Gwynnion looked up through the gaping hole in the dome of the monastery’s main hall, through which a light smattering of snowflakes were lazily falling, frosting the wreckage before her in soft white powder.  Most of the southern wing was destroyed and inaccessible, and there was major damage to the rest of the structure, which had already been gradually falling into ruin anyway.  Still, it was sad to see the dome with its lovely old frescoes torn and useless.  She had spent a lot of time here during the two years she was under Eilune Danaen’s tutelage, and somehow the place had seemed untouchable by the outside world, a peaceful refuge which survived other wars and attacks – and which she thought would have survived this one. 

At least there were survivors, some of whom had escaped via the ruined portal downstairs, a relic of ancient times when such things were more common, and others whom Oskar was tending to in the east wing.  Almost all of the novices and young girls had been evacuated.  Only a handful of the older adepts survived the blue dragon army’s assault.  Those women, several of whom had spent their entire lives here, had refused to leave, devoting their last moments to fighting off the aerial assault.  Of her friends, Janna and Silune, Gwynnion knew nothing.  There was no word from Wayreth on the evacuees and the survivors here knew little.  But Eilune had been amongst the casualties; the already frail woman died during the collapse of the lower chambers.

It occurred to Gwynn that she was one of the few surviving adepts in the Daughters of Solinari, and one of the only ones with experience training others in the various arts.  The realization left a bitter taste in her mouth.  Eilune Danaen had become like a mother to her, and she could not possibly be replaced – by her or anyone else.  And to think she once hated being here, far from Kalshann and the rest of the world. 

“Gwynn?”

The young woman turned, leaning slightly on her slender white staff.  By the blue-white light of her staff, she made out the armored figure of Alexis standing in the archway to the east wing, holding her helmet in one hand.  The knight’s shoulder-length blonde hair was speckled with melting snow, which she brushed at self-consciously under Gwynnion’s gaze.  Gwynn smiled faintly at this gesture.  It had taken a while, but after years of stark discipline and pretending to be male, Alexis was starting to act like a young woman, not just a soldier. 

The knight’s furred cloak danced around her legs as she entered the pool of light.  “We finished scouting the exterior and wreckage.  You were right, there do not seem to be any other survivors here, nor did we find any fallen enemies.  From the looks of it, they were surprised and completely overwhelmed.  The dragons collapsed the structure of the dormitories with claws and lightning, and most of the students were probably killed then, before anyone had a chance to react.  I am surprised as many of them managed to escape as they did.”

“Eilune, Ishana and the others tried to hold them back as long as possible,” Gwynnion murmured, “But I doubt any of them managed to seriously injure their attackers...”

“And there is no way to track those responsible,” Alexis sighed.

Gwynn shook her head, her long dark hair falling across her face.  “We wouldn’t accomplish much even if we could.”

The knight nodded and lay a mailed hand on the half-elf’s shoulder.  Her voice was soft, softer than Alexis usually spoke, and laced with exhaustion and smoldering anger.  “I’m sorry, Gwynn.  I know these were your friends.”

“They were my family, in a way,” Gwynnion replied quietly, offering Alexis a gentle smile and a slight shake of her head.  “I still know them better than I do my real family.  But they did their best and we should be glad there are survivors.”

“Besides,” she added grimly, looking up toward the fallen dome, “This looks to be a long war.  There will be plenty of time for vengeance later.”  

*        *        *  

Kal found her laying against one of the weathered stone walls on the castle's parapet.  Gwynnion was curled up slightly, using the soft leather of her pack as a pillow and her cloak as a makeshift blanket.  Her clothes were still smudged with dust and soot from the battle, but otherwise she looked unharmed.  A small chink of sun was slowly creeping toward her as the morning lifted.  Standing nearby was an ashen-faced, weary looking soldier carrying a shield and spear, who was conversing with a familiar figure in battered armor.  One of Gwynn's companions, the cheery, slightly crazed Knight of Solamnia called Samkin.  The knight glanced over as he noticed Kalshann approaching and gave the young man a thumb's up.  "She said she was going to rest for a minute and fell asleep there.  We've been looking out for her."

"Thank you," Kal murmured, passing by to let the two of them continue their conversation.  Samkin loudly clapped a hand on his battle-weary friend, nearly knocking the man over, and led him away to give him some privacy.  It appeared the jovial knight wasn't quite as thoughtless as he had originally surmised.  That helped explain Gwynnion's wry fondness for him, at least.

Kneeling down beside the young woman, Kalshann smiled softly and brushed long, dark hair away from her face.  She was sleeping lightly and stirred for a moment, but did not awaken.  Sitting back against the wall, Kal ran his hands through her soft hair, stroking gently and soothingly, and closed his eyes.  The sun was warm on his face, and he was vaguely thirsty, but despite the events of last night, he wasn't tired.  Still, he had done as much as he could to help the survivors for the moment, and they really hadn't had much time to themselves.

Kal let his mind wander. 

Gwynnion had changed over the past year, regaining some of the sadness and seriousness of her former self.  He knew from the story she told that she'd found her visit to Silvanesti to be rather disheartening, and she was uneasy the more she learned about the Maren.  For herself and for her friend, Alexis.  Gwynn had grown a little quieter as a result, which troubled him slightly.  These were proving to be strange and difficult times, and in all likelihood things would become much worse over the coming months.  These were the forces influencing Gwynnion as she rediscovered herself.  She'd done well for herself, and he had great confidence in her strength, but he couldn't deny a touch of concern.

Kal also felt a bit guilty over their hurried, brief reunion the night before, even though it couldn't be helped.  They saw each other so rarely, and when they did there was usually something going on to pull them apart again.

Gwynn's breathing changed and he glanced down to watch her turn her head away from the hazy sunlight, moaning softly in the back of her throat.  He loved the peaceful look she had in sleep and the innocent, sleepy expressions she had when waking.  A small smirk crossed his face.  He'd enjoyed watching her long before that day in Qualinesti, but it had taken him such a long time to realize how he felt for her.  But any sour thoughts faded as Gwynnion opened her eyes, their pale green gleaming as she realized he was there and smiled in relief.

"Good morning, my love," Kalshann smiled, running a hand over her cheek.

"Good morning," she smiled, lifting her head slightly, "I can't believe I fell asleep..."

"It was a long night, love," Kal reminded her softly, with a touch of quiet pride, "And you fought hard.  The Dragon Army has withdrawn, though the losses were heavy on both sides..."

"I'm surprised you're not tending to the wounded," Gwynn murmured.

Kalshann shook his head slowly.  "I have been, but I was worried about you.  And besides, Jorge and Oskar have things fairly well in hand at the moment."

He paused for a moment, brushing the back of his fingers against her lower lip.  "I'm sorry about last night, Gwynn.  I didn't mean to push you away, though I imagine that's how it seemed.  There was just a lot to take care of."

"I understand, love," she smiled faintly, shaking her head, "You don't need to apologize.  I should make myself useful and help with the wounded..."

"I'll go with you," Kal nodded, "But I think they can manage without us for a short while.  I haven't seen you for a few weeks, and I've missed you."  He gave her a small grin.  "Though laying on this pack can't be at all comfortable for you."

Gwynnion laughed.  That light, clear laugh he adored.  "It's not."

"Why do you think I'm over here?" a low, world-weary voice said. 

Kalshann glanced over to see her familiar perched on the battlement, studying the two of them with mildly amused blue eyes.  The tressym sat in the stone's shadow so as to avoid having his white fur lit up by the morning sun.  Kal smirked.  He had rarely seen Puck, even before the Test of High Sorcery.  He thought the sardonic little creature tried to avoid him, or at least avoid them, since he expressed something like mild exasperation over their relationship.  Since Gwynnion had gone to the White Robes, dragging her familiar with her, Puck seemed even more cantankerous than normal.  He seemed to have picked up some of her less flattering personality traits from before the Test.

"Have you been watching out for me, Puck?" Gwynn yawned, sitting up.

"What do you think I am, your bodyguard?" the tressym muttered, ruffling his fur and feathers, "I was 'exploring'.  Though I occasionally glanced your way to make sure Samkin didn't try anything, madman that he is..."

"Is he always like this?" Kal asked her.

"Yes," she sighed.

"I would just like to say that I'm hungry," Puck said, "And bored."

"Actually," Gwynn murmured, brushing back long hair, "I'm hungry as well."

Grinning, Kalshann helped the young woman to her feet, then pulled her into an embrace.  "Then come on.  We'll see if we can find something for breakfast."

"Finally!" Puck muttered, rolling his eyes, and lifted into the air with a flutter of wings.  "I'll meet you downstairs.  Just don't take too long, alright?"

"Your familiar is annoying," Kal told her once the tressym was gone.

Gwynn nodded, laughing again under her breath.  "Yes.  But he means well, I think."

"I don't think he likes me very much either," Kal added, smirking.

She shrugged.  "I don't believe he likes anyone, including me."

Chuckling, Kalshann hugged the young woman against him, burying his face in her hair.  She was warm and pliant against him, wrapping her arms around him to press close, and her hair smelled sweet as always.  For all the ruin and death that surrounded them, they were still alive.  He thought back to the glimpse he'd caught of her falling out of the sky last night, her flying spell broken, and gave her a tight squeeze.  "I've missed you," he whispered.

"I know," Gwynn murmured into his chest, and relaxed against him with a sigh.  

*        *        *  

As the breeze stirred in the trees, the canopy of leaves dappled patches of light and dark over the reclining young woman's body.  The air was fragrant with flowers, but it was Gwynnion's lilac and lavender scent which held Kalshann's attention.  She lay against his middle, the long mass of her hair draped to one side, with his arm curled around her waist.  Kal rested his chin on the woman's crown, occasionally brushing his lips against the silken texture of her hair and breathing in the fragrance.  Gwynn seemed to be dozing at the moment, her breathing slow and shallow, and Kal helped himself to another drink of chilled elven wine.  Which wasn't wine, per se, so much as a bright, dry nectar.  But Gwynnion liked it, and it was surprisingly refreshing.  And this was a rare peaceful moment in an often interrupted love affair.

