Lanri was cautiously optimistic about today. It had started off nice, with Seeker waking her up with a kingly breakfast of good cheese on steaming-fresh bread. They’d cuddled for a while, and talked about how today would go.

Well, Lanri had been told how the day would go. She didn’t participate in the planning of their days, much.

Apparently, Craftsman Yornleif had sent word to the monastery that Lanri’s prosthetic was finished, and had asked them to come retrieve it towards the end of the day. That left the majority of the day free to spend… inspecting Ithella’s militia training ground. Again.

She followed Seeker out through the north-western gate, making a point of covering herself completely with the cloak Seeker had bought a week ago, and into the trampled farmland that now had a handful of tents and temporary structures upon it. They had apparently been erected with the help of the giant that had attended Gorance’s auction, and Lanri still didn’t quite understand how Ithella in particular had been convinced he and his pixie were to be trusted.

Lanri followed Seeker down the main path through the encampment. Unlike the rest of the camp, this path had actually been turned into something of a paved road. The soil had been compacted, and seemingly baked into ceramic with the fires of someone’s magic.

Looking around, Lanri could see yet more people had joined the cause. Newly enlisted men and women could be heard being drilled in how to drive a spear into a training dummy, while the more skilled fighters were either sparring against each other, or busy putting arrows into targets.

A handful of artisans, most notably a fletcher, now worked in temporary shops set up in canvas tents, and, bizarrely, they were taking a stockpile of existing arrows apart, rather than making new ones.

“What the hell are they doing?” Lanri quietly asked Seeker as they passed them.

“You never heard about the plan?” Seeker asked, skeptically. Lanri shot her an exhausted look that she knew would convey I wouldn’t be asking if I had. “Well. Ithella’ll explain it to the newest recruits in a moment, I’m sure.”

Seeker led her to a few benches, which had been set up under a tarp close to where the newest and least competent of the militia’s number were being taught to hold their pointy sticks, and stab with them in a practice yard outlined by braziers of magic fire. It wasn’t the priestess herself doing the training, Lanri noted, but her girlfriend, Mara. The pale human that had called her Dread Widow.

“They’re glaives, not swords!” She scolded, as she stepped into the field, and corrected a scrawny thing of a girl’s posture to move her hands down the shaft of the weapon. “The point is to be far away from the thing you’re fighting, and to keep the sharp parts between you and them.”

Lanri winced a little at that, feeling the scolding second-hand. “Why are we here again?” She quietly asked Seeker.

“We can’t stay in the room all day, every day, Dear,” Seeker said. “Besides, they could use the help.”

“Yours, maybe,” Lanri said with a roll of her eyes. “I don’t see a detachment of the heavily disabled I could give pointers on how best to club someone with a crutch.”

Seeker laughed, but quickly snorted it down and said “I’m sorry, that’s not funny. And, no… you admittedly can’t help them train much. But you can watch me do it.”

Lanri looked away from her, and back at the drilling militia, each of them going through a sequence of thrusts and swipes that only very loosely resembled what the ex-guard was teaching them. “They’ll be slaughtered,” Lanri whispered.

“I really doubt it,” Seeker said. “They don’t have to be graceful. They just have to look tough and follow the leads of the ones who are better at it than they are.”

Lanri considered that, then nodded. She’d heard her mom say something about how even the bravest knights in the world knew better than to start a fight against four farmers with pitchforks. The very same knights who, coincidentally, were even now glaring at the militia’s camp from on Cerene’s wall, rather than helping them train or promising to fight by their side when Ithella would soon call the attack.

“It’s repulsive he won’t send the guards to clear out this bandit mage,” Lanri hissed.

“I agree. He’s not worthy of the people he rules, if he leaves them to fend for themselves like this. But… knowing what I know now, I’m honestly glad he didn’t.”

“What do you mean?” asked Lanri.

“Well, you’ve seen that young man with the injured ear milling about the monastery, haven’t you?” Lanri nodded. She’d seen him several times recently, usually talking to Abbot Du Bois, or sitting in the library. “He’d been taken by that mage. Enthralled with an enchanted earring until it was torn out.”

