[r.] I know you will follow me until kingdom come [18+]

Of course, Elespeth had always had questions about the lawless faoladh. Someone of his ilk wasn’t born that way, with no taste for morals or ethics, and little care for how what they said affected other people (if the way he hurt Alster was any indication…). There was always a reason for it, experiences that could not be discounted and forgotten. Histories that wrote themselves into the very fibres of your skin, that formed your habits, their origins otherwise unbeknownst to you. Hadwin was no exception to this ripple effect of life and the lives that surrounded it, but the former knight had never thought to learn even a fragment of the shapeshifter’s convoluted history. She hadn’t even sought it upon asking him about his feelings for the golden-clad ringleader, and yet… he offered it up--and to her, of all people. As she listened, Elespeth stared into the depths of her untouched ale. Amazing, what this beverage could make some people do…

“That is… quite the history. And tragedy.” She nodded, neither pitying, nor dismissing the significance of his words. “But… while I would have disagreed with you, before, under different circumstances… I think I’m inclined to side with you, for once. On your take on that kind of… love. It really does mess you up. Leaves you vulnerable, and when you are finally hurt, you cannot stop bleeding. Look at what it has done to me… and to Alster. To Chara, and soon, Lilica, when she discovers that Chara intends to discard her.” Elespeth lifted her shoulders and shrugged. “Don’t let it get to your head, but I’d say you’ve got the right idea. Care for people, lust a little, but… it’s best to stay away from something that can render you so vulnerable. The point where the only way you can escape it is either to die, or to change yourself… completely.” She was, of course, referring to Alster, and the metamorphosis he was undergoing--more Serpent, and less man, every time she saw him. He was slipping from her fingers, and she was watching it happen, because… because…

He would be better off gone than to live a life with the likes of you. Than to live with that flavor of shame…

As if suddenly realizing he had said too much, and was not inclined to keep the eyes of the conversation on him, Hadwin was quick to turn the tables toward her, once again. The Atvanian warrior felt heat rise to her cheeks as he condemned her sense of morale; the old her would have had the spine to bite back. But not the shadow of a woman who sat before him, now. “It’s temporary. He’s hiding away in himself because I have hurt him, Hadwin. He can’t deal with the pain. I will serve him, like the soldier I was brought up to be, but… somehow, I will take it upon myself to convince him to feel something, again. It is too late for me, but not for him. He can love again, someday, someone more deserving. If I can help it, I will make him see that, but as for me…” She spread her hands, which were as empty as her mind was for a solution. “Maybe. Maybe I will live and mourn what I have lost. But it is no less than I deserve… think what you want, about my sense of right and wrong. As I am… I benefit no one. I’ll change it. It doesn’t mean I’ll be happy, but it means I will be something. Which is a step up from being nothing at all.”

Elespeth found herself pulling back as Hadwin leaned across the table, then, invading her personal space as well as her her thoughts, it seemed. He knew… But, how could he know? Were her fears really written so clearly on her hollow features that he could see the woman her eyes fell upon whenever she looked in the mirror? The old her, who reminded her of her place in this world every day, whether or not she caught a glimpse of her in a reflective surface? The ex-knight hadn’t felt raw, before, or particularly exposed; not when she was already willing to be forthcoming with her thoughts and her reasoning behind them. But this cut deep, and had Hadwin taken his predictable mocking stance, she might have stood and run, then and there. But, for once, it wasn’t judgement she saw in his golden eyes: of all things, it was… understanding.

“But… what if she is right?” Her voice had taken on a tone barely above a whisper. You know I am right, that voice replied, ever listening, ever present. Why are you even toying with the idea of denying it?

His idea to attend the Missing Links’ performance was both the best and the worst distraction from her newly worried state of mind. It provided a reason to break away from the spotlight Hadwin had put on her, calling her out on falling victim to a disembodied voice, the essence of a person who no longer existed, but the crowd… it was not appealing. Too many people, and no means of escape, from the spot they’d managed to sandwich themselves into.

And running into Alster… well. That did little to nothing for her nerves, or her damaged heart. Hearing him remark upon the crowd, not speaking like one of them, as a person, but as someone… something else was but a cruel reminder that he was losing himself, more and more, for every moment he allowed the Serpent to use his body like a mortal vessel. It hurt her to admit that she wasn’t sure she was really hearing Alster Rigas, anymore; just a being masquerading as the man she loved. He didn’t so much as react to her comment pertaining to Briery Frealy, and how he’d changed the acrobat’s life for the better; instead, just as Hadwin had done earlier, he turned attention to her.

It took every ounce of willpower and strength to keep her shoulders and back straight when she spoke again. He did not appear to be seeking an answer from her, but she chose to provide one, anyway. “I am not in a position to touch lives, Alster. I can only serve them, now. So I will serve you, as we’ve already discussed.” She did not look at him, either, instead focusing on the beautiful acrobat, as she defied gravity on the trapeze. “You are in a position when you can continue to change lives for the better, should you choose. Should you want to make that your purpose. But that is the thing about being alive; we must all choose our purposes, based on who we are, what we have done, what we are capable of doing. I know my place; I cannot say where yours, is. That is up to you to decide…”

She shivered. The way he looked at her, when he finally looked at her, making a plea that was so characteristic of the Alster Rigas she knew and loved, yet in the tone and with the eyes of something else completely… Something painful surged in her heart. Perhaps it was another episode, her damaged organ barely able to keep pace with itself. Perhaps it was something else entirely. “You already accepted my pledge. I am your sword and your shield; and I will be, for as long as I live. Of course I will not give up on you, for that would be a breach of my pledge. But what you are asking… I think you know the answer.”

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Elespeth dared to place a hand on the Rigas head’s shoulder. It felt stiff, and cold… not warm, like the Alster she remembered. “I know the Alster Rigas I met at Messino’s encampment is still there. And he is needed just as much, if not moreso, by the people he leads. Do not discard that person because of me. You need to feel again, to love again… or you will not find that purpose you are looking for. Take that ring that I returned to you, and…” Her throat suddenly grew tight, cutting off the words she meant to speak. The ex-knight took a moment to compose herself. “Find a hand that it fits. Be happy, Alster. That is what I want for you. And by not giving up on you--I will not give up on bringing you back. Not to me, not for me, but for the fact that the Alster I know deserves to experience love and happiness, again. That… is my promise.”

She was out of words, then. Out of words, out of courage, and out of the mental stamina required to have a conversation with the man she loved, who could no longer love her back, for too many reasons. “...I need to go.” Was all she said, before pushing her way out of the crowd Hadwin had dragged her into, just moments before the Missing Links took their final bow, following their grand finale that involved a trapeze, and a little bit of fire, for good show. Elespeth did not look back, as she exited the tent.

Slowly but surely, the crowd began to thin out, people taking their leave, sated on entertainment for the evening. Hadwin, of course, stayed to congratulate Briery on a job well done, but he wasn’t the only familiar face that lingered. The ringleader noted that Alster Rigas had, in fact, graced them with his audience this evening, and although he appeared not to be enraptured with anyone or anything in particular, he had yet to leave. “Alster. I am glad you could make it, this evening.” The acrobat beamed, greeting him warmly despite the cold aura that seemed to follow him everywhere, now. “I told you I’d be sticking around from start to finish. No pain to keep me from seeing it through. I know you insist that I owe you nothing, but I daresay you will never hear the end of my thanks.”

“Was it to your liking?” Another voice piped up, and Cwenha appeared from behind a curtain, bedecked in silver to complement Briery’s gold. Her azure eyes sought Alster, and regarded him carefully; curiously, as if they were meeting for the first time. Like she did not recognize him. “I ask, because the last time you heard me sing, you said that it moved you. But this time… it didn’t, did it? It didn’t even reach you.” Whether or not it was an observation or an accusation was unclear, but there was a knowing look in the young singer’s eye. One that suggested her thoughts were entirely contrary to the words she spoke, next. “My fault, I suppose. People can only react to the same songs sung by the same voice for so long, before they become habituated to it. Maybe I’ll have to start working with new material.”

A worried look had settled in Briery’s features, but it eased when the beautiful young singer took her leave, and began to help Rycen and Lautim dismantle their stage. “She’s rather sensitive about making an impact, is all,” the ringleader tried to excuse the girl’s behaviour, offering Alster an apologetic smile. “Anyway, we are all famished; it’s been a long day if work and celebrating. Would you eat with us, Alster? We’d be honoured to have your company.”

Meanwhile, Elespeth hadn’t ventured far from the performers’ tent; for one, because she really had needed to take a breather, and inhale some air that was not stifled by hundreds of other bodies, and for another, because she knew that if she ran, no matter how far she got, Hadwin would find her. And he’d give her hell for it. Find her he did, as people began to file out of the tent, but at least he couldn’t accuse her of running and hiding. “I really needed some air,” was all she said as an explanation, her green eyes focused on the toes of her boots. “It was… a good show. Your performer friends are all very talented…”

Something wasn’t right.

Had she been even the slightest bit more subdued by her lagging senses and damaged heart, Elespeth might have missed it, the way someone in her peripheral vision moved against the grain of people, fast and with purpose… “Get out of the way!” She yelled at Hadwin, and reached behind her shoulder to draw her sword, just in time to parry an attack. “...Haraldur?”

She was not mistaken. It was the Eyraillian prince, and her longtime friend in arms, who pursued Hadwin ruthlessly with his blade. Muscle memory and years of training and fighting took her body through the right motion, disabling his attacks by throwing and his weapon off balance, for she hadn’t the strength to overpower him with force (and even at her healthiest, such a feat wasn’t feasible). Somehow, Elespeth managed to hold him off, put herself between Hadwin and his aggressor, long enough for Sigrid to materialize--along with three other Dawn warriors. That was how many it required to restrain the Eyraillian prince.

“Haraldur!” Sigrid hissed, seizing his sword arm and forcing it behind his back when she managed to get him to drop his weapon--but not without the help of her three brothers in arms. “Remember yourself, damnit! Remember your necklace--remember Vega! This is not you!”

It was too much. The crowd, Alster, and now, facing Haraldur, who for some reason had sought to kill Hadwin… This time, when Elespeth slipped away from the din, she did not alert anyone to it--and not a soul appeared to realize she was gone. She moved far from the people, from the tents and vendors, toward the woods that bordered the city. This was ridiculous; she should have been happy, knowing that the warrior within her had yet to die. That she had saved Hadwin’s life, in some respect, or at least contributed to the fact that he was not dead, but everything, all of it in accumulation… It weighed on her. Made her not want to return to the barracks, that evening, made her wonder how she would ever face Alster again after outright telling him he needed to move on in a healthy way. How was she to move on…?

It did not take long for her to realize she was not alone.

She stood several paces away, hands clasped behind her back, looking on at the people and tents beyond the scope of the trees, but made no move to enter or be a part of it. Elespeth could barely see her face, or make out anything beyond dark hair and a cloak, but… something about the woman unsettled her. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, but it was enough for her to speak up. “...you are not a D’Marian, are you?” The former knight did not move from where she stood, sword still in hand from the aftermath of her run-in with Haraldur. “Nor are you from Braighdath…”

The woman took her attention away from the crowd in the near distance, and settled her gaze on Elespeth. The ex-knight couldn’t explain it, but it felt as though she could feel that gaze, from the yards between them… “No. Neither. What is happening, here? Looks like a celebration… or like it was one.”

“I think it is safe to say the party is over.” Elespeth said. Part of her felt the need to sheath her blade; but a more prominent, primal part forbade her. “If you are looking for a place to stay, I’m afraid the city is well over its capacity. You would have better luck trying a nearby town.”

“You know, you are probably right. You don’t happen to know of any, do you?”

“I’m… afraid not. I am not from here.”

“I see. Well, perhaps someone in this city can then point me in the right direction.”

It was a logical step, and as innocent a request as they came. Elespeth had no reason to suspect this woman, who did not look as though she carried any weapons and posed no obvious threat. So… why did her gaze make her skin crawl? Why couldn’t she find the sense to put her sword away?

The stranger wasn’t unaware of the fact she wielded a blade. In fact, when she finally approached, she nodded at Elespeth’s sword. “You’re not out in the woods at night looking for trouble, are you? Somehow, that doesn’t seem… wise.”

“...I think you should leave.” She didn’t know how, or why, but something about this woman put her on edge. How long had she been standing there, watching the festivities take place from afar? If she’d really needed directions, or a place to stay, why hadn’t she made herself known? “The city is dealing with a lot, right now. I do not think anyone here can help you.”

“Well, what is the harm in asking? You said yourself you are not from here.” The stranger shrugged her shoulders. “If they do not wish to lend a hand, the denizens themselves might as well tell me. Or have you been assigned as a guard? Let no one in, at any cost?” She spread her arms, palms flat and open. “I have no weapons. Harm needn’t befall anyone.”

Those words confirmed the suspicion that crawled like worms beneath Elespeth’s skin. “But you are not implying that it won’t befall anyone…” The grip on her sword tightened. “Please leave. A tense situation has arisen. The city is not in a position to extend any more help. If you are truly desperate, return in the morning, when the dust has settled.”

“Well, you see, I am not looking for an invitation. Nor do I care if I receive one.” She stepped forward, and Elespeth stepped back. The woman’s face was nothing memorable; lovely in its prime, but no more or less than Chara, or Sigrid, or Lilica, or Vega. Just another face… and one that did not look away from Elespeth for even a moment. “...well you’re a guarded one, aren’t you? Sadly, it doesn’t hide your vulnerabilities… you poor dear. What have you suffered? Pining after a wish you cannot have, because no one can see things like you do…”

“Who are you?” At this point, Elespeth had no intention to sheath her sword. She brought it up defensively in front of her. “What do you want, here?”

The stranger smiled. Eerily inviting… “No one you need be concerned with; and nothing of immediate importance. I’ll get what I am looking for in good time. What interests me is what you want.”

“You don’t know what I want.”

“Don’t I? And what if I told you… I can grant your wish?” Suddenly, that smile turned malicious. With every step Elespeth took backward, she advanced twice, until she could reach out and touch the tip of her sword. “In exchange for this riveting conversation. I can give you what you want. I can make them see you the way you wish to be seen. I won’t even ask for anything in return.”

Elespeth’s heart raced; and it had nothing to do with its damaged condition. “Keep your distance. I don’t want to harm you..”

“Oh, I know you don’t. You don’t want to do harm onto anyone, ever again; not the undeserving, at least. And that…” The stranger’s smile widened. “Is what is going to make your wish come true.”

It had not taken long for Haraldur to snap out of whatever had come over him. As soon as Hadwin was out of sight, and Sigrid guided his hand to his necklace, the Eyraillian prince returned to himself… and he sank, once again, into despair. Guilt wracked him just like it had when he had attacked Sigrid in Stella D’Mare, but just like before, the Dawn warrior refused to leave her cousin’s side. “This doesn’t mean anything. No one got hurt. But what it does tell me…” She rested a hand on Haraldur’s shoulder. He had not risen from the log he’d sunk onto, as soon as he’d regained his composure, and the Dawn warriors had let him go. With reassurances from Sigrid, her brothers and arms had left them alone, now that she was not in immediate danger. “We need to get you back to Eyraille, and soon. Haraldur, I know you want to help these Forbanne, but the longer you are away from your title and duty as a prince of Eyraille, the more you are losing yourself. You need to return to Vega--to talk to her, at the very least. Remembering and reconnecting with your link to your wife is likely the only thing that will overpower Solveig’s hold on you…”

Something caught her attention in the mulling crowd, then, something that dropped her arm from Haraldur’s shoulder and drew her to her feet. Two Dawn warriors brusquely escorted someone through the city, trying hard not to draw too much attention to the spectacle at hand--but it was no use. You could not sneak someone through a crowd when the front of their tunic was… was covered in blood.

“...what in all hells…” It wasn’t the blood that startled Sigrid; it was the person wearing it. Eyes wide, Gaolithe’s keeper hurried to intercept her brothers in arms, but they paid her little heed. “What is going on? This is… what is this?”

“Step aside, Sigrid. She is under arrest for murder.”

“This is a mistake--do you know who she is? She couldn’t have…”

“It is the Dawn Guard’s duty to apprehend any and all threats to Braighdath. And yes, because of this woman, one of ours now lays dead in the forest, her throat slit. So stand aside.” The two Dawn warriors pushed past Sigrid with their charge, and marched her with haste back through the city gates, leaving the blonde Dawn warrior frozen in place for a good, long moment afterward. When she finally remembered she had the ability to move, she rushed back to Haraldur, who had yet to rise. The matter of her cousin was not dimmed in light of this turn of events, but suddenly, a new priority had taken place. “It is… Elespeth has…” Her breathing was shaky, uneven, leaving her feeling dangerously light-headed. “She has been arrested… for murder.”

“I see.” Alster opened his eyes to the spectacle in the tent. He righted his shoulders, a gesture that immediately restored his poise, having scrubbed away the lapse of judgement in his spoken, futile plea. “I figured at much, Elespeth. Your answer does not surprise me, but it does not convince me. But that is your burden to bear; I will not stand in your way, in whatever decision you choose. Love...” He observed a couple two rows ahead, a woman resting her head atop the shoulder of a man who held her firm in his side embrace. “I have experienced love. As all things must, love too will end. You have chosen to terminate it, and I will respect your wishes. Do respect mine, Elespeth. Why should I seek an inferior copy? For what reason would that sustain me, or support me in this world? No.” As the couple’s mouths met in a kiss, he turned a disinterested head to the side, blocking them from his view. “As I am...there is no point. I will focus on practical matters. It is better than despairing. More productive than falling apart, as Alster Rigas of old had intended.” Lifting his hand of flesh and blood, it appeared blue under the light of the tent amidst the illusionist’s fire color tricks; a cold carbon copy of the steel contraption grafted to his right arm. “Weak. So weak. The world is far improved without him. He is nothing...You will bring back nothing but a rejection.”

He did not stop her when she chose to leave; had in fact helped to clear a path for her as she pushed against the audience for an exit. When he returned to his position, the faoladh was shaking his head and sighing. “The two of you are downright painful to watch.”

“I did not invite you to watch,” Alster said, though he sounded neither agitated or upset. “Why are you not focusing on the show?”

“Same reason you’re not focusing on the show. Fascinating to watch people in their natural habitats, innit? Except you were both blathering in my ear, so I had no choice but to hone in. Fuck,” he heeled a palm to his forehead, “this is hitting way too close to home. Literally, it reeks of home. Now I feel like running away.”

As the audience cleared, Hadwin shuffled forward to bridge distance between himself and the automaton masquerading as a human. Alster did not follow. Once he reached the stage to send his personal regards for a performance well-done, he waved his arms in an X-gesture as a warning to all. But Briery noticed the Rigas Head in the crowd, and it was easy to guess what would happen next.

“Dammit, Briery,” Hadwin cursed under his breath. “Don’t call him over.”

But it was too late.

“Good evening. It was a performance, indeed,” Alster said, lingering by the stage as an answer to the acrobat’s summons. “No, you did not falter once. Your audience enjoyed it, immensely. They were enthralled; you and your troupe have quite the hypnotic effect, to keep so many people wrangled in one area and so captive to your every movement.”

Hadwin rolled his eyes.

“Cwenha.” Alster’s attention shifted to the smaller acrobat in silver, the moon in complement to her sun. A smile tugged on his face, the only smile outside of Elespeth that he had offered over the course of the day. “Nothing is your fault. You will find that I am a changed man, but the aesthetics of beauty do not go unappreciated, on a purely objective standpoint. I have been known to sing, myself, so I can assess that your dynamics, melodic choices, and timbre were all up to par, and in tune.” But in the middle of his analysis, she had taken her leave. Unfazed by what any leader may construe as a rude or disrespectful exit, he shrugged away Briery’s apology. “I take no issue. And...I have not supped, tonight. Sustenance is important, and sometimes I forget that I need to eat several times a day.”

“Gone are the days when you could just swallow a whole deer and stay sated for a month, hmm, snake?” Hadwin pushed off from the wood crate on which he sitting. “He can have my share, Briery. I’m out of here.”

The faoladh’s solo sojourns lasted from the time it took to exit the Missing Links tent, to the moment he relocated the missing Elespeth--which wasn’t long. In the thick of the crowd, no one had the means to make swift travel anywhere, though he’d thought about it. To shift as a wolf and go for a long, invigorating run, far from the borders of Braighdath proper. But his itch to escape would have to wait until he seized an opening. “Nah, Elespeth, I don’t blame you,” he said, looping his thumbs behind his belt, in an approximation of a carefree, unruffled stance. He ignored the mad thumping of his own heart. “I’m out here for the same reason as you. Alster crashed my good time. Spitting image of my da right now. It’s…” he scrunched his face, “uncanny. Couldn’t tell you the depths of hatred I feel for my old man, so I won’t.” A low laugh, nothing more than a uvular trill, took to the night air. “But I figure maybe you’d like a distraction from the voice inside your head. That niggling little manifestation of all your doubts and fears...everybody’s got one, so you’re not special in that regard. Can’t deny that yours has got some pull, though--and I’m sure this evening’s soiree is bound to throw fuel into its ever-growing inferno. But,” he cracked his neck from side to side, “that’s life. If we can’t deal with it as it comes, expected or unexpected, then we’re just taking up space as we stand around, waiting for the end.”

It was as if the universe were listening. Well met, Hadwin, it seemed to whisper. I’ve got just the solution for you. And, in conjunction with Elespeth, he felt it. The hackles on the back of his neck rose; were he in wolf form, his ears would prick, erect, alert--and prepared for danger.

“Way ahead of you!” he yelled back, as he leapt and rolled to the ground, narrowly missing a dagger. It whizzed past him and penetrated layers of loam and dirt mere inches off its mark.

He drew to his feet just as an engaged bull in human form charged out from behind a wall of people, his sword positioned like a holy spear about to pierce and eradicate a demon from existence.

“Haraldur,” he breathed, neither surprised nor angered. “Drone--where’s your Queen Bee?” He dodged the initial charge in time for Elespeth to step forward and knock the attack off balance with her sword.

“Out of the way, Elespeth!” Haraldur roared, avoiding her weapon and vicinity, but with little luck. She persisted in blocking him from his quarry, and he had no choice but to continuously bat aside her sword, an annoying stinger that hovered in his face with the aim to stall, to deny him the success of his mission. “I’ll hurt you! I’ll tear you to pieces!”

With a last-ditch cry of effort, he disarmed his old comrade-in-arms and knocked her to the ground. But by then, the wolf-shifter had disappeared into the chaos of the screaming, fleeing crowd.

Before Haraldur could give chase, three solid bodies strong-armed him into submission. He fell to his knees, resisting his restraints with raw, monstrous power--until a familiar figure crouched before him. The chain around his neck tugged, and the shine of a golden ring floated in his vision. Ring. Ring. Tree. Vega. Eyraille. Family…

Family. The future. Twins. Kynnet and Klara. Swirls of autumn leaves, burnished with a coppery sheen to rival the fiery halo of their mother’s hair. It writhed to life in the wind, streaming behind her like a banner of victory. She rode upon a golden roc, so gold, like his ring, and the fire of her hair lit torches down a dark path. His legs moved of their own accord, following the flames. Following her. But the torches surrounded him, barring the path beyond. Barring her light. They glared sparks of condemnation and disgust. You are not a prince. You are not Forbanne. You are nothing but failure.

A dangerous failure, who should be put to sleep...

He came to his senses on a log, free of any resistance around his arms or legs. No one had placed him in shackles. And where were the four walls of his cell, his pallet of straw in the corner, the scant patches of light through iron bars raised up high? He noted none of these things. He sat beside a fire, the night breeze cool on his skin, distance all around him and freedom so vast, he had only to stand and push ahead, to see a different side of the camp, of the land, of the world from his singular, but uninhibited pivot point. The only person assigned to his company--Sigrid Sorenson. Why were they underestimating him? What would it take, to treat him as a legitimate threat? No matter what he did, regardless of the lives he endangered, people insisted on writing up excuses for his behavior. What was so hard to understand? Monsters belonged in cages--and he would attack again, when given the chance.

“No, Sigrid,” he said, his voice almost lost over the crackle of the flame, “what I need--”

But yet another disturbance (at least not caused by him, or his actions), roused the Dawn warrior to her feet. She scurried in its direction, and even from his distance, he heard clearly the exchange of words in regards to the apprehended criminal. A woman, drenched in blood.

...Elespeth.

What did she do? So shortly after their clashing of swords, what could have occurred to force the Atvanian warrior into such decisive action? Did she finish the job with Hadwin, in his stead?

She. The victim had been female.

When Sigrid returned with the news, Haraldur was already on his feet, his jaw set, teeth grinding against teeth.

“Is that what I have to do, Sigrid? Do I have to actually succeed in killing someone, for you or anyone else to treat me as a threat? I’ll do worse than her. Whatever she did, I’ll do worse. Lock me up, too. I should’ve been in chains a long time ago--but I was in denial. I thought I had it under control. I thought that a wife, or the promise of a home and a family could save me. But I was wrong. The only things that will save me are shackles and a prison cell.” He rounded on Sigrid with a swiftness that threatened violence--to her, or to anyone who faced him. “Whatever Elespeth did, or didn’t do, if I could take her place and let her go free, I would. We don’t know what happened. So arrest me, take me to your dungeons, throw me in a cell, get her out of there, and leave me to rot.” A wildness, like creeping vines, collapsed all reason in the overgrowth of his green eyes. “I know exactly how to go about getting inside.” He reared back his arm and punched her in the face. Again, he aimed, and landed. And again. Ceaseless was his assault, unless she stopped him by force, or agreed to arrest him. Yes, Sigrid, lock me away, he thought. He drew a blade, and slashed at her. Or kill me. It’ll all end if you kill me…

Since the first incident had taken place in the middle of the encampment, all details inevitably trickled down to the Missing Links and their guest. Before he could take a bite out of a savory pastry that Briery so graciously provided, screams rang through the night air and a stampede of fear-racked civilians took shelter inside the overlarge circus tent, the closest foreseeable refuge. Alster called for order as he took to the stage, and the sight of Stella D’Mare’s savior and leader lessened the panic of the crowd.

“You are safe, here,” he assured them, broadcasting his message by way of an amplification spell. “I’ve cast a barrier around the perimeter of the tent. It will hold, even when I am not present. Now, if someone would kindly inform me what has happened…”

A Rigas, one belonging to Alster’s personal guard, stepped up on stage and spoke with a softness that only those in the vicinity could hear. “There was an altercation, Lord, between the Eyrallian Prince and that peculiar wolf-shifter who has beseeched your protection.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Alster shared a glance with Briery, gauging her reaction. “Is anyone injured?”

“No, Lord. But that is not all. It was said that Elespeth stepped between them, and fended off Prince Sorde until the Dawn Guard arrived to restrain him. Neither the wolf-shifter nor Elespeth have been located at this time.”

“I see. The onus is on me, I suppose, for letting her out of my sight. Florian,” the guard at his side stood to attention, “you are in charge here. I know you are adept at magical barriers; reinforce mine if it should crack in my absence. This might be a an isolated incident but I will have to investigate for any continued malfeasance.”

“How will the barrier hold if Prince Sorde involves the Forbanne?” Florian was careful to whisper his concern direct in Alster’s ear.

“It will not,” he frowned. “But--I do not think they will cause any trouble. I do sense something...off, in the air tonight, but,” he pressed a hand to his chest, “I cannot say it bears a connection to this incident.”

The Rigas guard glanced knowingly at Alster and the positioning of his hand. Over the chest, it meant… “Do you suspect Elespeth is in danger?”

Alster dropped his hand. “We shall see.”

He did not venture far outside the tent before another Rigas guard rushed from the direction of the city with an urgent report. “Lord. Elespeth has been arrested for murder. The Dawn Guard are escorting her to the dungeons as we speak.”

“So it is true,” he muttered, his hand returning to his chest. An irregular heartbeat pulsed between his fingers. “Our connection persists. Past my shields, your heart…”

“Lord?”

“Forgive me. I am speaking nonsense.” Alster headed for the city gate. “Thank you for the report. This is a Rigas matter as much as it is a Braighdath matter. We may not have our lands, but my embassy, and those seeking asylum under its banner, travels with me.”

Travel he did. Through the gates, he marched straight to the dungeons, recalling their location from his past experience. It seemed like years ago when he, Lilica, Vitali, and Tivia were ambushed by Dawn warriors, and thrown together in a cramped, dank cell. He wondered if the city ever fused together the seared-off bars from their escape, or if that particular cell, rendered useless, was consigned to mere storage.

When he arrived at the entrance to the dungeons, he was met by the leader of the Dawn Guard. He swept into a curt bow. “As Rigas Head, the actions of a fellow Rigas are, too, under my jurisdiction. Know that we cannot act in one direction or another without a proper investigation. Stella D’Mare has not revoked its rights as a self-governing nation, and the encampment falls to my sovereignty. Whether you recognize our sovereignty is another matter, and will require further discussion. Roen,” he met the sagacious man’s eyes, “much as I am humbly at your service for the tireless aid and hospitality you have extended to my people, this is a legal matter, and it deserves careful attention. With your cooperation, we will come to a swift and decisive solution. Allow me to speak to Elespeth Rigas, alone--and we will proceed from there.”

With Roen’s permission, Alster was led down a familiar corridor, to a cell in the corner--decidedly not the one in which he and his companions destroyed several months ago. Once his Dawn Guard valet vacated the hallway, he peered through the bars, into the darkened cell that housed his former-lover.

“Elespeth,” he said, and the way he called her name hearkened back to the days when his heart thrummed just to speak it aloud. He cleared his throat, and the melody deadened. “Tell me what happened, since I saw you last. Omit no details. They claim you have been arrested for murder. This fragment of a statement is incongruous, at best and I need more information if I am to resolve this for you.”

Everything had gone numb.

From the moment her eyes registered the blood on her clothes, her hands, her sword, to the body laying on the ground at her feet, Elespeth had stopped feeling or thinking, completely. She made no move to resist the Dawn warriors who, upon taking note of the sight--the crime scene--before them, immediately arrested her, confiscating her sword and binding her hands behind her back. She had no right to be in shock; not after what she had just done, but somehow, the former knight (now turned murderer, it appeared) could not comprehend the events that had just taken place. Could not wrap her head around the fact she had approached this defenseless woman, obviously upset and shaken from what had transpired between Haraldur and Hadwin among the tents, had grabbed her by the fabric of his tunic, and had… had taken her blade to her throat, and…

She felt sick. She wanted to vomit, but wasn’t sure she had the energy or strength. Blood had rushed from her head to her core, making her movements unsteady in her light-headed state, but the ex-knight trudged on as her captors escorted her as discreetly as they were able back past the tents, and through the gate. It was futile, though; there was no turning a blind eye to a person covered in blood. They stopped, at one point, as someone intercepted them. A familiar face and voice; Sigrid Sorenson, of the Dawn Guard, her mouth agape with what her blue eyes were taking in. She didn’t believe it--or, more accurately, she did not want to believe it, and Elespeth didn’t blame her. She did not want to believe it, either, and yet… and yet, it had happened, and she was…

The time between being arrested and escorted to a cold, wrought-iron prison seemed simultaneously quick and lagging. It was the longest walk she had ever made, she felt, and yet it was over and done with before she could blink. As soon as she found herself behind bars, the reality hit her like a sheet of ice, and she began to shiver, clutching her arms to herself as she sank to her knees in a corner.

“Why did you do it?” One of her captors asked. Someone from the Dawn Guard who, sadly, she recognized. Who had helped her in rebuilding her muscles and her strength. “That woman was unarmed, she was no danger to you…”

“Let it be. I think we both know the answer.” The other man answered before she could give a reply; not that she had one to offer, anyway. “Look at her. She’s not getting better; she never got better. Just stronger… and now she’s a danger to more than just herself.” There was more pity in his voice than accusation. He shook his head. “We are also to blame, making such a gross oversight, giving her so much freedom that she wasn’t ready for… this is on all of our hands, not just hers. Lets go sort this mess out… find the family of that poor woman who’ll never walk among the living, again.”

They left her alone at last, the only one incarcerated in that wrought-iron prison that smelled of mildew and chill. Finally alone with her thoughts, and with that voice… I told you, you were better off dead. The old Elespeth hissed in her ear, as if she were standing right next to her. Now look at what you have done. What you have destroyed… there is no hope for you, now. No redemption. Accept your punishment and the consequences with grace.

