Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, except maybe Thralia Latoness. The idea of these events are partially my own, mostly not, but an adaptation of a pre-existing story line.
I've been itching to write this fanfic for a while-I have a whole plot line laid out. First of all, I'm saying Thralia is the hero of Neverwinter, and of Waterdeep, and of Undredtide. And that more companions are there than could have been-if you don't like it, it's still not my problem. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and even if you don't, please review! And give me ideas. Right now the story is T rating, but it might change-due to violence, or fluff, but please give suggestions! Also, if you are reading it, and like updates-review! Those little words that tell me someone is actually reading this give me a reason to continue. Anyways, on with the story!
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Hands trembling, Thralia pressed her palms tight against her eyes, taking a deep breath. In, one, two, three…. Out, one, two, three. Breathe. Just breathe. Everyone thought she was trembling because of fear. If only… Removing her hands she stepped away from the demon, taking three steps backwards before turning around and walking back to her companions. Of them, three were looking decidedly concerned, while the fourth was busy hopping around in excitemet.
"Boss killed big mean goat-man!" the kobold cried excitedly. "This be good for book!" the bard-dragon disciple continued, smiling his toothy grin. Tired, Thralia still managed to flash a weary grin at the kobold, though she felt something weigh heavily on her heart. Mephistoles wasn't dead. Having learned his true name from the Knower of Names, she had whispered it in his ear, telling him that when darkness fell he would return to Cania, bound forever in one of the pits where his rebellious generals had been imprisoned-before Thralia Latoness had come along and systematically killed them all.
The druidess-arcane archer-wizard wiped sweat off her brow, concealing a frown. True, it probably would have been better to kill the demon, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to do it. She should, but the thought came that killing him would make room for some other demon or devil to take his place. Still, she wasn't going to share her logic with her companions. Valen, for sure, would not be pleased.
Aribeth relaxed once she reached out a ghostly arm and touched the elven heroine. Shoulder length hair fell around her face, and emerald eyes still shone bright with life. "You do not seem much worse for battle," she said, smiling at Thralia. For a moment, in the beginning, she had nearly sided with Mephistoles. His words had seemed so true, and fighting the truth never got one anywhere… but then Thralia had looked at her, not with anger or disgust at Aribeth's pending betrayal, but understanding. That had done it.
Thralia was armed with all their true names, just as they all knew hers, but she had not used her weapon on any of her companions-except to lift Valen's taint, Nathyrra's feelings of perpetual guilt, and gave Aribeth a clean slate. In that one moment where the elven woman had looked at Aribeth, the paladin knew that Thralia wouldn't hate her no matter what she did. And that, more than anything else, had done it. She could still remember her words to the arch-devil. "I am a paladin of Tyr, a dispenser of justice-I will not be swayed from my friends' sides by your lies." Tyr had been with her, had been with them all, and they had prevailed.
Passing by Aribeth, Thralia embraced Nathyrra, the drow woman and the wood elf not caring if anyone thought it was strange. The two had become close, like sisters, with Aribeth a more maternal/older sister presence. Neither said a word, just looked at each other, reading the other's eyes. Nathyrra could see her friends weariness, her concern for the townspeople, her sorrow at the lives lost, and something else, something darker that disturbed the assassin. When she looked again it was gone, so she could never tell if it had actually been there.
Thralia could see Nathyrra's relief, and a smile crossed both of their faces at the same time. Nathyrra hadn't hesitated when Mephistoles had offered to spare her if she fought with him, trying to guilt the former assassin into it; she hadn't believed one word. "Elistaree has forgiven me for my past; I am not a wanton murderer, and I stand with Thralia."
A hand tapped Nathyrra's shoulder, and sighing, the drow let go of her friend. So much for getting a chance to talk to Thralia. Stepping to the side, she watched with Aribeth as Valen stared into Thralia's eyes, the pair almost touching, but not quite. With some amusement, the drow and paladin noticed that although Thralia had to crane her neck up with Valen standing so close, it seemed it was the red-haired tiefling who was more uncomfortable.
"That was risky. You should have let us help! You could have been killed." Those were the first words out of Valen's mouth as he looked into his true love's eyes. His heart was still beating too fast, after watching her take on the arch-devil by herself. She had looked at all of them, after beating the last of the elementals Mephistoles could throw at them, and said calmly that this was her battle to finish. Alone. The tiefling hadn't agreed, wouldn't have agreed, but the paladin and Nathyrra hadn't given him a choice, saying that she could take care of herself-she had been long before she ever met Valen.
Deekin had looked relieved-he wasn't sure which was worse, facing dragons, or the big mean goat man who had kept throwing the fire and wind people at them with big pointy and sharp weapons. Letting 'Boss' take care of the arch-devil was easy for the kobold, who had happily written down the fight as he saw it, ignoring the deflected arrows that would come dangerously close to hitting him, or the stray spells.
Thralia felt her own temper flare. She was tired, feeling slightly ill from her overuse of magic, and not in the mood to be scolded. Why, Valen was acting like… her eyes widened in shock and horror as she realized something that had completely slipped her mind when Valen had first told her he loved her. Something that truthfully she had been trying to ignore since before reaching Waterdeep. Now her emerald eyes narrowed, and she reached up one hand, laying it on the tiefling's cheek. "Valen, please. Not now. I'm not feeling well, and I don't need this."
