A couple of author's notes: first part takes place several years before the revenant, the second takes place after Zzyzx. No, I don't ship WarrenxVanessa so this is my response to make myself feel better (Warren deserves better!). Anyways, this story features clumsy Warren (no kidding right), Stony Vale, grumpy Bracken and my favorite: the bed-sharing trope. Yipee! Don't take anything too seriously though. This is for fun.

Ten years earlier.

Warren held out a hand in front of Dougan, effectively stopping their progress through the rich, green valley which marked the safest path through Stony Vale. Since their business at the preserve had been concluded easily an hour or so earlier (the concern turning out to be a false alarm), they had allowed their guard to relax as they tramped through the picturesque countryside.

"What is it?" the larger man asked, his voice barely audible.

"I hear something," Warren said. "Something unnatural." They both held their breaths, and in a heart-wrenching instant Warren heard it again, and he jerked to the east of where they stood, which was eclipsed by a thick line of ancient elm trees.

"Uncanny. I can't hear it," Dougan muttered. "Let's keep going."

But Warren was already stepping off the path, ignoring Dougan's hiss of warning behind him. Through the elms, the sound became much clearer—it was a woman singing. Somewhere in the back of Warren's mind, he knew it would be some sort of illusion. But curiosity drew him onward; he wanted to see the illusion, whatever it was.

He was barely inducted in the Knights of the Dawn. This accounted for Dougan's presence on a mission that would normally only require a single person. Warren tried not to think that this would also account for his reckless trip into the thick forest.

When he stepped through the far side of the elms, the music abruptly stopped, and there was a splash of water. Warren looked around, but did not see even a ripple. Nor did he hear Dougan behind him. There was a river rushing before him; no more than three feet across and flowing lazily down from the hills. Warren crept closer, telling himself it was just to see how deep it was.

A face floated close to the surface, and Warren stumbled backward in surprise. But it did not attack, so he moved closer again, his footsteps sinking into the soft, moist soil by the riverbank.

"Was that you?" he asked the figure. It did not respond, but floated closer until it broke the sparkling, black water. A woman's face, staring up at him with wide, golden eyes, framed by wet, dark hair.

"Couldn't be," Warren answered his own question. "You're a naiad, aren't you? Naiads don't sing."

A slight raise to her brows was all the response he got.

"And you're alone," he guessed. "And naiads rarely leave the water."

Again the woman shrugged.

"But you understand me," Warren continued. "So...what are you?"

She tilted her head, but did not answer, her eyes not moving from his own. Suddenly he was acutely aware of how pretty this creature was, and his heart thudded uncomfortably as several thoughts passed through his mind at once. His great-great uncle, Patton Burgess, had fallen in love with a naiad. Was this one trying to drown him? She wasn't moving.

Warren continued to creep closer to the water. He was ready to bolt if she tried to grab him, and he wanted a closer look. Suddenly his booted foot slipped on a mossy rock, and he pitched forward.

Everything seemed to slow down. The woman was watching in surprise, and opened her arms as if to catch him. He knew that under no circumstances should he enter an unknown magical creature's domain (he wasn't that inexperienced). He also knew that physics and gravity were pretty hard to beat, and his arms flailed helplessly.

Just as Warren's outstretched fingers touched the icy-cold surface of the black river, just as the woman's hands were about to encircle his neck to catch him—a violent tug pulled him backwards. He choked, the collar of his shirt pushing uncomfortably on his throat, and fell backwards on the cold riverbank, water sloshing into his shoes.

"Idiot," Dougan, muttered. "What were you thinking?"

"I slipped," Warren said dumbly, rubbing his neck. "Why so brutal? My throat is tender and should be treated more gently!"

"I barely caught you in time. She almost touched you. If you had, you would be at the bottom of the river now."

Warren sobered quickly. "What was she?" She, of course, was gone—there was no trace of her presence on the surface of the river, which bubbled on as if nothing had just happened.

"Some sort of naiad," Dougan, said, scratching his ruddy whiskers as he looked about. "Not sure. We can ask McKay. Come on." McKay was caretaker of Stony Vale. He would probably know, and with that to satisfy him, Warren accepted Dougan's outstretched hand to rise to his feet.

The song was still echoing in his mind, and Warren hoped fervently to forget it soon.

The beginning of my first foray into the Fablehaven fandom. And pretty much the last: this story only has one or two more chapters. Hope you enjoy.