“...she’s already won…” Elespeth breathed the words to nobody in particular. She remembered Hadwin’s words, that knowing look in his golden eyes: ‘Don’t let her win’. It was too late; perhaps it had been too late, the moment he’d said it. “She has already won…”

Do not blame me. I have not done this. I have not committed so heinous a crime that redemption is out of my reach. This was all you. If only you had listened to me, had rid this world of yourself when you had the chance, then tragedy would never have occurred…

She was right; it was just as Elespeth had feared. She had always been right. There was no hope for her, now. No redemption, no way to rectify this mistake, which overshadowed every wrongdoing she had ever committed in her life. Now, everyone would see her for the wretched thing that she was; beyond hope, and beyond saving. “...maybe… it is better this way.” She breathed the words as a twisted source of comfort; the only silver lining she could find in these dark, bleak clouds. Elespeth spent the remainder of that night shivering and staring into nothingness, so devastated that it felt akin to being completely devoid of emotion. Apparently, even guilt and regret had their limits; and beyond their limits existed only numbness, and nothingness.

The entire situation was a mess, given what had happened, and who was involved. Since the Dawn Guard had been the first responders to the tragedy in the woods, it was up to Roen to stand at the prison that evening, turning away curious eyes and ears that sought to know what the story behind the arrested woman and the murder really was. It wasn’t until he was approached by Alster Rigas that evening that he found his authority challenged for the first time--but not without good reason.

“I do not discredit your own authority over your nation and people.” The Dawn warrior agreed with a nod, arms folded across his broad chest. “Elespeth is not one of our own. However, Alster Rigas, she had killed one of our own. While her motives have yet to be known, I’m afraid she must remain incarcerated for the time-being; for her own safety and that of others. Rest assured, we will hear her story, but…” Roen’s shoulders fell as he dropped his arms to his sides. “The Dawn Guard is unable to come to her defense. She cooperated and did not resist arrest, but we cannot help you any further than discovering the truth. I am sorry there is not more that I can do. As for your request…” He nodded, and wordlessly bade the Rigas mage to follow him down the long, dark corridor that even the torches along the stone walls could not sufficiently light.

She didn’t sleep--she couldn’t sleep, not after what she had done--and thus became aware of a conversation in the near distance. Two voices she recognized, one more than the other… Moments later, the Dawn Guard’s leader, Roen, escorted none other than Alster to the front of her cell. “Elespeth; you have a visitor.” The Dawn warrior announced. “I think it would do well for you to speak with him.”

The name she heard on Alster’s lips, after Roen had left, startled the already erratic pace of her hear. That voice, that timbre… it sounded as though it belonged to the Alster she knew. The Alster she loved. But when she peered out from between the bars, the eyes that caught the dim light of the torches were steely and devoid of emotion. Too soon to hope… Her shoulders drooped, and the former knight merely shook her head.

“Yes, Alster… I was arrested for murder. But I’m afraid the details that I can give you are not going to help either of us.” Elespeth’s voice was barely more than a whisper, its sound carried and amplified only by the emptiness of her dark cell. “I killed someone, tonight. With my sword, her blood on my hands and clothes. I’m sorry, but… I am not looking to defend myself. Not anymore. I thought I still had a chance; that I could become something useful, to you. Some means of staying by your side, even if I do not deserve your love. But I hoped too much, and too soon. She was right; I’d have been better off dying when I had the chance…”

The Atvanian warrior made no means to explain just to whom she was referring to, by mentioning ‘she’, but it didn’t matter; it wasn’t likely that Alster was even listening. Not the intuitive way that the Alster she knew used to. “...for all that you believe you are what your people need, you know, you were wrong. About so many things.” This abrupt change in subject, turning the attention to him, might have appeared random. Just another musing of a clearly unsettled mind. But the truth was, this had been a long time coming. Ever since the Alster she knew and loved had yielded almost completely to the Serpent’s influence. “You were wrong about me--that I would not let you down. I had already done so, before you even said that, and here I sit, incarcerated for murder; I’ve let you down again. But that is miniscule compared to the real assumption you are operating under.”

Finally standing, her legs stiff and still shaking from a chill that originated from the inside-out, she moved towards the bars to get a better look at the Rigas head. For a moment, she remained silent, carefully considering her words. “You said that Alster--the real Alster Rigas, the man I love--is weak. But that is nowhere near the truth. You, in fact, are the weak shadow, because you do not feel… you do not love.” The man she loved; not in the past tense. Perhaps the new Alster knew this, though, and simply did not care. “And let me tell you, it takes more courage to love someone than it does to step onto a battlefield. It requires more strength of heart and will to care for someone than it does to make calculated decisions, devoid of emotion. The Alster I know is the strongest person I’ve ever met, because he has loved, and because he has survived. He has shouldered every burden, every responsibility, and it did not turn him cold. So do not fool yourself. If you lock him away because I have forced your hand, then say as much. But if you claim that you keep him shut away because it is for the better of your people…”

She trailed off and shook her head. Why was she wasting her breath? Alster, this Alster, was here for one purpose, and one purpose only: to put together the pieces of a crime that did not need to be solved. Her words were likely falling upon deaf ears… “... I do not plan on claiming innocence. I am guilty. And with the last shred of honour left in me, I will confess to that. I do not know what me sentence will be; it will not be good, but I will accept it with grace. And I only have one last request.” Elespeth closed her fingers over the bars, searching his face for a sign that he was still there, somewhere. Not vanquished entirely by the Serpent. “... let me see him, speak with him, one more time. I’ve nothing to say to you… but too much to say to him. Before I no longer have the opportunity to do so…”

“...is a breach. She is already being seen by someone. I cannot allow--”

“I don’t care what you call a breach! I have been her acting physician since she has arrived, and she suffers a condition that requires medication. I have every right to see to her well-being.”

More voices echoed off of the walls, drawing ever closer. Again, both familiar, one being Roen, and the other, a dark-haired woman with greying streaks. Tomasin; the healer she’d been consulting with.

“You realize that if you claim to be her physician, you shall be called upon to make a statement. And you will be under oath to be honest.” Roen told her, as a means of caution, but the woman did not appear deterred.

“Fine. Call on me. But right now, I will be tending to my patient.”

Tomasin rounded the corner, and hurried toward Elespeth’s cell as soon as she took note of the only prisoner in the entire dungeon. “Elespeth. I came as soon as I heard the news…” Her eyes trailed to Alster, clearly unfamiliar with the Rigas mage.

The former knight sighed. Why was everyone rushing to her rescue… when it was so obvious she was guilty of the crime she’d been accused of? “This is Alster Rigas.” She explained, by name only. His role in leading the D’Marians spoke for itself. “But… why did you come? You shouldn’t have…”

“Formally? To give you this; I don’t imagine you have your tonic on you, anymore.” She handed Elespeth a small vial through the bars, and the ex-knight nodded her understanding. “But, in truth… because I do not believe you are guilty.”

“Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I killed someone, tonight. They were not wrong to arrest me.”

“Then tell me why, Elespeth. Why did you murder an innocent woman?”

Elespeth opened her mouth to reply, but… she fell short of words. Her impassive face suddenly contorted with worry. “...I don’t know. I don’t have a reason, and that… that is the worst part.”

“Then that alone tells me that you are not responsible; or solely responsible for what happened.” The healer pressed her lips together and lowered her voice. “I have overseen your recovery since your attempted suicide. Do I think you are a danger to yourself? Absolutely; and I also know you’ve been harming yourself in secret. I don’t need to see the scars, it is written in your aura.” She ignored the way Elespeth winced at the accusation that seemed to sting more than being arrested for murder. “But not once have I ever been under the impression that you are a danger to anyone else. No, I would not put you in the clear of being mentally sound. You are hurting in too many ways that you will not even admit to me. But you are not a murderer. I can read people; I’d have seen it coming, and I wouldn’t have allowed you the freedom the Dawn Guard offered you.”

“But… that doesn’t change what happened. It doesn’t change that I am a murderer.” The ex-knight whispered, locking her knees to try and keep her legs from shaking. “It doesn’t change everything. I know what I did; I remember every detail…”

“And what else do you remember? Enough witnesses can testify that you saved a man’s life, tonight, when the Eyraillian prince lost control. How did you transition from saviour, only to wander into the woods and assume the identity of a murderer?”

Once again, Elespeth’s mind was void of any viable explanations, and could respond with nothing more than a blank stare. Tomasin took a chance and reached through the bars to grab her wrist… “Elespeth. What do you remember?”

The ex-knight exhaled on a shaky breath and stared thoughtfully at the wall ahead of her. “I fled, after fending off Haraldur… I need to be away from the crowd. It was too much, and I’d just had to fight a friend and ally… so I went into the woods…” Darkness. And then, nothing but a startled scream, a futile plea for mercy, and blood. So much blood, gushing from that woman’s neck… Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. “That woman… looked as though she’d been unsettled by Haraldur’s display. I saw her, I grabbed her… my sword was already drawn. I… I slit her throat…”

Tomasin did not appear convinced. She glanced at Alster, who’d been quietly, impassively observing the exchange. “Does this sound characteristic of your comrade?” Of course, it did not, which sent the healer rummaging around in the satchel at her waist. She withdrew a clear, flat stone, the size of a palm, and placed it in her hand. “Elespeth, it sounds to me as though you have lost time; you are missing memories. With your consent, I may be able to help you retrieve them. Will you let me try?”

Elespeth stared at the stone in Tomasin’s outstretched hand. She hesitated. “...I am afraid of what I might remember…”

“And I am afraid an innocent person will be persecuted. Please…” The healer urged gently. “Your fighting spirit was just beginning to reawaken, Elespeth. Do not concede defeat before you have fought the battle…”

The ex-knight hesitated a moment longer, out of her own sense of fear, but at last, she took a step forward and placed her hand upon the stone. Tomasin went still, eyes closed in concentration for a handful of moments. Her focus was interrupted by a cry of pain, however, as Elespeth flinched from the stone and staggered back several steps, her hands pressing on either side of her temples. Blood trickled from her nostril, and dripped onto the ground. “It is like… there is nothing there.” The healer whispered, gazing at her stone in astonishment. “Something is preventing me from making a connection… Elespeth, something--or someone--does not want you to remember. And it looks as though by trying, it will hurt you as a repercussion.”

She offered a handkerchief to the former knight, who took it and pressed it to her nose, before taking a seat. In the aftermath, she had been rendered suddenly dizzy. “Take your tonic; it will lower your blood pressure and help you sleep. This isn’t a solution, and before the city council, it sadly proves nothing… but it does prove my point. Elespeth Rigas, I believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that what you did was not your will.”

“What is going on, here?” Elespeth’s cry of pain had summoned Roen, who, not knowing what he was going to encounter, rested a hand on his sword.

Tomasin only shook her head. “Like I said; she is not well. And keeping her here may poorly impact her health.”

“I’m afraid I cannot remove her from this cell just yet.”

“Then you will permit me and Alster Rigas unrestricted access to her. She is one of his people, and it is my duty as a healer to see to my patients’ well-being.”

“Very well. But until I hear from the council, that is as much as I can offer prior to their response.”

“Elespeth; try and get some rest. We will figure this out.” The healer calmly promised, reaching through the bars to touch her shoulder, before pocketing her stone and taking her leave. Alster lingered in her wake until the former knight spoke up.

“...you should go and get some rest, as well.” She suggested, quiet defeat hollowing her voice. “This place isn’t even fit for a commoner, let alone the head of the Rigas family, and Stella D’Mare’s esteemed leader.”

The infinite patience of Alster Rigas, the weak version, crushed underfoot, did not belong on the face of the man who stood opposite Elespeth. In many ways, he stood in opposition to her, and it extended beyond their stances on her murder charge. The warrior, strong in her conviction, chose honor and integrity even if it meant her death, while Alster had no need of conviction, if it blocked the path to progress and results. Inexplicably, she maintained a vice-grip on her petty emotions, even when doing so would send her to the gallows. Let them go, he wanted to tell her. You are making the same weak mistakes as my inferior predecessor. It makes no sense. Survival is of utmost import, and yet you cling stubbornly to shaky ideals, even when they ensure your death.  

“This is no time to be obtuse, Elespeth,” he said, the glass smoothness of his face folding from some subterranean pressure pushing and heating from within. “I do not want your personal opinion. It is an opinion that will deter your survival.” His good hand curled around the bars of her cell and tightened. There was tension in his muscles. A reaction to her news. To her decision. Impatience and...something else, too. “Details, Elespeth. Tell me what you remember. From what you said, nothing adds to the bigger picture. You had no motive. The woman caused no threat. What is missing, here? Do not omit any details on purpose. I know you want to die, but that counteracts your pledge. Everything that you have sworn to me. Your death is not an option!”

There it was. Anger. Hurt. Infinitesimal, yes, but the pain of it rippled in his eyes like wind skimming off the water’s surface. He released his grip on the bars and turned from the woman who did nothing but challenge his own right to live. If she died…

You will be free.

You will be lost.

Both statements rang true. What did a life look like, free but lost? Floating ceaselessly into the void, untethered from the realm, his home? What did it mean, to have nothing, truly nothing?

We can manage without her. The Serpent slithered through his skin, reasserting control. Would her death be a true loss?

“You are calling me weak?” A simmering of the residual anger he’d tried, without success, to swallow, clung to his voice, needled his shoulders, stiffened his breathing. Still, he did not move to face her; he looked across the corridor, to an empty cell. Through an empty cell. “You, who are in such a miserly state, and worsening yet? And he, who followed you into this mire you have created? He who could not hold his head above it to save himself? You love this man whose only strength was in loving you? Who survived because he clung to you? Who would have died multiple times, or ceased living altogether, if not for you?”

He was facing her again, his face pressed close to the bars, peering at the lost little animal in her sad cage. “All of his accomplishments of this past year began when he met you. What does that say about him, Elespeth?” He smacked his lips as if he tasted something sour. Something abhorrent and unpalatable. “He latched to you like some parasite, sucked your nectar dry, and left nothing but the pits behind. His strength is a farce, and it died when yours died. And now,” he straightened his posture in triumph, “the Serpent gives him strength. Strength to sustain him in this life. Without the Serpent, his magic would crush him. The parasite of Alster Rigas no longer feeds on you. Consider yourself liberated.” Then, with a quiet, but decisive voice, he muttered, “he has nothing to say to you.”

Fortunately, an additional person had joined the congregation in the corner, breaking up the tense atmosphere that had formed between two ex-lovers professing themselves as too fundamentally different to welcome the other back into their lives. Alster rearranged the glass-smoothness of his face and greeted the newcomer with a bow. “I have a great respect for healers, though it is unfortunate to hear that Elespeth is having so much trouble with her heart. She has failed to inform me.” His hand drifted to his own chest, and he glanced sidelong at the prisoner who so desperately wanted condemnation. Though I feel it, too, his gesture had seemed to convey. “And the self-harm...” This time, something akin to sadness threatened to fog up the glass smoothness of his countenance. An out-of-focus look in his eyes...but it vanished with the snapping of a violent blink.

He listened to the back and forth between the healer and Elespeth, nodding along to the former’s conclusion of suspected foul-play. “I am of the same opinion. There are holes in this story. Even if we hypothesize that Elespeth has suffered a psychotic episode, attributable to stress, trauma, and other environmental factors, I can aver that it would not have manifested as such a violent, impulsive act. She does not have the history to support insanity as a reason for murder. If we can locate the man she saved, he might be able to attest to her noble character. That is,” a small sigh escaped his lips, “if he would be willing to cooperate. He is a notorious scoundrel.”

As the healer withdrew a pond-stone of nondescript shape or size, Alster gave a knowing glance of approval, familiar with the method of memory-retrieval through the use of crystals, which always provided a strong amplification when mixed with other magical components. He watched Elespeth’s hand make contact with the smooth surface and startled when she startled. Her screams, the blood dribbling down her nose...somehow, it made his heart thump like the heavy beats of a kettle-drum.

“So there was malfeasance afoot, tonight,” Alster confirmed, with a frown. “I sensed a disturbance, through--” he hesitated. “I sensed it. Perhaps if I visit the scene of the murder, I can pick up any traces of magic or other anomalous signatures in the vicinity. I will do so, after I am done here.”

When Roen arrived, suspicious of the goings-on in his absence, the healer tried to allay the troubled wrinkles between his brow, but the situation proved far from allaying--or far from solved. After the healer spoke her farewells and departed in the echo of the Dawn warrior’s footsteps, Alster glimpsed into the darkness of Elespeth’s cell, but did not search for her body; only the spaces she did not occupy.

“If there is a magic-related reason for this incident, I will find the culprit,” he said, the requisite coolness returning to his overall mein. “I will call on you in the morning with my findings, Elespeth. This is not the end--so speak not of last requests. That is my promise to you.”

As he exited the building, the solution which he did not speak aloud spun in his mind, like a coin losing more and more of its opacity the swifter it rotated. Of course, it was all an illusion; the coin never sacrificed its solidity. But still, it spun, and still, it defied the viewer with its optical tricks. Hence, was his conundrum. The bond between Alster Rigas and Elespeth was a trick of the feeble human condition. Yes, it was weaved by threads of blood and sacrifice, of star matter and magic, but also--love. Weakness incarnate. And yet, the answers lay within; after all, what she felt, he felt, and he felt, no, sensed a tugging of their still-connected threads around the time of the incident. By lifting the barriers which dampened their bond, he could use his own memory of the tugging as a starting point, and follow its vibrations into Elespeth’s suppressed memory. From there, it was possible to uncover the answers, glean the specifics of the magic, or of the person responsible. The true culprit.

To do so, he needed destroy the dam between himself and Elespeth. To open his heart. To let her inside. To let himself inside.

But who was that? How did he define himself? Who was Alster Rigas, now?

We are Alster Rigas. Little remains of that pathetic whelp. But she will look for him. She will try and exploit any crack, any breach you dare to show her. Do not let her crack you open. This is your new face, Alster Rigas. You cannot return to what you destroyed.

It was supposed to be temporary. A holdover, until Elespeth improved.

We both knew that was a lie you told yourself, to ease in your transition to greatness. She is not improving. She will never improve. If she never improves, you cannot call this state of being temporary.

He could help her.

She wants to die. Let her go. You are not enough.

Not enough…

Alster reached the gate leading into Braighdath after his return from the murder scene, which yielded no magical traces, as he’d expected. A steady drizzle had since begun to slick the stone-lined avenues at his feet. Crashing over the walls like a tidal wave, a heavy fog rolled into the city proper, eating what remained of the landscape. Through the filmy barrier, a dark shape approached, a tiny flicker of smoldering light bobbing before it like a dying will o’ the wisp forever determined to lead travelers astray, even with its terminal breath.

It was a pipe.

The figure stepped into focus. A familiar row of teeth grimaced out of the shivering darkness.

“Hadwin.” Alster nodded his acknowledgement to the man. “I must speak with you...regarding what happened, tonight. Elespeth has been arrested for murder.”

“So I’ve heard.” Alster blinked. Since when did the faoladh give out brusque, succinct replies, so void of liveliness or color?

“If you will come with me, perhaps you could provide a little more clarity to the Dawn Guard helming this investigation A character analysis, if you will.”

“Sure thing, boss. But first,” he evacuated the stem from his mouth and blew out a stream of smoke. It coalesced with the mist, a smudge of gray amongst the ethereal white, “you got something on your face, there.” The wolf-shifter stalked closer, raising a hand as though to wipe it off.

Alster raised his prosthesis in alarm, counteracting the “aid” of the “helpful” shifter. “What are you doing? I have nothing on my face.”

“Oh yeah, you do.” An eerie gurgle of a chuckle followed. “They’re emotions.” A preternatural glow penetrated the mist; two yellow eyes, peering out of the abyss. His two rows of teeth sharpened from the light. “Let’s help ‘em along...worm.”

Alster sat on a throne on top of the world. All was at peace. I did it, he thought, a serene smile stretching across his face. I saved them all. In the end, I was everything to everyone. To the people, to those who called my name, beseeching my help. I saved them, and the world can rest.

As his hands rotated the ball of etherea that represented a model of the earth, he noticed a black spot at its center. A dot, no larger than a poppy seed. He flicked it from the globe’s pristine surface, but ended up squashing its fragile carapace. Juices spluttered out of the seed and seeped across the smooth sphere, highlighting the bumps, fault-lines, and imperfections of his perfect world. The more the juices spread, the more the black dye soaked through and coated the beautiful ball of etherea in slime and toxins. The truth presented itself. He didn’t save anyone, at all. He threw a shroud over the problem and called it fixed. Surface-level healing. Like ice over a frozen pond. What horrors had he pushed in the depths beyond human comprehension?

The globe cracked down the middle and split in two, falling from his hands. Shattering. A dark miasma billowed from out of the shards, floating in a slow vortex around Alster and his crumbling throne. “You call yourself a savior,” a familiar, female voice whispered, “but you could not save me. You would leave me to drown in the sea of all your failures to pursue an easier glory. How does it feel, Alster, to abandon the cries which most resonates with your soul? Cries that belong to your soul? Why won’t you save our world?”

“I am.” Alster reached for the wisps of darkness, but they bled through his hands, leaving behind soot stains like splotches of frostbite on skin. “I’m trying to help you, Elespeth. I was causing you too much pain. Your heart--”

“Liar!” The vortex howled. “You were running. Running from the pain. Playing leader in comparison looked so much more appealing, so you threw yourself into the work. You would forsake me for hollow fame. Give me away for people who have despised you!”

“No,” he pleaded, but the vortex engulfed him, threatening to squeeze the air from his lungs. “I’d never!”

“You’ve left me to die!” The vortex buffeted him to the ground and wailed into his ears.

“No!” he cried. “Please, I’m sorry!”

“I’m dead, already. You’ve condemned me. This is what you deserve, Alster. So desperate to save. But you can never save what matters. This is your legacy. Crumble with it!”

The vortex descended, and all went dark.

“Alster…”

Who?

“Alster…”

Who was there!?

“You are not dead. This is a dream. A nightmare.”

But he had been unmade. The vortex destroyed him. Elespeth sought her vengeance upon his miserable, treacherous soul. It was no less than he deserved.

“Do you not remember? It was that accursed wolf-shifter who sent you into a pit of your deepest fears. Though doing so has awakened and unmoored me, so I cannot entirely fault his methods.”

A dim, blue light trembled in the far distance. The light approached. It was a man, carrying a ball of etherea.

“I am part of your consciousness now, Alster. You placed me here, as protector of the Rigas Blood Seal--which resides in you.”

...Rigel.

“I must say, Alster, I am disappointed that you have attributed your strength to the Serpent, and in so doing, saddled him with the power to subjugate and manipulate you.”

The Serpent…

“Yes. The creature acts as your battery, and the two of you share a bond. That much, I understand. But to believe an alien entity represents some fully transcended version of you is truly upsetting. It has contributed little, except to convince you that It holds all the answers. That It knows better than your own conviction.”

But without Elespeth…

“No doubt, she is a wonderful influence. With her, your star shines brightest. But she is not you, Alster, just as the Serpent is not you. She complements you, but she does not define you. You define you. And you exhibit strength on your own. It is confidence you lack. I will help you along the way, and never will I attempt to snuff out your soul and influence you against your will. The Serpent has run rampant because you did not respect who you are, and so, It does not respect you. You must live with It, for now, but I believe it is still possible to achieve harmony.”

How do--

“How do you stave off the Serpent’s influence? It is simple. Push back. Fight with your will. You have a reason, now. Someone who needs you. Someone you must save, no?”

Save…

Elespeth.

It was nearly morning when Alster arrived at the prison. From the tired lines under his eyes, he did not sleep at all, beyond the short “reprieve” of his compelled nightmare-state, which he’d awakened from in less than stellar conditions: a puddle in a back alley. The wolf-shifter responsible for the “assault,” was nowhere to be found. Probably for the best--as far as they were both concerned.

Having enough time to stop at the inn and change, he entered through the checkpoints of the prison wearing a far more utilitarian outfit than before: a simple tunic and trousers. As per arrangements with Roen last night, no Dawn warrior stopped him from entering. In fact, one guard welcomed him, and led him to Elespeth’s cell without questioning his visit at such an obscene hour. When the footsteps of the guard receded, and Alster could confirm privacy between himself and the prisoner, he crouched until he was level with her huddled up figure in the corner.

“Elespeth,” he whispered, in case he disturbed her slumber. But she was awake. She twitched, at his call. “Elespeth...it’s me. The...the me that you know.” That seemed to grab her attention. Her head twisted in his direction, and their eyes met. He tried a smile, but it was a sad reproduction, more sorrowed than joyful. “I’m so sorry. For everything. For what I’ve said to you. For making things so much worse. But there will be time for proper apologizing later, because I’m going to unveil the truth about what happened to you last night. At least...I have an idea that might work.” Between the narrow spaces of the cell bars, he slid through his flesh and blood hand, and extended it to her. “Take my hand. I’m going to reconnect our bond. And if you’ll let me into your thoughts...I’m going to search for that memory. Don’t worry,” he said, with a soothing, reassuring candor. “I’ll be gentle. I’ve hurt you enough, as it is.”

It should have brought her even a modicum of relief, the reassurance of this news. That she had lost time not because she was also losing her mind, but because someone had stolen that time from her, locked away those memories so that nothing was left but for incriminating evidence that made absolutely no sense. And yet… nothing that the healer, nor that Alster said made her feel the least bit reassured. What did it matter, if the end result was the same? It was her hand, her sword that had taken a life… an innocent life, that had pleaded with her for mercy.

Unwilling or not, she was still a murderer.

“...the pact that I made was with Alster Rigas. For Alster Rigas.” The ex-knight spoke softly, before the man masquerading as the man she loved took his leave. He halted at her her words. “I pledged my life to the man that I have always known. The one who you have shut away; the real leader of the Rigases and of Stella D’Mare. One who survived without the likes of you for years, and who will continue to survive, should you let him.”

Elespeth took the handkerchief away from her nose. The blood had stopped gushing from her nostril, but the piece of cloth was soaked through… just looking at it made her feel light-headed. “You are not Alster Rigas. You are an imposter who stands in his place, and I… I am not beholden to you. It is therefore pointless for you to try and pursue this case in my favor. I cannot attest to what I cannot remember, but I can own up to what I can. And I have not changed my mind: I have no intention of pleading innocent. Whatever punishment is decided, I already accept it. So… do not bother returning, tomorrow. Like I have already explained…” She closed her eyes, and pulled her knees to her chest, her head still pounding in the aftermath of Tomasin’s attempt to scry her memories. “I have nothing to say to you… Serpent.”

If it was not one crisis, then it was another, it seemed. Braighdath had not seen the true definition of rest since the arrival of the D’Marians; with Elespeth’s attempted suicide, Alster’s adverse reaction to it, the Rigas Caster’s abrupt change in attitude, now followed by the Atvanian warrior’s sudden and confusing crime, paired with Haraldur completely losing control--and then going even further in a wild attempt to prove that he deserved to be locked up… Sigrid was at the very limit of her composure, to the point where even Naimah’s soothing presence could not placate her.

For now, Haraldur had gotten what he’d wanted--to an extent. Taken off guard by his sudden assault, Sigrid failed to defend against his punches, and the sharp edge of his blade when it sliced the top side of her thigh. Of course, her brothers and sisters in arms apprehended the Eyraillian Prince, but at Sigrid’s firm request, they did not escort him to the dungeon in Elespeth’s wake. Rather, they marched him back to the barracks, where he was confined to a spartan bedroom at random (its previous occupants would have no choice but to agree to be relocated). And that was where he stayed, for the remainder of the evening, while the city struggled to find a grasp on just what had happened, and while Sigrid, in Naimah’s company, tried to keep her mental faculties sharp in a futile attempt not to let it all overwhelm her.

Though glaring, her wounds were superficial. The Kariji woman fetched her ice to bring down the bruising and the swelling of her cheek and jaw, which had already begun to turn purple from the force of Haraldur’s fist, as well as clean rags and an antiseptic solution to clean and bandage the gash across her leg. None of it was debilitating; just annoying. Should it be required, she could still stand and fight, but that did not negate the time that needed to be taken to ensure those injuries didn’t grow worse. Frankly, Naimah was more concerned than she was.

“It’ll be fine; it just stings a little.” The Dawn warrior assured her beautiful companion, as Naimah insisted the tension of the bandage be just right to prevent too much blood loss. Sigrid had refused to see a healer, for the simple reason that Naimah was more or less the only company and help that she could tolerate for the time being. “I don’t care what Roen says; he’s going to ask me to stand down, I know it. But this is different. This goes beyond the business of the Dawn Guard; this is the business of my family… my bloodline. And I am going to sort it out.”

When the bandage around her thigh was secure, the Dawn warrior fetched a new pair of trousers (Haraldur had effective ruined her old ones), and pulled them over her muscular legs. “He did it because he wanted to get a rise out of me. Because he wants me to see him as the monster that he thinks he is. Well, if he wants attention, he is going to get it. But it isn’t going to be the sort of attention that he seeks.”

Standing from where she sat upon her bed in the barracks, Sigrid winced as the weight she put on her injured leg triggered a deep-seated ache. She would be treading very carefully until it healed. “I’ll be alright, Naimah… thank you. But now I am going to go deal with my cousin. If Roen ever leaves his post a the prison and asks after me, you are welcome to tell him the truth--and to tell him that what I am doing now goes beyond his jurisdiction.”

Planting a grateful kiss on the Kariji woman’s lips, the Dawn warrior gingerly left her room, and sought out the one where Haraldur was being kept. At her request, two of her loyal brothers in arms stood guard at the door. She dismissed them with a wave of her hand. “Thank you for your help and cooperation… But I have this under control, now. Go and get some rest.”

“Sigrid, are you sure…? You want to walk in there, unarmed?” One of the Dawn warriors asked, his face a study of concern, taking in his sister’s limp and her bruised and swollen face. “If he seeks to do you more harm, you have to defend yourself…”

“He isn’t going to hurt me again. He got what he wanted: incarceration. So now, I am going to lay the law down to him.”

Though neither of them appeared convinced, the Dawn warriors respected Sigrid’s decision, and took their leave. Unlocking the door, Sigrid was not surprised to see her cousin slouched over on the bed upon which his sat, his head and neck lower than his shoulders, hanging in shame and despair. She slammed the door behind her to startle him out of his trance-like state. “I’m done, Haraldur.” Was all she said at first, fists clenched at her side as she stood with her back to the door. “I am done with doing it your way. I’ve respected your decisions since we left Stella D’Mare; your place among your Forbanne soldiers, and your refusal to kill Solveig when we had the chance. We did it your way, and look where we are now? So from this point on, we are doing it my way. And the first thing that you are going to do is listen.”

Moving away from the door, the Dawn warrior planted herself in front of her cousin, trying as best she could to hide the temporary limp that was a result of his uncalled-for attack. “I’m not buying it. You can come at me with your fists and your sword as much as you like. And I will bleed and bruise, and fend you off, but I am not buying it. You’re not a monster; you are a Prince of Eyraille, and it is about damned time you assumed the responsibilities of one.”

He said nothing; of course, she didn’t expect him to. But that was just fine with her, because she only needed him to listen.

“Here is the gist of what is happening, right now. Elespeth, your friend--our friend--is in a world of trouble. I don’t know the details, but she is currently incarcerated, and does not stand to be released anytime soon. She is going to need someone on her side, and I cannot deal with you trying to make a monster of yourself right now.” Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a familiar, smooth, cloudy stone. The resonance stone that she had given him some weeks ago, after her request that he contact Vega. Something that she was certain he had not done. “I’m done playing games with you, Haraldur, so here is what I am going to do. You want solitude and incarceration, you’ll get it: you can spend the day here. Nobody will bother you, nobody will be “in danger” in your presence. I’ll give you the day to think, to smarten up, and to come to your senses that it is time to stop holing yourself away from everyone who wants to help you. But I’ll be back this evening, to hear your thoughts. If you want to cooperate, and you choose to contact your wife yourself, then I’ll return this to you--but I’ll be standing right here, to make sure you follow through. And if you decide not to…”

The Dawn warrior placed the precious stone back into her pocket. “Then I will contact her, myself. And I think you know how that will end. She will be concerned, and not even the full extent of her Skyknight army in Eyraille will keep her from finding you, here, to make sure you are alright. So I will leave the choice up to you, but either way, you will be reconnecting with the princess. She’s the only woman--the only person who can overpower Solveig’s hold over you. And the longer that you are apart, the worse you are going to get.”

