Setting up camp with our merry little band was always an interesting time, and like most things, as each of us had volunteered to take a different part, it had become our routine. Bishop stalked off, announcing that he'd go hunt and bring dinner. Qara, of course, automatically jumped to start our fire, though after she did her pyromaniac bit, she'd also set up a ward of protection. Neeshka handled getting our bedrolls from our packs and putting them out, and even though her sticky fingers as usual happened to land on a bauble or two, I held my peace. Casavir, as our most experienced field fighter, dived right into checking our arms and armor for needed repairs. Khelgar meditated to help improve his monk's skills.

I did whatever else needed doing and tried to not feel superfluous. Tonight I read the wind and skies to forecast tomorrow's travel: a bit drizzly and miserable, if my guess was right. No need to go looking for other foods in the forest so we had more to chew on than whatever Bishop's bow provided: we had bread, cheese, and apples I'd bought that morning in Thornhill Crossing.

It felt strange, though, to have something—someone—missing now in our camp. There was no Shandra with her simple farmer's good sense and cheer. She'd do small things to make us all smile: I'd usually find her pulling some kind of treat out of her rucksack that she'd traded for or rustled up in the forest, since Bishop and I always focused heavily on just practical foods. Some nights she'd sang for us if Grobnar hadn't come along.

As sure as Mielikki ruled the forests, I didn't imagine Ammon Jerro was going to offer some raspberries or give us a roundelay.

Some part of me still burned with a deep rage at the old man for what he'd done there in his lair, never mind what evils he'd committed before. Shandra had been more than just a companion. The quest to save her from the gith had forged us all tightly together, and with her kindness, she was a friend to us all. Since we'd left Ammon's Haven three days before, we'd all been less than our best.

I'd keep old Jerro with me: I needed the fifth part of the Ritual of Purification, and so he'd stay as long as that, and his guilt and his desire to see the end of the shadow-king, made him serve my ends. But I could never forgive him, and I would never forget. He wouldn't be a friend to me as the others in our camp were, and if he tried, I'd have him flat on his ass with a blade at his throat before he could blink.

He seemed to understand that, though none of us had spoken any words of blame since we'd begun the journey back to Neverwinter. The glowers and silence were probably enough. He sat on a boulder by himself, leaning on his staff, obviously ill at ease.

Of course, there was another of my companions who'd been equally awkward since then, and this one bothered me far more. I knew the loss of Shandra upset Casavir deeply, and that being around demons and devils always set a paladin out of sorts. But usually after seeing such wrongs as we had, he was burning with indignation instead of glumly silent. He hadn't even complained about being forced to travel with Ammon, though I was sure that it bothered him immensely. In fact, he had barely said three words to me since we'd left, and those had probably been "Yes, my lady."

I knew what was on his mind. I had a ranger's good ears, and standing near him, I'd heard the low, sultry murmurs that the demons had tormented him with. "If this form displeases you, perhaps taking the guise of your noble leader would stir that heart of yours," Blooden had cooed. He'd snapped for her to stay quiet, more unsettled than I'd ever seen him, and she'd thrown her head back in the throes of a sick ecstasy, savoring his fury like a fine wine, "Such passion…oh, paladin, it's a true shame you're penned up within your temple's walls and it goes to waste."

He'd stalked off, flushing bright red to the tips of his ears with rage and embarrassment, not even glancing at me. I thought an hour later he'd been ready to kill Hezebel—never mind the binding circle as he could have used throwing knives—when she brought up the same tune. "For every paladin that takes their vows and stays them, a hundred will fall by the wayside…nay, my sweet warrior, a thousand fall; in this world and in countless others. It's such a tiresome thing to happen, but what makes my life so sweet, my existence so sweet, is to see the ones that dance on the razor's edge, that need only the barest lust, the slightest taste of what is forbidden, to finally lose their grip and give in." She'd given him a sly smile, red eyes gleaming. "Tell your lovely companion, who you cover safely under the cloak of 'leader', who does not even realize your daily struggles in silence... tell her, then, what it meant for her to find you in the shadows of the mountains and to bring you light."

A woman was probably the least tolerant of another woman's toying, so I'd finally tired of the crap and told her to shut up, stop taunting Casavir, and get to her point or else I'ddamn well run her through. She'd laughed and given in. "Oh, have no fear. I'm done talking. I've planted a seed, and for me, until it grows, that is amusement enough."

I'd already sensed for a long while that he had some strong feelings for me, though he tried to hide them underneath politeness and courtesy. Bishop tried to twist him up in knots about it every chance he got. To see him so upset in the Haven only proved that what the demonesses, and more than a few others on our travels, said was true. And I was afraid even more now that after the tragic end of his romance with Ophala and what he saw as his failure in his duty, he was too scared of what it might mean for him as a paladin to face what he felt for me.