Studying the pattern of shadows on the grass and blanket, a soft smile touched Kalshann's lips as he thought about Gwynn's words.  Everyone was an ever-shifting confluence of possible selves, patches of sun and shade mingling in different ways.  Most people convinced themselves that their personality and passions were constants, pillars of stability in a confusing world.  They didn't acknowledge the fickle dynamics of their own identities.  How easily hate can turn into love, or isolation can give way to intimacy.  Touch someone – and you were always touching someone, even if only by your presence – and you change each other.  By entering her life, Kal had profoundly changed Gwynnion, and he found himself different as well.  That was life.

Gwynnion had been thinking about her vision a lot lately.

Kalshann had agreed with her, of course, though he pointed out that most people didn't study their inner complexity too deeply, nor did they notice the subtle influence others had on them.  Gwynnion, on the other hand, seemed acutely aware of both.  But then, the tides of her identity ran deep and she displayed her shifting nature like a banner.  Of everyone he knew, Gwynn often seemed the most intensely alive – if also the most ephemeral.  There were no shades of grey in her, only a myriad of blending colors.  It was probably her maren nature, combined with the loss of self she had so recently experienced.  Gwynnion's personality was gradually becoming more complex, like a spider spinning an ever more elaborate web. 

And it showed.  She was no longer comfortable with sheer innocence and the naïve purity he remembered after the Test.  In many ways, she was more like the woman he remembered beforehand, when she still wore the red robes.  But she hadn't lost her sense of humor, nor the overriding passion which propelled her headlong into harm.  Emotion had always been at the core of Gwynnion's being.  That hadn't changed.  It was simply becoming more elaborate.

Smiling, Kalshann looked down the length of Gwynn's body at the curve-hugging top, trousers and walking boots in lavender and twilight colors which had replaced the flowing, plain white gowns of a few weeks ago.  Gwynnion had begun choosing clothing with the deliberate intention of showing off her lithe figure.  Though she had an eye toward practicality and durability on the road, she hadn't lost the sensuality he so adored in her.  He thought back to the clinging linen dress she wore yesterday and grinned softly.  Darker moods had begun filtering into her personality again, which was a small concern, but right now she was starting to seem like a blend of her present and past selves.

Tilting his head to one side, Kalshann followed the curve of her left breast to the rose tattoo, which the scoop collar laid bare.  He mentally traced the winding pattern over her shoulder and down the narrow length of her arm, to where a white rose blossom was half-exposed by her sleeve.  Snowy white on the warmth of her skin.  The tattoo still had a faint sheen to it, but it was now like glossy marble instead of its original metallic blue. 

"What's on your mind, love?" Gwynn murmured, sensing his attention.

"The tattoo."

The young woman nodded slightly and turned her head to one side, pressing her cheek against his chest.  "I can feel you looking at it," she told him, "Like a chink of hot sun on my arm, pricking the skin slightly."

"I'm sorry," Kal replied, giving her a squeeze, "I'll stop then."

"It doesn't make me uncomfortable, Kal," Gwynnion smiled softly, "The tattoo feels more active when someone is looking at it, as if it were alerting me, but I only notice if I'm paying attention.  It's just covering most of my left side now, so it's more noticeable.  I think if it wasn't already, it's becoming a part of me as much as breathing or the beating of my heart.  Or Cordella is, really, all things considered..."

Closing his eyes, the young man buried his face in her hair. 

"She's like a force of nature now," Gwynn murmured thoughtfully, "More than an actual human being.  I wonder if I am the same way, or if I will be."

"Cordella chose to relinquish her own identity for the sake of protecting the maren," Kalshann reminded her, "That was her choice.  It is possible for anyone to do the same thing, one way or another.  In a small way, you tried to do it, too, through your rituals.  But that does not mean you will ever become like her, just because the two of you share a particular gift."

"Besides," he added, "We are all forces of nature."

The young woman clasped his hand, laying it in her lap.  "I agree."

They were quiet for a moment, and Gwynnion took a sip of wine from the glass beside them.  Holding it up to the sky, she swirled the golden liquid to see the bubbles swirl like motes of light.  Kal smiled faintly as he watched, his eyelids growing heavy.  She was warm and soft against him, sheltering him from the cool breeze through the trees, and he could feel the gentle pulse of her heartbeat through her back.  Somewhere nearby, Loki was stalking Puck in playful fashion, leaving them in peace.  For the moment.

"We never have enough time together, do we?" sighed Gwynn, taking another sip.  Kal wanted to chuckle.  Her ability to guess his thoughts had improved by leaps and bounds, a side benefit of opening herself to others. 

"There is a lot to do," he said simply, "And we stay in touch."

The young woman nodded.  Her voice was slightly wistful and sarcastic.  "The price of being an adventurer.  Maybe when we've returned from the Dragon Isles, we can take some time for ourselves."

"You have a student to teach," Kalshann smiled, "If you can find time."

Gwynnion shrugged.  "You're rebuilding your home in Augustgrad, and I have a villa there.  I can bring her there with me for a short while.  The openness of the place is actually better for training anyway, at least for the aldudenie and ty-lduk practices.  The tower is excellent for research and experimentation, but it doesn't offer much room for other things."

"And you could stay with me?" Kal suggested, smiling wryly.

"As long as we have time alone, it doesn't matter."

Chuckling, Kalshann hugged the young woman.  "We can discuss it later."

"I'm actually looking forward to taking on a student," said Gwynnion, taking on a somewhat more sulking tone, "After all the time I've spent wrangling with Master Par-Silan and my friends, it will be nice to have someone who respects me, even if we disagree.  And after what happened to the monastery, I have an obligation to Eilune and the remaining students that I wouldn't dream of abandoning."

"Your friends respect you, Gwynnion," Kalshann gently reproached her, "And remember, students aren't always respectful of their teachers.  You gave Tython hell for months when you were at the university."

"I can only imagine," she giggled, "Since I can't remember..."

There was a moment of silence in which Kal felt the young woman's mood sway again, like a palpable aura in the air around them.  Her voice was lower, tinged with irritation.  "At the very least, I'll have a blank slate with a student.  You and Lanthinel – "  She laughed.  "And Samkin, oddly enough, are the only people who really treat me with respect, or who at least don't patronize me.  With the others, I feel like I'm constantly having my past held against me.  As if I've forgotten a debt for which they expect payment.  I'm tired of being judged by my past if I can't know it myself."

"You are very different, Gwynn," Kal murmured, frowning, "And you haven't quite figured out who you are.  They have nothing to go on when dealing with you except for your past, and what time you have spent with them since the Test.  Give them time.  Besides, Oskar and Alexis – since I know that's who you mean – have little right to judge you.  Oskar is barely older than you are, no matter what he thinks, and he hides his vulnerabilities from others whereas you are open with your feelings.  And Alexis is much younger than you are, and so overzealous she can't see the world from anyone's perspective but her own."

"Though you really need to be more careful with your magic," he added mildly.

"I was reckless, I know," Gwynnion sighed, "But I can't blame myself for doing it."

Kalshann shook his head and brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek.  "I never said you should, love.  You were trying to understand something about yourself, and that was the easiest way to do it.  But you run the risk of getting yourself and Alexis killed, and I don't like seeing you get hurt."

Lolling her head back against his chest, Gwynn grinned.  "I know, Kal.  And believe me, I don't plan on doing it again anytime soon.  But I touched on something magnificent.  I can still feel it, lying here with you.  The world looks different to me, like my eyes are open for the first time.  It's almost a bit frightening..."  

*        *        *  

Athica had taught him much of swordsmanship, and Ethan was an excellent sparring partner but this was far from practice.

The pair of them had rushed him as he left his room in the inn, and he had been lucky to not be killed fighting them in such close quarters in the hallway or tumbling down the stairs to evade them. They had pursued, but by then he had time to pull his own blade and ready a defense.

Now he lunged to the left with the blade flat to seek the large swarthy man’s thigh but missed, the other was coming around to his back and while he pulled the sword back to the ready position he lowered himself and swept his leg behind him, catching the smaller assailant off balance and sprawling him back to the ground. The larger man was reaching for one of the chairs around the table and quickly swung, faster then Kalshann expected- catching Kalshann’s sword arm and shoulder on the legs. The force of the blow sent the sword skittering across the floor and Kal’ tumbled away from the larger man’s assault.

“For a brute your-” Kal began to speak but was cut short as he had to dodge the chair being thrown at him. He leapt to his left as the chair shattered on the wall behind him, his hand catching the edge of the table and sending it sprawling between him and the two. “your pretty damn fast!” he finished the statement as he looked for the smaller man.

Both of the men had pause to catch their breath, the initial attack had come while Kalshann was in the hallway up stairs, and now they were pausing to reassess their target. Kalshann for his part took another step back to the wall and pulled a dagger from the boot sheath. That was the extent of the pause- they both moved forward to try again.

“Aww, come on!-” The larger man merely shoved the table to one side as the smaller man slide into melee range with Kalshann’s own short sword. The smaller man had lost his own long blade out the window moments ago, but seemed skilled in the short blades sweeping style.

“-couldn’t you-” Kal’ spun toward the corner, leading the blade as it sliced air.

“-give me-” He was hoping to trick the smaller man into the smaller fighting quarters. The broad sweeps of the sword would be easier to block with the wall so close. The larger man had turned to find another object to throw- this time looking for something suitably heavy no doubt.

“-a second to breathe!” he said this as the back sweep of the blade almost cut his stomach.

“Just die already!” Said the larger man as he heaved a large keg at the corner, no longer concerned about the safety of his comrade, Kalshann thought. The smaller man began to turn attempting to dive away from the fifty or so pounds of ale and wood- Kalshann however grabbed his sword arm and fell behind the smaller man as the keg connected with the smaller man’s sword arm and continued on towards the wall. Kal felt the wooden wall and keg shatter the arm of the smaller man, and tried to ignore the pain in his own hand as it was smashed into wood and badly cut from the metal binding of he keg.

Both the sword and the boot knife slide away from him in different directions across the floor- how many weapons will I lose during this fight, Kal thought to himself with a dour humor.

The smaller man was screaming now- he was oblivious to Kalshann as he moved past and under the nearest table. The larger man was already moving to toss the large table aside to catch Kalshann on the ground. As he got in range Kalshann’s leg snapped out and hooked the larger man’s leading foot- tripping him and sending him sprawling towards the table. The loud cracking sound however told Kal that the table was worse for wear then the larger man’s head. Cursing in a foreign tongue his comrade the smaller man was now standing, yelling at him or the larger man he could not tell.

Sliding from one table to another he heard the two conspiring in some language he thought might have been Nordmaar, but he chose to take the moment to instead try to escape.

