As Vilrath had said in his letter to Laoell, a few weeks had passed with no sign of his return. Then late into the night, possibly even during the early hours of morning, the drow moved on the surface of the world, headed back toward the angel?s small, one room home. Picking his way through the neighboring forest, he paused by a stream, bending down to splash cold water on his face.

Vilrath was weary, he?d been moving non-stop for the last three weeks, and there had been no peace in the trip he took, constant motion, battle, blood, and death. He was, in fact so tired that his need to rest outweighed his want to get back to his delicate charge as soon as possible, and he made camp for the night.

Camp however wouldn?t fit sleeping under a tree, which is exactly what the drow did. He pressed his back against the bark of a large oak, and slid down; drawing his dark cloak around him and pulling his head up, Vilrath bowed his head, waiting for sleep.

Through the gap between his hood and arms that had been thrown over his knees, Vilrath stared out at that nearby stream, trickling slowly and quietly. Its surface reflected the moonlight back at him, shimmering with a silvery glow that, when coupled with the calm of the forest, slowly helped ease the drow to sleep. Or rather, helped him rest. He didn?t sleep, but went into the reverie, the four hour long trance like state, that satisfied his body?s need for rest, while keeping his mind relatively alert.

For a few hours, he remained that way, slumped before the tree, an unmoving ball of black, violet, and crimson with his cloak drawn tightly around him. Then he just simply stood, awake once more from the sleep like reverie he took each night, brushed himself off, and continued on.

It was only another half-hour?s walk from there to Laoell?s home; he?d be there soon enough.

Time was a fickle thing, enthralling as it was heart wrenching. Since her dark warrior's departure, Laoell's life had been a thing of conflict; a complimenting contrast of soul emboldening love and constant worry. Days and nights melded, indistinguishable at times now that sleep came easier to the delicate one.

Her Crimson Guard.

The demon, Lazarus; the reason for her falling, the reason for her redemption through pain. He was with her always, a presence she could not deny or find the will to should she ever feel the desire. Like a puzzle piece long lost, his warmth completed her, as she completed he; water to fire. Her skin sang of him as much as her heart did, and even when she left his arms that lingering scent of his presence stole with the fallen maiden wherever she went. Laoell would have it no other way, yet still, the corner of her heart that held Vilrath's shape ached ferociously, worry a fine, intangible lacing through her waking hours. He was ever her protector, and it was a loyalty based upon a stolen beginning to their meeting. Though completely innocent, the dark eyed maiden had done her drow a deep wrong, and it was a small darkness that ate away at her every time her heart grew taut with fear for the dark elf. He was her champion, and she was his greatest burden, in more ways than he knew.

It was these thoughts that stole the small woman from her lover's arms, from the warmth of her sheets, the security of his presence; and slipped through the fat-ledged window beside her bed. Silent as a shadow, a winged figment of ivory and ebony, Laoell padded aimlessly, swathed in the wide, feathery encompass of her wings. Bare feet were a flat whisper against the grass and soil, her hair the faintest of dark ghosts that lifted to dance in the passing rifle of the summer night's wind. Fingers drifted slowly, caressing her own feathers gently as thoughts swirled about behind the small woman's deep, doe eyes.

'Jessie...'

Jolted from her forlorn revelry, Laoell's head lifted up, dark eyes wide, wide, wide as she turned towards the direction of that voice. It was a piteous thing, sweet and woebegone; it was the voice of a soul in it's deepest pain. It was a voice the fallen seraphim could never deny, cast down and lost to His grace as she was. Like a stone struck into a deep pool, that effervescent calling cast a ripple of undeniable resonance within her.

Consciousness of her power restored, the delicate maiden released her Song, willingly, for the first time. Reaching with sonorous, soul striking fingers, Laoell called to that sobbing voice so far away. Though the tear stricken Dove would not hear much more than the distant, siren call of a heavenly voice, words of a very strong, beguiling loveliness would ring within her.

'Come, little dove, little bird, little love... Come and be safe, turn your face back, remember your wings and you'll fly away from them all.'

Still the drow moved, picking his path quietly, carefully as he walked through the dark forest, the highest reaches of the trees overhead like a sea of silver, gossamer light. Ears twitched as Vilrath turned his head, tilting it toward a sound he heard far off, a low hum from this distance.

He felt a tug on his being, something both familiar and foreign in the sound he discerned to be a song as he followed it, just realizing its close proximity to Laoell's home.

Finally, the drow reached the treeline, peering around a thick trunk to see the singing Seraph. His brows knitted together as he watched from afar, the veiled memories in the back of his mine slowly having the cover drawn back.

A sudden rush of images, of the wandering drow and the singing maiden meeting in the glen flew through his mind, a slide show of still-life depictions of his earlier months in Rhy'Din flickered before his gaze. Then it was gone and he was staring at Laoell in a new light.

In such a simple, short moment, the drow's lost memories had returned, along with a bitter taste in his mouth and a wrench of his gut.

