Kythorn, 1402

(Background: This takes place about a month after Mace's staged death. There are rumors that he's still around, running things from under cover, but there are also rumors that Dawn and Dusk killed him to take over. They're encouraging both. A new rumor to hit is that Dawn is sleeping with Jewel, Mace's widow.)

Dawn dropped into a chair, tipped it back on two legs, and propped one foot on the rough-hewn table before him. His back was to the room and its occupants. He was known, here. No one would fuck with him. He did not look for the subtle shimmer of air that would pinpoint his partner's location. Dusk was there, and if Dawn spotted him, he would only move. Nor did he look at the bar. The bartender knew why he was here. It was a matter of heartbeats before a girl appeared.

Dawn did not look at the girl as she set his glass on the table. He picked it up with his scarred right hand and held it to the light. "Filthy," he said casually. "I'd test it for poison, but the whole fucking room would light up." He tossed the pale golden liquid down his throat. "Another."

The serving girl, sensing his black mood, scurried back to the bar without attempting any conversation.

You did everything you could. It wasn't your fault. Dusk's conjured voice vibrated, quiet and deep, the hum of a bee's wings. Dawn rubbed irritably at his ear and did not answer. He preferred talking to his partner when they could use sign language. The girl brought another glass, and Dawn grunted in dismissal.

Maybe later, Dusk's reassurance would hold water. Just now, he very badly wanted someone to blame, and why not himself? The gods knew, he'd fucked up enough in his life. Why shouldn't it be Dawn's fault this time, too? Except that Dusk was right: there was nothing else Dawn could have done.

It might have been easier if Dawn had been at fault. Then he could remind himself of the man's flaws, and try to sell himself on the lie that Jordan Twoshoes had deserved his fate. As it was, there was no reason at all for the man to have swung from the ropes that morning. Jordan had been a street-corner con and occasional petty thief. He'd never done anything that warranted hanging.

The only thing left for Dawn to do was to drink himself into oblivion, and curse the merciless gods.

The light shifted as the bar's door opened and then closed again. Dawn did not turn to look, but he felt, suddenly, the weight of a dozen stares. He picked up the glass. As long as it wasn't-

Fisheyes, Dusk buzzed into his ear. He's drunk.

"Tell me something I don't know," Dawn muttered into his glass.

Pause. He's got the boy with him.

"Fuck." Dawn tipped another swallow into his mouth, savoring the liquor's harshness. It suited his mood.

Count of seven.

Dawn did not move, except to swirl his glass and count silently. Four. Five. Six. "Fisheyes." He did not turn his head to look at the man as he approached. "What do you want?" He kept his voice level. Calm. Collected. His stomach turned. Why had he brought the boy?

"M'brother's dead," Fisheyes slurred. "No thanks to you."

Fisheyes and Twoshoes had only been half-brothers, and they'd hated each other's guts. Not much percentage in pointing it out, though, not if Fisheyes was of a mind to pick a fight. "They changed the fucking guard rotation on me," Dawn said. "I tried."

"You'd'a tried harder if it were that bitch Sabrearrow, wou'n't ya?" Fisheyes kicked at the legs of Dawn's chair, ineffectually. "Or that sheep y'r fuckin', ha? Di'n't Jordan suck ye good 'nough, toyboy?"

Dawn set his chair down with a thump. The only reason he wasn't already sprawled on the floor was that Fisheyes was even drunker than usual and hadn't gauged the kick properly. "Go home, Fisheyes," he said. Snap and crackle of suppressed temper. The others heard it, even if Fisheyes didn't. "I'm not in the mood to dance with you today."

"Not in th' mood?" Fisheyes sneered. "You soun' like a woman. That it, toyboy? You really a woman? Dyin' to suck me off, an' too shy to ask?" He paused, waiting, but Dawn did not rise to his bait. "What I hear is," he continued, raising his voice to address the room, "Mace kicked it 'cause the sheep was tired of you takin' her place in 'is bed."

"Go home and sleep it off," Dawn said tightly. It was already too late. He could taste the blood, like the scent of copper in the air. But the others had to see that he had given Fisheyes every possible chance. Thieves were ruled by a delicate concoction of fear and respect, and Dawn's reputation had been leaning a little too hard on fear, lately. "You don't want this. Not in front of the boy."

"Boy's gonna see what's right, that's all. Boy's gonna see 'is father bein' a man. Man's got t'stand for what's right." Fisheye shifted behind him. "'Tain't right, what happened t'Jordan. 'Tain't right, you movin' in on Mace's action afore 'e's proper buried, even. 'Tain't right, us bein' ruled by some fuckin' boy-whore who won't even face me like a man!"

