"What do you think you are doing?"

Frederick froze in place as the loud, booming voice reached his ears. He turned slowly, armful of apples still guiltily on show.

Behind the adept, hands on hips, Bertram frowned, chewing his lip thoughtfully. The steward's beard shifted as he regarded Frederick with a critical eye.

"I cannot believe this." The steward sighed dramatically. "One of our adepts, raiding the larder like a common bandit!"

He began pacing, while Frederick lowered his head shamedly.

"And he doesn't even have the decency to filch the good stuff!"

Frederick's head snapped back up at Bertram's good-natured chuckle. The steward was now beaming widely, teeth flashing behind his grin.

"Don't waste your time with apples, boy." He smiled. "There's half a wheel of good cheese from Touissant in the back there, and three warm loaves cooling in the kitchen. Make sure to swing by the cellar, I've left a couple of bottles of cider chilling in a bucket there. Help yourself to one, but make sure to leave the other for old Bertram!"

Frederick opened his mouth to reply, but words evaded him. Finally, his voice returned.

"I'm... not in trouble?"

"You think you are the first adept to raid the kitchen for a secret picnic in the woods?" Bertram's belly shivered as he laughed. "Go, have your fun. And whoever the young maid is, just be sure her father doesn't find out! We Witchers have a bad enough reputation among the villagers as it is!"

Frederick opened his mouth to correct the steward, to explain that he wasn't looking to bed some peasant from one of the nearby villages, but common sense stayed his tongue. Better that less people knew about the Elves, at least for now. He quietly muttered his thanks to Bertram, before scurrying out of the larder, apples still fighting to roll free of his grasp.

~o~0~o~

"You have our thanks, Vatt'ghern!" Ialeth thanked the adepts profusely, eyes widening as she surveyed the spoils of their raid on the castle. "Truly, I did not expect quite so much, or such luxuries. It would seem that the Witchers live well within the walls of Kaer Marter."

"Master Jana has a shrewd eye, and a knack for bartering." Morold explained. "And Bertram could probably convince a dryad to sell him firewood!"

"Good friends to have!" Ialeth smiled.

The Nightsabers had once more joined the Elves in the forest, a few bulging packs of food, wine and other treats from the castle to aid Ialeth and her kinswomen. The older Elf had quickly invited the trio to sit with them, offering a spot by their campfire as the evening drew in. Eloena and Lauriel remained cold, distant, keeping the fire between themselves and the Witchers. Frederick, chancing a glance or two in Lauriel's direction, would sometimes catch the Elf regarding him, but her eyes would quickly flash with hostile fire, and she would avert her gaze swiftly.

"Once more, you have our thanks." Ialeth spoke over the fire, turning her warm eyes toward each adept in turn. "This is heartier fare than we are used to. I haven't enjoyed such a feast in years!" Her smile tightened a little bit. "Not since I last dwelt within my home, with my family."

"Where is your home?" Cyrus asked. "Where have you come from?"

"I have no home, not anymore." The Elf explained quietly. "Much that the Aen Seidhe once possessed has been lost to our conflict with the Humans."

"Including your home?" Cyrus pursued.

"Yes." Ialeth nodded, a stray braid of hair tumbling from behind her ear to swing past her cheek, going a little way towards hiding the look of sorrow that washed across her gentle expression. Carefully, she tucked the loose braid back into place, quickly hiding her pained expression. "Many years ago, before there was even an idea of a war between Elves and Humans, my family lived in a grand palace, the most beautiful in all the land you now call Temeria. The Humans took it during their conflict with the Aen Seidhe, with great bloodshed on both sides. Eventually, once my people were driven back, and the castle was given to the Witchers, a home for them to train their newest recruits."

"Kaer Marter was once your home?" Frederick asked, eyes wide. The Elf nodded.

"So why have you come back here?" Morold asked. "To see it? You know the Temerians will not allow you inside. I doubt whether any of the Masters would stand for it, even."

"You speak the truth." Ialeth bowed her head in agreement. "I doubt I could even walk the halls for but a moment before someone would try to take my ears, and my head along with it. Nevertheless, I had to return, one last time."

