Kehlien drummed bored fingers on the table's oak surface, idly blowing at loose wisps of silver-grey that had fallen out of place.

"Grey hair at nineteen," she muttered sourly. "And you aren’t helping, Lloryn Y’th’liriah, with your little after-dark exhibitions... curse you and your stupid dreaming... "

This whole business had been making her feel quite ill for a while now. Lloryn had often spoken of his dreams, but until recently, they had been just that - dreams with meaning, of course, and with distinct possibility - but dreams, nonetheless. He told of what he saw with a wistful smile, and eyes that were faraway, lost in fantasy. Kehlien had sat through his tellings with the respect of one who knew what it was to be the teller, but she had never set any belief with them. Kel’s less-than-ideal life had given the young woman an acute sense of reality, and she knew that there were too many false hopes. Such things as Lloryn’s dreams were fleeting, and his ‘Golden Lord’ was no more than an intangible vision to her.

Months had passed since the human Kehlien DiVrenko and the elf Llorynthion Elyanin Y’th’liriah had been plucked from their home world, dragon-ravaged Krynn, and found themselves in the strange lands and stranger company in which they now travelled. Though he had apparently been in this world before, the bard knew her young companion to be quite terrified of this place - a creature whose life was based around goodness, the elf had been shaken by the evil that permeated the land. His dreams, Kel knew - his Golden Lord, the being he sought - had at times been the only thing that kept him going.

"I... I don’t really know," he had once responded to her questioning. "I suppose... that I have to keep looking because of what the Golden Lord means to me. In the dreams I see a sun that shines even in the night, a light walking through the darkness. This land is so dark, so evil that I think even the very earth is corrupt... but if a being such as the Golden Lord exists here, it means that there is still hope. That’s what the Golden Lord is. Hope, in this land of darkness. I can’t give up on that."

Erika had nodded politely, not wanting to offend the young elf. Robyn had been too busy repairing a quiverful of broken arrows to really listen to the Lloryn, and Morrick had grunted, of course being more interested in checking his axe blade for nicks than listening to the pansy elf tell silly stories. Kel, never one to dismiss anything out-of-hand, had done her best to believe in the notion... but it seemed to her that the elf was merely grasping at straws, inventing hope in this land where he found none. Mind, if it kept him alive, and kept him from the lack of purpose that Kel knew could cost lives, then she had no intention of shattering his illusions. If the Golden Lord does not exist, then let Lloryn create him. Let him give himself something to live for, if this world would not.

That had been back then. Now, however, their travels had led them to this land, Barovia, and to the ‘temple’ of Lathander Morninglord, a god from, of all places, Morrick’s faraway homeland. And they had found Lloryn’s ‘Golden Lord’, all right... the sun that shone through the night was a cold flame, and the light that walked the darkness created even deeper shadows.

Kel glared at the night outside of the window, attempting to force it back with optical malevolence alone, then turned back to swiftly down the mug of poor-tasting but powerful drink in front of her. Several cups later she stood, in a stiff, swift motion that made some of those near her start, strode a little shakily toward the stairs. As Kel stalked up to the rooms, the patrons gathered that the beautiful bard would give them none of her exquisite music, none of her teasing dance tonight.

The woman paused by the door that was Lloryn’s, knowing that he wasn’t there. Kel’s teeth ground, her fists clenched. This was wrong, so wrong. Erika was both intelligent and strong, and Morrick had the power and endurance of a stone wall (not to mention the determination of a troll in heat). Kel was wise to the world’s ways, and could take care of herself because she’d been forced to, and Robyn had all but raised herself in the forest. But Lloryn - the fragile, effeminate young elf who seemed to have been born male only by an accidental twist of nature - he wasn’t like that, and Kel knew it. All the times she’d protected him, all times she had stood watch over him... he didn’t roam strange forests at night, alone and unprotected, especially in a land like this...

Not before he met his beloved ‘Golden Lord’, anyway, Kel added bitterly. Curse you for a fool, Llorynthion Elyanin. Curse you for a fool.

