3.

"Moxie flux-bridger."

"Here you go."

"Saronite stembolts."

"How many?"

"Dozen. One at a time."

Ovistine chuckled and started handing them over; Geoffar smacked each of them into place with his arclight spanner and pushed himself out from under the steam tank. Ovistine rolled out, too, and pushed her goggles up. "That do it?"

"We'll see, eh?" Geoffar said. "Hop up, we'll take a look."

She followed him into the steam tank, where he sat at the driver's controls and she landed in the gunner's seat. "All clear here, Da."

"Here too. Shall we take 'er fer a spin?"

"If you can–"

"Pfft. No reason not to. We're needing less an' less of 'em these days."

He rolled them out through the gates and started angling toward Amber Ledge. Ovistine lined her targeting sights up with a bird… a rabbit… a wind rider, and she quickly lowered her gun. "Looking fine, Da."

"Well, I thought so." Halfway to Amber Ledge, he brought the tank to a stop, and hopped out of the compartment. "Grab that bag, there, aye? Under yer feet?"

Ovistine blinked and looked under her feet; there was a small bag, the sort of sack one might expect from–

"You keep chocolate in the steam tanks?"

"Only when me girl's out helpin' me wi' th' repairs," Geoffar said, beaming. "C'mon out. We'll have a few stout brownies an' a little chat."

"Stout brownies," Ovistine said dreamily, and then, realizing, "oh–chat." She frowned. "If this is about Mum–"

Geoffar shook his head violently. "I got me beard bit off frae both directions trying t' keep th' peace when ye were wee," he said. "Ye're grown now, ye both are, an' it's yer own to decide how ye'll get along now." He sighed a little and scratched his beard and muttered, "An' anyway, I see little enough o' 'er t' pick fights when I do."

Ovistine patted his back and nodded. "Hasn't been back much lately?"

"Ye'd think she'd be ready t' stand down, but nae–Varian feckin' Wrynn has whatnot fer a veteran an' paladin like 'erself t' do," Geoffar grumbled. "Likes 'im so much, mebbe she married th' wrong lad."

"Oh, but he's a human. She wouldn't want anything to do with him," Ovistine said, and the stout in the chocolate wasn't half as bitter as her tone.

"Aye," Geoffar said, sighing. "About tha'…" He leaned back on the grass and shook his head. "Ye've a good elf, an' I know ye dinnae need me to say so, but there it is. I know he means a lot t' ye."

Ovistine nodded, still chewing her brownie–it was easier than trying to say something, after that.

"Pity yer dimensional ripper didnae make 'im a dwarf," Geoffar said gently, tugging one of Ovistine's braids.

"A wee pity," Ovistine admitted. "Would've made some things nicer, while he was changed. But I like his ears the way they are."

"Aye. Well, it's a complication, surely, but 'e's been around fer ye through thick an' thin. I dinnae 'ave a problem wi' it, an' th' Ironhammers are pleased as punch, tell th' truth."

"They do seem charmed. Talk of dwelfs or no."

"So there's tha'," Geoffar said decisively. "An' wha' else be new fer ye?"

"I don't know," Ovistine admitted. "I'm not sure where to look next. I've read everything I can get my hands on, when it comes to the Light and its sources, and the Dimensional Ripper was the best idea I'd had in months and months."

Geoffar nodded slowly–and then he tilted his head, and said, "What's so bloody important about th' Light, anyhow?"

Ovistine gaped at him, crumbs falling out of her mouth. "Da!"

"Really. This huff-an'-puff yer Mum put int' yer head all those years ago, jes' 'cause she were made a paladin–" Geoffar's expression went dark for a moment, and Ovistine shivered; she'd never asked, never been told, never wanted to know the answers to some questions about Nancie's past. "Better she hadnae been, I think, sometimes," he murmured.

"She's saved so many–"

"Ye cannae weigh it so. She'd 'ave done other things, 'ad she no' been wha' she is." Geoffar poked a finger into Ovistine's cloak-collar. "An' so would ye, ye know."

"I–what are you talking about?" Ovistine asked, frowning. "I can't imagine not being a priest–"

"Oh, aye, bet ye cannae. But did ye know it wasnae always yer calling?"

Ovistine blinked; she could only ever remember wanting to go to the Cathedral and learning the things her mum knew, taking Nancie's battlesmasher of healing and helping people with it. "I wanted… sommat else?"

"You lit fires when ye were small," Geoffar said, and there was a strange little burst of pride in his voice. "An' ye liked water. Swam like a fish, sorta glided a bit some days, when it were cold. Ye picked up th' gifts o' th' Earthen before ye could say yer letters–when tha' scorpid stung ye, by th' time yer mum got home, ye'd shaken off the poison all by yerself."

"I lit fires?" Ovistine could only boggle. "Did I set a lot of them?"

"Until I got yer attention on th' buckets o' water, aye. You liked th' buckets better."

Something about that rang true for her… there was something about… a little wooden pail, water that jumped from one bucket to another… had she poured them, or…? "You built springs," Ovistine said slowly. "Little springs so the buckets would pour into each other?"

"Aye. But some of it was you." Geoffar reached out and took Ovistine's hand in his. "Lass, I might've been a lousy gryphon rider, but I'm still a Wildhammer. Ye never thought t' look int' tha' half o' th' family? To wonder how th' Wildhammers do their healing?" He squeezed her hand. "Did ye feel a call, when it was nature-magic ye were using?"

"I–" Ovistine looked down at her hands, blinking hard. "I thought–I thought all the time with Alishe and Harken… I thought it was because of the Light…"

"Ask yerself," Geoffar said fiercely. "Is it a call t' th' Light ye've had all yer life? Or a call t' heal?"

She was quiet a while, but then she nodded, and she threw her arms around Geoffar, who let out a soft "oof".

"Thank you, Da," she whispered. "I'll think on it."

2.

It was cold at the Tournament grounds, moreso with almost everyone emptied out and gone. Nancie was still in the barracks, though, one of the last to leave, and while Ovistine had a thick fur cloak wrapped around her, it was no surprise that Nancie hadn't even noticed the cold.