Fisheyes' voice had risen until he was nearly shouting. If Dawn hadn't been in such a foul temper already, he would've been amused by the thug's broken, drunken logic. The tension in the room had shifted. Every cutpurse and criminal in the shadowy corners was watching from the corners of their eyes. Dusk whispered, You want me to-

Dawn snapped back the rest of his drink, and signalled Dusk to stay out of it. Fisheyes wasn't important enough for Dusk to blow his cover over - and the others were waiting to see how Dawn would respond. They would be unimpressed if he passed.

Dawn stood and turned, every move slow and deliberate. Fisheyes was a big man. He towered over Dawn like a mastiff over a lapdog. Dawn did not want to fight him. He had no choice. The boy hovered in the background, silent as always, his eyes wide. Dawn leaned against the table, bracing. He'd have to take the first punch, and it wouldn't do to be thrown into the wall.

"There. I'm facing you. Now, I'm telling you, for the last time: Do not fuck with me today. Take your drunk ass ho-"

Fisheyes was faster than a big, drunk man had any right to be. His meaty fist connected solidly with Dawn's jaw. Dawn saw stars, but caught himself on the table's edge before he could fall. "Fight me like a man!" Fisheyes demanded. "Or go back t'sellin' two-copper fucks in th'alleys." He swung again.

Dawn folded neatly around the fist in his stomach, but did not fall. Fisheyes had never sold his ass in the alleys, or he would know exactly how tough a two-copper whore could be. For an instant, Fisheyes was surprised. Dawn slammed a hand into Fisheyes' crotch, grabbed and twisted.

Fisheyes bellowed, and then keened. By then, Dawn had caught his breath. He straightened, felt the grind of a broken rib. He smashed his scarred hand into Fisheye's throat, as hard as he could. The big man fell over with a hoarse cough. Before he could roll, Dawn had pulled a knife from his sleeve and held it to Fisheyes' throat.

Blood dripped from Dawn's mouth. Tomorrow, he'd probably be unable to talk, and every breath would hurt like jagged knives from the busted rib. For now, however, the pain was distant, a hum in his ears no more annoying than Dusk's conjured whisper. He watched dispassionately as Fisheyes coughed for air.

He was in no mood to be merciful. Nor was Fisheyes contrite. "What're y'waitin' on, toyboy?" His voice was hoarse from the damage to his throat, but it echoed in the still barroom. "Y'let Jordan die, an-"

Understanding rocked Dawn harder than Fisheyes' fist had. He slammed Fisheyes' head into the floor, angry at himself for not having seen it sooner. "You pissant dogfuck!" he snarled. "You set him up, and you think you can pin his fall on me?"

"He-" But Fisheyes got no further.

Dawn cleaned his knife on the dead man's clothes, and stood. The boy was staring at Fisheyes. Dawn walked past him and slapped a coin on the bar. The barkeeper twitched at the sharp sound, and met Dawn's gaze nervously.

"Have someone clean up the mess," Dawn said. "And give me the gods-damned bottle." He did not wait for acknowledgement. He stalked back to his table, righted his chair, and sat down.

The girl put the liquor bottle on the table. She hesitated, then, and put a table-cleaning rag next to it. Dawn looked up at her and raised his eyebrows. "For- for your face. Sir." She backed away quickly.

It was early in the day; the cloth was mostly clean. Dawn mopped his face up as best he could - his lip was still sluggishly bleeding - and turned his attention to the bottle. He wondered when Dusk would say something. It had to come soon. What could he answer? A year ago, Fisheyes' challenge and death would have been half a blessing, but the Guild was stretched far too thin now. And now they were down again. Two in one day.

The boy, Dusk buzzed in warning.

Dawn took a pull from the bottle. Would it be three, before the day was done? He didn't turn around.

"Master?" A voice he didn't know. The boy's, obviously. Breathy. Respectful, or at least not disrespectful. Scared as hell, as he should be. Trying not to show it, as was necessary. The boy was a headache Dawn didn't need. At least he hadn't decided on some fuckwitted notion of vengeance. Yet.

"What?"

"You- you killed him."

"Yes." Dawn took another pull from the bottle, wincing as the alcohol splashed over his split lip and the cuts inside his mouth.

"Are you going to kill me?"

That was the question, wasn't it? If he'd so much as spoken belligerently, he'd already be bleeding. There were too many watching, and Dawn's mood wasn't improving. But the Guild was weak. He pointed at the chair across the table. "Sit."