“Why is that good?”

“It’s good because if it’s an enchantment addling their minds rather than a bad character, they can be saved,” said a new voice from behind Lanri. She turned to look, and saw Ithella holding a bow, with a quiver of arrows strapped around her waist. The priestess nodded her head in deference. “Your grace.”

Seeker smiled at the dark skinned elf, and nodded as well. “Are those what we’re looking for, then?”

“Indeed they are,” Ithella happily said. She drew one of the arrows, and showed it to them both. It was a bizarre looking thing, missing an arrowhead and instead tipped with a crystal and a bulb of rough wood.

Lanri wasn’t sure what to make of it. It didn’t look like a weapon to her eyes, not deformed as it was. “What is that?”

“Really, Dear? You don’t recognize it?” Seeker asked.

“No. Should I?”

“Scholars,” said Ithella with obviously feigned contempt as she notched the arrow, drew the bow, and aimed at… Mara. “This should clear it up.”

Instinctively, Lanri dropped one of her crutches to grab one of the bow’s limbs. She was no archer, but even she knew not to aim a bow at something that’s not meant to be hit with an arrow.

The priestess looked down at her hand with a soft expression. “I can assure you I know what I’m doing.”

Lanri was about to protest, when Seeker put a hand on hers, and gently pried it loose from the bow. “Dear, she could be aiming that at you and I wouldn’t be as concerned as you are right now. She’s quite competent.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” huffed Lanri as the priestess drew back on the string again.

“Femme d’Arme!” she shouted across the yard, and the training session ground to a halt instantly. Mara looked up at Ithella expectantly, and the rest of the militia seemed torn between looking to their leader, and their current instructor. When Ithella let the arrow loose, however, everyone turned to look at Mara.

The arrow zipped across the air like a bat out of hell, then hit the former city guard square in the belly. For the briefest moment, a pang of dread consumed Lanri, until she finally saw what those around her had already known would happen. The arrow shattered into splinters, and a pulse of gray-ish light shot through her as she let out a gasp and dropped limp to the ground.

“A charm,” Lanri whispered, as the nearest few soldiers ran to their sergeant’s side. The arrow’s tip hadn’t been any old stone. It had been an enchanted bulb of glass, designed to release a single spell when broken. “What did it do?”

“She’s asleep!” one of the militia cried out. “Is she supposed to be asleep, commander?!”

“Does that answer your question, my lady?” asked Ithella. She took an exaggerated bow, like she’d planned for the man to yell that at that exact moment. “We know not all of the enemy is there by choice, and need only be freed from the yoke to regain their senses.”

“And you’re sure these will work?” asked Seeker before Lanri could think of any comments to make. “Why not antimagic, or a counterspell?”

“Antimagic is too ephemeral, and a counterspell would take too long to produce in the quantities we need. But we are sure it will work,” Ithella said, happily. “Our brave Millan volunteered to don the abominable thing, and one arrow put him to sleep for almost an hour. Wynn was ecstatic. ”

“Millan?” asked Lanri. The name sounded familiar, and she tried to recall where she’d heard it. After a moment, it came to her. “The widower?”

“The very same,” said Ithella with a fond smile, as she turned to look at the militia. Lani followed her gaze, and-

“Are they tying her up?!”

“Technically, the good Daughter of Passion is tying her up. The rest are just watching and learning,” Ithella said so matter-of-factly that Lanri found herself wondering if she was the weird one for noticing.

“Don’t look at me,” said Seeker, when Lanri turned to her for help making sense of it. “I see the merit. They’ve got to restrain the ones they tag with a charm until they can get the enchantments dealt with.”

“But she’s—” Seeker cut her off with a finger across her lips.

“The only one touching her is a Touched priestess of Ishi. One who swore to abide by Ithella’s orders, and knows I can see her, no less.”

“It still doesn’t seem right,” Lanri huffed.