"Meaning..." Frederick began, although he suspected the conclusion Ialeth would give. The Elf quickly confirmed his suspicions.

"That the time of my passing will soon be upon me, yes." Her eyes gleamed, not with sorrow or fear, but rather with a colossal weariness. "We Elves live a long time, but all things must end, eventually. I will die very soon, and I have returned to the home of my family to find peace before the time comes."

"You're dying?" Morold asked in alarm. "Are you sick? Maybe we can help! Master Jodok might know something, or maybe Vester-"

"Would not be able to help." Ialeth interrupted. "Even the most powerful of magics cannot overcome nature. Old age can be delayed, perhaps, but never truly defeated, and I am very old."

Frederick suddenly became aware of just how small the Elf was, how she seemed to buckle under an immense weight on her shoulders. The light that her presence cast across the minds of all present at the campfire, while still powerful, seemed to be fading, like a candle guttering in the breeze. The young adept couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at the thought of such a life, so full of wisdom and experience, fading into nothing. A lump bobbed in his throat, keeping him from being able to offer any words of reassurance, but he didn't need to. Ialeth looked at him, and he could see in her gaze that she understood his feelings, perhaps even better than he did himself. She offered a comforting smile.

"Do not be sorrowed." She reassured. "I am not gone yet, and I have lived a long and good life. What matters is not how we depart this world, but how we leave it in our wake. I am at peace with the mark I have left upon this world and the people within it."

"Then what can we do to help you?" Cyrus said, his face stoic as he spoke. "You want us to try and get you inside the castle?"

"Nothing so difficult." Ialeth replied. "When my family and I were forced to leave our home, I had to forsake a few treasured belongings. We had no time to take anything with us, save for the clothing on our backs. If you could bring them to me, I would be most indebted to you."

"What were these items?" Morold asked, stroking his chin. "Where would we find them?"

"They are small items, no more than trinkets, really." The Elf explained. "A bag I had as a child, a doll, and a portrait. Just some things that meant a lot to me."

"Okay... so where do we find the bag? What does it look like?" Cyrus asked.

"It was small... blue." Ialeth closed her eyes as she dredged up the memory. "My mother grew a small garden in the Castle's conservatory. I used to play in there while she tended to the orange trees my father brought back for her from his travels to the south." She smiled fondly. "I used to have a little set of tools I would keep in that bag, so that I could join her in working the soil and looking after the trees until they bore fruit. I left it in the conservatory on the day the castle was attacked, in the store with my mother's other tools. I doubt anyone would have taken it, the items inside have no material value."

"And the doll?" Morold chimed in.

"It was a Leshen, about this big..." She held her hands about half a foot apart. "It was left in my chambers, but may have been moved. Look anywhere that the Temerians might have cast all the old and unusable things that they didn't loot and sell off immediately." She paused, just a moment's hesitation. "The portrait may be more difficult to find. It was small, easy to carry. It showed my mother, clad in a full set of armour. The picture itself is not worth anything to a Human collector, but the frame may have sold for a fair amount of coin. The picture may have been removed from the frame, so you may be looking for a roll of canvas."

"It's not a lot to go on, but it's a start." Morold sighed. "We will try our hardest to find them for you, Ialeth."

"If there is anyone you can trust in the castle, enlist their aid." Ialeth said. "Two sets of eyes can cover far more ground than one."

"We shall." The young Nightsaber vowed. "We will return with your belongings as soon as we can, I promise."

~o~0~o~

Thick, choking dust coated the inside of Frederick's throat, keeping him even from coughing. Instead, the young adept could only gag as he turned away from the piles of old, dusty furniture that filled the castle's storeroom. Ancient, empty wooden chests piled on top of one another concealed one wall, while shelves that bowed under the weight of many old, ruined books filled the centre of the room. To one side, a stack of heavy canvas sacking had once hidden a series of beautiful paintings, all carefully removed from their frames and rolled up for storing. The frames themselves could not be found, presumably sold off after the castle was first ransacked and occupied.