Nancie flung her arms around Ovistine's shoulders, which only made her shiver more–Nancie's plate was freezing. "Ye're you again! Thank the shapers, lass, it's good t' see ye again!"

Ovistine smiled weakly and hugged back; Nancie gave one of Ovistine's braids a little tug. "Thanks, Mum."

"An' ye'll be goin' back t' Dalaran, I suppose? Or Stormwind?" Nancie stood back and set her hands on Ovistine's shoulders. "Dalaran's closer, cannae argue wi' tha', but Stormwind's jes' a wee portal away, so–"

"Mum, no–neither." Nancie stopped, frowning with confusion, and Ovistine took a step back and drew herself up to her full height–which seemed rather shorter than it used to. "I'm staying in Thelsamar."

"Oh. Ah." Nancie scratched at her forehead. "Well, yer gran-mum an' gran-da will be happy enough t' be nearer t' ye, then, I suppose…"

"Aye, I'm hoping so. Though I'd still like it if Grandpa Ironhammer would quit talking about dwelfs…"

"Hmph. As if any lass o' mine would get herself into tha' sort o'–"

She'd been expecting it, somehow; in spite of her mother's fondness for Valinar, in spite of the way Valinar had always gotten along so well with the family, there was one dwarf in the Ironhammer and Featherstoneshaw clans who'd never once asked when the wedding might be, when dwelfs might be coming along. Not even to tease.

"Mum," Ovistine said quietly, "I'm staying. With Valinar. An' I need you to be kind about it."

Nancie blinked several times and shook her head. "Ovistine–dear heart, ye've got no way t'–"

"To what, Mother?" Nancie flinched–such a human form of address, like so many little human traits Ovistine had picked up over the years. Ovistine was careful to keep herself from slipping into Dwarvish for this conversation; she didn't want that, didn't want to let her mother have even that small victory. "All right, so we're not married, and we're not the same damn race. But we did–well, frankly, it's none of your business, but I was an elf for three months, Mother, did you think I was going to waste that opportunity when it came?"

Nancie had gone stone-still and white as marble, and she had the same expression on her face Ovistine had seen when Nancie was going into a battle she didn't want to fight. "Ovi–he's a fair enough lad," Nancie said, and she was speaking Dwarvish; her voice was shaking with every word. "But he'll never give you children, and you'll never have a family with him, and he'll never be–"

Ovistine waited; she held Nancie's gaze until Nancie swallowed and finished her sentence.

"–your kind."

"He was there when I was trapped in shadow. Every second, he was there, guarding me and caring for me and helping me find my way back. He's been here for me through my memory loss, through my struggle to earn the Light back, through those three months where I wasn't me," Ovistine said quietly. "And he could have asked me not to go back through the rift, not to trade bodies back with the other Ovistine. But he didn't. What's all that, then, if it's not family and my kind and–"

Love, she thought, but stopped herself. The word hadn't been said between them yet, and Ovistine was damned if she'd give it to her mother first. She shook her head, braids flapping out behind her.

"You can accept us, accept him, or not," Ovistine said. "But this is the last word between us unless you find you can."

"Ovi–"

She was true to her word, at least; she turned on her heel and stepped away, and she dug into her pack for her hearthstone. It sent her back to Dalaran, and from there, she headed for the gryphon landing deck, flying off for Valiance Keep.

1.

The rift opened, and Ovistine squinted through it. There was… a dwarf on the other side, yes, that was promising, a tall dwarf with a strong stocky build and a somewhat erratic beard, one carrying a huge axe with traces of frost wisping out around all sides.

"–vi? Ovistine! I see you, I–is that you? Can you hear me? Ovistine!"

"Yes, it's me, but who are you?" Ovistine yelled at the rift. There was a brief pause, and then–

Another dwarf. This one with long brown braids and a terrified expression, and then–her hands came up to her face as eyes met eyes through the rift, and Ovistine's own hands flew up to cover her mouth. Me. She stretched out a hand, as if she could actually touch the rift, and the dwarf on the other side was doing the same thing. If she'd needed any proof, there it was: she and this other Ovistine had the same thoughts, the same instincts. But on the other side of the Dimensional Ripper, this Ovistine was an elf, and if the Ovistine on this side wasn't mistaken, the other dwarf must have been Valinar.

A world where Ovistine was an elf and Valinar was a dwarf. Ovistine had never thought to see something so strange, but it was there, big as life and swimming before her eyes.

Swimming–no, not swimming, no, but the image was getting murkier and murkier around the edges, fading fast.

"–this time tomorrow!" the dwarvish Valinar was yelling. "This time tomorrow, and we'll try to keep the rift open longer–"

"Yes," Ovistine yelled back. "Yes, this time tomorrow–"

The rift twisted in on itself, spun around, and finally disappeared. Ovistine sagged, her short blue braids bouncing listlessly against her shoulders.

"Well," she said softly, finally looking up at the Valinar of her own dimension, "at least we've found them."

~*~

Another few nights' worth of experiments and they'd actually rigged something up; like the original experiments, it was working fine on frogs and ale and hammers, but unlike the original experiments, they knew now how wrong it could go.

"Worth the risk?" the other Ovistine asked. "I–I don't mean to be rude, but–"

"I don't like this body, either," Ovistine agreed quickly. "I'm ready whenever you are."

The other Ovistine nodded–and then looked back behind her. Ovistine did the same, looking up at Valinar, who'd stepped away to give them some privacy.

"I wish–" The other Ovistine bit her lower lip; Ovistine nodded, knowing exactly how she felt.

"Maybe… tomorrow," Ovistine said quietly. "This time tomorrow. To give us time to–"

"–say goodbye," the other Ovistine said, nodding, still looking at her own Valinar. Ovistine sighed; she'd seen the other Valinar time and time again, and it was strange–he was Valinar, he was a dwarf, he was all she'd ever imagined during those few times she'd pictured what might be if Valinar had been born a dwarf, and yet–no. He wasn't her elf, and it was wrong somehow.