The boy did not look much like his father. He was pale and scrawny and short, though his mouth had the patchy-dirty look of a youth on the cusp of adolescence. But he had patience. It took longer than Dawn guessed for him to squirm under the silent scrutiny. But finally the boy looked down at his fingers and said, "I could deal." It was meant to sound enticing, Dawn thought, but it only sounded pleading.

He scowled at the boy. "What do you think you have to offer me?"

The boy looked past Dawn. The bartender and one of the regulars were bundling Fisheyes' body, and the girl was scrubbing up the blood. The boy licked his lips, nervous. "My- my mother-"

"You'd pimp your mother to me?" The boy's mother was a prostitute, occasionally, when things were tight, but Dawn had never patronized her - not out of any particular moral objection, but simply because Fisheyes had beaten the spirit out of her. What use was a whore who just laid there?

The boy flushed and looked at his fingers again. "N-nosir. I just- She needs someone to take care of her. If you kill me, she'll-"

"Spare me the pity story," Dawn snapped. "It won't work." He pointed the bottle's neck across the table. "Your old man was a fuckup. He got Jordan iced-"

"He didn't mean-"

"Shut up. I don't fucking care what he meant to do. He got Jordan iced. He tried to pin it on me. So fucking certain he could stomp me into dogmeat that he even dragged you along for the show. That was your old man. Always thinking with his gods-damned fists. And his brilliant fucking strategy was to try to make me mad - and he thought he could do it by leaning on a past that was old before he even went down to Chult to buy himself a wife. And then he came at me like I was some bleating sheep running a month late on the protection money.

"Now here you are, crying mercy, before he's even cold. Am I supposed to believe that's for real? Am I supposed to believe you're not planning to wait for the proper moment to stab me in the back? Am I supposed to think that he's had you all this fucking time and not turned you into what he was?" Dawn sneered and raised the bottle to his lips again. "You tell me, boy, what you think you've got that'll make me risk that kind of trouble."

Give him credit - the boy was shivering, but he hadn't raised tears yet. He looked up, finally. "Me?" he whispered desperately.

Dawn put the bottle down. "You're too small to be an enforcer. Your Uncle Jordan teach you the games con on the side?"

The boy flushed painfully. "No. I meant-"

"I know what you meant. You're either too old or too young to be making that kind of offer. I'm not interested. Don't listen to every rumor you hear. Especially the ones you heard from Fisheyes."

"Yessir." The boy looked down at the table again. Fighting tears, probably.

Dawn grabbed the dirty glass and filled it halfway with pale gold liquor, pushed it across the table. "Drink. It'll hurt less." The boy knew better than to sip, but he swallowed rather than letting it just fall down his throat. Dawn watched him until the coughing subsided. "You got a name, boy?"

"Erevar." Dawn could barely hear the whisper from across the table. "But only my mother uses it." He emptied the glass, somewhat more smoothly.

He's got courage, Dusk said. He could be useful.

Dawn risked a sign. {Mood?}

No one's sorry to see Fisheyes go. They're still watching to see what you do with the boy. Pause. Equal parts ruthlessness and mercy would not be a bad answer.

"Going to risk my life on it?" Dawn muttered.

You're the one with the ambition, Dusk reminded him. Mercy can be a useful tool, even with this bunch. Do you want to stay on top, or not?

Dawn took a drink, tasting the blood mixed with the alcohol. He watched the boy. He'd given Fisheyes one chance too many, was the problem. If the dumb brute had been sober enough to realize it, it would've meant trouble - and though caution was prudent, Dawn was, perhaps, taking it a hair too far now. The boy'd rolled over quick, showed his throat and all proper respect.

Erevar looked up, having finally mastered his tears. "I can learn," he said. "The cons, tossing, portraits, fencing, tricking, anything. Whatever you want. I'm yours, body and soul. I promise, I won't seek revenge. I swear, by anything you ask."

Ruthlessness and mercy. "Fuck it," Dawn growled. He stood with a grunt, barely suppressing a wince for his broken rib. "Let's go."

The boy paled. "Master, please-"

"Stop that," Dawn snapped. "If I was going to kill you, you'd already be dead. You're coming with me until I can run the numbers and find someone to take the note for you."

Relief flooded Erevar's face. "Thank you," he whispered. "I'll never forget this."

"You'd better fucking not," Dawn growled, stabbing a finger at the boy's bony chest. "If you make me regret this, your death will be the stuff of legend. Do you understand me?"

The boy shivered. "Yessir." If he was acting, he was doing a damn good job of it.

Dawn grumbled, rubbed at his ear, and stomped toward the door.

Mirtul, 1403

(Background: This starts during the orc-war, a few weeks after the initial invasion.)

