He was looking up at a dark ceiling. Something was carrying him, and he turned his head. Like everything else, its face was obscured by the fog. He was being borne in its arms, and from the slow, echoing footfalls below, it was taking him somewhere.

The footfalls stopped, and he felt it gently lay him on a cold, hard surface. He then saw a face. It loomed over him, whispering words he could not hear.

The fog seemed to be lifting now. He could make out more of the face. Round, square jaw, and a big nose separating two eyes.

Gray eyes.

He reached out with a trembling hand towards them.

The face morphed from round and bare to thin and bearded, and the eyes from gray to blue.

Dorean blinked, dropping his hand to the bed as his vision became clear. From the look of the ceiling, it took him only a second to realize that he was now in Candlekeep's clinic.

"Try not to move too much," said the gentle voice of his foster father.

Placing his elbows on the bed, Dorean slowly pushed himself upright. He winced as a wave of pain flowed from his head to his waist. A hand to his temple confirmed that it had been bandaged.

"What happened in there? I thought those monsters were supposed to be illusions."

"Arkanis' axe was real enough," explained Gorion. Placing a hand on Dorean's chest, he gently but firmly pushed him back onto the bed. "You were caught in its follow-through."

The dwarf sighed, keeping his eyes closed and his hand on his forehead. "I got too close to him, didn't I?"

"That was your first time in such training," said Gorion reassuringly, causing Dorean to grimace. "The fault is on me; I should have known it would be dangerous to put you in mock battles without having you go through the basics first."

"Even an idiot should know better than to get too close to an axe-wielder," Dorean snapped, opening his eyes to look at Gorion. He winced, closing them again as another wave of pain rushed through his head. "Besides, it made sense to push it forward. We may be in real danger soon enough."

When no answer came, Dorean opened his eyes to look up at Gorion. The old wizard's face was doleful and his eyes were on the dwarf's bandaged head. Dorean's expression softened, and, noticing Gorion's hand on the bed beside him, reached out to place his own hand on it.

"You need to stop blaming yourself for my mistakes."

"You could have been killed," Gorion said quietly.

Not nearly as close as that time in the catacombs, Dorean nearly answered. He stopped himself in time, remembering how Gorion had reacted afterwards. The silence stretched out awkwardly for a moment as both men avoided each other's eyes. Dorean struggled to find something to say.

"What time is it?"

Gorion looked back down at him. "It is now late in the afternoon, approaching evening." He paused. "Arkanis carried you in here. He kept apologizing for what happened. I told him not to worry, and that you'll understand it was an accident."

A shadow seemed to pass over Dorean's face, but only for a few seconds. "I understand." He sat up slowly again, looking around the room. "Where's Imoen? I thought she'd be in here with you."

Gorion smiled. "She came shortly after you were brought in. In her rush to reach your side, she knocked over the healer and he dropped the money I gave him all over the floor."

Dorean chuckled, then stopped and looked at Gorion. "Where is she now?"

"She's...working an extra shift at the inn."

Dorean gazed into the old wizard's eyes before looking away and lowering his head. The dwarf's face became stolid and his voice a deadpan.

"He said no."

Gorion closed his eyes for a moment. His hands rested on his lap and he looked despondently at the wall.

The silence that followed, during which neither of them moved, was almost painful. The pain in Dorean's head seemed to be far away now, replaced with a cold sensation in his chest.

"I did the best I could," Gorion said abruptly and quietly. "I told him that she would be safe with us, and that I would protect her with my life as I would for yours. He wouldn't budge."

Several more seconds passed before Dorean spoke, again deadpanned.

"He say why?"

Next to him, Gorion slowly blinked twice before seeming to nod slightly to himself. "I think it would be better if you hear it from him yourself," he said gently. Dorean turned his head slightly towards him, though not enough to make eye contact. "He agreed to provide us with whatever we may need for our journey."

Dorean slowly turned his face a few inches toward Gorion, still not meeting his eyes.

"'Agreed.'" His voice had gone from deadpan to downright emotionless. Gorion kept his eyes averted from the dwarf's. His fingers bunched up in his lap, digging into the folds of his blue robes.

Dorean did not speak, yet the accusation passed between them nonetheless.

You knew from the start that he would never allow it, even before you promised me.

The silence and stillness in the room seemed to stretch on for hours, though it had to in fact have been but a minute, before Gorion finally stood up from the chair.