Still. Tonight, and hopefully for the last time, she was an elf. And Valinar was an elf. And on the other side of the rift, she knew the other Ovistine was thinking the same thing.

"Tomorrow," she said, and the other Ovistine nodded again at her. "This time tomorrow."

"Yes," the other Ovistine said. "We'll see you then."

~*~

It wasn't easy, being here at Valinar's home in Thelsamar. She'd visited, of course; she'd been here more times than she could count on both hands, both feet, and both braids together. But to live here–it'd been very, very different, and even if it had been far more comfortable than staying in Dalaran and trying to explain, over and over, what had happened to her, it was still–difficult.

Tonight was likely to be the most difficult of all, mostly because–she had to do this. She had to. And all the same, she had no idea what he'd do, what he'd say, if he'd think it was wrong somehow.

We agreed on it, she thought, and she could tell him so–it was clear what both Ovistines had been thinking, as they'd looked back at their elf, their dwarf, and they'd given permission and blessing in that one small look. One chance, really, perhaps never to come again.

She knocked on Valinar's bedroom door, and after a moment, he answered.

"Yes?" His glowing eyes looked down at her, but not very far. She was nearly eye-to-eye with him, rather than being several feet shorter. "Do you need anything?"

"I–aye," she murmured, reaching up and stroking her hands down one of her braids. "Valinar–you know we'll be back in our own bodies, me an' the other Ovi, if all goes well tomorrow."

"Yes," he answered, nodding. His ears bounced a little at the tips. Her grip on her braid tightened; she wanted to reach out and touch that bouncing ear-tip. Wanted badly.

She wondered if the other Ovistine was having similar thoughts about her Valinar's–beard, probably, if not the ears.

"So it means there's–this one night. An' then we're back to how it was."

"Yes?"

Ovistine sighed; like always, it'd be up to her to say it. Fine, then. Fine. Her mother hadn't raised a coward.

"Valinar–I'm an elf, tonight." His gaze was still steady, but still only curious, too. "An' you're an elf."

"Well–yes…"

"An' there's–things. That can happen. Between an elf an' an elf. That maybe we don't want to shy away from, if it's not to happen again."

He blinked at her, blinked down at her–only a little, but still–and she stepped forward and reached slowly, slowly up to his ear, her fingers tracing a gentle curve up and over his ear-tip.

"I'd like to spend this night there," she murmured, "with you, an' not in my room. If you're amenable, I mean."

He held her gaze for a long, long moment, and when she was just beginning to wonder if the answer was no, he took her hand in his and threaded their fingers together.

"Well, yes."

"An' you've got to figure they have — well, dimensions, aye? That they rip people through?"

Valinar's left ear twitched. "Yes…"

"An' — now, follow me on this one — presumably those other dimensions have folks like us in 'em, aye? Or else when we ripped through 'em, we'd just go POOF."

"I'm not so certain about that," Valinar said, but Ovistine was already waving a hand, braids flapping out to her sides.

"So what I'm thinking is: I hook up a dimensional ripper. I use Gnomish technology to pick which dimension. An' I find a dimension where I'm still connected to the Light, an' I use a Dimensional Self-Re-Compactor to squish us together."

Both of Valinar's ears twitched at that. "What exactly is a 'dimensional self-re-compactor'?"

"Oh, that. It's a thing I whipped up to join different whatsits from different dimensions, giving 'em the best of all possible worlds."

"You've tested this?"

"You should see the beer it made," Ovistine said dreamily. "Anywho, so I zap myself through the Dimensional Ripper, an' then you come an' meet me in Everlook, an' we'll see if it took. Sound reasonable?"

Valinar was silent for long enough that Ovistine actually stopped drinking and looked up at him, eyes wide. "Val…?"

"Are you really certain that goblin technology is the answer to your… problem?" Valinar reached out and put his hand on Ovistine's, and she slipped her fingers between his. "You made a worthy sacrifice for all the best of reasons. I know it's difficult, but surely there are answers apart from bringing other dimensions into the equation. What about Uldaman? Ulduar? There are so many things we don't know about dwarves, especially now that we do know about your origins as a race–what about your stoneform? It's always enabled you to heal from diseases, or poisons, or–"

Ovistine pulled her hand away from Valinar's, frowning. "Are you saying… you're not going to be there? When I go?"

"I wish you'd reconsider."

"Oh, aye, the way you 'reconsidered' when you got an axe that sucks people's souls out at the root–"

Valinar shook his head. "We've talked about this. It wasn't like that–"

"It was just like that," Ovistine growled under her breath. "It was–" Her angry mutters slipped into Dwarvish, as they tended to do; Valinar knew plenty to keep up, even with that tone in her voice. "It was just like that, and there you were, week after week, coming out wounded and me not even going through the gates because we didn't think I could help…"

Valinar reached out and took Ovistine's hand again, squeezing her fingers tightly. "It's over now," he said; his Dwarvish still had an accent, but it got her attention. "It's over, and your memories are back for good. We're safe."

"Safe!" Ovistine snorted, but at least she was back to speaking Common again. "Safe with red dragons and Mum still at the tournament grounds snapping at the Horde and–Val, when have we ever been safe enough we could afford to lose a healer? When?"

Valinar shook his head. The fact that she brought Nancie up now seemed very telling; following in her mother's footsteps–and the fact that now she couldn't–was undoubtedly part of all this. Not to mention the fact that Ovistine came by her stubbornness very naturally, not that he'd say so to either one of the Lighthammer women.

"I'll meet you in Everlook," Valinar sighed. "With a few buckets of water."

Ovistine sighed, too. "Thank you."

* * *

It was cold in Everlook despite the season; Valinar was grateful for his Ultrasafe Pocket Warmers and the earwarmers Ovistine had so earnestly knit for him a few winters back. The earwarmers reached halfway to the ground, but better too long than too short, after all.

"I'm ready," he said into the buzzbox. "Are you set up?"

"Aye, I'm here with Donova," Ovistine answered, voice a bit tinny, as usual.

