5:22 The star of memory.

 The silvery light of the moons shone gently in the skies, but was brightly reflected back in every facet of the waters that were split by the passing of the relatively small, two masted ship.  There wasn't much wind, but it was sufficient to give gentle play to the sea, and to fill the sails, pushing the ship westward.  The ship's current captain, called the Jackal, who'd had no intention whatsoever of seeing the vast, open waters even once in his long lifetime, gazed over the starboard side at the radiance of a guiding star.  While the fact that the Eladrin ship captain did not need sleep had long ceased to irk the mostly-Human crew, only his first mate had truly learned the difference between curious wandering and restless pacing.  Spying the starcrossed man from the steering wheel, the first mate set a stop on the wheel to keep the voyage relatively on course, then made his way toward the right side of the ship.  It only took him a few moments to ease up behind the taller man.

"Open sea, this," the gruff, bearded man counseled.  "Won't see land fer a good bit."

The blond Elf before him didn't jump or flinch, and while the old Human man didn't let a shadow of the sentiment cross his face, he felt amused.  His captain's keen ears could catch even the most careful footfalls over the swishing of the water, the whistling of wind, and the groaning of the sloop's wooden bones.  In his opinion, the Eladrin didn't sleep because his acute sense of hearing wouldn't allow true slumber, but his offers of cotton or wax balls were always politely refused.

"No, Maison," the captain replied calmly and evenly.  "I certainly won't.  My spirit has accepted that reality, but unfortunately, I am possessed of a rather stubborn soul."

The old sailor puffed out a few tight chuckles before he responded.  "Ya've a pathmate in yer man on't.  Wernvuld and I was 'ammer an' tong afore some 'round 'ere even sucked teet.  Beastuva thing, 'im dead."

The Jackal turned his face to his first mate with something that looked like a faint concern in his blue-green eyes.  "Instruct me, ser; if the most honourable thing to do is to be challenged and put to death, I shall submit."

This time, the Human outright laughed.  "It's a full idjit gonna come atcha sword in 'and, havin' seen ya put sent stamps on however many idjits afore 'im," he finally managed when he could catch his breath.  "It weren't no tears dropped in pints fer Wernvuld's loss.  Yer man was years walkin' aback o' light- makin' 'ostages o' fam'lies, med'cines, 'oly writ, enythin' fer a bit o' coin.  I knew it weren't right, but I wasn't for puttin' a halt on't, 'cuz I likes me pockets full as th' next man.  Powerful small coin for a soul, innit?"

"There's not so much coin in any land, or to be had by any job, as can buy a soul," the captain corrected, one of his thin blond eyebrows raised in mock suspicion.

"Aye, but the price o' th' seller's nae the fault o'th' buyer," Maison answered in a less jovial tone.

"That's... just as true," the captain conceded.  With a soft scoff, he turned away from the first mate and looked across the waters.  "I've done my share of soul selling- a few lords have been made temporary guests, and certainly some shipping attempts have been disrupted.  I've not particularly made friends of the law-enforcing naval representatives of many coastal countries.  I suppose I've merely been setting the price on all our souls as high as I believe I should dare."

The first mate crossed his arms over his wide chest and turned around, so that he could rest his back on the rail.  " 'Oldin' a rich man fer ransom's a better business than 'oldin' the poor ones what works fer th' same," he shrugged.  "More, it's 'ardly a serf but's glad when the grain got lowered inna their rowboats 'steada burnt, sunk i'th' waters, or spoilt i'th' dock for want o'th' tarriff.  Food's fer eatin', not fer one king holdin' away from another, and plenny o' peasant folks had powerful need o' what we done."

"Yet, the law is not of our part," the captain answered.  "If a guardship or a freemariner were to board us, we'd every one be killed or jailed as criminals."

"Piss talk, that," the first mate laughed.  "Eny tub the likes o' them puts to sea, th' Princess's faster.  They ain't friendly, no, but it's just as much 'cause ya does good on the folks what's beneath 'em, as it is 'ow ya does said good.  Now, 'cause yer smarter than ever was Wernvuld i' th' writin', figurin' an' 'agglin', just so 'appens that doin' good's also turnin' a bit o' profit."

The captain offered a very gentle, small, and quiet laugh.  For a few moments, the two men stood in silence.  Just when the Eladrin began stirring himself as though he would move away, the Human man huffed at him.

"Aye now; it's a long while I 'aven't seen Ser DiCiprione make a show of 'imself 'erebouts.  Yer man wonders what called 'im, is all."

For a few moments, the ocean eyes of the Eladrin flitted everywhere but toward the Human man's face.  But a deep sigh that ended as a weary chuckle finally resettled them.

"I see my cloak of deceit is poorly worn with you who keep such close company with me; I may as well throw it off," the Jackal began.  With a sigh, he continued, "I have made... reasonable decisions.  The most honourable, yet practical, ones available to me- to us all.  In this enterprise, I have earnestly sought the gods for guidance, but... well.  The silence that rests where their answers should be is... quite damning."

The first mate nodded slowly, leaning off the rail and turning back around so that he was facing the same way as his captain.  " 'Ad ye an appren'ice or a wee one back 'ome?"

"Ah, no," the Eladrin replied wistfully.  "I never managed to climb high enough in the ranks to earn knighthood, which would have granted the privilege of an apprentice.  As for the child- another old petition unanswered.  I can only hope that the righteous woman once given me by her father will now be remembered of the gods, given again to another, and blessed with as many little joys as she desires."

"The gods're each an ocean all their own, vast and wild, and ne'er to be fully learnt.  Like as not they ain't never forgot neither 'er nor you," the first mate counseled, drawing closer to the Eladrin as though there were someone awake to overhear their words.  "Ya does 'ave quite the admirer in Dredge, but... argh.  Pardon yer man pokin' in'at wound."  

"I think not poorly of you for it; I'm certain you had no malicious intent in your query."  DiCiprione turned his blue green eyes away from the dark horizon and looked fully into his companion's face.  "I'm also certain there was to be a hidden wisdom in the answer."

Maison Veltrass thought honestly back to each storm and every cloudy night he'd worked at the wheel.  "There was, but yer man'll have to sing outa the psaltry 'e knows."  After a few minutes of quiet had passed, he finally said, "In times o' high storm or thick cloud, when it's ne'ery a star to be seen, yer man steers by mem'ry.  It's so often yer man's been at the wheel with charts and stars that even when 'e sees nany o' them, they're as good as printed in 'is mind.  So, 'e keeps close ta what seems right i' th' mind's eye, 'til proper eyes can see sky ag'in.  Now, what with yer leadin' shipwide prayers mornin' an' night, off'rin' milk and rich fixin's enytime yer 'ands gets ahold of 'em... seems ya does that type o' steerin' already, and like as no, a powerful lot o' our mums'd thank ye fer th' service.  Th' Bright Lord's never 'eard me voice as much as these days; it weren't yer choice ta take Wernvuld's ship, but ya does good on us.  It's not a man o'us quit th' sloop since ya come.  Ask yer man, an' that there's word an' deed o'th' gods enough.  But keep yer course til ya sees sky yerself, Cap'in.  That's all."