He was halfway to the front door now, and as they picked their way through the overturned chairs and tables he rushed towards the front door. Neither of his attackers gave chase however- and he realized the split second he lunged for the door why.

The mace swept past his face and cracked into his already wounded shoulder painful. A thin dark skinned man who Kalshann recognized from last night’s game of cards had swung the mace.  Two more men, waiting with him outside the inn’s entrance, moved towards him as well.

“You three will-“ Kalshann snapped his hand onto the thin man’s weapon arm and twisted his wrist painfully inward- the man yelped as Kal forced the weapon from it’s owners hand forcefully. The mace flew towards the other two and caused them to sidestep it, halting them for a moment. Just as quickly Kalshann pinned the thin man’s with his own leg and tripped him into the doorway, tumbling into the large man and sending them both falling.

“-have to wait your turn.” He finished the statement as he spun to face the two fresh assailants. Sliding away for the door Kalshann found the cold breeze of the night air frosting his breath. The city street was as quite as the inn had been, except for the sounds of his assailants.

“You’re going to pay for breaking my teeth!” Yelled the larger man as he and his comrades finally made their way out of the building.

“Well considering the bruise you gave me I’ll consider us even.” Kalshann quipped as he continued backing up. Though it wasn’t the wisest of choices, the alley was the closest place to run for. The five men now moved with him, not wanting to rush him just yet- like wolves waiting for the right moment.

“You know I remember Bethfield never being this dangerous.” Kalshann joked- his hand sliding to the small talisman of fire he kept under his bracer. The enchantment wasn’t powerful, but it would hurt them all at least.

“Poor boy- Don’t you know when to give up?” He recognized the accent but didn’t turn to face the voice- Dusken stood behind him with a long sword drawn and lazily pointed at him.

Kalshann raised his hands over his head, knowing he couldn’t escape the five thugs and somehow deal with Dusken.

“Well what brings a heartless bastard like you to this part of the world?” Kalshann asked as he turned to face the murderer and thief.

“No need to be insulting dear boy-“ the blow came from behind- Kalshann didn’t even hear the rest of the statement as he fell unconscious. “I should think you would be more welcoming.”

The thin man began binding Kalshann with ropes as Dusken looked over the wounds on the young red-robes body.

“Did you find the others?” He asked the small pale skinned man who was cradling his hand. Dusken must remember not to underestimate these mages- they seemed more battle hardened then most of his own thugs.

“Yes, We have the raven haired woman and the white-robe who was helping the Knights.” He paused in the short report, knowing Dusken did not like unfinished business. “We can’t find the other one from Tam Busk though and the red haired woman is not in town.”

To his surprise Dusken only chuckled, looking up to the star laden sky.

“You know Gregory, sometimes I think life makes itself difficult on purpose.” He looked down at the young mage. “Be gentle with him, he is more important then your lives to me and our employer.”  

*        *        *  

Gwynnion stood in the center of the marble hall, upon an enormous fine rug of intricate design, done in indigos and violets, studying a large tapestry which spanned most of the far wall.  It was made of a silken cloth and delicately painted in sweeping strokes of vibrant colors, depicting a sylvan forest scene of nymphs, dryads and elves.  The imagery progressed from left to right, from the innocent joy of a faerie ring dance to a somber winter scene of two brothers turning away from each other during the Kinslayer Wars.  A pictographical history, perhaps, though it was the beauty of the individual figures which held her attention.  In the shimmering witchlight that illuminated the hall, the eyes of the elves seemed to watch the young woman closely, the dryads seemed to smile faintly and knowingly just for her. 

A soft, faintly mocking voice spoke from behind her.  "Gwynnion."

Turning, she looked up to find a tall elven man with short blond hair and sharp violet eyes at the top of the sweeping staircase, dressed in a loose white shirt and grey doublet, black trousers and boots.  If he were human, he would have seemed to be in his early thirties, but she had no way of judging the age of elves.  Though he carried nothing on his person, she instinctively sensed the aura of magic on his person.  In return, the elf studied her in return, a small smirk widening his mouth.  Amidst the finery of his home, Gwynnion was stark in her simplicity.  The white of her cloak and the slender staff she carried almost glowed in the light, and the curls of her dark auburn hair looked like blood upon snow.

"I did not expect you to ever return," he said in the crisp tongue of Silvanesti elvish, a hint of amusement in his voice, "I see you have taken up the quaint customs of the human wizards."  He chuckled.  "White.  That is not a color I expected to see on you.  I did not think it would suit your recalcitrant temperament."

"Tell me," he added, "How is my son?  I have not spoken with him in some time."

Her brow furrowing slightly, Gwynnion walked towards the foot of the staircase, eyeing him with quiet uncertainty.  "I'm sorry, sir, I'm not sure who you're referring to?"

"Sir," the elf echoed, chuckling.

The young woman frowned.  "You will have to forgive me...I'm afraid I don't know you, or anything about this place, though I know I grew up here.  My memory was taken from me during the Test of High Sorcery."

Violet eyes focused on her thoughtfully.  "Tell me why."

"Why my memory was taken?"  Gwynnion's lips pursed in confusion.  It seemed rude somehow for someone to inquire of this, particularly in the lightly mocking tone this man used.  It was not a question she had been asked before.

"Yes, child," he agreed in a patronizing voice, "Why?"

"I honestly don't know," Gwynnion replied softly, green eyes watchful," My master, Par-Silan, told me it was to relieve me of a painful burden.  I know that I was different before the Test, that I was a prospective member of the Red Robes...I take it I was a lonely, cold person, but I'm not sure what made me that way.  I can't remember, and my friends are forbidden from sharing the past with me."

The elf clucked disapprovingly, descending the stairs with an easy, graceful gait.  In the cut of his features, particularly the shape of the mouth and the cheekbones, she saw traces of Lanthinel.  Why did he speak this way to her?  "'A painful burden'," he murmured wryly, "So Par-Silan and the human wizards of the Conclave chose to steal your memory.  To control you or to liberate you, I wonder?  And you have come here, I take it, in search of answers about your past.  Poor child."

Gwynnion frowned, tiring of this game.  "Who are you, sir?"

"Now you ask a meaningful question," the elven man smiled, walking up to stand close before her, "I am Elaithan Feyd Devir and this is my House and the House of my family.  If that truly means nothing to you, then perhaps you still know my son.  Or has he has finally moved on as well?  Regardless, I am the father of Lanthinel Devir."

Gwynnion blinked, her eyes narrowing.  She wasn't sure how to greet this revelation.  "You're my father?"

Elaithan's smile became thin, almost a sneer, and he chuckled.  "No Gwynnion, I am not.  If you wish to grasp at titles and blood relations, then you might refer to me as your stepfather.  I would not claim such a thing, but you may if you wish.  Better to falsely claim me than to rightly claim your own father."

The young woman released a held breath.  "What do you mean?"

"Tell me," Elaithan murmured, ignoring her, "Why have you come here?"

"Lanthinel would not tell me anything about my past or our family," Gwynnion replied calmly, but her voice was tinged with unease.

"He was right in doing so," Elaithan interjected, circling around her and walking slowly toward the center of the hall, "Please continue."

Grimacing, she half-turned to watch his back.  His hands were clasped behind him and his hair looked paler, like spun glass, as he entered the light.  "I came in search of my parents," she explained, her voice hardening, "And the rest of my family.  I don't remember any of you, but I've missed that connection.  It feels wrong to be lacking a family and a childhood, and I was hoping to regain something of that by coming here..."

"You will gain nothing by coming here, Gwynnion," Elaithan replied smoothly, without stopping or looking at her, "Save perhaps a few fragments of information.  Your mother, my former wife – "  His voice grew tight with restrained anger.  " – died when you were born."

"My mother's dead?" Gwynn echoed, her voice faint.

There was a moment of silence, during which she felt as if she were about to fall.  Lanthinel had never told her any of this, nor had Athica or Kalshann.  Or anyone for that matter.  The small hope she'd nurtured on the journey here of rediscovering her past slipped in her grasp, leaving her drained and weak.  Elaithan slowed to a stop about five yards away and turned to face her.  All the mocking humor had bled out of his expression.  His gaze was chilly and somewhat sad.

"Exactly as I said," he murmured, "If you would but listen.  The one quality I respected in you, Gwynnion, was your keen mind.  That is why I sent you to study under Tython, my old associate.  If the loss of your memory has dulled your thinking as much as it seems, then Par-Silan did you no favor." 

Elaithan bristled slightly and continued in a warmer tone.  "Regardless, your mother has been dead for twenty-two years, and you would be well advised to forget about your father.  You have nothing to gain from speaking with him either.  Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"Who is he?" Gwynnion asked, hoarse.

Chuckling, Elaithan shook his head and made a lazy circle around a slender column of glassy stone, twisted vines crawling along its length.  "And still you ask, naïve child.  As you wish.  Your father's name is Alistair Greycloak, though he has gone under many different names in his life.  I do not even know if he is still alive, but again I suggest you forget him.  He is a man without morals, who serves only his own interests.  He would have no interest in you, and little use for your questions.  He abandoned you after you were born.  Sylune's sisters, as idealistic as your mother herself, brought you here and pleaded for you to be raised in this House.  And so you were, until Tython agreed to be your teacher."

"Sylune is my mother?" Gwynn murmured.

"Yes, and that is all I will tell you," Elaithan replied, turning to look at her, "You do not remember me and I no longer recognize you.  Please leave my House and do not return.  There is nothing here for you but silence and painful memories."

Gwynnion's face was ashen and her head bowed, but her jade eyes gleamed as she looked up at the elven man.  A dull ache had settled in her chest, throbbing painfully, and it felt hard to breathe.  This isn't what I was looking for, her eyes said, shining with bitterness and sadness, And you are surely not what I hoped for. 

"Lanthinel is well," she told him in an even, slightly raspy voice, "I believe he is in Qualinesti on business with a friend of ours.  He too has passed the Test of High Sorcery and joined the ranks of the White Robes."

Elaithan nodded, though this information clearly did not please him. Gwynnion wondered what kind of relationship he and her half-brother had enjoyed.  Had it been as cold and distant as it seemingly had been for them?  Was that why Lanthinel hadn't returned home in years, nor spoken with him? 

"Thank you, Gwynnion," Elaithan murmured, "I trust you can find your own way out."

