So, three months on the dot. That's a biiiig gap. That's the longest break I've taken in three years, I believe. :\ I'm so sorry, and thanks all for being patient. :) I have so many big plans for this story, and I can't wait to get them all rolling! (Mini Spoiler: We're bringing back old characters from Breaking Faith)

I see I have private messages as well, and I'll get to those when I can! Thanks everyone! :)

Review Responses:

Jay: That would be extremely cool... It'd be a hell of a project, but definitely would add a new edge and perspective to stories... That's an awesome idea. :D As for Reece, I agree, that was horribly evil of me. *cackle*

Willowstar157: Bahahaha, Dragon Age Bae. That's perfect. xD Duncan/Alistair was actually a tribute to Dragon Age... I took my two favorite characters from Origins, Duncan and Alistair, and turned them into a slimeball. What a way to appreciate, huh? ;P

MelanaAdara: Torturing OCs: World of Warcraft Edition. That's what we should call our stories... Hehe.

Den of Meade: Nah, you're not a terrible reviewer... I don't know if there is such a thing, save for unnecessary flaming, which I thankfully have mostly sidestepped thus far.. Hahaha. Speaking of terrible, I get the terrible author badge for waiting three entire freaking months to post. ;P I apologize!

Happily Eric After: Oh I definitely have plans for Raphael, and putting him in new territory.. :D And I just saw your request for Finn and a Nyela/Fenris portrait! I actually have a picture of Finn, and all I have to do is add his glasses... :P

Darkblight: HRRNGGGH I'M SO SORRYY D:

Ihsan997: Yes, Alistair. Please, for the love of all that makes sense, fall and break your teeth. ;D

Zarabethe: He is such a slut. It never ends. NO SHAME. Hahahha. And yes, dragon-man. Die. Now. ALSO, I'm finally getting back into drawing and writing and stuff and I'll be able to catch up on all your amazing stories and I'm so pumped. It might be a month from now but it's happening, dude!

Music Suggestion! Cinematic Orchestra – To Build a Home

It's what I used as inspiration.

Early morning birdsong gradually woke Unaril from a dreamless sleep, but he remained there in his temporary bed with his eyes closed, the cool breeze from the adjacent window trickling over his arms and causing his exposed flesh to dot itself with goosebumps. The air carried the scent of some sort of flower, sweet and potent, surprising given the season. It was such a familiar scent, painfully so, and with it suddenly arose old, forgotten memories.

In a moment, Unaril felt like he was back home. Not in the orchard, but really home, in Ashenvale, as a young child. Beside him would snooze his twin brother, likely face-down with his scruffy head mushed in a feather pillow. Each morning their mother would enter their room quietly to check on them. By now he could not remember her face, nor even the sound of her voice. But he remembered the sweet fragrance of honeysuckle that would reach his nose as she would lean in and gently brush her fingers through his blue hair.

Unaril would always pretend he was still sleeping; soon as he woke, he'd be assigned to doing chores, so he would wait there, quiet and still, hoping she'd leave before he was found out. He guessed now that she likely already knew, which only strengthened the ache in his heart.

This, he realized, was his final memory of her.

The nostalgia was so great that he felt a lump forming in the back of his throat, bittersweet emotions toying at him. He thought he'd forgotten everything about her, save for her name. Sarion always claimed to remember their parents clearly, but Unaril could not. Not until now. And once he opened his eyes, the magic would break, and his world would return. He would no longer be seven years old, without a care in the world except how to fill his day.

Unaril's lids parted, letting in the diffused light in the room, and he gave a soft sigh and hoisted himself up and out of bed. He stretched his limbs and arched his back, the action deeply satisfying as he cracked his knuckles, as well as a few random vertebrae and even -oddly enough- something his sternum, in the process. He tugged on some wool trousers, his pair of comfortable boots, and a deep grey shirt. After straightening up the small rental room, he grabbed his pack, swung it over one shoulder, and set off to find his brother. He knew Sarion was in one of the adjacent rooms, and he was lucky enough to find him on the first try.