The Jackal smiled softly.  "Indeed; veritas, Maison.  Aye, and veritas.  Thank you."

5:21 The persistent bard.

 The morning chill in the air roused Seyashen, who was only recently becoming accustomed to sleep that was actually restful.  He blinked a few times, taking in the change in scenery around him- the road had lost all paving, although it was marked well enough.  The proud stone homes of the larger city he'd left had been replaced by much smaller, wooden cottages.  A few were painted, but the colours seemed to speak more to some type of treatment against fire, rot, or vermin than actual decoration.  Just as the hornless Tiefling began to search the back of his mind for any memory that would give him any clues as to the paint's nature, a very purposeful clearing of the throat sounded beside him.  He turned and saw a man, apparently Human, dressed in dusty finery.  His packs, both oddly-shaped and sitting between his feet, were obviously well made, but patched in quite a few places.  The man himself sported no scars that Seyashen could readily notice, and did not give off the faint warmth of arcane magical potential.  The Tiefling wondered if perhaps he was looking at either a divine spellcaster, or a naturalist.

"A penetrating gaze you have, ser," the Human smiled genuinely.  "You have here the fine town of Arabel- home to masterful traders, hard working herders, wood shapers, and strong guards, I do assure you.  What's brought you?"

Seyashen nodded slowly as if any such people mattered to him.  "A pilgrimage," he finally answered, unable to think of anything more believable.

The Human's smile didn't fade a bit.  "I suppose I deserve such a careful answer; you do me honour to traffic with me before I offered any of my own wares, as it were.  My name is Philo; born and raised here, but wandered quite some ways away until lately.  I suppose I too could say that I am on pilgrimage, for is not the aim of all such journeys the veneration of saints and relics?  Well, the saints of my devotion are the keepers of histories, and the relics holy to me are the flute, lute, and lyre."

Seyashen nodded again, this time at a complete loss for anything to say at all.

"I am to perform at the Weary Knight, if you'd like to hear any of the blessings my wanderings have earned me," Philo offered.  "I shall rest there for a while before heading farther north.  Or perhaps south.  Or toward or away from the morning horizon- you see, I go wherever I am bid by the fanciful gods."

Still at a loss, Seyashen hummed and nodded, wishing that he were as capable of ending a conversation with a living being as most dead beings were at ending them with him.  They never chatted on longer than they had to, even if they were friendly.  They manifested, dropped their various messages over his head like so many loose potatoes, and then either melted into mist or simply walked away.  A few were more dramatic, rattling furniture or spooking nearby animals as they went, but absolutely none bothered with what mortals considered etiquette.

"I wonder, ser, if you've not had your full health recently?" Philo asked.  He lowered his tone and scooted slightly closer to Seyashen on the cart's bench, as though he were making an effort to keep Seyashen's reply confidential.

Seyashen raised an eyebrow and asked, "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, now, come ser," Philo chided gently.  "It's not polite to answer a question with a question."

Seyashen got a grip on himself and gave an uneasy chuckle.  "Well, I suppose that's so, where you're from."

"That's... common knowledge," Philo laughed gently.  "Everywhere I've ever been, actually."

Seyashen noted the absence of a question.  It felt to him like the charged moment before a lightning strike, or the tenuous stillness before the pounce of a predator.  And just that quickly, the awareness of the predator, the energy of the lightning, filled his being from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head.  He felt himself begin to smile, and looked away from Philo, toward the fields and herds of Arabel.

For a few minutes, there was quiet between the two men.  However, Philo never moved farther away from Seyashen, and Seyashen allowed the sensation of potential energy to hum and stretch inside of himself.  He was much more alert, prepared, and calm when Philo broke the silence again- as he supposed he would.

"Place hasn't changed since I was a boy.  Beautiful, in an old, rustic kind of way.  It would be more affluent, had it not been razed by several battles and an occupation."

Seyashen didn't look at Philo.  "It rather reminds me of another city that has had to rise from its ashes more than once."

Philo made a very quiet noise of interest.  "Allow me to sweeten my invitation to the Weary Knight with a drink," he said kindly.  "Bards, as I hope to demonstrate, are good friends for those with inquisitive minds to have."

Seyashen slowly turned his golden gaze to Philo, and as he did, a familiar chill cooled the morning air still more, causing a few of the other cart passengers to pull shawls and cloaks closer around themselves.  Just over Philo's shoulder, Seyashen saw the faint phantom of a fully armed Human man, looking at the bard with an amused smile.  The type of smile that came with dearly held memories.

"You must be used to lively fellows," the Tiefling replied.   "I am not such a one- in fact, I make rather unpleasant company.  You won't make proper coin, if I'm anywhere around."

"Be kinder to yourself, good ser," Philo replied warmly, but very quietly.  "You're lively enough to have not finished a phylactery, I'd wager.  It's a fine thing, being mortal.  It's in my nature to tempt the likes of you into having a bit more fun at it."

Seyashen shrugged and turned his attentions back out to the landscape.  "You may as well say whatever it is you will say to me at full voice, Ser Bard.  The more careful I try to be, the more obvious I am."

"Reggius," Philo corrected, his smile widening into a self-satisfied grin.  "Philo Reggius.  And you're not the first man I've met with that... ahem... problem.  Bards provide excellent distraction; not only will I make coin just fine, I can make you less obvious, if you so wish, Ser Lich."

"Seyashen," the hornless Tiefling chuckled.  "I have no wish to try tales with a professional, or I'd trot out the rest of what I've been called these past few weeks.  You're correct in that I haven't quite gotten around to binding my soul to some tawdry bit of jewelry, but... I really do make poor conversation.  No fun at most parties."

"I'm certain you do have a way with words," Philo joked.  "Said words are... well... merely pronounced in colder climes, to a stiffer audience.  Yet, I am pleased to have earned your acquaintance.  I shall do my utmost not to repay you in regret."

The End is the Beginning 5:20: The cycle.

 Ser Raffie Rafael-

Mum n I cudnt agre on how yer nem spelt.  The gran sed hee nuit, so I hop its clos at lest.  Im sposd to bles you in the nems of the gods but I duno howta spel eny gods atal and if I spel em rong mebe thel be mad so.  No gods.  But bles you althe sem innit.