“What it seems like doesn’t matter, Dear,” said Seeker, as she put the same finger under Lanri’s chin, and tilted her head back. The intimate gesture was becoming increasingly familiar to Lanri, and it sent a shiver down her spine. “For example, all of this uncertainty and second-guessing would probably seem like brazen flippance to an outsider.”

Seeker leaned in a little closer, and Lanri could see Ithella making a point of being elsewhere. “I… didn’t mean…”

“Oh, I know,” purred Seeker. “And that’s my point. That might be what it seems like to another, but I know better.”

“Uh-huh.”

Seeker closed what little space remained between them, and pressed her lips to Lanri’s. “That’s my girl.”

Lanri stood on the path that encircled the city’s walls with her eyes closed, trying her best to ignore the racket Seeker was making. She was a little chilly, even with the pleasant radiance of the sun warming her skin and dark clothes, but the curiosity was far harder to bear than that.

Seeker had suddenly stopped any and all involvement in the militia camp’s running, and had instead led her here, to the southernmost point of the city. A charmless, ugly place this time of year, where the only view was barren farmland and hills covered in bamboo.

Or, at least that’s what the view would be, if she were allowed to open her eyes. But she could picture it vibrantly. Every year until she met Faron, the same vista had surrounded her village on all sides from just before the solstice, to when they’d start to plow and plant again around her birthday.

“Alright, open your eyes, Dear,” Seeker ordered, and Lanri did so. A smile spread across her face as she took stock of what had changed. Seeker had put down a thick black blanket, and laid out on it was a big spread of food and drink. Big bottles of ale and wine, bread, cheese, and dried and salted meat were the most obvious, but as Seeker urged her to sit down, she recognized other things, too. A little tub of onion jam, a few cherries, tomatoes, eggs she assumed were boiled, and what looked like spiced butter were all arranged in a little basket, alongside another loaf of bread.

“This looks amazing!” Lanri happily declared as Seeker joined her on the blanket. She had a big grin on her face, and Lanri was sure her own expression matched it.

“It’d better,” said Seeker. “Taking care of you is teaching me a lot about what money is worth, and some of this cost a lot to get my hands on.”

“It was worth it!” Lanri promised as she found a knife, and set to cutting open the bread. It wasn’t warm anymore, but it felt and smelled fresh enough to feed to a baron or count. Her mouth watered, and she began to spread the various ingredients on it. Some spiced butter, then the onion jam and tomatoes, topped with the salted meat; cheese and eggs, sliced as thinly as she could manage. Once she’d assembled something truly decadent, she tore it in half, and offered one to Seeker.

“No cherries?” Asked Seeker as she accepted her half.

Lanri snickered. “No! That would taste awful together. We’ll save those for when we open the wine!”,

“I will defer to your superior wisdom, oh good woman,” said Seeker with a grin, and they both dug into their feast. The butter was spicier than Lanri had realized, but she didn’t mind. It only gave her some much-needed fortification against the cold.

“You did a fantastic job picking ingredients,” Lanri said after swallowing a bite. “Where did you get this stuff?”

“The tomatoes are from the greenhouse on the monastery’s roof,” Seeker told her. “Mirabelle was more than happy to let me pick a few. And the onion paste, I bought from the tavern we’ve been frequenting.

“Fan-ta-stic,” Lanri repeated as she took another bite.

“But what was the really expensive thing wasn’t the food, or even the wine. It was this.” Seeker reached for the bottle of ale, and turned it over so Lanri could read the label. She practically choked when she did.

“Veldirin’s easy!” Lanri said with a big smile. She put her sandwich down on the blanket, and took the bottle from Seeker’s hands. “I haven’t seen this stuff since…”

“Since the day we met,” Seeker said, finishing the thought for her. “You really do dream about your pantry a lot.”

Lanri giggled and nodded as she set about freeing the cork from the bottle. It was held on by twisted wire like sparkling wine, and like sparkling wine, it shot out with a satisfying pop. “Wait, so… how much did you spend on this?” she asked as she sniffed the bottle to make sure it hadn’t gone rancid. It hadn’t.

“How much time and money I spend on you is my concern, Dear. Not yours.”