I'd tried to tell him that love wasn't a force to be frightened of, that when it was true, it didn't destroy—it gave a person hope and strength, laughter and joy. That even paladins, underneath their armor, were just men and women, frail and mortal. I'd even tried to convince him that it made no sense for the gods to create men and women, and passion between them, only to use it as a torment. He'd nodded politely, and each time I'd thrilled to see a spark of hope in his eyes. But he never spoke up himself.

I couldn't let it go on like this much longer. He was obviously in anguish over the matter, when I knew he had smiles and laughter to give in him. And I was miserable to see him so, and to be kept waiting in frustration to hear what he longed to say.

If I could get him alone…that would be easy. But getting him to confess might be more difficult, and hopefully convincing him that he wasn't bound for the hells.

Still, I had to make at least some progress; I couldn't stand another day like this. I looked over at him. "Casavir? Might we get some sword practice in today, d'you think?"

He juggled the whetstone to his left hand and checked the edge of the blade he was sharpening. Apparently finding it to satisfaction, he sheathed it, looked up at me, and nodded brusquely. "As you wish."

As deft as he was with the sword, I'd asked him to train me after I almost lost the duel with Lorne thanks to my lack of skill with a blade, which was a failing of many a ranger. He'd actually put me to using a longsword and a dagger together, since he rightly pointed out that this method was suited to a ranger as it was swifter, more aggressive, and less cumbersome. I noticed that of late he'd forgone his shield more and adopted the style himself, though with his greater strength he favored using a shortsword in his off-hand. It was probably a good idea for him also, since he wore a chainmail hauberk in order to be able to travel and fight more effectively—he'd made his share of tongue-in-cheek remarks about the sheer bloody inconvenience of plate mail in everything from comfort to movement to calls of nature.

He'd trained Shandra as well, though he also taught her the use of a shield to better suit her slower and more deliberate combat style as a fighter. It always amazed me a bit to see that he could work with her for an hour, throw down his shield for the shortsword, and move right into a entirely different combat style for me without hesitation. He'd been an excellent general to lead them, but the men and women of Old Owl Well had gotten a superb instructor as well; he obviously knew how to see the skills of a combatant and how to train them to take best advantage.

I couldn't suppress a small upwelling of grief to remember Shandra beaming with pride when she managed to hold her own in a match with him, and how he'd smiled back at her. They'd been good friends.

I went over to Falyris perched on a branch near my eye level. "Go fly free a bit, kammak," I thought-sent. "No use you hanging around when I'll be away until dinner."

"You and Cas go?" she sent back, cocking her head and looking at me with a sharp, knowing eye.

"Yeah," I sighed, stroking the soft feathers at the base of her neck, knowing how she itched there, "for what it's worth."

"Talk, then. Humans love talk." She nipped my fingers like I was a wayward chick, her massive orange beak light on my hand. "Should not let him be silent, ilannaak. Cas, I think, wants you for bondmate. Karnwyr says Bishop probably only mate for season."

Great, now my own companion was going to advise me, plus she and Bishop's wolf had been getting chatty. It seemed like if I'd had a gold coin for every time someone had remarked on Casavir's feelings for me, I could have repaired the damn whole of Crossroads Keep by now. "Aye, I know that. I'll see how it goes."

"Good hunting, Lia." Launching into the air, she dipped her wings once in farewell, soaring above the treetops in a flash of black and white.

"Good hunting to you also."

I led the way, eyes and ears alert for anything in the forest. We always practiced a good distance away from camp. Casavir had insisted on it from the start, saying that a tutor was hard enough to please, but an audience was worse, plus it was an unneeded distraction. He was right: being away allowed me to focus much better. I came to deeply enjoy getting away from the noise and banter of our companions, and to lose myself to the quiet simplicity of his skills and steel against mine for a few hours. We sometimes had talked too while we were alone without Shandra. I didn't worry too much about being far away: I knew that Falyris would keep an eye on things and alert me instantly if there was any trouble with the others.

It was fully fifteen or twenty minutes' walk anyhow before I found a good clearing with room to move in; this forest was wild and thick with old growth, but at least I found no signs of anything hostile or strange.

"Here's good," I said, nodding to him.

Unfastening our cloaks and leaving them over an old log, we drew our swords. We used blunted old blades, of course—too dangerous to use the real thing, especially since in recent months I'd had Sand assist me to enchant the nine hells out of our combat weapons. I didn't relish the thought of what my longsword, magicked as it was for severe acid damage, would do first to his chainmail and then to him.