I go to markit now animor becus Mum dusnt want mee to go steelin.  I told er I wudnt but its no us so I just do as shee ses laik you akst.  Shee ses hulo aswel.  Its the gran in the cornr teechin mee raitin hee dusnt rait so I duno owhee dus it but Mum ses to lern so Im duin that laik you akst.  And eniway shees my Mum so I do it my frends cant atal so I dunt sho of onlee mmeb mebb I jus dunt then eniway.

Wen ar you visitin becus I want to tak to you agin laik how you shod me yer way of opnin botls also purs but no steelin becus Mum wud be a ful raiut eniway.  Also Meree an Ponee Mary an Bunny ses hulo.  Bunny laik the wee creetcher Shee didnt meen for mee to rait that sory.  Plees visit thak you.

Kullee
Kuhloch

Also gods bles you agin an suchlaik.  Mum sed so.  Also shee ses hulo or bai Im not serten of wich.  The gran dusnt say boo but I think hee laikt it wen you were heer.  So visit him aswel.



Karri bit the insides of her lips with a short sigh as she folded the letter.  Her hands sank to her lap, and she looked into the small, but crackly fireplace at the center of the cottage.  She heard her battered wooden front door, such as it was, open and shut.  The strong scents of sweat, straw, and excrement, underscored gently by those of open fields, metal, and grain, struck her nose.  There were a few moments during which Keri heard nothing but the shuffling of paper, and she knew that her interception would itself be caught.

Sure enough, a few moments after the rustling of paper stopped, a young wiry teenage boy stepped from the front room to the hearth room and crossed his harshly tanned, muscular arms over his chest.  "Well?"

The voice, just as sharp as his father's had ever been, snapped Karri out of her musing.  There was a tinge of impatience to it that made the dark hued woman's skin itch.

"Well what?" she shot back without turning around to meet her elder son's eyes.

"Are you going to hand that over?" the teenager asked.  "It's not for you; you know it and I know it.  Why it's here in the first place is anybody's guess."

"It was thought, somehow, that he came with me," Karri frowned.  "Not sure why, but his name was even read aloud at the docks, as though he'd come ashore."

Kirk scoffed, rubbing some of the soreness out of his shoulders absent-mindedly.  "Sold his passage, perhaps.  Some fool running about with his name, now.  Or perhaps only claimed to be himself long enough to get here.  Big enough place for some ill-fated foreigner to break a bad spell off clean, make a new start.  Anyway, gimme the man's letter; he isn't here, and he won't be coming."

Karri's face darkened further, and she crossed her own arms over her chest with the letter clutched tightly.  "You don't know-"

The young man behind Karri raised his eyebrows, which caused some of the caked dirt on his forehead to crack away from it.  "You're joking- 'You don't know'?  You can't really have thought that he was going to come and play house with us.  Come and put me in my place, or something?"  He shook his head with another short puff of bitter laughter, then held out his right hand expectantly  "Give it, Mama; give me his letter so I can-"

It was all Karri could do not to rush over to her firstborn and slap him.  "First of all, Kirk Arthur Nglend, you have no business speaking to me that way, and-"

"You have no business going through my mail as though that man is going to write you- he can't, didn't you say that yourself?  And even if he could, would he?" Kirk charged, momentarily clenching his fists at his sides.  The muscles that clung desperately to his still-childish frame thickened and slackened in turns.  "I know I wouldn't, in his shoes."

"Oh ho, your mail!  How dare you, you thankless whelp!" Karri exclaimed.  "I don't care who says what about what, you are the child here!  And what do you know about-"

Kirk tried to swallow, but his jaw and throat were both too tight.  He closed his eyes and spoke through gritted teeth.  "I know plenty, because three days after you just bundled yourself up and left, like Harold, I went to Beausace and demanded any information about your departure that she knew, anything she even suspected.  I told her that Lamar and I were in pieces, because we were.  There we'd been- me trying to actually talk to you, Lamar throwing himself around you- I told your lady that we begged you to think, to wait, to at least be safe, while this shiftless stranger stood like a pillar and watched the show.  You left; just picked up your skirts around you as though we were so much dust to be shaken off- I had to carry Lamar back here in my arms like if he were half as old as he is.  And because this is my house- take it up with your good mistress if you think it's not- Beausace repented, and told me everything.  Everything, including the part where you looked happy to take part in this madness.  Absolutely chuffed, thrilled to bits, downright fiendishly pleased to smash whatever might've been left of that unsuspecting man to dust, and for what?  For an old crazy mage's experiment?  She even showed me your letters to her about the matter, as soon as each one arrived into her hands.  Told me I should be happy for you.  That you were finally recovering from what Harold did to you.  That you wouldn't be lonely anymore, as if your loneliness is any of her or my concern."

"If you don't care about me or how I feel, at least pretend you do, for pity's sake," Karri retorted.  She'd wanted it to sound like a demand instead of a plea, but her voice wouldn't obey her.  "And don't say your father's name like that, as though he were no kin to you."

"That man isn't kin to me, because he chose not to be.  He left you without a coin to your name.  Left Lamar and I with heads full of lies and hearts full of broken promises- fine apprenticeships and travel and loving guidance- absolute nonsense that he had no intention of ever fulfilling, since he never wanted us, or you, to begin with.  Left me with his job- brushing down horses, and mucking stalls, and scrubbing pen walls, and running down stray goats, and skinning foxes so's the lady of the land can ride her pretty, pampered filly, and have milk and eggs and fresh made fur coats whensoever she snaps her thin, pale fingers."  Kirk coughed out a laugh so bitter that it pierced Karri's heart.  "He's lucky I call him his name, and not worse."

Karri turned her back on Kirk's frustration.  "So in some strange revenge on your father, and now on me, you've sent Lamar halfway across the country to be apprenticed.  I come back, and my second born is simply gone, as though he'd been stolen by Semmites!  I know you both better than you think.  He'll hate it, and you."

Kirk shrugged, unbothered by Karri's solemn opinion.  "He's welcome to hate me; I hope he's got the balls to, actually.  It's the family pass time, all of us hating the piss out of each other; he's got a right to do it, and if he ever sets pen to paper to tell me how much he hates me, I'll write him back just the same.  You didn't tell me anything about why you were leaving, how long you'd be gone, or what you expected me to do in the meantime, remember?  As far as I knew, I was the only responsible person left in the house.  Day in, day out, Lamar and I looking at each other across the table trying to figure out what in all the hells to do now that both our parents had abandoned us- do you think that was fun?  Do you think I enjoyed that as much as you enjoyed warming that washout soldier's lap?  For some bloody daft old mage?  Gods, save us- give me the letter and let's be done with this whole matter."

"I should throw it in the fire; then what?" Karri spat back, trying to catalyze her guilt into true anger.

