don't... know them."

She frowned, "Well what d'ya mean?"

Jaina drew in a long, deep breath, "It's... They... In Lucien's diary, he said he'd found a way to... to solve the disobedience problem. Well... he had."

"The collars."

She looked up at her, sharply, "How did..."

"Theresa told me. After you'd already left." She shook her head, a spark of anger and a little bit of desperation moving over her, "I would have told you, you've got to believe me. But I... I didn't know. And then it was too late."

The two women looked at each other. Emotions flew through Blade's mind so quickly she didn't know which one to act upon, "You... knew all along? You knew what he was doing? How he was keeping order?"

She nodded, slowly, "Theresa figured it out. Spent weeks researching it. Though how she did that with the whole..." she waved a hand vaguely at her eyes, "...is beyond me. But she found it. Old Kingdom artefacts. She went to Brightwood Tower, I think. Maybe she found it there. But she figured it out. We talked about it, a bit." Her eyes hovered over her neck, and Blade knew she was looking at the many cuts, scars, the skin rubbed raw, "Is that what it did to you?"

She put a hand to her skin, consciously, "Yes. Among with some... unpleasant side-effects."

"It made you forget. It wasn't just torture, was it. It made you forget who you were."

"I... Yes. Yes, I think it did."

She shook her head, "I'm... I'm so sorry. We just... we didn't know what we could do about it. And, of course, anyway, we knew you'd be too strong. We knew you'd be able to get through it."

Jaina nodded, slowly, and then moved her eyes up to hers, "But I didn't."

The girl looked at her for a second. There was a depth in her eyes that Blade seemed to find unusual. Was she usually not a very deep character, then? From the conversation they had just had, the way she had easily moved into a light, joking, easy description of her rescue of the Will user, her years spent in the Spire, it seemed the two had a strictly no-shop understanding. Keep things simple. Keep things light. Don't talk about troubled times.

Don't talk about the Spire.

Hannah opened her mouth: "Do you remember me?" she asked, finally. It seemed like it had taken a lot of effort to do that.

"Yes." She replied, immediately, wanting nothing more than to reassure her, not caring whether it wasn't technically all that true, "Yes, I do. Well. I remember... most of you."

"You called me by my real name." She said, slowly.

Blade frowned. Had she? "I... I didn't mean to. Slip of the tongue. I'm sorry."

"You remember why I don't like being called Hannah?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. I'm sorry."

Too many memories. That was why she didn't like being called Hannah. And, the new name, the old nickname, the appropriateness of it... Revenge? That was what she was after, wasn't it? Like her. Both after Lucien. Hammer wanted revenge. Someone had died. Someone she was close to, very close to. But no matter how hard she tried, Jaina could not remember who.

The Hero looked at her for a moment, "You look... different."

She glanced down at herself. She looked a wreck. Her skin was pale and ghostly from years without sun and her hair fell down by her shoulders, dull and lifeless. The clothes Matthew had given her, while practical and refreshingly feminine, screamed country bumpkin, and were far too big around her lanky, skeletal frame.

Blade shook her head, "Yeah. I know. I've... I've gone a little bit to waste."

"No." She replied, immediately, "No you haven't."

"I have. It's just... I mean, I tried, I really did, but..." she trailed off. Then she shook her head, slowly, "Ten years of my life, just... gone. Wasted."

"They weren't wasted," the girl said, quickly, "They weren't. Don't think that. We need Garth. We need Garth to get to Lucien. We needed him, Jaina."

Blade paused, "You used my real name." Something in her tone echoed surprise. Did they not do that, then? Did they both refer to each other only by titles? Were they both just nameless Heroes?

"Yes I did. Now look at me."

Blade obeyed, meeting her hazel eyes. She was looking at her, perfectly seriously, considering her. Then she shook her head, "I'm meeting someone who might have some information on... you know, our number three. We're back in business."

The Hero of Skill. Her mind provided for her, readily, and she was glad that that piece of information hadn't left her like so many others in the Spire.

"I want you to go. I want you to go to Bowerstone and find Michael and the kids. I want you to see them. To talk to them. If you can't feel any connection to them after that, then..." she trailed off. She paused, looking at her, and then shook her head, "You look a state."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Here." She handed her five gold coins, firmly, ignoring her automatic objections, "Take them. Eat, sleep. First thing tomorrow morning go out and clean yourself up, have one of those weird waterfall showers you have. Cut your hair. Buy yourself a ribbon or something to cover up your neck. Get yourself back to how you used to be. And, when you've done that... Six Lookout Way. Bowerstone Old Town. Pay him a visit. Please."

Blade's hand closed around the coins. She looked at her. Words couldn't describe the feeling gnawing away inside her. Fear. Anxiety. Dread. She shook her head, "What if -"

"That won't happen."

"You don't even know -"

"Yes I do." Hammer gave a small, soft smile, "He kept all your stuff as it was. Tidies your room even though it's perfectly tidy, exactly how you left it. He's put your sword up on the wall. Displayed. The kids know all about you. Every single detail."

She shook her head. She didn't know what to say. "How... how do you know all this." She managed, shaking her head again.

"I see him a lot. I really do. He wanted to. He contacted me. Wanted... updates. Wanted to know if there was any news. There never was. But now there is." There was a beat of silence, and she put an urging hand on her shoulder, "Talk to him, Jaina. Please. Just go to him. Talk to him. He deserves that, at least."

"He... brought up my children?" she whispered, eyes locked on hers, "Our children? By himself?"