The door was already open, and Unaril knocked and peeked his head in. Sarion was the only one in there; Nyela must have gone downstairs already.

Sarion sat on the edge of his bed, fitting clothing into a bag that rested between his large feet, and he lifted his head and beckoned Unaril in. Unaril let the door ease half-shut behind him and leaned against the wall beside the bed.

"What's up?" Sarion asked absently, attention still fully vested in his clothes.

"I remembered Mom this morning," Unaril started up conversation immediately, skipping any small talk that might've taken place.

Sarion paused, looking at him with his head tilted, trying to read him silently.

"Not Catalpa. I mean our mother, who died. I thought I'd forgotten her," Unaril added, staring down at his feet thoughtfully.

Sarion didn't move a muscle.

Unaril smiled as his thoughts wandered. "Remember how you and I had to share a bed until we were twelve?"

Sarion gave a quiet laugh, finally moving forward to grab an article of clothing. "Oh, wow. Yes. Some things change for the better."

"You threw up on me once," Unaril accused, a grin covering his mouth. Sarion dipped into controlled laughter as Unaril continued, "That's one of the only things I remember about sharing a bed. You fell sick one night and puked on me. You never ever apologized for that."

"And I never will," Sarion snickered, leaning back over and stuffing a shirt into his bag. "Just like you will never admit that after we finally got our own rooms, you still came and slept at the foot of my bed for the following two weeks."

"Didn't happen," Unaril shook his head as he approached and sat beside Sarion. He put his hand to his forehead. "Oh man, remember that one time we found an entire flask of berry cordial and gave it to Lucian?"

Sarion's laughter renewed, and he had to let his head hang as he scrunched his eyes shut, seemingly regretting the memory entirely. "We told him it was a growth potion."

"And that it wouldn't work unless he drank the whole thing."

"He was wasted. Poor kid got in so much trouble."

Unaril flopped backward onto the bed, folding his hands together behind his head. "How about that time when you accidentally punched a dryad? Or when Lena was a year old and you dropped her on her head and she got that cut on her forehead, and you blamed Lucian? Oh," he pointed excitedly, "when you were sixteen and you went through your 'musical' phase and learned to play a lute..."

"Why are you doing this to me?" Sarion groaned good-naturedly, scooting backward. "You know I have far more embarrassing memories of you than you of me. Let's see..." he began counting on his fingers. "You didn't learn to read until you were ten years old, and I was the one who finally taught you; you used to cry unrelentingly if you saw anyone else crying, especially Gladia; I still haven't told anyone about the time when you ate a rabbit pebble because I convinced you they were berries, or when we were teenagers and you panicked when you started growing hair on your-"

"-Chin," Unaril sat up and grabbed a decorative red and silver pillow, sloughing it straight into Sarion's chest. "I yield, you win," he snickered.

Sarion tossed the cushion aside, sitting somewhat cross-legged as he smiled reminiscently. "No responsibilities growing up."

"None at all," Unaril leaned his elbows on his knees. "Merely a check-in-every-four-hours-so-we-know-you-two-aren't-dead sort of deal that we had going with Catalpa."

The dark twin stared at Unaril for a few heavy seconds, his expression dropping. "Do you have to leave, Unaril?" Given the way his frown tugged at the corners of his mouth, Sarion looked like he was pouting, which was comical enough on its own without his overly-regretful tone of voice.

"Well, no," Unaril smirked, straightening his posture again as he inhaled deeply. "But I would like to. Even if I can't-" he hesitated, about to say 'go back in time,' but he didn't want to delve into that issue right now, not after he'd already made up his mind not to do it. "Even if I can't...stay here in Silvermoon, I'll be gone a while. Some space should help."

"Kinda sucks, doesn't it?"

"Hmm?"