Sigrid left him on that note, not waiting around to see if he would respond, verbally or otherwise. She didn’t even make eye contact with her fellow brothers in arms as she left. The morning was still young, but she refused to stand alone in her conviction to stand for Elespeth. To find out what had really happened, and to prove the Atvanian warrior’s innocence. Because while she did not yet have the means or details to connect the dots, there was no way in this existence or any other than Elespeth Rigas was a murderer. For all that poor woman had gone through… this still did not add up.

Her next stop was outside the city walls, where she approached a pair of familiar caravans, outside which she found the performers--along with the person she was looking for. “Relax; I don’t care about what you did or what I said before. There are more important matters brewing.” She said to the faoladh, as he looked about to run at her approach.

“Sigrid of the Dawn guard.” Briery greeted her, pivoting her body so that it was angled between the warrior and the shapeshifter. Not that she thought for a moment she could fend off someone of Sigrid’s stature, even wounded as the woman obviously was. “What can we do for you? Pardon me for pointing out the obvious, but you are looking a little worse for the wear.”

“I’m not here to talk about that. Elespeth Rigas, my friend--Alster Rigas’s fiancee--has been accused of murder and is currently incarcerated. Braighdath has a heavy hand of justice when it comes to crimes of this nature…” She trailed off, clearly not wishing to go into any detail, but there was an understanding look about the troupe of performers that she felt she didn’t need to. “I take it you have already heard the news.”

“We have. And frankly--while I am not well acquainted with Elespeth Rigas--I am well inclined to believe that she is innocent.” Briery said, without hesitating a beat. “At least, as far as my tarot cards can predict, and I highly doubt that my humble account with those would stand up in your court system.”

Sigrid sighed and nodded solemnly. “I’m afraid that as it stands, there is very little that will stand up. That woman’s blood was on Elespeth’s hands, her sword, her clothes… her best defense is an attest to her character, and the details leading up to what occurred last night. Hadwin…” Her gaze settled on the wolf man again. “I saw that you spent a good deal of yesterday in Elespeth’s company… anything that you can say that might speak to her innocence, or to the possibility of foul play that lured her into it, could help immensely. The last I saw of her was when she saved you from my cousin’s… lapse in character. She ran off, disappeared. But I am willing to bet that as triggering as the situation might have been, fending off a friend, that would not be enough for her to go and take the life of an innocent person. Please, Hadwin. If there is any meager possibility that this can be explained in a way that favours Elespeth’s innocence…” Her shoulders drooped. “I have no real qualms with you, wolf. I was angry, before; part of me still is, for being the one to inform Alster of his fiancee’s suicide attempt. But… he needed to know. And right now, I do not want to see either of them suffer any more tragedy. Will you help?”

With the help of her tonic, Elespeth managed to drift into a light slumber, that evening, curled up in the corner of her cell. Enough that she dreamed, of a familiar warm, green place, with blue skies and a wisteria tree. One under which she found herself sitting, in the comfort of its shade, but… it wasn’t right. Because she was alone, there, when she shouldn’t be. This place was not for her, alone, but for them…

“Alster…” She breathed his name on the wind, and scanned the horizon to see if he had heard. Nothing changed; she remained alone, in the place made for them, a place she had not seen in a very long time. Without him…

Without him, it was just another place.

“...are you really gone…?” She heard herself ask, as tears trickled down her cheeks. “Did I drive you away, forever…?”

When she awoke a mere few hours later, those tears on her cheeks were real, and wet, and warm; recently shed. He has nothing to say to you, the Serpent wearing Alster’s skin had said to her. Was that the truth…? Had they exchanged their last words, that day when she asked to pledge herself to him as a soldier?

Don’t you see? Your existence has destroyed him. Had you died… he’d have found reason to move on. As it stands, he hides away--hides from you. And he may never come back. That voice, ever present at the back of her mind, taunted. You’ve no one to blame--

“Shut up--I know. You don’t think I know?” She hissed to herself in the silence and darkness of her cell. “It doesn’t matter anymore… doesn’t matter. I doubt I’ll be around for much longer for anyone else to suffer in my wake…”

The ex-knight lapsed into sad silence, then, and closed her eyes, seeking solace in the blackness behind her eyelids--but there was nothing there. No solace, no peace. Only… emptiness.

Elespeth… it’s me. The me that you know.

At first, she didn’t react to the voice. She was through with hearing the Serpent through Alster’s tone and cadence; it hurt too much. Salt in a wound that she had torn open, herself, but that this new Alser exacerbated.

Except… except that this was different. There was emotion in this voice. The Serpent was good at mimicking; it could mimic Alster’s appearance and his voice, his movements, to an extent… but it could not mimic his emotions, because it did not understand emotions. What she heard in this voice, right now…

“...Alster?” The Atvanian warrior jerked her head up and turned it in the direction of the voice. In the dim light the wall torches provided, those eyes she met… They were not hard and steely, but bright, and swimming with sentiments that no words could describe. Unbidden, tears sprung to her eyes, and she pulled herself to her feet. “You’re… is it you?”

He was rapt with apologies, one after the other, for things that were not even his fault. But what mattered was that it was all spoken in his voice, his will… this was Alster Rigas. Her Alster. He wasn’t gone, after all. “It’s you…” She breathed, sobbed into the sleeve of her tunic. “I thought… I thought It had taken you, forever. It would have been my fault. I forced you hand, I hurt you so badly… Alster, I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I am sorry. Know that I am sorry…”

Through the bars, Alster slid his hand; the one made of flesh and blood, with the scar that stood as proof of their new bond. Elespeth stared at it a moment, not because she doubted his intentions, but because she was afraid of what she might find… and what this might mean for her, for them. Taking his hand when she, still, did not deserve it. “It won’t change the fact that I did it.” She said softly. “I killed by my hand, my blade… even if it was not my will. I am still guilty…”

That was not how Alster saw it, nor the healer, Tomasin. But if connecting the dots placated them even slightly… even if she did suffer persecution, and it turned out the crime had not been of her free will, it would lift a weight from her conscience. Expelling a shaky breath, she closed her eyes, and took Alster’s hand.

Images began to rush back to her, an assault of of sensory information that didn’t make sense. Colours and sounds and sensations… One by one, likely with Alster’s help and guidance, they sorted themselves out, and began to formulate a story that could be followed. The sorrow and shock she’d felt, drawing her sword to fend off Haraldur, and her escape into the woods. Her sword was drawn, but there was no sign of the woman she’d killed. No, it was… a different woman. An unfamiliar face, which, even in the recesses of her memory, she could not make out clearly. Dark hair, and an unsettling smile… You should leave, she heard herself tell this woman, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach, but the woman did not leave. She advanced on her, reached out, and touched her arm…

Her free will fell away like a discarded sheet; she felt frozen in place, unable to move, to blink. The stranger brought her mouth close to her ear, uttered something she couldn’t understand, and then walked away. There, Elespeth remained frozen in place, unmoving, and barely breathing, until someone else entered the wood. Another woman, Braighdathian by the style of her clothes, out of breath, and with wide, concerned eyes. She turned to Elespeth and said, “What just happened? That man… he almost killed someone! But--wait, you saved him. It was you who got in the way, wasn’t it?”

Elespeth didn’t answer. Her vision darkened around the edges, and saw only this woman’s face. Something whispered to her, different from the voice she had grown used to. Kill her. Kill her. Kill her…

And she did. She did not react to the fear that crept into the woman’s eyes as she advanced on her, did not register her pleas for mercy…

She didn’t want to see any more.

Elespeth let go of Alster’s hand and staggered backward, feeling sick to her stomach, and dangerously light-headed. She watched blood drip from her nose for a second time in so many hours, before her knees gave out, and she collapsed. Alster’s voice, sounding so far away, cried for her in concern, joined with another voice, familiar and firm. “Open this cell, immediately! She needs help!”

The next thing she knew Tomasin was helping her sit up, holding a new handkerchief to her bleeding nose. “What did you do?” She demanded, looking over her shoulder at Alster with accusation in her eyes. As he ventured to explain, the stars in the warrior’s vision began to fade.

“...there was a woman. I remember… not the woman who died. Who I killed…” Elespeth closed her eyes and exhaled. “A woman… she gave me a bad feeling. I told her she should leave…”

“More than likely, she was the one who usurped your free will.” The healer noted, after Alster corroborated that he had witnessed the same thing in her mind. “But… how did you get through? You shouldn’t have been able to establish any connection; I wasn’t able to, last night. And evidently it still wasn’t without repercussions…” Tomasin took the warrior’s pulse, and the frown lines near her mouth deepened. “Your blood pressure has dropped… can you stand?”

With Alster and Tomasin’s help, they lifted Elespeth upright, but the ex-knight still leaned heavily on the two of them. “...this doesn’t mean anything. To us, maybe, but… not to this city. Or the family of the woman I…” She blinked residual tears from her eyes and shook her head. “How do we prove a memory…? Even if that woman left a trace of her being present in the woods when I was… we cannot prove a memory that only I and Alster has witnessed.”

“Maybe not. But this, Elespeth, confirms your innocence. We will find a way to make Braighdath see it, as well. Trust me, the truth will find a way.” She glanced over her shoulder, at the Dawn warrior who had let her into the accused woman’s cell. “She’s not well. She should be under observation; this is no place for her.”

“I’m sorry… it isn’t up to me.” The Dawn warrior said, appearing genuinely apologetic. He looked fairly young, and likely wasn’t happy to be in this particular position. “I was told--”

“It’s fine. I sanction this.” Roen’s heavy footfalls echoed off of the walls as he made his way toward the commotion. The young Dawn warrior appeared confused, but did not argue when his leader dismissed him, and took a look at the prisoner and her two attendants. “I’ve seen enough; this woman clearly isn’t in any state to be left alone in a cell. I will make that clear to the council, but this far from absolves her of the crimes she has been accused of… Alster, last night you made a case that this is as much Rigas business as it is that of Braighdath. If it suits you, she may remain under house arrest, under your care. She is not to leave your quarters unless it proves a risk to her health. Should you break those terms, you will be held just as accountable as she for this infarction… Am I clear?”

Of course, the Rigas Head agreed, and Tomasin gave her own thanks to the Dawn leader for his consideration. “Somehow,” she said to Alster, as they helped Elespeth out of the cell, “you seem different from when we met, last night. You didn’t show much concern for this woman’s health; you were merely disappointed that you had not been informed on the details.” She arched an angled eyebrow. “I’m not sure what has changed… but it is for the better.”

As Alster Rigas, heart intact and no longer constricted by the Serpent’s coils, the sight of Elespeth’s tears brought moisture to his eyes. “Sssh, El, it’s okay,” he said, rising to his feet in tandem with her. “It wasn’t your fault. It was me. I wasn’t strong enough...to stand on my own. So I surrendered to the Serpent. But no. It didn’t take me. It tried to, but...last night, your words, they had an impact. They were working. And, well,” he ran a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed to admit, “Hadwin stuck his fingers through those cracks and essentially spooked me back to myself. Lucky him it wasn’t to death. And then Ri--” he stopped his tongue and shook his head. “No, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s focus on what’s important, here.” He wrapped his fingers gently over Elespeth’s hand, their twin oath scars touching. “Your body may have done it, El, but it was not you. Even before assessing your memories, I can say that with certainty. Just as you wouldn’t acknowledge me yesterday; you saw only a parasite in a host body, pulling the strings.” He lowered his eyes, but quickly flicked their attention back to Elespeth. “And would you blame Haraldur for attacking Hadwin--for attacking you? Sigrid has told me her suspicions that he’s been under Captain Solveig’s compulsion. Think of this as a similar situation. Someone was controlling you, that evening. You’re innocent. All we need is the proof.”

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the connection of their linked hands, their promises written in blood, their shared paths. He followed the magical circuits traveling from her wrist to the nucleus of her arrhythmic heart. The barriers once protecting him from her innermost chambers lifted with the ease of a paper structure felled by a breeze. Together again, their destinies overlapped, heartbeat after heartbeat. Bruised--yet whole.

With their reestablished bond, he explored the well of her memories by following the skeins of rope that tied them taut. Into the darkness he descended. The walls of the well loomed, tightened with an oppressive, unwelcome force. The rope thrashed and he thrashed with it, but he did not release his hold on the memory. It did not want him to uncover the truth in the reflecting pool at the bottom of the well, but he pushed on, through the grinding pressure of stone on his skin, the burn of the rope between his hands, the water filling in his lungs--until he saw it there, at the water’s edge. The memory rippled across the surface, and he watched events as they truly transpired that night. A woman, framed in the darkness, her bearing as pleasant as grapes on the vine, spotted with blight. She exuded an exactness of form, an exactness of purpose and confidence, that could only come from a master fully-realized in her craft. He watched the culmination of her manipulation. A touch, a whisper--and Elespeth’s will ceased being her own. She, a puppet, operating under this woman’s sick perversions. All for what? Entertainment? Power? Boredom?

A molten core of star stuff irradiated within Alster Rigas. It rotated, and expanded, flattening into a disc of raw, burning energy. Anger, the likes which which he had not felt in a long time, overpowered him, in that moment. And, scrawling there, in the forefront of his mind, a wish carved through every layer of his being. It was pure. It was simple, and clear--and its screams rattled the universe with all the visibility and explosive force of a supernova. She will die, it said. I will wipe her from existence. Nothing of this woman will survive me. Nothing.

With a jolt, Alster was ejected from the memory, gasping for air and falling, falling. He caught himself before his face smashed into the hard stone floor, but it was with his prosthesis, and a new pain fired through his body with a crippling, near debilitating force of pain. Somehow, he pushed to his feet, leaning against the wall for purchase, though his quick maneuvering encouraged the onset of nausea in the pit of his stomach. In the core of himself--where the star of anger had fulminated in its eternal rage. In his black-spotted vision, he barely saw the form of Elespeth, no better than he, collapsed and unresponsive in her cell.

“Elespeth!” he gasped, gripping the bars for support. Fortunately, the healer from last night, followed by the Dawn Guard on duty, rushed into the hallway, opened her cell, and helped the warrior to her feet. She came to, shaken, but aware, her nose gushing with blood. “I’m...I’m sorry,” he managed, both to the healer and to Elespeth, as he struggled to catch his breath. “I tried...to be gentle. I took as much of the pain into myself...as I could. But the memory was aggressive. Hell-bent against anyone...unveiling its secrets.” Though functionally useless at the time, he moved into the cell to offer his good arm for balance. “We’re connected by our blood bond,” he told the healer, shakily revealing the scar on his palm. “I’ve access to her memories, because we share the threads that tie us together.”

At Elespeth’s spoken doubts, even in light of their newest discovery, Alster shook his head and moved closer to secure her in his grip; they were effectively holding each other up. “The fact that I saw it, too, through your sealed memories, holds weight. I may have a motive in defending your innocence, but I am also the Rigas Head, and as you’ve said once before, Elespeth, one of the most skilled and powerful casters in my region. My word and my integrity must be good for something. If not, then I am nothing but a blue-blooded farce. Sigrid’s a respected Dawn warrior and firmly on your side. Questionably, so is the man whose life you saved,” he shrugged, which further placed the likes of Hadwin into question. “And the Eyrallian Prince, himself. Haraldur will vouch for you. I believe he will be a deciding factor. If your own aggressor is speaking to your benefit, and if he should detail his own struggles with Mollengardian compulsion...then I’m certain we’ll be able to exonerate you. We may not have hard evidence--magic-based crimes can get a little fuzzy--but we’re not stumbling around in the dark, either.”

Speaking of their escape from the dark, Roen himself appeared at the entrance to their cell and informed them of Elespeth’s sanctioned transfer to better accommodations, under Alster’s watch. He extended thanks by offering the Dawn Guard leader a shallow bow. “Thank you. I understand and agree to your terms. I will call on you later. If it behooves the council, we will proceed with our defense.”

With the healer and the young Dawn Guard’s aid, they led Elespeth out of the cramped cell. Sealing and locking the door shut behind them, the young warrior followed his departing commander, leaving the three of them alone to collect their bearings in the hallway. “I was not myself, last night,” Alster answered the healer, knowing the inquiry would come sooner or later. “I haven’t been myself for a while. This is who I am.” A tiny smile crept onto his features. “For better or worse.”

That small smile expanded when the trio passed the cell that once housed him and his companions--briefly.. “Did I ever tell you,” he nodded at the covered-up wall, “that I was incarcerated, here, a few months back? Over a misunderstanding, of course, but we did end up escaping. ...I seared the bars off that cell with my arm,” he whispered, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “I see they haven’t found the means to fix the damage. How nice of them not to mention it to me, though.”

Their trek to the inn was a short one, and their guard accompaniment eased the strain of Elespeth’s weakened body (and Alster’s compromised one), through their collective strength. Without too much complication, they reached Alster’s suite on the second floor, and the procession exited once assured that they accomplished their objective of conveying the prisoner to her new quarters. At this time of day, the room was empty (Hadwin hadn’t been residing there for a while and he couldn’t track the whereabouts of Teselin, though she did return every evening). With Elespeth seated on the bed, Alster stood back, making room for Tomasin to take her blood pressure and administer the tonic for her heart. After she extracted a promise that he would take care of the patient in her absence, she, too, filed out the door, leaving the two of them alone, in their company.

Walking over to the far table, Alster filled a tin full of water and presented it to Elespeth on the bed. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need,” he said, and promptly lapsed into awkward silence. Restless legs brought him to the window ledge. He opened the curtains, allowing a swath of sunlight to filter through the dark suite. “I…” he began, shook his head, exhaled, and tried again. “...Is this fine, Elespeth?” He looked over his shoulder, at the bed. At her. “Staying in this room with me? If it will be a problem, I’ll arrange for Chara to be here, instead. As long as you stay within the confines of this room, it won’t matter if it’s me who is specifically tending to your needs. No matter what you decide, though,” he wandered to her bedside, and placed a tentative hand on her knee, “I’ll be here for you--if...if you want. We’ll get through this. We’re all here to help you, but you have to help us, too. Plead innocent. They won’t hear our defense if you already think you’re guilty. This is a convoluted case; we’ll have to make a clear and easy-to-follow argument for the council. It’s doable...but you’ll have to trust in us--trust that we’ll get you out of this. I know your trust has been challenged, before. I know that we’ve let you down. But,” he sat beside her, his eyes searching hers, “will you allow us to try? Will you...trust me, again?”

Sigrid’s visit had little impact, did little good; Haraldur’s mind was already set, the moment he raised a fist and a blade to injure his cousin. For one so invested in protecting his family and friends, it was a major infraction from which there was no return. Then again--he’d triggered his downward spiral, the moment he alienated Elespeth, and it culminated when their blades again met. He never wanted to fight her, never wanted a repeat of their forced sparring session in camp Tadasun, which almost resulted in her life. Yet...it happened. He didn’t want to force his hand with Sigrid, either. Yet, that happened. Be it a monster forged from circumstances or a monster borne from choice, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that he felt guilt, that he abhorred the harm his hand had wrought, or that he stewed in the misery of his consequences. What mattered was that as long as he existed, he posed a threat, a danger...to everyone. Sigrid failed to understand, too fed up with his “perceived” vices to see his perspective. But perhaps that was his fault, too. He didn’t allow anyone into his perspective, until too late. What would they see, if he invited them to look? A lost cause? A tragic figurehead, meant to die or remain caged by his refusal to comply, as all obedient Forbanne should?

And Vega...Nothing save for a bold-faced lie would prevent her from flying down to Braighdath by roc. Be it in Sigrid’s words or his own, whatever truth they conveyed through resonance stone would endanger her children. They were her children; he had no right to them, now. He’d probably kill them, if ordered. And what would stop Solveig from ordering him to kill Vega, or to kill the king? Would his willpower defy the programming forever embedded in his tampered-with mind? It wasn’t worth the risk. Wasn’t worth it to hope. Him, so susceptible to influence...could destroy everyone he loved.

I will get you to lock me up, before this is over, he thought, in a promise to Sigrid. I said I wanted a cell. Nothing short of iron and chains will stop me. And once you realize contacting Vega will threaten the children, you’ll stop trying to pull your useless leverage over me. I’m done, too. The Forbanne will return to Stella D’Mare, to be with their true Captain, and I will be done.

A knock on his door blinked him back to recognition. To the bed on which he sat. The four walls, the basin in the corner, the window, blackened by nightfall. Expecting Sigrid to enter, he ignored the door. It opened, anyway--and in walked Alster Rigas.

“Alster,” Haraldur said, blank-faced. “I was told I wouldn’t be disturbed, today.”

“It took a little convincing, but it helped that I talked to Sigrid. Don’t worry,” he sighed as he closed the door, “I’m not here to talk about what happened, last night. Well...yes and no. The reason I’m here is because I need your help.”

Haraldur’s blank stare intensified.

“Elespeth...she was compelled into murder. I saw it, in her memories. A woman whispered in her ear and filled her with nothing but instructions to kill. And she obeyed, heedless to the call.” He cocked his head to one side. “Does any of this sound familiar to you?”

Haraldur clambered to his feet. “What? Who was responsible?”

“She’s not affiliated with Mollengard or the Forbanne, as far as I could tell. She’s currently untraceable. Unknowable and anonymous.” He leaned against the door, metal hand clanking on metal latch. “We don’t have the evidence to convict the real culprit, because we can’t even prove she exists. So Elespeth will take the fall for the murder unless there’s enough people to vouch for her character. And you, Haraldur, as her friend, as one of the last people she encountered, as someone who in that very moment fell to compulsion...could save her.”

“How?” He narrowed his eyes and waved at the window. “By telling them I’m a victim like her and undermining the danger I pose by going free? If I tell them, and then insist I should stay incarcerated, they’ll think the same of Elespeth. They’ll wonder if her mind has been compromised; that it’s possible she’ll go out there and murder again.” He curled his mouth in disgust. “It still boggles me how they won’t treat me the same. I didn’t go through with it, but it doesn’t make me any less dangerous.”

“It’s because you’re trying to rehabilitate people like you, who had no choice.” Alster released his hand from the latch and moved into the room. “You’ve invested your time to opening a new life for these men and women in your care. By marking yourself as a monster, you’re implying they can’t be saved. That Elespeth can’t be saved. They’re all monsters and we should just give up on them.”

“No.” Haraldur set his jaw. “Your reasoning is too simplistic.”

“So what if it is? Does my simplicity make it any less true? Tell me,” he looked Haraldur earnestly in the eyes, “do you believe Elespeth is guilty?”

“No.”

“Then I implore you not allow an innocent woman to hang. That is my only request, Haraldur.” He bowed in entreaty, but his face, awash with determination, was anything but submissive. “You can appeal to the council through your experiences with the Forbanne. As Forbanne. If they lock you away as a danger to this city, you’ll have your wish. If they listen to your counsel with an open mind, you may succeed in turning their ear to you...and your cause. At the very least, this is your opportunity to redeem your relationship with Elespeth.” He turned around and headed out the door. “It’s up to you. But,” his lips squeezed into a smile before he left for good, “even Hadwin’s lending a hand. We can’t let him get all the praise.”

Her head hurt, sharp pains in her temples and a pressure behind her eyes. The images, memories unlocked from somewhere deep in her mind, still swam with visceral stubbornness, as if now that they were unleashed, they refused to lay dormant and offer a moment’s rest. That woman, with a voice and face just barely beyond clarity for recognition. The feeling of helplessness that had overcome her, her body frozen, up until an innocent bystander had entered the vicinity… An innocent woman who had looked upon her with not only trust, but admiration. You saved him… It was you who got in the way, wasn’t it? She had looked upon her as some brave and noble do-gooder… just moments before the Atvanian warrior had cut her down with sickening ease. Not only had that woman not been a threat, neither was she a fighter, and she did not stand a chance against Elespeth’s sword…

Putting one foot in front of the other, Elespeth allowed Alster. Tomasin, and the young Dawn warrior to lead her out of the cell, although through the fog in her mind, she wasn’t sure as to why. Her feet felt heavy, her movements sluggish, but somehow she managed to make it outside, and up two flights of stairs in another building that did not seem at all like a prison. Seated upon a bed, she allowed the healer to tend to her without resistance. She didn’t exactly have the resistance to put up, even if she wanted to. “You should be all right,” Tomasin informed her, after the blood had stopped gushing from her nose, and her heart appeared to stabilize with a dose of the tonic. “This tonic is designed to regulate the rhythm of your heart, which still in turn affect your blood pressure to stabilize it from either polarity it hits. And you’ll probably do better, here, than you would in the dank confines of that cell…”

The healer sighed and straightened, placing the tonic on a bedside table before turning to Alster and lowering her voice. “You’ll need to keep an eye on her; you know where to find me if her health takes a turn for the worst. In time, her arrhythmic heart may just become a benign annoyance, but right now, it deserves attention. And, in case you’re wondering… the tonic won’t do her any harm should it be consumed in large quantities at any given time.” Tomasin did not bother to explain why she saw fit to mention that: it was not as if Alster wasn’t aware of Elespeth’s attempted suicide, or her tendencies toward self-harm. With a final nod, she left the two alone in the inn’s suite.

Elespeth remained silent for an extended moment, as if having lapsed into a trance, but she was not oblivious to the sound of Alster’s voice. As an answer, she shook her head. “...I thought you were gone. Last night, I dozed, and I… dreamed. I was in our place. Beneath our tree. And it was beautiful, but… but I was alone. So I called to you. But you didn’t answer… you didn’t appear.” The Atvanian warrior closed her eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. “I was sure, in that moment, that you were gone. That I’d hurt you so badly, you had vanished, so shrunken by your pain that you didn’t have what it would take to reclaim your autonomy from the Serpent. I was ready to accept that along with killing that poor woman… I had killed you, as well.”

Looking up from her lap, the ex-knight’s green eyes sought Alster’s. Blue… so blue again, irises that were bright with feeling. Not dull like varnished pewter, as she had seen them the night before. “You don’t need to leave. Stay here. I’d,,, prefer, if you did. Or else I might begin to wonder if you’d come back to yourself, at all. I may begin to think I dreamt it…” Elespeth’s gaze drifted to her bare hand as Alster took a seat next to her. At the finger that had once worn that beautiful, delicate ring… one that no longer fit her bony digit. She had seldom noticed the small piece of jewelry when it had been there, for those long, lonely months without Alster. But now that it was gone… she felt its absence, like something missing from her heart.

“I trust you, Alster. I always have. Even if… I did not make it seem that way.” She told him. Guilt and shame still shadowed her face, making her appear shrunken and hollow. No matter how much she continued to put back on the weight she had lost, nothing seemed to fill in those shadows and hollow spaces. “But what happened… what occurred, what I did, whether or not it was of my will, is a matter of perspective. You can plead my case as righteously as possible, but it all comes down to Braighdath’s sense of justice. And whether that sense of justice entails truly getting to the bottom of a crime to dissect what happened, and formulate a preventative solution, or… if it is similar to that of Atvany’s. In that… that the goal is merely making someone pay the price.”

And as it stood… Elespeth wasn’t entirely sure as to where her own moral alignment lay. Was it weak of her to sit back and let everything unfold, contrary to her favour? Would she find a way to forgive herself, if Braighdath agreed she was not guilty…?

The now prisoner of Braighdath rested her head in her hand, still dizzy from the resurgence of that memory. Without thinking much of it, she lay down upon the bed, one hand draped over her forehead. “You never let me down, Alster. None of you ever did. Quite the contrary… I’ve caused all of you more turmoil than I can realistically make up for. I should be the one asking for forgiveness…”

Elespeth closed her eyes just seconds after her back hit the plush cushion of a mattress, which felt like heaven after a night spent hunched over in a cell. Someone draped a blanket over her, and she was not long for the world of the waking once the warmth enveloped her. For hours, and throughout the day, Elespeth slept, but unlike that placid moment of serenity that she had found back in her cell--that brief reprieve to that sacred place her and Alster’s souls shared--her dreams were vivid and visceral, and did not offer her a moment’s true rest.

She found herself in the forest, again, her sword drawn, and her bozy frozen, so far beyond her own control it didn’t even feel like her body anymore.

And there she was; that woman. Not the one who had put her in this position, whose face she could not remember, but the woman whose face was now forever branded on her memory. But that was not what made it a nightmare, reliving this moment; it was that in her dream, she was self-aware, despite not being in control of her body. And she knew exactly how this ended… “No--go. You need to run away!” She yelled at her to-be victim, hands clutching her blade. They twitched, yearning to spring into action. To take a life. “Go! You need to go, or I’m… I’m going to kill you!”

“I know,” the woman said. Her eyes were sad, and her shoulders were slumped in defeat. “But it has already happened.”

In a heartbeat, the scene changed. The woman’s body lay upon the ground, slit at the throat, blood pooling around her. The same blood that stained Elespeth’s blade, her clothes, her hands… “Why didn’t you run away?” She whispered, hot tears trickling down her face. “You knew how this ended… you could have run…”

The ex-knight opened her eyes to relative darkness. The only light in the room glowed from oil lanterns hanging from the walls, and one at her bedside table. The curtains were not drawn, but no light streamed from the windows; she had slept the day away, and night had fallen. Someone had shaken her awake, a gentle hand on her arm, like out of concern. Her face was soaked with tears… Apparently, weeping was not something she had dreamed. “...I was dreaming,” she simply said to Alster, by way of explanation, as the Rigas made looked on with concern. She noted a plate of food sitting next to her, on the end table, and vaguely registered that she should eat it. It was probably the reason Alster had awoken her, to begin with, but she couldn’t quite find her appetite. “Of that… of what happened… she wouldn’t run, Alster. I told her to run, or else I would kill her, but she wouldn’t run…”

Elespeth wiped her damp cheeks on her sleeve, but the tears kept coming, small rivers with an endless supply of water. She did not turn away Alster’s comforting touch as he gently embraced her. Didn’t push him away, as she had the last time he’d tried to comfort her. Something Hadwin had told her just the other day suddenly sprung to mind. Something about taking what one could from life, pursuing what one wanted, because it was not a fair world, and earning peace and happiness as a direct result of one’s good deeds was an illusion. It hadn’t resonated, before, but now, given how dire her situation was, and how she had no way of knowing how this would pan out for her…

She did not preface her next gesture with an appeal for approval or consent; she did not even indicate a shred of fair warning, before she took Alster’s face in her hands, and pressed her mouth against his. It still felt the same, just as she remembered kissing him. A mixture of feeling at peace and content, where in that brief fraction of a moment, everything was right with the world… It hearkened back to when they had kissed, numerous times, the night of her naming. The night they had strengthened the magic bond that entwined their lives and fates. Such a blissful and carefree evening, that had been, and spent with the single person with whom she wanted to share the world and the rest of her long life. Elespeth recalled that joy, remembered the weight of the ring on her finger. Recalled what she had been fighting for: a life with the person who had changed her life, for the better.

“...I’ve hurt you, so much. In more ways than I can count.” She whispered, when at last she pulled away. “I don’t know if and when I’ll feel that I deserve you, Alster. I am so much less than the person you deserve. But… if all of this somehow pans out in my favor, and I am exonerated for this awful crime… will you permit me the opportunity to try and earn my place back by your side? In… whatever way you will have me?”

What if this really is my last chance? She couldn’t help but wonder. Interestingly enough, that voice at the back of her mind that hadn’t granted her a moment’s peace, before, remained silent. If I am not granted the time or the future to prove myself to you, Alster… then I will at least take this time to make it known I want to make things right. And if all went south, in the end… then at the very least, Alster would know she’d had the desire to try.

“You must get them to listen. You have sway, over the council!” Sigrid had been on Roen’s heels all morning. She hadn’t slept; not since her talk with Haraldur, or her plea with Hadwin. There was too much adrenaline in her veins, and someone on Elespeth’s side needed to stay on top of the situation. “You know she isn’t guilty.”

“I’m sorry, Sigrid, but I have already told you: the Dawn Guard cannot help Elespeth Rigas.” Her mentor said firmly, his jaw set as he made his way toward the city hall. Today would mark the first formal meeting before proceeding with Elespeth’s case. “Nor can you. I’m afraid your word will not hold; you’re Elespeth’s friend, and you will not be deemed someone who can remain impartial to the situation.”