Kel was drunk. The bard could handle as much - if not more - alcohol than the next person, but tonight her mood had led her to overindulge. Erika had politely pointed it out as she’d retired for the night. Morrick had laughingly noted it, but not before offering to buy the next round for her. The bard had ignored them both - if Kehlien DiVrenko wanted to drink, then by the absent gods she would. She didn’t expect the others to understand - they had their own problems, she knew. None of them had any reason to worry about an innocently arrogant elven outcast who had the blindness to believe he had found a light inside the darkness.

"Damn’ yer undershize’ hide... shkinny li’l poin’y-eared girly-boy... " she muttered to the world at large. "and you, falshe god... you of th’ midnigh’ sun, of blood tearsh and an’ flesh withou’ breath... " Kel paused in a rather satisfied manner, the performer side of her utterly delighted that she could still be poetic even when she had drunk herself silly. "... You, oh demon creashure wha’s not light, but a foul pervershion of light... onne vampire Janna Shunshtar... a thoushan’ curshes... "

He was doing the most foolish thing he possibly could, he was sure of that now. He was going to hurt himself, he was going to hurt Llorynthion, and he was going to give this evil land yet another source of suffering and despair to feed on. It was just too much, to good a fortune to be believed. Too many times had he thought he had found hope in this land, only to find it destroyed again, lost to him once more. If Lloryn Y’th’liriah had been brought to this land, brought to him, then the realm was only using the elf to further Jander’s suffering, not to appease it. Of this he had no doubt. He should have abandoned the group of travellers, left them to deal with Strahd Von Zarovich and the Vistani gypsies like everyone else had tol..then he never would have noticed when the golden-haired youth he had thought to be a human girl had suddenly traded six inches of height for slender, pointed ears and almond-shaped eyes.

"Spell wore off already, didn’t it?" The silver-haired woman had commented smugly. "I told you to cast it closer to town, didn’t I? Hmmm?"

"And what if we had come across someone before entering the town?" The elf had replied, slightly irritated. "I don’t want to risk alarming anybody... "

Their words had scarcely been noticed by Jander. He had only been able to stand frozen, staring at the elf who had just been revealed. Could it be? One of his own kind, here in this terrible land?... And one so young, so perfect, so glowing with the light and life that made the vampire’s heart ache once more for beautiful Evermeet, his beloved home...

If only he hadn’t seen ‘her’, he berated. If only he hadn’t vowed to himself that he would not let this one be taken, not by Strahd nor his minions. If only he hadn’t resumed elven form and shown himself to the group, offering to guide them out of the woods and to a safe place. What had he hoped to achieve? He had known from the first that this world was only furthering its twisted games with him, that no good could possibly come of it... but by the time he had regained his common sense, by the time he was thinking clearly enough to tell himself as much, it was already far too late.

The vampire looked up, sensitive ears picking up the sound of approaching footfalls - the light, timid-yet-determined tread that he knew belonged to a beautiful young elf who believed, despite knowing the truth, that Jander Sunstar was the hope that he sought.

He shook his head. Far too late.

Lloryn picked his way carefully through the woods. The noble-turned-sorcerer could not deny that he was terrified, especially after asking the dog to remain back at the inn. Since they had come to this place, they had heard no end of tales of what dreadful things lurked Barovia’s woodlands at night. But it was too late, he had come too far now in his quest for hope. He had gotten too close to his Golden Lord to give up now. Tonight, he might finally find what he had been searching for - and that had given him a driving force even stronger than his fear.

Jander Sunstar had been the first person that Lloryn’s small group had met in Barovia. Once again, they had stumbled through the strange, billowing mists that they had come to expect, this time finding themselves in a darkened forest. The had taken only a few steps before Lloryn’s familiar - a huge but gentle-natured wolfhound - had given a warning bark, sending the party into immediate defensive positions.

And then, him.