"Power is power, isn't it?" Kirk snapped suddenly.  His anger, as real and sharp as any weapon, made a tremor of fear shoot up his mother's spine. "Agency, any meager scrap of actual choice you can hold on to- and control!  Over Harold, Lamar, me, Beausace, this Rafael, now.  You'd do anything to make anybody feel as bound, pushed around and helpless as you always are, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, how dare you!" Karri whispered tensely, standing up and whirling around with tears in her eyes.  "It hasn't been easy, you know!  You've got years to go before you can even pretend to be as bitter about this lot in life as I deserve to be!  Yet I choose to take opportunities where I can; I choose to find the good in things, even when it's difficult."

"The good?"  Kirk tilted his head a bit, as though a household pet had done something mildly amusing.  "This, then, is good?  This is the way of the Bright Lord, you standing there with a letter stolen from another fatherless child, written to a half-broken man to whom you lied since the minute you met him?  Is this what the priests taught you is 'good'?"

"Don't speak to me like that; I'm still your mother," Karri spat, tossing the letter to the floor.  "There, you venom-tongue bruiser; fetch it if you want it."

"Everything I have is yours, Mama.  Including the venom tongue."  Kirk sighed deeply and picked the crushed letter up, tucking it into the band of his beat up work apron.  "We live in a house that Beausace affords us in exchange for my work, an arrangement older than I am, originally made with Harold.  And both of us work our fingers to the bone to repay the debt that isn't ours, while Harold himself either walks free or lies dead somewhere.  Then suddenly, poof- I'm alone.  All I could think of was how to give Lamar a chance to get away from here- any chance at all.  I found him the farthest apprenticeship I could because I feared that you wouldn't come back, that Beausace would saddle Lamar with your part of the debt, and find him some idiot menial job in which he'd be forced to pretend to work it off.  It wasn't revenge.  It was fear.  But I'm not sorry for it, and while you're just as free to hate me all you like as Lamar is, you know that you have no one to blame for my decision but yourself."

Karri snorted.  "I should slap your face."

"Go ahead, if it makes you feel better," Kirk replied honestly.  "Though I doubt the back of your hand could hurt me more than the back hooves of Beausace's mannerless horse, which you know I've taken straight to the chest more than once now."

Karri gritted her teeth at the memory of Lamar staring at her from his bed roll, across the room, while Kirk slept fitfully between them, unconsciously groaning in pain.  Rafa's words about how much he could tell her sons loved her by how they held her and spoke to her rang discordantly in her ears.

"If I'd had daughters, you'd have both had to stay by me and stick this out," she finally said sadly, as she stared into the heart of the fire.

"Oh perfect; either three miserable women trapped in a house they'll never own, or one miserable woman here and two miserable women married off to men with more coin than sense.  If there were any gods at all, I'd thank them for sparing us that."  Kirk moved cautiously to his mother's side and sat down on the floor next to her when she didn't make a move to hit him in any way.  "I did send Lamar a letter so soon as you arrived home.  So he'll know you didn't really leave us, and I expect that will help.  He's excellent at weaving, despite the bullies who call it women's work.  It'll be peaceful for him, at least- carding wool, spinning, making beautiful things.  He'll settle his head.  Might come back to us when the sheep are slaughtered, might not.  We were angry- I'm still angry- but we didn't stop worrying about you or loving you.  It was a shock.  I'll recover.  He probably will too.  In the meantime, we'll send this on, and mend some wounds instead of making more.  That's what we can do in this wretched life.  Mend more wounds than we make.  I don't need some priest to tell me that.  Neither do you."

"Kirk," Karri whispered, closing her eyes and letting the tears that were standing in them slip down her cheeks.  "I'm lonely.  No mage made me do it.  Beausace couldn't have forced me- she told me I could refuse.  But I'm damned lonely, and I wanted to be beautiful again.  To be wanted, chased, lusted after.  It's filthy, but it's true.  I haven't been beautiful in years."

Kirk could find nothing to say.  His chest tightened with all the things he knew he shouldn't say- that Harold was a fool to leave her, that her parents were wrong to shove her off onto a poor, worthless abuser like him, that she had always been beautiful, that no one's esteem or lack of it could change that.  But the fact was that she was sitting with a son who had been compelled to run the household as soon as he'd turned the tender age of thirteen, and no man had showed any type in interest in her since Harold left.  The shame of playing father to some other man's children had seen to that.

"We'll find some man to get you out of here," Kirk managed, despite not believing a word.  "He'll pay your part in full and take you, and you'll live fine together.  But this man- he wasn't it.  Even he knew he wasn't, when he stood there looking at us like he did."

Karri looked over at Kirk, and the two surprised each other by catching each other's gaze.  There was a long, heavy silence during which feelings too vast for words slid themselves around, between, and through mother and son.

"I'm sorry it wasn't him, Mama," Kirk said quietly.

"I'm sorry I did what I did when I finally admitted that to myself," Karri replied, looking away from her firstborn and into the heart of the fire.  "It hurts.  Being lonely.  That's what made me do it.  And I can't take it back."

Kirk spent a few moments looking at his mother's profile, then turned to the fire himself.

"He what, left?"

"In a way, yes.  Sometimes it seems like my fate.  Being left."

"Not me."

Karri looked back at her son, and saw the makings of his father in his face.  The squint of his eyes, the squareness of his jaw, even the stiffness in his upper back.  She said nothing, but turned back to the fire, an aching in her chest.  A knowing that some girl would find him attractive, perhaps already had, but that he was either knowingly allowing such chances to pass him by or not paying any heed to their existence.  An awareness that he had fully committed to the responsibility, older and larger than he, that his father had left behind, that said responsibility was putting its claws into him- aging him, draining him- and that she was part of that responsibility.

"If you just give me a moment to compose myself," she breathed, "I'll have dinner started.  I'm sorry I didn't start it as soon as I got home.  It would have been done by now, if-"

"You've been composing yourself all this while," Kirk smiled grimly as he got up.  "I'm going down to the docks; do you need any spices or special fix-its to cook?"

Karri shook her head without saying anything, and listened to the front door open and shut.  She briefly considered allowing her skirts to catch fire, then thought of how painful it would probably be to burn alive.  With a sigh, she got up to remind herself of what vegetables she'd been permitted to take home from Beausace's manse.

5:19 A honeyed apprentice.

The morning sun stretched eager fingers over Silveredge's extended arms as she sat with her legs crossed beneath her and her eyes closed.  For a few moments, Mi'ishaen gazed at the long stretches of beautiful blue flesh that the pitiful, thin white dress left exposed.  Her crimson eyes lingered where the periwinkle of the skin deepened into a tone approaching sapphire- lines of demarcation low on the Shadar-kai's arms and across the middle of her shins; the places where the loose shirt and pants that she wore to work with the Sunfire Mercenaries ended.  She stared at the slow pulsing of the cobalt center of the gal-ralan, and she reminded herself for the hundredth time that the intriguing piece of jewelry was digging metal fangs into the muscle of Silveredge's forearm in exchange for keeping some ephemeral part together with the physical part.

