Everybody talked about "finding The One" as though that was the dream.

They forgot to mention waking up.

Kathy met her one true love in the most mundane possible way. Her first day as a lawyer in the Wilton branch of the Companions, she made the rounds introducing herself to everybody at the Guildhall. She shook hands, chatted with her new guildmates, and enjoyed every minute... most especially her time spent in a certain man's company.

Just generally, Kathy liked people. Hence why she picked the Companions, out of the big three guilds known for their lawyers: they were known to put people first, compared to Mercenaries' profit and Scholars' pedantry. Privately, she thought of it as a simplified personality test -- when taking a legal case, did your preferred outcome involve everybody happy? The biggest payday? Or technical accuracy? -- and the Companions were far and away the most personable, rather than greedy or rigid.

So maybe she was ragging on the others a little, but she knew what they said in return. Oh, those Companions? The lowest paid. The least knowledgeable. The pro bono workers. Lots of smiles, but less substance. Are you sure you want to go there?

Absolutely. She was so sure. So maybe she earned a few less coins, but instead of a menacing fortress or dreary library, she got to work in a cheerful tavern. The inside was warmly lit and temperature regulated, the atmosphere bustling or laidback as preferred. The golden-brown wooden walls were interspersed with uniform hanging lanterns and contrastingly eclectic windows and mirrors, with framed illustrations of foodstuff beside floating shelves of actual food... mostly samples left out by culinary students.

By the time her clients or potential clients trickled in every morning, Kathy would be settled in with refreshments and copious amounts of paperwork. She always started a first client meeting in one of the cozy cushioned booths with privacy curtains, but sometimes she found a change in seating helpful. Perched on a barstool, she'd sip from a mug of honeyed mead as her client gulped down something stronger. Seated at the central long table, she could be supported by a rapt audience quick to make sympathetic noises. Sinking into a couch chair, she could encourage the illusion their conversation was casual, turning her face toward the musicians or shows.

Regardless, she loved the companionable atmosphere, which made even paperwork less like work. The enticing scents of roasted meats and spices, the easy hum of conversation and laughter. Friends would stop by to say hi; sometimes he was there.

Thanks to her Skills, she could usually finish up by five... and if not, she was clocking out anyway. Nights with the Companions were all about talking and laughing, singing and dancing, drinking and playing. Weekends, they went out.

Oh yes, this was the life. Kathy couldn't imagine why anybody in their right mind wouldn't choose the Companions. Unless they just didn't like people or something?

And then there was Paul, like a reward for a lifetime of good deeds and decisions. He worked in protection, and it showed: he was fit. But he wasn't just muscle either. He could flash his disarming smile and charm the room, his twinkling green eyes making him look stupidly innocent. Or cross his bulging arms and loom, his expression making people back away or reach for weapons. Or for all his size, he could somehow melt into the background when needed, stepping into the role of second shadow.

It was no wonder he was a contract bodyguard. His confidence made him and his work seem so exciting; she even thought his scars attractive. And somehow, when she kept looking at him... he kept looking back.

At first, he was just fun for Kathy. All right, she liked him a lot -- maybe more than liked him -- but they were two people simply enjoying each other's company. A lot. She wouldn't say there were no strings attached, but certainly no demands or expectations voiced aloud. And then...

She knew to anyone else, it would seem nothing out of the ordinary. Just another love story.

But it was her love story.

The longer they stayed together, the more she fell for him. It never got old or tiresome, what they shared.

Sometimes her breath caught to even look at him, knowing he was hers. Her head invariably turned at the sound of his booming laugh. He would reach out for her, while she stepped up to him; she fit so neatly against his side, his warm arm wrapped around her waist.

Their friend circles merged. He started staying more and more at her place, and then he was moving in. They had their share of little fights, minor bumps in the road they quickly moved past. They weren't perfect, but... no, that was false modesty.

In her mind, they were perfect together, or as close to perfect as humanly possible.

If she had one complaint, it was how he kept leaving on dangerous business. But that never mattered somehow when he came back. Just look at him! He seemed larger than life, that easy smile on his face, that assurance in the way he moved. His green eyes were so full of life. She didn't really worry for him...

Until he didn't come back one night. Until she went to the Healer's and saw him with her own two eyes. Until she realized he'd very nearly died.

Suddenly his scars weren't sexy anymore.

She waited until they were back home to ask, "Do you have to stay in this job?"

Paul looked at her. His green eyes were dimmer than usual, but his voice when he spoke was clear. "This is who I am."

