This might be called a spin-off from my long story, A Fragment of Substance, but it should hopefully make sense as a stand alone story. (The characters Finn and Anna have a romantic connection, as you might guess. Everything else is AU Baldur's Gate.) All comments are welcome.
Rated M for language, violence and sex.
Credits: All Bioware characters are owned by Bioware. Xan and Kivan inspired by the mods of Kulyok and Domi. Finn and Anna are my own.
...
Finn forced his way through the bushes and let out a curse as a stray branch swatted him in the eye. Fuck's sake, he muttered, where the hells did he go?
He stood still and the forest seemed to settle around him. All was silent save for a few birds who were a world apart from the melee. Their bright cries decorated the sunlight-dappled trees but at that moment Finn would gladly have twisted all their little necks. He looked around. Still, everywhere was still. On his right was a thick bramble hedge of a mass of twisted thorns. He'd never have made it through there. Ahead of him the hill sloped downwards giving him a clear line of sight. He'd have seen him running. He couldn't have lost him that easily. No, there was only one way left.
To the south the woods were covered in a thick mass of ferns, with their lacy green leaves acting almost like a false floor. Finn lit off, sword still in his grasp, leaping around the fallen bracken that littered the way.
"He's gone this way!" he called out to the deaf trees. Finn still couldn't see the bastard but then again he didn't expect to. He ran for a short distance then dropped, throwing his entire body down into the ferns. Then, he waited.
He peered up at the green roof above him, trying hard to calm his breathing enough to listen. He almost felt like laughing though at how stupid it was, that a game he'd played so many times with Imoen back home, before everything—
Finn broke off from his thoughts hearing a distinct rustling a few yards off. Guess he never played the game; too bad for him. He dragged himself from his hiding place with a grunt and ran after the fleeing bandit.
The skinny bastard was fast, though, and unlike himself wasn't weighted down by thirty pounds of chainmail. Finn sheathed his sword and made a push for speed but the bandit wasn't polite enough to slow down. He dashed through the forest like a deer, leaving his pursuer farther and farther behind. I can't lose him, I can't. You're not getting away from me...
He glared at the man through heat-blurred eyes, wishing with all his force that he could remember some spell to land him on his face. Suddenly though, as if by answer to an unspoken prayer the man cried out, his body jerking in pain. He collapsed into the ferns and Finn closed the yards in moments.
The bandit tried to rise from his knees, grasping in agony at the missile that had sealed his fate. A single white-shafted arrow had pierced the man's thigh, driving itself right into the muscle at the back of the leg. Finn caught no sight of its owner, but he wasn't much surprised by that either.
"Gods' sake," the man rasped. "Don't."
"Don't what?" Finn remarked.
The man said nothing else, struggling as he was to breathe through his exertion and pain. He'd lost his weapon somewhere in the chase and if he even had a dagger left there wasn't a sign of it. What a wretch he looked up close; filthy hair, torn clothes, leather armour that looked stitched together from old saddlebags. This was the scourge of the Sword Coast? Finn had seen hobgoblins that would better pass for human.
Yet for all that he couldn't summon any pity. There was no person there, just another target of the hunt. The bandit stared at him with wide eyes, yet eyes that seemed strangely calm. He knew what was coming next. He'd done it himself the gods knew how many times, and now it was his turn.
Finn drew his sword, and without hesitation he stabbed it through the man's neck. His life's blood sprayed out of him, staining the green and Finn's own clothes with red. He fell back with a sick gurgling sound. For a moment he blinked up at the trees, still clinging to life in spite of the river. The bandit never closed those eyes but Finn could feel when his spirit departed from him.
...
Finn took up a soaked rag and wiped the blood from his blade as best he could. He never could stand to sheathe the sword when it was still covered in gore. He tried to tell himself it was for the sake of the blade, but somehow he knew better. The blood was following him, and he could never get it clean.
Behind him the faintest of sounds rustled but he didn't turn around; he knew who was standing there.
"Is it done?" Kivan asked.