"We spent all this time wishing you could come home, and then we drove you away," said Sarion wryly. "Whoops."

"I don't think it was in your control," Unaril shrugged. "Some situations just suck. And hey, it'll be beneficial for me to branch out. Who knows? Maybe I'll, y'know, meet someone else." Saying that aloud put a bad taste in his mouth, but he ignored the harsh feeling of loss in his heart. It'd put his brother at peace to know he was moving on.

His brother's brows arched for half a second. "Now that would be...convenient."

"Wouldn't it?" he sighed wistfully. "To put everything behind us and open a new chapter. It'll happen, one way or another, with or without another person."

"You so sure about that? She isn't over you, and you're not faring any better."

"She's made her choice," Unaril smiled wanly at his hands. "From the very beginning, I think. It's always been you, Sarion."

Sarion's brows tightened skeptically. "We're talking about the same woman?"

"It's what we discussed last night. She chose you. Said it's either you and me, or just you. And I think we both know it can't be the former. Your insecurity is besting you."

He saw how a myriad of emotions, barely expressed but still present, flipped across his brother's face, the strongest of which being a form of melancholy relief. Given the way Sarion's amber eyes darted about the room as if reading a page, Unaril could tell that he was sorting out his thoughts, his words, trying to formulate a proper response. He silently let him think, not wanting to interrupt whatever train of thought might be rushing around that brain of his.

"I'm relieved to hear that. I had this big speech prepared, the whole spiel," Sarion smirked.

"Oh, yeah?"

He nodded. "Oh yeah. Was gonna make a point on how different our loves are for Nyela."

"Speech me," Unaril held his arms out, donning a sideways, natural smile. "You've hooked me; you can't stop there."

Sarion smirked to himself, glancing down at his feet for a couple seconds as he gathered his thoughts again. "I've spent three decades loving her, and you've spent give-or-take a year. That doesn't mean I'm belittling or devaluing your feelings, don't get me wrong. You're in love with Nyela, sure, but you're in love with the Nyela you knew thirty years ago. I'll bet that if you just spend a full day or two with her and really, deeply observe, you will realize that she is not the woman you think you know. She's not the woman you love, Unaril. I'll bet that if I were to meet the Nyela you love, she and I would in fact be far too incompatible. We've lived through so much together, neither of us are the same people we were three decades ago."

At first, Unaril felt defensive. He wanted to argue, and he wanted to claim his love was ageless. But Sarion had a point, and Unaril couldn't ignore it. How much time had he spent with her since he'd returned? How much had he truly spoken with her, deeply? Their connection, he knew, was already different. It'd been stressed and strained and difficult ever since he'd arrived; he hadn't had a chance to see the Nyela he knew, not yet. What if she wasn't even there? According to her husband, she wasn't.

"You know you sound like Lucian right now, right?" Unaril hummed quietly, after a heavy moment's pause. "Here I liked to tell myself I was the wiser of the two of us."

"Well," Sarion donned a light smirk, one eye crinkling, "I am twice your age."

"Hmph," Unaril responded with a halfhearted chuckle. Nearly ten quiet seconds dragged by, both of them staring at the floor, before he spoke up again. "You do know, then, why I am leaving, yeah?"

"I thought we just discussed that. You'll have to fall in love with someone new anyway, be it Nyela or someone else. It's preferable to make that someone not your brother's wife," Sarion half-smirked.

"Says you, of all people," Unaril countered, and then lost his humor. "Finding love is not my intention, Sarion. I want to be able to come home. That's why I must leave."

"That's like throwing up your food so you can eat more," Sarion mumbled.

Unaril's shoulders relaxed as he snorted into unexpected laughter. "No, no it's not. What-"

"You are home."

"It's not my home."

"Then let us help you make it your home, Unaril," Sarion pleaded, standing. "Give us all a second chance to-"

"Do I really need to pull the 'it's not you, it's me' thing?" Unaril laughed. "There are no 'chances.' I am distancing myself from a toxic situation that I caused, and giving us all a chance to recover before I return."