"Nae fears, lad," Donova Snowden said; she sounded downright cheerful. "If she catches fire, I'll dip 'er intae th' hot springs!"

"Very funny," Ovistine said.

"Well, it's why we're out here, eh? Fire safety an' all. Why ye've got t' use goblin crap, I–"

"Ma'am! Please! I'm ready now!"

"Oh, aye, big hurry t' set yerself aflame–"

"I'm not going to catch fire!" Ovistine yelled, and Valinar held the buzzbox at arm's length, wishing he had such confidence. "I'm bloody well invincible! Just be ready when I pop out on the other end, aye? An' three… two… one…"

There was a loud poof, a pair of female screams, and then alarms were going off at the transporter in Everlook; several goblins rushed over to see what was happening. Valinar was shoved away, and as the puffs of smoke billowed out over Everlook, he couldn't help but think to himself: I saw it coming.

Except that as the smoke cleared, he realized that no: no, he really hadn't.

"Look, ma'am," she said, planting her hands on her hips, "this bit with my head being half-lost to time is all well an' good, but I want my brain back. I want it back how it was."

Chromie tilted her head and looked Ovistine over, head-to-toe. "You are who you were, and who you are now. All of you is still you. What is it you're looking for that you don't have?"

Ovistine rolled her eyes and tossed one braid back over her shoulder. "We talked about this the first time I came to see you, hey? If I'm back then, before the Light went, I can still touch it. So I thought if I did a wee bit of science, I'd be able to bridge the gap between then an' now, an' here I'd be, patched perhaps, but still able to be both."

"You are who you were," Chromie repeated. "You are who you are now."

Wondering if it would really be in poor form to throttle a small gnomish dragon, Ovistine sighed and tried again. "A'right, that's true enough. I am who I was, I am who I am. But I want to be me, who I am now, even when I'm me, doing what I did then. Does that make sense?"

"Not really, no." Chromie shook her head. "The Ovistine Lighthammer of today is who she is. From what you've said, the only way to reconnect yourself to the Light, today, would be to undo what you did to sever that bond. If you were to go back and–"

"No!" Ovistine's braids flapped out behind her as she shook her head. "No, absolutely not. No, no, no. Not an option."

"Well, no," Chromie agreed. "As I was going to say, your decision has had many long-standing repercussions; while it wouldn't destroy all life as we know it the way the Infinite Dragonflight would do, certainly several lives would be affected…"

"Aye," Ovistine murmured, "and that's why it can't be done that way. I understand that. Just…" She sighed again and took a seat next to Chromie, resting her chin on her knees. "I can't keep being two of me. It's hard an' it's confusing an' it isn't fair to someone. To more than one someone." She thought about Valinar–battle-weary these days, taking more and more risks in Icecrown as Arthas's fall came nearer and nearer. Her father, in Icecrown himself, working on siege machinery, repairing all the guns he had time for; her mother, standing on the front lines outside the Citadel, keeping the place clear of Scourge so adventurers could assault the place itself. "I can't help the people I love because none of us can trust my head to stay where it's put. D'you know what it's like to have the people you care about running in to battle without you, knowing you ought to be able to guard them and keep them safe an' being able to do nothing of the sort?"

"Yes, although maybe not today. Maybe I knew how that felt yesterday, or will know how it feels tomorrow." Chromie shrugged. "But it's all the same, isn't it?"

"Aye. More or less." Ovistine nodded. "It's me what needs to be all the same. I need to be me, as I am now, and not Ironhammer along with Lighthammer. Can you help me?"

"Are you certain?"

"Made the choice once," Ovistine said gruffly, scrubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands. "Could be there's other ways of dealing with it. Bringing in time itself? That's not the way a dwarf works with things. Let's get me fixed, ma'am."

"We can certainly try."

Teu hummed to herself as she applied her shiny new Gnomish Army Knife to a King's Amber. Valyrie could barely watch; such a nice gem to be cut in such an amateur fashion! On the other hand, lately Teu had been making all sorts of neat things–target dummies (some of which exploded in a terrific burst of color when Valyrie attacked them), explosive sheep, and boxes and boxes full of saronite bombs.

"Do I get some?" Valyrie had asked, only to be met by an indignant puff of air and a five-minute lecture on how bombs are not for inside the house. As if the furniture didn't need replacing anyway!

It had brought a bit of company by, which was also welcome; Teu had mentioned that the tiny braided dwarf was coming over to help Teu put together her new robotic butler, who was apparently going to clean the house for them. Valyrie was entirely in favor of this plan. When the knock came at Teu and Valyrie's door, Valyrie hopped up and went off to answer it.

The braided dwarf looked up, and up, and squinted at Valyrie. "'Ey there, Miss Valyrie. Is Teu ready to get started putting her Jeeves together?"

"The butler? Yes, I think so. She's in the workshop, as usual."

"Thanks! I'll show meself back, don't trouble yourself a titch."

"Of course. Take care, have fun, all that stuff…"

"Will do, aye!"

* * *

Ovistine pulled the titansteel bar out of her pack and placed it carefully on the table. "There! Careful with it; I cast a levitate spell on it so it didn't weigh me down too much, but it's best to wait it out an' have the spell wear off before you start working."

"Oh! Yes, yes, certainly." Teu pushed her goggles up on her forehead. "It has been so much help, you and your expertise! So many thankings!"

Chuckling, Ovistine dug into her pack again. "You're welcome, lass. An' I brought you sommat else."

It was a Construct-Your-Own-Mechanopeep set, one which Teu had cooed over in the tinkering shop the last time she and Ovistine had gone out to shop for materials. She'd let it sit there, saying something about increased fees for outfit maintenance that Ovistine didn't quite catch, but with this plan of hers and Ethel's, Ovistine had seen an opportunity, and she'd gone back to the shop early this afternoon.

Once she'd figured out how to miniaturize the gizmos, the rest had been easy. Adjusting the parts to fit logically into the mechanopeep head had been a challenge, but a very welcome one. The holo-transmitter was even set up to project an image, a voice, or both, out of the mechanopeep's beak.