Dawn leaned against the wall and scratched at his face, yawning. He'd been too long without sleep, let the nightmares go too long. He'd wanted to believe that Dusk and Bienca could nurse him through it - but he'd flinched last night when Dusk touched his hair; and he'd been unable to respond to Bienca's teasing this morning. She'd been hurt when he left, but it was more than he could stand.

It hadn't been difficult to find sunshine. The invaders couldn't care less about the prostitution laws, and the mercenaries liked to fuck. The regular girls were being worn to exhaustion, and those who catered to "special needs" had begun to crawl out of their usual hiding places, the better to display their wares.

It had taken him a little longer to find precisely the sort of boy he wanted, with precisely the sort of handler. The sun was setting, and soon the streets would be empty of all but the patrols. Those were easy enough to avoid, but if he had to go into hiding, he'd miss his chance. He didn't think he could take another nightmare, and he was too tired to skip sleeping. He scratched his face again and peered through the crack in the shutters.

"Do I hafta, Missy?" the boy whimpered. He sat on the edge of the bed, one knee drawn up against his chest. His short blonde hair fell over his face, obscuring his eyes. "It hurts."

Missy - a more unlikely name had never been bestowed - towered menacingly over the child. "I'll show you 'hurt,'" she growled. "Long's they got coin t'spend, you've got a hole t'fuck."

"But-" Missy backhanded the boy into silence.

Dawn knocked on the door before she could hit him again.

Missy was suspicious. "You're no soldier," she said accusingly. She stood half a hand taller than Dawn, and her shoulders were nearly as broad as Dusk's, though her face was gaunt. "Ye're out after curfew. I oughtta call th' patrol."

Dawn looked past her to the boy. Blood smeared his mouth, but he was watching Dawn calmly. Dawn licked his lips and turned his gaze reluctantly back to Missy. "Soldier's ain't th' only ones with a need," Dawn said. "I've coin enough. Three silver."

Missy's sneer expressed a doubt that the scrawny, scruffy man blocking her doorway had ever touched three silver in his life. "Up t'five, now," she said. "Tavvy's real popular."

"But five's m'whole wages fer the-" Dawn's eyes went back to Tavvy, who had pushed his hair back to reveal a round face, pouting mouth, and enormous blue eyes. His heartbeat quickened. Dawn swallowed and patted his pockets nervously. "Four?" he offered.

Missy pushed the door open a little wider. "I'll see yer coin." Dawn's silver disappeared with a pass of her hand, and she said, "Ye'll be quick. The regular's due at first shift change."

Dawn did not miss the spark of distress on Tavvy's face, quickly suppressed though it was. "What?" he demanded. "Four should'a paid f'r the whole fucking night!"

Missy tried to look nonchalant, but her eyes glittered with avarice and spite. "Told ye - the price's gone up." A blatant lie, or at least an exaggeration. Prices had gone up, but not that much.

"You bitch-"

"Your time's wastin'," Missy reminded him coolly. "You wanna use it up callin' me names, you go right ahead."

Tavvy took Dawn's arm and pulled him toward the bed, bolder than Dawn had ever been. "C'mon, mister. She ain't gonna change her mind. Might's well have what y'can, ha?" He tipped his face up to Dawn with an alluring smile that was altogether out of place on such a young boy.

Dawn let the boy lead him a few steps, then shook his head with a scowl. "No. Not here, not in this filth. Not with her watching." He glared at Missy. "I've a room, not far from here."

Missy grinned evilly. "Cost an extra silver to take him out," she said. "An' ye'll give me th' address, 'case you forget t'bring 'im back at th' proper time."

Dawn hesitated, pretending to consider it. He put his hand in his pocket and fingered his last silver coin, then looked down into Tavvy's expectant face. "All right, dammit." He slapped the coin into Missy's palm and rattled off the address of his bolt-hole. "Come on, boy."

Tavvy had not an ounce of stealth in him, but he obeyed Dawn precisely, and they traversed the few short blocks without encountering a patrol. Dawn locked the door carefully while Tavvy looked around the sparse room. "It's a nice place, mister."

"Call me Dawn. Did she have us followed?"

"Nah, that costs too much, with th' patrols'n all. She'll-" Tavvy's eyes suddenly went round. "Did you say Dawn?"

Dawn was building a fire in the small brazier. "Aye. You've heard of me?" It didn't happen often. Most of the children he'd rescued had avoided all contact with their former lives.

Tavvy nodded. "Miandre and I used to be friends, sort of. I saw her in the market 'bout half a year gone, an' she tol' me. I didn' know how much to believe..." Tavvy chewed on his lip. "You're not takin' me back, are you?"