"Well. We leant out a hand when needed. But he didn't want it. He wanted to raise them himself."

Jaina nodded, slowly, and moved her gaze to the floor. She could feel something inside her she couldn't quite place. "He's a good man." The statement sounded more like a question than she had wanted it to.

"Yes. He is."

Her eyes continued searching out the grains in the wooden boards. This was happening too fast. And yet too slow.

She looked up, searching for some reassurance, whilst, simultaneously, refusing to show she needed any, "Hannah. What do I do."

The Hero gestured to the door with a jerk of her head, "You get the hell out of here. You have things to do, people to see. As soon as I have anything we can use, I'll head back to the Guild and Theresa will call you."

Jaina hesitated, and then nodded, slowly, "Okay. I'll do it." She turned to the door.

"And, Blade?"

She turned back. Hannah paused, and then gave a smile, "Welcome back. I missed you. I'm glad that day at the dock wasn't our last goodbye."

A now genuine smile moved onto her face, "Me too."

"Good. Now get out of here."


A young girl by the name of Jacqueline Horne saw the woman wander slowly down the streets of Bowerstone Old Town. She was very mismatched: her clothes were Oakfield garb, country stuff, but she had a pretty red scarf tied fashionably around her neck that was very town, and around her waist hung a belt, and from that belt hung a sheathe. A sword.

The woman's hair was dark and cut very short, the longest strands just tickling her cheeks, something that struck Jacqueline as very odd - her hair almost looked like a boy's! Her body matched her hair, thin and boyish, athletic, with pale, sallow skin. Hard on her heel was a sweet little doggy, a beautiful yellow boy, but even the dog seemed solemn, walking silently without so much as a yap at the quiet streets.

But, despite the couple's very odd appearance, there was something about the owner, something almost magical. Thin blue lines shot across the little skin she had on display, glowing like lightning. And there was something in her walk. She walked as if she had seen it all. She was older than her years.

Jacqueline paused, fascinated, watching her from the door.

It was past her bedtime. She should be in bed. She was only down because she had heard Mummy downstairs, laughing. She had tiptoed down the stairs. The door had been open. The doggy had caught her attention and she'd poked her head out to look. That's all, just a look.

The lady passed out of her sight. Jacqueline pushed her head further, watching her, and then - after a glance at Mummy told her she'd be ages chatting away with her friend from down the road - she slipped out the door, following her. The little girl didn't have to be fully-grown to know power and magic when she saw it, and she followed a little way behind, carefully, trying not to let the strange woman see her.

The lady stopped at a signpost, looking at it. She didn't seem to have any idea where she was going. Her lips moved very slightly as she read the strange writings on the signs. She nodded, and turned, moving left, walking even slower now, patting the dog gently as he brushed his nose against her leg. She checked a road sign. Jacqueline looked at it as she passed, her little brow furrowed. It made no sense to her. Never mind. She kept walking, sliding along backstreets, keeping so the white witch couldn't see her.

She stopped at a door. Jacqueline hurried into an alleyway behind her, peeking out from behind the wall. It was quite dark. She could stay here without the lady seeing her.

The number on the door said 'six'. The woman stopped. She put a hand up to the door, ready to knock, and then stopped again. She lowered her hand. She hung her head. Jacqueline couldn't see her face, but she looked kinda sad.

Then the doggy brushed his nose against her again. He licked her ankle, the little bare skin he could reach, and cried.

"Good doggy." Jacqueline whispered, "Knock on the door, lady. He wants you to knock on the door."

The lady looked down at the dog. Her hand petted the fur on his head, behind his ears, slowly. Then she looked back to the door again. She held up a hand, paused for a moment, and then knocked. One-two-three. Too quick, too quiet. Well, they wouldn't hear that, would they? Who would hear that? Try again, lady. Come on, pretty lady. Knock again.

She didn't. She waited by the door. She had taken a little step back, allowing some room. She waited.

The young girl shook her head, "Open the door. Come on. Open it."

The lady took another step back. Her feet were on the pavement, away from the door. She paused for a moment, and then shook her head, and turned. She was going to leave.

"Nooo, don't leave." Jacqueline said again, taking a step back into the path so she couldn't see her, shaking her head, "Don't leave, lady. Wait just a bit more. Wait."

As if she had heard her, she stopped. She waited, and then turned back. She was frowning slightly. Had she heard something? Jacqueline hadn't, but the lady was nearer. Maybe someone was coming.

The doggy could hear something. He had begun to cry again, nose fixed at the door, nuzzling it. He could hear something. Someone was coming.

The lady took a few quick steps back, tapping her side. The dog went back to the pavement, back to her heel.

A few moments later, the door swung open.

A girl Jacqueline knew from around town was behind it, a bigger girl, maybe a really, really bigger girl, wearing a pretty little blue dress with long, plaited hair.

She looked up at the lady, slowly, and gave a smile, "Can I help you?"

"Oh... hello... is... is Michael here?"

The lady's voice was nice, but maybe a bit scared. She spoke very quietly, like a mouse. Jacqueline didn't know what she was scared of.

The girl nodded and turned back to the house, "Dad! Daddy! There's someone at the door!"

Another voice came from inside the house, a deep, man's voice, sounding just like her daddy did when he was a bit cross, "Rose Marie, what have I told you! Don't open the door! It could be anyone!"

The lady's eyes were wide, like saucers. Footsteps were coming from inside the house. A man put his hand on the door, a big, tall man, looking back at the little girl. Then he looked at the lady. He stopped still. He looked at her. He didn't stop looking. Not for a second.