She didn't bring it up again. She wanted to be his support, not his burden. And... he was right. He had his dream job; if he didn't go into the bodyguard business, he'd probably have become an adventurer. So she smiled and kissed him, pretending nothing was wrong.

Wasn't that what a good partner did?

Still, when he was out working and late coming back, she stayed up to wait for him. She would've had trouble sleeping anyway, so she might as well use the time for paperwork... though that excuse would be easier to believe if she could concentrate on anything but the opening and closing door.

"Don't worry, Paul's a big boy," her friend Miriam said. "He was fine last time, and the time before that... He'll be fine this time too."

"I know, I know," Kathy said with a sigh, even though it didn't work like that.

"Why don't we play a game?" Miriam said, and then without waiting for a reply: "Hey, guys! Warpeace?"

"What?" Kathy turned to stare at the clock. "At a time like this?"

"It's because it's at a time like this."

Though Kathy played along, she really didn't think there was any point. Not like some cards could hold her attention while Paul was out there, possibly fighting or dying...

Swallowing, she accepted the hand she'd been dealt. And she found all the bluffing, trading, and slapping of cards was surprisingly distracting. Also on her end debating, or what her fellow players called 'rules lawyering.'

Before she knew it, the door was opening to that familiar booming laugh. She looked up and smiled.

It was easy to forget her worries and fears when he was back safe. Easy to smile for him.

Paul teased her for her newfound interest in card games, and she didn't explain. He boasted of his new Skills, and she congratulated him. He survived scrapes with new scars, and she didn't ask him to stop.

Everybody spoke of love as though it was the ideal. Perfection without flaws, beauty without pain, glory without fear.

They didn't tell you the greater the heights, the harder the fall. The more you loved, the more you eventually lost.

But Kathy hadn't really believed she would. She wasn't so naive as to think Paul was invincible or immortal or anything; she'd traced his scars herself, seen him wince. She knew he carried deeper ones she couldn't directly touch.

So she hadn't thought she could lose him... because she just couldn't. Maybe love couldn't conquer all, but he was her love. He needed to survive and return to her. She needed him to.

Then the unimaginable... no, the unbelievable... no.

The worst happened.

She was staying up late once again playing Warpeace. He was just running late. Even later. She looked up when the door swung open, and in came one familiar face with an unfamiliar expression, unsteadily limping. Then another, also looking like he'd walked straight off a battlefield. Her gladness they'd finally returned became quiet dread, then mute terror, then...

She hadn't really believed she could lose him.

Kathy felt like her insides had frozen over, sometimes biting into her with needle-prick shards of ice, other times thawing enough for hollow tears. Then there was the shock, reasserting itself again and again, like she kept disbelieving he was really gone and then reconfirming this was real.

On a normal day, she would have been flustered and flattered to be directed to the silver fox Guildmaster's private office. Now it didn't matter who he was or how warmly and genuinely he delivered his condolences. She didn't care for tea or cookies or anything stronger.

She just wanted to know one thing. "How?"

Kathy listened in silence to what Guildmaster Carlin said and what he didn't say, but she wasn't so ignorant of the situation as he seemed to believe. Since she'd swallowed her worries and supported Paul fully, her lover had never felt the need to dissemble with her.

Finally, she demanded outright: "Was it the Mercenaries?"

"You mean our highly valued customers?" Guildmaster Carlin returned. "Who we have no good reason to accuse?"

"No good reason? Paul's dead!" Her voice cracked, and she glared through a face full of tears.

"We don't know it was them." His voice was gentle and soothing, but she refused to be gentled or soothed. "We don't know, and we can't just go knocking on doors demanding answers."

"So anybody's free to attack us? We're supposed to be one of the Great Seven!"

"It's not free. When anybody does us a good turn, we go out of our way for them in return. When we suspect they may not have held back, or not enough, we charge stiffer rates."

"Higher rates." Was that all Paul's life was worth? "That's it? Are we Mercenaries ourselves?"

"No. Because we also offer service with a smile." His face and voice had gained a harder edge. "Even when we hate our customers, we make them believe we're their best friends. We make them maybe hesitate, next time."

This was how Companions fought. She knew and understood it, but... Kathy shook her head. "It's not right."

"We're not the Scholars," he said, suddenly seeming to age decades. "We can't afford to avenge every little injustice done to our own."

They had nothing more to say to each other. Paul's death was just the price of doing business. His whole future, their future, had gone up in smoke as easy as that.