"Wasn't planning on it, no." Dawn started peeling the false, scabby beard from his face, dropping the bits of fluff into the fire.

"You're not going to sleep with me?"

"No, I'm not. Can Missy stake a legal claim to you?"

"Huh?"

"Is she a relative? Or a legal guardian? What happens from here depends on what she can do to try to get you back."

"Oh. No. She and my Ma worked together. When Ma died, Missy took me, so's she wouldn' have to do no more washin'."

"That makes it easier."

"Mister?"

"Just Dawn's fine. What?"

"How many kids've you... took?"

Dawn picked up a cloth and scrubbed the last of the glue from his face. "You'll make... twenty-seven."

"That's a lot."

"I've been doing it for a while."

Tavvy hesitated, then asked, "Did any of 'em ever... not want t'go?"

"A few. Change is frightening, sometimes." Dawn glanced at Tavvy from the corner of his eye as he unbuttoned his shirt. "I made a deal with them. I told them, if they'd come with me for one week, then if they still wanted to go back at the end of the week, I'd take them back and pay out the time they were gone."

"Any of 'em ever do it?"

"My longest holdout took four days to decide she was better off out of it."

Tavvy looked at the flickering flames. "I don't want to go back to Missy, but I..." He drew a breath that seemed to big for his slight, skinny frame to hold. "I'll try it your way."

"I knew you were a bold one." Dawn flashed him a quick grin. His shirt, turned inside out, was a darker color, made of richer material. He pulled it back on and started re-buttoning it.

"What do you do with 'em all? Miandre said she was livin' with another lady, learnin' a- a trade."

"It depends. Your personality, your abilities and talents-"

"Do I get any say in it?"

Dawn looked at the boy directly. "I'll listen, if you have any preferences, or if you think you know what it is you want to do for a living."

"I'm not good for anything but whoring," Tavvy said.

"You might be surprised. Anyhow, where you end up will depend on a lot of things. Wherever it is, you'll be treated better - that much I promise."

Tavvy fell silent. He sat on the bed and pulled his knees in to his chest as he watched Dawn.

It had been a while since Dawn had used this particular hiding place. Briefly, he worried that the loose floorboard had actually been fixed, but then it creaked and popped out. Dawn had to lay on the floor and stretch out his arm as far as it would go before his fingers hooked the loop of the hidden bag. He opened it and considered the contents. Money for bribes, obviously. Did he need a fresh disguise? Dusk's hair-dye smelled foul, but the room already stank of burning hair from the false beard.

"Mister Dawn? We're not staying here, are we? When first shift is up... He'll be mad, an' Missy'll p'robly send him looking."

"I think I'm up to the challenge of avoiding one mercenary."

Tavvy whispered, "He's not a mercenary."

Dawn stared. "She's been selling you to the gods-be-damned orcs?"

Tavvy looked down at the floor, shuddering. "Just one. Twice a week. Sometimes, he pays her."

At least Dawn's tormentors had been human, if barely. Memory and nightmare blurred Dawn's vision like wisps of fog. He brushed them away impatiently and pulled a single pouch from the stash under the floor. He replaced the board, stomping it firmly into place. "We'll get a head start, then. Come on."

Tavvy stood obediently. "Where are we going?"

Dawn grinned and triggered the hidden staircase. "Away."

Ches, 1404 (five months later)

Dawn did not bother with the subtleties of the door latch. Tavvy was half-dressed, kneeling on the floor to unlace the mark's breeches. Both looked up in shock as Dawn burst through the door.

"Out," Dawn snapped at the mark.

"But-" He stopped, frozen by the ice in Dawn's eyes. Hastily, he retreated.

Tavvy was still on the floor, his hair falling over his face to hide his expression. Dawn picked up Tavvy's shirt and threw it at him. "Get dressed. Merciless gods, are you stupid? Picking up your own marks? You were safer letting that stone bitch sell your ass to the fucking orcs!"

Tavvy winced away from Dawn's anger, clutching the shirt to his chest. "I'm sorry, Dawn. I'm sorry! Don't be mad! I can't help it!"

Dawn sighed and forced himself to calm. There wasn't a chair in the room, so he sat on the bed. What else could he say? Tavvy had lasted more than a month in the first foster home before he'd run away. The next had driven him back to the streets in three weeks. The third lasted only one week. After that, Dawn had wondered if Tavvy's stubborn devotion to his former occupation indicated divine intervention. Galling though it was, he'd taken the boy to Hanali Celanil's temple. If anyone would know how best to use such a calling, it was Iselyn. The promise of service had seemed to pacify Tavvy for a time - more than two months had gone by before she had contacted Dawn to let him know Tavvy had disappeared again.

