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Gabriel Tam opens the door for Mary and ushers her inside before following her to a table.

Mary doesn't tell her father, but it's something of a relief to be back in the place where she lost her memory - she knows her home ought to feel familiar, and the way it doesn't has been putting her decidedly on edge.

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Mary stares at him, crossing her arms instinctively over her chest.

And says, very firmly, "No. That is not true.

"You have already said that you lied - and even if I do not remember, my father does. It is really very stupid of you to try to take advantage of me not remembering when he does."

"Does he, indeed?"

Galadan's searching look is all for Gabriel, now.

"Can you be so certain he remembers when he does not seem to recognize me? He has employed me as a security consultant, after all."

The problem, in fact, is that Gabriel doesn't precisely remember everything. He is, however, very experienced at drawing conclusions from the available evidence.

Or has been, previously.

His hand remains on Mary's shoulder as he says, steadily, "I haven't been affected to quite the same degree that Mary has."

Which is very different from being entirely unaffected, of course.

Mary looks a little thrown for a moment, but rallies, "Well - not remembering some things is different from remembering things that are not true. I did not hear that anybody had been doing that."

She's standing a little closer to Gabriel, unconsciously.

"No. But do either of you feel safer needing to guess at what's true?"

He raises one eyebrow, looking at them both.

"I wouldn't have imagined it so."

There is a fractional pause.

"Though I do wonder--you say 'afflicted'--have you an idea of what, precisely, was done to you?"

His lips tighten.

"I'll thank you not to raise specters of trouble unnecessarily."

That, in effect, would be a no.

"How would you plan to fix it?" Mary shoots back. "When you have said we cannot trust you."

"I am of the andain, half god and half human."

Galadan's voice is purely matter-of-fact.

"Their are powers at my beck and call that may prove useful here. Should you, of course, care to have me exert myself."

Someone, somewhere to Galadan's left, snorts.

He snorts very loudly.

Shortly thereafter Gabriel and Mary find themselves in possession of two mouthfuls of cookie.

At least it is very good cookie?

And then, with a bright smile and a sharp laugh, Raven is gone.

Galadan is half out of his chair, growl rumbling deep in his throat, when Raven disappears again.

There would, it seems, be little love lost between them.

His teeth are still bared, white and sharp, as he turns to look at Gabriel and Mary.

It will be a minute or two before he unclenches his fists.

His teeth are whiter than Mary's face - but not by much.

She stares at Galadan, and then at Gabriel, pointed nose and chin jutting out of her old-womanish face, and then says - with hurt and sharp reproach, and something like loss in her voice -

"I am Mary Lennox!"

It's not the first time he's endured the shock of memory restoration, as it happens. Dimly, a part of Gabriel is aware of how much worse this could have been, but he gives no thought to it now.

There's something much more important at hand.

Gabriel Tam goes down on one knee before Mary Lennox, in order to able to look her directly in the eye when he says,

"You are. And I'm sorry for having misled you, but it's what I believed was true, Mary. It made sense to me, you see -- for you could be no dearer to me if you were my own daughter by blood."

"You mean -"

Mary is still staring, trying to make sense of this - she forgot who she was, she forgot her name! - and all half of her can think is that she was lied to again.

The other half, though, is listening.

"You mean you forgot I was not your daughter?" she says, and it's almost incredulous.

"I do not - how was I to know! I do not even know what it is like to be a daughter, not really!"

"From what I can see, Mary, you managed very well."

Galadan's voice is very quiet, and his eyes, as he watches Mary, are sober indeed.

"Little as that may mean."

"I did."

Very quietly.

"And so it turns out neither of us knew otherwise."

"But you knew."

Mary whirls on Galadan, suddenly, fixing him with her sharp gaze; this is easier to deal with than the pile of confusing emotions about Mr. Tam, who is not her father.

Although not by much.

"You fixed it."

(He didn't, but it's a logical assumption for Mary to make.)

"I would claim responsibility for that if I could, Mary. But I suspect it was someone else entirely."

Again there is the faintest of growls underlying his words.

There is little love lost between the Wolflord and the creature that calls itself Raven.

"Just as you said it?"

That seems like a bit much, coincidence-wise.

"Who did it? Was the person who fixed it the same person who did it to begin with?"

"That's an excellent question."

All of them, really. Gabriel stands, straightening his vest with an automatic movement and brushing off his pants-legs.

"Now that, I'm afraid, I cannot answer. I've not been here overlong, this time."

Galadan greatly detests not knowing things. They can likely hear it in his voice.

"As to the other--I've had a run-in with him before. Raven, I believe he was?"

He pauses fractionally.

"Provided that whatever he fed you was what restored your memory, that is."

"I know Raven."

Mary folds her arms uneasily over her chest, scowling, and then unfolds them again, far more fidgety than usual.

"He is confusing. I did not think he should do something like steal memories, though. Or make people believe things that are not -"

She glances at Galadan, and Gabriel, and breaks off. "But I do not know."

She doesn't know what of her judgments to trust these days.

"We're acquainted, but little more than that," Gabriel adds.

The look he's giving Galadan now is sharply inquisitive, but he doesn't ask.

Not aloud.

Galadan shrugs, the movement swift and elegant, though he does not take his eyes off of Mary.

"I know very little of him, either. Only that he was the one I followed to Bran's country--"

Here his voice tightens, sharpens, and his hands clench into fists.

"--and the one who took me back out."

Galadan, it must be said, is not particularly grateful.

"He took you there!"

The exclamation is loud and startled. "But what does he have against Bran? Why should he have?"

She's asking Galadan - and it should be noted that, though she's wary and startled, it's not, now, directed at him.

"I know little enough about--him--that imagining what purpose he might have had is just that--imaginings."

He does not shrug this time. There is little need for it.