A/N: Well, I'm back at it again. This one...well, it sprang from a discussion based on what someone would really do, after having an entire Keep thrust on them, with no experience in such matters. This is just after the player has been given the Keep: she is not a Knight yet, nor has done the Haven-run, even. In other words, the Keep is pretty much a pile of rubble. I have vague ideas to continue this in both directions - scenes from the Flagon and later scenes from the Keep - but as it is, this stands alone.

As always, my most humble thanks to witchwolf for editing this; all further comments and constructive criticisms are welcome, and enjoy!

First Night

Izzy Wydson, "she of too many titles to mention, much less list", the most recent being "Captain of Crossroad Keep", closed the door firmly in her lieutenant's – or whatever Kana was to her – face, and considered throwing the latch. She discarded the thought, turned around, leaning her back against the door, and breathed out a puff of breath that was almost a sigh. It couldn't possibly be a real sigh, because only swooning damsels in distress sighed, and she rescued said damsels, not acted like them.

The room she had been given was apparently tiny by the Keep's standards – all she knew was that Kana had told her that her actual personal suite was much bigger. But Master Veedle had promised that work would begin on said personal suite just as soon as they finished clearing out the West Wing, and the West Wing would be done right after they finished patching the holes in the walls, and the walls would be done after… You know, if I had known that I was going to have to make this keep battle-ready when I was attacking it, she mused, I would have done less damage. I mean, really, telling the wizards to blast the door open with their spells…! I can still see the scorch marks on the threshold.

Vaguely amused by her line of thought, she lifted up a hand, watching it shake with eyes that didn't seem to be her own. Was she trembling, along with sighing? But she couldn't be! She was thinking rationally, wasn't she? Well, maybe not quite, she admitted, thoughts rambling. But she wasn't screaming, she wasn't swooning; she just felt detached from her body, a ghost possessing someone.

And so it was someone else that walked over to the bed shoved against one wall, someone else that toed off her boots and kicked them into the center of the room, someone else who flopped belly-down onto the warm quilt and buried her face into the pillow. She was…and she was not. She decided to do something, then watched as her body did it from a point three feet behind her eyes. And she couldn't even summon up the energy to be worried about such a phenomenon…or care. "How odd" was about all the reaction it got.

Izzy wasn't sure how long she lay there, arms tucked under the pillow, sprawled atop the blankets, mind whirling away at nothing at all, sleep eluding her though exhaustion tugged at her body. Heavens knew, there were things she ought to be thinking about and worrying about: she had a whole Keep to run now, with people under her ranging from peasants to merchants to soldiers to professional adventurers, all with different and often conflicting agendas and goals. And she had to somehow balance one group against another, so that everyone got what they wanted with the least amount of resource drain on the Keep…

The Keep. This half-ruin of a citadel. All hers…to repair and brace it and everyone within for imminent attack, if not outright war. And she had but meager resources with which to do everything that needed doing…and intimate knowledge that she was thus going to have to cut corners on some things. More to the point, she also knew that she would have to make unpopular decisions as she tried to act for the good of the entire Keep, tried to get the people ready for the war that would come; by definition, the good of the whole often meant that an individual or a minority group got shorted, which might mean that she would occasionally have to flat-out act against the good of one particular group…and she had yet to figure out how she could make those unpopular decisions without completely alienating herself from the group in question, but knew she had to find the knack of it, and fast.

Huh. Maybe she wasn't thinking of nothing after all. But no matter how her mind chased the ideas, whirling around and around through her brain like a dog after its own tail, she couldn't come up with any answers. And that frightened her more than she was comfortable admitting even to herself…

There came a soft knock on the door, and she turned her head just enough to mumble something loud enough for the person knocking to take it as an assent and enter.

"Captain?" Casavir asked – she couldn't see him, but she could tell by that velvety-deep voice. In her detached state, she allowed herself to think that it was a pity he didn't talk more; he really did have a nice voice. "Supper is ready; Kana says that we should not begin without you…"

Izzy turned her face back into the pillow to mumble something indistinct enough that Casavir was forced to take two steps into the room, from his heavy tread – really, the man could not move silently even out of armor – and prompt again, "Captain?"