Lloryn had never seen an elf that wasn’t at least above average in looks - their natural grace and slender, elegant forms gave them an appeal that, at least to the sorcerer’s limited experience, was unparalleled in any other race. But Lloryn, of noble birth, had seen the best of them that Krynn could offer - even the likes of the radiant Lauralanthalasa - and none had ever seemed quite so beautiful as the one who stood before him now. Jander’s fine, delicate features and easy grace were nothing out of the ordinary, nor were his slender hands and graceful build, nor were the large, almond-shaped eyes that cast their eloquent silver gaze over the party. Impressive, yes, but by no means unusual to one who, like Lloryn, was used to being surrounded by beauty. Perhaps in the sunlight, the younger elf would have thought him merely average.

But here, under the moon’s silver light, Jander Sunstar had shone. Silver skin against golden hair, glowing with a luminance that had seemed ghostly to Lloryn, a little sad and a little frightening, but still breathtakingly beautiful. He remembered how the older elf had moved through the darkness unafraid, as if the light he seemed to radiate was all the protection he needed. And Lloryn - though far too confused and shy to realise that he had loved Jander Sunstar even since that first moment - could only have seen him as one being. He had only managed to breathe the words ‘Golden Lord’ before he’d passed out.

Lloryn stopped. Ahead of him, the trees cleared, the forest dwindling to a few shrubs as the land gave way to a small stream. Beside it, arms resting on hunched knees as he stared at the running water, was that beautiful, glowing being he had been searching for. His Golden Lord.

She’s a spellcaster, Jander remembered bitterly. Not even one who studied the arcane arts, but one to whom the talent came naturally, a person whose very being made her - him, that was - innately magical. And a male, he reminded himself again - the silver-haired woman, whose name he had learned was Kehlien, had made sure the vampire was aware of the fact. As they’d made their way through the forest, the delicate young elf slung over one of the bard’s shoulders (Jander got the impression this had happened before), Kehlien had unabashedly informed the vampire, "he looks like a girl, he sure does act like a girl, and he makes a mean batch of chicken soup, too. But he’s definitely equipped for your side, take it from me." For some reason, she had also felt it necessary to inform him that Lloryn was a coward, a weakling, a snob, obsessive about bathing, and a ‘complete ponce’.

The ranger woman, briefly leaning over the vampire’s shoulder, had whispered, "that means she likes him." Jander had said nothing.

A sorcerer. Jander hated magic, hated it almost as much as he hated being cursed to this life without sunlight. It was responsible for too many of the worst things - not the least of which being the insanity of the woman he had loved - and the vampire wanted nothing to do with it. And yet he couldn’t deny that he felt something for this boy - something he couldn’t name or define, but something that was surprisingly strong. But to find one of his kind here after so long, only to find ‘her’ to be a male, and a practitioner of those hated arts besides... Jander hoped the evil land was enjoying this twisted little game it played with him. Lloryn... why did he have to be dragged into this? He was too young, too innocent...

Far too late.

Jander had left them at the ‘temple’ of Lathander Morninglord, the one place - if any - he hoped might be safe from Strahd. He had never seen the realm’s lord enter the holy place, but nor had he ever seen him try. But the bare fact that Jander was barred from the church meant that at least they would remain safe from Strahd’s vampire slaves. If the lord wanted Lloryn and her - his, damn it, his companions, then he would have to come and get them in person. That in itself might even be enough to make the younger vampire overlook their presence... at least for a while.

Jander had also had a second motive in taking them to the church. Though suspicious, Kehlien had outlined Lloryn’s mysterious dreams to the vampire, telling how his search for the ‘Golden Lord’ had given him new purpose in this land. This had worried Jander greatly; he had already been mistaken for a deity once before - ironically enough, it was his sparing a child’s life that had resulted in the temple’s presence now. But if Lloryn already believed that Jander was this ‘Golden Lord’ he was dreaming about, how would the young elf react if he found out the truth? Would he be able to cope with it? Would it be better to explain things, or just to vanish, to pretend he had never met the travellers? It was better to do something about it quickly - the higher Lloryn rose now, the harder he would fall when he was disillusioned - but what?

Jander disliked passing the decision to another, but he had to take it out of his own hands. So he had brought them to Brother Sasha, the temple’s only priest, one of precious few who knew Jander’s true nature. While the half-Vistani owed his parents’ lives to the golden vampire, there was no love lost between the pair. Whether or not the priest decided to reveal the vampire’s secret to them, Jander had decided, was up to Sasha.

