((No rush on this one; I just wanted to get it started before I lost my train of thought. I'm fine waiting until the Restorations thread is over.))

The skies had begun to clear after a few days of drizzle and while the river sand was still a bit on the moist side of pleasant, the air had warmed considerably. It was still a nice evening for an after dinner walk on the beach, and even if it wasn't the ocean, the sunset was no less pretty for it.

After walking in somewhat contented silence for some time, arm-in-arm with Sarinah, Tristaan was the first to speak up. He'd come to understand that there was more going on under the surface of the lovely witch's thoughts than just rejection from her family, especially after all the difficulties of the second forth just a few days ago. He could tell things had particularly bothered her, but being one who valued personal freedom, he hadn't wanted to pressure her for her thoughts. The passive simply hoped she'd share when she was ready, unless, of course, she'd since decided she couldn't trust him with her feelings.

However, it was always the little things that caught up with you, when you weren't looking, and Tristaan had slowly decided it was harder to cover his concern than it was to talk about it.

"So, Sarinah, are you plannin' on lettin' me know what's on your mind 'fore we leave for th'Harbor? Or are you savin' it t'make th'road that much more interestin'?" He kept his voice warm and lightly inquisitive, far from accusatory, and yet it was obvious he had very much meant to say 'we.'

The dancer had been walking with a pensive sort of expression, and Tristaans words were almost like he'd read her mind. Ever since the day she'd run into Tito, Old Rose had been on her mind. Obviously more so than she realised. She smiled at the use of the word 'we', thankful he still intended on coming with her. If he had decided not to, then she wouldn't go either. Tucking her long hair back out of her face, she stopped him and turned, facing him.

"It's...its actually about Old Rose." The brunette held both his hands, stroking the tops of his fingers with her thumbs.

"I want to create this dancing house, you know this. And, its going to be just dancing. But, to start off with kov, I'll be one of the dancers. Ent going to make girls do what I wouldn't." She was struggling to word this properly, not wanting to sound like a tumble. Taking a big breath, she looked up at him.

"Tristaan, I feel a great hama for you, more than anything in the world. And I would never do anything to hurt you. But balach, when I am in that place, on that stage, I have to act like I'm a free chip. When those men look at me, I have to make them want me. It's all an act, but as soon as the ging starts showing, they get a show." Closing her eyes, she took a breath, then looked up at him again.

"Ye chen? I need to know how your going to feel about this."

The passive stood quietly, contentedly holding Sarinah's hands, listening carefully. He understood what she was planning, to some degree, and as she explained, it became clearer. He exhaled slowly through his nose, gray eyes studying her face, her body language, finally meeting her lovely, chocolate eyes, "Hama," he hummed, warmly, smiling and leaning closer, hands between them resting on his chest, "I feel it, too, macha."

"You're sayin' it's different. There'n'here." He meant with himself and on stage, "Oes, I understand it ent th'same. An' I know it ent your point t'hurt me."

Tristaan grew silent again, looking down at their hands. He broke the silence softly, with an admission, an example, and the only way he knew how to explain that he understood, "While I was away, I stole a shipment of opium from th'Bad Brothers, shot th'driver of th'cart I fell off of t'break my arm, among other things ..."

"But it's different. Here'n'there." He meant with mercenary work and with her.

"I didn't expect those things t'happen, but it was a job. I was lied to, but I still had t'finish what I started. Ent everythin's gonna be easy, right away, an' I can accept that. From you. From anyone. I ent one t'judge by line'o'work, considerin' where I've been an' where I've come from, Sarinah."

The passive sighed, "I feel protective. I'll want t'watch out for you, if you're mine t'watch. Old Rose ent gonna know what t'do with your plans right away, an' y'know it. I ent gonna lie, it'll be hard t'not be jealous." He smirked, "But I trust you, ye chen? D'you trust me?"

The dancer felt a surge of love when he returned the sentiments. Hearing him say it was so much nicer than she had expected. It made her smile. He'd fallen silent, looking down at their hands.



Her smile dissapeared and she looked at his down cast eyes.

"You what?" She said quietly, not really sure if she could believe what he'd just said. When she'd first met him, Sarinah had known he was a sword-for-hire...but...hearing it put into action was different. And he'd lied to her. Well, he'd withheld the real reason he'd gone to Old Rose. Obviously not to worry her but still...



She felt the sudden shock drain away, angry that the passive had been lied to about the Old Rose trip. When she saw that doctor next she was going to punch him. It was calming and sweet how accepting he was, and she blushed in humility. Who was she to get upset when he talked about what he did to earn ging. It was the same as her job. It wasn't a choice, it was a necessity.