"I said," she repeated, turning her head to the side again; her hair got into her mouth, and she was forced to take a moment to spit it out before continuing, "I said, tell her that I'm not coming to supper, so…oh, give me a piece of paper and a quill from the desk."

Baffled, Casavir did as she requested; she propped herself up on an elbow, and absently chewed her tongue as she sloppily wrote out a note, her trembling hands causing odd spikes and loops to her letters. Not caring about the ink splotches that got onto the bed, she dictated it aloud to herself. " 'I, Isofra "Izzy" Wydson, Captain of Crossroad Keep, being of sound and ready mind' – hm, strike that," she muttered as she did so, "sounds too much like a will. Where was…ah, 'of Crossroad Keep, do give – ' Casavir, you don't happen to know what rank Kana is?"

"It would be safe to call her the commander of the Graycloaks at Crossroad Keep." She glanced up, narrowing her eyes at him, wondering if that dry tone had been his attempt at humor, or if he was actually serious. A slight smile played around his lips; he seemed to know what she was up to. Well, who'd've thought? The paladin isn't quite as thick as his armor!

Shaking her head to herself, Izzy recorded Kana's title, muttering to herself, " 'Kana, Commander of the Graycloaks at Crossroad Keep, full and expressed permission to begin supper without me, this day,' um…" she scrolled through her mental calendar until she figured out the date, jotting it into the note.

" ' Signed…'" she did so, scrawling her name as she had been taught in the West Harbor village school so long ago, her name almost illegible; thoughtfully, she printed it in block letters below, and then shoved the quill back at Casavir as she shook the note in the air to dry the ink. "There." She thrust the note at him when he came back from putting the quill back on her desk. "Go take this to her and that should suffice so the rest of you can eat – I'm not hungry and you know how Khelgar gets when he's hungry and there's no food forthcoming…"

"Isofra," his steady voice cut across her increasing babbling. "Are you sure you don't want to eat?"

"Oh, I'm really not hungry," she waved it off, the mania building in her; she couldn't seem to stop her tongue from tripping away. "Besides, Kana will probably make you lot stand at attention or some such until I arrive and order you all to sit down, and I've already issued so many orders in this Keep, even though it's my first day, that if I have to give one more today, I might just have hysterics…Oh, gods…I just told you to take that to her and…" she felt her chest tighten, and she felt the tears run down her cheeks long before she realized that she was crying.

And then her breath hitched, a harsh whooshing inhale; she felt the promised hysterics claw up the base of her spine, and her mind literally shut down. She bawled like she'd just seen her last relatives die, even as part of her frantically tallied up the attributes and shrieked that she was turning into one of those hells-cursed swooning, trembling, can't-lift-a-sword damsels! Even with that realization, even as she fought to stop, to try and behave like the battle-tried veteran adventurer she was…she couldn't. She simply could not stop crying. And she wasn't even sure she knew why.

Eyes tear-blinded, she felt Casavir edge toward her, then gingerly sit down on the bed next to her – she had sat up to have her hysterics, so at least she wouldn't choke to boot. He even more gingerly rested a hand on her near shoulder, awkwardly patting it. His obvious discomfort was more effective than a cold slap to her face; with a massive effort, she swallowed her tears and lifted her head, forcing herself to at least act like the leader everyone wanted her to be – or at least, not act like the sniveling coward she had been. "'M sorry," she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes with her fists; her face was probably blotchy, too. Damn those women who could cry gracefully! "Dunno what's come over me…" she hiccupped, not the least bit attractively or daintily.

Casavir cleared his throat. "It is the same as the after-battle shock a new recruit feels."

She managed a harsh laugh. "Well, that's vaguely insulting, considering that I haven't been a new recruit for years." At least I sound like myself…If the tears had jarred her out of her disorientation, allowing herself to actually do something and not just watch as she reacted, then perhaps it wasn't quite so bad…at least in the end result. The actual crying still rankled her.