If there were good or kind gods, the Tiefling thought, she wouldn't have to resort to vampire-like jewelry to stay consciously alive.  She wouldn't have to worry about shit like that- no one should have to worry about shit like that.

And then Mi'ishaen imagined angry, cruel gods- giant humanoid figures with smoky formless faces and stars for eyes, looking smugly at the blood-sucking bauble, deeming it a blessing for which Silveredge should give thanks instead of a life-long scourge for which she should curse them at the top of her lungs.  A sensation similar to a passing breeze wafted over Mi'ishaen's body, and she shook her head clear.  Fuck those imaginary shitbags, anyway.

"Are you in a restful position?" Silveredge asked gently, rousing Mi'ishaen from her musings.

"Huh?  Uh... no," the Tiefling admitted.  "I... guess I... got a little distracted."

"Oh?" Silveredge smiled, opening her eyes.  "Your handmaiden wonders what could have possibly drawn your attention away from your holy quest."

Mi'ishaen felt herself blush, and huffed at herself.  "Don't shit-talk me; I'll get there when I get there."

"You can, of course, enjoy the view all the way," Silveredge volleyed knowingly as she closed her eyes again, "since there is nowhere you can go that I won't."

"A threat so beautiful that it would sound like a wedding vow in any temple," Mi'ishaen purred quietly as a smile crept across her face.  She began leaning toward Silveredge.  "In fact-"

"You are too good a temptress, Shadow Child," Aleksei chuckled as he ambled toward the couple from the street behind them.  "You will have your love laying in your lap here in the street before I can find anywhere for you to put door between your happiness and everyone else's eyes."

"Hey, give me more credit; there's plenty of space," Mi'ishaen argued, snapping sharply upright.  "Dog could fit between us if he wanted to."

Silveredge opened her eyes, looked down at the scant foot between her left knee and Mi'ishaen's right, then closed her eyes again.  Niku, peacefully lying off to the Shadar kai's right side, didn't even pick up his head.

"Not even Niku's shadow can be fitting there," Aleksei laughed outright.  "You want to hear what this inkeeper is saying, or you want to tell me more stories?"

"Oh, go on," Mi'ishaen shot back, crossing her arms over her chest.

Aleksei leaned on the outside wall of the nearest house and directed his one functional eye to the street to check for passing guards.  "He is saying that final offer is three gold and one silver per night.  With this, you will have food, drink, one warm bath per day, and Niku can stay with you instead of sleeping in stable."

Silveredge opened her eyes again, with a shadow of doubt in the ever so slight raising of her thin right eyebrow.  "But where will you be, Batya?"

Aleksei heaved a sigh that turned into a few short chuckles.  "Somewhere else, Shadow child.  This innkeeper does not want me under his roof even as servant or guardian."

"No deal, then," Mi'ishaen shot back.  "Set of steel balls the guy's got, to say you can't stay while looking you dead in the face and talking right to you.  Nuh-uh; no way.  He said that to me, he wouldn't be saying much after."

"I know; this is why I am doing all the saying instead of you," Aleksei reminded Mi'ishaen gently.

Niku gave a short puff of breath through his nose, strong enough to kick up a bit of dry grass and dirt in front of him.

"What's next- that boat?  Shaliber's, I think it's called?" Mi'ishaen asked quickly, feeling herself slightly embarrased.

"If it can be avoided, your handmaiden would prefer not to be on a ship of any kind," Silveredge admitted, turning her attentions to Mi'ishaen.

"Oh yeah, yeah, that's right," Mi'ishaen nodded.  She rubbed at the nape of her neck a few times, then returned to a vague imitation of Silveredge's meditative pose.  "Sorry about that; for a second there, I forgot how poorly you were feeling on the way here.  I kind of put shitty stuff out of my head the second it's over."

"You are not the only one doing this with bad memories and feelings," Aleksei shrugged.  "Many times, this is useful way of moving forward, adapting quickly.  But, you will have to keep the bad things that are teaching lessons, or you will feel them again- and it will be feeling worse the second or third time than the first."

Mi'ishaen looked up at Aleksei, who still wasn't looking down at either of the women in front of him.  "You say that like a man that's lived it," she said simply.

"Da," Aleksei replied, almost without any detectable emotion in his voice.  But, to Silveredge, who just barely turned her eyes enough to see him, that single word carried beneath it a deep, vast undertone of regret.  Perhaps sensing her gaze, the Dragonborn at last turned his head.

"How about The Roving Dragon?" the Shadar-kai asked meekly, returning to the subject at hand before Aleksei could hide away what little of his deepest self she was capable of divining.

"Wait, wasn't that the place that said Niku had to sleep outside in the street with the other dogs?" Mi'ishaen countered.

"No; we haven't tried visiting The Roving Dragon as yet," Silveredge reminded gently.  "You're thinking of the Leaning Post."

"Oh yeah," Mi'ishaen said thoughtfully.  And then, as if to cover for the distance of her tone, she spat, "A total crap shack.  So many itchy mercs, of course you have to just lean.  Lay down, and you wake up dead."

Aleksei made a short formless sound that could neither be interpreted as support for or an argument against Mi'ishaen's opinion.

"The prices were at least approaching reasonable," Silveredge shrugged.  "We may have to choose between spending an unsustainable amount of coin to stay in a decent place, and spending a more affordable sum in order to eat, drink, and sleep on less than desirable things."

"Okay, the second one, obviously," Mi'ishaen sighed.  "Maybe it's the name that makes me itchy, yeah?  Rather not be any closer to any guards around here than I have to be, even in name."

"The innkeeper also is speaking of place called The Hidden Lady, eh?" Aleksei suggested.  "Maybe that name will make you less itchy?"

Niku made a round, pitchy noise of complain.

"What?  This is only little gentle teasing.  I am not meaning to make upset," said Aleksei, raising the scaled ridge of his eyebrow

"Don't worry about it, Dog; my skin's not eggshell," Mi'ishaen puffed as she laid back so that she could look at the serene blueness of the clear morning sky.

"It's not stone, either," Silveredge noted.  "Are you feeling upset?"

"I'm fine... it's just... fuck that guy, y'know?" Mi'ishaen said.  "The inkeeper, not Lyosha."

 "I know this," Aleksei nodded, turning his gaze toward the street again.

 Mi'ishaen took a hint that the Dragonborn may not have even realized he was giving, and lowered her voice as she continued.   "I mean, this is, like, the third inn we've tried, and it's just... it's completely ridiculous.  In Kragal, you could sleep in innkeeper's own bed with his wife still in it, if you paid him enough.  Nobody refused you; they just raised the price until it was worth their while to accept you.  Meanwhile, this guy feels within his right to look at the Dragonborn and tell him that he's less worthy to sleep inside than the actual dog- after I offered to trade poultices and salves, you offered to trade some entertainment time, and Lyosha legit offered to be the guy's bouncer for free, all on top of the actual coin we'd still have to pay!  Just... what is the matter with these people?  What do they want?  We all get paid in their coin, and we exchanged the Urmlaspyr metal long ago, so our money should be good enough for them now, right?"