"Yes."  Nodding, the young woman pulled up the hood of her cloak and walked quietly past the elven man, who followed her across the hall and out of the room with his eyes.   

*        *        *  

She was extremely grateful when she left the building for the glittering sunshine and forest scents outside, walking back to Celedë Glam'uin, waiting in the shade of a nearby oak with her horse. 

"Is there somewhere I may rest?" she asked the soldier.

Celedë nodded and smiled gently, seeing the shadow which lay upon Gwynnion's features.  The Silvanesti viewed half-elves as a dilution of their race, and she could only imagine the chilly reception which must have greeted her return.  "Yes, you may stay with me for the evening if you wish.  It is small."

"That would be fine," Gwynn replied, smiling thankfully.

Laying a hand on the young woman's shoulder, Celedë smiled.  "Then I will take you."  

*        *        *  

Gwynnion slept poorly that afternoon while Celedë remained on duty, tossing and turning seemingly for hours before falling into a heavy, suffocating sleep.  After speaking with Eilune Danaen in Wayreth about the destruction of the monastery and the Daughters, she'd ridden across the continent at fearful speeds to try and dull her anger and pain, and the exertion had taken its toll on her strength.  And now, after speaking with Elaithan Devir, sleep was a far better comfort than her own tired waking thoughts.

She dreamed of Kalshann at first, standing with her along a small road in rolling plains, with a farming community in the distance and fields of scrawny wheat growing about them.  But she did not dream much after that.  Only occasional images or flashes of thoughts broke the time.

When she woke, it was with a start.  She was breathing hard and a small cry was lodged in the back of her throat, but as she stared wildly about Celedë Glam'uin's chambers for a moment, she realized she couldn't remember what the nightmare had been about.  Or even if there had been a nightmare at all.  Night was falling outside, plunging the small quarters into darkness, and forcing herself out of bed, Gwynnion fumbled about for candles.  She felt better once they were lit, providing a reassuring glow. 

Celedë's home, situated on the outskirts of Silvanost, was apparently of an older style and design than those in the city itself.  It was the highest of a series of five homes built in a spiral around the trunk of an ancient and enormous redwood tree, with the tree's lower branches providing a shady canopy overhead.  It consisted of a single, wedge-shaped chamber with the living bark forming the interior wall.  Opposite this there was a small semicircular balcony looking out upon the forest and the tall spires of Silvanost itself in the distance.  The decorations were spartan, the home of a commoner, but lovely all the same.  There was a grace and loveliness in these simple surroundings unmatched by many human nobles.

Gwynnion poured herself something to drink from a small carafe sitting on a table.  It was cloudy but otherwise colorless.  By taste it was nectar, possibly honeysuckle, and the young woman took a cup of it to the balcony with her, looking out at the darkening forest.  It was such a beautiful place, but the realization that these people hated her and didn't want her here made it seem strange and threatening all the same.  Celedë was the sole individual to treat her with kindness and respect thus far.

If she left tomorrow, she wondered distantly, she could easily catch up with Kalshann.  And from there, move westward to join Oskar in Ergoth.  A journey of several weeks all total, even with a magical steed, but at least it was Spring and Summer and travel would not be unduly harsh.  Besides, there seemed to be very little here for her...She should have asked Elaithan who here mother's family was, but at the time she'd been to upset to think of it.  She would ask Celedë when she returned.  Such a thing should have been common knowledge.

Gwynnion turned and walked back into the main room as the door opened.  Celedë entered, flashing a small smile to the young woman, and stepped aside as another woman followed behind her.  This one was about her height, a willowy blonde with soft turquoise eyes, dressed in a gown and cloak of embroidered green silk.  She had vaguely the same feline features that Gwynn herself possessed, albeit more refined, giving her a more austere air than her own quiet sensuality. 

Celedë nodded to the two of them and walked out onto the balcony to provide them with some privacy, squeezing Gwynnion's shoulder along the way.  The blonde smiled faintly, studying the half-elf for a moment. 

"Good evening, young lady," she said in a low, lyrical voice, her tone sad, "You would not know me, for Elaithan kept us from you when you were a child.  As he has all but cast you out of his House, we saw no reason not to visit you now and offer what we can as family.  I am Amorith Ilestil, your mother's eldest sister."

"You're my aunt?" Gwynnion murmured, her expression uncertain.

Amorith smiled and nodded.  "In human terms, yes, though matters are slightly different amongst the elven peoples.  Were it not for Elaithan and our own overwrought sense of responsibility, you might have considered my sister, Elruwen, and I to be something like second mothers."  She paused and sighed.  "You might have understood that once, but I know you are different now.  I have spoken with Elaithan, briefly, and he says you have lost your memories of us and your childhood here."

"Yes," Gwynn nodded, "From what I know, I gave them up willingly during the Test of High Sorcery.  It was my choice, though I don't know why."

"Because your memories were very painful, I am sure," Amorith murmured, "You suffered as a child and as a young woman, something we should not have allowed.  But you were Sylune's child and by extension a part of Elaithan's House, for the sake of preserving a longstanding alliance.  More than this, we did nothing because we did not know what to do for you.  You grew up here.  You are not human and would not have liked or understood living amongst them.  But you were not welcome here either because of your human blood.  There seemed no place where you could go.  Even within our own House, you would not have been welcome.  It would have brought further shame upon our family."

Amorith sighed.  "We were useless to you, and for that we ask your forgiveness.  I am not surprised you chose to forget this place."

"I'm here now," Gwynnion replied, lifting her eyebrows with a small smile, "Don't trouble yourself over it.  I don't remember it and I don't know that I'd want to even if I could."

A small, wry smile spread across Amorith's face and she strode lightly over to stand more fully in the candlelight.  "You are so human," she observed mildly, "Which is strange.  You were once very much like us.  We do not easily let go of the past.  Living for the moment is a decidedly human perspective on life, one which we do not quite understand.  Perhaps it is very well that you have changed in this way."

Shaking her head, Amorith said, "Elruwen would like you.  She has something of Sylune's love of humanity in her.  And I am sure she would have loved to speak with you, but she is in Qualinesti on business at the moment."

Gwynnion nodded, smiling softly.  "Would you like to sit and talk?"

"Yes," Amorith smiled in return.

"Tell me about my mother," Gwynn asked once they were seated, at the circular table near the balcony.  Celedë excused herself in passing, and Amorith listened to the soldier's footfalls fading as she descended the twisting stairs.  She remained silent, thinking, until the elven woman was long gone.

"Sylune was my youngest sister," Amorith explained quietly, "She had a spark of curiosity that is rarely seen amongst elves.  Some said she was more fae than elven."  The woman smiled slightly, examining Gwynnion.  "Her eyes were very blue, like your half-brother's, and her hair was long and blonde like mine.  She was beautiful and knowledgeable.  She traveled greatly and collected many objects of art and wonder from her journeys, especially from human lands.  Sylune spent more of her time in the outside world than Silvanesti, returning largely to rest and attend to more serious matter at home."

"She was not the most sensible of individuals.  She prized her freedom above all else.  When the political alliance between Ilestil and Devir was cemented, Sylune, as the youngest daughter, was chosen to marry Elaithan, the head of House Devir.  She followed through with the marriage because it was her duty, but she cared little for Elaithan and problems arose in the House almost immediately.  Enough so that the alliance itself was threatened, bringing shame upon our House as our father had to reprove her."

"With time, tensions calmed and Sylune had a child with Elaithan, your brother, Lanthinel.  With a child between them, it seemed the marriage solidified.  In fact, I believe that Elaithan had true feelings for your mother all along.  Though you may find it hard to believe, he was a kind father to Lanthinel and a good husband, but he holds strictly to ideas of racial purity and the sanctity of the elven nations.  Sylune loved Lanthinel, but we knew she felt frustrated in Elaithan's House, especially with the responsibilities of being a mother.  As Lanthinel grew older, she took to traveling once again, leaving Silvanesti for months at a time."

"It was presumably on one of those journeys that Sylune met your father, the young man named Alistair Greycloak.  I am afraid I do not know much about him aside from what Elaithan has told us, and I do not know the circumstances under which their affair began.  I suspect she kept her affair secret for a short time, but eventually she departed on another journey and did not return to Silvanesti again.  Elaithan sought her out, and what happened then I do not know.  When he returned, he informed us all that Sylune was pregnant and had broken their marriage, bringing shame upon herself and upon our House.  The alliance was also on the verge of breaking because of this."

"What sort of alliance was this?" Gwynnion asked.

"Its full extent is known only by my father and Elaithan," Amorith explained, "But it was a political alliance.  House Devir is known for their magic and they have always been extremely ambitious, particularly in court.  I believe Elaithan was gathering noble houses under his banner to bolster his strength in court, perhaps with a mind toward becoming king eventually."

Gwynn frowned.  "I see...Go on, please."

Amorith sighed, shaking her head.  "Sylune died giving birth to you, and it seemed that Alistair Greycloak abandoned you shortly thereafter.  At our behest, Elaithan used his magic to find you, and Elruwen and I took you from an abandoned building in Caergoth.  There was no sign of Alistair Greycloak.  Your mother had already been buried in a cemetery there, and we chose not to disturb her by bringing her back to Silvanesti.  I do not believe our father would have allowed it anyway, because of the shame she brought on our House..."

"Caergoth?" Gwynnion murmured.

"Yes," Amorith nodded, her voice tired, "I can tell you the place."

"I would like that," she replied softly, "Please continue..."

"There is not much else to tell, really," Amorith said, "We brought you back to our House, but our father and Elaithan made an agreement to preserve the alliance.  Elaithan would raise you in his House to preserve the ties between the two families.  He was reluctant to agree at first.  It was a difficult situation.  You were a reminder of Sylune's unfaithfulness and the shame of our House.  You were also of mixed blood, something which, coupled with Sylune's betrayal, Elaithan despised greatly.  He kept you at a distance for all of your childhood.  Truthfully, I do not believe he even loved you, nor allowed anyone else to.  You were an irritant to him, but also a political expedience."

"That Lanthinel came to care about you is one of the small miracles of your childhood, I suppose.  By then he was decades older than you, and though he inherited his father's ambitious and often ruthless nature, he did not share Elaithan's beliefs about half-elves.  At least not fully.  He took pity on you, and tried to influence his father's treatment of you as best he could.  You were very much like Sylune in some ways, and I think he saw in you an echo of the mother whom he had also lost.  When you were old enough and began to show some talent with magic, Elaithan sent you west to Ergoth to study under an old business associate of his, Tython.  Lanthinel insisted on accompanying you, though he himself had all but finished his studies."