Dove opened her eyes ... and breathed easily for the first time in many long years. Rolling onto her back, she gazed up at the stars through the canopy of branches overhead, wondering at the beauty she saw there. Wondering, too, how she came to be out here, alone.

Where was Jessie, she wondered idly. It was unlike him not to be nearby; after all they'd been nearly inseparable for almost ... how long had it been? Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. Come to think of it, when had she met him, exactly? And where?

She sat upright, groping through blank spaces where memories should have been. She remembered Jessie, plain as day, and Jessie's friend, Jacob ... she remembered moving from town to town, but not the reason for it ... further back, she remembered playing as a child with her parents, her sister. There was nothing in between. And to her amazement, she did not mind the loss.

Because there was no pain. No pain, no fear, no madness to discolour her mind. She was free.

Laughing suddenly, she scrambled to her feet, looking around wildly. Now which way to go? Which way would take her back to Jessie and Jacob? She set off running, lighter on bare feet than she had been for too long, a wide smile on her face that shone from her eyes. And of course, heading in entirely the wrong direction.

She skidded to a halt, spinning around when she heard Jessie's voice. "Jessie!" Big blue eyes lighting up happily, she ran towards him, flinging herself into his arms with a laugh.

Jessie came to a halt and suddenly Dove was in his arms. He'd never heard her laugh so merrily. His arms tightened around her and he held her to his chest. "I was so worried. But you're alright?" He stepped back, keeping her at arm's length so he could give her the once over in the pale moonlight. Once he saw her eyes, and that smile on her face, he canted his head and creased his brow with curiosity. "What's happened?"

She smiled up at him, a genuine, wide smile that touched her eyes and made them shine. "I, I don't know what happened," she told him, in a sort of wonder. "It feels like I just woke up, as though I've been asleep for so long, and - you're hurt!" Her gaze had dropped to his chest, a gentle hand touching the bloodstain there. "What happened to you?"

He studied her carefully and smiled when she did. "You look so happy, Dove." he brought up a hand to gently push hair back from her face. When she noticed his chest, he laughed it off. "Tried to shave my chest. Didn't do such a good job." He glanced away, then back to her. He wasn't sure exactly what to say, this was a new side of Dove that he barely recognized from the days when she'd first arrived at the meat market.

"Happy?" Her head tilted curiously as she looked up at him. "Have I been sad? I don't know, there's so much missing from my memory all of a sudden, and ... there was this beautiful music ... and then I woke up." She pulled a comically confused face at him. "Jessie, why am I in the Glen in the middle of the night without my shoes?"

"Well everybody's sad, sometimes. But you look very happy, and that makes me happy." he truly was searching for what exactly to say. "And it sounds like you took a walk earlier, had a swim, took a nap, a dragon took your shoes and then you woke up." he laughed. "Or maybe you were just being silly and went for a walk without shoes. I don't know. I was at work all day." He gave her a pat on the shoudler and curved his arm around her. "Let's get you home so you don't catch your death of dampness."

She cuddled into his side with a smile, hugging him one-armed as they walked back towards the city. "Why does me being happy make you happy, Jessie?" she asked curiously. "You have Jacob and your job and we're best friends, you're practically my brother, and I'm happy, but you should be happy without me and ..." She ran out of breath, blinking big innocent eyes up at him.

"Because you are my baby sister and I love you, Dove." He smiled to her as they walked in the darkness. Chatty Cathy Dove was new to him and he kept a bit of his guard up. But it was proving to be difficult the more she spoke. He wished he knew what had happened. Bud Dove seemed... normal, almost. And that was a miracle in itself. He couldn't help but wonder for how long.

She chattered away happily on every subject that came into her head as she pulled him through the streets back to their flat. "Uh, Jessie?" Dove paused in the doorway, looking around in consternation at the mess she had left behind her, though she remembered none of it. "Did we get burgled, or something?"

As she chattered, Jessie was unusually quiet. He was trying to figure out this new side of Dove. She seemed to have the elements of the child Dove and the Adult Dove, with none of the sullen and depressed Dove. When they got inside, he glanced around at the overturned table and the floor littered with the paper cups they'd used for dinner. "No, Dove." He escorted her into the flat, then closed the door behind her. "Go get ready for bed and I'll just clean up."

"No, you're hurt, I'll do that." She waved him away, pushing him down into one of the chairs, and moved to tidy up quietly and efficiently. In the little kitchenette, her eye caught a small splash of blood. "Jessie? Where were you when you were shaving your chest?"

He sighs softly and resigns himself to settle down on the chair. "Really, it's not that big of a deal. He put his hand up over the blood stained shirt, covering as much of the blood there as he could. When she asked that question, Jessie decided to take a different route, the truth. "I wasn't shaving."

Her head appeared around the door, looking over at him curiously. "What happened, then?" She came out of the kitchen, disinfectant and bandages in her hands, together with a bowl of water and a clean cloth. Setting them on the floor beside him, she knelt down, oddly in charge of herself, and for the first time in years, the situation she was in. "Take your shirt off, I need to clean that."