Apparently, he had. When Jander had returned in hopes of speaking with Lloryn the next evening, he had been greeted by Kehlien, with one of her strange ‘fire-arm’ weapons in one hand, and the small disc of the Morninglord’s holy symbol in the other. She had looked at him through narrowed eyes - not quite hostile, but far from trusting - and then, eyes not moving from his, she had suddenly caught his arm, gripping it and holding it against the holy disc in her palm. It would have been a simple thing for Jander to break free of her hold - he had only been caught in the first place by pure surprise - but something told him not to. He had seen the look in her eyes before, all those times when Strahd had tested him. She was daring him to endure it. The vampire in him, with its seven-hundred year pride, had screamed outrage that such a puny being should presume to test him. The elf in him had let him wait patiently, handling her much the same way he had Strahd. He’d held the woman’s eyes, not letting any of the fierce pain onto his calmly controlled face as the holy symbol of his former god burned away at his undead flesh.

The bard’s eyes had narrowed further, but she’d not relented. Jander had suddenly found himself respecting Kehlien greatly - she was a smart woman, and he didn’t doubt she was aware that he could kill her easily. Yet for the sake of her friend, she was taking that risk. Whether or not she loved Lloryn, she was willing to protect him with a fierceness and a passion that moved Jander’s elven soul. So he had stared calmly at her, not giving her the violent reaction she wanted, not even twitching.

Finally, the human had given in, releasing his arm and taking a step back into the doorway of the church. It might have pleased her to know that he had barely concealed his sigh of relief.

"You listen to me, vampire, because I’m only going to give you one warning." Jander had smelt the alcohol the second the bard had opened her mouth - perhaps that accounted for some of her courage. "I won’t stand in the way of what he wants. But you hear me - Lloryn has been through enough. He doesn’t deserve to be part of your dark world. If you hurt him, Jander Sunstar, you will have to kill me, because I won’t stop until one of us is dead. I’ll hunt your sharp-toothed hide to the ends of the whichever world you haul it to."

He’d probably been as surprised as her to find himself smiling slightly. "I understand."

"But," she’d continued, "take my advice and treat him right - I really don’t want to kill you. You’re far too beautiful."

For the second time that night, the bard managed to catch the vampire by complete surprise, this time by throwing the hand holding the pistol around his neck and, to his shock, forcefully pushing her mouth onto his. He would have broken free this time, but she had released him before he’d needed to. Then, the bard sauntered back inside and slammed the door, without another word.

A second later Jander had heard the scrape of a chair, the popping of a cork, and Kehlien’s request that somebody kill her, quickly.

"Why did you come?" Jander asked, staring at the stream. If he had looked behind him, he’d have seen Lloryn’s hurt expression, and maybe regretted his hash tone.

"Because... I told you I would... " the young elf replied, confused.

"No... I mean, you know what I am now. You know that I can’t possibly be what you’re searching for."

"Why not?"

Surprised, Jander turned to face him - and was momentarily stunned to see the sorcerer, who had entered Barovia in a peasant’s dress, clad in the resplendent robes of an elven noble. Admittedly not a noble of Evermeet, but by now, Jander already knew that Lloryn was from yet another world. And the elegant clothing certainly suited the boy - Lloryn had looked out-of-place in a traveller’s clothing, far too delicate for such a life. Somehow, the thought that he might be of high birth seemed to fit him. Although it did not, if Kehlien had told the truth about her young friend’s personality, fit with his almost childlike innocence and naivete. Jander wondered.

The vampire also noticed that Lloryn’s hair had been freshly washed and braided, and he smelt vaguely of strawberries.

The little elf blushed lightly under Jander’s gaze, lowering his eyes and clasping his hands in front of him, smiling shyly. Once again Jander had to fight not to think of him as a pretty girl, and wonder desperately what either of them was doing here.

"What do you think?" Lloryn asked hopefully, clearly very nervous. "Do I look all right?"

Why are you here? Jander silently demanded. Why?