The ranger spoke in that level, emotionless tone he'd perfected so well, gazing down at the lifeless husk of bandit. Is it done? He could've been talking about anything from roasting a rabbit to digging a latrine. In honesty Finn felt that he'd put more emotion into the latter two. He'd known a few elves in Candlekeep but this one was beyond him.
"Yeah, it's done," Finn replied. "Is he the last of them?"
"I believe so. I counted only seven when they attacked, and if Khalid and Jaheira were swift they should all have been disposed."
Seven souls. Seven more offerings to Kelemvor. They must have earned the attention of the Lord of the Dead by now, Finn thought. Maybe he'd blessed them; it was the only reason he could think of that they could kill so many and still be standing themselves. Either that, or he didn't want anything to do with them.
"That was a clever trick you played, Ohtar, but next time you should take to the trees," Kivan said as they left to find the others. "You came near to missing that man when he took flight."
Finn grimaced. "If you had him in your sight you should've taken a shot. It would've saved me a lot of grief."
"I did not wish to take from you the prize of the hunt," the ranger replied.
He glanced back at him; the elf's face was still but he couldn't help but feel there was some twisted sort of humour in the statement.
...
Their little band had scattered in the bandit ambush and it was no small trick to find each other again. Khalid's bird-whistle came through the trees and Finn responded, though he still couldn't mimic a blackbird with such accuracy. It worried Finn somewhat that they scattered so readily but he knew by now that most of them were old hands at fighting. Most of them.
"You all right, flower?"
Finn tried to sound cheerful but Imoen wasn't having any of it.
"Am I all right?" she demanded. "Do I look all right?"
She pulled the makeshift compress away from her cheek, revealing a nasty mark that was quickly turning black. Her little pork-pie face was broad at the best of times but now it looked lopsided and even puffier than usual. Judging from her pout though Imoen's pride was the worst that had taken a beating. Finn squeezed his sister fondly on the shoulder and she swatted him away.
"We took out three," he reported to Khalid. "Did you get yours? Where are the others?"
The elf Xan was crouching next to Imoen, trying in vain to get her to keep the compress in position while she whinged about her injury. He glanced up at Finn with those unsettling enchanter's eyes but said nothing. Why the hells did he always look at him like that? Sometimes he had to fight hard against the urge to punch him right in the face.
"Jaheira is with Anna and Safana," Khalid said. "There are more b-bandits in the trees. I think we k-killed them all, but we cannot be sure."
Everything changed at his words. The forest seemed to shift and Finn felt that animal energy rising again. The hunt wasn't over. Without a word Kivan broke away into the trees and Finn followed after him.
He had learned to track when he joined the guards—part of the Watchers' training involved pursuit through the woods. Candlekeep was surrounded by nothing but wilderness and if a fight ever took them outside the gates they'd need it. It seemed so easy there. Like a hound Finn could follow the signs right to where his comrades were hiding. Every snapped twig, every trace of a heel-mark in the mud always shone bright as day.
He'd laugh and give them a good old ribbing when he sussed them out. The others were never a match for him in anything, just farm lads really. Gods, but he could be a cunt. Out here though, with the blood racing and life or death hanging on a step it was another story entirely. Yet again he found himself thankful that Kivan had no such issues.
They heard Jaheira's cry before they reached them. That woman had lungs to beat any man and her cry wasn't a good sign. Kivan dashed ahead and Finn nearly stumbled to a stop as they came upon the women.
Jaheira was there, crouching down over Anna. Judging by the red marks that pocketed her robe the mage had taken a few hits. Tears were running down her face but she was alive, at least.
"At last," Jaheira breathed. "More bandits struck. We fought them off but they took Safana hostage, hoping to deter pursuit. Gather the others and—"
"There is no time," Kivan interrupted. "Which way did they go?"
"To the west, towards the cliffs. But there are too many—"
"Then they shall soon be less, by Shevarash!" the elf cried out. "Come with me, Ohtar."
Kivan fled again into the trees, as usual never giving a thought to his hide. And apparently he'd taken over Finn's natural concern for his own, as well.