Seeker put two wide tankards on the blanket, and Lanri was almost positive they came from the tavern, too. “I suppose I can’t argue with that,” she conceded as she started to pour the foaming, fruity liquid into both of them.

They both raised their cups, and toasted them together like rowdy teenagers on their fifth drinks before drinking greedily. It was as cold as the winter itself, and deliciously sweet, tasting of orange and pear first and foremost, and what little bite the alcohol had wasn’t even discernable after the spicy sandwich.

For once, though, she actually wished it would have a bit of kick to it. The sun on her face was nice and warm, and the bamboo forests almost completely shielded them from wind. But still, the chill of the ground was starting to seep through the blanket and her layers of clothes.

She took another sip, then put the tankard down and set to finishing the sandwich. The satisfaction of a belly full of good food would be almost as nice as a fire, she knew.

“You must be an amazing cook,” Seeker decided, looking at her sandwich. “All I knew is that you like onions. I didn’t think you’d come up with something so…”

“I am pretty good at it,” Lanri conceded. “But… this isn’t exactly cooking, Seeker. I just made you a sandwich with the ingredients you chose. Sans the cherry.”

“And you really don’t think that would have tasted good?” Seeker asked, skeptically.

“I really don’t,” Lanri told her. “Just trust me, it’ll go great with the wine. Assuming it doesn’t freeze solid by the time we get to it.”

“You’re cold?”

Lanri made a point of breathing out a cloud of vapor, and watched it catch the sunlight like the fog in a swamp. Then she giggled. “Of course I’m cold, Seeker! Don’t get me wrong, this is lovely, but why are we doing it out here, instead of indoors somewhere?”

“I figured you’d want privacy,” said Seeker with a shrug. “Besides, if you’re cold, start a fire.”

“What, with the plentiful firewood and kindling?” scoffed Lanri, good naturedly. She underlined her point by gesturing at the barren soil around them. “I’d need magic to start a fire here, Seeker.”

“That’s what I meant,” Seeker said. “Use magic to start a fire.”

Lanri rolled her eyes. “That’s not funny. I don’t have the Talent. I can’t just make fire like you can, or…”

“Or like Faron could, I know,” whispered Seeker, as she reached into the basket of foodstuffs, and pulled a little wooden box from underneath the second loaf of bread.

“What’s this?” Lanri asked, as Seeker pressed the little box into her hands. It was a simple thing, around a foot long, with a wooden lid that could slide out.

“Magic, Dear,” Seeker promised. “Open it.”

Cautiously, Lanri did so. Anticipation started to build as she slid the crude lid out, and felt it rub against the grain of the box itself. Inside of it, a little bundle of black silk laid folded across something narrow, that tapered to one end. “Is this…”

“Just take it out, and see for yourself.”

Lanri obeyed. She carefully pulled aside the silk, and the shine of varnished wood and polished metal sparkled across a familiar shape. She gasped at the sight of it. It was a wand—her wand, remade. Two dozen irregularly shaped shards of wood, ranging from splinters to pieces as large as a coin, were set into the right place, and melded together with brilliant rose gold that filled in the gaps between fragments like they were suspended in amber.

Faron’s maker’s mark was etched into one of the pieces of wood, but continued off the edge and into the gold, immaculately replicated. Above it, two lines of runes ran along the length of the wand in a mixture of divine and arcane text, though only the divine ones were glowing.

She looked at Seeker with wide, disbelieving eyes. The Heartwarden simply smiled at her. “W-what is this?” she asked, as she returned her gaze to the wand. Turning it over, she only saw a single sharp, straight transition from wood to gold and then back. She realized that must be where she hit it with the sword.

“I knew I’d never be able to replace a wand your Faron made for you,” Seeker quietly said. “But… I thought I could repair it, in a way. I collected every piece of it I could find, and… and then when I saw those repaired toys in the shop, I realized how I should do it.”

“It’s beautiful,” Lanri whispered, and she felt Seeker move the food aside, and crawl around so she could wrap her arms around her from behind. The warmth and pressure were a pleasant feeling, but they paled before how intensely she felt… feelings about the wand.