He inclined his head. "You are, however, new to this new position, and so it is unsurprising you experience the same things as any raw recruit."

Huh. That did make sense. Paladin's not as thick as his armor indeed! Occasionally, she wondered just how much stoic Casavir actually noticed; he never gossiped about it like Neeshka could, never tipped his hand as to what he knew or what he didn't know. Hm… She stared up at him thoughtfully. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about running a Keep…?"

"I'm afraid my skills, like yours, run more towards managing small groups; squads of soldiers or adventurers. I know about as much as you do or could figure out; but what I do know, I would be willing to share with you," he rather generously offered after his quick denial.

She had a hunch that even if he did know something, paladin vows notwithstanding, he would have shamelessly lied through his teeth about it; she was also fairly sure that his god would have understood if he did lie and thus wouldn't have revoked his paladinhood. After all, power was something everyone wanted, except for this kind of power, which was all responsibilities and no thanks, and she didn't even get the dubious honor of calling Crossroad Keep hers. Not really. Not that she wanted to be ennobled, wanted to own this land – the wild ranger that she still was at heart bucked against that – but…by the gods, she should at least be able to call this Keep her own! She was the master of it, and yet she was not; she was ordered to repair the Keep, and soon enough she would be given new orders and torn from the place. She kept trying to convince herself not to get attached.

Well, it was worth a try… she sighed mentally, then turned back to the issue at hand. "Thanks for not laughing." Her voice was still horribly watery, and she involuntarily sniffed. Damn swooning damsels!

He honestly looked baffled. "Why would I have?"

"Strong leader like me, always on point, all those battles we've been through, crying like a lady…" If anything, he only looked more perplexed, so she dropped it. "Forget it." She sniffed again, hating the sound almost more than she hated the tears, and tried a weak smile: it failed. "Casavir, you should…" Never tips his hand, never tells what he knows, silent as the grave… "No…I just…gods!" she ran a hand through her short-cropped hair – though obviously not short enough, if it could get into her mouth.

"It's just…" she looked away from his fathomless eyes. "I don't know what I'm doing here," she finally whispered, eyes fixed on the pattern of the quilt – and the ink blots she'd added to it. "Everyone's expecting me to be just as successful here as I was elsewhere, but…" she closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and confessed. "I'm terrified. This isn't anything like what I've done before, as you've so astutely pointed out, and I…I have this deep fear that I'm going to fail, and that failure will get everyone here killed, even the farmers who just want to raise pigs and plant barley. Hells," she buried her face in her hands, rubbing the heels of her palms against her eyes. "I thought I left all that behind me in West Harbor," she murmured. "So happy to run away from the farmers…I've run right back into them, and now…"

"You care about them," he interrupted softly, and his intense voice caused her to look up. "You care so much you've worked yourself into this state. You care so much about your people that you don't want them to die, but you're not sure how to prevent it. You cannot personally do everything yourself – cannot repair the walls while administrating trade while patrolling and protecting the lands – and so you do what you can do: you worry and fret."

Considering that that was more than he usually spoke all at once, she mulled over his words. "If I was only patrolling…" she mused aloud. "If I only was responsible for meeting threats on my own…I could do that. I've proven my worth in combat. But this is knowing where to send men, and hoping I've selected the right ones and hoping I haven't just sent them off to die…And I don't know how to do that."

"You must trust them," he continued firmly, more unshakable than a granite mountain, "as they trust you to correctly judge their strength. And you cannot let your caring heart do the enemy's work for them, lest by inaction, you doom us all worse than by the wrong action."

She gave a half-laugh, half-sob. "Is that all? I can't…!"

Casavir stood from the bed, standing over her, a thoughtful expression on his face in spite of his imposing stature. "I do not agree with many of Neverwinter's policies," he finally rumbled. "But I do not think Lord Nasher would assign you here if he did not feel you were capable of rising to the occasion."