"Jaheira, is she all right?" Finn asked.
He looked with concern on the fallen mage. She was hurt bad, he could tell. Her pretty face was twisted in pain and her hair had dirt and twigs ground into it from when she fell. Anna tried to sit up but the druid made her lie back down. A small pile of bloody arrow shafts lay at her side.
"She will be well enough," Jaheira replied. "The bandits deliberately targeted her. Now go, before that fool ranger loses himself entirely!"
Finn bristled slightly at the command—the first words out of that woman's mouth were an order, and she hadn't stopped since. Are you Gorion's ward? All right, so it wasn't an order. But coming from her it sure sounded like a demand. He glanced once more at Anna and hurried after Kivan.
...
The elf could have lost him easier than the bandit but he seemed to slacken his pace. Kivan walked hunched over, his ragged green cloak and long black hair sweeping around his body and making him look like some strange animal. The war-paint smeared over his face didn't improve the effect much. Finn had read tales of men who'd lived in the trees so long they became more animal than human, but he never thought to apply that to elves. There was no hint of civilisation in his manner, elvish or otherwise. Now he hunted, and Finn only followed.
"Be silent," his voice called back in a tone that was barely a whisper.
"I am," Finn replied.
"You are not. Your armour makes too much noise."
Again Finn bit his lip. What the hells could he do about that? Strip off and run naked through the trees? That would give the bandits a surprise, all right. It might give Safana one, too.
The little Calishite rogue had been with them for only a short time but she'd exploded into their reserved band like one of those rainbow-coloured missiles the mages conjured to celebrate Midsummer. With her tanned skin and full lips Safana looked every bit the part of some princess of the sands in disguise. She was hunting pirate treasure, or so she said. Judging by the way she winked her eye at everyone with a third leg that wasn't all she was after. Finn couldn't complain though; the entertainment value alone was worth enduring that accent.
Finn's thoughts began to run a little too deep and he forced himself to snap back. How in the hells did this day go downhill so fast? Just another march through the trees. Just about to stop for a nice little picnic lunch when the arrows started flying. He'd almost be willing to cut off his right pinkie finger to be teleported back to that glorified mining pit called Nashkel.
Kivan stopped entirely, crouching down like a cat about to pounce, and Finn with his jangling armour tried to follow suit. He could see no break in the trees but the sound of waves crashing onto the shore tickled his ears. The coast must be near to hand. Louder than the waves though he could plainly hear voices.
"I'm not gonna tell you again woman, get up!" a man barked.
"But I have twisted my ankle! You are such a strong brute—"
Finn recognised that languid Pasha tone, but another man broke in.
"Just leave her, Urick. She ain't worth the money. Them mercenaries are going to be breathing down our necks at any minute!"
"And dammit, I'm going to get something out of this run!" the first man shouted back. "We're almost to the boat. Get up, now, or I'll gut you right here!"
"Oh, but surely you would not do that," Safana calmly cooed. "You are just too much of a man."
Kivan crept away silently through the trees, signalling that he would flank them on the other side. Finn slid forward on his belly and prayed that none of the distracted bandits would look in his direction. Five of them were gathered around the rogue who lay at their feet, clutching lamely at the ankle of her boot. Conveniently her jerkin had managed to unlace itself and her shirt hung open, no doubt giving the bandits a bit of a view. Her dark eyes were wide and she trembled like a maiden for their benefit.
"Are you kidding me?" the second man spoke. "Forget this. We can make up the coin later, but we won't earn a damn thing if we're dead. Leave her."
The other men agreed with the sentiment but Urick whirled on him.
"And who died and made you captain?" he blurted. "You got no say, Gerrus. We're taking this whore and—"
"You serious?" the man exclaimed. "The captain fucking died, you twat. His guts are decorating the trees right now if you want to go and have a look. And why don't you, you sad old shite. Me and the boys are leaving."
Urick seemed no happier that Gerrus had trumped him, and Finn tensed as he grabbed Safana roughly by the hair.
"Now, bitch! Move!"