And, of course, she'd wired up the transmission recorders at home, made out of several databanks she'd recovered from Gnomeregan–she'd always figured they'd come in handy someday. More to the point, she had the data ready to print out on punchcards, so she could hand them over to Ethel if need be.

Of course, all this relied on Teuthida having the mechanopeep out of her packs, and that was something Ovistine couldn't control–but given her enthusiasm for tinkering lately, and the way she could customize the mechanopeep to have sparkles all over it, Ovistine thought the chances were quite good.

The parts for Jeeves she'd brought were just a backup.

It would have taken a far more experienced engineer to figure out what was going on; the Field Repair Bot 74A had been customized, but not in a way that was too terribly obvious. Ovistine encouraged Teuthida to use that bot's parts in Jeeves' head, and Teuthida cheerfully agreed. When Jeeves was finished, and Teu had hopped up to fling triumphant arms and tentacles around Valyrie, it was a matter of mere moments–and a quick flick of a gyromatic micro-adjustor–to get the recording and transmitting units turned on and working.

"Take care," Ovistine told Teuthida. Teu bent down and gave Ovistine an enthusiastic hug, too, and Ovistine squeaked a bit when one of Teu's tentacles brushed across her ear.

"Sorry, sorry! But yes, yes, thank you so much! And for the tiny peep!" She snapped her fingers at the mechanopeep, and it trotted over to her feet. "I will keep him out of harm's way! He can sit upon my totems during battle!"

"Good call, aye," Ovistine said. "Light be with you."

"The Naaru have not forgotten us," Teu said, and Ovistine nearly laughed–so many times she'd heard that phrase, but never in such earnest, at least not from a friend. "And the elements will be at my side as well."

Ovistine had let herself out, and after she hopped into her turbo-charged flying machine, she set the controls to autopilot and put her head in her hands for a moment.

Spying on the elf I–on the elf. It's come to that, has it?

She thought about the axe again, the way the runes had seemed to pulse. The way it had been cold to the touch, the one time she'd brushed against it. It feeds on souls, Valinar had said, and she wondered if he'd really considered what that might mean.

"No," she murmured, pushing the "manual" button again and drawing the flying machine out of its spiraling northward lean. "No, Ethel's right. They need us at their backs."

An' I'll be damned if I let my elf walk in there without some way to know if he's safe. I didn't wait all these years just to lose him to the Lightforsaken Scourge.

Steady again, she headed back to the portals in Shattrath City, more than ready to be home.

So it was back to Dalaran, first for a soak in the tub to scrub the last bits of soot off herself and out of her braids, and then, hair tucked up in a towel, bundled up in a robe, off to the balcony with a pint in hand, looking over the beer gardens.

She'd expected the memories to stay — or to come back, at least. She'd had them, she knew it, but they were gone now, something covering them over.

The idea of going back into shadow was a terrifying one–the last thing she needed was to turn into a trogg–but if that was where her memories were, so be it.

She closed her eyes, focused on the clear path she held to the Light, and then dug under it, seeking out its counter. Shadow had always been the wrong word, she'd thought–it wasn't darkness, it was Chaos, all tumbling around and twisting and always, always, drawing her in…

There. Fully engulfed in Chaos, Ovistine kept her eyes closed for a few moments, searching for the way back up. There was nothing above the shadows, nothing past chaos, and while she knew the Light was still there–she'd touched it just moments ago, damn it–she couldn't see it, couldn't feel it.

She swallowed and frowned, resisting an urge to put her arms over her chest and hug herself. It wasn't cold here; it was just hard, so hard being cut off from the Light this way. Coming up from shadows was going to be a leap of faith, when she took it–all about the hope that the Light would still be there when she let the shadows go. And if it isn't? If you change back, and the Light's still gone? What then?

She wasn't going to think about that. Couldn't think about it. Not now. She opened her eyes again, focusing on her memories now–and yes, she remembered. She remembered her mother coming back from the war, the years they'd all spent in Elwynn while Nancie recovered, the way people at the Cathedral would look at her when she came back to see Ovistine–

The paladin who'd taken a rock to the head, the one who'd yelled at Nancie for wearing scarlet. Ovistine shuddered to herself. There were things she'd never asked her mother, questions she'd always left alone, but–no. No, there are other things to think about now. Leave it be. The Third War's over, and she'll tell you when she's ready.

She wouldn't, though. If she hadn't by now, she wouldn't. That was how it was between them–there were things Nancie kept hidden from Ovistine, and things Ovistine wouldn't share with her mum. Plausible deniability, she thought. A goblin's phrase, but probably the right one for this particular topic.

All right. If not her mother, there were certainly other things she needed to sift through. For one…

She sighed and touched her buzzbox, dialing in Valinar's frequency.

"Hello?"

"Val, it's Ovi."

"I'm relieved to hear it–are you well?"

"Aye, an' I'm out of Stormwind for the time being. Val…" She paused to take another sip of her stout. "Are you near Dalaran? I'd like to have a talk with you, if you wouldn't mind."

There was a slight pause from the elf's end of the line, but in the end, he said, "Of course, Ovistine–I'll be there shortly. Where shall I meet you?"

"The beer gardens. I'll order us a wee keg if I get there before you."

"Very well. I'll see you soon."

* * *

Valinar looked much the same as ever, except for one thing–the enormous blue axe he was carrying. It wasn't like Valinar to have an axe on his person in town, either; normally he had a selection of gnomish tools on his belt, and occasionally Ironfoe. The axe was slung across his shoulders, and he propped it carefully against the wall when he took a seat at the table. Ovistine frowned at it.

"That's new," she said. "Looks runeforged, too. Ebon Blade have a hand in it?"

"Yes," Valinar said, eyeing the axe for a moment before turning back to Ovistine. "I'm surprised you recognize the runes."

If he found it surprising that she was in shadowform, too, he didn't say anything about it. Ovistine nodded. "That's my news. While I was in Stormwind, I took to shadows without thinking about it–and when I did, the memories came back."

