A/N - So, when I was reading Inkspell for the first time, I had this little bit of pain come to me... I practically cried writing this, so I hope you enjoy! XD

Dustfinger stared after Roxane and Jehan as they made their way back to the fields where they worked. He couldn't believe that after so many years he was finally back home. Even if it wasn't what he had hoped to return to. The first conversation he'd had with his wife after being reunited replayed in his head over and over. One portion in particular seemed to be louder than the rest.

Where did you bury her?

Behind the house, where she always used to play.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to duck out the door of the unfamiliar house. He slowly walked around the house, sticking close to the shadows cast by the walls as he headed towards the back, dreading the sight that awaited him.

Turning the corner, he froze. His gaze was immediately drawn to the small patch of flowers growing near the low stone wall. He couldn't hope that it was anything other than what it was as he walked hesitantly toward it. There were no other flowers such as those anywhere near the wall. He stopped once more at the edge of the flower patch - No. Grave. Call it what it is, Dustfinger, he scolded himself silently. Grave. Rosanna's grave... Your baby's grave. Even thinking to himself, he had to force the words, as if his mind still couldn't comprehend what was right in front of his eyes, what his ears had heard from more than one person.

He winced as he noticed one of the flowers on his youngest daughter's grave was different from the others. He watched as a lone fire-elf peered out of the red anemone planted in the corner of the flowers, up against the wall. What was it doing here? He couldn't imagine why Roxane would have planted it there; it wasn't as if Rosanna would have been able to remember him all that much considering how much he'd gone off with the Motley Folk.

Why had he done that? He should've stayed with Roxane and their girls. There had been no reason for him to go off as often as he had other than he wanted to. The girls were always so upset when he left, especially Brianna with her fiery personality. Why had he gone off so much?

Carefully, so as not to crush any of the flowers, he knelt down in front of his daughter's grave. For a moment his mind went blank, allowing him a moment of peace from all of the thoughts racing through his mind as he closed his eyes. The moment didn't last for long though.

Suddenly, memories clearer than he'd had in his mind in a very long time appeared behind his closed eyelids. That sweet, round face, so like her mother's, her bright smile shining up at him as he held her in his arms every night with Brianna eventually crawling into his lap after her temper had calmed. What he wouldn't do to hold them both in his arms once more. Hear their laughs as they crawled over him and Roxane in the mornings. Hear their soft breathing during the nights they would all sleep in the same bed, the nights before he would leave them and the nights he came home, the girls curled between him and Roxane, Rosanna usually ending up as close to him as possible.

He would spend countless evenings making flowers out of bright flames for his girls in the dying sunlight. He closed his eyes tighter as the sound of high-pitched giggles and cheers echoed through his head.

Why did his mind have to repaint the image so vividly in his mind now that he knew she was gone? Roxane and Brianna sitting side by side in the grass near their house, Rosanna between them, playing the roles of the perfect audience as he performed for them. He always loved the smiles that grew on their faces as they watched him.

His throat began to tighten as he felt tears building up, threatening to overflow any second. He'd always been good at hiding his emotions from everyone, even those who knew him almost better than he knew himself. That other world must've made him softer, yes that must be it. He never would've been brought to tears by a few images in his head before. Or at least, he never would have made it obvious.

This time was different though. He had to choke back a sob as a tear escaped its prison and slid quietly down his face. No matter how hard he fought it, he finally gave in to the continuously building pressure, allowing more tears to follow the first. He leaned forward, his head being supported by shaking hands as his elbows hit the ground. Soon, his entire body shook with silent sobs. Curse that book and the Silvertongue who had read him out of it. Why couldn't he have just stayed with his girls for a bit longer at least? Why hadn't he stayed home with them, or at least come home more often?

"It's all my fault," he whispered over and over again, digging his fingers into his hair. "It's all my fault."

If he'd just been here, the fairies would've helped her. She'd still be here, running through the tall grass, smiling and laughing. But no. He'd been gone for ten years, and she for eight. And he'd had no idea while he was away. He had thought that he would return to all of his girls, just as he'd hoped when he had first been stolen from this world. Even though his hopes had dwindled drastically over the past ten years, he had still allowed one small piece of his heart to hold on to the wish that had been so harshly snatched away from him.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been there like that before he felt a hand lightly touching his shoulder. Without even looking up he knew exactly who it was. Only one person would ever touch him with so much care. He pulled away slightly, wiping a hand across his face, as her hand wrapped around his arm. He didn't deserve her comforting any more than Rosanna had deserved this. It was all his fault and nothing could change that.

He heard the grass beside him rustle as Roxane let go of his arm and sat down beside him. He stared down at the grass in front of his knees, not able to find the courage to look at her and face what he could've prevented. They sat in silence for a long moment, neither moving as the wind blew gently around them, making the flowers wave as if they were greeting a friend.

"You know," Roxane began finally, "she knew who her father was."

Dustfinger frowned slightly and glanced at her, confusion lacing with the pain still heavy in his gaze.

"Whenever you were gone," she continued as she gazed at the flowers, "I'd tell the girls stories about you every night before bed until you came back. Stories about any amusing little accidents you would have when we were with the Motley Folk together. And how you would quietly make fun of any man who tried to marry me, until you finally worked up the courage to ask me yourself."

Dustfinger took his hands away from his face and straightened, now completely focused on her as she continued.

"When you didn't come back with the rest of the Motley Folk, I got so distracted some nights that I would forget about our nightly stories. But Rosanna always made sure to complain if I tried to send her and Brianna to bed without one." She closed her eyes as if trying to keep the memory of those days in her mind longer. "Even when I married Jehan, she would ask for stories about her daddy. And I never could refuse, no matter if I was tired or busy. After all of those stories, I think she truly believed that you would come home one day and tell her more stories yourself. That's why I planted the anemone here; so that she would have you to watch over her as well as me."

He winced as her words pierced his heart, bringing tears to his eyes once more. He started shaking again as his vision blurred.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, Roxane. It's all my fault."

"How do you figure that it was your fault that she got sick?" she asked just as quietly, her eyes glistening with tears as she leaned toward him. "There were so many others who also got sick, she most likely would've caught the fever even if you had been here. If anything, it's my fault. I should've been able to find a way to save her. Instead, all I did was hold her as the White Women took her away."

"You did all you could without me," he argued. "If I'd been here, she wouldn't have died. You said so yourself-"

"What I said was that the fairies probably would've helped had you been here," she retorted. "Not that they would."

He shook his head, refusing to believe what she said. A new wave of misery washed over him, bringing more tears so that he didn't even notice Roxane wrap her arms around him.

"I didn't want to leave you," he said as he turned his face into her shoulder, shakily breathing in the orange scent of her hair as he tried to get control of himself. "I tried so hard to come back sooner. There wasn't a day that I didn't try to get back to you, or at least tried to figure out a way to."

"I know," she said softly, running her hand over his hair.

"I'm so sorry," he breathed once more as his heartbeat finally began to slow.

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Dustfinger." She leaned her head against his, and sighed as if she'd been holding in a breath for a very long time and was just now realizing it. "Just please never disappear like that again. When I heard that Capricorn and Basta had disappeared as well, I was terrified that they had finally gotten a hold of you. I hated not knowing what had happened to you."

"I did run into them a couple of times," Dustfinger admitted quietly. "But I'm fine."

"And I promise that I will stay here to the best of my ability," he added as he pulled away to look at her, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Good," she said, smiling slightly in return. "Why don't you come out to the field with me? I left Jehan by himself, and he isn't always great about staying on task."

Dustfinger laughed softly as he stood with her. "That sounds like the most enjoyable thing I could think of."