"Alistair Grecloak escaped us," Amorith added, "I know nothing of him personally."  

*        *        *  

I awake with a start, a hissed breath escaping me instead of a cry, and find myself breathing heavily in the cool night air.  My long, dark red hair tumbled across my eyes during sleep, and I brush it back to feel the breeze on my face.  I'm sweating, my skin tacky with perspiration, but the nightmare flees my memory almost immediately, leaving only wisps and strands of incoherence in its wake.  It's the same dream I had before, when I was wearing the red robes.  Flames, death, clawing shadows, and the young man with the quicksilver blade.  Everything else is shadows, slipping away into the darkened forest around me.

I try to calm my breathing, glancing around to assure myself that everything is safe.  Keleren and Oskar are sitting by the fire, keeping it hot and bright to dissuade any animals in the area, and speaking in hushed tones.  Samkin is asleep in a massive heap off to one side, his snores loud enough to wake the dead, and Thomas is near him, laying perfectly still.  Taking a deep breath, I flinch as a hand clasps my shoulder, and I glance over at Alexis, who has been sleeping close by.  Her face is puffy with sleep, her shoulder-length blonde hair spilling over her cheek.  She must be tired, I think, to let it fall there.

"Gwynnion, are you alright?" she asks.

Her eyes flick briefly to the side, and I glance over to see Puck stalking the edge of the clearing.  His pale blue eyes shining faintly in the gloom, scanning the surroundings.  When I turn back, Alexis has tucked her hair back behind her ear.  I find it hard to believe now, for all her strength and fierce looks, that Alexis could ever have passed for a young man.  For a knight, her body is angular and surprisingly supple, though it's often concealed by her armor.  But I would never think of her as weak.

"I'm fine," I reassure her softly, "It was only a nightmare."

Alexis nods and offers a quick smile.  We both know about nightmares.

"Go back to sleep," she tells me matter-of-factly.  Then eases back down onto her bedroll, closing her eyes.  Within a few moments, she seems to be sleeping again.  The training of a soldier, I imagine, born out of necessity.  Get sleep whenever you can, wherever you can.  Part of me suspects, however, that she's still awake – listening. 

Alexis doesn't trust me.  She's also still angry over being humiliated in front of the knight's council because of my experiments.  It's frustrating that she can't – or won't – understand my reasons.  The young woman is my sister, as real as if we shared blood.  We have a bond that runs deep, between our souls, that I have grown to depend on.  This close, I can feel the movement of her thoughts and emotions, even as drowsiness overtakes her.  To be watched like a criminal by your own sister is disheartening.  I wonder if she feels the same way for me, and I make a mental note to speak with her about it.

Sitting up, I press my forehead to my knees to try and shake off the remnants of the dream.  Keleren and Oskar glance over at me but continue their conversation without interruption.  The breeze is chilly against my back, cutting through the thin fabric of my shirt.  It's actually soothing, in a way.  It dries the light coating of sweat on my skin and calms my nerves.  Closing my eyes for a moment, I focus on the formulae and arcana of my magick, fresh in my mind from the evening's studies.   It takes a few minutes, but my jumbled thoughts finally begin to settle down into proper order.

I nod to myself, satisfied, and lift my head again.  Oskar is watching me out of the corner of his eye while talking to Keleren, but the elf lord ignores me completely.  Not for the first time, I try to puzzle out why Keleren seems so familiar, but dismiss it with a tired wave of my hand.  Something from my past, no doubt.

Drinking in the cool, piney air, I marvel at how lush the colors seem, even in the gloom of night.  Touching my Maren essence has had an effect on me, but it's nothing I can lay my finger on.  The light of the stars overhead seems brighter, and the deep green of the leaves seems richer.  I think back to the riot of color and gaudy grandeur of Keleren's cousin's house, and how it nearly overwhelmed my senses.  The stained glass in particular had both fascinated and frightened me, as if my mind were drawn forcibly into unknotting some hidden pattern within the tiles.  It left me with an irritable headache as we were leaving, which wasn't helped by my fury at the Silvanesti noble's manipulations.

Shaking my head, I pull on my boots and lace them up, rising to join the two men by the campfire.  I step over Samkin along the way but avoid Thomas, afraid he might whip out a dagger on instinct should I invade his space.  Keleren looks up at my approach, a slight smirk crossing his face.  The shirt is tight across the body, with loose sleeves, and without a skirt the sway of my hips is more pronounced.  My hair falls below my hips now, further accentuating my movements.  I'm not sure whether he's amused by my suddenly overt sexuality, or if the look is mere admiration.  Either way, I enjoy the attention, which is harmless.  Keleren is a man of reason and courtly manners; I've yet to see real passion stir his heart.

"I'm surprised you're awake," Oskar murmurs in his airy Ergothian drawl, reddish-blond curls flopping against his brow, "You're usually dead to the world this time of night."

"I was troubled by a dream," I admit, albeit a tad dismissively, "I just wanted to clear my head a little."

Oskar nods, his watery blue eyes scanning me.  He doesn't trust me any more than Alexis does, thinking me a child even though we're barely years apart in age.  I ignore his examination.  "I'm instructing young Keleren here in the finer points of coffee," Oskar informs me in his perpetually wry voice, "You can have some if you like.  It'll keep you awake until noon tomorrow, but it is very good."

"What's in it?" I ask breezily.

"My own special blend of herbs and spices."

I lift an eyebrow.  "Alcohol?"

A brief grin crosses his face.  "Only a little."

"And by that you mean enough to kill a horse?" I smirk.

Oskar brushes this off, feigning offense.  "Only for flavoring, Gwynn."

Laughing softly, I smile.  "I would love some."

While Oskar produces an earthenware cup from his bottomless pack, unwrapping it from the thick clothhe'd bundled it in, Keleren speaks up.  His voice is dreamy, almost wistful.  "We were discussing the mood of the wood.  The trees are whispering tonight, calling us to explore their secret places.  There is a presence here, I think – can you sense it?  On nights like this, the veil between worlds is thin, and you can feel the presence of the forest spirits..."

"Is he drunk?" I inquire jokingly.

"Of course not," Keleren replies, his tone souring.

"I can't tell," Oskar grins, handing me a cup, "He talks that way all the time."

"You were never a poet, were you, Gwynnion," says the elf reproachfully.

Smiling, I shake my head slightly, sending a spill of hair across my eyes.  "Unfortunately not.  I am something of a painter and a musician, but certainly not to the level of skill which you possess.  Forgive me, Keleren, I didn't mean to offend you."

"You play the harp beautifully," Keleren replies, by way of rapprochement.

I smile softly, making a slight bow.  "Thank you."

Holding the glazed cup in both hands, I take a small sip of coffee.  It is hot, with a sweet-spicy flavor rounding out the bitterness.  I can taste cream blended in, though only a small amount, with a honey taste to it.  If there is alcohol in it, I can't tell.  Still, it tastes surprisingly good.  I've never been overly fond of coffee, particularly the way the knights and Ergothians prepare it, so this was a delightful surprise.  "And thank you, Oskar," I murmur, sipping lightly, "This is very good."

"I am a man of many talents," Oskar smiles, spreading his arms out theatrically.

"Would you like to share your dream?" Keleren murmurs, after a beat.

"There's precious little to share, I'm afraid," I shrug, "I can never remember much of it.  It's the same nightmare I had on the journey to Wayreth, for the Test of High Sorcery.  Being suspended over a yawning pit, with a young man fighting to defend me against shadowy...things.  I woke up just as they descended upon me...."

"Can I have a sip?" Puck interjects, appearing at my feet.

Giggling, I shake my head.  "It won't do anything for you."

The tressym's eyes widen plaintively.  "Please?"

"You have the most unusual familiar," Keleren remarks.

"At least she has one," Puck snaps, giving the elf a haughty upturn of his nose, "My mistress is a true mage."

"You'll have to forgive him," I grin, running a hand over the tressym's fur and the delicate softness of his wings, "He's very protective of me.  At least when he's awake, that is.  And he's got a touch of ego."

Oskar chuckles.  "You have a gift for understatement."

Ignoring them, Puck returns his attention to me.  "Please, can I have some?"

I sigh so as not to laugh.  "Only a sip."

"Here, Puck," Oskar grunts, setting his cup down on the ground, "You can have the rest of mine.  I've had plenty."

The familiar looks at it, then up at the Ergothian.  "I don't know where you've been."

This time I can't restrain another giggle.

"You're immune to poison," Oskar counters, grinning.

Puck harrumphs.

"Alright," I concede, setting my near empty cup in front of him, "Here."

"Thank you."  Giving Oskar an austere sniff, the tressym begins lapping up the drink.

Looking back to the two men, I catch the curious, slightly bemused expression on Keleren's face.  The firelight dances in his eyes, adding an orange glow to his glossy black hair.  "I'm sure there's a long story behind my taking him as a familiar," I murmur wryly, "If I can ever remember it, I'd be happy to tell it to you."

"That should be...interesting," the elf agrees.

There is a long stretch of quiet, punctuated by the sound of Puck's lapping tongue, the crackling of the fire and the sifting sound of wind through the trees.  Closing my eyes, a small smile touches my mouth as I listen to the whispering leaves.  It's similar to the sound which sometimes accompanies my magick, like a babble of voices coming from far away.  It's a sound I can dream to, with thoughts of rainstorms and fragmented memories.  The longer I listen, the more I feel the urge to sleep. 

"Did you ever learn who the man in yours and Alexis' dreams is?" Oskar asks, "Since you've seen him again tonight."

I open my eyes half-way.  "No.  Not really."

"What is this about a man?" Keleren inquires.

Oskar speaks before I can begin to answer, as he so often does, presuming to know better than I do.  I try not to let it bother me.  I don't entirely succeed.  His tone is slightly bored, as if he finds the subject to be irrelevant.  I get the impression we've been over this before, to no avail, or that Oskar is shielding me from my past again through feigned indifference.  "In the past, she and Alexis have seen a young man in their dreams, named Daniel.  Tall, wearing red robes, carrying an elven scimitar.  In appearance, very similar to Gwynnion herself.  He even had the blue rose tattoo, as she did.  In Alexis' dream, he was critical of her decision to hide her gender from the knighthood.  And, well, Gwynn has just described her own dream."