“I did my best to replicate his enchantments,” Seeker whispered. “But he was far more gifted of an alchemist than I could ever hope to be.”

Lanri felt her throat tighten. “Y-you enchanted it?”

“You expended everything it had when you protected me the way you did, Dear. I… thought about whether I should for such a long time. But he wanted you to have something to protect yourself and keep you warm, and who am I to go against his wishes for you?”

“T-the same spells?” Lanri managed.

“The same words to activate them,” Seeker agreed. “Would you like to try?”

Lanri nodded, despite how hard it was to keep her composure. The grief about having had to give it up was battering against her mind like a storm tide trying to tear down a lighthouse. She pointed it at the barren dirt to her left, and whispered “L-Leudach Lasag.”

A small flame appeared just above the soil, glowing a faint gold color. In contrast to the pristine, stable one it used to be, this one sparkled and popped like it was burning firewood that hadn’t quite dried yet. With every crackle, pink sparks flew off, and bounced along on the dirt.

She could feel the heat on her skin, and tears began to roll down her cheeks. She turned a little, and looked at Seeker’s compassionate, but nervous eyes. “I know it’s not quite the same, but—”

“It’s perfect,” Lanri managed, and her voice cracked as she clutched the wand to her chest “I don’t… I… I never… Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Seeker whispered, just as Lanri began to cry. She pulled her close, and it was all Lanri could think to do to clutch onto her like someone would steal her. “I’m so glad you like it.”

“I love it!” Lanri blurted out between sobs, and the grief overcame her. “And I hate it! I hate that this is all I have left of him! I would have jumped in after him if I could have found a hole! He gave me a wand to keep me warm, just before he fucking froze and drowned to death!”

She tightened her grip on Seeker, and the Heartwarden did the same. “I swore to all of the gods I’d love him all of my life, and they let him die! He didn’t deserve to die, you wouldn’t have let him die! You would have saved him if you could have, but they didn’t! Arkay and Ishi, they both decided I only deserved a decade with him!”

“Dear, I—”

“LET ME FINISH!” Lanri shouted over her. “They took my husband from me! They didn’t let me have the life I promised I’d live. And then—then they made me destroy everything I had left of him to save you! I HATE THEM FOR WHAT THEY ALLOWED TO HAPPEN TO ME! I HATE THAT THEY LEFT ME TO WALLOW AND ROT, AND THAT ONLY YOU CARED ENOUGH TO HELP ME.”

“WE HAD A FUTURE AHEAD OF US! WE WERE COMFORTABLE, WE WERE HAPPY, WE WANTED NOTHING BUT TO GROW OLD TOGETHER, AND THE GODS DENIED ME EVERYTHING! I HAD TO BURY HIM, AND I BURIED SO MUCH OF MYSELF WITH HIM!”

Seeker tightly held Lanri, and she bawled with her face buried in her neck. They stayed like that for what might have been minutes or hours, Seeker occasionally placing a kiss, or letting out a few gentle words. When the feelings subsided though, and the pleasantly numb afterglow of passed hysteria took over, she slowly went slack in Seeker’s arms.

“I’m so sorry, Dear,” Seeker whispered with her face still pressed against the top of her head. She looked on with faint interest as Seeker poured another cup of the weak fruity ale, and offered it to her.

She took it, and gulped it down without taking her head off of Seeker’s chest, eager to have something cool her raw throat. “I think he’d like you,” she whispered.

“You do?” asked Seeker with a slight chuckle, and Lanri nodded. “How do you figure?”

“You take care of me,” Lanri simply said. It wasn’t an elaborate answer, but she felt far too fatigued to produce one of those. She giggled a little as she thought of a joke to make. “Even if you do treat me like a pet while you do it.”

They stayed like that for hours, Seeker letting Lanri tell her about Faron in more detail than ever before while she slowly regained her senses, and recovered from the exhausting bout of crying.