"I need to go. Ulraunt wants to speak to me about your training with Obe." He finally managed to turn his eyes onto Dorean. "Will you be alright?" he asked gently.

"I'll be fine," Dorean answered. The coldness in his voice, though still present, receded slightly. "Thank you, father." The old wizard looked at him for a moment, then gently patted and stroked the dwarf's hair before turning toward the door.

He had his hand on the knob when Dorean spoke again.

"I dreamed of her."

Gorion's head snapped around to face Dorean. The dwarf showed no surprise at this.

"At least, I think it was her." His voice and face was as before in Gorion's room; calm and collected. His eyes spoke differently. "She had the same face-shape and eye colour as mine."

He noticed that Gorion's hand had tightened on the knob, but kept his eyes on the man's face.

"I don't know where I was, but it felt like I was underground, not just in a building. She was carrying me in her arms. Brought me to what felt like an altar."

Gorion's eyes had widened and his jaw slackened slightly. His hand was still on the doorknob.

"And...that was it," Dorean finished. "I woke up and I saw you."

The young dwarf and his old foster father looked at each other. Then Gorion slowly removed his hand from the doorknob and turned to face Dorean directly, looking him straight in the eye.

"After we leave this place, I will tell you everything I know. About her, and about you. Everything."

Dorean looked at his resolute expression, then nodded.

"You should get some rest, child."

"You too, father. And again, thank you."

"Make sure to see Winthrop about your equipment."

"I will."

After the door had closed behind Gorion, Dorean leaned slowly against the wall at the head of his bed. He remained awake in that position for the next half-hour, eyes open and staring at nothing.

..

The sun had settled onto the horizon when Dorean left the clinic. Shedding the bandage around his head and tossing it casually aside, he strode across the outer grounds, checking his head and face for any noticeable scars, and carefully slowed his pace upon reaching the front double doors of the inn. Placing a hand on one of the doors, he took a moment to mould his facial expression, running a hand through his beard.

Sad, confused, disappointed.

He then pulled the door open and stepped through.

Winthrop was at the bar as usual, instructing his employees. Ignoring the sounds around him, Dorean kept his eyes on the innkeeper. He stood by the door and waited.

It only took about ten seconds for Winthrop to notice him. His eyes swivelled to the dwarf at a glance. His expression did not change upon seeing him, though he hesitated before lifting a hand in greeting.

Keeping his own hands at his sides, Dorean walked slowly over to the bar, stopping a few paces away so that Winthrop would not have to lean over the counter to see him.

"You feeling alright? I heard you were hurt during training."

Dorean delayed a few seconds before answering, his voice low and amiable. He did not take his eyes off the innkeeper.

"Yeah, I am okay." Hold expression, delay for three, two, one. "Gorion told me that you have arranged to provide me with what I'll need," he added, lowering his voice throughout the sentence until the word 'need' was barely audible.

Winthrop's eyes lingered on Dorean's face for a moment before he nodded and turned to the barmaid.

"I've got a customer. Could take a while. Hold the fort 'til I get back."

The barmaid hesitated, glanced at the dwarf, then silently nodded. As Dorean and Winthrop walked along the opposite sides of the bar, Dorean turned his head to the barmaid.

"Thank you," he said politely and quietly, though loud enough for Winthrop to hear.

Dwarf and innkeeper entered the corridor in the back wall, stopping outside a solid-looking wooden door. Winthrop removed a large key from around his neck, unlocked the door, and then entered. Dorean waited for him to walk further in before going in himself.

..

"So how is it?" said Winthrop from the other side of the modesty screen.

Dorean stepped out from behind it, tucking his yellow shirt over the armour.

"It doesn't feel like a gambeson."

"That's because it ain't," said Winthrop. "Studded leather. Better protection and more comfortable." He smiled, leaned over and gave Dorean a few light knocks on the chest. "And dwarf-size, of course."

Dorean flexed his arms up and down while turning his torso sideways. "It's a perfect fit."

"Great quality," Winthrop agreed. "Allows ye to move around quick and quiet as you like. Ordered from Beregost."

Dorean blinked, looking up at him with half-closed eyelids. "Beregost?"

Winthrop's smiled faded slightly and he looked away, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah. I...ordered it for ye."

A moment passed before Dorean quietly nodded. "Thank you. It...means a lot, you know. That you care about my safety."

Winthrop paused, looking down at him, then gave a wave of his hand. "It's nothing. Least I could do after all the business we've had together, yeah?"