Kathy couldn't even hope to avenge him; she had no way of knowing which Mercenaries -- if any -- were responsible, and without her guild backing her... it was hopeless.

At his funeral, she wept openly, unabashedly, letting her sobs spill out from the broken wreckage of her chest. But she was still a Companion, so when called to speak, she stood up by his casket. Sending him off was the last thing she could ever do for him; she needed this to matter.

Her passionate speech addressed her audience through him, and though her face was wet with tears, she didn't stutter.

"You are gone, Paul Butler, and we all know the loss. The world is poorer without the wealth of your wisdom. The world is colder without the warmth of your compassion. The world is darker without the light of your courage."

By the end, she couldn't spot a dry eye in the crowd. Well, they were Companions after all. Actors and audience. Players and fans. Friends and lovers.

They flocked around her in the days after, making sure she was never alone, drinking into the small hours together while they swapped stories and memories of Paul. More than once the whole group of them would end up both sobbing and laughing, and that camaraderie almost, almost made the empty hole inside her bearable.

She'd taken to sleeping in the Guildhall's upstairs rooms. She refused to return home if she could help it.

They called what she'd known with Paul "falling in love," but she thought now this was a misnomer. Her experience was just the opposite, like she'd lifted higher and higher, flying into love, soaring.

She hadn't felt like she was falling until she'd seen the faces returning without him. She hadn't fallen in love but loss.

Kathy felt widowed, though she and Paul had never married. The only thing stopping them had been the timing; they'd known each other for only nine months, however much shorter and longer it'd felt.

They might have married anyway. Sometimes she wished they had and that they'd opted for a marital soul bond, the dire warnings of worst case scenarios sounding more like missed blessings.

He was the person she couldn't live without, except now she was forced to.

At least, almost despite herself, her body kept functioning. Life continued happening. Time kept ticking ever onwards.

The first time she entered the Guildhall to the sound of their friends laughing, she stopped in her tracks and struggled against a welling sense of betrayal. She'd known this was coming, deep down; she'd felt the difference as the days crawled past, that the others were moving on, looking back expectantly for her to follow.

But Kathy? She was still seeing glimpses of that familiar face, on the verge of hearing that boisterous laugh, wishing for the feel of those callused hands. She... wasn't doing better.

She was struggling to even like people. Once, the sight or sound of others having fun had put a smile on her face, making her want to join in. Now, Kathy would walk past feeling distant and withdrawn, left out. Alone in her crowded guild.

She did try seeing Mind Healers, but they could only address the symptoms, not the underlying cause. She didn't want to be artificially chipper and she certainly wasn't paying for that. Besides, after twisting their words against them, more than one agreed she didn't really have a problem. Some people just took longer to grieve than others.

Kathy just wasn't fun anymore.

First her post-Paul grief had been expected, practically required. Then understood and supported.

But as the months passed, she was becoming tedious. She knew it, everybody knew it. She easily picked up on the increasing signs of discomfort and disapproval.

The Companions were friendly, which wasn't the same as nice. Kathy had seen them aggressively practice their social Skills on the unwelcome. She saw now they weren't satisfied shuffling her off to the side, not when she tended to drag down the general mood.

This was the trouble with Companions. They tried to slap a smile on everything, tried to paper over problems with charm. It wasn't really fair to say they were fair-weather friends, but they did remind Kathy of the wind, free-spirited and fast-moving, or of air affinity, said to make the best and worst mages.

So long as things were sailing smoothly, they were like a refreshing updraft carrying her higher, reaching heights previously unimagined. But when she was already spiraling downwards, they could be a chaotic downdraft, extra turbulence knocking her further askew.

The laughing lot of them made her feel lonelier than ever. Their insistence on cheering her up only underscored how miserable she still was. When Miriam started hinting she might try dating again... Kathy knew they were right she needed to move on, but not from Paul.

Her departure was quiet and, she thought, a relief on both sides. Unlike when she'd joined the guild and the Companions had shouted their welcome to the skies, leaving was a more private affair.

Not like she was going far. She wasn't comfortable striking out on her own without guild representation; she knew how easily those unprotected could be... mishandled. And the Mercenaries were right out. Of the three relevant Great Guilds, that left just one.

We're not the Scholars, her ex-Guildmaster had said. At least she could find humor in that.

Whereas the Companions had accepted her unquestioningly only to start her out with light in-house work, the Scholars tested her rigorously before admitting her, and then as a Junior, despite her substantial experience and referrals. She was assigned a formal mentor, who proved informative but otherwise disinterested in her.