“But I know her! There are people who can speak on her behalf--”

“Then she should have nothing to fear, if she is innocent. Stand down, Sigrid.” The leader of the Dawn Guard looked world weary, and drew a hand over his jaw. “This is the business of Braighdath. I will do what I can to ensure proceedings are just, but… that is all that I can do.”

Hauling open one of the heavy wooden doors to the city council’s estate, Roen stepped inside, and left Sigrid standing alone in the street. But she didn’t move--didn’t leave, quite yet. The Dawn warrior moved from the door, which was locked to the public, and stealthily moved to the side of the building. Tall windows adorned the side of the city council’s estate, which typically remained firmly shut, but Sigrid couldn’t help but notice that just one of them was open at a crack, the latch just barely unhinged. It also happened to be near where Roen was sitting…

“...they think we are biased? Then I say, send her back to Atvany. How is that for impartial? She is Atvanian, is she not?”

“She is entitled to a hearing, regardless of her origins.” Roen’s voice responded, clear and with conviction. “Let us first decide on how to proceed with the details.”

“We have the details, Dawn Warrior. My wife is dead, by the hand of a woman that we tried to help! That your warriors tried to help!”

Sigrid froze, her blood running cold. No… the victim. She was…

“You have every right to grieve, Thamon. But we must keep a level head.”

“With all respect, Dawn Warrior, you are not in a position where you must explain to a seven-year-old son why his mother will not return to tuck him into bed at night.” The voice of another councilman argued. “Were it my wife, and my child to suffer, that murderer would have hanged, by now. Frankly, suggesting that both parties turn her over to Atvany to deal with seems merciful, in my opinion.”

She didn’t want to hear any more--and she didn’t have to, but the council’s murmurs of agreement, with Roen’s voice the only neutral one in the entire room. Sigrid stepped away from the window, realizing now why it had been open on a crack: Roen had known she would not walk away. And he had wanted her to hear… to warn Elespeth, and Alster. It just so happened that she encountered the Rigas head walking away from the barracks, not long after. Who had he been meaning to speak to, there? Hadn’t Elespeth been moved to the inn, under his care? “Alster.” She called, catching his attention and running to catch up with him, her face creased with worry. “Whatever case we can put together for Elespeth, we need to do it quickly, and efficiently. The council is meeting, today, to discuss the matter, and I overheard them…” The Dawn warrior gripped his shoulder. “The victim… she was the wife of a councilman, Alster. Things are not looking up in Elespeth’s favor, and there is already talk of turning her over to her homeland for persecution: to Atvany. I don’t know her history with the kingdom, but I know she fled it… and I cannot imagine that she will find mercy, should she return.”

It was unfair to Elespeth, he knew, but Alster half-expected, no, half-feared, that she would send him away. He closed his eyes and waited for her to disengage from his touch, his words, and curl up with her back to him. This time, he was better prepared for her rejection. This time, he would not retreat from the pain, even if it congealed his heart into an inoperative cyst. This is who I am, he told the healer, back at Elespeth’s prison cell. For better or worse. The statement rang true--to him. As Alster Rigas, broken, careworn, heart-pierced and gutted, weak and selfless, he frequently questioned his staying power. Would he survive with a leaky heart, with eyes that seldom stayed dry and unaffected, and with an arm that could not even support his weight, let alone others? He did not know what would become of him in the long-term, but presently, Alster Rigas served a purpose. He was wanted. Needed. Accepted. As I am. ...For better or worse.

Elespeth confirmed his thoughts. Stay here, she’d said, in earnest. When he opened his eyes, worry overtook her face, a face ravaged from all the stresses and tribulations that had befallen her in so short a time. He wanted to kiss them all away; heal them until no scratches marred the surface. I don’t want this for you, El. If I could make this all vanish… If we could vanish, together…

“I’m not going anywhere, this time,” he promised, taking her hand and sandwiching it between hard steel and supple flesh. “My…’transformation’...it helped no one. Least of all, you--the one person who has my full devotion. I thought I was holding you back; that you’d be better off without me. At least, for now. But why I believed destroying who you loved was the answer…” he parted his lips in a sigh. “I’m sorry, El. For making you think you’d murdered me. For making you doubt the strength of my love.” He shook his head. “Never again. I hope you, too, can forgive me for causing you more pain than you ever deserved, especially from someone who only wants happiness for you. And life.”

As she slowly drifted to sleep, he slid a blanket over her huddled form, rubbing the soft fabric in a gentle massage against her bare skin. “Whatever Braighdath’s sense of justice, we’ll figure it out when you wake. Rest, now. Tonight, when we’re both asleep...I promise you, we’ll go to our wisteria tree.”

Some hours later, Alster returned to the suite carrying a plate of food from the inn’s kitchens. It was full dark by now, and Elespeth hadn’t stirred from her position in bed. Presumably, her slumber was a peaceable one. Or a dreamless one.

Save for now.

Setting the tray aside, he stirred her sobbing, writhing form to wakefulness with a careful hand. “Elespeth,” he said, with a soft cadence. “A nightmare?” He scooped her into his arms, a gesture hearkening to the evening when he soothed her inconsolable form, mad with grief over her brother’s demise. Rocking her back and forth, he listened and tried to dispel her despair. “You wanted to save her. Till the very end, you fought not to do any harm. You fought so hard. It’s not your fault, what happened.” He pulled her closer. “I know it hurts, El. But it’s not your fault…”

He didn’t know when it happened, but their lips had slotted in place, and they were kissing. He leaned into the sensation, the tickle of tongues, the electric pulsing in their twin scars. Closing his eyes, he imagined their stars, orbiting each other in harmonious synchronicity. An impossible closeness, defying all explanation. How they existed at all remained a mystery. But to him, there was nothing mysterious about the press of their mouths, the crashing of heartbeats, or their wholeness, separate, but oh so equal.

He was loathe to let her free, but he pulled away when she did. With his flesh and blood hand, he wiped the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I never thought that I deserved you, El,” he whispered, sliding a thumb gently under her eyelid. “For as long as I’ve known you. I still question myself. Question if I’m enough, or if I’ve given too much of myself away and left you nothing but scraps. If I’m deserving of you, as I am...as me, and not as something assimilated with the Serpent, then,” he smiled a tender smile, and kissed her forehead, “you’ll always be deserving of me, Elespeth. And you’ll always find a place at my side.”

This is not the end for you, El, he thought. I don’t care what I have to do. What enemies I’ll have to make. They will not take you away from me. They will not take you at all.

The molten core in his stomach flared.

I’ll annihilate anyone who tries.

With promises to return before they retired together for bed, Alster took off into the night, determined to gather every viable player for Elespeth’s case. And if he didn’t like the verdict...he would simply take matters into his own hands.

While he did not outright agree to approaching the council in Elespeth’s defense, Haraldur had not opposed the idea, and Alster needed to trust that he swayed the Eyraillian Prince in their favor. The man, despite his current state of mind, had a reasonable head on his shoulders, one that valued saving lives from the oppressed, or from a tyrannical system. While Braighdath was far from unjust, the events leading to Elespeth’s condemnation were generated by a malevolent, anti-righteous entity with the power to overtake one’s autonomy. The case was far too similar to Haraldur’s personal experiences to ignore; he would come through for them, for Elespeth, in the end. Of that, Alster could guarantee.

But was it enough? They hadn’t any solid evidence; only mere anecdotes appraising Elespeth’s good character. He assumed the family of the departed would demand swift justice, unconcerned for the deeper truth when a facsimile of the truth wore the blood of their loved one. What was there to contest when a woman was found in the woods, murder weapon in hand, standing over the victim’s body and professing her guilt? It came at no surprise that the family, impatient over semantics, would grow increasingly more upset and hostile over the proceedings. Any steps towards proving the suspect’s innocence would further insult them. Spit in their faces. Undermine their pain. At this rate, short of hard evidence, Elespeth was likely to suffer the noose. Again.

On his way back from the barracks, he stopped when he heard his name, and came face to face with Sigrid. By the deepening lines of her troubled face, any news she had to share would be disheartening. “You came from city hall. What’s the latest on--”

He froze.

“Atvany?!” he hissed, loathe to recall the memory of when he last entered its borders. That little core of star-stuff erupted in his gut, and red sparks bloomed behind his eyes. “She is no longer Atvanian, Sigrid! She has renounced all claims to her name and connection to her birth country. You were at our swearing-in ceremony. She is a Rigas of Stella D’Mare. We adopted her. I do not recognize this course of action. It holds no legal ground or relevance to the case. They do not have the right to go through with such a ludicrous decision. And--by nature of the crime committed--the councilman of the deceased is far too biased to hold sway over these proceedings and he needn’t serve at this time.”

Aren’t you also biased? He thought. If they discover that you are...you were engaged to the suspect...

Lowering his voice (and stilling the raging waters of his anger), he wrapped an arm around Sigrid, led her from the looming facade of city hall, and whispered in her ear. “Elespeth is a fugitive, Sigrid. The crime she committed as a knight was negligible, but punishable by death. She escaped, once. They arrested her some years later, and we had to fake her death to prevent her from hanging in a public ceremony. If the council contacts Atvanian authorities, they’ll not only learn of her past criminal history, but Atvany will know she’s still alive, and they will not fail a third time. We go down this route and her death is a surety.” He drew away from Sigrid, his body shivering from the vibrations of his pounding heartbeat. “If I have to make this a political matter, I will. I’ll rally Stella D’Mare and Eyraille to her defense. Whatever it takes--I’ll see it through.”

“So,” a familiar voice chimed from around the corner, “couldn’t help but overhear...you’re having some legal troubles.”

Alster girded himself for the inevitable appearance of their wildcard--more emphasis on the wild. Hadwin stepped out of his cover beneath two squat buildings, absently brushing dust off his jerkin. “Don’t worry; didn’t hear all of your secret whispering. Wasn’t spying, though, no.” He pointed a finger at Sigrid. “Came here to make my statement at your behest and caught wind of the situation.”

As a last-minute precaution, the Rigas caster threw up his hand and coated the three of them in a sound-refracting bubble. Any passersby would hear only intelligible mumbles. “We can speak freely, now,” Alster said, his eyes warily looking around the wolf-shifter, but never at him. “Thank you for the nightmares, by the way.”

“No, thank you for heeding them and shedding your snake-skin. The world breathes a sigh of relief,” Hadwin grinned. “So...back to your problem. Well, it’s my problem, too. Looks like they’re ready to take immediate action unless we give ‘em something substantial. Something that’ll change the course of this whole damn thing, and make ‘em apt to listen.”

Alster raised an eyebrow “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, for starters, I was there. Last night. Scene of the attack.”

Alster grabbed the nearest wall after taking a misstep and stumbling. “Wait, you...you were there?!”

Hadwin scratched the back of his ear. “Well, thing is, couldn’t tell you a damn thing what happened. Just the aftermath. The body. The guards. The arrest. Smelt something faint in the air, like another person was there once, but that’s it. But I know that when I ran from your rampaging cousin,” he nodded at Sigrid, “I hightailed it to the woods, as a wolf. Not many other directions to go. Your Elespeth was quick to head there, too, so I figured I’d go and rendezvous or something. Check and see if she was okay. Next thing I know, she’s standing over a corpse and the Dawn warriors are shackling her up.”

“And you didn’t think to speak up, then? Or to tell me what you knew to my face last night?”

“To say what?” Hadwin scoffed. “‘I ran into the woods and blacked out for a while, but something definitely happened, I swear?’ Ravings of a drunken lunatic, in it for the attention. Hells, I thought I was losing my mind.” He shrugged. “It happens, sometimes--but as I let events percolate, things didn’t really add up. Call it animal instincts, but I’m thinking if I see this nightmare scenario through Elespeth’s eyes...it’ll jog something in me, too.”

In case any council-members or nosy Dawn warriors were afoot, Alster concealed both Sigrid and Hadwin under a vanishing shroud of magic (it wasn’t a good idea for the defense to be consorting  in public view, lest someone accuse them of conspiracy), and headed for the inn. Once they regrouped inside, along the empty corridor, he lifted the shroud on his companions and knocked on the door. “Elespeth. We have company. Are you decent?” At her affirmative response, he unlocked the door and ushered Sigrid and Hadwin into the suite.

“Looks like you can’t catch a break, huh?” Hadwin mused, in greeting, as he slid to her bedside. Draping his arms over one of the bed’s four posters, he leaned into her line of vision, presiding from above. “Needed to say hello to my hero, today. To be honest, I really didn’t think you’d come through for me, so credit where credit’s due. But if you’ll excuse me,” he tilted his head at her, like an owl gazing intently at a curiosity in the woods, “I have to stare at you for an uncomfortable amount of time.”

“Hadwin claims he was there, last night,” Alster said, standing to the side opposite him. He laid a gentle hand on Elespeth’s shoulder. “But he can’t remember what he saw. And don’t even try to slip her a nightmare,” he lowered a glare in the faoladh’s direction. “Just because you rattled me out of my connection with the Serpent doesn’t mean I’m suddenly trusting your methods.”

“Hey, if it gets shit done, I’d say my methods are pretty tried and true.” He lapsed into silence, then, all concentration dedicated to whatever he glimpsed in Elespeth’s green eyes. Suddenly, he stumbled backwards, clutching both hands to the sides of his head. “Fuck,” he grit his teeth, “this one’s a doozy.”

“Are you feeling any pain?”

“It’s like my head’s a wad of dough and someone’s beating it flat with a rolling pin; yeah, it’s paining me just a mite.” He collapsed on the edge of the bed, head in hands, rendered unresponsive for a few, long minutes. Finally, with a shuddering breath, he forced himself to his feet. Jerking a pipe out from his belt pouch, he lit it to life. “Yeah,” he blew out the word in a puff of smoke, “I remember, now. It’s fuzzy...but I saw her face, got the gist of what she was saying to you,” he gestured to Elespeth, “but it was like...something prevented me from barging in. A deterrent. A feeling. Like fear mixed with the swift promise of death. I have better self-preservation as a wolf, so I stayed put, till I heard that woman’s screams, and it woke me up.”

“You realize what this means, then.” Alster did not leave Elespeth’s side, but his eyes in fact did meet Hadwin’s. “We have a prime witness. Someone else who saw this woman and can attest to what she did.” He twisted around to Sigrid, his hand pressing into Elespeth from the energy of his pivot. With swift apologies for hurting her, he withdrew his touch. “I say we start building our case around this information, and now. We have to give this woman as solid a form as possible, transform her from a concept to something real, and tangible. If you know of any artists, Sigrid, contact them. We’re going to paint her portrait.” This had better work, he told himself, a little less sure than how he sounded aloud; hopeful and confident of their success. Or...will I really need to fake your death again, Elespeth? Or...start a war?

“I know--I know, Alster. It’s bad, but this is the first meeting the council has held  to discuss the issue. Emotions are raw right now, no one is thinking clearly… Roen is there to keep things level. I think he meant for me to overhear this so that I could warn you.”  Sigrid’s voice was a hiss of a whisper, leery of anyone who might be watching or overhearing. Braighdath was a big city, but its network of people was very closely knit, and word traveled fast. It had only been a matter of hours before word of a murder just outside of the city had circulated to all denizens, and only a few hours more before word of who had committed it became known. It was safe to say that the majority (if not the near entirety) of Braighath was not and would not be on Elespeth’s side. “This issue is foreign to Braighdath. Yes, we have and have had criminals, and people incarcerated for any number of reasons, but murder… this is not something that has occurred for a very long time. Not even manslaughter, at least for as long as Roen has been alive. This city is successful in its self-sufficiency, relying on no one beyond its gates because of its harmony, and because everyone here works toward the same goal: the betterment of Braighdath. But this, what has happened…”

The Dawn warrior rubbed the back of her neck, finding herself in the uncomfortable position of both standing for the city that had taken her in, and yet… opposing it. “This is a shock. Everyone is in shock, and no one knows how to deal with it yet. So while the council may be throwing around wild ideas such as contacting Atvanian authorities, we cannot assume so soon that it will come to pass. But however angry this makes us, we cannot be reactive. The council will not listen to wild emotion, even if they are guilty of it. Even if the man whose wife was the victim seeks justice. Whatever angle we take, we must proceed very carefully, and with facts, not feelings. Which, I realize…” Sigrid’s gaze drifted off in the distance, in the direction of the gate where she had witnessed her brothers in arms escorted Elespeth to her cell. “...puts us in a very difficult position, when the only glaring evidence to find does not play into Elespeth’s favor.”

The blonde warrior turned her head in the direction of a familiar voice, and it was not without a little bit of surprise that she noted Hadwin make his way toward them. When she had approached the faoladh some short time ago, appealing to him to speak on Elespeth’s behalf, the wolf had only provided her with a vague answer, along the lines of ‘Maybe, perhaps, I can say a thing or two’, and wouldn’t speak with her further. She’d attributed this to his retaliating as a result of her threatening him, when he’d been set on informing Alster of Elespeth’s attempted suicide, and as such, she’d walked away without knowing if he would be of help at all. As it turned out, perhaps the shapeshifter’s own sense of justice had won out over his grudges. Or, maybe he cared a whiff for the ex-knight’s fate, after all.

“Hadwin,” Sigrid ventured, her voice and stance a far cry from threatening, as she had been that day when she’d renounced her place as his bodyguard. “The council is already throwing around the idea of deferring Elespeth’s sentencing to Atvany--where she hails from. But according to Alster… that will most certainly mean her death, because she is a fugitive, and her once home already thinks she is dead. If there is anything you can say that might provide us with some leverage, or an angle to take that will get the council to listen to us…”

As it just so happened, the wolf man was not without that very angle: that being that he was a witness.

Even if he couldn’t remember anything, it gave the Dawn warrior pause to confirm that what Elespeth had said was not a farce: that she couldn’t remember why it had happened, just that she found herself covered in blood, standing over a fallen body. “You… truly cannot remember, either? Even though you were right there?” Sigrid set her jaw, working it back and forth thoughtfully. “So the only two people present at the scene have no memory of why this crime took place… there must have been magic involved, without a shadow of a doubt. Someone else was there. Someone who did not want anyone to remember the details…” Her blue eyes fixed on Hadwin, a small smile creeping from the corners of her mouth. “But the memory is there, somewhere. The council might be able to refute any attests to Elespeth’s character, but they cannot refute a witness account. Not if your story and Elespeth’s are the same.”

Of course, she and Alster did not hesitate to agree to Hadwin’s plan, and made haste toward the inn, where they found Elespeth sitting placidly upon the bed. She appeared sleepless, dark circles carved beneath her green eyes, and her form hunched. Sigrid’s stomach turned with sympathy pangs. Just when the former knight had been making strides to regain her strength, to remember herself and break free of the fugue that had nearly caused her to take her own life…

The Atvanian warrior looked up at the arrival of not only Alster, but two guests in tow: Sigrid, and Hadwin. She was momentarily speechless. “What… are you doing here?”

“Trying to help you. To get to the bottom of what happened.” The Dawn warrior explained, hands planted firmly on their hips as soon as Alster closed the door, and assured them of their privacy with a muffling spell to dissuade any curious ears that might think to eavesdrop on the other side. After all, it hadn’t taken long for news to spread that the alleged “murderer” was not serving a more comfortably bout of captivity at the inn, instead of in a cell, and it needn’t be said that that did not sit well with many Braighdathian citizens. “Everyone in this room knows that you are innocent, Elespeth. We must simply find a way to prove it without a shadow of a doubt, so that the council will listen to us. And…” She gestured to the shapeshifter with a shrug of her shoulders. “We may just have what we need: a witness.”

“A witness?” Elespeth’s tired gaze settled on Hadwin. “You were… there? Did you see… did you see what happened? How it happened?” Evidently, not. The brief amnesia that she experienced was not limited to her mind, it seemed, but to anyone who might have witnessed the event. Whoever had instigated it truly did not want anyone else to know the minute details… But now that she recalled those lost memories, thanks to Alster re-establishing their connection, she couldn’t hide them from the faoladh, even if she wanted to. The reason for his presence was suddenly very clear.

“Of course… of course, you can see it!” The ex-knight sighed, the very first sign of hope flickering in her green eyes since the night she was arrested and incarcerated. “Alster helped me to remember. I don’t understand why things unfolded as they did, or the motive of the person who must have had me under their control, but if even one other person can attest to what I saw, what I remember… maybe I have a chance.”

She met the shapeshifter’s eyes, then, and it didn’t take long for Hadwin to react physically to whatever it was he saw. She remembered the blowback of recovering those memories; the blood that poured from her nose, and Alter’s poor state after unveiling the memory. It stood to reason that the faoladh would also experience similar discomfort on recalling what he had forgotten. “The woman.” Elespeth breathed, looking from Hadwin’s pained form to Alster and Sigrid’s anxious faces, and then back to the shapeshifter. “You remember her, too? Then she must exist… it must have happened, that way, for I’ve had no contact with you since before the incident. I didn’t say anything to you about the woman, we had no time to corroborate some story for the council to buy. It must be real!”

“A woman… You both saw a woman? And you think this stranger has something to do with all of this?” Sigrid furrowed her eyebrows thoughtfully, grasping for any shred of sense this might make, but none revealed itself. What enemies had Elespeth Rigas made that would attract them to this area, and frame her for murder…? “Did you recognize her, at all? Was she of Braighdath or Stella D’Mare?”

Elespeth shook her head and rubbed the back of her neck. Even with that memory now unveiled, dwelling upon it for too long gave her a headache. “I don’t know… I don’t think she was. I think I remember… I remember telling her that if she was traveling, looking for lodging, Braighdath had too much on its hands at the time, with Haraldur having lost control. Then she proposed something along the lines of asking the citizens where she might find the nearest town. She seemed insistent on making it into the city. It gave me… I can’t explain it. Something was off about her; something just turned my stomach, and I told her she should leave. And she…” Her voice trailed off, and the former Atvanain swallowed a lump in her throat. “I suppose she didn’t like my answer.”

“That still doesn’t add up. Even if you aggravated her, that doesn’t seem like a reason to enslave someone’s will and cause them to take a life…” The motive of this indirect assailant, however, would have to wait. What was important was that they had a witness with a testimony that matched up beautifully and precisely with Elespeth’s. They could waste no time with this new, narrow moment of opportunity. “Whatever this fiend’s cause, she does need to be identified. Hadwin… will you come with me to see Roen? If you are a witness, then we will need you to make a statement sooner than later, so that they do not accuse you of corroborating a story with Elespeth. No one here… no one aside from us, and your acquaintances in the performance caravans, know what you can do. Your account could at least convince the council to hear Elespeth out.”

Sigrid hadn’t expected Hadwin to agree so easily… But, then again, it had been he who had approached them, knowing full well how bleak the outlook was without something to play in Elespeth’s favor. “I’ll keep you both informed.” The Dawn warrior announced, placing a hand on the door knob. “In the meantime… lay low, Elespeth. You too, Alster. We can’t show our claws unless we have no choice. Go about this as diplomatically as possible, unless other factors force our hand. In which case…” She paused, a decisive set to her jaw. “In which case, I will stand with you, Elespeth. Even if it means standing against Braighdath.”

The depleted woman blinked several times, as if she wasn't understanding Sigrid's words. Like they wouldn't register in her mind, which had already decided it was guilty. “I… don't understand, Sigrid. Why? You cannot possibly stand against the Dawn Guard. They are your family…”

“The Dawn Guard is not Braighdath, and Braighdath is not the Dawn Guard. We are merely the backbone of the city, and we stand for what is right. And this… this is right.” Sigrid nodded firmly. “I know innocence when I see it, and you are innocent, Elespeth. Roen sees it too, I am sure. I believe he intended for me to eavesdrop on the council, this morning, in order to warn Alster.”

“To warn Alster of what?” Elespeth asked, looking between the Rigas caster and the Dawn warrior, the latter whose face contorted into a mask of regret, having said too much. “...what is going on?”

Sigrid averted her gaze to the floor. “You have a right to know,” She began, deflating a little with a long sigh. “The council is livid and devastated, Elespeth. The woman you… the victim was the wife of a councilman. There has been talk of deferring you to a third party to remain impartial, as the Rigases and Braighdath are both too emotionally involved--”

“What third party?”

“Atvany.” She looked up, her azure eyes bright with apology for something that was so far beyond her control. “What… does that mean?”

Elespeth's pale face seemed to go whiter, her green eyes wide with shock. Atvany… How had they learned of her Atvanian origins? Being the fiancée of the Rigas head evidently did not leave much room for privacy when it came to diplomatic matters involving negotiation. Braighdath had more than likely wanted to learn all they could from the people they had agreed to harbour. “It means… they do not want to hear me out. They want me gone. And they want me punished.”

“We aren’t going to let that happen. As Alster has already mentioned, you no longer belong to Atvany; you are a Rigas, now.  Which would hold even more weight, should you still be betrothed to the Rigas head.” The Dawn warrior pointed out, but almost instantly regretted her words when Elespeth winced, eyes trailing to her bare left hand. “We will take care of this, Elespeth.” She offered instead, mustering a small smile. “Focus on your continued recovery; eat well, build your strength, and you will be able to speak with conviction before the council when they ask for you.”

The ex-knight waited for Sigrid and Hadwin to depart before turning her attention to Alster, apology written into her features. He likely knew what she was about to bring up before she said a word. “I told you to give that ring to someone else. Someone who deserves it, someone whose hand it will fit…” She flexed her bony fingers, which had a short ways to go before they filled out again, along with the rest of her frame. “Though that… at the time, when I said it, I thought it was the only thing that made sense. But it is never what I wanted. I never discarded it, Alster, I… but I did forget about it. I let it slip from my finger without even realizing it had happened., and for that, I am guilty for negligence. With everything that has happened, and all of this uncertainty on the horizon...”

Elespeth stood and moved to Alster’s side, taking his flesh and blood hand in both of her own. “If there is a possibility that we can see this through--if there is a possibility for our future, together… I do want to marry you. If… if you will still have me.”

After Sigrid and Hadwin had left the premises of the inn, and were bound toward Dawn Warrior territory, the blonde warrior finally put a voice to something that had been on her mind since his appearance, earlier that day. Something she had turned over in her head, again and again, until finally, she needed to know the details. “Alster said something about nightmares… did you project his fears onto him? Is that why he returned to… well, himself?” Just as she suspected, the faoladh confirmed that he’d had something of a hand in encouraging Alster so ‘shed his snake skin’, as he had so eloquently put it. Whatever he had done, whatever he had caused the Rigas caster to see… it had worked. Alster was himself, again; Elespeth was slowly, but surely, returning to herself. Somehow, Hadwin had had a hand in both of those outcomes, and as a result… well, he had bettered a potentially dismal situation.

“What are the ramifications of doing that? Of showing someone what could become of them, if they give way to their fears? Is there a chance… that it might snap someone else out of their fugue?” Her inquiry had piqued his interest. Sigrid hadn’t intended on going into detail, but Hadwin had proven to be helpful, before. And if what he had done had helped Alster… who was to say it couldn’t help someone else she cared about, stuck in a cage of his own fears? “...Haraldur is determined to see himself a monster, now. He thinks there is no good man left in him; he won’t even contact his wife. But I don’t think he realizes what he will be doing if he abandons his path, now. If he hides himself away, while his pregnant wife bears his children alone, and with no support. I wonder, if he were to see how potentially destructive that could be for Vega and their children… if it will incite a change of heart. Something to spring him back into action, to resume his identity as an Eyraillian Prince. And, to continue to lead and rehabilitate the Forbanne soldiers that he was so hell-bent on saving. Do you think…” She eyed him sidelong, daring to be hopeful. “Do you think there is a chance it might work?”

Perhaps as a result of Sigrid’s fixation on the woman, their true culprit, Alster also ruminated on any and all details he knew about her. Through Elespeth’s memories, he caught her self-satisfied smile, the sadistic gleam in her eyes, the conceit in her bearing, which revealed a history of successful manipulations with her ancient magic. While pure speculation on his part, by her appearance and sensation alone, his nose picked up a notable stench of rot. He compared her to a blight, on first sight. A disease sweeping over crops and plants, she sowed seeds of corruption and watched, from afar, as her parasites infected the body, mind, and spirit--and wilted the host into a black husk.

No one knew this woman’s motivations, nor why she seemed insistent on entering the overwhelmed city. Why ask permission when she could take advantage of the chaos and meld with the diverse mix of D’Marian refugees? No one would have stopped her, unless Braighdath recognized her. And did she derive pleasure out of harming others, or did she plan to target Elespeth? If the latter, then why? To attract his attention? But if that were the case...she wouldn’t have deliberately hid Elespeth’s memories, or the memories of those in her vicinity.

What did she want? A garden of helpless people for her to pluck and crush in her hand? A garden like Braighdath, too distracted by the current mess of proceedings to acknowledge her rummaging around like a rat underfoot? Who else would she target? Did it matter?

And why did the analogy of a blight-stricken garden seem so apropos a description for her?

A garden, a garden. The Night Garden. He recalled the tale of Galeyn’s one-hundred year sleep, as told by Theomyr Tenebris. The reason he delivered all his subjects to so long a stasis. A woman, who wanted a garden--by all means necessary. Her name was Locque.

A reflexive shiver assailed his shoulders. Could it be?

Are you so desperate to put a name to the deed that you’ll resort to overreaching, all to legitimize Elespeth’s claim? A voice, his voice, for once (so accustomed was he to hearing the Serpent flood his thoughts), pinged in his head. Careful you don’t actually delegitimize her in the process.

I’ll take any lead, he responded to the skeptic, who remained alive, well, and preserved, despite the ongoing tumult of his recent inner life. No matter how inane. It won’t hurt to ask around, and research. Surely, Galeyn knows of her. By extension, maybe Braighdath does, too.

“Sigrid,” he nodded to the Dawn warrior, “where is your library? Does Braighdath have a reliable recorded history of the past century?” In case she questioned his sudden curiosity, he shrugged. “It may not amount to anything at all, but if possible, I want to uncover this woman’s identity. I have a hunch, but it’s a longshot of a hunch.”

“Those are the best kind,” remarked Hadwin, who had transferred to leaning against the windowsill and puffing his trail of smoke out of the open window. “Can make a lot of money with a longshot--or you burn everything you’ve got.”

“I do have a question for you, though,” Alster turned to the wolf-shifter, “and it’s an odd one, but...This woman. Did you catch her scent?”

“What, you want me to go out tracking her or something?” He grinned behind his pipe. “Wouldn’t be a bad idea but if she doesn’t want to be found, I’m assuming I’ll have little luck in the endeavor. But no worries about the ‘odd’ part of your question. Everyone always discounts ‘smell.’ They write it off as impolite. And yeah, it can be, if I tell Elespeth here that she smells like scalp, blood, piss, and dirty water. All perfectly natural smells, I might add,” he hurried, slapping his hand against his chest. “Nothing shameful in it. But yeah, scent can tell you a lot about a person, or their whereabouts. If they’re pregnant...Or if they’re dying from some malignant tumor, or if they’ve got magic in ‘em. Like how our mystery woman smells like she’s been spending her days with a hoe--and not the kind that gives you fellatio with a fiver.”

Alster perked up at the assessment. “A gardening hoe?”

The faoladh wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, but like she’s tending nothing but a decaying pumpkin patch. But that’s her magic. She’s got a fungal quality. Like mushrooms. The inedible kind. Death-cap. Touch it and you die. All spores, that one.” He tilted his head to one side and gave Alster a quick appraisal. “You got a bit of rot in you, too. That’s the cut of your magic, I’m assuming--but it smells like damp wood and autumn leaves. A nice, mild, earthy fragrance.”

While he didn’t appear outwardly affected by the aromatic hints of his odor, Alster feigned a cough, which he caught with the crook of his elbow. It lingered over his mouth for longer than necessary. When he finally dropped the arm, he cleared his throat. His cheeks were tinted a slight red. “No, you’re right. I don’t think we can track her, but you’ll be able to tell if she’s near. Would you say that the stronger the magic, the more prominent the smell?”

“I’ll say,” he snorted. “The rest of you smells like a thunderstorm in the middle of a raging tempest. Burns my nose. Makes it itch, too. Her smell, though--her magic… like I said, spores.” He pinched his nostrils together for affect. “The closer you get to her range, the more assured you are of death. I can only assume that means her power’s in spades.”