Dawn rubbed at his eyes, exhausted, now that the frantic search was over. Tavvy was watching him warily, as if he half-expected Dawn to hit him, despite all evidence to the contrary. "Iselyn's worried about you," Dawn tried.

Tavvy glared down at his shirt sullenly. "She doesn't care. I asked her if I could join. I told her how I felt, like you said, and she said no!"

"She didn't say no."

"Near 'nough. Just 'cause I don't care 'bout her stupid goddess..."

"The temple isn't a brothel, Tavvy, and the priests aren't prostitutes."

"You sound just like her." Tavvy looked up at him, tears standing in his blue eyes. "Dawn, I want to do it. I like it." He laid his head on Dawn's knee. "If you'd sleep with me, I'd be safe..."

"No!" Dawn pushed Tavvy away, more roughly than he intended, sending the boy sprawling. "For the last fucking time, I'm not interested. Stop trying to seduce me, and get dressed!"

Give him credit: Tavvy always knew when he was in danger of pushing too hard. He picked himself up off the floor and pulled on his shirt reluctantly. He sat beside Dawn on the bed, half an arm's-length away, and looked down at his bare feet. "Dawn... I'm... I'm not sorry you took me from Missy. She was always mean to me, even when things were good. But I... I can't not want the things I want. I tried, Dawn, I really did! But I can't make it stop. Can't I-" He bit his lip and glanced at Dawn through his eyelashes. "Wouldn't it be be better for everyone, if I just went back to being a whore? You could be my handler, so you'd know I was being treated okay, an' pick out the marks for me. An'- an' then for every customer I took, that'd be one less for the rest of the kids, right? The ones like Miandre, who aren't like me, who hate it?"

Dawn didn't look at Tavvy. He sighed and massaged his temples with one hand. "You've been working on that little speech for a while, haven't you? Did Iselyn help you with it?"

"No! I mean, I was thinking, and she said-"

"Never mind. I can't do it. It's not that I don't sympathize. But I can't sit by and watch that. Not now. If you still want this when you're grown, fine. But like this- No. I can't be your handler, Tavvy. I'm sorry."

Tavvy's breath hitched, and then he controlled himself. He folded his hands meekly in his lap. "Yes, Dawn."

Already plotting his next escape, Dawn was certain. Each time he'd run away, it had taken Dawn longer to find him, as he learned to cover his tracks better, to hide more and more thoroughly. And, much as he didn't understand it, Dawn was beginning to believe that Tavvy was telling no more than the plain truth when he insisted that he needed to whore. He would run away again. And again. Until some particularly vile mark destroyed him - or Dawn let him have his way. Dawn shuddered, and then sighed. "I know someone who can."

Mirtul, 1409

(Strictly speculative.)

The apartment was quiet and dark. Beside him, Bienca stirred, and then subsided into deeper slumber.

Dawn stared into the darkness, controlling his breathing by force of will and waiting for his heart to stop racing. His skin prickled with gooseflesh and cold sweat. After a time, Dawn rose, and left the bedroom.

From the child's room came nothing but soft breathing. Dawn resisted the impulse to light a candle and look in. He wasn't a good father, he knew. He allowed too much, was too impatient, yelled too often, was too quick to raise his hand. But Jethell loved him. Dawn often felt guilty - unworthy - in the face of that unconditional love, but he would not trade it - not even to have Dusk back.

Dusk, who would have woken Dawn before the dream had, and comforted him. Dusk, who had been his partner for twenty years or more. Dusk, who was dead - four years, this very week.

Dawn sighed, and turned into the living room.

Gar lifted a head as Dawn came into the room, his eyes glowing eerily in the dark. Dawn tugged gently on one ear and scratched at the short, coarse fur of the panther's scruff. Gar snorted softly, licked Dawn's hand, and laid back down.

Dawn dropped onto the couch and scrubbed at his face. He'd lied to Bienca when he'd told her the dreams were getting better. He was only getting better at controlling his outward reactions, at waking himself up before he roused her. The nightmares themselves... He did not want her to know how much worse, or how more often.

He'd checked for magical interference, wondering if they were a sending from some rival or enemy. He'd asked Jewel to examine him for signs of psionic tampering. She'd found nothing, and reiterated the advice she'd given him years earlier. He'd brushed her off - and then reconsidered and gone to Iselyn after all. Her answer was the same as it had always been, and that was the worst of all.

"We can help you, Dawn - but you have to decide that it's time to open that old wound."