Lloryn raised his head, expression fearful. "Have... have I done something wrong?"

Jander shook his head, still halfway lost in his thoughts.

Lloryn was acutely aware of the older elf’s silence. "If... if you don’t want me to be here, I will go... "

Jander still said nothing; he could not bring himself to. Nothing seemed right. His time in Barovia had him too thoughtful, too paranoid. He could barely give thought to a word before thinking how it might be misconstrued, how me might reveal too much of his hand and thus lose the game. Disgusting. To think that such a twisted creature had once been so beautiful and innocent as Lloryn...

He had to say something. He had asked the young elf to come here, and Lloryn had risked his life to do so. Now Jander had to finish things, to settle the matter and prevent any further damage.

"No... " he began, falteringly. "No, please don’t leave. We must talk."

"I know what you’re going to say," Lloryn said quietly. "You’re going to tell me I’m wrong, and I have to accept it before anybody gets hurt. That you couldn’t possibly be the Golden Lord. That’s why you asked me to come here, isn’t it? Damage control?"

Slowly, the vampire nodded. "Yes. You are more perceptive than your human friend let me believe, Llorynthion. With that intelligence, surely you must realise that you were mistaken in thinking I am this ‘Golden Lord’ you speak of." He paused briefly, looking away, trying not to let the pain into his eyes. "True, there was once a time when I was such a being, of goodness and light... but it is long, long past now."

There was a silence between them then, hanging in the night’s air with a thickness that was near-tangible. Unwilling to look at the younger elf for fear of what he might see, Jander stared ahead, focusing once again on the silvery surface of the stream. It wasn’t only for Lloryn’s benefit, he knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to voice his own pain. How could he say it? How could he tell Lloryn that the boy’s belief was like a wound to him, that it filled him with a shame that burned his flesh better even than holy fire?

Music pierced the air, much the same way as it cut through Jander’s thoughts like a sweet-bladed knife. Startled, the vampire turned - sure enough, Lloryn was responsible. The younger elf was standing with his back to the elder, his slender fingers dancing lightly over thin body of a flute. The sound - from the same instrument Jander had once so loved to play - hit the vampire like a rock at first, but within seconds his natural love of the music forced him into surrender. Lloryn’s playing drew him in, sweeping over him and flowing around him like water. Enveloped in its beauty, and Jander had lifted his own flute to his lips before he really knew he was contemplating the motion. He almost faltered as he joined the song - he had barely played at all since becoming a vampire. But the music called to him. All the despair and self-loathing within was for a moment banished, overwhelmed by the incredible yearning to be a part of something so beautiful.

Hesitant at first, then growing in strength, Jander’s music joined with Lloryn’s, sometimes following the younger elf’s tune, sometimes veering off to shrill descants or mellow harmonies. It reminded the vampire of the other time in this realm when he had played in duet, with Strahd Von Zarovich himself. But that had been so different. The count’s organ had spoken of deep despair, of the agony of loss, of the eternal search - a symphony of pain. Lloryn’s music was not without loss and longing, but it held the hope that Strahd’s had not. At once both simple and complex, Lloryn’s song was filled with not only with emotions, but with images - for it was a song of home. Speaking to Jander’s elven soul as only music could, it told of a world not unlike that which he had once belonged to - of goodness and freedom, of light and warmth, of forests and rivers. He walked with the young elf on the streets of a proud and beautiful city, wandered with him through a sun-dappled forest glade, bathed with him in cool, clear waters. He felt the strength of this place and its people, of the homeland Lloryn pined for just as he did for beautiful Evermeet.

For a moment, he thought he could almost see the sun rising.

And then it was over, and he was surrounded once again by the cold, empty Barovian night.

"... " the vampire said, once breath and clear thinking had returned. "That was beautiful... "

"That was Qualinost," Lloryn replied, voice tinged with longing. "That was my home. That was the world I was denied when I was brought here. It was so beautiful, that day that I left it... but it is gone now. Even if I were to escape this place again, my homeland would be forbidden to me."

He looked up at the vampire. "I know that you have been in this land far, far longer than I... and I know that I could never comprehend your suffering... but... I think, maybe, I know how you feel. Maybe, we are not so different."