An immense power associated with death and rot, a smell comparable to one of the most poisonous of fungi, a link, however speculative, to a garden, an ancient presence, timeless and malevolent…

He could not deny that the deeper the analysis, the more their mystery woman was fitting the profile of Locque...insofar as his elementary understanding of her spanned.

The subject quickly shifted to the council and their threats to involve Atvany, a grave offense that still had Alster’s mind reeling in anger. All queries concerning the woman fizzled in favor of the staunch shaking of his head and a pair of narrowed eyes. “I will see to it myself, that they do not involve Atvany. Doing so will void any friendly relations between Stella D’Mare and Braighdath. Like you, Sigrid, I want to approach this as diplomatically as possible, but any attempts at diplomacy will fail. Between the councilman who has lost his wife, and the Rigas Head who will lose his…” He stoppered his tongue before any other words dared follow, and stared at his feet, avoiding Elespeth’s gaze. “If he doesn’t wish to abide by a fair trial, I see no reason why I should, either.”

“Ooh, is that sabotage I smell?” Hadwin leaned into the conversation, leaving his post by the window to join the trio, who were huddling near Elespeth’s bed. “Unfair play is my bread and butter. I’d bet my left hand at least one of those council-members has a shit streak dirtying an otherwise clean arsehole. I’m sure they wouldn’t want any of that to get out in the open, if it’ll destroy a reputation...or several.”

Alster paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Look, but don’t act. Not yet. But if they continue to be uncooperative...we’ll make them listen.”

Hadwin’s grin rivaled the toothiness of a shark on the prowl. “No problem, boss. I’ll let you know what I find.” Saluting to the Rigas Head with his pipe, he turned to Sigrid and followed her out the door.

Once the two were left alone, Alster sat with Elespeth on her bed, about to open his mouth and spout reassurances--but she spoke before him, in a series of sentiments that soundly defeated any would-be statements of hope and understanding. “I wanted to believe...that you didn’t discard it on purpose,” he said, reveling in the warmth of her hands on his skin. “But my fears got the better of me. I was so convinced I wasn’t enough that I just let myself...fade. Pathetic, I know,” he let forth a nervous laugh. “But one thing I knew for certain...I was never going to give that ring to someone else. It’s bonded to you and only you. Chances are it would fall off that someone else’s finger and find its way back in your possession. So,” withdrawing his hand, he slid it into his belt-pouch, “let’s reunite the two of you.” The dainty ring reappeared on his palm, excavated of all its dirt and buffed to an alluring shine.

“With this ring,” he positioned it between his thumb and forefinger, “you won’t die. Whatever they do to you, or try to do to you, will not come to pass. There is a horizon for us. Should you don this ring again, and agree to marry me...we’ll explore that horizon, together. Would you like that?” His steel hand wrapped cool fingers around her wrist and held it to his eyes. He explored the shapes of her shriveled fingers, bony yet elegant, thin yet worthy of love. The ring slid, not on the penultimate finger, but on the one adjacent, to ensure it wouldn’t slip. “You know,” he said amid the silence of hands and fingers, “we don’t have to wait. Elespeth--we don’t need a formal ceremony. No over-the-top declaration for the world to see. I thought I wanted that; some outward manifestation of our love. But that’s impossible to replicate for a crowd of near strangers. There’s...there’s no need.” He guided her hand over his chest, to the steadily racing thumps of his heartbeat. “Marry me...now. Yes, we’ll need a few witnesses...and someone to officiate. Someone with authority. Not of Braighdath; that would be a conflict of interest. But if I can make the proper arrangements...will you agree to it?” The soft press of his forehead met with hers, their lips almost touching. “Will you marry me....tomorrow?”

As per his agreement, Hadwin chose to follow Sigrid towards city hall. What before sounded like the most banal task had grown in excitement, the moment he introduced the idea of accumulating some undesirable information from Braighdath’s higher-ups. Though his headache still pulsed in his temples, he fell into a jaunty step behind Sigrid. He’d tucked his pipe, long-since snuffed and its contents reduced to a pile of ashes, back into his pouch, which freed his arms. He rested them behind his head whilst he walked.

“Yeah...that sounds about right. I scared him back into his senses,” he said, catching on to the direction of their conversation. “Though, it wasn’t all me, who had a hand in his ‘awakening.’ If that were the case, I’d have slapped that Rigas Head out of it way sooner. His beloved got to him first, and it unearthed some fine gems for me to mine. Just took a little wiggling, but out they popped. But with your behemoth of a cousin,” he smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “well, I’d have to see for myself, what he’s fixating on. You see, my projection ability is best at picking out one’s worst fears, at present. If our Forbanne prince is most occupied with his inner monster, in my projections, then that’s what he’s going to see; a monster. That can either tilt in our favor, depending on what he sees and how he reacts to it, or it can go disastrously in the other direction. In Alster’s case,” he shrugged, “he was screwed if he remained as the Serpent’s play-thing, so the risk-factor was minimal. Nowhere to go but up. Extreme circumstances called for extreme measures. Can’t say what the same ‘treatment’ will do to Haraldur, but hey, I’ll peek in and give a look-see--so long as he doesn’t try and rip apart my limbs and skewer my head on a pike. But,” he nodded in the direction they were headed, “I’m assuming that’s not a priority right now. Lead the way to your leader, my lovely Dawn warrior.”

“There are two libraries to be found in Braighdath.” Sigrid said, considering Alster’s request with a curious look. “One is accessible to the public, located near the city council’s estate. It does detail Braighdath’s history, but… I don’t understand. Are you suggesting you think this assailant--the one who targeted Elespeth--might be of Braighdath? Or have had a run in with the city, before? If that were the case, do you really think she would remain so… so damned elusive?”

“She was not of Braighdath.” Elespeth interrupted quietly, a murmure in the corner of the room. The unlucky woman pressed her fingers to her temples, massaging away the onslaught of pain that stabbed like pinpricks behind her eyes as she struggled to recall the details of her recovered memory. While it was no longer lost to her, reliving it in her mind’s eye was still not without a good deal of discomfort. “At least… that is what she said, when I asked her. But she could have been lying. There is no way to know.”

The Dawn warrior pressed her lips together, her deep sapphire eyes fixed on Alster, as if she was trying to decipher just what it was he sought. At the back of her mind, she had an inkling of a clue… and it was possible they were on the same page. But if he was thinking along the same lines as her, she was still loathe to admit the possibility. “The other library is adjacent to the Dawn Guard’s temple. Where Gaolithe used to be held. The history of the Dawn Guard and the city of Braighdath are not mutually exclusive, but neither are they one and the same. And anything that ever involved the Dawn Guard, such as threats that spurred us to take action in the past… you may not necessarily find it in the public archives.”  Reaching inside her indigo tunic, Sigrid withdrew what looked to be an ordinary brass key on a thin chain. She tossed it to Alster. “Whatever it is your are looking for, I encourage you to check both libraries. That of the Dawn Guard’s is not open to the public, but I became a keyholder when Gaolithe chose me. Just because my brothers and sisters cannot yet take your side in this fight doesn’t mean I won’t.”

Alster was right; no matter how one chose to frame it, Elespeth’s situation was bleak, and she hadn’t much of a leg to stand on. Not with the city council already rushing to decide she was guilty, and with the Dawn Guard unable to act without substantial evidence to give them reason to stand against the council, for the first time in what must have been decades--or ever. Perhaps, much though she hated to admit it, this game was not one to be won if played fairly. Not as soon as Braighdath had so much as suggested involving Atvany. She knew that look in Alster’s eyes: it was the look of someone who had far too much to lose, and was not willing to compromise any of it. That look, as she’d taken note of it on other faces in the past, almost always indicated that accepting loss was not an option. And that the person was willing to go to any lengths to ensure they emerged the victor.

Which, admittedly, put her in an uncomfortable position. After all, standing up for Elespeth and taking Alster’s side might mean that she would have to stand in opposition to the Dawn Guard--at least until they could see the truth for themselves. The Dawn Guard in and of itself stood for a fair sense of justice; and if the city itself would not play fair… then she would have to accept the burden of doing what was right, on behalf of Braighdath and her chosen family.

“Whatever angle you wish to take, Alster, you have my support. Just… watch your step.” The Dawn warrior sighed, rolling her shoulders back as she glanced sidelong at Hadwin. “That goes for you, too. You have an advantage, with your fearsight, but Braighdath and its politics have not stood strong and entirely independent for centuries out of luck, alone. Hides your aces in your sleeve until your hand is forced to play them.”

After leaving the two lovers (at least, it seemed that way again) alone and making their way into the street, Sigrid was surprised to find the faoladh so open and agreeable to her inquiry and request. Their last encounter had not been on favorable terms, no thanks to her temper and desperate desire to keep the people she cared about from falling apart… Hadwin, as far as she knew, had no reason to help her. Or to help anyone, for that matter. Why he had gone out of his way to rescue Elespeth when he’d never appeared to have been on good terms with the warrior was beyond her. Perhaps that young summoner who had taken to him for whatever undisclosed reason had affected him more than he realized. Whatever the reason… she wasn’t about to question it.

“So you don’t believe it was your skill, alone, that brought Alster back to his senses.” The Dawn warrior blew air from between her lips, disappointment already settling on her shoulders. “And there is no guarantee that it would work, anyway… he needs to talk to Vega. But he won’t. Even if I contact her on his behalf, he is so determined that he cannot reconcile his own shadow, it wouldn’t make a difference. He cannot stew in his own misery forever. With the gravity of Elespeth’s case, if he is willing to help, there may still be a chance he will come back to himself. I need to believe that. So, I suppose at this point…”

Sigrid paused in step, hands placed firmly on her hips. “For now… let’s hold off. See how things unfold. It’s still early; he hasn’t had time to sit and think through the trauma of realizing Solveig still had a grip on his mind. But if nothing changes without intervention… then I’d appreciate if you’d lend a hand. Of course, should it come to that, you have my word that I won’t let him harm you. And by now it should be obvious enough that while I cannot best him on my own, I think I know a thing or two about fending him off.”

As much as she wished she could fix what was broken for her cousin, and set the Eyraillian prince back on his designated track, it remained that Elespeth’s case demanded her attention first. Haraldur’s life was not the one on the line. “This way,” she urged Hadwin, motioning toward the corner of the city inhabited by the Dawn Guard. “He should have finished meeting with the council, by now. And if not… then we wait for him. Roen will hear us out.”

Elespeth, lending an open ear to Alster’s unnecessary confession to losing faith in her, merely shook her head. Tresses of chin-length chestnut hair fell into her eyes; something she still wasn’t used to, considering that tying it back in a braid was no longer an option. “I gave you no reason to continue to have faith in me, Alster; I can’t fault you for… giving up.” The former knight sighed, blowing those belligerent tresses out of her face. “I ran off without any warning. And when you found me… when you saved my life, I pushed you away, again. What happened to you was my fault. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, of late. Terrible decisions that I can never take back. But that… forcing you to withdraw into yourself, and to subsequently lose yourself… it will be some time before I can find a way to forgive myself for that. It will happen, someday, but you must be patient with me…”

The Atvanian warrior’s eyes fell upon the small trinket that appeared in her beloved’s hand. A familiar ring, fashioned of a shining white-gold, with its tiny, dainty diamonds, once fashioned for his mother’s hand. And one that had once fit her own ring finger perfectly. “I… had wanted to die, before. But not because I sought death. Because I thought that there was no coming back from where I was… from what I was. I was convinced it was the honourable thing to do. That remaining alive would only bring you down. And I… I was wrong. I see that, now. And I refuse to waste the years you gifted to me through the magic of the naming ceremony.”

She let him take her hand, pained with shame in noting the way he took in the details of how she had changed. How her body had shrunk, how the hand he held no longer fit the ring he intended for it. Her heart sank at the thought that there wouldn’t be a means of making it stay on her bony fingers, without risking it slipping off again, but it came as a great relief when Alster slipped it onto the middle finger of her left hand. It was not snug, but not so loose that she feared she would unintentionally lose it, again. Not if, this time, she made a point to keep her wits about her.

“I want to be with you, Alster. Whatever that means, and whatever it entails.” Her voice broke a bit as her throat tightened. Just the other day, she had looked into the Rigas caster’s blue eyes and wondered if she would ever glimpse at his soul, again. At what made him Alster, the man she loved. And here he was, now. The man she loved, and who she would never risk losing, again. Not by her own doing. She didn’t take her eyes from the glittering ring on her hand. “I don’t know how I can ever atone for what I’ve done to you… but, perhaps, this can be a start.”

A foreign feeling of blood rushing to her cheeks warmed Elespeth’s face as her one-again betrothed pressed her hand against his heart. One that beat, sure and fast and steady, not once faltering. It brought her a trace of reassurance, that the poor condition of her own heart did not refer symptoms to his own. “You want to marry me… while I’m imprisoned, and being convicted of murder?” She couldn’t control it; the smile that spread across her face, or the laugh that tore from her lungs, strained and sounding as though it probably hurt, but no less genuine. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed, had smiled. Had felt this warm. “Alster, could you possibly have picked a worse time?”

There was no indication that it upset her, however; on the contrary, the tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes and trickled down her pale cheeks were not of despair. And her smile never faltered. “When you first proposed to me… I had it in my head that, somehow, I’d be a beautiful bride, for you. And with Chara’s help, at my naming ceremony, for a moment I thought that might even be possible. But at that time, I was well rested, with more weight on my body, and a heartbeat that could handle its own rhythm…” Elespeth’s hand trailed to his cheek, which felt warm in contrast to his prosthetic arm. “I still think you deserve better. A beautiful bride and the ceremony that you’d wanted. And I can give you neither of those things, now… but if they don’t matter, then yes. I’ll marry you, as soon as we are able. Even if it means we must exchange vows in the room meant to serve as my cell.”

His lips were so close, she couldn’t help but close the gap and kiss him again, her own heart hammering out a rhythm that it could barely maintain on its own. Blood rushing too quickly through her veins… It was true: she was stronger around Alster. Just as, at times, she served as his strength. “Do what you can, and keep me informed so that I can have a moment to prepare… At the very least, I’d like to get married smelling like something other than a dungeon.”

True enough, the key that Sigrid had provided Alster was just was he needed to gain access to the library near the Dawn Warrior temple, when any efforts to dig up anything useful at the city’s public library. He had been right to wait well into the night before making his way stealthily into the Dawn Warrior’s territory; no one else was around, and the collection of archives--notably much smaller than that which was located near the council estates--remained vacant. The only light in the otherwise dark room, cramped floor to ceiling with books (some appeared to be organized, while others did not seem to have resembled any semblance of organization for quite some time) were wall sconces with low flames, contained behind glass so as not to be a direct threat to the books and knowledge contained within the room.

Whatever notion Alster had of privacy was quickly dispelled, however, at the drop of a book from a nearby shelf. The Rigas caster, now on edge and on the defense, turned the corner only to come face with a familiar, small figure, who appeared just as on edge and prepared to take on whomever turned that corner. Teselin’s tense shoulders dropped the second she realized she was not in danger; Alster mirrored her, almost sigh for sigh.

“No one knows I’m here.” She whispered, as a means of explanation, knowing he was likely to ask. “I know what happened with Elespeth; everyone knows, it is no secret. And I know she is innocent--I can feel it. Because something feels… off. Ever since the night she was accused of murder.” The young summoner’s eyes drifted to to the books that surrounded her, some which she had obviously been pawing through, and others that remained untouched. “I felt drawn to this place. I thought I would find answers, here, but so far… nothing. I don’t even know what I’m looking for, but I can’t let Elespeth be prosecuted when I know she was innocent. She looked out for me, in Stella D’Mare, even when I thought it was unnecessary…”

Teselin trailed off. Why was she trying to explain herself, she suddenly wondered, before someone who was obviously here for the exact same reasons? “...you are yourself, again. Not cold and unfeeling, anymore.” It was more an observation than a statement, but one she felt the need to voice aloud, nonetheless. The last she’d seen the Rigas caster, he hadn’t been Alster Rigas at all, but something… other. At least she could feel reassured that his intentions were in the right place, again. “I haven’t found anything useful, yet. Some accounts of the Dawn Guard rising to action about a century ago, but the details are unclear. And Braighdath was not the target; it was Galeyn.”

The young summoner picked up a book she’d been perusing to little success and handed it to Alster, opening to a page that mentioned the name of a woman called Locque. “There was a woman… she was supposedly the reason that the kingdom of Galeyn faded from memory and this world for so long. She bewitched the king, but as to how she managed to do it… those details aren’t noted. But none of it adds up. Nothing except…” She frowned, a crease forming between her eyebrows. “Except… that something so unexplainable should occur, just as Galeyn resurfaces from its own ashes.” With the possibility that Elespeth might have been caught in the crossfire of something so much bigger than all of them...

Alster shook his head, a serene sway that brushed and tickled his hair against Elespeth’s brow. “That’s not what I meant, El. I never lost faith in you. I lost faith in me. You’re not to blame for my actions; the extreme measures I took to flee my pain. I was so convinced that without you, I’d be nothing. And if you didn’t need me...then I’d just surrender my will to the people and allow the Serpent to use my body as a vehicle, until the day we could face each other once again.” He drew away from their hair-breadth distance, averting his eyes to the glitter of the ring upon her finger, and the renewed hope it brought. “But it took a number of factors to help me realize that I am whole. You are whole. Together, we are better parts of our wholeness. We’re twin stars, orbiting each other; not one star. And that’s ideal, because it means as long as we’re caught in the push and pull of our shared gravity, we can never fall. You’ll never spin out of control and into the void of space, because I’m holding onto you, El. And vice versa.” The fingers of his left hand slotted through her left hand and lifted it with nothing but the strength of their weave. The bridge between them locked and kept firm.

“Believe me, I understand your intentions. Of wanting to die. Of thinking it the honorable choice.” He looked beyond Elespeth, unfocused eyes staring at the wall behind the bed. “Not much has changed; what I did before was akin to a death. Giving up my will, refusing to fight...In that moment, I thought it was far more important to exist as a figurehead, a model for strength and unshakeable resolve than as Alster Rigas, the man destined to bleed to death from the wounds of the world. But I was wrong. There’s much I must apologize for, too. But know this, Elespeth.” With her hand in his, he brought it to his lips and kissed each finger. “We’re allowed to make mistakes. We’re allowed to fail, to lose our way...to break. It’s unavoidable. There’s no such thing as perfection, or unassailable strength. I know...it’s a hard truth I’m still learning to swallow,” he said, with a wry smile. “What’s more important is that we don’t let that one mistake prevent us from moving forward, from doing better. You taught me that. There’s no way I would have crawled out from the shadow of my past, from what these hands have done to the people I love, if not for the hope of tomorrow. None of it needed to spell my end. To destroy me. Despite all the people who have cried for my death...it’s not the end until I deem it so. After all, there’s so much I still need to do. I have time.” He captured her lips in a kiss. “...And so do you. This long life doesn’t need to be a curse. Don’t let others convince you that you deserve to die. Think, instead, of all the people who are fighting because they want you to live.”

The laugh that escaped from his betrothed filled him with a warm sensation, all over. He could not help but grin, a feeling of unprecedented joy emanating from his eyes. “Elespeth--when has it ever been good timing between us? That’s never stopped us, before. We’ve needed to learn resourcefulness, so damn it all if we won’t have a resourceful wedding. Think of your naming as the formal ceremony meant to appease a crowd. But this...there’s no pretending. No pretense, no pomp, or paint, or gowns. Unless,” he played with a lock of her shorn hair, “you want to play the part of a beautiful bride--I can make those arrangements. It wouldn’t change what I see, though.” He kissed her cheek and whispered. “You’re always beautiful to me. Because I know your soul. And it shines brighter than any other soul. My star. My blood.”

In his arms, he enveloped her. Chest to chest, he listened to the rhythms of their hearts, their synchronous breathing, the harmony betwixt their embrace. “Your heart beats true, now.” And he was right. In that moment, brief though it was, Elespeth’s heart kept a healthful pace with his. Finally, after an eternity linked together (for he didn’t lie when he said they had time), he released her from his warmth. A sheepish smile crossed his face. “I went too saccharine again, didn’t I?” A light rouge hinted at his cheeks. “I suppose...I couldn’t help myself. To be continued?”

Reluctantly, he stood, but not before planting Elespeth another kiss. “I’ll need to check out the library, tonight, see what information I can find about a possible lead into this woman’s identity. Maybe consult an artist, while I’m at it. I want her face plastered everywhere, so there is no doubt about her realness. But,” his features softened; he hadn’t realized that the playfulness he before exhibited to Elespeth fizzled into a determination bordering on intensity, “I’ll try not to be long. Most important of all, I know exactly who will officiate our wedding. This will happen tomorrow, I promise you that. I’m not one to go out collecting debts, but,” a rare self-assured smile preceded his next words, “I’m calling in a favor.”

Like Lysander Rigas, Stella D’Mare’s own master of stealth, Alster navigated the silent streets of Braighdath incognito--insofar as he’d surrounded himself with concealment magic. He wasn’t about to take his chances and risk discovery, no matter how deserted the path. While he didn’t sense the auras of any passersby, let alone magic-users, he kept a constant guard, even when he turned the key to the Dawn Guard library (little more than a squat, one-room building) and shut the door quietly behind him.

But he was wise to exercise caution. Someone was there.

When he turned the corner of bookshelves, there she appeared. Teselin. The young woman whose magical output was so immense, it acted as a warding shield all its own. Because he sensed her energy all over the city, it was difficult to pinpoint her exact location.

“Teselin.” He cocked a curious head to one side. “How did you get inside? This place is restricted to people like you or me. Not that it would stop an industrious magic-user or two.” He smiled conspiratorially, but held up the brass key Sigrid lent him. “No--just you, this time. I used this quite unconventional method of opening a door.”

At the summoner’s mention of his “return,” his smile faded, replaced with a nod of apology and a guilt-lined face. “I am. It turns out, you can be frightened back to your senses. I don’t know if he’s getting involved for the hell of it, because it gives him something to do, or if he genuinely wants to help, but--I can see why you’ve taken to Hadwin. He’s done a lot of good, for me. For us. Anyway,” he cleared his throat, “I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any malaise while I was...not me. The sad part was...some of it was me. None of us are immune from our dark sides, I suppose. Be that as it may,” he touched her shoulder, a disarming gesture, “you’re always welcome at the inn. You don’t have to keep away. Hopefully, my presence won’t be as off-putting to you anymore.”

When she detailed her reasons for being at the library, namely, to help Elespeth in proving her innocence, he smiled in appreciation. “Thank you. It’s encouraging, to see so many people standing in solidarity with her. Any aid you can lend is invaluable.” She handed him a book, then, and even in the dim lighting, his eyes honed in on the name, like it was written in bold scrawl with the thickest, most stygian of inks. Locque. In actuality, it blended with the script, unassuming and inconspicuous, as though it were using the words around itself to disappear into history. But there it was, the obscure made real. A concrete reference to a mere wisp of air.  A nightmare. A memory. What was the likelihood that the moment he would think of Locque, Teselin would uncover a small passage pertaining to her in a book? It was possible that coincidence lent a hand, but Alster could not discount the summoner’s find. She attracted energies, and energies attracted her; if the buzz of Locque remained in the air, then Teselin was acting as a divining rod, pinpointing the closest source of water. But the book was not inherently magical. Not enchanted. Perhaps not to Teselin’s extent, Alster was sensitive to the energies surrounding him, particularly with enchantments or objects bearing a magical signature. But all he felt...was Gaolithe, the sword of Sigrid’s contempt, its energy pooling from the temple next door. While the ancient sword no longer rested inside, its long years of waiting for a bearer saturated the temple in its essence, creating a residual sinkhole, which energized when Gaolithe energized. And the weapon, a normally passive presence as of late...was reacting to something.

Could it be? Was the sword and the alleged appearance of Locque...linked?

“May I?” He took the book from Teselin’s hands, scouring for details beyond the mere page of information about the incident of Galeyn and its ties to her name. “Is this all you’ve found on the subject?” Thumbing through the pages yielded little else. Told him nothing he didn’t already know--which was paltry. Regret boiled in his gut. If only he inquired more about Locque, when he had the Galeyn king’s attention in dream…

“I met him,” he said, after feckless hours of searching, to no avail, for any additional or supplementary content. “The Galeyn king. Theomyr Tenebris. He contacted Lilica through dreams, and I accompanied her. He mentioned Locque. How she managed to get under his skin, and entice her way into his kingdom and to the heart of the Night Garden. By the time he realized her schemes, there was little else he could do to prevent her take-over of the Night Garden but freeze his people in an indefinite slumber, until the time came for his next living heir to reawaken the kingdom. You’re right, Teselin--this is all quite suspicious. The timing is too convenient.” He sorted through the pages of the first book for the umpteenth time, searching for a code, a secret compartment, a message needing deciphering. But there was nothing--and the bookshelves reflected the same. Insufficient information. As befitting of someone so clandestine in her machinations. “Galeyn awakens, and not a few months later, a strange woman arrives outside an allied nation of Galeyn, influencing Elespeth to kill and promptly erasing all memories of the deed. But we unlocked those memories. I saw it. She whispered an order and Elespeth was helpless but to carry it out. This woman preyed on her insecurities to gouge out a hole big enough for her puppeteer’s hand to slip through and control.” With frustration, he slammed the book shut and dropped it on the small table where they sat.

“I’ll have to contact Lilica about this matter. Even if there’s the smallest possibility that Locque has returned, she deserves to know. She could be headed there right this moment...and here I am, sending D’Marians into yet another potentially dangerous situation.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, sighing. “One thing at a time,” he said aloud, in hurried, reassuring whispers. “I can’t overreact. Stay focused.” After taking a moment to chant affirmations under his breath, he rose from his chair and turned to Teselin. “Will you continue to research here, at the library? There might be some hidden nook,, or a misfiled book--though I have my doubts. Considering how sneaky this woman is, chances are even Galeyn has minimal information about her. She seems to pride herself in leaving no traces. I’ll inquire, nonetheless.” Before he opened the door to leave, he added, “and please don’t stay here all night. Come back to the inn; I’ll make you up a bed. Besides,” he smiled, “I’d love to have you at my and Elespeth’s wedding, tomorrow.”

Once he left the vicinity of the library, Alster did not return to the inn, not yet; there was far too much to do, and in so little time. En route to the barracks, he pulled a resonance stone from his pocket and contacted Lilica. She did not answer; instead, he reached an advisor, who informed him that she had retired early for the night. The message he shared was short, but loaded: “Urgent. Contact me as soon as you’re able.”

Next, he made a beeline for the Dawn Guard’s quarters, asking around for Sigrid. One woman on duty pointed him to the room at the annex that acted as Haraldur’s holding cell--where Alster had visited him earlier that evening. Thanking the woman, he took off, arriving just as Sigrid was either opening or closing the Eyraillian prince’s door.

“Sigrid.” He waited for her to stop and acknowledge him. “There’s something I must discuss with you. A few things, really--one of which concerns Gaolithe.” Sidling closer to the blonde-warrior, he lowered his voice and pressed a hand to the door. “We’ll talk inside. I’m involving Haraldur in this, too. I need him for something, and maybe you can help me convince him to do it.” A certain buoyancy offset his leaden posture and eased the strings of tension pulling at his jaw. Even after ascertaining that no one was watching them or their conversation, he built a wall of silencing between them and said, “I need him to officiate the wedding for tomorrow.”

The corner of Teselin’s lips twisted upward in a smile. It wasn’t the same as before, though; it looked practiced. Not the genuine beam of light it had been back in Stella D’Mare, before… well, before everything. Before the city had fallen. Before she had broken. Before she had begun to lose hope. “Locked doors have never been sufficient to keep me out,” she explained, shrugging her shoulders. “I’ve had to find my own way of a lot of unfortunate situations, in the past. Learned a thing or two. I won’t tell if you don’t. Something tells me you wouldn’t be here in the dead of night if you were given permission to come and go as you please.”

Not that it mattered; perhaps it would have, before, when the Rigas caster had ‘changed’, and she wasn’t really sure she knew him, anymore. But standing before her was the Alster that she had looked forward to meeting, since catching wind of his name during her earlier days in Stella D’Mare. Of course, she was well aware that the new (and most welcome) change in Alster had been a result of Hadwin’s meddling. The faoladh hadn’t told her, outright, but she knew him and his impulses well enough to connect the dots, particularly where the wolf man had been so openly verbal about his dislike for the ‘snake in Rigas skin’, as he’d once referred to Alster. “Know Hadwin like I do… it is probably a little bit of both.” She ventured a guess. “Not to mention, you and he share a number of mutual friends, Briery and myself, included. He can’t well lose the safe alliances and friends that he has by interfering if it meant his ministrations could backfire irreversibly. But, that aside… you don’t owe me any apology.”

Teselin brushed the dust from her knees, having knelt for so long looking through the books of this tiny, exclusive, and forbidden library and the white marks on her leggings hardly moved from the friction of her fingertips. “I knew you were still you, deep down. You didn’t… it didn’t feel as though you were lost. Your energy just took on a different hue of the same colour it’s always been. Anyway, I knew you’d come back--for Elespeth, if for no other reason.” The young summoner smiled again, then added, “I heard that they have released her from the dungeon and into your care; she is staying at the inn, now, is she not? I think it’s important that the two of you have that space. There are plenty of places for me to find a roof over my head, don’t worry about me. Focus on keeping Elespeth safe. And to do that… we need to find out what really happened at the scene of that murder.”

That said, she didn’t hesitate to hand the book to Alster, in case his eyes picked up on something that hers had not. “I’ve been here for hours. Obviously, there might be more to be found, but in everything I’ve skimmed, this is the only even remotely relevant information… and even what is in there is a long shot.” Teselin certainly looked as though she’d had her nose in books for hours, from the red rims around her eyes and the dark circles beneath them. Whether or not she had even slept in the past twenty-four hours was anyone’s guess; she hadn’t returned to the inn she since’d caught wind of Elespeth taking up residence, there. “I’m only trying to draw conclusions based on what I know… which isn’t much. To be honest, I’m not sure we can put too much stock into what this library may yield… but it may give us a direction. A place to start.”

Together, they thumbed through books, heedless of the mess of books accumulating in their search. Teselin was not concerned of leaving traces that the library had been disturbed, however, when there had been piles of books and unkempt shelves that had acquired dust as a result of neglect and misuse. For all the Dawn Guarde forbade public access to this place, it did not appear to be a sanctum of frequently accessed forbidden knowledge or information, which lightened the burden of the young summoner’s guilt for her unauthorized entry. She had lost track of time when at last Alster spoke up. “...the king? You have met the king of Galeyn?” At first, the thought struck her as absurd, considering from what she had gleaned, the king of the lost kingdom had disappeared along with his home about a century ago. But that detail meant nothing, given that the man standing before her right now had aged almost a hundred years, and her own brother was as uncannily ageless as their enigmatic mother.

“You think… so this does have to do with Galeyn. Braighdath may merely be a side-effect of whatever this person--this Locque--is planning. But…” Her dark eyes stared into nothing, through the bookcases before her as her thoughts clicked into place. “Still… it isn’t enough. It doesn’t explain why this sorceress would target Elespeth for no evident reason. It isn’t as though she was any sort of threat to her, if her power is so great… And if she was trying to make a statement, to establish a threat and make her presence known, why would she erase all memory of the event?” It still didn’t add up. Not enough to put the city of Braighdath on their side, or to encourage them to have leniency toward Elespeth… but it was still something.

Teselin rested a hand on Alster’s arm, sensing the change in the room’s atmosphere as his anger and frustration escalated. “Perhaps that is the best idea. Contact your ally in Galeyn, tell her what we know. If this really is about Galeyn, then perhaps we should look to Galeyn for the answers we seek. Something tells me we will not find all that we need within Braighdath’s walls…”

Apty agreeing to stay and continue to see what she could find, the young summoner assured Alster, “Don’t worry, I’ll need to get out of here before dawn if I don’t want to be caught red-handed.” She reminded him with a half-grin. “I’ll find somewhere to rest. I don’t exactly take up a lot of space; perhaps I can even take the bed Elespeth had in the room she was sharing with Chara.” Not that she truly intended to overturn that stone; not when she knew the former Rigas head had no interest in seeing her, but it was enough to assuage Alster’s concerns. “But, did you… are you serious? You’re marrying Elespeth… tomorrow?”