A muscle at the corner of Sarion's dark-bearded jaw pulsed erratically, but he appeared defeated.

Unaril sent him a placating smile. "Honestly, I'm simply relieved that I didn't skip forward thirty years to find a dead orchard, a scattered family, and my brother tainted with demons. All of this, what I'm working through right now, is a blessing." He smirked. "A horribly shitty blessing, but a blessing."

Moments passed.

"And now," Unaril straightened tall, opening his arms wide, "this is my goodbye."

Sarion slung his pack over his shoulder and regarded his twin with a bittersweet half-smile, and he walked in for a quick, tight hug, speaking as he patted Unaril on the back reassuringly.

"Good luck, brother."

"Likewise."

Sarion left the room.

Unaril remained there longer than he meant to. He fell deep into a numb, quiet state, his thoughts slow-moving.

Eventually, his energy returned, and he set off as well to find Raphael's headquarters. The thought of seeing the leader himself put a faint smirk on his face, and heavens knew he needed some humor today.

Unaril rested one arm against the marble bar, spinning a chewed toothpick in a small glass of malt whiskey. He'd gotten lost. He wasn't embarrassed to admit it. Or, at least, to himself, that is.

He'd searched for the headquarters for what had felt like hours, until finally giving up and heading into what looked like a higher-end tavern to find food. He'd eaten, and the food was well-prepared, but now he'd somehow moved on to whiskey, and stayed there.

His eyes traveled about, not seeing as much as simply being the only part of him that moved. Soon they brushed over the bartender, whom he hadn't actually taken a moment to really notice when he'd ordered his drink. There was a look about her that intimidated him, indiscernible as to whether it was the fact that she was unbelievably gorgeous, or the fact that she looked like she could take down anyone in here with one hand held behind her back. She was healthily built, fit and strong and somewhat short in stature, which made any curves on her body more dramatic. Her shirt was generously revealing, and she wore her hair in a half-braided style that looped over one shoulder and became a mess of loose brunette waves. He watched as she mixed drinks at the full bar one after the other, like she didn't even have to think about her hands anymore. She and two other bartenders worked the long counter like a well-oiled machine.

He didn't notice the seat to his right become occupied, and as he lifted his drink in one hand, he heard a recognizable, liquid voice sound right next to him.

"Of all things in this bar to stare at, you certainly chose the second best."

Unaril glanced over to see that Raphael had taken the seat beside him and was giving him that smug half-smirk with one side of his mouth.

As soon as Unaril made eye contact, Raphael's green eyes brightened. "And now you've seen the best! How could your day get any better?"

"How in the world did you find me?" Unaril asked him curiously, though his tone was more gruff than he'd expected it to be.

"Pardon?"

"I may have...misplaced your headquarters."

"You are referring to the headquarters in the alleyway behind this bar?"

A pause.

"Seriously?" Unaril made a face and took a drink.

Raphael took in the man's state in a matter of two seconds, patted one hand against Unaril's shoulder, and then kept his hand in place as he leaned over the bar to look at the bartender, moving on from the current conversation and returning to the prior. "She is very pretty. You look like you could use some 'pretty' this evening."

"I don't…use," Unaril replied quietly, and nursed his drink. His mood was worsening with every sip of his alcohol, a complete opposite of what he was used to.

"Oh!" Raphael reacted like he'd been shot, but he shook his head quickly, laughing as though impressed. "You twist words almost as badly as I do."

Unaril glanced over at him and gave him a studying look. Raphael's expression mirrored his, though maybe with a lot less negativity.

"Never hit the bottle troubled, my friend," Raphael finally sighed understandingly, and then he winked. "And if that's too absurd, just don't do it without a more experienced inebriate like me there to champion your cause."