The young Mage's apprentice couldn't help but wonder at the trove of ancient keepsakes hidden away in the depths of the castle. Why hadn't the Witchers done away with all traces of the previous residents? Why hadn't Treysse purged the halls of all Elven remains? The Nightsaber found himself pondering what the motivations of the Cat School's Grandmaster might have been. Perhaps someday he would get a chance to broach the subject with the normally stern, unapproachable Witcher.

The Nightsabers, along with a few other adepts that had expressed an interest in helping out, had found the storeroom in one of the castle's many wings, lock stiff from years of not being used. One adept, a small girl from Gedymin's Phoenixes, had made swift work of the lock with a few twisted pieces of metal and some oil she produced from a pouch on her belt, something that the other adepts chose not to question to deeply. Instead, in the now darkened halls, they quickly moved inside the room, careful not to make a sound and alert anyone else in the castle to their hunt.

"I think I've found something!" The hoarse, whispering voice echoed out from behind a stained, dusty chaise-longue.

The voice belonged to Hadewig, an adept that the Nightsabers had roped into helping them search the castle. Along with a couple of his fellow Phoenixes, Hadewig had been all to happy to help out, eager to meet the Elves who had once lived within the castle's walls. For some reason Frederick had yet to fathom, how friends referred to Hadewig as "the Chosen", with wide grins on their faces. The adept made a mental note to investigate that further.

Hadewig stood up, dusting off the knees of his bright scarlet trousers with one hand while the other supported a small square of canvas, perhaps a foot in height and width. He stalked over to the other adepts, carefully laying the image on the nearest surface he could find, the top of a large wooden crate.

"That has to be it!" Morold breathed reverently, and Frederick had to agree with him.

The picture depicted an Elven woman, clad in fine mail and plate armour. Elegant designs danced across her breast, while an ornate helmet was tucked under one arm. Her features were sharp, fierce, but hid a kindness and warmth that reminded each of the adepts of Ialeth in an instant. Frederick reached out to pat Hadewig on the shoulder in congratulations.

"Great work." He commended. "Just the doll and the bag to go!"

The other adepts groaned, turning back to the crowded storeroom and its near-endless contents. It was going to be a long night.

~o~0~o~

"Thank you, vatt'ghern. You've aided me far more than you know."

Ialeth gently took the items from the adept's outstretched hands, looking at each of them with a quiet, contemplative look in her eyes. She lifted the image of her mother, tilting it this way and that as she took in every detail. When she glanced over to the three adepts, Morold, Hadewig and Frederick, the young Witcher hopefuls could feel the sadness in her gaze, tinged with the unmistakable warmth of happiness.

"I never thought I would get to see her face again." She murmured. "Thank you, from the deepest depths of my heart."

"It was nothing." Morold shrugged. "We are happy to help in any way we can."

"Then I was truly fortunate to come across you." The Elf replied. She paused, looking back to the picture, before continuing, her voice trembling a little. "If you will excuse me, I think I should like a few brief moments by myself. To... remember."

With that, the older Elf turned on her heel, striding off deeper into the woods. The adepts turned away, understanding of her wish to be alone. All of them, taken from their lives to join the Witchers at Kaer Marter in one way or another, could at least in a small way relate to the feeling of being parted from one's family. Instead, the trio looked back to the campfire, where the other adepts recruited into their cause waited, most clustered around the fire with Eloena, the young Elf showing them a small trinket that she was working on, a charm that she claimed would protect her from dangerous spirits and curses. Lauriel, meanwhile, had deliberately distanced herself from the group, leaning against a tree with her arms folded across her chest, barely constrained hostility radiating out from her. She watched the Witchers, clustered around her kinswoman, with obvious scorn.

Without even thinking about it, Frederick found himself sidling over to the dark-haired Elf, unnoticed by Lauriel until he stood right by her. The Elf turned from the others to glance at him, then averted her gaze.

"What do you want?" She simmered.

"To talk." Frederick shrugged. "Is that so odd?"

"Hmmf!" She chuffed. "Talking. Your kind are good at that."

"I just want to know more about you and your people." Frederick could feel his tone growing more defensive. "Why the hostility?"

