Disclaimer: Neverwinter Nights 2 and all characters, settings, and plot belong to Obsidian Entertainment, Wizards of the Coast, etc.
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Ephemeral
Shandra Jerro pretended she was dreaming, that the Githyanki had never destroyed her home, that she was in her own bed, under her own furs, in her own nightclothes. She pretended she would set out to make the merchant run through Ember and Port Llast the next morning, and Alaine would be there and she would maybe visit for the evening. Mostly, she pretended she had never met Jerrin Lystrati, never heard of the King of Shadows, never even saw the silver shards.
Except, she was not dreaming, and her home had burned, along with her cozy bed and familiar clothing. There would be no merchant run through Ember because Ember was gone. Worst of all, she had met Jerrin, and the King of Shadows and the silver shards were far too real.
Such thoughts failed to keep Shandra awake anymore, most nights, but they fueled her insomnia this evening.
She blamed the move to Crossroad Keep. After two months she had finally felt comfortable calling the Sunken Flagon home, only to be uprooted, yet again, and shoddily replanted in a rundown inn that counted itself the only structurally sound building in the courtyard (they could have slept in the keep proper but Jerrin and the others had agreed that it was wisest to wait until further repairs guaranteed the keep would not collapse at the discretion of a loud sneeze). A woman could only be shuffled about so much.
It wasn't fair.
Shandra threw back the plush quilt that suffocated her. The chill evening air pierced her flimsy cotton nightgown, raising gooseflesh on her skin; she paid it no more mind than that she gave the frozen floor beneath her bare feet as she padded across the room. If sleep would not come to her then she would go to it. Sal kept the wine cellar well stocked, despite having somewhat neglected the inn itself.
Of course, it was simpler, and wiser, to ask Sand or Elanee to cast a sleep spell for her, but that required asking and Shandra's pride refused to admit that memories and what-ifs bothered her so. Besides, she had no intention of getting drunk. All she needed was a drink or two (or six or eight), just enough to calm her thoughts.
As she tip-toed past the other rooms, Shandra took inventory of their condition, partly to determine how sneaky she needed to be, partly because a part of her needed affirmation that the others were as restless as she.
Most of the doors were shut tight, the crack under the door dark with shadow.
Casavir's room, however, was alight with soft candle glow. His door was open just a hair, freeing dancing firelight into the hall. Shandra paused; then, after a moment's debate, peeked in.
He was praying before a makeshift alter. He seemed not to notice the spy as he murmured his blessings to his god. It was the only time she had seen him at peace since making his acquaintance. Embarrassed for intruding on such an intimate moment, Shandra blushed and retreated from the door.
Still, she was not surprised to find him awake. Casavir tended to be restless when Jerrin was restless; though it was likely Lystrati's lack of restlessness that bothered him now. It bothered Shandra too.
Judging by her empty room—Jerrin had left the door wide open—however, it seemed that their fearless leader was feeling a trifle livelier. Shandra groaned. With luck, she would be out wandering the keep grounds, but Shandra had long ago accepted the fact that she was an unlucky woman.
Sure enough, when she rounded the corner and entered the common room she found a single flickering candle sitting on the bar. It was one more candle than she had expected, considering how bitterly Jerrin complained about bright light. Someone was playing the flute; the soft, high-pitched notes had drifted into the back rooms, yet further confirmation that Shandra's hopes for privacy were wishful thinking. The music stopped when Shandra appeared in the doorway.
"Shandra! I thought…I'm sorry. Did I wake you?" Jerrin Lystrati sat on the outer edge of the sphere of light, still in her leathers, almost vanishing into the darkness, except for sunken lavender eyes and shoulder length white hair. It did not escape Shandra's notice that her normally combed and disciplined braid was now a free-hanging, matted mess. She tried to grin.
"No, not all. I was up anyway." Jerrin nodded, set her instrument on the table, and asked if Shandra would like to sit for a while. Shandra shrugged and took a seat.
"You should sleep," Jerrin said after a moment. "I hoped to set out for your grandfather's haven tomorrow. You'll want to be well rested."
"Don't I know it," Shandra responded with a wince. The journey was nothing, getting in was what worried her. Jerro blood was required to enter Jerro Haven, that was what her mother had said; a whole a pint, at that. Shaking herself back to reality she added, "But I'll be fine. Besides, who are you to talk? I mean, you look like you haven't slept in days."
"I don't need to sleep."
"Well, then, meditate or pray or what it is drow do."
A humorless smile. "I can't."
They fell silent while Shandra digested this new information. There was no doubt that she could empathize with such a plight, but a selfish part of her wished to let the subject drop. A brief and private war was waged.
Shandra asked if Jerrin wanted something to drink. The elf replied that that would be lovely, and tossed her two gold pieces procured from a leather pouch on her belt. As the Lady of Crossroad Keep, and a friend of Sal's at that, Lystrati did not have to pay for tavern services, but she always insisted.
Shandra groped her way to the bar and fumbled bottles in the dark, trying to find the mead she knew was there. The single candle did little to illuminate the cupboards under the bar. No more than half a moment passed before she brushed something off the shelf's edge; she cursed and caught the glass before it shattered. The next thing Shandra knew a petite body was pressed against her back; a slender arm reached around her and delicate fingers shuffled bottles of liquor about.
"I'm sorry, I should have gotten it. I didn't think…"
"Don't worry about it," Shandra said, slipping out from under the other woman.
"I could light more candles if you'd like."
"No. I'd rather not wake everyone up, anyway." Shandra dropped back into her seat while Jerrin set two tumblers on the table and poured the mead. "I can't believe you lit any at all, really," Shandra admitted.