"Ah, a representation of the animus," says Keleren.

Oskar lifts his eyebrows.  "Sorry?"

"In certain philosophical and magical circles," Keleren murmurs, "It is believed that every person contains both masculine and feminine aspects.  The anima being the feminine and the animus being masculine.  The idea is particularly popular amongst certain sects of elven mages, and in Qualinesti by what I understand.  Of course, it is merely an abstraction, a way of understanding the individual psyche.  Alexis probably perceived Gwynnion as masculine because it related to her own issues at the time.  A representation of the masculinity she was trying to project.  Gwynn may see him because he represents the aggressive, protector type aspects of her personality."

"That's what we thought when Alexis first mentioned it," Oskar agrees, glancing sideways at me.  I roll my eyes.  By now, of course, I realize that Oskar's use of we when discussing the past is a shoddy veil to obscure my thoughts and actions then, more or less keeping to his promise not to discuss my personal history.

Keleren turns to me.  "Do you agree, Gwynnion?"

"It makes sense, yes," I reply, climbing to my feet and stretching, "I've only ever seen the man in dreams and nightmares, and I'm almost positive I don't have another brother somewhere in the world..."  My tone grows darker as a shadow falls upon my mood.  "I wouldn't rule it out, though, considering my family history.  But I think it's more likely that he's a prior incarnation of mine; the memory making itself known in my sleep.  I've felt different since performing my rituals, so it may be that has brought the memory back to the surface."

"Understandably so," Keleren concurs, eyeing me thoughtfully. 

A faint frown crosses my features.  I can't help but feel as if the elven man is constantly scrutinizing us, scribbling page after page of notes in his journal at night, as if we were a fascinating new breed of butterfly he's discovered.  The feeling of being judged is strong enough from my friends as it is.  I don't like being studied in this way by him.  Still, he means well, and he's saved my life before, so I must forgive him.  At least he isn't patronizing, the way Oskar often is toward me.

Walking away from the group a short distance, I try to work the kinks out of my back.  Oskar comments on something, sotto voce, and Keleren murmurs a curious reply.  For a moment I can feel eyes on my back.  Or, more accurately, on the tattoo, which is visible above the back of my blouse.  Sighing, I peer into the murky forest, which is swimming in darkness.  It stirs something in the back of my mind, probably a buried memory, but doesn't bring it forward.

The air is chilly here, away from the fire.  Rubbing my arms, I frown.  The cloaking enchantment must have worn off by now.  Closing my eyes, I take a moment to work the spell, adding the whispers of my magick to those of the forest.  There is a slight shimmer around my body as the spell takes hold, and warmth flushes over my skin.

I miss you, Kalshann, I sigh inwardly.

Opening my eyes, I reach up to brush my fingertips against the swaying tree leaves.  The wind is picking up, I notice.  Glancing up, I spy clouds moving in from the east, their fringes glowing silver by the light of Solinari.   

*        *        *  

All eyes in the room turned to Gwynnion as the young half-elf entered through the open wooden doors, dressed in a gown of white linen threaded with silver.  Breakfast was spread along the lovely ornate table; mostly fruits, cheeses and breads, but tea was being served, and the scent aroused her hunger.  Colorful sunlight filtered in narrow shafts through the stained glass windows on the far wall, where an older elven man, dressed in red and gold brocade, stood thumbing through a book.  Amorith and Elruwen were here, eating lightly at the table, as were a few other elves she didn't recognize.

Setting her cup down, Amorith rose from her seat and smiled gently.  "Good morning, Gwynnion.  Please, come and join us."

"Thank you," she replied, nodding to the others in the room.  The man by the windows smiled and bowed in return; the others simply answered in kind.  Gwynnion saw that a seat was already prepared for her, and the sounds of her footsteps were overloud on the tiled floor as she crossed the room and took her place.  "I'm sorry for being late," she offered to Amorith, "I didn't sleep well last night."

"That is quite alright, young lady," the older man replied, before Amorith could speak.  To her eyes, he looked to be in his late fifties, with silvered blond hair and wry violet eyes.  He closed the book and collected a cup from a nearby table, moving to join the others at the dining table.  "With our family and our land in disarray, I no longer have the patience for formalities, and I do not think they would interest you terribly much.  Our family is noble born by virtue of old alliances and intermarrying, but we are more of a merchant house than anything else.  Before the loss of our homeland, we had strong ties to our cousins in Qualinesti, and to human kingdoms throughout the world."

He gestured toward two individuals Gwynnion didn't recognize, a venerable man with short white hair and his consort, an ethereal woman with pale grey eyes.  "We are here at the grace of our cousins, Eäriolindë and Legówyn of House Isil-Gawien.  This is their home and their table, and like yourself, we are merely guests here.  If anyone is deserving of apologies, it would be them."

"Then I am sorry," Gwynnion nodded at the two.

"Ostentation is a stale and tiresome art, Gliowyn," the male elder replied dryly, "Do not impress it upon this young woman, nor bother me with it.  I have heard more than enough treacherous diplomacy from your Kr'yün to last me a lifetime."

The half-elf couldn't help but smile slightly.

"I am afraid I must agree, father," Elruwen added, smiling in amusement behind her tea cup, "Gwynnion is Sylune's daughter, and she never had the patience for such things.  Neither do I for that matter."

The silver-haired elf lord chuckled and poured himself a fresh cup of tea.  "I know of the relationship you had with your stepfather," he told Gwynn kindly, "House Devir always was a conservative family, like many in Silvanesti to be sure, and they would never have troubled us if it were not for our wealth and influence.  Even now we, and our friends in House Isil-Gawien, are a valuable commodity, despite our grievous losses.  I am sure it was difficult for you in Elaithan's house, but take comfort.  You are family here, Gwynnion.  You are my granddaughter."  Gliowyn smiled.  "Already you remind me of your mother."

Gwynnion's smile widened at the older man's affectionate tone, and she relaxed slightly in her seat.  Gliowyn poured a second cup of tea and offered it to her.  Clasping the delicate cup in both hands, she took a small sip and thanked him quietly. 

"What is troubling you?" he asked as he sat down, "You seem subdued."

Tracing the rim of her cup with a fingertip, Gwynnion smiled sadly.  "I learned yesterday that a friend of mine, Celedë Glam'uin, was killed during the fall of Silvanesti, trying to defend a group of refugees fleeing through the forests."

"Celedë was a soldier," Amorith explained to her father in a soft voice, "She was kind to Gwynnion during her last visit to Silvanesti, having known her as a child.  She was a friend of mine as well, and one of my contacts within the guard."

"Celedë knew me?" Gwynnion asked in surprise, "She never mentioned that to me."

Brow furrowing slightly, Gliowyn glanced at her.

"I lost my memory after the Test of High Sorcery," she explained to him, smiling sadly, "As part of my Curse.  I remember very little of my childhood and everything before the Test, aside from a few scattered nightmares"

The elven man smiled gently and nodded.  "I am sorry then."

"It doesn't trouble me much," Gwynnion replied, shaking her head, "I've accepted it as part of who I am now.  As you said, my youth was quite painful, and I don't think I care to remember most of it."  She turned to her aunt, her green eyes gleaming in the light.  "Though I am curious how Celedë knew me?  Of the soldiers patrolling the borders of Silvanesti, she was the only one to show me compassion."

It was Elruwen who answered.  Of everyone at the table, she was the only other besides Gwynnion to have dark hair, though given the family's characteristic traits, the half-elf suspected it was not her natural color.  Amorith had admitted to being a minor magician, but Elruwen was supposed to be something of a sorceress, a rarity in the Ilestil family. 

"I know the story from Elaithan, as he confronted me about it one evening, though I do not know how truthful it is.  One night, when you were a child, you attempted to escape your stepfather's household and flee Silvanesti on foot.  You stole money from him, as well as a magical blade which had been passed down to him by his grandfather.  Celedë Glam'uin was on patrol that evening, and your half-brother, Lanthinel, sought her aid in locating you in the forest.  He no doubt feared for you, anticipating Elaithan's anger if you were caught.  Celedë and Lanthinel eventually found you and brought you back, though not before your stepfather discovered the thefts.  You were punished, as I understand it, quite harshly..."

"Celedë spoke to me of the incident afterwards," Amorith interjected, "She was quite sympathetic toward your plight.  You cried and refused to be taken home.  At one point, you even drew Elaithan's blade against her, but she and Lanthinel easily subdued you.  She understood how unhappy you were, why you wanted to leave, but she felt powerless to aid you further.  Elaithan kept the incident quiet, though we knew he was furious..."

The elven woman paused, sipping her tea.  "Celedë remembered you, and she was quite surprised – not to mention worried – when you returned to Silvanesti.  When Celedë saw how you were feeling after meeting with Elaithan, she sought me out while you were resting in her home, so that I might speak with you myself."

"Then I owe her a great deal," Gwynnion smiled softly.

"She was a kind woman," Elruwen agreed, "And it is a terrible loss."

"Too many died in the nightmare of Silvanesti," Gliowyn remarked, sighing, "And now those responsible hope to spread that shadow to Qualinesti, even as men like Kr'yün seek to dominate our cousins' politics."

A spill of hair fell across Gwynn's face as she bowed her head, contemplating her reflection in the surface of her tea.  "If possible, my friends and I will try to prevent that from happening.  And despite the events of my childhood, I can't find it in my heart to be angry with Elaithan.  I hardly know him, I'm afraid I may never get to know him.  And regardless of how my stepfather treated me, he saved many lives while the nightmare spread.  He put others ahead of himself, and I must respect him for that."  

*        *        *  

After breakfast, Gwynnion went for a walk through the city to clear her head and allow her to reflect on the events of the past few days.  Even though her father and stepfather had abandoned her to her own devices, it seemed she had a family on her mother's side.  Gliowyn's words haunted her as she strode lightly down the broad lanes of Qualinost, the hood of her cloak pulled up to shield her eyes from the bright sunshine.  You are family here.  You are my granddaughter.  Already you remind me of your mother.