Biting his lip, he pondered just how much to tell her. When Adult Dove was in charge, she usually insisted on the truth and nothing but, even if it hurt her to hear it. So, as Jessie removed his shirt to reveal the long red streak that ran diagonlly across his chest, He sighed. "You were having a moment. And you attacked me." He looked up into her eyes, wondering what the revelation would bring.

She blinked, shocked and more than a little horrified by the thought. But Jessie never lied to her. "I did that?" Her expression was stricken, but her shock and pain was not enough to prevent her from gently cleaning the cut as she spoke. "I don't ... I don't remember doing it. I would never hurt you, you're my only friend, the most important person in my life. Am I sick? Is that why I don't remember this?"

He winced as she applied antiseptic to his wound, and tried to keep the pain from his voice as it stung. "You were sick." He nodded, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. "You don't remember anything? What do you remember?" He kept watching her, trying to keep from flinching.

"I remember going to the market this morning," she told him quietly, cutting up a long strip of gauze ready to stick onto his chest. "And making dinner for you when you got home from work. Then there's nothing ... not until I woke up in the Glen." She frowned, but it wasn't a worried or concerned expression. If anything, she looked vaguely annoyed at not being able to remember clearly. "Why do you ask? Do I normally remember hurting you?"

"It depends." he blew out a breath. The stinging had subsided as she applied the gauze. "Eventually you remember, then you get so depressed about it. You don't mean to do it, Dove. I know you don't. You're not in your right mind when that happens. I don't blame you at all. I could never blame you, Dove. None of this is your fault."

"Then ..." She paused, securing the gauze with tape. "How long have I been crazy, Jessie? Long enough that you know how to handle the craziness in me?" she asked, her expression serious and searching. There was logic being applied behind those eyes, though, something Jessie had probably never seen Dove do.

Indeed, Jessie had never seen her process anything behind those big eyes. "I wouldn't say crazy." he blew out a breath and when she was done taping, he gently touched his own chest. "Thank you." He gave her a fond smile. "You just had to deal with things. But I think that you've finally come to terms and your mind has blocked out what you could not handle. And I'm glad. I'd love to watch you sleep peacefully."

"I don't sleep soundly?" Dove frowned again thoughtfully, shifting up to sit on the arm of his chair and lean against him, actively seeking tactile comfort with her best friend. "Funny, I don't remember any of this. What could possibly have touched me that I would go crazy trying to deal with it?"

Jessie scoot over just far enough and placed his arms around her, to comfort her and to comfort himself, too. This was new and strange and he simply hoped the honest to God's truth wouldn't cause a relapse. But he couldn't lie to her. Not after everything they'd been through and all of the lies that they'd been told. "We met at a not so nice place, Dove." He gently rubbed her back, hoping that it would ease the pain of the truth that he was revealing. "An auction house, and you and I were up on the auction block, almost every night."

She wrapped her arm around his shoulders, resting her head on his as she listened. "What were we sold for?" she asked him softly, stroking her hand through his hair gently. She could sense that this was hard for him to talk about, but with no memory of the events, she could not say whether his confession was necessary or not.

"Whatever they wanted." he whispered and closed his eyes. The memories, the sights, sounds, even the horrible stench of sweaty bodies pressed together, filled his mind and senses. His nostrils flared as he tried to catch his breath. "Mostly sex, violent, soul wrenching rape." He opened his eyes and they shone with unshed tears. "I'm glad you don't remember, Dove."

"Jessie ..." Her eyes filled with tears for his pain in telling her, and she wrapped his head in her arms, holding him close in a gentle embrace, coo'ing softly to him as she rocked back and forth as a parent would to a child. "I wish there was some way I could help you forget."

He closed his eyes as she comforted him, just like in the days when they were stuck in that horrible place. "No, i don't want to forget." He opened his eyes and leaned back to gaze into her face with a smile. "There are the auction people after us, still. And I never want to forget what they look like. I have to keep you safe."

Her hand stroked gently against his cheek. "What about Jacob?" she asked softly. "You deserve some happiness, Jessie. He makes you happy, I've seen it. I don't need watching over every hour of my life." She smiled affectionately, hugging him again. "Come on, let's get you to bed. You look exhausted."

At the mention of Jacob's name, Jessie did smile brightly. "He does make me happy, Dove. And he cares about the both of us. It was huge for him to hear what we had been through. But he's still here and I think he wants to keep us safe." He nodded tiredly and stood up, holding his hand out to her. "It's funny, you're taking care of me now." He couldn't help but laugh a little. "And I didn't watch over you every second of every day. But I was there, when you needed me. And you were there, when I needed you." He gave her hand a squeeze. "And that's how it's always going to be."

She rose, taking his hand, and hugged him affectionately. "Thank you for taking care of me, Jessie," she murmured, looking up at him with clear, sane eyes. Eyes that could not remember the horror they had been through, but felt the pain he radiated acutely. A faint echo of that faraway music filled her mind, and she felt her heart throb with gratitude for whatever that elusive, unknown being had done for her. Jessie took care of her. It was her turn, now.