"That's wonderful–"

"No," Ovistine said quietly. "No, it's not, 'cause that's not all of it. I have them back when I'm in Chaos, but if I step out again, they leave with the shadows. An' while I'm in Chaos, I can't touch the Light–hell, I can't even tell it's there. It looks like all I've done is make things worse."

"It's a start."

"Aye. Well." Ovistine tipped her head to the side, slightly, and looked Valinar over. "I remember our conversation," she said softly. "The me of eight years back had an even harder time talking about these things than I do now, an' that's sayin' sommat." She paused, waiting to see if Valinar had anything to say to that; he was still listening intently, but didn't speak. She nodded and went on. "But the way we left it–I only realized after that we hadn't quite said. So maybe I ought to ask again." She took a drink of her stout, for luck and courage, and met his eyes again. "Valinar–are we dating?"

He paused, too, blinking a few times; finally, the slightest lift to his eyebrows appeared, barely even noticeable unless you were staring right hard in the elf's face, the way Ovistine was doing. He took a small breath, and then said, a little hesitantly, "…yes?"

A broad grin broke across Ovistine's face; she could only hope Valinar could make it out behind the smoke. She'd remember this when she came out of Chaos; she'd kept the memories of fighting, after all. It was only the past she'd lacked, not the present. "Aye," she said, much more firmly. "Muradin's beard! I've been hoping we'd settle that for… a while now."

Not that I know what to do about it, she thought, but we'll work that out later.

"So the axe, there–" Ovistine said, and Valinar glanced at it, too. "Tell me about it, aye? Sommat worrisome enough you didn't want to leave it at home?"

"Yes, exactly," Valinar said, and the story of the axe did not ease her worries in the least.

It was times like this Ovistine wished she had a shield like her mother's. There were so many people, and she could only toss out her Light-focused shields so often–though a great deal more often than eight years ago, that was for certain. Still, a hammer in one hand and a shield in the other–she could see the appeal in that.

Two hands landed on her shoulders, and Ovistine didn't even have time to turn around before someone yelled, "Ovi–disperse!" at her.

And the hell of it was, she knew how.

She and the priest behind her vanished into shadowsmoke, and when the axe cut through both their bodies, she barely even winced at it.

She was busy.

It wasn't a flood of memories, no sudden rush–it was as if she'd had a lock of hair in her field of vision, something that she hadn't even noticed until she'd brushed it away. And now she could see everything: her family, her friends, Valinar–Light damn it, I still don't know what we are to one another–her abilities, the way it felt to be filled up with the Light–

The dispersion wore off, and Ovistine stayed in shadows. She sent a purple line of chaos into the next man to raise a weapon to her, and he fell unconscious along with a group of people clustered around him. It was enough to get the attention of this part of the room, and when Ovistine levitated, braids twirling, they shrank back a step.

"You're done," she growled out. "You want to leave. You want to get out of here and be somewhere safe."

It was enough for the five people still left standing, anyway, and as they pushed their way out, they took others with them. Ovistine spared a glance over her shoulder, grinning back at Aldras Hale. He looked wary–and weary, for that matter–but he also looked, despite himself, impressed.

"Still think my grasp on Chaos is limited, Aldras?"

Hale smirked at her. "I'm glad I was here to remind you how to use it."

"Aye, well–" She drew herself back out of shadow, and–

–and. And she couldn't remember why she was so damned proud of herself for showing off like that; she couldn't remember why Hale, in particular, made her want to prove she could flay minds like nobody's business. She remembered what had just happened, what she'd done here–Muradin's beard, she could scare that many at once?–but not why it had meant so much to her.

Her mother was pushing the rest of the people out of the Cathedral now, though; there was a bit of motion, and Nancie wasn't one to let momentum turn against her. Ovistine shielded her again and pressed in at her mother's back, staff up in guard position. Hammer and shield, she thought, damn, that'd be grand just now.

She'd worry about her memories later.

Ovistine sighed at the loud pounding on her front door. It was a little too easy to guess who the fist belonged to, but she supposed she'd put her mother off long enough. She swung the door open just as Nancie had raised her fist again; the two dwarves blinked at each other for a few seconds.

"Mum," Ovistine said, nodding.

"Lass." Nancie stood back, dropping her hand back to her side and clearing her throat. She didn't look much different, Ovistine thought–no new wrinkles, hair still up in its customary bun to hold it out of the way, still in the same fighting condition she'd been in last Ovistine had seen her. Her armor was a little different, and she wore a red tabard with two white mugs on it, the same sort of tabard Ovistine had seen on the other members of the Boomstick Gang. Ovistine had two such tabards–one red, one black–but hadn't been comfortable putting them on again just yet.

"Were you on your way somewhere?" Ovistine asked. She nodded at Nancie's armor. "Full gear, eh?"

"On me way back frae somewhere," Nancie admitted. "Jes' came frae th' tournament grounds. Still a lot o' folks what needs t' get shite off their backs before they can help Fordring an' company at th' Citadel. Still got a need fer folks t' keep th' peace."

Ovistine blinked at her mother. "An' that's you? Keeping the peace between us and the orcs?"

"Mostly," Nancie grumbled. "But–I didnae come t' talk about me. Wondered how ye were doin'."

"Well…" Ovistine sighed. "No closer to getting my memories back." Nancie winced and nodded. "But I have a little more incentive now, so I'm working on it."

"Aye–aye, that's good. We're all–me an' yer Da an' th' elf–we're all hopin' ye can find a way t' set things right."

"I wondered if I could talk to you about that."

"Which bit?"

"The–well." Ovistine glanced back at her door; nothing inside that wouldn't keep. "Have a walk with me?"

"Aye, o' course."

Some parts of Stormwind were much as Ovistine remembered them–the Dwarven District, for one, where her future self had apparently kept her flat, and the Library, and the Cathedral itself. Other parts were different; she didn't remember so many warships and steam tanks in the harbor, and the Park was full of elves–mostly druids, she'd learned. Agness had taken Ovistine to a knitting night at a bar in the Mage Quarter that Ovistine had no memory of at all, and for all there seemed to be a bit of a break between the shadow-users Agness was a part of and the arcane-types, it was easygoing enough.