"Lloryn... " He had to make the boy stop. The situation was getting out of hand...

"You are my Golden Lord," Lloryn said firmly, and his words carried a determination, a conviction that surprised Jander. "For all that you have suffered, for all that your curse tries to corrupt you, you fight it. You refuse to become the evil that it wants you to. You walk this dreadful world like a light in the darkness, like a sun shining at night, and even if you tell me to, I can’t stop believing in you now. Even if you don’t believe in yourself."

Far too late.

"No... " No, he begged silently. Don’t talk about me like that. Don’t waste your belief on me. You have no idea who I really am - what I really am... the things that I’ve done... He had to get out of here. He had to get away from this beautiful, innocent boy, back to the castle, back to brooding in the darkness and the hollow ache of loneliness. They were so familiar now, so easy to fall back on after all this time. The idea of someone like Lloryn believing he was some wonderful, righteous being... it was far more frightening than spending an eternity in the darkness.

"And... " Lloryn began again, faltering slightly, "... and... I’m not afraid to say it any more. ... I... I wasn’t sure at first... but... now, I know it’s true... "

Oh Gods, Jander suddenly realised what was coming. Don’t you dare...

Lloryn hadn’t taken many chances in his life - he had usually been too afraid to. But it was time now. The mysterious mists of this world could take them away from Barovia at any given moment, and that meant he might never find Jander again. He had to risk it. He had to say it.

"Jander," he said helplessly. "I love you."

"No," Jander said bluntly. "No."

"It’s true... I can’t help it... "

"No!" The vampire shouted it this time, and his voice cracked as leapt to his feet. "No! Don’t you say that! Call me your ‘Golden Lord’ if you must, but don’t you dare say that! You cannot love me!"

"There’s nothing I can do!" The younger elf was on the verge of tears. "I love you!"

"Stop saying that!" The vampire’s mortal guise was slipping. The light in his eyes was no longer beautiful, but feral. "Get out of here! Get away from me!"

Lloryn’s mind was swimming in cold, nauseating terror. He had never been this afraid in his entire life. His brain screamed at him to run, to flee back to the inn and Kel and safety. But he couldn’t. He understood it clearly now - as afraid as Lloryn was of being alone in this world, so Jander was afraid of being with another. His life was one of isolation and solitude, and had been for over five hundred years. The very things he hated so much had become his refuge.

Lloryn stood his ground, bottom lip trembling under his affected bravado. "No."

"Go!"

"I won’t!"

Lloryn had been expecting the sharp backhand across his face, but he hadn’t expected it to be quite that hard. He went down tasting blood in his mouth, and was forced to stay there for a few moments, dazed. When he found his feet again - or at least, his knees, which he settled for - he realised that Jander, too, was kneeling, a few feet away, head was clasped in his hands. When he turned his face to Lloryn again, the younger elf saw the line of a single, dark-red tear sparkling its way down his face. His voice was almost a sob.

"Please... please don’t say you love me... " he begged. "Something like me... a creature so dark... we cannot be loved... please, just run away... "

Lloryn moved to the vampire’s side. Slowly, purposefully, he unbuttoned his collar, exposing his pale-skinned neck to Jander, and closed his eyes tightly.

The vampire looked at him - one of the only times in his seven-hundred-year life he had looked at someone with complete and utter incomprehension.

"Jander Sunstar... I know you are not evil. I don’t care how you feel about yourself, I trust you. If I’m wrong... kill me."

Then he waited, hardly daring to breathe. Gods, he had never done anything so stupid in his entire life! He had known Jander for one day! One day, and he was risking his life on his judging of the vampire’s nature... Kel would have throttled him for being so stupid...

He felt the vampire’s cold, slender fingers taking his face in both hands. He had been wrong, then. He was going to die. Goodbye. Goodbye, Morrick and Erika and Robyn. Goodbye, dog. Goodbye, Kehlien DiVrenko. Better now than later, really, since he had been fool enough to trust a vampire...

... Hope. Hah.