It was hard to find her voice at first. She cleared her throat and nodded.

"Oes, always kov. I trust you more than anyone I've known."

She broke away from him suddenly, turning from him. Tears had come to her eyes and suddenly she was crying. It had been a highly emotional trip, Surwood had challenged her mind and her soul. The past few days since Tristaan's return had almost been worse than the waiting. The issue with Wendy and Petra, and hearing him screaming in pain, the realization that she could never connect with him like Wendy could and the feeling of stupidity and worthlessness.

Holding her arms across herself, as though shielding from the cold, she let the tears come. The brunette couldn't bring herself to face him.

"Your so good to me, Tristaan. You deserve better than this. Better than a stupid witch. Better than a tumble hut dancer."

"Oh, now ..." The passive frowned, vaguely understanding that Sarinah's insecurities had only been made painfully clearer as the haze of her life in Vienda had been wiped away during her stay on Surwood, first with her family, then with himself, and lastly with Wendy and Petra. It was uncomfortable to witness, and Tristaan wasn't necessarily confident he could make everything better ... at least not anytime soon.

Real wounds took time to heal.

Reaching out for the lovely witch, he spoke quietly, warmly, "Ye chen those things ent true. Y'ent stupid an' y'ent just a dancer. An' if y'want t'know what I deserve, I can tell you it ent anyone understandin' an' gentle an' vibrant like you. I've been told my whole life what I can't have, Sarinah, so far be it for me to think I deserve anythin' like what I've found in you."

He held her face in his calloused hands, wiping her tears with a small smile, "I told you before, I got less t'bring t'all this than even you. You'd be better off with a real wick, not someone just pretendin' so's t'keep outta trouble. There's things I ent ever gonna be able t'do, apart from ignorin' laws an' choosin' t'live as I please."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QhKTPC8c6fA



The black and red haired witch closed her eyes, his words were so sweet it made her ache even more. How could he be so strong and wonderful and perfect. And hers. Turning back to him, she sniffed, knowing she should regather her composure, but finding it hard. She didn't cry, not often, and now it seemed like she needed to. A release of sorts. Opening her eyes, she looked up at him.



She pressed her lips together, trying not to let her breath start hitching. Her arms stayed protectively folded.

"I ent better off with anyone else. I've been with a real wick kov, and he did nothing but break my heart and leave me for the wolves. Ye might think your pretending, but your twice the wick he ever was." She shook her head, laughing slightly.

"If your talking about the vroo, I ent even remotely interested. It's nothing but trouble for me so far." Taking a few deep breaths, she settled herself down slightly and nodded to herself.

"So, if your okay with this, when should we leave for Old Rose. Is it...is it safe for you there now? I ent got my heart set on the place, I just don't know anywhere else I am allowed to go."

"Ne, well, it's more'n'just vroo, rosh. Golly—Anaxi—law says there's a lot more'n'that I ent allowed t'have for myself. If I ent a wick, if I'm a passive, as I am really, I ent allowed property, wife, bochi. None of that comes without refusin' my birthright an' livin' with secrets, ye chen?"

Tristaan fell quiet after his response for more than a few moments, feeling unsure as to whether or not the cards he'd spread on the metaphorical table between them were worth more than he'd intended or more than was necessary. He wasn't sure what kind of commitment he could offer to the dancer at this juncture, not simply because of his race or his choice of employment, but also because of his own unresolved personal issues and scars. He felt terribly inadequate to be making long-term promises for something remotely happy when he struggled on a daily basis to be hopeful on his own.


"If there's anywhere that don't ask questions, it'd be th'Harbor. That an' spoke life, which I ent sure's a real answer for either of us, whether it's enjoyable'nough or not." The passive chuckled, not unmoved by the quaint simplicity of sharing a kint and an open road, "I ent got anywhere else t'go b'tween here'n'there, though I ent in a hurry t'leave th'Isle. It's nice t'be home, an' I've got a feelin' I shouldn't be anywhere but here for Calli's birthday near th'end'o'th'month. 'Specially since I can be."

"Y'ent in a hurry, are you? Th'Festival's been ... harder for you." Tristaan's face fell a little, "An' I don't wanna keep you if you don't wanna be here."

The woman opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. Wife...bochi? She felt a little thrill at those words. Her red rimmed eyes looked up at him with adoration.

"That's not fair. You..if..." She had nothing.



Sarinah nodded, of course. She understood what he meant. It just seemed so far, this place was almost a bad luck charm. But Calli was very important. She wouldn't leave before her birthday.