Dorean waited a few seconds before answering. "Yeah."

A moment passed in silence. Winthrop gave a deep breath, adjusted his belt, and then turned around and headed back to the shop counter. "You're gonna want a weapon too." He went behind the counter and reached down to the floor beside him.

"And here's yer favourite one," he said, placing it on the counter.

Dorean blinked slowly, then walked to the chair in front of the counter and climbed onto it. Standing on the chair, he then picked up the light crossbow, turning and angling it slowly in his hands.

"It's seen some use, I'll admit. At least a few years from the look of it," Winthrop continued. "But it's a good 'un. Shoots straight and true, and easy to load, that's important. Tested it meself."

Dorean said nothing. He stopped examining the crossbow, instead holding it in his arms and quietly looking at it. Winthrop scratched his cheek and then his hand.

"You could also keep a bolt locked in, though I wouldn't advise that," he said. "Never carry a loaded crossbow unless ye ready to use it, by the way."

"Did you order this from Beregost, too?" Dorean asked, looking up at Winthrop to meet his eyes. The innkeeper hesitated.

"Yeah, I did. Figured you'd need yer own, since the only one in Candlekeep you trained with is Reevor's."

Dorean looked at him, and then nodded. He gestured with his head toward the far wall where two wooden boards with target circles painted on had been nailed. "Do you mind if I try it out?"

Winthrop blinked. "Not at all, lad." He gestured with his arm toward a corner of the target-wall, where several quivers were stacked. "I've never seen ye shoot up close. Heard you're good, though."

Several minutes later, Dorean had fired his third bolt. Winthrop gave a low whistle from beside him.

"Dead center, all three. Reevor wasn't kidding. You're a crack shot, Dorean."

"Thank you." Dorean cradled the crossbow, hefting the business end. "It's a good weapon." He paused. "Do you have another one here?"

Winthrop looked down at him. "Yeah, I got a few more in the back. Why'd you ask?"

"Could you shoot a few with me?"

Winthrop blinked, tilting his head to the side. He looked away to the door and scratched the back of his head again. Then he looked back down at Dorean, paused, and smiled. "Sure. Just a couple shots, though, I have to get back to the inn soon."

Dorean returned the smile, handing him two bolts from the quiver on the floor in front of them. "Thanks. I always wanted to see how good you are at this."

In the span of ten seconds, Winthrop loaded and fired both bolts into the red circle of his target. Dorean leaned backwards with his arms crossed, looking at the wooden board.

"You're amazing."

"Ah, it's nothing," said Winthrop, resting his crossbow over his shoulder. "Coulda done that in half the time back in my adventuring days." He looked down at the dwarf to see that his eyelids were half-closed again, as though he were deep in thought. After a moment, Dorean looked up to meet his gaze. Both their crossbows were of the same model; Winthrop's looked like a toy in his hand while Dorean's was two-thirds his own height.

Another moment passed, and then Dorean deliberately looked away. "You've never told me much about yourself."

Winthrop blinked, then swallowed and shuffled his feet. "Yer old man never shared stories with you about me?"

"Not really," Dorean answered, his voice low. He kept his gaze averted, towards Winthrop's practice target. "He said you travelled with him for years. That you stood by him when all others wouldn't." He paused. "And that you're a good friend whom he would trust with his life."

Winthrop blinked twice rapidly, leaning his head back. "He said that?"

"Yeah, he did." Except that last one. "I know it can seem sometimes that I think of her as a pest." He lowered his gaze to the floor. "But I like Imoen, and I care about her a lot. And I'm sure she feels the same way. More than I do for her, even."

Winthrop let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. He lowered the crossbow to his side. His cheeks rose and fell as his expression moved between uncomfortable to guilty and then to despondent.

"Dorean," he said slowly. "I know she means a lot to ye. Believe me. It's just..." His eyes moved around in their sockets as he struggled to find the proper words. "Imoen's my family. She's all I've got left. I...I don't to lose her."

Dorean looked up to the innkeeper's face. "Then why don't you come with us?"

Winthrop's gaze met the dwarf's; earnest and hopeful. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he swallowed and gave his reply.

"I wish I could, lad. More than anything." His voice became more firm as he regained his composure. "But I can't have Imoen following you and Gorion." He paused and took a deep breath, maintaining eye contact. "I know why you're leaving; 'cos he thinks this place is no longer safe for you."