But a cold droplet of water fell on his face, and instead of fangs in his neck, there were cold lips pressed over his own, a tongue forcing its way into his mouth. His eyes shot open, to find Jander’s golden gaze filling his vision. It only lasted for a moment, though, before the vampire’s golden eyes widened in shock, and he threw the younger elf away again, one hand flying up to his mouth.

"Gods... " Jander murmured, staring blindly forward as slender fingers brushed over faintly trembling lips...

"Jander - "

"Oh, Gods... " The vampire scrambled to his feet, horrified gaze on Lloryn now, sprawled at his feet, one hand reaching up to him...

"Wait!"

"Oh, Gods!" Jander was aware that he was stumbling back, a fear swelling through him that he’d never felt before. Like he was an animal, a terrified, wild creature... anything, he would do anything to get away from that boy...

"Jander!" Lloryn cried, his body finally responding to his brain’s orders and allowing him to reach his feet... too late. Jander staggered backward, turned, then swept into the shadows and fled.

He crashed blindly through the forest, not knowing where he was headed, not caring where he would end up. Not that he could have seen where he was going anyway - tears had long since flooded his eyes, stealing away his normally-keen elven sight. And even they didn’t matter any more, now that it was raining, pouring down with the full complement of thunder and lightning. Fine elven silks now hung limply from his too-slender frame, drenched and torn, splattered with mud and blood. The night had turned from cold to freezing, and the sudden wind hurled the raindrops at his skin with stinging force.

But it didn’t matter any more. He was just running. Far beyond his normal level of endurance, even after his flagging strength reached its very last reserves, he kept running. Because anywhere was better than here.

He was aware of others, figures, two of them. Somewhere at the back of his mind, a familiar presence swept back into contact with his being, frantic, worried. Then, dimly, he heard her voice. He couldn’t stop moving, though, so he just kept going, stumbling forward until he fell into her arms, and that ever-welcoming darkness.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Kel snarled through clenched teeth, squeezing her eyes shut to keep the tears contained. She slammed a balled fist viciously into the small dresser, splintering the thin wood almost to breaking point. "Dammit! Stupid little brainless idiot! Godsdamned long-eared fool!"

The unfortunate dresser suffered another punch, its top surface snapping this time. Not nearly satisfied yet, Kel picked it up and hurled it at the far wall, resulting in rather more pieces. The small stool by the bed quickly followed - but luckily, it was the last piece of furniture in the room besides the bed, which even a formidable woman like Kel couldn’t throw across a room.

"Why don’t you just go out and die, then?!" The bard demanded of the pile of broken wood. "Go ahead, idiot! So long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters! It’s not like anybody worries about you! Just go ahead and die!"

She kicked the bedpost a few times, then slumped into the bed, exhausted.

She realised she was crying.

Selfish little brat! Arrogant little noble bastard! How could he be so self-absorbed without even knowing it?! How could he not even think of who else he might be hurting?!

How?! Did he think he was the only person who cared about him?! That just because he felt like it, he could give up on them?!

... Didn’t he realise?...

... Didn’t he know she loved him?...

A knock. When the bard didn’t answer, the door was pushed open slightly, Erika’s head showing around the corner.

"Kehlien?" She asked, giving the pile of splintered furniture a slightly worried look.

Immediately, she was on her feet. She was in the doorway seconds later, pushing past the priestess, through the corridor, and into the room opposite - all the while cursing herself, that she couldn’t stop caring about the little idiot...

"He will be all right," Erika informed her, as the bard looked down the sleeping elf. "You know how he is - always so worried and afraid of everything. It seems he’s finally worn himself out. He just needs a little rest, though - if we let him sleep for the next few days, he should be fine."

"Good," Kel said curtly, glaring at Lloryn and cracking her knuckles. "I’m looking forward to having a few firm words with him once he is... "

"Don’t be too hard on him," the healer cautioned, placing a hand on Kel’s shoulder. "Whatever happened out there, it hit him hard. At the least, we can be sure that he wasn’t thinking straight. And, though you won’t like my saying so, neither are you. Calm down and get yourself together before you talk to him, or else you’ll just make it worse, for both of you."