Another pause while the guy sniffed once musingly. "I'm not kidding when I say a pretty face can at least help, Dawnstar. And of course," he grinned, "I'll always be around to offer a helping hand. A leg up, as it were."

Unaril finally relented a laugh, practically rolling his eyes as he did so. "You have no shame, do you?"

"No, no, I lost it when I lost my general sense of sanity, as well as the need for approval. You've a long life ahead of you. It'll happen one day for you too, just you wait." The Rogue leaned over the counter again and signaled a nearer male bartender for a drink of his own. As his glass was filled before him, he turned his head toward Unaril in a sort of tilted, leaning manner. "So?"

"So, what?"

"Do you need…help?"

Unaril glanced his eyes toward the pretty bartender again without thinking, but then he laughed. "No. I don't mend that way. Thanks for the concern, though."

Raphael caught that single-second glance, and he smirked. "All well and good anyways; I know for a fact she'd never so much as kiss you."

Unaril lifted his brows. "You're that certain, are you?" He finally felt a humorous tone peeking through his own voice that made him feel a little more at home.

"Oh, I'm entirely sure. I'll bet my own mustache. And I love my mustache."

Unaril straightened his posture. "I may have been dead for a total of a hundred and thirty years, but that in no way puts off my game."

"I'll put gold on it, too, Dawnstar," the Rogue chuckled, more energetic now that the conversation had reached gambling. "I'll bet a single piece, because I know you will lose, and I don't want to be an outright thief, not against you. You, my dear, cannot win a kiss from her."

Unaril set his drink forward on the counter, closed his eyes, and let out a humorous sigh. He really wasn't about to take a bet like this, was he? Did he have anything better to do?

"Fine," he stood up, shooting Raphael a challenging smirk and patting his chair once. "Better find yourself a barber."

Raphael seemed unafraid, and he waved him off. "I'll be watching."

Unaril, as he approached the girl, immediately regretted his decision. She was clearly already annoyed at one of her patrons, who appeared to be giving her unwanted extra verbal attention.

"You have the wrong plumbing," she started bluntly. "If I wanted company in the manner you're suggesting, I'd far more likely choose your sister," her tone was matter-of-fact, leaving the drunken patron with his mouth propped slightly ajar.

Sister?

Oh.

Unaril knew at this point he'd already lost that precious gold coin, but still he found an open seat and grudgingly sat in it, not wanting to show he'd given up. Maybe this was why Raphael was so confident; maybe he'd caught onto the conversations over here already and had come to the conclusion that she doesn't even like men.

Unaril sighed, laughing defeatedly to himself, and glanced back toward Raphael. The man didn't appear to be watching, but Unaril saw a blatant grin fall on the guy's face as soon as he glanced his way. Hmm.

A hand smacked the bar in front of him two quick times to grab his attention, and Unaril looked forward only to be met face-first by the target of his bet. She was even prettier up close, and her expression held none of the animosity she'd been giving the patron a few seats down.

"Why'd you switch places, Kal'dorei? Amaranth give you too much grief? He does that," she smirked at him, and Unaril blinked once.

"You and Raphael know each other?" he kept his voice low so the Rogue wouldn't hear.

She gestured yes, and Unaril groaned inwardly. She squinted her eyes at this.

"And that is a bad thing because..?" she coaxed. He opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted him. "And what is it you're drinking, by the way?" she asked like she was preparing to serve another.

"Oh, no drink," he waved one hand. "And it's not bad for anyone but me. I now assume he's playing me. Badly."

"Oh," she appeared mildly sympathetic. "Might I ask the game?"

Unaril offered her a trademark grin of his, hinted in a humorous remorse. "He bet against my chances of getting a kiss from the lovely bartender. I accepted before understanding your…fundamentals," he chuckled.

Her brows lifted, a smile covering her mouth. "I see."

He began to slide back from his seat. "You're quite busy, though, so I'll leave you alone."