"We are in their land, and we are strange," Silveredge replied simply.  "We frighten them, so when we ask for any favour, even so small a favour as somewhere to eat, bathe, or rest, they will treat us as they wish, in order to feel in control and safe.  In Sunderhope, my people would also treat you this way.  In fact, they very much treated me that way, because I am sufficiently different to most of them.  It is easy to fear what is different, and fear causes people to act... perhaps a bit unkindly towards us."

" 'Unkindly' is not the word for what's happening right now.  And it's not our fault that we scare them!" Mi'ishaen argued, her voice tight with frustration.  "Who they fear is entirely a 'them' problem.  We shouldn't have to smile, be extra nice, just about get down on our knees and beg for their approval, so that they decide we 'aren't that bad', and they can be so gracious as to allow us to all live like decent folk.  Like, this is basic, basement level consideration, just let us have somewhere safe to live, and they don't even want to do that without an argument?  Sometimes I get Bahzair's point, just killing them outright, no questions asked.  They deserve it."

"And what do we deserve, for tricking them, and stealing from them?" Silveredge countered.

"We wouldn't have to do that if we got treated like people!" Mi'ishaen hollered back, sitting sharply up, her hands curled into furious fists.  "I have never, literally not once, been treated like an actual person by anyone in this entire fucking city!  Has Aleksei?  Have you?  No, right?  No.  So, fuck them.  Every last one of them; fuck them."

There was a silence during which Silveredge and Mi'ishaen realized together that she wasn't talking about just that one innkeeper, or even the people of Suzail, or Cormyr.  The two were stranded in their too-close distance, each unable to decide on the safest way to touch the rawness of the moment.

"I know a man who truly has killed with his lovemaking," Aleksei offered dryly without taking his watchful eye away from the street.  "I do not know if he will be having enough energy to kill all the people treating us in this way, however.  Also, it will take a long time for him to get around to everyone- are you sure we will be staying in this city so long?"

Mi'ishaen's only reply was to flop backward so that she was looking up at the sky again, and Niku padded over to sniff at her immediately.

"Holy shit- I'm fine, Dog," Mi'ishaen groaned.  "Lyosha was making a joke- or do you really think there's a guy alive who can fuck someone to death?  Don't worry about me.  I'll get over it.  Always do."

"And in your recovery, perhaps you will be relieving some generous people of the extra coin that it will take to pay for whatever inn does allow us the basement level consideration, yes?" Aleksei smiled gently, turning his attention directly to Silveredge.  "In my recovery, I will be drinking beer.  Not expensive, to be careful of our coin."

Silveredge tilted her head to the side, and her thick braid slid across her back.  "I... have made myself very... distant.  I can watch life from outside of myself, like a bird watches from a high tree branch.  I believe I would be a water weaver, except I made myself so cold in Sunderhope that the magic had no choice but to freeze along with me.  I learned to pretend that the masters, or others who had control, were nothing but air, or a gentle rain, or something else that I could feel on my skin, but could firmly lock out of my waking self.  Perhaps... in my recovery, I will... continue to relegate the existence of harmful people to the farthest borders of my mind?"

"Amazing- fuck meditation, I want to learn to do that," Mi'ishaen replied, sitting back up.  "I mean, when I see somebody, I can size them up, get a feel for what they might be like and how much they might have, how I can talk my way around them, but... they always exist.  I can't just imagine that they don't exist."

"They always exist," Silveredge corrected.  "However, you don't have to allow them space in your inner being.  The more attention you pay to them, the more of your energy you lend them, and in turn, the more powerful they become.  It's as though you handed them your own daggers to stab you.  So... don't pay attention to their looks or words directly.  Focus only on to how to outmaneuver their actions, how to escape or pervert their intentions.  Listen closely  to the paths of their minds, and then knowingly step out of them.  In that way, you are prepared to avoid being hurt by them, but because of your analytical distance, they cannot twist your mind or emotions in their favour.  They cannot even enter your sleeping consciousness, your most tender and hidden self, if you don't permit it- but I had... many hard years to learn to do that.  For you, it might take actual spellwork."

There was a beat of empty silence.

Mi'ishaen bit her lips and rubbed at the nape of her neck again.  "That was very serious and important information, but holy shit, coming from you, it was the most beautiful collection of words I have ever heard in my life.  You're going to have write shit like that down so that I can read it without... without feeling... I mean, I dunno..."

Silveredge leaned over and kissed Mi'ishaen on the shoulder with the same intensity as she might have joyously bitten a ripe fruit.  "Your handmaiden is not certain why you want to separate learning from pleasure so much.  Why would anyone want to learn anything- in fact, why would any teacher want to teach- if there were not some enjoyment gained from the learning and the teaching?"

And Mi'ishaen thought of her ruined apprenticeship to Iti'idre versus what she'd learned on her own, then what she'd learned from the children in prisons versus what she'd learned from her brother.  "I dunno.  I'm not used to thinking of learning as pleasant.  It's like, if I enjoy it, I'm not trying hard enough, or something."

"It will do little good, our learning, if the ones who are fearing us do not also learn.  But who will be teaching them?" Aleksei noted so quietly that his normally sonorous voice went almost entirely unheard.  Niku snorted as though something undesirable had gotten into his nose, and the musing Dragonborn thought nothing of it.

"I'll be happy to continue telling you serious and important things once we have someplace to truly rest; we are all clearly in need of it," Silveredge smiled.  "Of the places we've actually visited, the Wailing Wheel has been closest to amenable."

"Why pay stranger for poisoning when Bahlzair is willing to do it for free?" Aleksei quipped, speaking loudly enough for the ladies to hear him.  "But instead, let us try Hidden Lady as this innkeeper is suggesting.  Maybe he is doing us quiet favour, pointing us in better direction."

Silveredge got up purposefully.  "We can at least take a look- perhaps this innkeeper doesn't want us under his roof due to pressure from somewhere else, but doesn't necessarily want to force us to find an alley to sleep in."

"It is only thought," Aleksei shrugged when he caught sight of Mi'ishaen's glower.  "Now, Hidden Lady is far from your jobs; it is all the way on the docks, the innkeeper is saying."

"We'll just have to get up earlier," Silveredge noted.  "Mishka is always racing the fingers of the dawn witch anyway, so it won't be difficult for her."

"It'll suck for you, if you ever catch a hangover," Mi'ishaen shot back at Aleksei.

"It is good for me that I do not do this," Aleksei replied simply.  "You do, because you are needing practice at drinking."