Fittingly for a guild that prided itself on truth and knowledge, she quickly learned its major flaw. Simply put, she would never advance far as a Scholar, no matter how wealthy, influential, or otherwise successful as a lawyer she became. She ably studied and practiced the law, but she didn't publish papers or advocate for changes. She wasn't a true Scholar.

She couldn't help thinking of the Companions, who for all they'd pretended to discard rankings had crowded around the most famous or well-connected, secondarily the usefully Skilled, and third the extraordinarily charming.

With her natural competitiveness and pragmatism, she might've actually done best for herself in the Mercenaries. Who she'd sooner quit her job than consider joining.

Still, she was too grateful to care about rankings or recognition. There was no cure for grief, but she found the change in guild a balm.

New people, new place. No longer was she bombarded by constant reminders of better times.

She even changed her name, sort of. Where before she'd been Kathy, just Kathy -- they were all friends there, after all -- now she was Katherine or Junior Anderson, the extra syllables and heft like the levity she'd shed.

It got better. She no longer needed to smile for her clients or to offer sympathy along with her legal advice; far from taking offense, clients seemed to expect the professional distance she asserted. Somehow she could be curt and direct, and she'd be seen as orderly and efficient, rather than brusque and abrasive. She was questioned less, and never on her credentials or motives.

Scholars really had it easier. All thanks to their reputation.

Speaking of which, she was amused to remember how intimidating she used to find them. Since joining, she'd discovered most Scholars were about as scary as near-sighted sheep grazing and chewing on books, moving slowly and laboriously through the library's safe pastures. She strongly suspected this was the real reason Executive Scholars were so fearsomely protective: else, most Scholars would be eaten alive outside their Guildhalls.

Katherine still didn't think herself one of them, but the guild suited her purpose. Almost despite herself, time began to heal her once hemorrhaging heart; the scars left behind didn't hurt most days unless directly pressed.

So the years passed. Katherine made Learned, and her savings swelled. Yes, she was making more money, but more significantly, she was using so much less. Companions were comparatively big spenders, constantly going out or partying in, buying rounds of drinks or tipping performers, hitting the shops or dressing up. Or maybe Scholars were inordinately thrifty?

In any case, she welcomed both her increased finances and minimized pressure to socialize. Nobody here found it strange if she opted for time alone. Actually, compared to some of these retiring intellectuals, she was nearly a social butterfly.

Though Katherine had stopped meeting her old friends, she found she once again liked people, or at least liked her new friends. One of these was Andy Rubrik, who she'd already known somewhat from his infrequent visits to the tavern. He'd been so welcoming and considerate to her as a new Scholar she'd started to worry he might be interested, even though he was twenty years her senior, until she'd observed how gracious and helpful he was with his friends and mentee. Andy was just... surprisingly sociable, for a Scholar.

Others could also seem so studious and serious in the library, only to turn into different people outside, loudly arguing and laughing albeit over academic research or other esoteric subjects. She enjoyed telling stories of her quirky guildmates to her parents, not realizing at first she was getting their hopes up.

Parents would be parents. If she didn't mention or think of hers much, it was because they were mostly just there in the background, acting supportive and concerned. After following her to Wilton, they'd found good jobs jointly managing the same general store, though they were getting on in years, one reason she'd decided against changing cities as well as guilds. Katherine met them once a week to catch up over dinner and that was all.

She'd known what she had with Paul even before she'd lost him. She wished she could say the same about her parents.

It was chaos in Wilton when the Underworld invaded, or so she later heard. At the time, she'd hunkered down with the other Scholars in the library, where only the tense atmosphere indicated all was not right outside.

The civilian death count numbered over four thousand. This might not sound like much in a city of a million, but the raiders targeted shops in particular. She had to identify her parents' bodies, and then... she just sat down, ignoring the Watch guards.

Not again. Her parents had been in their late seventies, so... at least it wasn't like Paul, but...

She hadn't been ready.

Was anyone ever ready?

Wilton held a mass public funeral. Her loss was truly shared this time, and she wasn't sure how she felt about that, like it made her parents' deaths more meaningful and less. She saw people wearing the same shell-shocked look she might've worn after Paul, others who didn't look like they were grieving at all... and then she saw them.

Among the awkward bereaved and bystanders, the Companions stood out, even in mourning colors. They wept and sang, offered warm drinks and comfort... and they were carrying life likenesses.

With a chill, she recognized some of the smiling faces. Former friends, dearly departed.