"Now hold on," she cut, leaning in against the bar to draw closer to him, speaking now in a quieter tone. "How much did he bet?"

"A single gold coin," Unaril shrugged, and then caught himself, "Oh, and his mustache." He resisted a smile as her interest heightened immensely.

"What?!" the woman's eyes widened, and her mouth fell open hilariously. "No! Really?"

"That is what he said!" he laughed. The two were still speaking quietly, but their behavior had become animated.

"He loves that mustache more than his own mother!" she giggled, baffled, and then put one hand on Unaril's forearm. "Alright, come with me," she said, surprising him and a few surrounding people by hopping up over the bar rather than going around, and she slid off next to Unaril and tugged him to Raphael.

"Amaranth," she said loudly, smugly, and he regarded her with an innocent, equally-playful expression.

"Yes, my dear?"

"I haven't seen your upper lip since we were teenagers."

He opened his mouth to speak, eyes widening even though they somehow kept that crinkle at each corner, but Unaril's field of vision changed as his chin was pulled downward and sideways, and suddenly he was being kissed.

He stiffened for a tenth of a second before he kissed her back; he'd expected a light peck, but the way he interpreted this now was that she was rubbing it in Raphael's face by taking her sweet time and being delightfully thorough.

She pulled away, leaving him almost in a daze, and he had to blink twice before remembering to breathe.

"My name's Joy, by the way, Joy Roseborne," she patted Unaril on the shoulder as she then turned to Raphael. "And you now have a debt to pay."

Raphael's arms fell outward in an accusing gesture, though packed with humor as always. Unaril wondered if it was at all possible for the guy to be serious. Only time he'd seen him without that near-smirk on his face had been in Ephraim's vaults, but Unaril's focus had been mostly on Nyela and the psycho Rogue killer, too much so to think about Raphael's expression at the time.

"Do you have any idea," he began toward Unaril, "how long I've been trying to achieve what you have just now achieved? And now I've just facilitated your success over my own! Oh!" He threw his hands in the air. His dramatics were actually entertaining, and Unaril began to chuckle.

"I cannot wait to see your transformation," Joy smiled cheerfully, squeezing Raphael's shoulder and then heading back to the bar.

Unaril's laughter, almost entirely genuine, came as a relief. It wasn't gone, this side of him. Just dormant.

Raphael looked like he was about to start talking again, but his eyes caught onto something behind Unaril, and he perked a brow.

"I know every face in this bar, except those two," he pointed at two human men who had just walked through the front door and were making their way to a pair of empty seats.

"Surprising," Unaril grunted.

"Well, it is my job to know everyth-"

"-I meant it's surprising you don't know them," Unaril quipped, leaning on one elbow and downing his whiskey sparingly.

Raphael simply flashed a wide grin, and with nothing better to do, the two of them watched the humans draw nearer and nearer. They both appeared to be in their thirties, one tall and broad-shouldered, with thick, loose and long sandy hair, and another smaller, clean-shaven man with sleek brunette locks pulled back past his ears and striking blue eyes. The two sat down close by at a small, round table, speaking in relaxed tones, seemingly quite happy, if tired.

"Hm. I like that one," Raphael hummed simply, nodding his head toward the shorter man. "Scratch that note; I like both. I'm going to talk to them."

Unaril comically glanced at the man, and he remained in his seat to observe as Raphael walked all of six steps to their table.

"Hello," Raphael leaned one hand on the tabletop, and Unaril lifted a brow at the sudden expressions of blank, inexplicable surprise on both humans' faces as they looked up at him. Raphael was unfazed by this, and he smiled.

"You come here often?" he asked comically.

Unaril nearly snorted whiskey through his sinuses, and he had to grab a handkerchief from his pocket to attempt to remedy the intense burning in his nose. He used that line?

The brunette human's expression lit up, and with a mysterious grin, he whipped to face his friend, his brows arched in blatant excitement. His friend fell back in his seat in sudden, loud laughter, hand falling on his stomach as he shook his head.