"I was born and raised on the surface. As much as my poor eyes despise it, I've gotten used to candle light; it feels strange to sit without it." A weak but honest smile played on Jerrin's lips. She settled into her own seat and offered her companion a glass. She took a sip from her own. "It's funny, isn't it?"
Shandra conceded that it was.
Their conversation took on a more amiable tone. While the candle burned low and the flame grew taller they spoke of memories, of wishes, of could-have-beens. In a manner more fitting of a pair of village gossips than a Lady and a Fighter, they exchanged rumors and stories about their other companions, ranging from the serious to the humorous to the childishly feminine.
For the first time since meeting, both Shandra and Jerrin felt at ease and light-hearted.
Such happiness rarely lasts, however. By careless chance the conversation turned to their home villages, a topic Shandra had assumed Jerrin could handle. It was a fair assumption; since returning from the ruins of Arvahn and the ruins of West Harbor, the drow had shown little sign of being upset. Indeed, she had shown precious little emotion at all. Her condition might have been taken for shock, but Jerrin had never shown any particular love or attachment to West Harbor; her failure to mourn its loss had only seemed to confirm this.
Her apathy bothered Shandra, and apparently bothered Casavir as well. How could she not feel pain at seeing her friends and loved ones slaughtered?
Still, Lystrati seemed to care little, so when Shandra asked her who in West Harbor had taught her the bardic trade, she was most surprised when the other woman got only as far as "Retta Starling knew" before breaking down into choked sobs.
Feeling awkward in the face of such an emotion display, Shandra shifted in her seat and waited, patting Jerrin's back.
"Feeling better?" she asked when the sobs subsided to sniffles and gasps. Jerrin nodded, using the heel of one hand to wipe away damp and salty streaks while the other reached up to brush the tanned fingers still resting on her shoulder in a fleeting, unconscious gesture. She took two deep breaths before apologizing in an even voice, blaming the incident on her inebriation. Shandra brushed it off.
"It's…I shouldn't have brought it up," she admitted. "Do you want to talk about it? I mean, I don't know if I can help but Casavir is…err, was still awake and—"
"No! That is, I…would prefer that you stay." Jerrin looked her in the eyes for a full second. There was something strange in those pale eyes, but before Shandra could discern what it was, Jerrin tore her gaze away and leveled it on the dying stub of a candle. "If you don't mind," she murmured.
So Shandra stayed and listened to Jerrin spin tales of West Harbor and its people and her friends, Bevil and Amie. She kept one arm around the Jerrin's shoulders in a friendly gesture, and Jerrin embraced her back. It was the first time Shandra realized just how young Lystrati was. While she was the second oldest in terms of years, sixty was not even early adulthood by elfin standards. She was a child trying to grow up too quickly. It was sad.
"You really loved that place, huh?" Shandra asked. Jerrin had stopped crying and reluctantly untangled herself from Shandra's arms, much to Jerro's relief.
"It was home." There was a sip of mead left at the bottom of Jerrin's glass. She swirled it, the yellow-brown liquid swishing up the sides, then tossed her head back and downed it in one swift motion. The glass connected with the table with a clink. "I suppose that's enough for me." She grinned; it looked forced, with her tear-stained cheeks and slightly puffy eyes.
"Yeah, me too," Shandra said, noticing the sudden change in subject and choosing to accept it. "We really should be getting to sleep," she added on noticing that the candle had burnt out. Funny, the things one missed when engrossed in a companion.
Jerrin agreed and rose from her seat. Shandra followed suit and suggested they clean up; she was surprised when Lystrati said to leave it for Sal. She took Shandra by the arm, claiming they could both use the support, being tipsy as they were, and both women stumbled back to their rooms.
They paused at the door to Shandra's quarters. Jerrin smiled up at her friend.
"Thank you." It was a simple word, but a powerful one.
Shandra pretended she wasn't flushed with embarrassment. "It was nothing. I mean, that's what friends do, right? Listen to each other or what ever. Besides, I…I learned a lot." She grinned. "You never did tell me who your teacher was, though."
Jerrin grinned back. "Another time."
"If there is 'another time.' Hells, there are times I'm afraid to get out of bed in the morning."
"Don't be." Slender fingers gripped Shandra's bicep. "Well, do be, but not because you doubt your own abilities. You're very strong, Shandra."
"Like you really believe that."
"I do." Shandra tensed, then, slowly, relaxed and gripped Jerrin's shoulders.
"What was that about?" she asked, unhooking the other woman's arms from her waist and shoving her back more roughly than intended.
Jerrin's ebony cheeks paled to grey. "A feeling. I'm sorry, I acted inappropriately." She shuffled her feet and took a sudden interest in the flute in her hands, then said, "Sleep well. Don't worry about getting up; it seems we'll be setting out for Jerro's haven tomorrow afternoon instead of morning. Poor strategy, traveling when tired." The drow disappeared down the hall and into her room without another word. She gave Shandra no chance to respond.
It was then that Shandra remembered just how chill the air was. She shivered and massaged her arms her arms through the fabric of her nightgown.
Jerro's Haven; she thought she would never see it and had been quite content with that fact.
Shandra felt she could sleep no more easily now than she could have hours ago. So many questions answered while so many others arose, the future being what it was. There was so much to think about, how could she sleep?
The door creaked shut behind her; the suffocating cocoon of furs enveloped her.
Shandra was asleep almost before she closed her eyes.
She never learned where Jerrin had learned her trade.
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Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Constructive criticism and reviews are always appreciated.