Kel glowered. "Not that it’s any business of yours."

Erika nodded. "Perhaps it isn’t. But, Kehlien, I’ve seen the way you two care about each other, and it is a beautiful thing. I don’t want to see it die."

The two women looked at each other. In the early days - when the group’s healer had been an intensely faithful but rather close-minded cleric of St. Cuthbert - the silver-haired woman would have found reproach and quite possibly disgust in those eyes, throwing yet more fuel on the fire of her temper. In fact, the bard was almost hoping for it - she wanted to be angry right now, and any excuse would do. But she knew that Erika wasn’t like her predecessor - true, she was as strong in body, mind and faith as he had been, but where he had been stubborn and rigid, Erika was willing to sway, to bend and move and entwine herself with others, open to their ideas and ideals as well as her own. There was no judgement in the priestess’ eyes - only genuine caring.

So Kel’s only response was a mumbled, "hmph."

Sitting on the end of Lloryn’s bed, the dog glanced up at the sound of the window latch, ears turning forward and hackles rising immediately. A warning growl welled up in his throat as he rose, standing protectively over his familiar, ready to fight anything that wished Lloryn harm...

The dog gave a confused whine as the voice entered his head, the same way he heard his familiar speaking to him. This voice was similar, yet still different... somehow distantly familiar, and comforting. The dog knew he had nothing to fear from it, as surely as if Lloryn was saying so himself. Settling back down on the bed, the big wolfhound cocked his head to the side and watched curiously as the window swung open to reveal a tall, slender figure who shone golden in the moonlight.

"Good boy," Jander whispered, gently ruffling the dog’s floppy ears. Then, he turned his attention to the dog’s master - still sweetly slumbering, his almost childlike features for once unconcerned with the world and its troubles. Softly - barely at all, for fear of disturbing that peaceful repose - he brushed one long-fingered hand through Lloryn’s hair, down over his forehead and around the curve of his cheek and chin. Beautiful.

"O true creature of light... " the vampire whispered. "Oh, Lloryn... what have you done to me? How did you look into my soul and speak the truth of my own heart back to me? How did you take a barren, frozen land and give it life once more, and yet all the while stay blind to your own worth? You named me as your symbol of hope... but I know now it is you who carries the light in the darkness, and I should be so honoured as to call you mine."

The vampire paused, the shimmering gold of his melancholy eyes deep and contemplative as if to reflect his memories. When Jander had taken his vow of vengeance so long ago, he had told himself it was for love, for the sake of his dear Anna, the human woman whom he had loved even despite her tragic insanity. His desire to avenge Anna’s suffering had been his driving force in this land - his compulsion, and his obsession. But now... now, it seemed he was seeing clearly for the first time since the horrible night of her death... revenge was the last thing she would have wanted. The beauty she carried, the compassion and caring that he had so quickly fallen in love with... revenge would shame such a pure heart.

"Anna... " he bowed his head, almost as if in prayer. "My dear, beloved Anna... I let my love for you fill me with hatred, and that hatred has corrupted me as thoroughly as this curse. ... But... ... it is time now for me to let you go... to let you rest. ... Do you remember? Were you ever able to understand? ... I wanted so desperately to save you, to keep your pure soul alive... and yet still you remained beyond my reach. But this boy... he stumbled into this dark land surrounded by the same beautiful innocence that you carried with you, and I can save him. I must.

"Dearest Anna... please, forgive me... but if I can give him the hope that he needs, I cannot turn away. ... ... I know you understand... "

Amidst the fallen embers of his tragic passion, he would seek love again. It was nothing that would last - Lloryn had fallen into his arms because this land was using him the way it used all of them - but at least they would have something. If nothing else, they would still have this one night.

Gently, the golden vampire eased the covers down, and drew the smaller elf’s slumbering form into his arms.

... Yes...

... Just this one night...

"Lloryn... "

"Lloryn... are you afraid?... "

"Good... "

"I love you, Lloryn."

"Please," his lover whispered. "... Give me tonight, only tonight... and just once, I can give you what you need. Let us have each other... and let us make something that this evil world can never take away... "