"No!" the blonde man exclaimed, still laughing, and he shook his head at the smaller guy. "No, one is enough! Heavens!"

Confusion saturating Raphael's expression, he started laughing reluctantly along with them. It was about as awkward as being the only one on the outside of an inside joke.

The blonde man, still laughing, shook his head, placing his face into his palm, elbow on the table. Then he beckoned to Unaril and Raphael. "Come, both of you, have a drink with us."

Raphael turned and sent Unaril a 'that was easy' look, and took a seat. After a second of decision-making, Unaril grabbed his glass and headed over to the table as well, wondering what Raphael had gotten them into. Both humans were still ridiculously tickled by something neither elf could hope to understand, laughing themselves to pieces, especially the bigger one.

The blonde man reached a hand out to Unaril to shake his hand. "I'm," he glanced once at his friend, snickered, and looked back at Unaril, "I'm...Borf. Just Borf."

The shorter man immediately erupted into laughter again, and Unaril couldn't help but start laughing with them, though he was still confused.

"Unaril Dawnstar," he introduced himself, internally gawking at the name 'Borf' and how unfitting it was on this young man.

"Ahem, yes," the dark-haired human nodded for a second, "Borf is my co-worker. My name's York. York Hunt."

This time Raphael choked on his drink just as 'Borf' burst out laughing all over again.

"Pardon?" Raphael laughed in a raspy voice as he tried to clear his airways.

"York Hunt, and this is my friend Borf. We're not from around here."

Raphael looked torn between calling them out on their ridiculous, now obviously made-up names, or simply rolling with it, but he chose the latter. "York...Hunt," he made sure to emphasize the pause between the names, "and Borf. What brings you here to the Roseborne Tavern?"

Both men spoke at once, and both with different answers.

"Work," said the blonde.

"Pleasure," said York.

Raphael grabbed his drink in response and held it up, "May they always be one and the same."

York and Borf lifted theirs, laughing, and coaxed Unaril to toast his own as well. They all drank, and Raphael smiled his typical, gauging smirk, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Next round's on me, friends."

Unaril awoke with his mouth open, squished against his own arm, with a puddle of drool forming on his shirtsleeve. He inhaled, grunted, and wiped the side of his mouth on his sleeve in an attempt to dry his chin as he opened his eyes. He was in a dark room, sleeping face-down on what appeared to be an old, threadbare, poorly-cushioned and dusty sofa that was only half the length of his body, and one of his long legs was hanging entirely over the side.

For a second he assumed he was alone, but on the other side of the room he lay eyes on Raphael, who was in a similar predicament to himself. Raphael was still asleep, head hanging over the side of an armchair and mouth propped open in his sleep.

They were in Raphael's hideout, but not the basement part. They'd stumbled back and passed out on the old furniture in the run-down cover apartment last night, after paying farewell to the peculiar pair they'd met at the Roseborne. Raphael had been more than reluctant to end the night, but 'Borf' and "York' claimed they had somewhere they had to be. The two men had given Raphael and Unaril a wish of good fortune before parting ways. It was probably good they'd left when they did, because Unaril had no doubt that Raphael and that York fellow would have gotten them all into some form of trouble. They seemed to feed one another's egos like kindling, the two of them so similar it became eerie by the end of the night.

Unaril sat upright, swinging both his legs forward into a normal position, and immediately groaned at the swimming in his head and the nausea that bloomed as a result. He swore under his breath.

Raphael's voice came as a surprise, because his sleeping form had not moved, and yet with his words he was clearly awake.

"Thank the gods we're seeing Katerina tomorrow morning, and not today." His voice was deeper than usual, gravelly, and tired. He remained there with his head leaned back on the arm of the chair, face pointed skyward, eyes shut.

Right, Unaril thought to himself. Haven't told him I'll not bother with time travel.