The brunette dancer shook her head, laughing a little.

"Harder seems somewhat of an understatement. I...I think it was easier when I was trapped in Cooks. At least I knew my place, and I knew what I was. Now...I don't know. I'm..." She turned her head side on, not sure what to say.

"Before meeting Wendy, I felt like you and I were the same. But I realised that she has more in common with you than I ever will. And you two share something horrible, that I will never fully be able to understand. Then the letters..." Looking down, she sighed.

"Once, you and Wendy were living in wealth and education. You know things I don't. It made me feel...well...like a worthless mung wick. I wasn't allowed to read or write and I just feel...below you." Taking a deep breath, she threw her hands up in the air a little.

"And then there was my parents, and the way Guaril talked about us making people angry, and the day at Petra's, and you being gone, then being hurt and...Gods!" She laughed and reached up to cover her face, rubbing it lightly. Taking them away, she took his hand.

"It's been awful. But I ent itching to leave. We'll go when you want to."

"It didn't seem like your place in Cooks was really what you wanted, or at least it wasn't what you were really expectin'. Now, y'can make your own choices."


Tristaan frowned at this, knowing she referred to his race, feeling like it mattered suddenly where it hadn't before. He didn't know what to say. He'd never felt the same as the witch, really, but that hadn't bothered him. While he'd always wanted to be able to escape who he was, he couldn't, but he'd already come to appreciate and enjoy the differences between Sarinah and himself.


Tristaan caught the brunette's hands, frown deepening, "I was eight when my parents paid extravagant amounts of that wealth to test me early and leave me on the streets. Eight." He held them, a bit pained at the memories, "If I'd'a'known I would be leavin' it all behind, perhaps I would've savored it more. As it was, I didn't know. I hardly remember, bein' young as I was. Too young. An' golly education mostly starts at Brunnhold. At ten. What I learned, I learned on my own or with th'Crow."

He sighed, looking at Sarinah gently, trying not to reveal too much of his past sadness, releasing her hands reluctantly, "Y'ent worthless, and it ent too late t'learn anythin' if you still want to. You're hardly below me. Please don't think that way. It's just different."

The passive went quiet, disturbed, struggling with everything he'd been told his whole life. As far as he was concerned, no one was lower on the social ladder than himself and his kind, galdori-born or not.

"You didn't grow up bein' told you were nothin'. At least ... at least someone told you that you were somethin'."


"Epameo, macha." Tristaan offered quietly, unsure of what else to say. He disliked it that so much had gone on in his absence, only to get worse in his presence, "I wish I could've been here, an' I wish I could make things better. With your folks, with Wendy, with ... well ..."

The passive trailed off and looked away, suddenly more than a little insecure, "I was hopin' finally gettin' here would mean better things. For you."

The dancer felt instantly bad for her education comment. Tristaan had suffered more his whole life than she had in her measly four years in Vienda. She shook her head.

"I'm sorry kov. I didn't think. That was selfish of me."



Now she felt positively disgusted with herself. Reaching up, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, talking into his shoulder.

"Oh but it did! It did! You getting here was like the sunshine through the rain. Oes, everything else has been a disaster, but then your here and your with me." She pulled back to look at him.

"I have absolutely nothing, but when I am with you everything is perfect."

Tristaan smiled, wrapped his arms around the brunette witch, and held her there for quite some time, wordlessly content at her resounding affirmations. How she made him feel was still very surreal for the passive, but it was impossible not to enjoy. His more pressing insecurities thawed quite a bit underneath her radiant acceptance.

"Mujo ma, Sarinah." He finally mumbled, face close to hers, starting to smile, "It ent gonna be a problem for me t'return to th'Harbor, as far as I know. I might've stepped on one man's toes, but they weren't Hawke's." Tristaan's smile broadened cheekily as he added slyly, "Strange wick, that Silas ..."

"Oh," He quickly changed the subject with a laugh, trying his best to sound nonchalant about it all, "An' four hundred concords says you'll have th'building of your choice once we get there, ye chen?"

Sarinah felt her jaw go slack and she pulled back to stare at him.

"Wo chet! Tristaan! What...how...no wait. I don't think I want to know how." She laughed a little, shaking her head. She'd saved some ging, but it was very little. Ten concords tops. It was stored in a series of pockets sewn onto the overwrap of her skirt. The overwrap with all its fake concords, was ironicly very valuable. Leaning close again, she kissed him in little short burst, speaking inbetween.

"You..are..full..of..suprises!"