He drew out his dagger and Safana's cool facade faltered for one moment, but only one moment. Her hand reached up and Finn's eyes widened as they found a certain spot on Urick's trousers.
"Oh, please, do not hurt me," she said, her voice finding a throaty tremor. "I will give you anything, if only you do not hurt me."
Fuck's sake, Finn whispered to himself. This was going literally tits-up. Where the hells was Kivan? The ranger needed to take a shot before he could move—he couldn't take on all the bandits at once, and Safana was likely to get on the receiving end of Urick's dagger at any moment.
The bandit's reaction was not unlike his own though, and Urick stared at the woman as she deftly managed to do apart his trouser laces with a single hand. The other bandits made comments but Finn didn't hear them as a series of elvish arrows at last broke from the trees. He leaped to his feet and charged at the bandit closest to him.
Distracted as they were the attack entirely caught the men off-guard. Safana snatched the dagger from the stunned Urick's hand, and Finn had to turn away as she drove it into the one place she could easily reach. Poor bastard, he thought, nobody deserves that. The man doubled over in agony and she quickly finished the job, the look on her face telling him all he needed to know about what she really thought of her offer.
...
Five more souls. Five more men soon lay dead on the forest floor, food for the scavengers that would come in the night. Would they be the last today, Finn wondered? He'd almost stopped caring. How could he not care? He couldn't imagine what Gorion would say about it. He didn't want to.
Safana broke into his thoughts; the rogue was only slightly less vocal than Jaheira.
"You did take your time," she said, trying to wipe away the blood from her jerkin in disgust. "I thought I would need to lay with these dogs three times over before you arrived."
"What, you wouldn't have really, would you?" Finn asked.
Safana seemed to find the question rather precious, for she merely smiled sweetly at him. Kivan looked towards the coast with a frown.
"One of them mentioned a boat. We should find it and make sure there are no others waiting in ambush."
"I do not think so," she replied. "These men were only smugglers, not grand pirates. I should think you will find their boat a leaking wreck, not worth our time."
"How do you know? Were they talking?" Finn remarked.
"No, dear," Safana smiled again. "But I know their kind well. And you have not even asked me if I am hurt. Such a fine champion you are!"
Finn's mouth twisted into a slight grin in spite of her teasing.
"Very well, then. Are you injured, my lady?" he said, putting on his most formal tone.
"It is too early to tell," she replied. "But you should ask me again later."
She laced up her jerkin but left the tunic open, showing off her smooth, coppery chest for all to see. Or him to see, as Kivan had begun impassively gathering his arrows from the men's bodies. Finn's eyes unwittingly followed the line of her skin down to where the fabric ended in a deep valley. He glanced up somewhat guiltily to see Safana's eyes crinkled up in delight.
...
Somehow their band all managed to find one another in the trees. Anna was pale as a ghost but she was on her feet, still stumbling though over the smallest twigs. Although no one made the remark, Finn gathered that if Jaheira had not been close at hand the mage would have been carrion food as well. He knew it was only a matter of time. They couldn't fight the odds forever; one of them would eventually fall. He thought of that, and it made him angry.
They agreed the bandits' ship needed investigation, so the men ventured towards the cliffs while the women stayed behind. Not for any cause of chivalry's sake, that sort of thing hardly seemed to apply out there. Finn quickly learned that in the wilderness, the men were men and the women were men, too. Or at least they were hairy as the men—certain personal habits apparently didn't apply out there, either, he considered rather grimly.
Khalid and Kivan scouted ahead while Finn and Xan followed behind. Finn would have given a great deal to be a part of the fore party. It wasn't that he hated Xan, exactly—the elf hardly did anything to be worthy of that. Mostly he was silent, reading or watching with those strange grey eyes. But his company could be like some kind of dark void that pulled in everything near it. Finn had tried to break the ice that surrounded him, with little avail. He'd learned though that the enchanter could be an unwitting source of entertainment in his own right.
"You think the ladies will be alright back there?" he asked.
"I am certain," Xan replied, not taking his eyes off the forest ahead.
"Anna took quite a hit," Finn said thoughtfully.