Not for the first time, Gwynnion wondered what her mother was like, and – whether she was the product of rape or adultery – how she could have become involved with Alistair Greycloak.  Everything she'd learned about Sylune Ilestil suggested she was a free spirited, rather wild-natured woman, fascinated by the cultures of other races and life beyond the strict confines of Silvanesti.  Gliowyn and her aunts had shown her a small portrait of her mother, which had survived the Nightmare in Elruwen's possession.  She was a woman of long, flowing blonde hair and piercing violet eyes, her passionate nature belying her obvious intelligence.  Gliowyn admitted she was often difficult to control, and a bit reckless.

All of which could have described herself, Gwynn thought.

Though she knew better than to trust the veracity of someone's public persona, the impression she had of her mother implied that Greycloak had taken advantage of her, whether through violence or sheer manipulation, though Gwynnion thought – perhaps merely out of daughterly pride – that Sylune would have been too wily to succumb to simple tricks.  Of course, Sylune could have willingly betrayed Elaithan Devir – and she didn't know if she could blame her if she had – but it was all speculation at this point.  Gwynnion didn't trust her stepfather to give her an accurate account of her origins, and without speaking to Alistair Greycloak himself, she had precious little information to work with.

Even Amorith and Elruwen were elliptical about what really happened between Sylune and Greycloak.  They professed to know little beyond the essential facts she already possessed, and those had been passed onto them by her stepfather.  A soft frown pinched Gwynnion's features as she thought of her mother's grave in Caergoth, a lonely, unidentified plot of earth which she and Kalshann had been forced to seek by magic.  Had Alistair Greycloak even known Sylune was pregnant?  Had he been there up until she died?  What the hell had happened all those years ago?

Gwynnion caught sight of a red colored cloak from the a good distance down the street but passed it off as one of the many different house colors she had seen in the few days she had been in Qualinost. The nobles here regularly wore their house arrangements on the hems of shirts and the backs of cloaks.  Gwynn imagined rooms of courtiers would be like splashes of moving colors, and she expected to see quite a display of heraldry colors at court.  She drew closer as she headed through crowded streets and began down a side street.  She caught another glimpse of the cloak.  Red and embroidered, with a white hem engraved with a pattern of red knot-work.  The same style cloak she had given to Kalshann as a gift.

Kalshann? She thought to herself as she turned to glance over at him. He was standing atop a log that marked the edge of the street, looking up into the canopy of trees.  On his perch he was perhaps two feet taller then the elves around him, busily moving about on their daily business on the crowded street. Gwynnion paused as she looked at him, taking in the image with a smile before moving towards him. He wore a simple green tunic and loose black pants, the Nerakese style he prefers under the cloak. His hood was down and the long locks and braids of his hair fell around his shoulders.  Loki was draped on one shoulder, apparently sleeping.  His staff, carved of a single piece of red jade rested in the crook of his arm, leaning against his body with Loki’s tail wrapped around it.

Gwynnion took in the lines of his figure and then followed his eyes into the canopy of trees high above the road. The trees here were tall and thin, with high branches and thick canopies. She saw nothing out of place, but she found Kalshann’s occasionally eccentric behavior to be more endearing then strange.

She moved quietly, unconsciously mimicking Puck’s movements when he stalked his prey. Gwynnion slid past a pair of young children who gave the red-robed human a suspicious look on their way up the street.  The young woman found it somewhat ironic that Kalshann should attract such attention when she did not.  Aside from the blaze of color that was her white cloak, she must have looked more or less elven to passing glances, though she was coming to think of herself as more human than anything else.  How would these strangers react if they knew she was of mixed blood?

Dismissing such thoughts for now, Gwynnion moved within arm's reach of the young man, taking advantage of his distraction to bolster her stealth.  With cautious movements, she circled behind her love, and sprang at him as Puck would.

“Kal!” she cried, grabbing his waist in a tight hug.  She felt him turn slightly and laugh.

“I’ve been looking for you – seems I’ve been found.” Kalshann said with a short laugh as he stepped down from the trunk and into her arms.

The two kissed and hugged without a care to the odd looks the elves gave them in passing.  They had last seen each other a few days before at the Tower of Wayreth , but Gwynnion had hardly expected to see him here in Qualinost.  Both of them had been very busy as of late, winding separate paths across Ansalon, with only fleeting contact with each other.  A few months here, a few days there, was all the time they had.

“Well I can at least say your time here was worth that gown.” Kalshann murmured as he took a step back to look at her. The gossamer pearl colored dress flowed from her shoulders and hips, with the thinnest threads of white and silver embroidered in a series of lily–like flower patterns. Her hair was braided in an elven style, lose with three braids eventually tied into one long braid down the back.  He smiled as she made a small curtsy under his inspection, looking up at him with bright green eyes.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as she turned her attentions to the pseudo-dragon on his shoulder.  Running her hand along Loki’s neck and wing to greet it.

“Alexis didn’t know where you had gone, so I figured the main road would be the most likely place to find you.” He said with a wry smile.

“No – what are you doing in Qualinost?” she said with a laugh, her voice rising to the point that others could now hear her.  She smiled at two guardsmen who were a little ways down the street, apparently watching the human at a discreet distance.  Qualinesti was far more accepting of non-elves than her homeland, but with the war and the fall of Silvanesti, tensions were higher in the capital city.  The influx of Silvanesti, as well as their growing influence on the country's politics, no doubt contributed to their unease.

“I’ve come to set up supplies to be delivered to the Tower.  The Tower of Goodlund needs a lot of refurbishing to become useable and Wayreth has limited resources.” He said matter of factly, but then ran his hand along her cheek to put emphasis on what he said.  “Athica offered to do it, but I figured I could surprise you and we could spend some time together.”

“You're wonderful Kal.”  She hugged him again, burying her cheek against his shoulder.  This small gesture on his part meant a great deal to her.  Occasionally, the young man could seem slightly brusque about his time, always busy with business of some kind.  It was just the kind of lives they led, Gwynn knew, but it touched her that he felt the distance as well and sought to close it, if only for a brief while.

“And I wanted to catch you because I have a gift for you.” He whispered softly as he stroked her soft auburn hair.

“Really?”  Her eyes looked into his and she tried to divine the mystery of what it might be from his expression.  The gleam of curiosity in her eyes brought a smile to Kalshann's lips.  Her mood had been greatly subdued as of late, with a note of hardness in her bearing around other people, and it was reassuring to see this side of her again.  He couldn't help but worry occasionally that Gwynnion might slip back into old habits from before the Test.  The young woman was taking deeper looks into herself and her past every time they got together, and it was gradually having an effect on her personality.

“What is it?” she nudged him, grinning.  Kal realized his thoughts had drifted again.

“Remember when you told me about wanting to fly?” he hinted as he started heading her towards one of the side streets.  This was something best shared in private.  

*        *        *  

The sky stretched out above her and below her; it would have been a dizzying experience if not for the sheer exhilaration of the moment.  Banks of clouds looked like wispy islands in the sea of pale blue above her and the Qualinesti forest seemed more of a distant phantom down below, unreal and forgettable.  She was not floating or propelling herself with magic this time, she was flying.  The transformation had initially been a shock – despite everything, the experience was one which her mind had difficulty accepting, particularly as she watched the changes beginning.  But actually, it had been more natural than it would seem, painless and eerily enchanting, her form replaced with that of a falcon.  To her surprise, her instincts adapted quickly to the new shape.  Part of her even wondered if perhaps she'd done this before in some other lifetime.

She marveled at the freedom and vibrant energy she felt, wheeling in the open sky and circling the brilliant halo of the sun.  Her eyesight was extraordinary – she could still pick out the individual buildings of Qualinost even though she was miles away.  Every sense felt more acute, dizzying her with the flood of new, previously unattainable sensations.  Her strength and agility gave her a rush of awe, as did the speed she could move at, slipping through layers of wind she never knew existed. The feel of air rushing over her shoulders and wings, and the piercing cries of joy she shouted, echoing back to her from far below.

For all the surprise of transformation, the most exhilarating part was that she was still as much herself as she was an animal. Her auburn hair had become the bright cinnamon-colored feathers she now had, her voice was still her own and – most of all – flying felt as natural as walking to her now.   Unlike her own magics, this was not being within the shell of another form, or sculpting herself – this felt like rebirth, a revelation of sorts.  It was ecstatic.  She was a falcon.  Gwynnion the falcon. 

Far below her, her keen eyes picked out smaller birds ducking below the clouds and scattering away from her shadow in every direction, going to ground as quickly as possible, sensing the presence of the larger predator.  Gwynn marveled at how easy it was to locate and track the birds, as well as other prey animals on the ground, scurrying about in her wake.  Razor sharp talons twitching thoughtfully, she gave in to the hunting instinct which surfaced at the sight and dove steeply in pursuit of one of the smaller birds before it could reach shelter.  The sheer speed of movement was thrilling as she plummeted, only to come up above and behind the smaller animal, harrying it but refusing – for now, at least – the falcon's instinctive urge to strike.  Still, just pursuing the bird was a glorious enough experience, giving her a little thrill of power and control in this vast ocean of blue.

Almost on an instinctual level she even accepted the pattern of white feathers she saw on her left wing, the rose tattoo, woven across the wing and back of the bird she had become.  She paid it little heed.  In fact, for the longest time, Gwynn simply didn't think at all, she just let herself be, allowing the intuition of flight and the gorgeous panorama of the world fill her.  Finally abandoning her panicked prey she careened upwards, such a breathless sensation, as if trying to become the glittering blue sky around her.  What might this be like at night, part of her wondered in the distance, soaring heavenward to kiss the stars?

Is this what Kal feels? Gwynnion thought faintly, This is not magic, this is...like being part of the world for the first time.

I'm a falcon! she exulted, laughing. 

A second bird swept by across her field of vision, which was considerable.  It was merely a dark shape for a moment, an afterimage on her eye, but then the animal ascended to her level.  It was another falcon, with black and dark red feathers ruffling in the wind.  Kalshann, she realized, laughing in joy at the sight of him.  He tilted his wings and came up above and behind her.  Gwynnion responded in kind, until the two of them were merrily circling each other in the cool, blue sea of air.  It became a game, a lovers' chase, each gamely pursuing the other in turn, and Kalshann encouraged her to new heights in the process, allowing her to thoroughly relish the experience in his company.  There was nothing lonely about the sky.