Her jaw dropped, and she was certain she must have misheard… or she would have been certain, were it not for the broad smile on the Rigas head’s face. “You are serious…! I’d be honoured to bear witness, Alster. You can count on me being there.”

She’d been turning over the pros and cons of what Hadwin had mentioned earlier. Of the possibility of quite literally scaring Haraldur back to his senses, as a final possibility, should all else fail. Earlier that day, she had ventured to speak with him, but the sentry on duty who had been guarding his door had informed her that he’d explicitly asked not to see anyone that afternoon. You can’t have it both ways, she thought stubbornly, weighing her options as she stood facing his locked door. There was no sentry at this hour; not when the unlikely captive did not want to be free. You don’t get to play the monster and make demands… But what good was she doing, nagging on him to come? To pick up the resonance stone and talk to Vega?

The smooth stone was warm in her hand. She’d been holding it for quite some time; for about as long as she’d been standing outside Haraldur’s holding cell, wondering if any further involvement would do more harm than good. He had a lot to lose: a wife, children, a family… a chance at the life that he deserved. And he would never obtain those things if left to his own devices, sulking and skulking in his own misfortune. Yet, on the other hand… involving Hadwin could well push him in the opposite direction, further away from wellness and a sound mind. Further away from Vega and his unborn children, and whatever help he might be able to offer Elespeth in her desperate predicament could be lost. The Dawn Warrior no longer found herself at a loss for ideas, but worse, wondering what direction would prove the least detrimental: acting on behalf of her cousin, or failing to act at all…?

I’ll never be able to live with myself if I don’t do something. Maybe… maybe, this time, I can convince him to listen…

No sooner did she place a key into the dock, on hand on the door handle, when she heard her name. “...Alster.” The Dawn warrior removed the key from the door and turned toward her comrade. A crease formed between her brows at the mention of the enchanted blade she’d never cared to inherit. “Gaolithe? What do you mean?”

The Rigas mage’s answers were sparse, out in the open, and whatever he wanted to discuss that happened to involve Gaolithe as well as Haraldur was completely beyond her. He made even less sense to her the moment he mentioned a wedding. “...are you quite alright? Have you slept, tonight?” Real concern flared in her sapphire eyes. “What wedding are you talking about, Alster?”

He was too reluctant to go into any detail where he could be heard… but Haraldur did not want to be disturbed, let alone involved in anything at present. ...well, that is just too bad. The Dawn warrior’s face hardened into a look of stalwart decisiveness, and she promptly returned the key to the door. If you’re a prisoner, Haraldur, then you don’t get to have a say in who chooses to speak with you.

As per Alster’s request, she turned the key in the lock, and the two of them stepped inside. Sigrid did not take her eyes off of the hunched form of the Eyraillian prince, who sat, lost and deflated, on his bed. Exactly how she had seen him the last time they’d spoken. “I didn’t think you’d be asleep, anyway.” She said by way of explanation, knowing he was about to tell her he wasn’t in the mood to speak. “If you can reach even a ghost of the honour I know you have, you will not let the innocent fall in favor of shutting yourself away from the world. We need your help. Alster has come to speak with you.”

Standing back, she let the Rigas head say his part, explaining the nature of what he had discovered since Hadwin had facilitated a corroboration of Elespeth’s memory earlier that day. So he had made use of the key she’d provided him… and he hadn’t come back from the library empty-handed. Not by any means.

The air suddenly felt cold and still at the name that passed Alster’s lips, though Sigrid was confident she was the only one who felt that chill. Her hand grasped hard at the mage’s shoulder and spun him around to face her, lending little regard to her her strength or the way it nearly shattered his balance and caused him to sway on his feet. “Do you know what you are saying?” The Dawn warrior’s tone hadn’t taken that edge since her brother’s death as a result of Gaolithe choosing its next wielder. Every muscle in her body stiffened. “Alster, you cannot throw that name around in vain. You don’t know the notoriety of the woman you suspect. I want to help Elespeth just as much as you do, but suggesting Locque is behind it will send Braighdath and Galeyn into mass panic. This city is already shaken by the murder, and the council isn’t thinking straight. Do you really think they will thank you for deducing this possibility and let Elespeth go?”

It was only when she noted the shock in Alster’s eyes, as well as Haraldur’s at her fervent opposition to entertaining the notion of Locque’s return, that the Dawn warrior drew a breath and had the grace to take a step back. “...I am not saying you aren’t right. You very well could be. But if you are prepared to back this idea, then you will have to have more than a hunch, and a few coincidences that may not be coincidences at all. And even then… even then, it will not ensure the safety of your betrothed.” Sigrid rubbed the back of her neck, which had flushed red all the way to her collarbones with the news her comrade brought. “What I am trying to say is… you must tread lightly if you wish to entertain this idea. Galeyn had just resurfaced; and no one, here or there, wants to hear that the sleeping kingdom’s greatest threat has returned. Nor do I understand what any of this has to do with Haraldur.”

As it turned out, Alster sought something entirely different from Haraldur, yet no less related to Elespeth. She mirrored the confusion on her cousin’s face as the Rigas caster ventured to explain that he wanted to--no, that he would marry Elespeth, on the morrow. Regardless of her situation as a captive and a suspect. In her own personal opinion, it sounded like a terrible idea, something that would hardly suffice for what he and Elespeth deserved to have in terms of a ceremony. But knowing what they had suffered… and how Alster had changed, and only recently come back to himself, how they had lost one another over and over again to different circumstances, she could not blame him for his intentions.

“He won’t find anyone else capable of officiating it in this city, at present.” Sigrid said to Haraldur, when the Eyraillian prince looked about to decline. “If you will not help us in any other way… then use your authority as a Prince of Eyraille and do this. For your comrades who still believe in you, and who deserve better than what they currently face.”

It was not without a good deal of reasoning and convincing, but to Sigrid’s relief, her cousin agreed. She couldn’t help but smile, and a little bit of weight lifted from her chest. Perhaps this wasn’t much; but it was still a step in the right direction. Even if all it did was take him out of this accursed room for a few moments, to help a friend.

“I suggest you keep it quiet,” she said to Alster, as he thanked the Eyraillian prince profusely for his agreement, despite his obvious reluctance to face Elespeth again. “It may come across as suspicious to the council if you rush to marry your betrothed when she is under suspicion for murder. But… we will see to it that this happens, Alster. If it is what you and Elespeth need.” However, the warmth of their soon to be union would be short lived if they did not find a way to clear her name--which, presently, meant investigating the possibility of Locque’s return. And that Alster suspected Gaolithe was reacting to the shift in energy, since the night the councilman’s wife had died. “I should go and investigate Gaolithe. I haven’t set hands on it in almost a week… so I couldn’t tell you if it feels different. But if something has changed in it… I think I’d know, if I am near it.”

Bidding Haraldur goodnight, the Dawn warrior left with her magically inclined comrade, and made for the temple, where Gaolithe safely rested in its sheath. Currently, it sat behind protective glass so as to prevent anyone from accidentally coming into contact with the enchanted blade… Otherwise, however, it was not beyond reach, and the only thing preventing contact from those outside of the Dawn Guard was the very same lock that permitted access to the adjacent library. Alster was the only one to whom she had provided a key… so as to how the two came face to face with the young summoner, who crouched before the encased blade, was lost on Sigrid. “...Teselin?” She furrowed her eyebrows. Alster had mentioned the girl had been helping him in the library… but that did not explain how she had found a way into the temple. “What are… how did you get in here?”

“I could feel it… It was Gaolithe I was sensing. It is reacting to something. It’s warm; the air in here is too warm… can’t you feel it, Sigrid?” When the young summoner looked up, moonlight caught streaks of tears on her pale cheeks. “I need to show you… there is something you need to see.”

“You shouldn’t be here.” She should have been angry; she had not given the girl permission to gain access to a place where she was so liable to be hurt by the enchanted blade. Summoner or not, she was still vulnerable. And yet, knowing what she had faced, at the hands of Mollengard… The Dawn warrior made a conscious effort to rein in her frustrations and approached the girl, who looked so curiously stricken. “I put myself at risk giving Alster a key; it won’t help Elespeth’s case for you to get caught near Gaolithe… what is wrong?”

Teselin didn’t answer at first. Instead, she rose to her feet on trembling legs. “You deserve to know,” was all she said, her voice strained and uneven as she reached upward and placed her hands on either side of Sigrid’s faze. “You deserve to know…”

Sigrid stiffened almost instantly, her eyes going wide, images passing before her eyes that only she and the summoner could see. Colour drained from her face, and her jaw went slack, frozen as she was in what appeared to be some live nightmare to which no one else was privy, and yet which seemed so agonizingly real…

The young summoner’s hands fell away, and a single tear escaped one of Sigrid’s sapphire eyes. She was quick to wipe it away with her sleeve. “...no one else has ever known, have they?” Teselin asked, fresh tears streaming down her face. “It didn’t want me to know, either… but its energy found me too easily. I wasn’t even trying to see, but now…”

“Go, Teselin. Leave. You need sleep.” The Dawn warrior spoke in a sharp tone that left no room for argument--and Teselin was not in the mood to argue. She wiped her own cheeks dry with her hands, and left the temple without a backward glance, her small frame disappearing into the night. Whatever had happened between them in that brief moment, Sigrid did not appear eager to acknowledge; and anyway, it was not the reason they had sought Gaolithe in the first place.

“...she is right, though. The air in here feels… warmer. Around the sword.” Her voice began to sound tight. Sigrid cleared her throat and removed the glass encasement over the enchanted blade, and proceeded to place her hands on its hilt. “It feels different. I can’t describe how, but it is as if it has reacted to something. It did not feel like this a week ago… whether or not this is related to Locque, something is most definitely amiss. And it would appear to be magical in nature, for the blade to seem so… disturbed.”

All too quickly, it seemed, the Dawn warrior pulled away and replaced Gaolithe’s glass encasement. “Tomorrow, I’ll scan the perimeter of the city with Gaolithe in my possession. Perhaps it can pick up on a trace of whatever sorcery bespelled Elespeth, and give us a clearer idea of what happened. But for now… I think we all need rest. You, especially.” She attempted a ghost of a smile. “If you are to be married, tomorrow.”

As a general punishment, Haraldur did not move from his bed when last either Sigrid or Alster last saw him. He liked to keep active, to roll on his feet and stretch his limbs. Whenever he sat still for longer than a half hour, it was during meals, or asleep. Laying supine and prone, with the ceiling as his only company, was a certain kind of torture, and each muscle spasmed as if to jolt him out of his self-imposed restrictions. He did not budge, determined to wean off his weakness that linked with, followed, and carried out Solveig’s orders. It disgusted him, how easily he folded to the words and actions of a Forbanne captain after more than a decade of painstaking efforts to build a self-fulfilling person, independent of the collective hive-mind that obeyed without fail. He wanted to cripple that version of himself, deprive him of nutrients, sunlight, movement...love. Destroy the creature; then, and only then, would he regard himself as safe enough to venture outside and interact with the world. Maybe if he rotted for a while, his limbs would atrophy in his legs, his arms. If he couldn’t walk, no harm would befall anyone. Crumble the warrior to dust by eliminating his assets of warfare. Short of dying...it was his next best path.

Already, he besmirched the Sorde name. Brought about the ruination of a festival. Frightened D’Marians, earned the Dawn Guard’s ire, abandoned his post with the Forbanne (who, under his last orders, stayed put in their segregated camp). As a public figure representing Eyraille, he failed. This was his penance. Save the people from his infiltrated body and mind. Stay away. Stay far. Put them at ease; disappear. Then, reemerge when all was well. If all was well. But no one understood his necessity to wear chains--most of all, Sigrid. She didn’t understand...because she was never Forbanne. Never would she know that when ordered by Solveig to kill her in Stella D’Mare, hell, to kill Hadwin the other night...in those two moments, he wished he were dead. Then no one could control me anymore. No one…

His eyes met the jiggling door latch and a long, exhausted sigh escaped his lips. When the door swung open, Sigrid appeared, as expected--and Alster, as also expected.

“Yes,” he said to the Rigas Head, without as much an acknowledging glance at his cousin, or at the wounds he caused, “I’ll speak on behalf of Elespeth, if that’s why you’re here. There’s no need to follow-up.”

“My apologies.” Alster shut the door, pressed the fingers of his good hand to his lips, and closed his eyes in concentration. When he opened them, he dropped the arm to his side. “There are eyes and ears all over Braighdath, and privacy is at a premium. I’m using this space to discuss a few matters of business, one of which involves you--and I’ve placed a silencing spell all around this room. We can speak here without fear of discovery.”

Disrupting his moratorium of movement, Haraldur sat up from the bed and planted his feet on the floor. “What’s this about, then, that you needed my space to talk?”

“It’s about the woman who controlled Elespeth against her will.” Haraldur straightened in his seat, alert and attentive. “I think I may have discovered her identity.” His voice dropped an octave and he glanced sidelong at Sigrid. “Locque.” At the mere mention of her name, the Dawn warrior spun Alster by the shoulders, unmooring his balance and causing some pain, by the looks of it. The Rigas Head tried not to flinch from the hand that crushed against the shoulder that managed the burden of his steel arm. “I’m well aware that to invoke a name so powerful is to invite malevolent energy into Braighdath and Galeyn, but far as I’m concerned, it’s already been done. This is personal. Throwing her name will cause mass panic, true, but it will also provide a distraction from Elespeth’s criminal proceedings.” He stepped away from Sigrid, freeing her vising hand from his arm. I’m here to exonerate her. If I have to cry wolf, then so be it.” His uncompromising glare withered, however, as he looked to his steel hand. It was trembling. “I am not without my reasons, though. I wouldn’t have mentioned her name to you at all if I didn’t draw a few connections pointing me in her direction. Yes, everything is unsubstantiated; it would not hold up in a court. But this woman--Locque--was known to bewitch the Galeyn King for dominion over the Night Garden. A few months after Galeyn awakens, this woman appears and bewitches Elespeth to kill--for no apparent reason? I’d say there is a reason, and it’s this.” He met Sigrid’s conflicted blue eyes. “She knows there are powerful magic-users in this city, and she’s scanning for threats. It doesn’t take much spying to learn Elespeth’s relationship to me, the Rigas Head. And to you, keeper of Gaolithe.” He nodded at Haraldur, “or to you, prince of Eyraille. Throw all these influential figureheads into disharmony at once, and we fall down, as sure as dominoes--and she has the advantage. Now more than ever do we need to reconcile our differences and band together. I assure you, Sigrid, I’m not making a baseless accusation by involving this woman from the annals of a century-old history, but if it turns out I’m wrong, that she’s not Locque, if there’s the slightest possibility that it saves Elespeth from the noose, I’m sticking to my story.”

“So what would you have me do, in this?” Though he rose to his feet, Haraldur did not join Alster and Sigrid in their close-knit formation. Better to keep his distance, at all times. “If you’re intending to use fear as a method to rally the people against a woman who may not be your culprit, I’m assuming that my speaking on Elespeth’s good character isn’t going to cut it for you, anymore.”

“I have something else in mind, yes.” In moments, Alster’s entire demeanor had changed. From world-weary and driven by desperation, to...thoughtful. Sentimental. And untroubled. “I’m going to wed Elespeth, tomorrow, and I need you to marry us.”

Haraldur did not hide the bemusement that wrinkled his brow. “...What?”

“We’ve put it off for far too long. Our lives are too busy, too plagued with hardships and disruptions to plan a formal ceremony. I see no need to wait for a perfect time. The councilman who lost his wife is not willing to play fair; he wants the illusion of justice, as closure for the dead. That’s understandable; so I’ll follow his model. Elespeth Rigas holds more sway if it’s revealed that she, too, is the wife of someone in power. Someone whose checkered past is no mystery.” He held out his palms as if weighing a scale. The intensity crept back into his voice, like a scrape of metal on metal. “Serpent Bane rests on the same shoulder as Savior. In one hand, I’ve healed. In the other, I’ve felled armies...without any need for bloodshed. If that councilman wants an eye for an eye, a wife for a wife, I’ll seal his shut, for good.”

In the uneasy silence that followed, Haraldur shifted one leg to another, rendered speechless by Alster and his...hyper-focus. “So why do you need me to do it? You can get another Rigas to officiate.”

“Because I trust you, Haraldur.” Alster eased into a smile. “Elespeth does, too, even if you’ve had your differences. Besides, what I’m doing is illegal on the grounds of the Rigas council. They must approve my marriage, a process that can take weeks. We’re eloping--and the only authority that will legitimize a marriage of my station is that of royalty.”

Haraldur shook his head. “No. I’m not...it’s not…” he swallowed his words. “My last two encounters with Elespeth….First, I alienated and drove her away. Next, I...if the Dawn Guard didn’t step in when they did, I could have hurt her, or worse, killed her to get to my quarry. I’m the worst candidate for this position.”

Alster shrugged. “It doesn’t matter if you’re a good candidate or not, Haraldur. Your words are able to circumvent Rigas procedure because they hold sway. We need only one kingdom to recognize our marriage. I’ll eventually consult with the council and finalize it with them, but in the meantime, we will be registered as official through your holding power as prince of Eyraille.” He added, “You don’t have to stay long. I’ll tell you what to say; once you’re done, you’re free to return here.”

Haraldur pursed his lips. “Marrying her tomorrow won’t save her.”

Alster sighed, and pressed his hands together, as though in prayer, or supplication. “If we could provide her this one solace, this one happiness, during a time when she needs it most…that is saving her.” As he observed Haraldur, his eyes drooped in understanding. “The first step to breaking the monster inside of you is to realize it’s not a monster at all. It’s you, in pain, and more pain does not negate the pain. Please do this for us, Haraldur. You won’t know how much your presence tomorrow will help--unless you come.”

It took a few more minutes of convincing, but Haraldur, at last, nodded his head and agreed to Alster’s proposition. The latter grinned and shook the former mercenary’s hand. “Thank you, Haraldur, thank you.”

They didn’t stay for much longer. After Alster informed Sigrid of Gaolithe’s strange shift in energy, they said their goodbyes to the Eyrallian prince and set off next to the Dawn Guard temple, where the enchanted sword waited, encased in its glass display. For the second time that evening, he sensed they were not alone, and for the second time still, it was Teselin to reveal herself behind the anonymity.

“Teselin.” He gazed at the sword on its plinth, then to her, catching the glint of tears in the glaze of her obsidian eyes. “What’s wrong? Gaolithe…” He wiped sweat from his brow. Warm, indeed. Almost too warm, he felt stifled by the heat. Condensation formed on the glass, obscuring the sword from within.

But he did not finish his sentence. Teselin, so shaken by whatever encounter she had with the sword, pressed her palms to Sigrid’s forehead and...a tremor passed between them. He could only watch on, concerned by what he assumed was a transfer of memory. But of what sort? Bad enough to leave Teselin in tears and to spring a leak in Sigrid, a woman who, to his knowledge, was not the crying sort? Just like that, the moment passed, and the Dawn warrior dismissed Teselin, who did not argue, and slipped through the doors without a sound, a dejected slump of a person.

“Sigrid,” he sought her gaze, but she avoided him. “If what you saw is pertinent to this investigation... even if it’s not, if there’s anything I can do…”

She had changed the subject, focusing all attention on the blade’s immediate effects; its inordinate heat production and the sensation of the grip against her palm. “There is some aberration that’s causing Gaolithe so much...distress. The energy it’s producing is...all over the place. I suppose the closest emotion is akin to fear, but that’s not my area of expertise.”

They left the temple, out in the cool night air, a welcome departure from the oppressive heat of the magically overcharging sword. “I’ll see what assistance I can provide, in terms of what I know. Enchantments and magic--consider me at your service. But before that,” he painted on a smile, “be there, tomorrow. There’s limited space, but I’d be honored if you came, Sigrid.”

Per his promise to Elespeth, Alster returned to the inn and spent the night betwixt the covers of the bed, an experience so long ago shared, and no less missed. He almost forgot the inviting warmth their two bodies could provide. When dawn broke, he reluctantly broke contact and removed himself from the bed, hurriedly washing up at the basin and donning a fresh set of clothes. “There are a few errands I need to run,” he explained, pushing back his hair at a half-hearted attempt at combing it. “But I’ll be a few hours at most. We’re still on for today, El, so this will give you ample time to prepare. I’ll send you aid, if you need one. Listen for her knock...because she won’t knock twice.”

With a quick kiss on the lips, he headed out of the room. About ten minutes later, the patter of a knock sounded on the door. Sure enough, the knock did not repeat. Yelling took its place. “Elespeth, if you’re still sleeping at this hour, I will make certain it is not for long. Now open this door.”

She did (not like she had a choice) and in swept Chara, a whirlwind of fabrics in one hand, a plate of breakfast balanced in the other. Kicking the door closed with her foot, she presented the other woman with the plate and threw the clothes on the bed. “I heard it all. Everything. From Alster. Thank all the stars above that he has been clonked back to his senses. Well,” she paused to reconsider, “no, he is still rightly mad, going forth with this impromptu wedding of his, but he has returned to the madness I expect to see from the likes of him. Anyway,” she sighed, and turned to Elespeth, “no need to discuss your predicament in detail. I have had my fill of the drama it entails. I am gone for a day, and all this occurs. Clearly, I should have sewn you to my side, rotten luck that you’ve had, lately. What is it about you that inspires so many nations to throw you behind bars--in some form or another? Ah,” a snort blew out of her nose, “look at me, discussing this mess of politics when I prohibited such talk. No, today, we are focusing on making you look halfway presentable. And my...this is going to take a while.”

“First,” she pointed to the plate of food, “eat. Eat as much as you’re able. Then, we will have to do something with that rat’s nest you call hair. Here, I thought shortening it would be an improvement; you have been letting it knot up for months, but it seems I was too far too optimistic.” Sitting on the bed, she patted the bundle of fabrics, smoothing out wrinkles whenever she saw them. “Choose your favorite gown. They are the smallest sizes available; not much we can do about the unfortunate deflation of your bust and hips. Really, the more fluff in the hem, the better. Last of all,” she nodded at the diamond ring sitting on Elespeth’s middle finger, “what will you do for a ring, Elespeth? He has nothing to wear. Nothing from you. It is not a wedding unless there are two rings. Tell me; have you ever given him a gift? Anything at all?” A loud tsk clicked at her tongue. “I thought so. You have been engaged for months and a matching ring has never crossed your mind? Oh, how I would love for you to look bad in front of this procession--except there is no procession. Only us. Fortunately for you,” she extracted a golden weight from her pocket and plopped it into Elespeth’s palm, “I have come prepared.”

Unsurprisingly, the object turned out to be a ring, its craft plainer in design, but no less elegant. Traces of filigree accented the edges, and in the middle, a large diamond dominated, from top edge to bottom edge, as prominent as the brightest star. “This was the ring I was going to give to Alster. I made it special for him. For years, I’ve carried it around with me. I thought it lost when we evacuated Stella D’Mare, but Lysander,” she swallowed, “when I saw him, to tell him I still lived...he had found it, and gave it back to me. What fortuitous timing, right?” A smile appeared on her face, but it was sharp, lopsided...knotted-up. “That this should return to my possession yesterday. I suppose this was all meant to be, hmm?” She closed her moistening eyes and twisted away from Elespeth. “You and him, always. So do not hurt him anymore. Please, do not hurt him. Stay always, at his side. Promise me you will. That you will fight this inconvenience set before you, and live out your years with this man." The threads of her voice wavered. "Promise me, Elespeth.”

“If it was pertinent to the investigation--if it had anything at all to do with saving Elespeth, then you know I would tell you, Alster.” Sigrid didn’t mean to snap, but whatever the young summoner had revealed to her in that brief transfer of memory… it had her shaken. Enough that her tolerance for discussing it was non-existent. “It isn’t anything relevant, Alster. The summoner got too close to something that was a beacon of power. It overwhelmed her and she doesn’t know what to make of it. It’s nothing but fear of the unknown… and I don’t share in her fear.”

The Dawn warrior cast another long and pensive glance at Gaolithe over her shoulder. In the moonlight spilling through the windows, something crossed her face; something akin to hurt, or betrayal. Yet none of her body language suggested she cared to discuss it. “If anything, this only serves as more proof that something is amiss; if the sword truly is reacting to the event that involved Elespeth. Gaolithe did not feel like this, when I last held it… I wonder how long it has been exuding this energy since I placed it in holding.”

In spite of what might have been a very insightful discovery, Sigrid appeared more eager to leave the temple, that even, than she had been to send Teselin away. She stepped out into the cool night air, asked for the key she’d provided Alster earlier that day, and shut and locked the door behind her with a speed that almost seemed as though she were afraid the accursed weapon would follow her if she didn’t. “You should leave Gaolithe to me. I’m more familiar with its history; I know where to find relevant information on what might be setting it off.” The Dawn warrior brushed aside the Rigas caster’s offer with haste. Not insofar as she didn’t want him to go to the trouble, but… almost as though there was something she did not want him to know. To find out, if it were at all possible. “I think you are in the right mind to follow your lead on Locque. It will not gain you any favors if your accusation is false, and it turns out the sorceress has nothing to do with what happened to Elespeth and the councilman’s wife… but we haven’t any other leads, presently. And it could buy your fiancee time.”

Just as she began to walk away--though curiously, not toward the Dawn Guard’s barracks--Alster had determined to end their current encounter on a lighter note. Sigrid paused in step, but did not confirm with a look over her shoulder. “Certainly. I am happy that you and Elespeth have made this decision, Alster. After everything you have been through, together and apart… you deserve to be married.”

Her footfalls felt heavier by the moment as she walked away from the Rigas caster, and toward one of the housing units where some of the D’Marian refugees were staying. In particular, where Naimah was staying. It inspired a mixture of relief and concern to find the Kariji woman did not leave her door locked; anyone could get it--herself included. Although… perhaps that was why she left it unlocked. And right now, Sigrid couldn’t have been more grateful.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you…” The Dawn warrior put her hands up, making her identity known as Naimah startled awake and looked as though she meant to reach for her swords. Admittedly, this made Sigrid feel a lot better about the unlocked door. “I can leave, if you prefer. I just… I’d rather not be alone, tonight.” There was a heavy sort of catch in the blonde woman’s voice. Not one that often unsettled her typically unwavering tone, or her steadfast confidence. But tonight was different, and her tentative demeanor did not even imply that she was hoping to be intimate. Only that she desired to be in the Kariji woman’s presence.  “If… of course, only if that is alright with you.”

Elespeth did not manage to find sleep until Alster returned to her safely that evening. It was already late, by the time he returned, and while he’d explained that the young summoner, Teselin, had also been sharing this room, she had not made an appearance since the former knight had been given leave to serve her imprisonment at the inn. “I know you are eager to do all of this groundwork on my behalf,” she said, welcoming his warm embrace beneath the sheets. “But it is enough just to have you here. I have faith that this will turn out in our favor; I just… I have a good feeling. Our luck will take a turn for the better.” She smiled, the weariness of her waiting for his return creeping across her face. “Starting tomorrow…”

Alster awoke before she did the following morning. She was roused by the sound of water splashing in the wash basin, and a rustle of fabric as her betrothed dressed in fresh clothes. Both inarguably mundane sounds, but enough that she awoke with a smile, because it had been too long since she’d experienced the comfort of awakening to the sound of their future together. The reassurance of knowing that Alster was right there, within reach, and that even if he wandered, he would return to her… with absolute certainty.

“You really are going to make this happen, aren’t you?” The Atvanian warrior smiled, following the plush pressure of his lips against hers. A brief kiss, but not one that she took for granted. She would never take his kisses for granted, ever again. “I don’t know how you are going to manage it, but… I’ll be ready. I promise you that.”

Despite the anticipation that their reunion that day would mark the first day of their official union, Elespeth was reluctant to see him go, and did wonder at the aidhe was implying she would receive. At the very least, she was not waiting long, before an urgent knock on her door roused her again from her dozing state upon the bed. When she did not react quickly enough to the visitor’s liking, a familiar voice cut straight through the heavy wood of the door.

Scrambling out of bed, Elespeth opened the door and stepped aside for Chara to grace her with her divine company. In one hand, the Rigas woman presented a plate piled high with food still steaming with warmth, and on her other arm, at least four different gowns of different colours, cuts and materials were carefully hung. “Alster… told you? Everything?” The gears in her head were turning far too slowly, in her half-asleep state. Of course Chara must have found out the details of her predicament; but as for the ceremony taking place that afternoon… She’d have found out, regardless, the former knight reminded herself. Even if something wasn’t Chara’s business, the woman knew how to make it her business. And while her opinion of might have been very different, just a couple of months ago… right now, she was glad that Chara knew. That it was Chara whom Alster had sent to make her look worthy of being married.

Frankly, she wouldn’t have trusted her appearance, in anyone else’s hands.

“Where did you get all of these?” Came her first question as her green eyes settled upon the gowns on her bed, both awed and ecstatic that she wouldn’t be forced to marry Alster in her stained tunic, that still smelled of sweat, blood, and the dank odor of the dungeons. “I don’t think I need to convince you that I cannot do any of these justice, but… what do you think?” She glanced over her shoulder, and flashed a faint smile. “You’ve known Alster for far longer than I have… which one would he like?” After all, this wasn’t for her, or for Chara, or even for the ceremony. It was for Alster.

On Chara’s expert advice (she would wholeheartedly admit that the Rigas woman had a far keener eye for dress and appearance that she did), they settled on a pale green gown that brought out the verdant flecks in Elespeth’s eyes. But Chara forbade her to try it on until she’d put a good dent in the plate of food she’d brought, and so the ex-knight paused to sate herself. When the question about a ring for Alster surfaced, however, she felt her appetite rapidly dwindle, and temporarily put down her fork. “I… it never occurred to me, to be honest. For a number of reasons, I suppose. For one, I haven’t had more than a penny to my name since I was captured by Atvany. They confiscated what little money I earned from fronting Messino’s war, I’m not sure how I’d have found the means to purchase Alster a ring. But that…” She stared down at her food, remembering back to the moment when Alster had first placed that ring on her finger. Just before he had set out to leave her--yet again--for an indeterminate amount of time.

“I think that… part of me was afraid to tempt fate. So many factors have torn us apart, again and again, since the time we’d met. And I suppose I was just afraid that if I invested too much faith, that he… that we… I don’t know. I was afraid to hope, Chara.” Elespeth raked a hand through her short hair and shook her head slowly. “None of these are adequate excuses. I’m not going to pretend like I deserve any of this; we both know that I don’t. But I want to marry Alster; I will, because I have seen the alternative--of what becomes of him when I take myself out of his life--and I… I will never let him return to that.”

And yet, somehow, the one person with whom she’d never really found a way to get along was the one person to come to her rescue. Chara was right; it wasn’t a wedding without two rings. And of the two of them, of course she could count on the Rigas woman to be prepared. Elespeth stared at the tiny gold piece in her hand, wide-eyed and startled. And then, she tilted her head back and laughed. “Of course, you would put me in this situation, Chara. Of being the only person who can make any of this right, racking up a debt to you that you know I’ll never be able to repay in full.”

The former knight turned the piece of gold over in her fingers, the light from the windows catching on the starlike diamonds, and she didn’t realize that she was crying until she hear the muffled patter of tears falling onto her lap. Sniffling, she wiped her face with her sleeve and nodded. “Today is going to be the first day of the rest of our lives.” She whispered, closing her fingers over the ring. “Circumstances have torn us apart for too long. I’m… we are putting an end to that, today. I won’t be torn from him, anymore. Whatever we face, from now on… we face together.”

But in order to face the world together, Elespeth would first need to keep herself from falling apart, which was no small task, considering she was about to marry in the room serving as her ‘cell’, with an uncertain outlook to their future regarding her involvement in the murder of an innocent woman. And even if they did survive all of that--even if they did emerge without a stain to her character or a shadow behind her name, what of her heart, and its poor condition? The healer who, like Alster, was gifted with magic, could do nothing for her. And if the damage was not benign… how of a future would they have, together?

In order to pull herself together, Elespeth had to allow herself a moment to fall apart, and Chara had the grace to let her--but only for a few moments, before she ordered her to dry her tears and sit up straight so that she could take a pair of sharp scissors to the jagged ends of her hair. After rinsing it in the wash basin, the Rigas woman managed to smooth out the tips so that it fell a uniform length just below her chin, leaving her with a boyish, albeit elegant style that was still far superior to what it had been before. For a number of reasons (many which she chose not to disclose to Chara), she refrained from looking in the mirror, but she imagined that she was still far from beautiful. At the very least, the Rigas woman had made her presentable. Well, almost.