"Oh no, no, no; no way am I going to drinking classes too," Mi'ishaen protested.  "Meditation, okay.  Locking people out of my mind, or whatever- fine.  But learning to suckle a keg is off limits."

5:18 Tracking blood.

 "Good morning, High Captain Sakoda!" a young inner guard smiled.  He turned his brown eyed gaze just slightly down to the tall child whose beautiful blue dyed cotton dress seemed not to quite pair with their bare feet and half-shaven head.  "This is...?"

"Jana," Sakoda replied for the fifth time that morning.  "My eldest."

Jana could almost feel the " 'Eldest what?' " that the guard likely would have asked had the object of the conversation not been standing right there.  A ripple of nervous energy caused them to clench and unclench their fists a few times.

"Well, good morning, Miss Jana," the guard cooed.  "How old are you, darling?"

"Fourteen harvest tides," Jana answered evenly, despite tensing their jaw.

Sakoda watched the discomfort bloom in his child's chest, but compelled his face to be calm.

"So, close to handfasting age!" the guard smiled.  The enthusiasm was genuine, but a bit too hopeful.  Both child and parent tensed their upper bodies as a result.  "You're certain to make a beautiful partner to whatever lucky guy gets your ribbon about his wrist."

"Perhaps," Sakoda replied, trying to not sound as irked as he felt.  "We've a while yet for that.  Apprenticeship first."

"Oh, I see," the guard said.  While he was still smiling just as brightly as before, something about the response still struck both listeners as less than pleased with Sakoda's words.  "Well, Tymora grant you fortune on all fronts."

"Thank you," Jana said simply.  When the guard moved away, they relaxed the tense muscles between their shoulders.

"Damned birdhounds, almost to the last man," Sakoda sighed gustily when he and Jana had gotten far enough away to go unheard.  "Half the force in charmhouses, the other under their lovers' skirts, and they all wonder why I stay in the wine cellar."

Jana snickered as a response, and the left corner of Sakoda's mouth tipped up into a smirk at the sound.

The two walked over the painted emblems of various gods, and Jana took their time to gaze down at the symbols of Vecna, Lolth, and Shar.

"Don't worry so loudly," Sakoda said without even looking down at Jana.  "Ci-ci isn't made of such stuff as would worship the likes of them."

"But she spends a lot of time with Dale," Jana noted quietly.

"Asmodeus's symbol is over there-" Sakoda noted, pointing at a stone too far to his left for Jana to be able to see from their vantage point.  "-and I should be looking for Shar's, seeing as you've spent just as much time with that paper white skinned Shadar-kai girl recently - what's her name again? Kashiknaira?"

"Kazikmyra," Jana corrected automatically.  They looked up at their father sharply, biting their lips as though they'd just told a dear secret.  "But... no one... calls her..."

"Right," Sakoda shrugged, forcing himself to be calm about the situation despite the knot that tied itself tightly at the pit of his stomach.  "Myra, then.  Not hard to look at, I've heard.  And when she gets angry?  Quite literally electrifying."

"I... can... stay away, if..." Jana began, the words grinding slowly and painfully between their teeth.

Sakoda gave a short, quiet grunt.  "No.  Your mother said she was worried about your not having any friends, so... no."

"Her mother doesn't like me one bit," Jana said.  It was a strained attempt at comfort, but Sakoda took it for its intention.

"Because you're a Human at all, or because you specifically have Ser Sadist for a father?" Sakoda asked frankly, unable to find a more delicate way of addressing the situation.

Jana licked their lips and bit them again.  "I... think she likes Ditch just fine."

Sakoda hummed- a deep rumble absolutely fitting for the seismic activity roiling just underneath the tectonic plates of his face and upper body.

"But neither of them worship Shar.  Myra hates Shar, actually, and says she doesn't worship anything at all.  Which... she might really not, and..."  Jana looked back down at the painted stones as the two continued walking over them.  "I don't think I can convince her of Lathander."

"Of course not; you're not even convinced of Lathander," Sakoda scoffed.

Jana looked up at their father with an absolutely cold terror.

"I'm not angry about it, and I haven't told your mother.  If I told her everything I either suspected or outright knew, you would have been shunted up to the hag on the hill so soon as I noticed you making eyes at the Lliira acolytes," Sakoda soothed.  "I solved two... and I hesitate to say 'problems'... at once; so far as your mother knows, you're immensely interested in becoming a Lliira acolyte yourself, and that's why you've been so half hearted at temple lately.  When she finds out I'm 'wrong' about that, she'll only blame it on my being a man, and thus, out of touch with you and Ci-ci."

"That's..."  Jana wiped at their nose, which had begun to burn.  

"I know.  Not the first time I've lied, and it won't be the last.  The peace we'll temporarily enjoy because of it, is worth it."  Sakoda knowingly picked up the pace, and didn't stop to make any kind of conversation with the guards at the manse doors, the messengers, or even the few seated counselors already in their thrones for the morning.  All of them, used to his sharp, quiet morning salutes, thought nothing of the lack of words exchanged.  When the two arrived at the steps down to the dungeons, Jana slowed down, only taking a few tenuous steps after their father.

"C'mon, Nannie; keep up," Sakoda urged without looking back.

A protest prickled the tip of Jana's tongue, but they bit it, and headed quickly down the stairs after their father.  Once safely below the manse's stone floors, under the first two levels of the prison, and past the door that separated his grotesquely furnished "wine cellar" from the rest of the prison's lowest floor, Sakoda turned around to face his child.  Jana was astonished at how worn his face was, as though he'd aged a decade in ten minutes.

"Alright; now, tell me who you are," he commanded in a still, quiet voice.

"Who I...?" Jana began, unable to keep their confusion off of their face or their fear out of their eyes.

"Yes," Sakoda urged.  "I don't want your sister to keep trying to hint at me, or the hag to go through whatever pretense of a test she's cooked up for... look, I want you to tell me yourself, and I get the feeling that this might be the only place you'd feel safe enough to do it, so here we are."

Jana breathed deeply and wiped at their nose, but couldn't stop their eyes from welling up.  "Dad, I..."

The cold winds of the outer realms seemed to pass between father and child.

"Well, I am glad you know that much," Sakoda sighed when he realized that fear had put too firm of a grip on Jana's throat for them to finish their sentence.  "Nevermind going down to the Pillars to have my name ripped off you; that won't happen.  So breathe deep, and take your time.  Once I'm down here, no one above expects to see me for hours.  And Gwennie-I can send her off when she comes, if that helps."

Jana shook their head, but still couldn't manage to make any words come out of their mouth.  A million excuses, a million lies, swirled in their head- falling apart, and exploding, and tumbling over each other in the panicked chaos of their mind.  Nothing made sense; there was no single through line or explanation anywhere.