"You question why I would be angered?" She stood upright, stepping away from the tree trunk and beginning to pace energetically. "You're right, it's unthinkable that I should bear any grudge towards you and your kind. After all, the Temerians only cast us out of our home. The d'hoinne only hunt us to the brink of extinction at every turn. The vatt'ghern only defile our ancestral halls with their debauchery and filth. It's utterly unreasonable to be angered by such things!"

"I don't understand what you are talking about." Frederick said, trying to keep his voice from rising. "What are dwonn? What's a vatt-kern?"

"You don't even know the most common words of my people." Lauriel shook her head. "Ignorance as well as stupidity. Such is the way with the d'hoinne."

"Then teach me!" Frederick felt a knot of frustration rise in his throat. "I am not your enemy here. I want to learn about the ways of your people, to understand your culture. How can I do so if you won't speak with me?"

The Elf turned to glance at him, her eyes softening for just a moment before the gleam of ferocity return.

"No!" She shouted loudly enough for all present at the camp to hear. Frederick was all too aware of the many eyes now turning to the pair. Lauriel was undeterred, her voice remaining raised. "We cannot trust the vatt'ghern!"

The dark-haired Elf turned on her heel, darting away through the trees. Frederick took a step to follow her, but a small, delicate hand on his shoulder made him pause. He turned to find himself looking into the eyes of Eloena, the Elf's gaze sympathetic.

"Leave her be, Witcher." She said quietly. "She needs a moment to herself. Be assured, it's not you that she is angry with. She is only distressed because she knows what must come next."

"Next?" Frederick asked weakly, his gaze once more turning to the retreating Lauriel.

"Ialeth has one final request to make of you, and of Master Toril." Eloena's voice was heavy as she spoke.

"If we can help, we will." Frederick swore.

"We require a boat." The Elf explained. "A small one, fit to carry one person. Ten archers, good ones, and linen, a great deal of it. Have Master Toril bring these to the lake that lies at the heart of the lake, after sundown tomorrow. She will understand."

"It will be done, I promise." Frederick replied earnestly.

"Good." Eloena sighed in relief. "Now, you should return to your Masters, before you are missed. The last thing we need is the whole castle scouring the woods for you all."

Frederick nodded, gesturing to his friends. The gathered adepts all stood, nodding their farewells to Eloena before turning to leave. Slowly, the group filed out of the clearing, Frederick and Morold taking up the rear. As they walked, Morold turned to speak to his fellow Nightsaber.

"What was all that about, Frederick?" He gestured roughly in the direction where Lauriel had vanished into the woods.

"I don't know." The former Mage's apprentice sighed. "Just me not understanding something, I guess."

"Women are hard enough to understand at the best of times, my friend." Morold chuckled. "Even more so when they are not even the same species as us! Don't let it trouble you overly."

"Still, I wish there was something more I could do." Frederick chewed his lip as he stared down at the ground, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. "They've lost so much, and still life continues to take from them..."

"We cannot do anything to change the way our kind has treated theirs, Frederick." Morold sympathised. "We can only control how we treat them, and focus on-"

He paused, prompting Frederick to glance at him. The adept has stopped moving, looking to their right, just over Frederick's shoulder. The young Nightsaber turned to follow the direction of his gaze.

Lauriel stood beside the trunk of a tree, half-hidden behind it, only a few steps away. She folded her hands in front of herself nervously, fingers twisting around one another as she turned over some troubling thought or another in her mind. Her deep, dark eyes looked at the adepts warily. As she stepped forward, Morold cleared his throat.

"I'll- uhh... just go catch up with the others..." With those short words, he was gone, leaving Frederick alone with the Elf.

"Do you truly mean what you said, that you want to help my people?" Lauriel asked, the tremble of something resembling anger, but also regret, lingering in her voice.

"Of course." Frederick focused on putting as much genuine honesty into the words as he could. "I meant every word. And I will do whatever I can for you, for Eloena, and for Ialeth."

At the last word, the young Elf flinched, but straightened quickly. A tear danced in the corner of her eye.

"Ialeth has always been there for me." She explained with a quiet voice. "She's almost all I have left of my family. Knowing that she'll leave so soon, and I cannot follow her.. it-"

Her voice hitched, her nose wrinkling as she fought back more tears. Suddenly, with a swiftness that caught Frederick unawares, the Elf lunged forwards, arms wrapping around the young Witcher adept as she pressed her face into his collarbone, a few sobs shaking their way through her entire delicate frame. Frederick froze for a moment, unsure of how to respond, before finally curling his arms around her, offering a few non-verbal sounds of comfort as her tears stained his shirt.