She took two deep, steadying breaths, letting his words ripple into her; she could lead a small party – well, not so small, now, considering how many "strays" she picked up, from Khelgar all the way to Zhjaeve, who she had just met yesterday. Perhaps it was time to see if she could do more than just that…She herself had seen that she could command large groups, had flashes of such insight into the how and even the why, but…those flashes were only flashes, and only in military context: commanding the Graycloaks and Many-Starred Cloaks on the assault of this same keep, coordinating various Watch patrols and duties…She was notoriously bad at dealing with merchants, and only through Sand's smacks upside the head was she getting better at diplomatic dealings.

And yet, all that… I have to try. Inaction is worse than choosing wrong…and maybe I won't choose wrong as much as I think I will…And I do have some resources to expend that many don't…

She looked up at Casavir, as if seeing him for the very first time, and canted her head to one side. "Casavir," she asked slowly, "You wouldn't be interested in leading a patrol of Graycloaks, would you?"

He bowed. "I am at your command, squire Isofra Wyrson."

Her full, formal name gave her pause. You know, you are one of only two people who call me that – well, besides Kana, and I don't think she can help it," she couldn't help but add. "And with the other…" There was always a lump of ice in her heart where she kept Daeghun, making it hard even to think of him. "Perhaps it's a way he tries to keep me from getting close…"

"Perhaps he fears caring too much, as you do," Casavir murmured.

Izzy thought back over Daeghun's grudging care during her childhood, a care that extended only far enough to keep her alive, and quickly changed over to half-neglect as soon as she was old enough to fend for herself, more or less. He didn't deny her food or shelter, but neither did he care if she ran off into the wilderness for hours…or days. She had stopped trying to get his approval – or even disapproval – years ago; she had a hunch that he'd stopped trying to extend affection to her long before that, if he ever had. "Perhaps," she said neutrally. But I doubt it hung unspoken in the air.

Another long, awkward silence stretched, and then she gave a faint smile and gestured to the door, "They won't thank you for making them wait even longer," she whispered. "I'll be alright now, I think."

He nodded, turning to go, then hesitated at the door. "If you ever wish to…to talk again, I am not unfamiliar with the burden of leadership."

She nodded, understanding; insofar as she could tell, it had been that burden that drove him out of Neverwinter and to Old Owl Well, where he thought he could actually make a difference without being shackled by 'the good of the city'. "I'll keep that in mind," she answered softly. "Have a good night."

"And you as well, Captain." And then he was gone.

Izzy flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the stone ceiling a moment – was it just her, or was it a perfect match for the floor? – before rolling over, positioned as she had been before. And like before, her mind was whirling…but this time, she knew what she was thinking, and her plans were actually coherent. Who said she had to do everything on her own when she had an obscene number of companions currently just sitting around twiddling their thumbs? Casavir commanding a patrol, maybe I'll have him help recruit or patrol the lands; people flock to shiny paladins and that's what he would like to do, respectively. Maybe I can talk Bishop into commanding another…certainly, he knows his way around the woods…just have to find a way to keep him from speaking to the locals…Maybe Sand knows a way.

Her mind made the natural jump: Sand knows how to deal diplomatically; maybe he can help keep me from alienating everyone when I have to do a 'for the good of the Keep' decision. He can also probably keep duty-bound Kana in check…one way or another. If Neeshka doesn't know her way around merchants and gold, I'll eat my leathers. Maybe Elanee can do something about the fertility of the lands…Put Khelgar to help train the new recruits…Shandra too?

Her thoughts became increasingly fragmented, and then slid more into images than into words; in the end, before she finally dropped off to sleep, it was as though she was a great eagle wheeling around the walls of her keep, seeing everyone moving around inside, the Graycloaks acting like soldiers instead of farmboys, patrolling the roads and the lands – the fertile lands! The citadel dominated the landscape for miles around, radiating its presence outward: Safe. Home. The Keep had come into its own…if only she could see how…

But then she lost it, sliding into the old nightmare of Luskan Low Justice…but not into the terror of seeing the stones of the Keep washed red with blood and knowing that it was her fault everyone was dead. She could handle her old nightmare; she didn't want the new one, and with it the fear that it was not a dream, but a vision.

And so passed her first night as Captain of Crossroad Keep.