They must have ranged for miles.  Part of Gwynn wanted to laugh at the staid, dry formality of the Conclave – or, more accurately, of Master Par-Silan – and another screamed in playful triumph over Oskar, embracing the wonder that was Kalshann's world.  She was no mere learned woodsman wandering the wildernesses of the world, with a pedantic respect for the wild.  She was the wilderness, momentarily freed of herself and the ties that held her to the world below.  The thought conjured images of Cordella's blazing eyes boring into her soul.  Wild eyes.  The eyes of the stars.

This was a dream she would have to revisit.

There was a knowing, affectionate look in Kal's eyes when he swept by her again, listening to the sound of her euphoric cries.  He'd known this was a part of her all along.  It was part of everyone, after all, whether they allowed themselves feel it or not.  Gwynnion was just a little more so.  

*        *        *  

Oskar glanced up as a large falcon swept through the canopy above him and landed on a nearby tree branch amid a ruffle of wings, staring straight at him from about eye level.  It was a beautiful creature with russet feathers and curiously dark green eyes, with a splash of white along its left wing and back.

"Well, hello there," he murmured wryly, "What can I do for you?"

The falcon continued to stare at him, cocking its head slightly.  The sylvan woods of Qualinesti were the most beautiful Oskar had ever traveled, except perhaps for the few woodlands of Ergoth, and even here on the periphery of Qualinost the wilderness seemed both untamed and strangely self-aware, as if the place had a palpable conscious presence.  The falcon was no different.  It looked exquisitely intelligent, if not amused.

Shouldering his burden, Oskar took a closer look at the animal.  The splotch of white along the bird's side was surprisingly regular in texture, forming a vaguely discernable pattern against the cinnamon and dark brown feathers.  The pattern might have been obscured, but the location and the colors were a clear identifier.

Shoulders slumping in an overdramatic sigh, Oskar addressed the bird: "Gwynnion, what have you done to yourself this time?"

The falcon seemed to chuckle quietly before taking off, sweeping away through the trees and vanishing as it breached the forest canopy.  It was as beautiful in flight as it was at rest, if not more so, and he couldn't resist a slight smirk.

"I hope you can change yourself back," Oskar remarked to no one, and laughed.  

*        *        *

Kalshann woke to a darkened room, blinking away a strange and troubling dream which had haunted him all night.  A dream of incoherent whispers, of a body under a bloodstained sheet, and of Gwynnion dressed all in black, clutching her hand with an angry scowl, the bloody line of a sword cut slashing across her cheek.  Only Gwynn was laying beside him bed, sleeping quietly on her side, with the long swirl of her hair draped across the white sheets.  Red and white, as always, the colors which seemed to define her life.  A warm breeze wafted in from the balcony, sweet with recent rains and the scents of the forest.

Sitting up, Kal ran a hand through his black hair as he studied the sleeping woman.  She looked serene, in a way she hadn't been since that first day in Wayreth.  He traced the delicate line of her eyebrow, the softness of her mouth, lips parted in an expression of dreaming.  The sheets draped across the middle of her body, highlighting curves and soft swells.  Only her legs and above her shoulders were bare, the sheen of the rose tattoo visible even in the faint light, but he didn't disturb her by moving the sheets.  Gwynnion slept lightly most of the time, and she was spent after today's events.  He thought back longingly to their lovemaking, their earlier laughter and time alone, and found himself wondering what their future might hold.

The dream played at the edges of his thoughts, teasing him with half-remembered images.  Strange dreams seemed to follow the young woman, as if by her mere presence Gwynnion had a subtle effect on those around her.  Smiling softly, Kalshann ran a hand through the fine, cool strands of her hair, gliding his fingertips over them. 

"Do our lives allow for commitment?" she had asked him earlier, confessing her private concerns with a small smile.  They had been sitting on the balcony of her small apartment here, in the Isil-Gawien compound.  Gwynnion had just come out of the bath, and Kalshann was brushing out her hair by the fading light.  Simple sensual indulgences they rarely had time for the rest of the time.  "Justarius is grooming you to take over the red robes, and while I don't know if Par-Silan still has designs on my future, I'm likely to be preoccupied as well with students.  Would either of us have time for children?  For a life together?"

It was the first time such things had come up between them.  Kalshann hadn't quite known how to respond to her questions, only to offer a gentle reproach.  "Gwynn, if and when that becomes an issue, you know we would make the time.  No one is ever 'too busy' if they really want that.  Though I am curious why you're mentioning it now.  You sound worried, and you've been acting more reserved as of late..."

"Not worried," she replied softly, "I've been thinking about the vision I had of Cordella and my death, and though it might not necessarily come true, I have wondered how much time I have in life.  It's something I'd never really considered before.  And many things about me have been changing lately..." 

Gwynnion reached back to stroke his arm, listening to the soft whisk of the brush through her hair.  It was her mother's brush, Kal knew, one of the few items of hers that she'd been allowed to keep since childhood.  He had many memories of her, both before and after the Test, slowly working it through her thick, dark auburn hair.  This morning, Gliowyn Ilestil had added to her small collection, presenting a necklace of silver and jade which once belonged to Gwynn's mother, kept safe in the possession of her aunt, Elruwen, all these years.  "We've been together for nearly two years now.  I suppose that's why it's on my mind.  Though now is hardly the time to be considering these things, especially with all that's happening in the world."

"Why not?" Kal murmured, smiling wryly.

"Kal," the young woman laughed, "It's too early for us, and we've far too much to do at the moment to even consider it.  Not to mention all the unanswered questions..."

"There is nothing wrong with thinking about it, Gwynn," Kalshann smiled faintly, combing his fingers through her soft tresses, "I want you to dream."

"Dreams sometimes come true," she had wistfully agreed, "Just like today."

Rubbing his eyes, Kalshann smiled at the memory of their flight over Qualinost, and the young woman's wild-eyed exhilaration over the experience.  The thought drove away the darker images of his nightmare, and he cleared his head by listening to the young woman's soft, regular breathing.  The wind outside seemed to breathe with her, stirring his hair slightly.  Thinking about it now, the Isil-Gawien compound was similar in architecture and overall layout to the villas and noble residences in Augustgrad.  The thought brought a small smile to his lips, as he momentarily imagined this was her villa in the risen city, many miles from Qualinesti and their immediate business.  

*        *        *  

The group scoured the battlefield for what valuables they could find and pressed on toward the valley, leaving Silvara to confront the second group of ogres and their fearsome red wyrm farther down the slope.  With the aid of magical healing found on their attackers' corpses, the companions were able to make good time up the mountainside, though they were all exhausted and wounded.  Gwynnion, her cloak bloodied and step shaky, was subdued as they climbed, glancing back over her shoulder in the direction Silvara had gone.  They neither saw nor heard the former dragon's battle, but Gwynn knew she would not survive.  It had not been her intention to do so.

At nightfall, a weary halt was called and the group sank down for a rest.  The wind was chilly over the barren mountainside, but they didn't start a fire for fear of attracting the ogres' attention.  Instead, they made a makeshift camp and huddled down for a meager meal and a bit of sleep.  Alexis and Samkin grimly volunteered for first watch, to which there was no argument.  After a quick look around, Oskar napped, relying upon the magick of his ring to refresh himself.  Gwynnion took a moment to clean off her own blood and spread out a small bedroll before lying down.  She was asleep almost the moment she closed her eyes.

When Oskar nudged her awake several hours later, the sky had turned a watery shade of grey and the sun was beginning to smolder below the horizon.  Keleren was also awake, going through his slim tome with a haggard expression, a cup of coffee sitting beside him.  Oskar, looking remarkably fresh, handed Gwynnion a cup as well when she sat up.  He had taken advantage of the growing light to make a small fire, enough for a little breakfast and some coffee.  She quietly accepted the hot drink with a smile and a small nod, brushing auburn curls out of her eyes.  Sitting on her bedroll, the half-elven sorceress sipped the bitter, steaming drink and brooded. 

"You're grieving for Silvara."

Blinking gummy eyes, Gwynnion turned slightly to see Puck lounging on her pack.  She remembered him nestling up against her warmth during the night, his tail and silky wings tickling her chin now and then, but he had apparently awoken much earlier than her.  His gleaming blue eyes glanced up at his mistress occasionally as he lapped up coffee from a small, shallow bowl.  The sight brought a languid smile to her lips.  Oskar and Keleren glanced over at the sound of the tressym's low, mumbling voice, but looked away again disinterestedly.

"Yes," Gwynn agreed softly, taking a sip of coffee.

Puck cocked his head.  "Why?"

"I suppose I pity her," the half-elf replied, "But mostly, I think I understand something of how she felt."

The tressym's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

Gwynn pulled her cloak more tightly around her.  "The maren are supposed to have free will, the power to change things.  The dragons do not.  But I sometimes wonder how free I really am, and if I'm not in a similar position.  Silvara could only be what she was created to be, but she was denied even that.  I think that created 'a hole in her mind' similar to my memory loss.  She struggled to define herself and couldn't.  The strain must've been unbearable."

"You succeed where she failed," he replied, "You determine what you are becoming."

Her lips crooked into a smile.  "My life might as well have begun with the Test of High Sorcery, but I still feel judged by my life before.  I've been driven since the Test by things I don't remember or understand.  Even actions of my own, which I've yet to discover.  That's why I've tried to learn all I can, so I can make these choices for myself, instead of being trapped on a narrow path I can't see."

The tressym shrugged. "You think too much."

Chuckling, the half-elf agreed.  "That's true."

There was a brightening of the air, and Gwynnion lifted her eyes to the horizon, where the sun began creeping above the darkened land.  It stirred the wind, ruffling her hair and Puck's fur.  On the opposite side of their encampment, Samkin grunted and rolled over to face the darkness.  A moment later, his ponderous snoring resumed.  Gwynn thought to scan the landscape for their pursuers, but the light was still too poor.

"Either way," she murmured, "Her death saddens me."

"For her," Puck asked, "Or because you identify with her?"

Smiling, Gwynnion shrugged.  "A little of both."

Harrumphing, the tressym nudged the bowl away and curled up on her pack, resting his chin upon one paw.  "I respect your desire for freedom, but Silvara was always herself regardless of what form she had," he told her with drowsy eyes, "Maybe that was all she could be, but she did what she thought was right.  And in the end, she decided her own fate.  What more can anybody ask for?"

Finishing her coffee, the half-elf didn't argue.

"We should pick up and move soon," Oskar said, "Silvara may have delayed them, but they're making better time than we are."

"I agree," Keleren replied, closing his book one-handed.