In the dark, Dawn's hands clenched. He thought he had healed, but there was rotten flesh hiding underneath, still, that had to be burnt away. He could not give himself to Iselyn's care, though, well-meaning and experienced though she was. It needed someone who had been there. And not the Children, though he knew (even if he did not care to acknowledge) that many of them would do nearly anything in their power to help him. And that meant...

The cold sweat returned. Dawn scrawled a note and left it in the kitchen for Bienca to find in the morning. Then, before he could think of a reason to stay, he left.

The sky was barely silvering with the morning's light when Dawn reached his destination. He laid a hand on the door, panting from more than the effort of the brisk walk. He could hear, faintly, snoring from within. Of course they were asleep. Should he return later?

No. Later he would have lost his determination. He drew a breath, and knocked.

After a few moments, the bolt thunked, and the door opened a crack. "Boss?" Shiver mumbled sleepily. "Wha- Hang on." He unlatched the chain and let Dawn in.

The apartment was spacious and comfortable, decorated in moderate good taste, and smelled faintly of sex. Shiver was shirtless and barefoot, his hair mussed. He was beginning to look worried. "What's up, boss?"

"Where's Ear?"

Shiver gestured vaguely toward the bedrooms. "Sleeping."

"When'd he take his last customer?"

"Almost a week. Boss, if there's a problem with the books-"

"The books are fine."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I think I know." Ear was wearing a loose robe, though - for once - he'd tied it. He came into the room and draped his arms over Shiver's shoulders, watching Dawn. When had he become the taller of the pair? "You've come for me, haven't you?"

Shiver snorted. "Tav, don't be-"

"He's right," Dawn interrupted. Shiver started, and Ear grinned triumphantly. Dawn wished he could scratch at his itching face.

Ear kissed Shiver's shoulder. "Go get dressed and go shopping or something," he said. "Of all people, Dawn doesn't need a chaperone, and he certainly doesn't have to pay." Shiver was still staring. Dawn scowled. Ear laughed and tugged on Shiver's arm. "Just give us a minute," he promised Dawn. "He wakes up slow." He pulled Shiver down the hall, leaving Dawn alone in the central room.

Too late to back out, now. Ear had no talent at all for academics, but he could read a mark better than any whore Dawn had ever met. Dawn started to fidget, then stopped himself and sat in the nearest chair. He leaned back, the picture of a man waiting patiently.

There was a susurrus of whispering from the bedroom. Dawn strained his ears, but could not understand more than a word or two. A door closed with a thump, and Shiver re-emerged, dressed and combed. He gave Dawn a sheepish smile. "Sorry, boss. Caught me by surprise."

Dawn wanted to glare, but Shiver had been nothing but loyal. It wasn't his fault. Dawn let him off the hook. "I do that, sometimes."

Shiver nodded quickly, and then ducked out of the apartment. Dawn was alone with Ear.

Dawn closed his eyes. "I will pay," he said, pitching his voice to carry into the bedroom.

"I won't refuse your money," Ear answered easily. Footsteps brought him into the living room. Dawn tensed, but Ear walked past Dawn and to the door. He turned the bolt, leaving the chain unfastened. "Aren't you even going to look at me?"

Footsteps, a faint rustle of cloth, and the warmth of another body in close proximity. "Eventually, maybe," Dawn said. "Ear, you-"

"At least let me be Tav. I've outgrown 'Ear,' don't you think?"

"Brat," Dawn said, though he didn't mean it. "How do you outgrow a joke I had to explain for you?"

Ear sniffed indignantly. "None of my customers understand it, either, you know. Please, Dawn? Just for now?"

"Oh, all right. Just for now. Tav." Tav didn't answer. "Another year," Dawn said, "and you can register legally. You can pick whatever working name you want, then."

"I've got a couple of ideas," Tav said. Dawn opened his eyes. The younger man was standing next to him, his hands behind his back. He'd gotten dressed as well, which surprised Dawn a little. He smiled when Dawn met his eyes. They were a darker blue than Dawn's, and they sparkled with life. Despite his fears and fretting, Tav had weathered adolescence with his good looks fully intact. He was going to be very popular, once he'd registered on Pleasure Island.

"You know... I had this fantasy, for a while," Tav said. "I mean, I could tell you weren't going to sleep with me, but I thought maybe... Maybe it was just that I was so young, that you didn't like kids. I thought maybe when I was older, you'd come back for me." He grinned, blushing, but didn't look away. "It was a dumb, little kid fantasy. You're not interested in men, any more than you are in children."

Dawn nodded. "When'd you give it up?"

Tav's blush darkened. "When Erevar and I had been together for a while. Mostly." He grinned, then knelt, which brought his gaze level with Dawn's. "I owe you as much for him as for anything else you ever did for me."