She told her about how they’d met, about how hard he’d worked to support them so she could study until she grew bored of it. About how steadfastly he’d refused his father’s insistence that he marry a landed lady of station, because he only had eyes for her. About the romance of running away from his patrimony in Cerene in favor of building their own life together elsewhere.

Lanri had almost fallen asleep when Seeker tensed under her, and the crunch of gravel underfoot quickly gave context. A group of people was coming—marching towards them. “Did you invite anyone?” Lanri whispered as she crawled off of Seeker, and patted her pockets for her wand.

“I didn’t,” said Seeker without meeting her gaze. She reached into nowhere, though, and produced her holster. It gleamed a little in the sun, still shiny from Sheep’s refurbishment.

“You read my mind,” said Lanri with a smile, as it dawned on her that she hadn’t seen it since before she woke up in Cerene.

“I did, yes,” Seeker whispered absently as she got up from their blanket, and drew her sword from her gauntlet. Lanri did her best to quickly strap her holster around her waist, then struggled to standing as well.

She only had a few seconds to steady herself before a single figure walked into view, emerging from behind the curve of the city’s wall and guard towers. A tall, pale elf, wearing the large plates of leather and iron that made up the city guard’s iconic armor, a faintly curved sword on his hip. A moment later two, then five, then eventually eight grunts marched into view behind him. Each of them holding their glaives high and proud.

At the sight of them, Lanri’s chest turned to ice. All of them were looking at her; all of them knew who she was. She wasn’t sure what pretense they were about to recite, but in the absence of Astoria’s magistrate, a pretense would be plenty to make life difficult for her.

“Vattens,” spat the officer. Seeker stepped between Lanri and the guards. “By order of his lordship, Baron Vattens, I—”

“You should leave,” Seeker sternly spoke over him. “We are having an intimate, private moment, officer. I do not see those who sabotage such things kindly.”

“You should be quiet, woman! I’ve half a mind to arrest you too, for invoking magics against sworn guards.” Despite her fear, Lanri rolled her eyes at the man. He was far too fond of his job and the authority it came with. “It would scarcely be difficult to persuade his lordship that you are in league with the vile bandit mage.”

Seeker scoffed. “I believe you, elf. I’m told your baron is susceptible to delusions. One of them is no doubt why you’re here, after all.”

The guard officer’s gaze turned away from Seeker, and down to the side, to Lanri. Without breaking eye contact, he produced a scrap of parchment he held up to see. It contained a series of illegible scribbles, and her father-in-law’s wax seal. “Lanri Vattens. I’ve a warrant for your arrest on the charge of delinquency.”

“The courts already ruled on the matter,” Lanri spat. “I don’t owe anyone even a scrap of copper.”

“Baron Vattens does not recognize the authority of some faraway court to decide if he is owed a debt, Lady Vattens. You are to come with us, and face the justice of this land.” Lanri wanted to laugh at how absurd that was, but stopped herself. Being right and rubbing it in would do her no good if it escalated the matter further.

“The baron’s delusions must be a contagious affliction, because I’m not surrendering her to the custody of a man who clearly lost his mind to grief,” Seeker said.

“Please don’t hurt them,” Lanri whispered, even as the officer drew his own sword, and the guards leveled their glaives in threat. She was scared of the guards and what they’d do to her. But not so scared that she wanted them all dead. “Let’s just go with them, to talk to him.”

“Dear, you said he—”

“I know what I said, Seeker. And I meant it. But I don’t want you to have to hurt them.”

“They’re not giving me much of a choice, if they’re aiming weapons at you,” Seeker said, before she raised her voice. “If any of you lay a finger on her, I won’t give you the opportunity to learn from your mistakes.”

“Nobody is laying fingers on anybody,” came a new, calm voice, as another guard caught up with the rest. Someone Lanri recognized. Faron’s bodyguard, Addler. He’d already been one of the longest serving guardsmen when they ran away, and his armor reflected his seniority with a few tactically placed golden braids. Despite how calm he looked and sounded, dread gripped Lanri’s heart as her fears that someone who’d genuinely cared for Faron might get the opportunity to avenge him.