"Yes," the elf sighed. "Unfortunately these rogues know well to strike mages before they can unleash their assault. Though I cannot believe she did not have spells prepared for such an eventuality."
"She's not really a battle mage though, is she?"
Finn thought of Anna. The Beregost mage was rather delicate in appearance but she had the back of a farm girl, carrying her heavy pack without complaint as they trekked the Sword Coast. She had the front of a farm girl too, and he wished to the gods she didn't always wear that high-collared robe.
"That is certainly true," Xan remarked. "She seems little more than a hedgewitch, with a spellbook more designed to conquer gout that the monsters which plague us. But perhaps you should have considered that before inviting her on this mad quest."
The figurative pin stuck in Finn's side and he scowled.
"Aye. I reckon you're more of a proper wizard. All that fighting and you didn't end up with a scratch. What did you do, sit back and let the women run after the bandits?"
"I certainly did no such thing," Xan said coolly. "I teleported out of their range and summoned a gang of gnolls into the battle."
In spite of his frosty tone Finn sensed a hint of defensiveness in his words, and it brought a smile to his lips.
"Aye, and there's your mistake. You should have used the chance to make good with the ladies. Show them you're a proper hero."
"What in heaven are you talking about?" he said, sounding irritated.
"Oh, come on, mate—there's got to be one you've got your eye on. You've got blood in your veins somewhere. Who is it? Jaheira?"
Finn glanced at Xan out of the corner of his eye, hoping his grin wouldn't escape.
"Have you been struck on the head?" the elf exclaimed. "Jaheira is a married woman. And I hardly think—"
"Safana then, eh? She's a little firebrand, keep your toes nice and warm," Finn snickered.
"Absolutely not. That woman is foul beyond—"
"Well, it had better not be my sister!" he proclaimed. "No offence, mate, but I don't much fancy you for a brother-in-law."
"That child?" Xan sputtered. "I sincerely hope you have been injured. I have no intention whatsoever of marrying your sister! And I do not appreciate this bizarre attempt at—"
"You bloody will marry her. We're a traditional sort of family, we are," he quipped. "Ah, of course then. You fancy Anna, don't you? Come on, admit it!"
"I certainly do not."
"Oh, aye, I see it now," Finn continued cheerfully, wrapping his arm around the elf's hunched shoulders. "It's all plain as day. All that sniping at her, telling her that her magic's not good enough, all you're doing is hiding that you'd like nothing more than her legs wrapped around your—"
"That is enough!"
Xan disentangled himself from Finn's embrace and turned to face him. "Do not complete that sentence."
"—Back? Why, what did you think I was going to say?"
He let out a short laugh, but judging by the expression on the elf's face he wondered if he hadn't pushed his little joke a bit too far. Xan drew a sharp breath.
"It does not matter. What matters is that you would speak in such a gross and disrespectful way about our companions. And one of them your sister, no less. I will hear no more, do you understand?"
"All right, all right," Finn said, feeling rather awkward. "I'm sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood a bit, you know? It's rough out here sometimes."
"And such humour does not lighten it, whatever you may think," the elf replied. "There is little point in making me the butt of jokes in order to cover up your own interests."
"What do you mean?"
"We are not all blind," Xan continued. "You have been leering at Anna since I have been part of this party. And as soon as this Calishite harpy finds her way into our midst you have turned your gaze to her. Which tells me one of two things—either Anna is wiser than she appears, or you are fickle enough to abandon your desire at the merest glance at another woman. And either way I cannot help but think she is better off. Now, by the sound of footsteps I believe our comrades are seeking us, or we are about to come under attack once again. Shall we go meet our fate, or do you have any card tricks you would like to try next?"
Finn clenched his teeth; he'd heard nothing in the trees. The elf was a near foot shorter than he was and slight enough that a strong breeze might carry him off, but he gazed up at him levelly as though he were chastening a rather tall child. Suddenly though a smile formed on Finn's face.
"Sure thing, mate. After you."
He gestured politely and the elf snorted, but turned and walked towards the cliffs.