The raiders had probably been after supplies... so of course the tavern had been targeted.

She didn't even think, just stumbled forward as her tears spilled over. It had been years, but they swept her up in fierce hugs like she was still one of them.

She remembered how bitterly she'd taken their words of consolation before. How in her secret heart she'd heard, "I'm so sorry for your loss," again and again, and she'd thought: Do you imagine this won't someday happen to you?

But now she saw how the Companions did know that. How they grieved themselves wholeheartedly -- broken-heartedly? -- yet offered their service still. When at the whims of the world, sometimes the only thing to do was to keep picking yourself back up, forcing a smile.

As life and death, so love and loss.

This was why love was blind! Willfully so, because fearing loss was no way to love or live.

"Kathy?" She recognized Miriam's tear-streaked face, and the two stared at each other. The other woman looked... older yet softer, somehow. "You look good. Better."

It was an odd thing to say at a funeral, but she instantly knew what Miriam meant. Katherine just swallowed and nodded.

"So the Scholars are working out for you, then? I'm glad. But you know you're always welcome back, right? We should... should catch up."

"Of course. We're all friends here."

The words just naturally slipped out, and then the Scholar paused, realizing they were no longer appropriate.

But Miriam smiled at her, squeezed her arm, and said, "We are. Don't be a stranger, aye?"

She thought the true gift of Companions was this. They could weather storms, like they were light as air. And though she didn't wish to rejoin them... she believed the world needed Companions.

Once more she grieved. But Katherine knew she'd survive it this time.

Adversity was said to build character. She'd certainly shed her youthful innocence and grown a hard protective shell. She thought she could bear anything, now she'd endured the worst.

But nobody would choose this. Katherine would trade it all, every bit of peace, wisdom, and maturity she'd gained, to walk back her losses however temporarily. No... maybe not. The reunions might be worth it, but then she'd have to go through the pain of loss all over again.

She thought Andy might have the right of it after all: he cared for so many without overly caring for any single one. He'd never expressed any interest in romance that she'd seen. Conventional wisdom suggested he should be a lonely, miserable old man, but just the opposite, he was thriving.

More years passed, and over a decade later, Andy was proudly introducing her to his newest mentee. He'd talked her up as some child prodigy who memorized books and loved learning, but Katherine just saw a scared little girl who should be thanking her lucky stars. Anywhere else, Rowena Loress would likely be mocked, pushed around, and treated like a walking, talking library. But she'd fit right in with the Scholars, fellow devotees of books and studies.

To Katherine's unpleasant surprise, the seemingly sweet but sheltered girl proved to be more troublesome than expected.

"Dungeons?" Katherine repeated, staring at Andy. "What is she thinking? What are you?"

It was rare that they seriously argued, but she couldn't help feeling like he was repeating her mistakes. Worse than that, because Rowena was no Paul and the relationships were different. It was insane to her how Andy could fret for his beloved mentee and then encourage the timid sheep to step outside her safe enclosure.

"If anything happens to her," she said, "Tell me you won't blame yourself?"

"I would," Andy said, "But she deserves this chance, and her friends will look out for her. I only want to support her in making her own choices."

It was a disturbingly familiar scene. He wanted to be his mentee's support, not her burden. He still worried, and then he buried those worries when Rowena came back safe.

Could he live with the possible consequences if things went badly? But... could he live with stopping her from reaching her potential?

Katherine realized she didn't have the answers. Her parents hadn't taken any risks, yet she'd lost them anyway. Also, she... probably had pained them in life.

Yet she wouldn't give up Paul to spare them, just as he hadn't spared her.

It had taken a long time to fully forgive him for leaving. Longer to forgive herself for not stopping him.

Even after all this time, he was still her one and only. She knew some people would find that romantic, others pathetic, most tragic... but for her, it was what it was. She hadn't stopped living when Paul had died, but she had changed.

With him, she had been a true Companion, opening her heart to strangers, laughing and weeping freely.

But without, she found she was no longer a stranger to herself. She was a Scholar, observing the world feelingly but cautiously, and still a lawyer. Still a friend.

So when Andy's mentee somehow got it into her head to go digging in landslides, Katherine didn't say she'd told Andy so. She didn't say he shouldn't worry, like he could help himself, or to focus on his book, which he wasn't reading. She didn't even blame Rowena; it was hard to hold onto outrage when the offense was committing charity work.

Instead she channeled her inner Companion and smiled confidently. "It will be all right," she said. "You'll see. And while we wait, for she'll surely come back... shall we play a game?"