"I've put a lot of thought into that, actually," Unaril said after breathing deeply to cease the nausea, which worked for a moment.

"And by your tone, you've decided it cannot be done. Ethical lines to be crossed. I get it."

"What?" Unaril lifted one brow, staring at the rogue.

"By sending yourself into the past, you'll be changing everything, including the lives of everyone you know in this moment right now."

"You mean you recognized that would happen?"

"Of course I did," Raphael finally opened his eyes, which suddenly cast green flickers through the darkened room, and they fell on Unaril's and stayed there, rigid. "And, objectively, I was able to recognize that the only ones drawing the short straw would be Sarion and his progeny; the latter of whom will not exist, and the former of whom will not marry the woman you consider your wife. While that may to some seem unfair, I see it on the exact same level as that of a man whose wife and children were given to another man."

Unaril said nothing.

Raphael sniffed, looking back up at the ceiling. "Truly, they'll be happy, none the wiser, and you will have the life that was stolen from you."

"But I'll be changing the past thirty years. There are people who will, as you said, cease to exist entirely. Sarion and Nyela's daughter, for example. I cannot take that from them. That kind of power should not be toyed with."

"You're taking nothing," Raphael gave a quiet, single laugh. "Nothing, but what belongs rightly to you. However, if this is the decision you have chosen, I'll not fight it further. No one should have a greater say in what's best for you than you, yourself." A few seconds ticked by slowly. Raphael sat up straight in his armchair, giving a lighthearted sigh. "Well, then, looks like we're not seeing Miss Sunstepper after all. Her disappointment may sting," he snickered to himself.

Unaril opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly a loud, intense rapping came at the front door. The shoddy architecture shuddered under the knocking, and dust fell from the door, filling sunbeams that'd peeked through cracks in the wood. Raphael made a face of interest and stood, making for the door, but it swung open before he could reach it. A giant figure filled the doorway, silhouetted and unrecognizable save for the fact that it was most definitely Draenei. The sunlight made Unaril's head pound.

"Maverick, what brings you here?" Raphael questioned, and Unaril's brows arched.

The tall man stepped through the door, finally visible. His jet black curls fell down long over his shoulders, and his stern, sharp face regarded Raphael with concern. He seemed anxious in his quickened movements.

"We're running out of time," Maverick said quickly, swinging a large leather bag off of one shoulder and tossing it onto the only table surface in the entire room. He reached in and pulled out an armful of parchments, throwing them onto the table. "He's here, and I need your help."

"Slow down, boy," Raphael swept over beside the man as Unaril stood and approached as well. "What's wrong?" Raphael's eyes darted across the many papers Maverick had produced.

"Can't slow down," Maverick said, yanking out what looked like a drawing, a portrait of a man. "I'll lose the trail all over again. It's been years, and he's here, right here."

"Who?" Raphael took the portrait from the Draenei.

Maverick pointed at the drawing. "That's him. That's his face. The man who killed my mother. I've found him, and he's here. I know you have resources better than any guild on this side of the world. I need help."

"Killed your mother? Son, she died of a-"

"A headache? An aneurism? Yeah. Because of him. Because of what he did," Maverick jammed a finger at the sketch. "No one listened to me, but I've got him now."

Unaril peered at the drawing, and suddenly alarm gripped him.

"I've seen him," he announced in surprise, taking the paper and inspecting it to be sure. The drawing had captured the man's eyes, for sure. That cold, sharp glint. "I met this guy two nights ago in the inn where they held the wake. I don't always remember people I meet in bars, but this guy had something really off about him. He showed a keen interest in the time shard Katerina keeps."

Maverick and Raphael both stared at him, expressions varying between surprised and intrigued.

"His name?" Maverick asked, his silver eyes wide in anticipation.

"Alistair," he said in certainty, recalling the conversation they'd had, the weirdness of it all. "Alistair Clement."