As she and Nancie approached the bridge to Cathedral Square, things seemed anything but easy. A crowd was gathering near the courthouse; Nancie tensed and slid her shield off her back, leaving her axe at her side for now.

"What's all this?" Ovistine murmured.

"Dunno." Nancie was moving toward the courthouse, and Ovistine followed. Leave it to her mum to walk into danger every time, not away. Well, damn if Ovistine wasn't keeping up; maybe eight years ago she'd been too young, but Nancie wasn't trying to hold her back this time, and with all the things she'd learned about her powers in the last few weeks, no one could say she wasn't strong enough.

Four guards stood on the courthouse steps; Ovistine glanced at Nancie to see if her mum recognized any of them. "Babes," Nancie muttered. "An' not enough o' 'em, neither…"

There were whispers through the crowd, and Ovistine caught snatches of words that meant nothing to her. Plaguefather. Trial. Uthas…

"Feck," Nancie growled. She glanced at Ovistine. "Lass–this could be bad."

"Who's Uthas? Do I know him?"

Nancie's frown deepened. "Aye. Ye've traveled with 'im once or twice."

"Did he do what they're saying?"

"I used t' ask ye that. Ye never said." Nancie growled low under her breath. "Never understood why ye went workin' wi' th' so-called Ebon Blade, neither, but ye're me daughter. I stand by ye."

"I'm standing by you now," Ovistine said. She set her shoulders and lifted her chin. "If there's trouble, you'll have the Light backing your shield."

"Always do," Nancie said with a grin, but she grimaced at Ovistine's look of determination. "There's nowt I can say t' get ye t' go back home, is there?"

"Not a thing."

"A'right. Ye keep close, then."

"Aye, Mum."

Two men came out of the courthouse, and Nancie tensed all over again. "Feck." Her hand was on her axe now, and Ovistine heard her whispering out a prayer for strength, for the Light to shield her. Ovistine frowned. If it was just the two of them, then this Uthas was likely being released, and if he was innocent, why was her mother getting charged up for battle?

The crowd was sensing it too, now, and Ovistine forced herself to focus. The calm center of her was easier to find these days, as if years of discipline and training were as much a part of her as her braids, something that even eight years of memory loss couldn't steal from her. She was glad for that now.

The pardon was read, and as soon as Nancie heard In the name of King Varian Wrynn and Stormwind, so it is judged, she nodded. Ovistine had heard a lot of things about King Wrynn lately, but so far as her mother was concerned, it was clear that Wrynn had earned even deeper fealty in these last eight years–Wrynn's name was enough to seal a matter for Nancie, no matter what it might be.

The rest of the crowd was not so readily eased.

The first rocks flew and hit nothing, but by the time they'd landed, there were others. People were shouting, pushing, throwing anything they could get their hands on. Ovistine put up shields as quickly as she could, blocking people off from one another, protecting the innocent if she was able, but there were so many, so much anger, so many curses and shouts.

There was a crash of glass, and Ovistine whipped her head around to see what had happened. She could smell it before she saw it–smoke, and if there was smoke, then–

"Mum–Mum! There's fire–"

But looking around, she was beginning to see more than just that first plume of smoke. Her eyes went wide; riots, fire–Makers, what had Stormwind turned into while she'd been gone?

The grip on her braids jerked her out of her thoughts, and she sent a burst of holy magic into whoever it might have been–but it didn't shake the grip loose. She yelled as she got hauled off her feet, out of the crowd, and when she finally managed to get free and turn around, she glared at her mother. "I was helping–"

"Aye, an' we'll help a damn sight more if we get t' higher ground–"

Another crash of glass, but this time louder; Ovistine and Nancie both looked toward the Cathedral. One of the front windows had been smashed in, and Ovistine gasped out loud. Before Nancie could stop her, she was off and running, and Nancie could do nothing but keep up.

"Lass, no–"

"They're my friends–they'll be trapped–"

"Son of a fecking trogg–"

Up the stairs, then, past the crowd, Nancie's shield shoving through people and pushing them aside. The inside of the Cathedral blazed with light, mostly of the holy variety, but there were torches here, too, torches and furious people holding them. The paladins had already gathered into clusters, protecting the priests and–God help them all, the wee ones, the altar boys and girls were being guarded, too, the mob being too mindless by now to notice if children were getting caught in this. Ovistine rushed over to a group of paladins that were beginning to look overwhelmed, and Nancie joined her.

The lead paladin–someone Ovistine didn't recognize, damn it–swung her shield around, facing Nancie. "You," she snarled. "Come to help the rioters?"

"Ye want t' yell at me or ye want t' help people?" Nancie shot back.

"Still wearing red, Lighthammer? The more things change–"

"Shut yer feckin' trap and–"

The rock came in too high for Ovistine to see where it'd come from, and the lead paladin hadn't managed to get her helm on yet; the rock took her in the side of the head, and she went down. The torches were coming closer and closer, and Ovistine froze for just a moment as she realized just how many fecking banners and carpets and things you could bloody set on fire there were here–

She got a hand on Nancie's shoulder and squeezed, in spite of the fact that Nancie couldn't feel it through the plate. Her quick prayer for strength and fortitude was a little easier to notice, and Nancie drew herself up, shield at the ready.

"For me love an' me lass," Nancie muttered–Ovistine had never heard her mother's battle prayers before, but she knew what she was hearing all the same, "may th' Makers watch o'er me an' th' Light guide me."

For my parents, for my friends, the ones I know and the ones I don't, Ovistine thought, gathering all her power together and holding it close, holding it at the ready, and for the elf I'll go to when this is all over.

She pushed the first pulses of Light into her mother and prayed.

Eight years of journals was a great deal to sift through. Ovistine had, at first, started at the beginning and worked her way forward, looking at entries about her mum's return from the war and all the speculation her older self had done about where Nancie had been, who she'd been with, why she'd come home the way she had–but it was a hell of a lot of reading in order to find out that yes, Mum had eventually gone back to fighting, because Mum was a fighter at heart. Well, fine; Ovistine knew that already.