The elven officer’s eyes turned wide, and he looked behind him. “Captain, they—”

“Shut the fuck up,” the captain flatly told him. “I don’t want to hear your excuses, Dathan. Your warrant is to arrest her, and only to arrest her. Escalating beyond that and getting someone—anyone killed, is failure.” He walked past the elf, and snatched the arrest warrant from his hands. “Get back to your fucking post. I’ll handle this.”

Lanri looked at the man with wide eyes. He’d aged tremendously. His hair was grey where it used to be black, and his face was flecked with dark spots. The elf sputtered behind him, despite his subordinates already standing down. “Captain, I have already—”

“I. Don’t. Care,” said Captain Addler. “I’ve ordered you away. Feel free to tattle on me to the old man, but if you do not fuck off this instant, you had better trade your sword for one of the men’s glaives, because I will not have an insubordinate sergeant.”

The elf scowled, then nodded. “Yes, captain,” he said as he turned and led his soldiers away. Throughout all of this, Seeker had kept her sword raised. And she continued to do so, even as the guards disappeared from view, and then from hearing.

“Is what I’ve been hearing about you true?” he asked, calmly.

“Is what? That I orchestrated my own husband’s death? Or that I stole vast fortunes from Armitage?” Lanri asked. She was nervous, worried he’d lash out and come up with something even worse to say or do to her than what she’d already heard.

“No,” he softly said. “That you need those crutches.”

Seeker’s sword lowered at that remark. The almost fatherly tone was one of concern, not of hate. Anyone could have heard as much. Lanri nodded, and took a step to the side, out from behind Seeker so he could see.

“Oh, you poor girl.” He took several steps closer, despite the sword still posing a very real threat to him. “I’m… I’m so sorry. About Faron, and about that.”

“You’re… sorry? I thought you’d blame me.”

“Now, why would I do a thing like that?” asked Addler. “He might have the city guard fooled with his Dread Widow drivel, but not the palace guard. I saw how you and that boy looked at each other.”

Lanri had to steel herself. She didn’t want him to drag up the grief she was still struggling with, didn’t want to break down into sobbing about him in front of Seeker twice in one day. “Thank you,” she was all she managed.

He nodded, then sighed and quietly read the arrest warrant with an expression that betrayed he already had it nearly memorized, and was just stalling to move the topic back to that.

“I won’t let you take her either,” Seeker flatly told him, addressing him for the first time. “She told your sergeant. The courts in Astoria, the royal courts, ruled in her favor. Your lord makes himself a criminal persecuting her.”

“Oh, I know,” he absently said. “That doesn’t mean I won’t be treated like one if I don’t come back with her in tow.”

Lanri considered that. He’d ordered the other guards away, and if she was any judge of character, she figured the elven sergeant would be sure to tell the story as tactlessly as possible, and paint him as having let them go.

“That is unfortunate, captain. But I will not subject her to a sham trial to sate some vindictive old man’s thirst to inflict his misery on others.”

A look of resignation crossed the old man’s features. “Seeker, please, we can just—”

“I said no!” hissed Seeker, as she put her sword away, and turned to look at Lanri. “You will not freely put yourself in harm’s way. I will not allow it, not after everything you’ve said about him since we got here.”

“I wouldn’t be in harm’s way, Seeker. You’ll be there to keep me safe. And… I need to talk to him.”

“Why?!” Seeker demanded. “What good can come from this?”

“Nothing. You’re right, nothing good can come from it. But this won’t go away on its own. And at least now, you’re here with me to make sure nothing bad comes from it either.” She pulled out her beloved wand, the light glinting off the gold filling in the cracks highlighting that it was now an artifact of Seeker’s love as much as Faron’s. “I need to do this, Seeker. I need to. Whatever hateful things he wants to tell me, whatever he’s going to try, they won’t hurt as much as the things my imagination will cook up instead.”

Seeker considered it. After a moment, she turned to look at Captain Addler. “If we come in peace, can you guarantee we will be able to leave in peace, even if your lord tries to keep us?”

The old guard nodded. “That I can.”