The two tidied up the pieces of hair that had fallen into a towel, and then Elespeth reached for the pale green dress, after changing out of her trousers and filthy tunic. But she was stopped once again by Chara, who redirected her to the wash basin, insisting that there was no way she’d let her step into that dress until she smelled as clean as she looked. Which, of course, was not a problem, with a wash basin and cloth provided. The trouble was the silent questions that arose in the Rigas woman’s eyes when she caught sight of the angry red scars across the tops of Elespeth’s thighs; thick, red lines that were too straight and clean to have been an accident. Elespeth nearly dropped the wash cloth from her hand, but then just shook her head. “Yes--it is exactly what you think. And yes, Alster already knows. And, yes, I intend to stop.” She hoped she covered every question swimming in Chara’s accusing eyes in a single breath. “I’m not going to try to convince you what I did was justified. It was just the only way I knew how to deal with the pain: by replacing it with pain that I could tolerate… and that is all that I am going to say.”

When her skin was sufficiently cleaned, the former knight--with Chara’s help--stepped into the green dress, which--to her relief--was not too big on her, after all, and did not overly accentuate the lack of substance to her body. Still, she was loathe to look in the mirror, and instead accepted Chara’s appraisal as fact. “Well; is it at least acceptable?” She hazarded a smile, just moments before a soft knock on the door reached their ears. Chara answered, this time, only to come face to face with an astonished-looking Teselin. The young summoner was dressed in her typical plain clothes, but carried a small bouquet of wildflowers, just recently bloomed with the rising temperatures of springtime. “Chara…” She appeared as surprised to see the Rigas woman as Chara was to see, her, and ventured to explain, “Alster… he told me about the ceremony, today. He invited me to attend. Elespeth… these are for you. It isn’t much of a bouquet, but every bride should carry something akin to one.”

Stepping inside, the girl handed the flowers to the former knight, who took them into her hands. Her face was a mixture of softness and surprise, and ultimately found she could venture no more but a quiet, “Thank you.”

They were not long waiting for Alster to return. It was just past noon, a final knock broke the uncomfortable silence to which the three women had fallen victim. In stepped Alster, and behind him, “...Haraldur.” Elespeth blinked several times, sure her eyes must have been deceiving her. But they weren’t: the Eyraillian prince was there, albeit not without reluctance and discomfort, judging by his body language. Elespeth hadn’t heard what had become of him following his attempted murder of Hadwin, and Alster promptly explained that it was the Eyrallian prince--someone with the authority to marry--that was making this all possible.

Teselin, who had been standing quietly in the corner, put on her best smile for the occasion. Unfortunately, it was short lived, when Alster asked after the whereabouts of Sigrid, whose presence here, today, had also been requested. “I’m sorry… but I have not seen her,” came her quiet response, accompanied by a heavy sadness in her dark eyes. “I’d have thought she’d be with you… If you like, I could go and search for her, but… Braighdath is a rather large city…” And Sigrid was probably not overly inclined to see her--which went unsaid, but not unacknowledged, she knew, considering Alster had born witness to her silent exchange with the Dawn warrior in front of Gaolithe’s encasement. Ultimately, it was decided that while Sigrid would be missed, they were committed to going through with the ceremony without her.

“I am sure Sigrid has good reason. You’ve all been so wrapped up and unpacking this mayhem surrounding my prosecution,” Elespeth offered, and took Alster’s hands in her own. “I am just grateful that I can have anyone here at all, today; that we are able to do this. And that Haraldur is making this possible. Thank you.” She turned her attention to the Eyraillian prince, and her eyes swam with gratitude. “I cannot thank you enough, Haraldur.”

Regardless of appearance or the state of her well-being, Naimah always looked forward to seeing Sigrid. No matter the hour, she made it a policy to keep the door to her (shared) chambers unlocked, in case the Dawn warrior should drop by. Her Rigas roommate did not mind this breach of safety, claiming she could sense intruders with nefarious intentions long before they ever reached the door. While she believed the woman’s capabilities, she did not put much stock into her stamina; often, the Rigas lay slumped against the wall, near-catatonic from some trauma that befell her in Stella D’Mare. She didn’t ask much in the way of personal questions, and the two kept a respectful distance from each other--and on occasion, partook in a kettle of tea between the privacy partitions that divided their room in half.

On this evening, and independent of the Rigas woman’s magical detection techniques, Naimah jerked towards the swords beside her bed pallet when the clicking of the door latch jostled her awake. She relaxed when the imposing figure whispered apologies in a voice she recognized. “Sigrid. Not at all.” With the striking of flint and a long wooden stick, she lit the small lantern, which bathed her side of the room in a dim, flickering glow. “Come to my bed. You are not disturbing me. Or her,” she nodded at the partition; faint snores rippled the patchwork curtains like faint waves against the lakeshore. “Shall I start a kettle? The people next door--they are outside, cooking and brewing at all hours. I am sure they have a fire going on the grate, down in the courtyard. And some extra food. Or,” she cocked her head to one side, appraising Sigrid’s expression, “or if not, here.” She offered up her side of the bed, already warmed by her body heat and indented in all the right places, in form-fitting comfort. As she snuggled beside her, she pulled a wool blanket up and across their shoulders, though it was too short to cover their feet at the same time.

“Stay as long as you’d like,” she said, with a soft smile. Massaging fingers tucked behind Sigrid’s head, tackling sore spots that blossomed from stress and other factors. “We will still that beating heart in no time at all.”

In a sense, Chara held herself accountable over what happened to Elespeth. For one so determined to watch over her “charge,” her lapse of judgment regarding sentimental connections from the past implored her to reconnect with her father and take a break from the warrior’s rehabilitation. Since Alster’s transformation into a Serpent-touched entity that implied a long, uninterrupted stay on this plane of existence, the shock of further loss threatened to upheave what little remained of her shoddy stability. She’d been leaning on Alster to protect her from outside, to lend a caring, sympathetic hand and suddenly...he had vanished. What now? It was a question that haunted her nights as she tossed and turned, evading sleep. Surrounded by nary a familiar face that she could stomach, she realized...she needed a comforting presence. Someone not unhinged by recent events. Someone she trusted. Someone who could survive an ordeal or two, and not fall apart. She needed...her father.

Consulting the repugnant Alster in his new, scaly, cold-blooded form led her to Lysander’s whereabouts--which, to her surprise, were a mere corridor away from her quarters. Her nerves threatened to fray on impact when the man, a ridiculous sight on his steel crutches and leg braces, opened the door. A million thoughts assailed her mind like a volley of arrows. Will he even recognize me? Or accept me? What would he say, to hear I have abandoned my duties? Am I too strange? Too changed? I am not the daughter he knows…

But all her worries and fears were for naught. With a cry of relief, Lysander collapsed Chara into a steel-tight embrace--made all the more steely with the crutches he carried. Not meant to stand without supports, their father-daughter formation foundered when he lost his balance, and she, not strong enough to hold him aloft, teetered dangerously backward. Somehow, they corrected their crumbling attempts at pedestrian pursuits, and devolved into laughter and tears.

How could she ever think he would not welcome her? He did not see the self-exiled, diminishing failure of a Rigas. He did not regard her as anything less than his daughter. Unconditional acceptance. Perhaps, if she approached Lilica in such a manner, the results would not differ. Perhaps…

No. A drama-free life. She needed it, craved it. And all the people in that life, Lilica especially, did not understand how to function untroubled. So she leaned into blissful boredom, carefree days under the watchful gaze of a parent, child-like and protected. She’d all but lost count of the days as they passed…

Until she heard tell of the torrent of events that took place on the eve of the festival. Elespeth, arrested for murder. Alster, reawakening from his Serpent fugue. Braighdath, unspooling from its bobbin...

And she knew she needed to step forward and help wherever possible.

Little did she predict, it would be for a wedding.

“Do you question my resourcefulness?” A mock-glare formulated between Chara’s expertly pointed eyebrows. “I bought them at the tailor. Naturally. ...with Alster’s money.” She spoke the last bit with the side of her mouth. “Whichever gowns you do not want, I shall donate to that tasteless troupe that everyone seems to fancy, though I will tell you, living with them has turned me from circuses altogether. Atrocious living conditions. And their garish abuse of the color palette still assaults my eyes. I will be doing them a favor, with this collection. But,” she sighed, “I digress.”

She allowed Elespeth some time to collect her bearings, understanding that, despite the arrival of a beautiful moment, it was amidst a sea of past and future troubles: uncertainty, fear, guilt, and shaken faith in a just and righteous system. While a wedding provided a reprieve from the darkness, the tidings it brought were far from featherlight and carefree. It, too, demanded commitment, duty, promises--all solemn affairs that hardly eased the emotional heights it pushed the person to climb. Elespeth was overwhelmed, but it didn’t mean Chara would let her stew in it for long, either. While Chara valued aestheticism and precise, flawless results, she also lacked the patience to dally, and Elespeth’s atrocious pacing did not help. Resorting to pushing and positioning the warrior like a doll, she’d sit her down, or stand her up, order her to eat, or turn, or freeze in place, as she conducted her services with a no-frills focus. The only time she almost derailed was when she spotted the lines of self-inflicted scars along the other woman’s thigh. “Considering you stand before a woman who sliced off her ears,” a self-conscious hand rose to ensure her shawl covered them from view, “I do not think I can rightly judge you, Elespeth. Besides--there are plenty of other wrongs I can judge you for, instead.”  

After the ordeal of bathing (a process that did not satisfy Chara until Elespeth’s skin glowed red, an improvement from her ghostly-pal complexion), she fluffed out the dress, a beautiful springtime green, and pulled the laces taut over the bodice until some semblance of a waist was visible. Owing to the several layers of tulle, it opened up like a blooming flower, its petals almost dragging to the floor. “Ah, yes,” she squinted, checking out the gown from several different angles, “it will do, Elespeth. If only I had the ability to draw or paint to show you how you appear--since mirrors obviously disturb you.”

A knock on the door snapped Chara’s attention away from the bride-to-be, and toward the unknown visitor. “Cover your dress with your bedsheets,” she whispered. “In case a Dawn warrior is stopping by to ascertain you have not escaped” Or are not dead, but she kept the last thought to herself.” But the face on the other side of the opening door stymied Chara, and her arm. It hung in mid-air, where it once held the latch. “Teselin.” She eyed the bouquet of wildflowers and ushered the tiny girl inside. “Say no more,” she interrupted her explanation. “I assume you are, judging by those.” She pointed at the flowers, a complementary mix of yellows, corals, and soft-edged purples. “I,” she hesitated, watching the transfer between hands as Elespeth accepted the gift, “they will work quite nicely, Teselin. ...How--”

But her unvoiced inquiry retreated back into her thoughts when a brisk knock and the opening of the door signified the arrival of Alster--and a companion. At his side, Haraldur dwarfed him in size and height, as always, but he did not seem as tall as she remembered. He dragged his shoulders into the room, and the rest of him reluctantly followed. By contrast, Alster stood tall, limber on his feet and wearing his best smile--and best clothes; a robin-egg blue doublet cinched at the waist with a beaded cord. His eyes met Elespeth in her dress, and his smile broadened.

“Chara made quick work of you,” he teased, as he took her hand. “But you do look beautiful, Elespeth. And vibrant.” He kissed her on the cheek. “A veritable spirit of Spring.”

“Let’s not go that far,” Chara snorted.

Alster gestured to Haraldur. “To circumvent the long and grueling Rigas procedure, Haraldur has agreed to marry us.” The Eyraillian prince dipped his head in greeting, but did not yet speak a word. “Where’s Sigrid? We should wait for her.”

That was when Teselin revealed the news; no one had seen her all day, and if she hadn’t arrived by now…

“I see.” His frown faltered, and he looked genuinely upset. “No...No, you’re right. We won’t wait for her. Last night was rough on her. I...should have expected she wouldn’t show.”

“She’s not one for ceremonies, anyway,” Haraldur said, hiding his relief by the news. “She didn’t want to be there for my wedding, either. Granted,” his hand drifted to the ring on its chain, “it wasn’t like we’d planned to, that night.”

Alster’s lips pursed sheepishly. “Guilty. I was drunk. Fortunately, there are no libations in this room and not of a crowd for me to rally, so...I think we’re all safe from my antics. Beyond, well,” he gestured to himself and Elespeth, “the obvious.”

“If we’re ready, then--” Haraldur took a position at the far end of the room, with Alster and Elespeth standing before him, hands still linked. He drew a sword from his hip--the one spelled never to harm an ally; it was the only weapon he agreed to carry. “Alster Rigas. Elespeth Rigas. I’ve had the honor of watching you grow from comrades-in-arms, to partners bound in blood, to deeply committed lovers who would do anything for each other. Such a love is rare to see in this world. If it develops at all, it seldom persists. But through trial after trial, you fought, sacrificed, and bled--and yet, here you both stand, made all the stronger for what you’ve faced together. Your love was forged on the anvil, created by intense heat, by endless blows of an unforgiving hammer. But that’s what’s made you an unbreakable weapon. A mighty sword that will always fight away the darkness, as long as both hands rest on the hilt.”

He presented the sword to Elespeth and Alster, hilt first. “I invite you to place your left hand on top the pommel.” They did so. Alster acted first, followed by Elespeth; her hand lay over his, a slight shiver and tremble. He could feel her erratic heartbeat through those fingers, and he wanted to kiss away all her nerves--for he had plenty, too. The slickness of his palm sweat had already coated the pommel in a thin, damp layer.

“Alster Rigas, do you swear on this sword, the sword that serves Eyraille, to love and honor Elespeth Rigas faithfully, through joy and sorrow, through harsh colds of winter to the thawing warmth of spring, for the rest of your days?”

Alster turned to Elespeth, his eyes luminous with tears. “Of course I do. Yes.”

Haraldur nodded and inquired the same of Elespeth, who echoed a similar response. But before he could finalize their union, she withdrew a gold band and directed Alster to unfurl his hand. Sliding the ring over its corresponding finger, it was a perfect fit, and Alster, bewildered by its existence, looked from Elespeth to beyond, at Chara--who was fighting, and failing, to hold back tears.

“Now there’s proof for me, too,” Alster whispered to Elespeth, “that I belong to you.”

Moving the sword upright, with the blade against his lips, Haraldur continued. “I hereby declare, as Prince Haraldur Sorde of Eyraille, that Lord Alster Rigas and Elespeth Rigas nee Tameris are as one--so mote it be.”

Alster drew Elespeth into his arms and, streaming tears and all, kissed her with every ounce of tenderness the limits of his physical form could offer. But in his mind, they were beneath the wisteria tree, in their private sanctum, listening to the soft melody of the wind in their ears.

It was such a small audience--only Chara and Teselin, aside from Alster, whose presence was pertinent to the ceremony, and Haraldur, who also facilitated and made this possible. But that was all it took to fill Elespeth’s damaged heart with enough joy and gratitude to warrant tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. These people--none of them, Alster included, was obligated to be here for her, to make any of this possible. Not Chara, whose intentions she had wrongfully doubted so much in the past, nor Teselin, who she had always been too hard on, when the girl merely sought positive outlook toward progressively dismal situations. Not Haraldur, whose trust she had betrayed and taken for granted. And Alster… whom she had driven to such despair that he’d seen fit to hide away and let the Serpent govern his body in the wake of his pure conscience. In some way, she felt she had hurt them all, but none of them had chosen to give up on her.

Except, perhaps… Was Sigrid’s absence a result of the shame she’d reaped on the Dawn Guard? A band of heroes so legendary, to whom she had looked up for so long, and she had let them all down. Forced them to nanny her during her recovery, when there were far more pertinent issues with which they were equipped to deal. Perhaps Haraldur’s cousin had finally lost faith in her; and for that, she couldn’t blame her, not one bit. But it did encourage her to pursue forgiveness. When all was said and done, when she was exonerated (for she had to have faith in that outcome), she vowed to seek out the blonde warrior and personally make amends. It was the least she could do, in light of the lengths Sigrid had gone to in order to help her.

As Haraldur stood before them, and presented them with the pommel of his blade, Elespeth followed suit to Alster and placed a cool hand over his own. It came as a surprise to find that her fingers were trembling; that she felt so unsteady at what had to be the most important moment of her life. The naming ceremony was only the first step: shedding the name Tameris for good, putting that past behind her, and accepting the rest of her life as a Rigas. This was the final phase in her transformation from a knight of Atvany to… well, to what, she did not well know. Not a knight, and hardly a warrior, although one day (hopefully soon) she wished to properly wield a sword, again. But regardless of what she became--whatever it was, she would become it as Alster’s wife. A permanent fixture to his side, and he, to her side. And he would not let her dwindle to nothing; whatever she manifested as, from this day forth, would be a result of his unwavering faith in her.

She would not let him down. Not again.

The Eyraillian prince then, in turn, prompted her to cite her own vow, and for a brief moment, Elespeth suffered a feeling of being tongue-tied. She had so much to say, and yet no words seem to suffice, so ultimately, she settled on a simple ‘yes’. “I do. Of course I do…” And with that, she took Alster’s left hand in her own, and slide the gold band onto his finger. It was a perfect fit; but she’d expected no less. Chara knew him well. “We belong to one another.” She whispered back, her green eyes glistening with tears about to fall. “Nothing can change this, now.”

Elespeth folded into her husband’s embrace, those tears spilling freely down her cheeks like tiny rivers, much like Alster--and Teselin and even Chara, for that matter. Haraldur was the only one who managed to maintain composure in this moment, and it was for the best, for someone had to keep their head strong upon their shoulders when everyone else seemed to be coming apart at their emotional seams. The desire to simultaneously laugh and cry roiled in Elespeth’s chest, conflicting emotions of happiness and relief and just a little bit of sadness that this had not played out in precisely the way Alster had hoped and imagined. But that didn’t matter; let the rest of the world, the Rigases and otherwise, know of and celebrate their union later. With or without a crowd to share in this joy, the legitimacy of their entwined hands and symbolic rings did not pale. This was real, and this was her future--so come what may. All that mattered was that she would face it with Alster.

Breathless, the former Atvanian--the former Tameris--was forced to break their prolonged kiss in favor of drawing air into her lungs, her heart racing with elation and disbelief that all of this was actually happening… Or, maybe it was something more, something less sentimental. The intake of air did little to still Elespeth’s racing heart, and it wasn’t long before a familiar, tight pain in her chest, dropped her to a knee, cruelly interrupting the sweet finale of the brief ceremony. Of course, Alster was on her in seconds, helping her stand as one hand clutched her chest. The room swayed as he sat her upon the bed. “I’m fine… it’s just…”

But was she fine? How could she be, when there was no indication that the damaged she’d accrued to her heart would dwindle, or that it would heal naturally? Was this really to be the rest of her life--never knowing when she would be forced to pause and withdraw, as her damaged organ suffered and struggled through a spasm?

Alster was quick thinking and handed her the vial that the Braighdathian healer had provided specifically for these moments. Elespeth accepted and took a drop onto her tongue, and waited, as the moments passed and she counted the erratic beats as her heart gradually slowed. In the interim, Teselin had rushed to her side, and took her hand. While Alster was the only one aware of the trouble she’d been facing with her heart, the young summoner seemed to understand immediately, at the touch of their skin. “You’re not well…” She said softly, stating the obvious of the former knight was so painfully aware.

“I’ll be fine. It’s just an inconvenience.” Elespeth, however, brushed it off like it was not a concern--perhaps in light of every worried face that had turned to her. “A side effect of the stimulant that has yet to pass. It doesn’t mean anything…”

Was she trying to convince them, or herself? She no longer knew, and couldn’t even invest an adequate amount of faith in her own words. Perhaps it was her hope that if she said it, over and over, eventually it would be true. At last, her heart returned to a typical, healthy rhythm, and she stood. “I think I am just… a little bit overwhelmed, with all of this happening so quickly.” Elespeth hazarded a smile and took Alster’s hand. “Just another inconvenience that we will find a way to navigate and overcome.”

Neither Teselin nor anyone else in the room appeared to be at all convinced by her reassurances, but neither did they question it, for fear of interrupting the sanctity of this ceremony and what it meant for the newlyweds. As if to push home her point, Elespeth kissed Alster again, a kiss that was not rudely interrupted by her damaged heart. “This union… is our strength.” She whispered, unashamed that their small audience bore witness to the electricity of their combined auras, the full extend of their unabashed love. “For us, from this day forth… anything is possible.”

Teselin, who stood silently in the corner, did not deign to interrupt this pertinent moment of hope for the two newlyweds. Despite that she saw it differently--that she saw how Elespeth’s aura had dimmed around its edges, when she’d suffered that episode with her heart. Whatever was ailing her was not benign, or if it was now, it wouldn’t be for long. But, stuck in Braighdath as they were, with Elespeth under suspicion, there was little at their disposal. If Galeyn’s Night Garden was as all-healing as its legend, then that was where the former knight needed to be. Which provided all the more reason to clear her name and put an end to this case.

“I’m so happy for you both.” She said at last, clasping her hands in front of her. “We are going to clear your name, Elespeth. Everyone--myself, Sigrid, and even Hadwin, is working on it. And when you are free to leave Braighdath, then you and Alster can find the means to properly celebrate your marriage.”

She wasn’t sure that either Elespeth or Alster had heard much of what she’d said, so enthralled as they were with one another. As if despite being present in a room with three other people, they existed on another plane entirely, one that nobody else could see. This was a moment that they deserved, and so in reverence of the weight of this ceremony, the young summoner decided to quietly take her leave. No one seemed to take notice when she slipped out.

When at last Elespeth drew away from Alster’s arms, it was to face Haraldur, who appeared in a sense uneasy, and perhaps eager to leave. She couldn’t blame him; not for what had transpired between them, particularly when they’d been on route to Braighdath. How he had offered her a means to wean off her addiction… and she had all but spat in his face. If she never got another opportunity to make amends, then she needed to seize this opportunity. “Haraldur.” She spoke his name in a quiet, tentative tone, but he heard her all the same, and averted his gaze from where it was fixed on the floor. “...thank you. Without your help, this wouldn’t have been possible. I cannot ever repay you for today. And after my… after what I did, abandoning you and Sigrid… I don’t deserve this. You had no reason to help me. But, you did, anyway, and for that, you are a far better person than I can hope to be. And,” she turned to Chara, “were it not for you, we wouldn’t have been able to do this right. Not without the gown, and… the ring. You have my word that I’ll never doubt your resourcefulness. And…”

To her astonishment, the young summoner who had come bearing her bouquet was nowhere to be found. The ex-knight shouldered a little bit of guilt for not realizing she had stepped out. “When you see her,” she said, looking from Alster to Chara, “tell her… that I’m sorry. I was hard on her, in Stella D’Mare. I thought that I was helping her, but the truth is, I was in a bad way, and… I fear she got the worst of me, when she didn’t deserve to.” In truth, they had all seen the worst of her: Haraldur, seeing her as an addict, and Chara, finding her when she had hit rock bottom with nowhere else to go, and Alster… who had watched as the woman he loved had broken his heart. But she had not yet acknowledged how she had wronged Teselin, encouraging her to give up hope when it was the only thing keeping her going.

Chara and Haraldur bid them farewell, shortly after, recognizing that the two newlyweds deserved to be alone. At that point, Elespeth had taken a seat on the bed, still a little shaken by the episode with her racing heart. “In a twisted way… I think this is a blessing in disguise. I wanted to die, once. When I thought you and everyone else were better off without me. I didn’t see any potential in my future, but… whoever is responsible for forcing me to kill that woman--I want justice. As much as Braighdath does, I want to find the cause, and put an end to it. And that makes me realize that I have far too much to live for, now--especially now. So…” She took Alsters hands, both flesh and steel, into her own, and searched his azure gaze. “Promise me that you will let me fight this with you. Do not fight my battle for me--fight with me. So long as I am able to stand on my feet, I will continue to fight, regardless of whether I can ever regain my honour as a knight. That is my promise.”

Teselin, unbeknownst to those around her, was fighting her own downhill battle--that of knowing too much, far more than she’d ever wanted to know. But that had been the sore aftermath of what Mollengard had done to her. Those days of struggling to draw the world around her to bend to her will were over, and now she was faced with the world offering up far too much. Seeing the condition of people’s auras, such as Elespeth’s, and knowing who was well and who wasn’t, without the ability to shut herself off from that knowledge was bad enough. And now, after merely veering too close to Gaolithe at a time when the sword was vibrating heavily with negative energy, she had become privy to the fate of its wielder… one that she’d have been far happier never finding out, for the burden it forced upon her. Ultimately, the outcome was now in Sigrid’s hands, and it was up to the Dawn warrior to decide how to handle it, but remembering the look on the blonde woman’s face… it brought her no comfort. And given the nature of the situation, she could not, in good faith, confide in anyone else.

But intention was not enough--and she came to learn very soon that Sigrid had realized that. The young summoner gasped as someone seized her arm from behind her, pulling her frantic movement to a halt. “Sigrid…!” Ally or not, Teselin did not relax. She could read the lines on Sigrid’s face, and the electricity in her aura as clearly as the letters in a book. “What--”

“You aren’t to see him--the shape shifter. He’ll know what is on your mind.” It was not a request. And if her words were not enough, Sigrid’s grip on the young girl’s arm tightened. “Promise me you will avoid him.”

“What? But I can’t… we need to stick together, Sigrid. I can’t promise--”

“Then I’ll make you.” The Dawn warrior threatened, with fear and desperation written into the features on her face. “You have no business knowing what you do. Nor do I, but now we both know, and no one else needs to know. But your wolfish friend will see it.” Sigrid’s frown deepened. “And you know well that he won’t keep his damned mouth shut.”

“Let go!” Teselin tugged her arm in vain. The Dawn warrior’s grip was like a vice. “It’s too late, Sigrid--we know what we know. You deserved to know, but we are all stuck in this city together. Even if I wanted to, I can’t avoid Hadwin forever!”

“Not forever. Only until… it comes to pass.” Sigrid swallowed, her voice faltering. “Which, if Gaolithe chose me now… I am guessing that it will not be long. And then it will not matter. If you won’t agree…”

“Then you will what? Lock me away? Restrain me?” Teselin hurt for Sigrid; it was impossible not to, knowing the outcome of the woman’s future. But fear and anger were beginning to sharpen the soft edges of her heart. “Mollengard tried to restrain me, too.” She said, her voice low and uncharacteristically dangerous for what she was implying.

Fortunately, their tense exchange was short-lived. “What is going on, here? Sigrid?” No sooner did Roen approach that the blonde warrior dropped the young summoner’s arm, and Teselin took off in a run. The leader of the Dawn Guard frowned, as suspicious as he was confused. “Care to explain why you were apprehending that young girl?”

Sigrid didn’t answer. She watched Teselin run until she disappeared into the bustle of the streets in the busy afternoon. “Roen…” The dawn warrior pursed her lips, and a line formed between her eyebrows. “How much do we know about Gaolithe? About its past?”

“Gaolithe?” Roen stroked his chin, failing to connect the dots. “We know its legend. Well, now we know that it isn’t a legend, I should say… not since we’ve witnessed first hand that it has chosen you. What does that girl have to do with Gaolithe?” He nodded in the direction where Teselin had taken off.

“Yes, we know its legend. But how is it a legend if we have no written documentation or oral accounts of any of its former chosen?” Sigrid turned to her mentor at last, and for a moment, she looked just like that lost and confused child he had taken into the Guard so many years ago. “Who was the last Dawn Warrior to wield Gaolithe--what became of them? Or before them? Do you know the name of anyone who has ever lived to touch it, in the past?”

“Honestly… I cannot say, for I do not know.” Roen shook his head, and ran a hand down the short ponytail at the back of his neck. “Names and faces become lost in history, and Gaolithe is as old as time, since the birth of the Dawn Guard. And history is typically written by the victors.”

“So, do you mean to imply that Gaolithe has never bought the Dawn Guard victory? Why, then, would anyone wield it? Why do we revere it if we don’t even know what it is capable of?”

“It is imbued with old magic, Sigrid. We do not revere it so much as we respect it. It has chosen you to wield it… and I know the toll that burden has taken on you. Do not think I haven’t noticed.” The older man’s features softened, and he rested a heavy hand on her shoulder. “But, if I am being honest, I would entrust it to no one else. It is already clear, with what has transpired for your incarcerated friend and the councilman’s fallen wife, that we are entering a time of great need and danger. And Gaolithe may be the only thing between us--Braighdath, Galeyn, the Dawn Guard and your friends--and a miserable fate. Sigrid…” Roen exhaled a heavy sigh. “I am not trying to be patronizing when I say you are overwhelmed and overburdened, and have been since you returned. I also know that nothing that I say or do will convince you to distance yourself from the situations surrounding you. But know that I am hear to lend an ear, should you need to talk… and, frankly, I wish you would. To help me understand.”

But there is no point in you understanding. Sigrid wanted to tell him; wanted desperately to tell him everything, as if he could provide a solution to her problem, like a bandage over a wound. But knowing would only hurt him as it hurt her; ultimately, it was better to suffer her foresight alone. “Protect them. Elespeth and the Rigases. You know she is innocent, Roen. And there is something terrible brewing that wants to convince Braighdath otherwise. I know that the Dawn Guard must remain impartial, for the time being, but… I need to know that my friends will be alright. That is all I want to say.”

Before her mentor could pose further questions, the Dawn warrior picked up her feet and left the vicinity. Before her emotions, or the wrong handful of words spilled as a result of them, would give her away.

While he remained the only dry eye in the room, Haraldur would be lying if he said he was not moved. Perhaps, he was even too moved, considering recent events. When the newlyweds kissed, he forced himself to look out the window--anywhere but at the faces of two lovers who, for so long, deserved to tie their hearts in a formal ceremony. It seemed so distant a memory, but had it been months or years since he last laid eyes on Vega? Since they kissed before Eyraille’s king, in a room of revelers and carousers? Traces of their whirlwind wedding reflected in Alster and Elespeth; their eagerness to belong to one another bucked tradition, just as the princess of Eyraille chose a commoner for a suitor, and just as they had decided to marry despite pre-established protocol demanding they wait. But, he wondered, if not for Vega’s surprise pregnancy, would they have wed at all? Or would he still be Haraldur, mere fixture at the side of royalty, ultimately meaningless beyond his ability to fight and kill? For--his title (a title he didn’t rightly deserve) remained his only saving grace. I am useful for my associations, but strip me down, and I’m Forbanne scum, good for nothing except causing strife.

But that was not true. At least, not from the perspective of two people with their beaming smiles and love-drunk eyes. Did the past even matter, at this juncture? It wasn’t as if anyone would respect his wishes, anyway; none would call him “monster” and condemn him for the attempted murder of an outsider. People saw what they wanted to see and none saw him as a menace; to Alster and Elespeth, he, again, reprised the role as a savior. To them, it was what he did in the present that held stock over what he didn’t do but could have done. Yes, as former Forbanne, he was constantly at risk over succumbing to compulsion. But his friends either failed to understand the gravity of that reality, or they didn’t believe he could cause so much harm. They had faith he would pull through, trusted he was strong, capable, loyal to his family and his convictions.

...But they didn’t know the real him. No one did, Vega included. Because they would always choose not to see the Forbanne in him. Ignore it until it ceased breathing. Or until it drew blood once again, and they had no choice but to act. Until that day...he would reluctantly play the role the fates now assigned to him: Haraldur Sorde, Prince of Eyraille. Maybe it would stick. Maybe he’d make it to fatherhood.

And there was no way he could assume his borrowed princely role by failing to contact the person who made it all possible. Vega…

It was about time.

His thoughts were interrupted when Elespeth seized her chest and crumpled to one knee. “What’s wrong?” he asked, but Alster shook his head, led his new wife to the bed, and fetched a small apothecary bottle from the side-table. When she explained, in as casual a tone as one in her condition could manage, the state of her heart and the stimulant which caused it, Haraldur turned away to curse under his breath. He should have ordered the Forbanne to burn every last bag in camp, while he had the chance.

Alster, sensing the larger man’s unease and steeping regrets, rested both arms on Elespeth’s shoulders and redirected all her attention to him--which was not difficult when their eyes were for each other alone.