"Gods save me from fools in love," Dawn snorted. "It's not what I'd intended. I told him to keep his damned hands off of you."

"I was thirteen, before we did more than kiss," Tav said. He was a good liar, but so was Dawn. He'd never let on that he'd known about their affair for at least two years before they confessed it to him. He was certain Tavvy had initiated it.

He didn't call Tav on the lie this time, either. "He never gets jealous?"

Tav shook his head earnestly. "I like the work, Dawn. I couldn't give it up for anyone. He knows that."

"Mm." That did not rule out jealousy, but Dawn let it pass. It wasn't really his business, so long as it wasn't affecting their work. He sighed and rubbed absently at his scarred wrist.

"Dawn?" Tav was looking at him guardedly. "You're not here to sleep with me this time, either, are you?"

"You're too fucking perceptive."

Tav smiled, a little wistfully. "Can't blame me for hoping, can you?" A year ago, he would've pouted and sulked. He was right, Dawn thought: he wasn't a child any longer. Tav took Dawn's hand and began to massage the scarred flesh. Dawn considered protesting, but Tav's grip was firm and capable and warm, comfortable without being sensual. After a few moments, Dawn's fingers began to twitch with micro-spasms, symptom of muscles that had been knotted far too long, finally beginning to relax.

"So then," Tav asked after a time, "what are you paying me for?"

Dawn glowered. "I was going to get to it."

Tav grinned up at him, unrepentant. "And now we've gotten to it a bit faster."

Dawn hadn't thought of an approach, yet, that wouldn't sound ridiculous, or weak, or both. He growled, closed his eyes again, and stated it simply, as it came to him. "Fucking dreams are eating me alive. It's been twenty-five gods-damned years since I was sunshine, and it won't leave me in peace. I have to know how you do it."

Tav was silent, long enough for Dawn to wonder if he'd broken something in the boy's mind. Finally, he said, "I'd wondered... I'm not sure I can answer this for you, Dawn. I like it. It's not something that gives me nightmares. Wouldn't one of the others-"

"The others have their own memories to escape. They don't need to be burdened with mine." Dawn pulled his hand free from Tav's grip, ran it through his tangled hair. "Besides, you helped Smudge."

Even with his eyes closed, Dawn could sense Tav's startle. "She told you?"

"No. I overheard her talking to Ink, and I put it together with something Shiver told me later that week. I'm pretty smart, sometimes."

Tav drew a breath, and sighed it out. "You're not going to like it much."

Dawn looked at him, serious. "I don't expect to. But it's got to be done, doesn't it? However long it takes - weeks, months, years... it's got to be better than spending the rest of my fucking life with those godforsaken dreams."

Tav nodded, sitting back on his heels. "What if I said you'd have to sleep with me?" Dawn glared at him, but Tav's expression didn't waver. "What if I said you'd have to let me fuck you?"

Dawn couldn't look into those clear blue eyes any longer. "I was... prepared for the possibility," he told the painting on the opposite wall. How old had he been when he'd offered himself to Dusk? About the age Tav was, now? He had trusted Dusk - but been so damned relieved when Dusk had turned him down... He shook off the memory, and stood. "Let's get it over with."

Tav didn't move. He looked down at his hands, loosely folded in his lap. "I lied, Dawn."

"What?"

"I wanted to know how determined you are. I lied. I'm not going to take you to bed." He looked up again with a faint smile. "Not unless you change your mind about whether you're attracted to men."

"Damn it, Tav, then what the fuck-"

"It's harder than that," Tav snapped, overriding Dawn's anger.

Dawn dropped back into the chair. "All right. Tell me."

Tav didn't answer. He stood, walked into the kitchen, and returned with two cups of water. He offered one to Dawn, then sat on the end of the sofa. He sighed and scratched at his hair and face, and Dawn guiltily remembered that he'd just woken. "Ever been beaten?" Tav asked, finally.

Dawn shrugged. "Sure."

"But you don't have nightmares about it."

"No."

"Why not?"

Dawn started to answer dismissively, then sighed and tried to give it some thought. "I don't know. They were just... beatings. Never took more than bruises, really. Busted lip a few times, maybe."

"You got hurt worse, as sunshine?"

Dawn sucked on his teeth. "Not... physically."

Tav nodded. "That's where you start, then. You have to figure out exactly why it hurt so much worse, up here." He tapped on his temple. "Why those scars don't fade like the others."

"If I knew that-"

"I'll help," Tav promised. "But it's got to come from you. And once we know that answer, we'll know what the next step is."