Sakoda watched the storm wash over the strong, striking facial features that were so much like his own.  He remembered wiping food, blood, and dirt from the mouth, neck, and hands when they were all much smaller.  He recalled with same-day clarity the first struggling steps Jana's feet had ever taken- and their first outright run, which had been accompanied by gales of laughter.  Their free, full throated laughter, the type of laughter that had recently grown more and more scarce with each passing year.  He found that his own eyes were burning, and decided that if tears came to him, it would be better to let them fall than to pretend that he was distant or uncaring about how difficult this moment was for both of them.  Squaring his shoulders and straightening his back, he put himself into an at ease stance and compelled himself to breathe calmly.

"Aberrant," Jana finally managed through a dry throat and clenched teeth.  "Both because I like girls, and.. because... I'm not one.  I'm not a girl."

"You're a boy, then?" Sakoda asked, even more quietly than before.

"No..?" Jana answered uncertainly, their voice cracking in the attempt.  "Well, almost yes, but... not all the time."

Sakoda sent his tongue around his gums as he thought carefully.  The quiet that whistled between father and child was still chilly at first, but warmed a bit as Jana stopped fearing that the deep contemplation evident on their father's face was really anger or disappointment.

"Sometimes a boy, but never a girl," Sakoda mused.  "Like oil. Sometimes it's a weapon, sometimes it's for cooking, but it's never for drinking straight."

Jana thought for a moment, then nodded.  "That's closer than I've ever got to explaining it.  And I've tried."

"Well, Ci-ci would love and protect you even if it turned out that you were a direct descendant of Shar herself," Sakoda chuckled weakly.  His martial stance melted slightly, so that he seemed more ready to have a conversation with his child than to receive orders from a commander he didn't like.  "Give yourself credit; talking to me is harder."

"She keeps calling herself a witch," Jana frowned.

"I know; that worries me too," Sakoda admitted.  "But I can only deal with one of you being terrified of my opinion at a time-"

"-and this is harder," Jana finished.  They realized that they had hugged themself in some strange attempt at protection from- something- and released their arms so that they hung at their sides in something close to a natural way.

"It is," Sakoda agreed, noticing Jana's physical change.  "Before I tell you what I think, I want you to decide for yourself that it doesn't matter what I think."

"But it-"

"No, it doesn't.  Oil doesn't care about what water or wine does with it.  It is what it is.  Water runs from it.  Wine can become vinegar, and the two can then work nicely together.  But the oil itself couldn't give a rat's ass what either does or doesn't do.  It is what it is, reguardless."

"Mom is going to be water, isn't she?" Jana sighed miserably.

"It doesn't matter," Sakoda insisted, struggling to hold his child's gaze.

Jana locked on to their father's eyes and found the courage to pursue the attack.  "But isn't she?"

"Listen to me, Nannie," Sakoda said seriously.  "Train yourself now to not give one cold fuck about either of our opinions."

"No; your opinions matter to me because you matter to me," Jana argued.  "I can't... I can't train that away.  Or if I did, I'll have trained you away; do you want that?"

"What I want is for you to be who you are," Sakoda admitted quietly.  "Who that turns out to be- I'll bear it, whoever it is, so long as it's you.  Really and truly you.  No hiding, no shame, no fear, no pain.  I've been a trained, paid killer and torturer for years.  Longer than you've lived.  I know pain when I see it.  And I don't want my dau- my child, rather, to be in pain.  Not if I can help it."

"But Mom isn't going to see it that way.  And neither will a lot of people, and for most people, I won't care.  I promise; I won't.  But for you... I do," Jana answered in a low, quiet tone.  "I can bear a lot of people being water; I already do, every day.  But... not you."

Sakoda closed his eyes and ducked his head as though he were absorbing a solid punch to the chin.  "Well," he breathed when he had recovered the power of speech, "I don't know that I've ever been particularly sweet.  So being vinegar isn't any huge leap for me."

Jana burst into tears and threw themself against their father like a much younger child, and Pohatkon Sakoda laid his bow-calloused left hand on their head.

"I have a lot to learn," he admitted.  "It's going to be hard for me not to see the little girl I once held in my hands when I look at you."

"Look at me now; really look," Jana breathed, stepping back slightly to look up at their father.  "Talk about out of touch?  She doesn't look at me, even.  Especially now that I shave my head this way.   She thinks it's ugly, and won't even look at me to say that."

"I know.  And I wish- actually, nevermind her right now; just rest on me, Nannie.  Just rest for now."  When Jana laid their head back on Sakoda's chest, he wrapped his arms around them and began reciting an old litany he had used to calm colic, nightmares, and playtime accidents - but with a few items removed.  "I love you, my little one, my heartbeat, my precious jewel; I love you, my dearheart, my morning sky-"

Jana recognized the list, along with the purposefully omitted parts, immediately, and hugged their father even more tightly.  "My dad," they whispered with a breath of gratitude that the giver didn't know they could possibly need just as much as the recipient.  "I love you too, Dad."

"One more thing," Sakoda smiled wearily, pulling back just enough to look down.  "Ser Sadist is looking for an apprentice."

"Gwen better not hear that, or she'll have a fit," Jana smirked, wiping tears with the heel of their hand.  "Although, if he wants another-"

"He does," Sakoda affirmed.

"Then Ser Baggage is at your service, ser," Jana smiled as they pulled themself into an admirable imitation of Sakoda's own at-ease pose. 

" 'Ser Baggage'?" Sakoda said, raising an eyebrow.  "Heard from some sea side spectators that the title wasn't much of a compliment when a certain boy spat it out of his mouth."

"Was 'Ser Sadist' always a compliment?" Jana shrugged.

"Never was," Sakoda scoffed. "First, I was insulted, but I put up with it.  A bit later, only the inner guard kept up with it, and I answered to it when called. Then they brought me that Shadovar bitch.  Making her sing like a damn bird brought something out of me- made something just... click.  It was like opening a door that should've stayed shut, bolted, barred, but... well, it's open now, and there you are.  They made that bitch a permanent prisoner, and made me the ultimate punishment anytime she really pissed them off.  And in the meantime, I so much as introduced myself as Ser Sadist to all the greenhorn inner guards.  Maybe I didn't plan on it or even like it, but it was who I had become."

Jana nodded.  "It's like that- except the only 'click' for me was the realization that I wasn't a girl in itself.  And I do like Ser Baggage.  It suits me- plus, it's fun to say."

"Then welcome, Ser Baggage," Sakoda nodded firmly.  "Consider yourself a torturer and executioner's apprentice from this moment forward.  First charge is to check on the mice- while they're never going to be happy in that cage, they shouldn't be suffering.  The point is to keep them a bit hungry, but not miserable or dead.  Gwennie's the one named them, so don't blame me for what you're about to hear me call each of them."