Of more interest were entries that started five or so years back, entries about an elf–an elf named Valinar, who started off as "Mum's friend from the Stormpike Guard" and eventually progressed to just "the elf".

Ovistine wrapped a braid around her wrist a few times, tugging on it nervously as the entries kept coming. Found an anonymous bag of candy hearts in the mail today, which have been meticulously picked through to leave just the ones that say "Be Mine", "You're The Best", and "I'll Follow You All Around Azeroth". I put them under my Ultrasafe Magnifier and found traces of thorium dust, which wasn't so telling as the purple hair that clung to the outside of the bag. I only know so many elves with purple hair, and I'm quite sure the bag did not come from Harken.

She nearly choked on her own tongue as she got to the entries about being trapped in shadow, patting herself down all over to be sure there was no sign of leftover troggishness. She hadn't noticed anything, but then she hadn't exactly been looking. The entries throughout the shadow days were all transcribed, occasionally marked with strange numbers–perhaps Gnomish binary?

Mention of a few dinners out in Ironforge, a restaurant Ovistine had never heard of called the Barking Murloc; detailed entries on the elf's search for Ironfoe and how she'd helped him find it; the way she'd brought him home for Pilgrim's Bounty and then Winter Veil, and all the while, little mentions of him even if he wasn't part of the day's events…

She put the latest journal down and swallowed hard. There was nothing for it; she was going to have to have a talk with Valinar herself.

* * *

The Barking Murloc had sounded intriguing, and it seemed like as good a place to have this conversation as any. Valinar was eager enough to have dinner with her, and over a nice plate of appetizer-sized sausage links–all different sorts of sausage, with a flight of beers to match them–she fidgeted a little, trying to work out how to ask what she wanted to ask.

"This is quite nice," Valinar said, lifting a bite of spicy goat sausage and nodding at the hearty stout suggested for it. "The richness of the stout stands up well to the spices."

"Aye, it's a tasty bit there," Ovistine said. "I liked the pork sausage with truffles meself."

Valinar nodded. "That was good, too."

She sighed and twisted her napkin in her lap. "I wish I remembered this place."

Valinar's expression turned immediately sympathetic. "No progress on recovering your memory, then?"

"None so far. But I have been reading up on her–my–our journals, the last eight years, an'–" She sighed and dropped the napkin; better now than later, she supposed. "Valinar, forgive my needing to ask, but–are we dating?"

Valinar blinked a few times and sat back; he polished off the last of the stout before answering. "I… wasn't sure if we'd quite… gotten there, yet," he said.

"That explains the vague bits," Ovistine muttered. Valinar seemed puzzled, and Ovistine sighed. "She was–I was–she didn't really ever say it. Which is why I had to ask. But she obviously–" She blushed and pulled one of her braids into her lap. "I mean, you're clearly someone she–"

And how fair was it, talking about herself as if she was someone else entirely? To the elf sitting across from her, she was still Ovistine Lighthammer; a Lighthammer lass with eight years fewer memories, but a Lighthammer all the same.

"–that is," she said softly, "from all I've read, I care about you a great deal. An' I can understand that. You're tough an' kind an' you drink like a dwarf."

"Thank you," Valinar said. His ears seemed to bounce a little at the compliments; Ovistine could see why her future-self had found them so adorable. "I care for you, too, Ovistine."

"Aye, but–" Ovistine sighed. "It was different when it was just me. Me an' maybe Mum an' Da, I guess, an' some old friends. Mum's not changed much, Da's just the same as ever, Agness an' Vaelen have gone an' got married, but that's hardly unexpected, an' certainly I've new people to get to know all over again, but–" She blinked across the table at him. "But if you were–if we were–I mean, even if we're not yet but maybe we were going to–I mean, I brought you home to Pilgrim's Bounty an' you met my grand-da Arktur an' you still came back for Winter Veil!"

At that, Valinar smiled just a little. "Your family was very… welcoming."

"Aye, an' that's the root of it, eh?" She bounced the end of her braid off the edge of the table and sighed again. "I can't just ask you to do these last few years over again. Not when you're–when we're–I mean, when you an' she, no, me, I mean–oh, feck." She covered her face in her hands for a moment, trying to settle down. When she looked up, Valinar was still watching her, patiently, those glowing eyes of his seeming to radiate concern and not exasperation.

How patient would I be if I were in his place?

"What I'm saying is, I think I need to step up the process of getting my memories back. It was one thing for it just to be me, but–it really isn't, is it?"

And for all she'd known him just a few weeks, she knew full well what Ovistine Lighthammer had thought of "the elf". She could see it, now, all the little things that she'd thought were so charming; maybe they'd still take some getting used to, maybe he'd take some getting used to, but… how crazy was it to be this hopeful that she wasn't–that neither Ovistine was–imagining things?

"Well…" Valinar's brow furrowed, and Ovistine found herself holding her breath. "In the sense you mean–your memory loss certainly does affect… your friends." Perhaps this time it was Ovistine whose brow was furrowed, or, in her case, who was outright frowning, because Valinar cleared his throat and said, "And me. But…" He sat up straighter, which left her doing the same and struggling to keep on an eye-to-eye level with him; he was so tall, so much taller than even the humans. How were they ever going to manage to… no, no, she'd think about that later. "After all, my parents' courtship took three hundred years. Repeating the last five hardly seems like an insurmountable burden." And he smiled.

Ovistine blushed from her fingertips to the roots of her hair and quickly grabbed the nearest pint off the table, drinking down a good bit of it. She hoped it was hers and not the elf's, but then she hadn't been looking very carefully. She set the pint down again and wiped her lips carefully.

"So what you're saying is–if I don't get them back–you'd still want to…" She blinked up at him. "I mean, we were… before, even if we weren't… but we were sort of… and you'd still want to… be sommat special to each other, then?"

"You're still Ovistine," he said, still smiling. "There will be more adventures."