The young Nightsaber was startled by just how small the Elf truly was. Although he himself was no giant of a man, the woman in his arms was incredibly slight, dwarfed in his arms. A swell of emotion roiled within him, a sudden pressure to keep this delicate, elegant thing safe from the world, to do everything he could to help her. His heart pounded in his chest as he whispered comforts to her, his lips a hair's breadth from her ear.

"It's going to be alright, I promise." He whispered until her sobbing stilled, her tears slowing.

"Just- promise me you'll keep Ialeth safe, no matter what happens!" The Elf whispered hoarsely. "Until this is over, don't let anything happen to her, please!"

"I swear on my life, none of you will come to any harm." Frederick swore, meaning every last word.

Finally, all too soon for Frederick, the Elf broke contact, pulling herself out of his arms with a small sigh.

"I should return to the camp." She muttered. "Will I see you again?"

"I will return." Frederick promised. "You ave my word."

"Good."

Lauriel glanced down to her feet, then back at Frederick. Then, just as suddenly as she'd appeared, the Elf bolted, vanishing between the trees in seconds. Frederick, still standing where she'd left him, stood still as a statue for a few moments, before his mind finally caught up with his body. With a sigh, he leaned against the nearest tree, looking to the leaves above as his body and mind blurred with some strange, incomprehensible barrage of thoughts and emotions. Finally, after a few moments composing himself, the Nightsaber loped off in the rough direction of the castle.

~o~0~o~

The sun was setting, the day's heat rapidly dwindling, by the time Frederick managed to return to the forest. The rest of the school was occupied with their evening meal, all raucously chattering, singing and feasting in the Great Hall, which gave the Nightsaber the perfect opportunity to sneak out and find the Elves again. He'd already spoken with Toril, going over the necessary preparations, and had only to deliver her reply to the Elves, a task he had all too readily agreed to. Now, he slowly picked his way through the forest, seeking the clearing.

As the peace and quiet of the night closed in around him, he became aware of a subtle wrongness in the air. The forest was deathly still, suddenly lacking the lively quality it had once possessed. A troubling sensation in his heart, Frederick pressed on until he broke through the edge of the clearing, the scene that greeted him making his pulse race.

The clearing was abandoned. The campfire, still smoking, had had several handfuls of dirt swiftly thrown over it to douse the flames. Where the Elves' belongings had sat, the soil was churned up, as if everything had been scooped up in a hurry. Dozens of footprints littered the cleaning, some deep and clearly from an armoured boot.

Panic setting in, Frederick raced around the clearing, searching for any sign of the whereabouts of the Elves. Nothing remained. No weapons or, Frederick's stomach turned at the thought, blood, but also no discarded belongings, not even the faintest trace of a trail to follow. What had happened? Where were the Elves? Where was Lauriel?

As these frantic thoughts began to overwhelm the young adept, he swiftly became aware of another presence, close by. Turning slowly, Frederick's heart leapt as he caught sight of a shape moving towards the camp. Not an Elf, as he had hoped, but a Witcher. Frederick soon recognised the figure of Master Dirk, heading straight in the direction of the now abandoned clearing.

Frederick swallowed the knot of anxiety that clogged his throat. He could still clearly remember what the Wolf School Master had said, back during their first Signs class. The words echoed in his head.

"The king and his people pay us to go after whatever threatens their way of life. Won't be long before Elves start to fill that list. Pretty soon, Witchers will be taking on contracts on the Aen Seidhe, just another monster the Humans fear."

Frederick squashed the surge of worry that threatened to overtake his mind. He needed to focus for now. He couldn't let the Witcher find the Elves. Couldn't let him find Lauriel. He fought to cast out the mental image of Dirk using his Signcraft on the young she-Elf, but the thought persisted. Swallowing painfully, he shook his head to clear it. He knew what he had to do. He needed to get away from the clearing before he was spotted.

