The Search for Lesle Mere
Disclaimer: This a fan-fiction based on the Neverwinter Nights game franchise; it is in no way, shape, or form, to be considered cannon.
An Old Man's Pride
Four years have passed since the Spirit Eater Incident, as it came to be called in Neverwinter.
Lord Nasher Alagondar considered the title while facing the window. Haborman, Hero, Kalach-Cha –Tebriah made many names for herself in the course of her travels. She was scarcely a woman when Sir Nevalle and Grayson brought her into the throne room. Broken twigs hung from her hair and fresh bruises swelled the left side of her face. When she addressed him it was only after she spat a chip of tooth and bloodied bile into her palm.
The aging Lord laughed under his breath at the memory. Heroes came from all walks of life. They had in common a way of surprising others by being themselves, and disappointing them so much harder for that very same reason. Just like that, Lord Nasher's mirth turned to solemn contemplation.
He wasn't always dressed in Amnian silk and paraded behind high walls. Once, what felt like lifetimes ago, he was an adventurer scraping by on odd jobs and errands. Somewhere between then and now he'd become an old man, terrified of speaking his mind for fear that others would believe he'd lost it altogether. He was honest, once. He had honor. Now it was just him, a crown, and his pride.
Frantic knocking roused him from his thoughts.
"My Lord? My Lord, it's urgent!"
"Come in," he sighed. "No need to wake the whole castle."
A man-servant stumbled into the room. The ruler's eyebrows arched with interest at the woman holding a wand to his trembling shoulders.
"Took you long enough, my Liege. I was beginning to think you'd passed in your sleep."
"Ophala… I know you wouldn't visit unless the city was in flames, but it isn't as far as I can see." He looked at his cowering servant. "Am I to believe this is your way of paying a social visit? And would you please let the poor boy go?"
She tucked the wand into her sleeve and watched as the man quickly bowed and sped out the door.
"You have some explaining to do, Nasher." She sat on an ottoman. "I visited my quarters in the Cloak Tower only to find my wards defeated."
"Was anything stolen?"
"No." She pursed her lips. "Rather, something had been left for me to find." Ophala removed a sheet of cloth from a pouch on her belt. She carefully unfolded the fabric to reveal a master-crafted pendant of Neverwinter's symbol. The bleeding eye was pure gold, encrusted in garnet powder.
She watched realization pool across his face. Lord Nasher rarely allowed his true thoughts to show, and this was more telling than any confession. Her voice was clipped when she spoke to him next.
"You told me she was dead."
"I said she was believed d–"
"Don't give me that!" She slammed her palms on the table. "Can you imagine the disaster if someone extracted a fraction of what she knows about our defenses?"
"You will not question me, Ophala."
"The Hells I won't!" She rose to her feet and held a finger at him. "I don't know what went on between the two of you twenty five years ago, but I know that if she chose to leave a message now then she has some damned important things to say."
"She is a loyal servant of Neverwinter."
"It's been a quarter of a century. People change." She lifted the necklace. It twirled in the moonlight, shimmering like fresh blood. "Aribeth did."
"You will never mention that name to me again," he seethed. "She is loyal, Ophala… more loyal than I've ever been."
He lowered his head and turned his back on her in a gesture she found too familiar. Ophala shook her head at the husk of the man she once knew. She paused at the doorway.
"Most of us, I understand," she said. "But I will never understand how you can look Aarin in the eyes when speaking to him."
The door clicked shut. Many seconds passed before he mustered the strength to turn around and look at the pendant on his table. Visions of an elven paladin filled his mind.
Yes, Heroes had a way of disappointing others.
Themselves, most of all.