Dorean's eyes searched Winthrop's. Neither man looked away.

"I know that he's been preparing ye fer something bad. I don't know what, since he wouldn't tell me. But I know it's something. All that learning and training he had you do. And the poisons he's been tempering ye against."

Dorean's face and voice turned impassive. "You knew about that?"

"Yeah, he told me. He figured I should know about that before I send you off stealing from rich folks." Winthrop's expression and voice softened as he looked down at the young dwarf. "You've been a wonderful friend to Imoen, Dorean. And to me as well." He placed a large left hand on Dorean's shoulder. "But I can't have her be caught in whatever you and Gorion may be facing out there. I just, I just can't." He paused to take another deep breath, exhaling it through his nose. "Candlekeep's one of the best and safest places to look after someone, and if I leave, there's no way I could guarantee that I'll be allowed to settle down here again."

For a second, Winthrop thought he saw Dorean's eyes narrow and his expression changing from impassive to glaring. Then it passed and the dwarf's expression was now clearly crestfallen. The innkeeper blinked, his hand still on Dorean's shoulder, then carried on speaking.

"I just want my daughter to be safe, Dorean. Yer old man understands that, and I hope you do too."

Dorean looked down at the floor between them, then slowly back up to Winthrop. "I understand," he said softly.

Winthrop smiled gently and removed his hand from Dorean's shoulder. "I'll miss ye, lad. Never a better thief or crossbowman I've ever known, and I've known more than a few. Gorion's real proud of ye. Says you've grown into a fine young man." He paused. "You make sure to keep in touch, y'hear? I'm dead certain Imoen will send you a ton of letters."

Dorean smiled sadly. "I'm sure she will. Probably try to stuff snacks into them too."

Winthrop chuckled and then bent down to put an arm around Dorean's shoulders in a one-armed hug that, for a man his size, was surprisingly gentle. Dorean blinked, unable to return the hug with his arms still holding his own crossbow.

"Winthrop?" he said as the hug was released.

"Yes, lad?"

"Could you take another shot?" He hefted his own weapon. "I'd like to see it one more time."

Winthrop blinked, looking down at the crossbow, and then grinned. "Impressed ye that much, did I?"

"Yeah, you did. And I thought Reevor was good."

Revealing his teeth as his grin widened, Winthrop took the crossbow from Dorean and a bolt from the quiver.

As he stood up and turned away, Dorean's face lost all expression. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, with Winthrop standing in front of him and facing the target on the far wall.

Images flashed in the young dwarf's mind.

A knife. From his belt, into his left hand, into the innkeeper's belly.

An arrow, with the shaft snapped off and broken end trimmed. From his own pack, into his right hand, stabbed into his own shoulder.

Gorion. Treating his wound and listening as Dorean, his voice pained and tremulous, explained that Winthrop died trying to protect him.

Imoen. Confused and frightened, stammering questions as Gorion and Dorean hurriedly led her out of and away from Candlekeep.

The images faded, and Dorean looked up from Winthrop's stomach to his face. The innkeeper was now loading the crossbow, his movements sluggish as the slowed-time continued.

It wouldn't work. No one would buy it, least of all Gorion. The instant the thought passed through his mind, time appeared to snap back to its normal speed.

Winthrop fired the crossbow, and for a third time the bolt hit the red circle of the target.

Dorean put a smile on his face and clapped lightly with his hands held up diagonally. Winthrop turned and took a bow, now sporting his familiar roguish grin.

"We've had some good times together, eh, Dorean?" He held out his hand.

"Yes, we have," the dwarf replied, holding out his own hand which was promptly engulfed by Winthrop's. He paused, then lifted his head. "Could you get Imoen off work now?"

Winthrop smiled, holding onto Dorean's hand. "Ten minutes?"

"Five."

"Eight."

"Five and a half." Dorean smirked.

"Heh! Alight, you have a deal." He gave Dorean's hand one more shake and then let go.

"Thank you again for these." Dorean held up his crossbow and gave the jacket under his shirt a few raps with his fist. "It means a lot."

"Don't mention it, lad. Go on and give Imoen the news. I'll clear up here."

Dorean gave him another warm smile and then left the shop. Winthrop watched him go.

When the door had closed behind the dwarf, Winthrop continued to look at it for several seconds before turning and bending down to pick up the quiver.

The back of his under-shirt lifted up slightly, exposing the chainmail underneath it.