Keeping a tree between himself and the Witcher, the young Nightsaber began moving furtively through the forest, trying to put as much distance between himself and Dirk. Branches whipped at his face, while thorns ripped at his trousers. Every rustling leaf or snapping twig under his feet made him wince. While he'd seen Masters like Harlaw and Toril move effortlessly in the wilds with nary more than a whisper of sound following them, Frederick was a long way from that kind of skill. It wouldn't be long before he was spotted. He just needed to-

Just as he began processing that thought, his momentary lapse in focus betrayed him. His foot found a soft patch of mud, his ankle folding up under him. He managed to keep himself from yelping out loud, but his tumbling body sent a series of loud snaps and clatters echoing across the forest as he landed in a dense bush. He groaned as a few branches poked his sides and scratched his face, one scraping along the fresh scars on his cheek to summon forth a hiss of pain from the adept. As he lay there, a little dazed, he closed his eyes in resignation. There was no way Dirk hadn't heard that little cacophony.

"Hey!"

Sure enough, the Master barked out as he spotted the sprawling adept, sprinting over. Frederick noted with more than a little envy how quietly the Witcher managed to move. As Dirk raced up next to the adept, he dropped to a knee, offering a hand to help Frederick into a sitting position.

"What are you doing out here?" The Master asked.

"Uhh..." Frederick's mind raced as he rubbed his head, feeling the tacky wetness of blood seeping from the injury on his cheek. Sudden inspiration seized him. "I was out looking for some herbs."

"Herbs?" Dirk's brow rose inquisitively.

"For my wounds." Frederick pointed to where the Fiend had clawed his face open back on his first hunt. "The potions are working, but they don't do anything about the pain. I'd hoped to find some burdock root to chew on, take the edge off the pain."

"Uh-huh." It was a poor lie, and Frederick could see in Dirk's eyes that he thought so, too. Still, the Witcher chose not to question it any further. "So I guess you don't know about the Elves that were sighted here earlier then? That abandoned camp back there?"

Frederick glanced in the direction that Dirk pointed with his thumb, making a show of looking puzzled. The Master had almost certainly seen through him, but he was committed now.

"Elves? Here?" He asked. "Can't say that I've seen any."

Dirk sighed, lowering his head.

"I'm not their enemy. I just want to help them." He explained.

Frederick wanted to believe him. He wanted to be able to trust the Master. He seemed honourable, at least for a Witcher. But those words, the thought of the entire school hunting down and slaughtering Lauriel and her kin, stayed him from telling the Master any of the truth. Finally, admitting defeat, Dirk looked the adept straight in the eye.

"If you see them, or learn anything about what's happened to them, I need you to tell me right away, okay?"

"Of course, Master Dirk." Frederick replied stonily, plagued by twinges of guilt. "I'll keep an eye out for anything amiss in the forest."

"See that you do." Dirk sighed. "In the meantime, you'd better get back to hunting for your herbs."

With that, the Witcher quietly stood, turning on his heel to leave. Frederick, still sitting in the dirt where he'd fallen, sagged as he released a long, weary sigh. He waited just a few moments, until he was certain that the Witcher had left, then quickly scrambled to his feet, dusting himself off. Looking about, he made a decision. If other Witchers were looking for the Elves, then it was unlikely that they'd been found and captured. Frederick had to track them down, and fast. He closed his eyes, focusing his mind. Harlaw's training in Survival class bubbled up in his mind, lessons on tracking and reading the forest, chasing down prey. Slowly, he opened his eyes, scanning the woodlands around him. With a surge of hope, he spotted something, a broken piece of bark on a nearby tree. He walked up to it, glancing around, then finally upwards, his heart surging. There, far above in the forest's canopy, hung a tiny wooden trinket, one of Eloena's charms she'd crafted to protect herself from curses. Looking further along, he spotted another, almost invisible among the leaves unless you knew what to look for. A trail to follow.

Hope surging in his heart, darkness closing in around him, Frederick plunged deeper into the forest, hoping he'd be able to keep up his pursuit even once the sunlight was completely gone. Behind him, unseen by the adept, Master Dirk watched the Nightsaber leave, shaking his head wearily.