“Focus on your breaths. Like that, yes,” he said, in gentle cadence. He transferred one hand from her shoulder to her cheek. “Does it hurt, any? Don’t worry,” he breathed his reassurances and topped them with a smile. “We’ll get to the bottom of your condition. I’ve been looking into it. Consulting healers and reading medical journals. I’ve healed organs before. I will find you a cure, Elespeth. For now--I think it’s best to end all this excitement on a quieter note, wouldn’t you agree?”

Quieter, yes--because their mouths pressed together and their tongues were far too occupied to engage in speech. But calmer...not so much.

Once they withdrew from their impassioned kisses, their guests had reduced by one. “Where did Teselin go?” He blinked and looked around the room, groggy and disoriented, as if waking from a blissful dream from which he never wanted to part.

“She must have slipped away when the two of you were attempting to eat each other’s faces,” Chara said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Oh. ...Right.” Alster glowed like the sunset; radiant, impossible to miss...and very pink.

“Well,” she gathered up the rest of the gowns from the bed before the happy couple decided to roll around in them, “I shall leave you to it. I was planning on taking these gowns to Briery’s caravan, anyway. Or better yet, to Hadwin, because I am not making that trek where others will see me. So if you will excuse me--”

But Elespeth rose from the bed and prevented her, as well as Haraldur, who channeled the way of Teselin and tried to slip from the room unseen, from leaving without a heartfelt thank you. “Pah,” she scoffed, adjusting the angle of her shawl as a distraction from looking the green-clad bride in the eye. “You are a Rigas, Elespeth. While I have stepped down from my illustrious family name, I will not have others, like you, pull a half-hearted attempt at wearing it without the pride it rightly deserves. Next time, I expect you to put forth the effort without my or Alster’s help. That is how you can pay me back.” Bunching up the variegated gowns to her chest, she stole one last look at Alster, who steadied Elespseth from behind. “I will be watching you, as well, Lord Rigas. Do not disappoint me.” With a dramatic turn, she marched out the door, a rainbow cloudburst of trailing dresses at her wake.

Haraldur, now with all attention fixed on him, knew that emphatic apologies and emphatic thank yous were unavoidable. He nodded, reaching forward to clasp her arm in an old war-comrade salute. “If I was too harsh, before, it,” he hesitated, “was never my intention to belittle your strength. I wanted to get us all to Braighdath in one piece...and I failed. I failed yet again when I drew a sword against you. Let this be my attempt to...make amends. Please have a happy life, Elespeth.” With another nod to Alster, he opened the door and disappeared down the hallway. Once alone, the Rigas caster led his wife back to the bed and sat her down, rustling through the soft threads of her styled hair.

“It’s a healthier way to look at the world, I’ll give you that,” he said, following the contours of her bare neck with the tip of his nose. “I’ve thought it, too. That if I never awakened the Serpent, experienced exile, or served in Messino’s war, I never would have met you. Or if I did...I wouldn’t be the same person. Maybe I’d be married to Chara by then, or act more like a proper Rigas when regarding outsiders and cast you aside. It’s difficult to know. In any case,” he planted a kiss on the delicate skin of her neck, “I’m glad that it’s us, Elespeth. “We’ll fight.” Raising his eyes, he scryed into her lovely crystal-green gaze, and nodded. “I promise. I can’t do this without you. No matter what stands in our way, we’ll mow down our opposition. That woman,” he gave her a wicked grin, “will wish she never disturbed us, once we’re done with her.”

It didn’t take long for Chara to bump into Hadwin. The faoladh had a tendency to show up whether you wanted him to or not; moreso for the latter. Fortunately, she found he had his share of uses...at the moment.

“Are you going to Briery’s caravan?” she asked him as he stepped out of a tavern--sober. How...unorthodox. Before he could answer, she dumped the three gowns into his arms. “Consider it as further payment for my boarding. The ringleader can do with these whatever she likes.”

Hadwin remarked upon the elegant and embroidered designs of each gown with an intrigued tutting of his tongue. “Big day, hmm? What else would call for,” he raised an eyebrow, “wedding gowns?”

“Oh you know well what happened,” she scolded. “Just don’t go blurting it out to every passerby you share a drink with. Or whatever it was you were doing inside that place.”

He gave her a toothy grin. “Reconnaissance. I happen to know that this little establishment is a frequented hideaway of our noble councilman,” he mock-crossed himself and chanted, “may he do good works. Anyway, there’s a brothel upstairs. They refer to him by name--and they have less than savory things to say about his performance, above other fun little tidbits. Definitely not loyal to his dear wife, or her memory.” He crept up to Chara’s ear and whispered, “‘cause he was there last night.”

“How charming.” She batted him away and began to walk, bidding him to follow. “It’s not much, but you best inform Alster of this news. Or better yet, Sigrid. Lord Rigas is rather incapacitated at the moment.”

“I’ll need to get ‘em a gift,” he mused aloud.

“Well since you are feeling so charitable at the moment, why don’t you point me to Teselin’s whereabouts? She ran off before Elespeth,” or I, she thought, “could voice her apologies...and gratitude for attending.”

“No problem. She’s like a will o’ the wisp in a bog; real easy to spot.” Hefting the gowns over his shoulder, he jerked his head to the right, and shifted his direction accordingly. “She’s close-by; c’mon.”

He was right. After about five minutes of traversing thick market crowds, they veered down a quieter side street and arrived at the mouth of a cozy alleyway, festooned straw-stuffed blankets and pillows. “Poor lass has been living like a street rat,” he said, the hooks of something resembling pity pulling at his vocal cords. “I tell her she’s welcome at Briery’s place, but she never wants to impose. I leave her to it, but the kid’s been squirreling away more often, and,” he sighed, “I can’t say I’m all that enthused about her new hermit lifestyle. She’s not doing too good. Pretty dispirited, and all wound up and afraid. If you’re here to bolster her up, then by all means. But,” his eyes filled with warning, “I’m gonna stand by you to make sure.”

Sure enough, when Chara ducked her head to enter the squat space, Hadwin stayed in close pursuit. When they came upon the bundle in the corner, he spoke up. “Hey, chickadee, hope you’re in the mood for some comp--”

It all happened so fast. One moment, Hadwin was wagging his tongue without a care, the next, he broke it off mid-sentence, reacting to an ostensible flood of information visible to his eyes alone. In a span of seconds, Teselin had flown to her feet and bolted from both Hadwin and Chara with all the speed and intent of a jackrabbit fleeing their prey. Even the quick-acting faoladh failed to grab her in time. By the looks of it, he didn’t seem inclined to; not with whatever wisps of fear he’d managed to glean circling around in his head.

“What,” Chara demanded, “just happened?”

“Plenty.” His easy-going nature fizzled in a mess of sparks and smoke, replaced with something altogether inhuman: animalistic, predatory, and ready to taste blood. He tossed the gowns back to Chara and proceeded to storm out of the alleyway. “Change of plans. But it won’t take long.”

“Where are you going!?”

“I’ve got some business with Sigrid. Like I said,” he cricked his neck from side to side; the sound reminded her of breaking bones, “it won’t take long.”  

He found Sigrid on her way to the barracks, but he didn’t make himself known. Not yet. Even in human skin, his wolf nature facilitated his ability to stalk his quarry without detection. Silent footfalls, use of his environment, a sense of smell as guidance, rather than a reliance on eyesight…

Before she entered the building, he emerged from the shadows and milled around in her blindspot. “I saw it,” he announced, by way of greeting. Of course, she startled in a spin to face him, and looked ready to bolt, as Teselin had done, so he repeated the sentiment in a deliberate, clarifying drawl. Loudly. “I’m seeing it right now. Everything you wish to hide. But that’s not why I’m here. I really don’t fucking care. No,” he remedied, “scratch that. I do care about one thing.” He grappled her wrist and dragged her close, forcing contact with his livid gold eyes. “Deal with your shit, Sigrid. If I see or hear that you’re threatening Teselin again, that you’re telling her to keep away from me, I’ll tell everyone what I saw. As a bonus, I’ll make you relive that memory over and over until it breaks you. You don’t like what you saw through your accursed sword?” He spat at her feet. “I don’t give a shit. It’s not my problem. It’s not her problem. If you wanted me to stay mum about your deep dark secret, you should’ve thought twice before terrorizing Teselin. But now you’ve made it personal.” He released her wrist with an aggressive push and took his retreat. “So watch yourself.”

Sigrid hadn’t returned to the barracks directly after speaking with Roen. But she did, however, know better than to go after Teselin. The Dawn warrior realized her mistake almost as soon as the young girl had run off. Not only had this been thoroughly uncharacteristic of her--making empty threat to someone who was no real threat at all to her--but it went against the code of the Dawn Guard, and Roen had most certainly disapproved of the situation he’d stumbled upon. Of course she felt regret; the young summoner did not deserve her rage, and she had only been trying to help. But Sigrid wasn’t so sure that knowing what she did now about her inevitable fate was better than having faced it not knowing. She could have fought for Elespeth and Alster, spend precious moments with Naimah, and passed the time she had left in blissful ignorance of what awaited her. But now…

But now…

The Dawn warrior took a long and convoluted route back to the barracks, doing her very best to avoid every familiar face possible, including those of her own brothers and sisters in arms. She needed time and space to think. To figure out how to navigate the revelation that Teselin had unearthed, where to go from here, when there was no longer anything to look forward to except for the hope that somehow, someday soon, Gaolithe would come through and be the difference between victory and defeat. That playing the sword’s sick game would, in fact, result in the safety of the people she cared for. Elespeth, Alster, the other Rigases. Haraldur and Vega, and their unborn children. The Dawn Guard, Braighdath, and Galeyn. Even Teselin and Hadwin. She had to believe that they would all survive, and that they would continue to live long and prosperous lives for her, when she wielded Gaolithe for the first (and final) time. Except…

How could you live for someone you could not remember?

Sigrid’s heavy footfalls made it to the barracks at last, but she paused at the doors, unsure exactly of what she meant to do. Sleep away her woes? Find a corner where no one could see her cry, as tears had been threatening since last night, when she had sought out Naimah for comfort? For the Kariji woman’s sake, she hadn’t wept, just accepted the offer of her warm embrace and relished in eventually falling asleep in her arms. But it had been dawn, by the time her eyes had finally closed; sleep deprivation, on top of the fear and sorrow battling inside of her, had caused her to lash out at the poor young summoner. Perhaps a long, uninterrupted nap was precisely what she needed…

She didn’t get that far before a familiar voice stopped her dead in her tracks. Sigrid startled, turning her head to the side so fast it nearly gave her whiplash, and there he stood: the single person she did not want to see. “Hadwin…” She wanted to run: she thought about it, prepared herself, but it was too late. Of course it was too late… Teselin must have run right to him. I am such a fool… Contrary to what she had been afraid of, however, the faoladh’s threats did not really register in a way that made her fear for the reaction of her peers when they found out--because something occurred to her that hadn’t, before (and that should have, prior to her threatening Teselin). “I’m sorry. What I said to Teselin was wrong; and I realize how futile it was, now.” She said evenly, hardly resisting as Hadwin hauled her forward roughly by her wrist. “I can guarantee it won’t happen again. But if you want to drive me insane with images of my own future, then you’re wasting your time, because I can’t get it out of my head, anyway.”

Sigrid rubbed her wrist when he let her go. He was stronger than he let on. “And you can threaten to spread the word all you want. I shouldn’t have said anything to Teselin; I realize that, now, because I realize that you aren’t going to say anything. And not for me--I know you couldn’t care less about me. Frankly, knowing that I know now, it’s for the better. The fewer who care… the better. But you care about Teselin, and she knows that spreading the word will do nothing but cause undue panic and distraction from Elespeth’s case. And you can’t tell me you’re not invested in that.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “You wouldn’t have agreed to testify your story before Roen if you didn’t care enough about what happens to Elespeth. And between fighting for her freedom, along with tempering the potential threat of a very old enemy of Braighdath and Galeyn, Alster and the others--this city as a whole doesn’t have the time to expend worrying for the fate of the person who wields Gaolithe. Even if you chose to say something out of spite, you know it won’t amount to anything. Because nobody will remember, in the end. Not even you. So why waste your energy on someone who one day won’t even be a memory?”

She shook her head, her temples pounding with a mild headache resulting from lack of sleep. “I had no reason to be concerned with your intentions; I had no right to speak to Teselin the way that I did. She was genuinely only trying to be of help, when she told me, and I owe her an apology. Do what you will, and say what you’ll say, if you really want to. But I have a feeling you have better ways to spend your time than to ensure what remains of my time is more painful than it has to be. And if you’re only here because you’re looking out for the summoner, then rest assured, I won’t lay a hand on her or say a word to her ever again.”

Sigrid watched him walk away, desperately hoping that his threats were merely a warning. It was impossible to tell with his sort, and perhaps calling him on a bluff would make him follow through; but then, who would corroborate that story? She had the power to deny it all, and she was Gaolithe’s chosen. And most people, if not all, would have the good sense to take her word for it over his.

The Dawn warrior opened the door to the barracks, at last, relieved to find it was empty. Good; she wouldn’t have to explain why she was passing out on a cot in the middle of the day. But she found her ambition foiled once again when she was approached by a far more unlikely individual. “Haraldur.” To say it was a surprise to see him, considering how he’d been giving her the cold shoulder for days, was an understatement. Not that his ‘incarceration’ had been anything but for show and to placate him; the Dawn Guard was under no orders to keep an eye on him, as she had done good work of clearing his name before he could be considered a threat (much to his chagrin). But that he chose to walk around in the open of his own volition… well, this had to be a good sign. Perhaps he’d gone through with facilitating Alster and Elespeth’s wedding, after all, and it had had the impact she’d hoped it might have. All for the better; it wasn’t as though she could count on Hadwin’s help, anymore, and his method might not have been the answer, anyway.

“So you finally decided to reintegrate with general society.” Though it was just a tease, there wasn’t much humor in Sigrid’s voice or face. Nor--strangely--happiness or relief, when he explained he’d just come from having married Alster and Elespeth, not too long ago. When he asked after her whereabouts during the ceremony, knowing well she had been invited to attend, he was met with an impassive stare. “I was occupied with other matters. Regardless of what you or Alster chooses to believe, there are more dire issues that require attention than a wedding."

With little to no regard for the sudden coldness of her demeanor, she removed the resonance stone from her pocket when he asked for it, after shaking off her strange and rather uncharacteristic response. “So this is what you came for, at last. Any reason? Do you actually intend to use it to contact Vega, or do you just want it out of my possession so that I don’t? ...you know what, fine. Take it.” She unceremoniously tossed him the stone, which he caught in the broad palm of his hand. “Use it, get rid of it--I really don’t care anymore. It’s up to you whether you decide to reach your to your pregnant wife, or continue to wallow in your misery and leave her alone to give birth, and your children fatherless because you don’t feel like you deserve them. Go and lead your damned Forbanne, or let them tear you apart. It isn’t my business and never should have been.”

Naturally, this took him aback. Sigrid had never hit someone when they were down or hit them where it hurt; it wasn’t in her nature, and he made a point of drawing attention to the behaviour. But in the end, he was only met with more hostility. “You know, you should stop trying to talk to me like we’re family. We aren’t; we didn’t grow up together, and we don’t even know each other all that well. It was stupid of me to ever seek you out and think that I might be able to reconnect with some irrelevant past. We’re barely more than soldiers with a common goal, and considering that you haven’t spoken to me in days, I wonder if even that much as true anymore. So go and speak with Vega and work out your demons, or get rid of the damned stone and exist to entertain loneliness and deep-seated regret for the rest of your life. I don’t care, either way, and I don’t need to hear it. I am through with your self-inflicted drama, Prince of Eyraille.”

She didn’t wait for a response. Sigrid pushed through the door of the barracks and disappeared behind it, before finding her designated bed and collapsing upon it. It’s better this way. Tears pooled in her eyes behind her eyelids and seeped out through the cracks and onto the pillow. It’s better if they don’t care. It’s better to disconnect while I still can. She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them, her shoulders shaking with every repressed sob. It’s easier to leave a world without a trace of me if I have no ties to it… this is for the better.

Briery and Cwenha were in for a pleasant surprise when Hadwin delivered the gowns Chara had so kindly donated. They were well made, which said something considering that Briery held high standards for craftsmanship, and it already turned over ideas in her head for how they might be used. “Leave it to Chara Rigas to find the most exquisite gowns. I’m surprised she decided they were well off in my  hands; she didn’t actually seem to approve of my wardrobe.”

“And how do you propose we make use of these contraptions on the trapeze?” Cwenha asked flatly, eyeing up the length of one of the gowns as she held it in front of herself. It was too long by at least two feet. “Maybe we’re better off donating these, ourselves. Sure, they’re wedding gowns, but there are plenty of refugees here that could do with a good change of clothes.”

“You know… you might be onto something.” The ringleader agreed, wrinkling her nose as she considered the make of the four gowns. “They’re a little on the fancy side, but I could alter them to be little more than up-scale for everyday wear. And I’ll save the sequins for my own costumes. Thank you for these, Hadwin. One way or another, we will be putting them to good use.”

She planted a kiss on the faoladh’s cheek, but before he could take his leave after the delivery, she rested a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to murmur in his ear. “I know that look. You’re debating ruining someone’s day, by some means.” It wasn’t a question, but an observation. Briery was good at reading people on an given day, but she’d come to know Hadwin well enough to read his tells fairly accurately. Not to mention, he was seldom conscientious about hiding his true intentions, and when he had it out for someone, it wasn’t often that he saw a need to hide it. “I hate to be the one to take a matronly approach and ask you to consider the consequences, but… hell has already been raised, in this city. Before you take action, maybe ask yourself if it really is of any benefit to you. I’m impressed with how valiant you have been, lately; helping to stand up for Elespeth Rigas’s case. I know you like to cause trouble, but I have to say, there is something undeniably sexy about a man who stirs up shit for all of the right reasons.” Her lips pulled into a suggestive grin. “Just make sure it is always for the right reasons.”

After he departed Briery and her company, and made his way back through the city gates (at this point, all of the sentries knew that he was free to come and go as he pleased--though they did always watch him carefully), it wasn’t long before he came upon the familiar face of the one person he had been looking for not an hour earlier. “...don’t say anything.” Teselin’s quiet voice caught his attention from behind a nearby shop. She looked stricken, when he turned to her, like a frail pillar overburdened with far too much weight for it to handle. Her eyes were red-rimmed, which suggested she had been crying. “I’m sorry I ran. I didn’t… she didn’t want you to know. I wanted to respect that, to respect her, but I should have known it would be impossible…”

The young summoner pressed her back against the exterior wall of the shop and sank into a squatting position, where she pulled her knees against her chest. “Whatever Mollengard did to me… it’s worse than before. Magic, any and all kinds, doesn’t just respond to me, now. It reaches for me; even when it doesn’t want to. Like it is compelled by my presence. I see too much, and I know too much. I know that Elespeth is unwell, but it isn’t a side-effect. Her heart is failing, and it can’t endure in the state that it is in. Maybe Galeyn’s Night Garden can help her, but we need to clear her name, and fast, or it won’t matter, because she won’t have a future to look forward to. A future…” At least Elespeth had a chance at a future; a happy and prosperous one, with Alster at her side. And that was so much more than she could say for Sigrid.

“Last night, I was helping Alster research in the Dawn Guard’s library. To see if we could find anything that would lead us to the identity of the person responsible for forcing her to commit murder. Something was calling me to that place; but it wasn’t the library, itself, and what I found had nothing to do with Elespeth.” She fixed her haunted eyes on the ground, staring without really seeing. “I ended up in the temple. Where Gaolithe is kept. It was calling to me, but it didn’t want to; it couldn’t help it, and what I saw… what it showed me when I ventured too close… All of those brave Dawn Warriors that had held it before Sigrid. Each and every one of them won a battle that would ultimately save Galeyn, Braighdath, or whatever the Dawn Guard had been involved in at the time. And each and every one… they died, after dealing that last decisive blow. But so much worse than that… they were all forgotten. Erased. Not a name or a face left in history, just an unnamed body on the battlefield, in the end. And… Sigrid is going to be among them.”

Tears began to leak from Teselin’s eyes. She wiped them away with the sleeve of her tunic, which, while it had been new and fresh on her arrival, was beginning to become frayed with repeated wear. “That thing… that sword. It is wretched and wrong. It takes heroes for all they are worth and turns them into nothing, not even a whisper on the wind. It saves the lives of the ones they love, but their families and friends go on living their lives without a single memory of them. Of course, it would have to be this way: if the Dawn Guard knew the outcome of wielding it, then no one would ever take that burden upon themselves. But it is made of old magic, Hadwin; ancient magic that will not be ignored, and I believe that it would find a way to remain a fixture within the Dawn Guard even if they did know. Who knows what trying to be rid of it would incite? But Sigrid…” She pressed her forehead against her knees. “I thought she deserved to know. It didn’t occur to me that she wouldn’t want to… I’m an idiot. Who would want to become aware of an awful fate that they cannot change? She was right to be angry with me. And making anyone else aware… it won’t help. Because it isn’t anything that anyone can fix. So, please…”

The distraught young girl turned her tear-streaked face up toward Hadwin, looking positively desperate for his understanding. “Don’t say anything to anyone. And if you won’t agree for Sigrid’s sake, then do it for me. She’s got enough to contend with… and I have messed up enough for the both of us.”

It was the first time that Haraldur walked around the city of Braighdath. As acting commander of the Forbanne, his responsibility was foremost to the safety of the people. Second was the rehabilitation of questionably loyal soldiers, which persisted as a full-time commitment. Leaving his station for a day or two posed a risk to everyone outside the city walls. Yet, his folly and his forced hand (primarily his attack on Sigrid) resulted in the detainment that he desired--at the risk of the people he claimed to protect. It was selfish, petty, and misguided. Not to mention...unprincely. How would holing himself in a room all day improve relations between Braighdath, Stella D’Mare, the Forbanne under his care, and Eyraille? His antics reflected on the kingdom who adopted him. Monster or not, it was far better to slip up and kill one person (that he didn’t even kill) than to leave unmanned an army that none, aside from Solveig, could control. As a seasoned warrior experiencing his share of battles, there was no time to evaluate and reevaluate his decisions. Implement them and deal with the consequences later, when he had the luxury. His feelings didn’t matter. Why did he forget such a basic principle? Services exchanged for services rendered; that was the law of the world, and it was all that ever mattered. Transactions and deeds, contracts and commissions. If a mercenary didn’t fulfill his job, he didn’t get paid. And if the Prince of Eyraille did not stay strong for those under his protection, Eyraille would lose allies and outside support.

But you are Forbanne, a coaxing voice twisted and hissed. You are a lie hiding behind an emblem.

It doesn’t matter, he bit back. It’s the lie people want to see. All I’ve ever done is lie. That’s how they accept me. I’ll live it until the day I die.

Asking after Sigrid’s whereabouts from a few knowledgeable Dawn warriors, Haraldur headed to the barracks, his last stop before returning to the outskirts of the city where his Forbanne soldiers awaited their commander. No more excuses. No use dallying the inevitable. He needed to speak to Vega. But before that...he needed to speak with his cousin.

He caught her in the corridor, on her way to her quarters. When he called her name and she turned to his summons, he frowned over the threadbare lines on her face and the red welts beneath her eyes. Was he to blame for the state of her health? Partially, at least?

“Yes,” he said, with a halfhearted attempt at a smile. “I don’t do well in closed-in spaces. It was a poor strategy. To think I could force people to see a man who poses a danger to society. What would that prove, anyway? So,” he bowed his head, “I owe you an apology. For my behavior. For...injuring you. I’m not proud of any of it. I just...,” he poised his tongue, debating on if he should confide, if he should utter the words: I’m lost. I have a direction, a future, a home, a family, a purpose...but I’m still lost. And I’m afraid that I’ll never have control again. That I’ll always be a Forbanne slave. He thought better of it and sighed. She would accuse him of wallowing. Of overinflating a non-issue. What right had he to fall apart when Elespeth’s fate fared far worse? When Braighdath faced a malignant magical being with no traceable motivations than to cause discord and seize power? He revoked the right to ask for help a long time ago. He was irrelevant when useless. A bleeding soldier was a dead soldier.

Shaking his head, he rephrased the words. “I wanted to know...if you’d give me the resonance stone.” While she rummaged for it in her pocket, he inquired about her absence from the ceremony, trying to crack a joke about the last wedding-related disaster that required her attendance. He didn’t expect he’d receive a frosty remark in return, especially as it involved Alster and Elespeth, people to whom she’d shown so much care and concern.

“Sigrid…I know it’s dire. They know it’s dire. It’s exactly why they held an impromptu ceremony. As a reprieve, before the real battle begins. Is there something else the matter?” When she lobbed the resonance stone at him as if she intended to dent his forehead (though he caught her pitch without any trouble), his concern mounted. There they were. The accusations. She ladled him with them completely unprovoked. No need for him to voice any of his troubles aloud. She sensed the weaknesses in his demeanor, in his posture, and had prepared her response. You’re not wrong, Sigrid, he thought, taking her verbal lambasting as a punishment he well deserved. I am wallowing. I must have come off as such a disappointment to you, lately. I’ve seen you look at the Forbanne like they’re a waste of my time. Like I’m a waste for rehabilitating them. I may have broken free, but they still have control over me, and I’ll remain forever linked to those people you seem to despise…

“You may not care,” he said, in a quiet drone (see, Haraldur? They don’t care; nobody cares about a broken man), “but I’m going to contact Vega. My duty is to Eyraille. To my family. I’ll pull through for them. For you, too. You’re also my--”

You should stop trying to talk to me like we’re family.

“...That bad, huh?” He managed, hiding the gutting effect of her words with pursed lips and a faraway stare. “Have I really let you down that much?” Both eyes went out of focus. “No apology will cut it. I understand, Sigrid. But I’ll give you one more. I’m sorry I couldn’t be...who you wanted me to be. I was supposed to be better. I had hoped,” he hesitated, “to be someone you could look up to. But really...it was the other way around. You helped me remember myself. Twice. When I couldn’t even think for my own. I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t there to remind me. I don’t think I ever...thanked you for that.” He hefted his shoulders, checking to see if they were still attached to his body. “I’ll leave you to it. Think of me how you will...but I’ll remember you as family. If that means anything, coming from me.”

Whether she heard his last statement, he’d never know, for she had already turned away and slammed the door to her quarters, putting up the final partition between them. Gripping the resonance stone in his hand, he walked away, weary with defeat. He had alienated her when she offered help. When she stood loyally at his side and believed in his integrity despite all his crippling doubts. What a mess he had made of things. His closest friend, ally, and blood-relative...hated him.

Never let them see you break again, he commanded himself as he exited the barracks and the city, never looking back. You’re nothing, otherwise.

Hadwin had to roll his eyes at Briery’s pep talk. Leave it to the ringleader to try and instill good morals at every turn. Much as he enjoyed her company, he had to laugh away her trite reminders to stand for injustices among a broken system. Seeing as there was an abundance of injustices to right, he hadn’t a problem wearing the mantle of a crusader for the unfortunate. The disguise looked rather fetching, after all. His acquired friends and allies needed plenty of help, often, and he was only too happy to lend a hand. Most solutions fell into his wheelhouse; and the assignments, so long as he chose the assignments, never bored him. It helped that the nature of their innumerable issues ranked on a godly level.  

The thing was, he now developed an inordinate interest in the case of Sigrid Sorenson. Despite his affected claims not to care, there was no walking away from a cursed sword which consumed its owner into oblivion--because that specific instance didn’t come around every day. The whole situation was too juicy to ignore--and it played right into his newfound role as shit-stirrer for hire. Nothing like knowingly sitting on the losing end of a stacked deck and finding a loophole to win despite overwhelming odds. Mysterious sorceresses of unprecedented malice, ancient entities in the guise of a sword...why the hell not? He wanted in. Definitely not for Sigrid’s sake; the woman was as unpleasant as they came, and an ungrateful twat (considering he handpicked a beautiful Kariji whore for her out of the kindness of his heart). No, not for her at all; it was because bucking the system shouldn’t be between mortals and humankind alone. And that sword...was a fucked up creation that he would take glee in destroying.

Shortly after passing through the city gates, he happened upon the diminished form of young Teselin. Each time he saw her, she appeared less human, and more like a sentient heap of clothes. One stiff breeze and she’d blow away in a colorful fabric conflagration. Entering the small alcove behind the shop, he lowered into a squat beside her, noting the words that someone of her considerate nature was wont to say. Of course, he didn’t agree, but he listened, all the same.

“Nah, you little scamp. I don’t take it personally or anything. You were feeling guilty, so you bowed to her demands to keep quiet, right?” He plopped to the ground and stretched his legs out as far as they would go. “If I saw what you saw, yeah, I’d definitely say something, but I make a business telling people what they don’t want to hear. Many aren’t astutely aware of their worst or greatest fears; if they are, they like to compartmentalize. Hum it all away like it’s an annoying ditty they’re trying to drown out of their memory. Your case, though it may be different, bears similarities. Because--bizarre as it seems,” he leaned his head against the outside wall and glanced skyward, “I like to see people conquer their fears. I give ‘em a push and watch what happens. It can go all wrong or all right, but when it goes all right...yeah, I’ll admit, it’s pretty satisfying. Rewarding, even. And,” his eyes landed on Teselin, “I daresay there’s a part of you who told Sigrid for the same reason that I tell people an undesirable fact or two. That, if she knows, there’s a chance, however slim, that she’ll circumvent that piss-poor fate of hers. Conquer it, as some would a mortal fear. You say nothing, and it’s almost one hundred percent guaranteed nothing will change. But say something and you’ve just oiled a rusty set of wheels and coaxed them to spin forward. Uncovering an ancient conspiracy,” he threw back a laugh and patted her on the shoulder, “that’s pretty impressive, y’know. Why keep this silent? Because the outlook’s too grim, too impossible to solve? Even when we’ve got your magical might of world-toppling proportions and that egg-headed Rigas and his impressive oeuvre of accomplishments? The solution sounds pretty doable from where I’m sitting. And--for the record,” he cracked his knuckles, “I would welcome information about some awful fate I couldn’t change. Because then I’d change it.” A sharp snap of his fingers echoed against the far wall. “Just like that. Nothing’s ever cut and dry, do or die.”

“But I’ll tell you what.” He looped an arm over her trembling shoulders and drew her in close, “one thing at a time. We’ll work on Elespeth’s case, get her exonerated, send her off to Galeyn to heal, hells, go with her, why not? See your brother, have a nice reunion, hear what he has to say about your magic and all that rot...until then, I won’t say anything about Sigrid’s little problem. But,” he playfully ruffled the top of her head, “in the meantime, it shouldn’t hurt too much to do some poking around and find out as much as we can about this pesky sword. All we’d have to do is find a hell hot enough to melt that tooth-picker molten,” he winked, “right?”

After a relatively blissful and uninterrupted day as newlyweds, Alster had flown, full-force, back into clearing Elespeth’s name. In consulting with Hadwin, who was quick to inform about the councilman’s illicit relations with some local whores, the Rigas Head wasted no time, and marched over to City Hall to request an audience with Roen. When the leader of the Dawn Guard entered the small chambers that acted as his office, Alster bid the man a good morning, but otherwise did not waste his words on small-talk.

“I am ignorant of Braighdathian law,” he admitted, “so I don’t know the best procedure going forward, in meeting with the council--our councilman of note, in particular. But if he does not wish to see me, then could I ask you to act as my liaison? I have a message that requires his attention.” He clasped his hands behind his back, to prevent from outward fidgeting; anxious behavior had no place in such delicate matters, “I’ve been told from a reliable source that our man has been seen frequenting The Gilded Arrow. They tell me that tavern has a reputation, particularly in the rooms upstairs...where he spends most of his time. The night of his wife’s murder, and the night afterward, he was seen consulting with a woman named ‘Lady Rose.’ While it’s not my business how he chooses to conduct himself in his private affairs, this information doesn’t look kindly on our doting and bereft husband of the deceased….if this information should be made public.” Hoping he could trust this man, as per Sigrid’s insistence, he dipped his head in a show of fellowship. “It would be in his best interest to allow the defense to present our evidence and witness accounts of that evening. Are you in agreement?”