She was glad her voice didn't sound frustrated or irritate, and that she had managed to keep her words civil. Right now a lecture was not what she needed. Without waiting for Valen's response she closed the miniscule distance between them, wrapping her arms tight around Valen's waist. Pressing her cheek against his chest, she inhaled him, the sweet and spicy cinnamon smell that was all is, and so enticing.
Valen's crystalline blue eyes softened, and he reached one hand up, stroking her hair back from her face, the other hand pulling her even tighter against his armored front. Gently he ran his thumb down her angular cheekbone, coming to rest under her delicately pointed chin, lifting her face up. Slowly he leaned down, and brushed his lips just above the tops of her lips.
He tasted of cinnamon, and something that was all him, all masculine. The little taste left her wanting more, a desire filling her that was nearly crippling. "Not fair," she growled, letting one of her hand travel around to his stomach, running it up to his neck and stopping just along his jaw line. A small breath caught in her throat at the burning intensity in his wondrous eyes, and this time his kiss was not gentle. Crushing her lips against his, the tiefling's hands came to rest on either side of the elven woman's face. His tongue pushed against her lips, and they yielded, parting and allowing him access. The kiss would have continued if he hadn't been hit with something on the base of one horn.
Straightening up, with a slightly breathless Thralia clinging to him, Valen shot a glare at Aribeth, Deekin, and Nathyrra. They all looked equally guilty, though Valen had trouble picturing the kobold throwing something at the large weapon master. Nathyrra looked too innocent, but it was the paladin who spoke-which didn't mean Nathyrra hadn't thrown the object. "There are others gathering," she pointed out, waving one hand to indicate the Waterdeep residents who were coming out now that the battle was done. Two vibrant patches of color appeared in Thralia's cheeks, a matching pair to Valen's. Although Thralia was less shy than Valen, she always felt self-conscious when in a crowd, and people were looking at her personal life.
"This be good romantic ending for book! One that missing in last one, and since Deekin not write about Boss's first adventure, he not know how that went, and—" the kobold was cut off by the group's leader's exclamation. "Deekin! YOU WILL NOT WRITE THAT!"
Now Thralia's whole face was red, but there was more to it than her shyness. "In fact, you are going to give me that book, now," she said, voice quieter now, but no less intense. Valen chuckled slightly at Thralia's expense, which earned him a emerald glare. "This isn't funny," she muttered, her stomach flipping in a most decidedly uncomfortable way. A small groan escaped her as one hand flew to her stomach.
"Are you alright my love?" Valen asked, his voice now filled with concern. He reached for Thralia's hands, before remembering the crowd, and left the gesture unfinished.
"I need to lie down for a bit," the druidess said. A dark shadow, in the shape of a black panther, appeared at his mistress' side. Tierre tilted his head, keen eyes appraising his elven charge as he was her, and he knew what troubled her.
"Yes, I think you should lie down. And then you have some things to discuss," the panther said pointedly, giving Thralia a I told you something like this was going to happen look. Flicking his tail he stalked gracefully off towards the yawning portal, before remembering that it had been the sight of a battle. Ah, well, there really wasn't anyplace else, so the panther continued.
Before any of her companions could ask any more questions, the owner of the Yawning Portal-whose name kept slipping her mind-came up. "There's still rooms upstairs. Why don't you all get some rest while we clean up…. This?" he asked, hesitating on the last word as he glanced around at the carnage around him. There was blood, bodies, pieces of wood and other debris strewed about like some small child who had had a temper tantrum and thrown his toys around-except that these were no toys.
Relieved, Thralia began to move towards the Yawning Portal, glad of any excuse to get away from the crown and its prying eyes. Moving hurriedly she glided across the square still with grace, a grace that would have seemed more at home in a forest, but was not out of place here. Given no choice, Aribeth, Valen, and Nathyrra followed.
Thralia exchanged a few words inside with the innkeeper's wife, and climbed up the stairs. At the top she indicated four rooms. "Nathyrra, that's yours, and next one is Deekin's, and then yours Aribeth," she said, pointing to three doors together on the right side. "And this one is, ah, ours," Thralia continued, after a little hesitation, pointing to the one door on the left that still appeared to be whole. Without saying anything, just exchanging one glance, they all headed for their respective rooms. Valen grabbed Thralia's hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it before leading her into the room. He turned to her, eyes once again smoldering with that powerful desire, but the elf just shook her head. "Not now Valen. Please, I just want to sleep," she said, allowing her regret to filter into her eyes. Valen sighed, and reached out to caress his love's cheek.
"You look like you need it," he commented. Thralia just nodded, making her way over to the large bed and falling ungracefully onto it. She leaned back, getting comfortable, having taken her armor off after the battle as it had been ripped to pieces. Valen joined her, after stripping off his plate armor and leaving him in a fairly clean tunic and britches. He pulled Thralia into his arms and murmured soft, soothing, loving words into her hair, the rhythm of which she fell asleep to.
There was the smell of rainforest, and the feel of skin against her skin, and the taste of rick dark chocolate mixed with the warm tropical scent that was all his. Her heart pounded, and Thralia awoke, startled because the dream had seemed so real, and found herself not in that man's arms. Biting her lip, she stared at the ceiling, afraid to return to sleep, and not wanting to wake Valen by moving. Instead she pondered how she was going to explain this small problem to Valen… and him.