He never went easy on me as we dueled. I appreciated that; our enemies wouldn't show any mercy and it would be no use if he wasn't a demanding teacher. He always took the craft of the sword seriously, but at least he wasn't harsh enough to drag me out of bed in the middle of the night so I could learn to fight in darkness like Aribeth had for him.

Today was different, though; there was the strange, faraway look in his eyes that I'd seen before only in the eyes of mystics and madmen. This was how he'd looked after we'd met and were fighting our way through the Eyegouger lair: the Katalmach, lost in battle. Not lost to our sparring fight, though; he wasn't anywhere near top form today and I easily was besting him, breaking his guard regularly and even disarming him at one point; he'd have lost his hand if we had fought in earnest. So his focus must have been a conflict within, and I knew what it was.

After only twenty minutes and yet another tap from the flat of my blade to signify he was "dead", he shook his head, stepped back and sheathed both his swords, looking absolutely disgusted. "This is no use to you—enough for today."

"Fine," I nodded, putting away my sword and dagger with care. "Are you all right? You've been…away the last few days."

"We all had a difficult time in the Haven." We sat down on the fallen log, not even breathing hard, having barely worked up a sweat. "Being around demons is always a trial for me—and no, I don't mean Neeshka, she has a good heart. And too, Ammon Jerro is very hard to accept: his evil's eaten him through and through like rot. He's made bargains with demons and devils, committed numerous murders, and that's to say nothing of Shandra. What a fate…to have survived so much and fought with us, only to be killed by her own kin."

"I know. I miss her too. And I'm aware as a paladin he sets your teeth on edge. There's probably something against you consorting with servants of evil, and I'm sorry to have put you in that position."

He gave a contemptuous wave of his hand. "Never mind it. I know he's necessary for now. I'll stand him so long as he serves a purpose. After that, understand all bets are off and I mean for him to answer for his crimes."

"Fair enough. I think I can bring him to heel if need be. But if he grows to be too much, you do realize that you've sworn no oath and you're free to leave me at any point."

"I couldn't abandon you now."

"So…you feel obliged to stay."

"Why should I not? You seek to rid this land of the shadow that might fall over it and so you lead us in that fight. Compared to what little I can do in Neverwinter, my service is best offered to you."

"Service," I said, tasting in full the leaden bitterness of the word on my tongue. "And so that's it there: I am your lady."

"Aye, so you've seen: I follow you."

"And obey me, it seems."

He shrugged impatiently. "You're a clever woman, and I'm sure you already know that I wouldn't commit evil acts in your name. But since you bring it up, obviously you doubt me. If you need some proof of my loyalty, fine: command me."

I glanced at him, weighing the odds in my head. All right, decision time. I'd take the chance to provoke him into something. I couldn't stand several more months of this awkwardness and his barely suppressed frustration. "If I ordered you to lie with me here in this clearing, would you do it?"

He made a sound as though I'd just struck him, and when I looked over at him, his features were drawn tense with anger, dark brows knotted. "Do not mock me in that way," he said between his teeth. "I've come to expect this kind of crap from the ranger, but I never thought to hear it from you." Getting to his feet and grabbing his cloak, he stalked away towards the path back to camp.

"Then they're all liars or fools?" I called after him.

"What?" He turned and looked at me, cheeks high with color, blue eyes blazing dark with fury.

"Are they all so mistaken?" I realized that I was unconsciously approaching him like a wounded and dangerous wild thing—not meeting his eyes in challenge, hands open and held out, my every movement slow and cautious. That upset me most, perhaps, to think that I had given a man who just this morning I would have trusted with my life enough of a shove that some deep part of me feared his reaction. Shaking off that urge, knowing I couldn't stand the silent indifference any more, I raised my eyes to meet his, daring him to deny it. Stepping closer, I went on the attack. "Shandra said that you treat me as your liege lady so you can pretend I'm not just a woman. Callum…he asked me to look after you and said that from the look of it, you left Old Owl Well with me for more than just duty. Georg thought you were my lover, and you didn't bother to correct him. Hlam asked me to be easy with your heart because of what had happened with Ophala. Falyris told me you want me. Bishop obviously hits a nerve every time he taunts you about how you look at me and care about my welfare. Even that Luskan tart Torio said you can't keep your eyes off of me. Should I be surprised that Blooden and Hezebel picked up on it as well?" I was finally at his side. "So, obviously there's something there. I know you've taken vows to tell the truth, but I think you've definitely held it back in this case. What say you to that?"

"Tyr, you'd listen to that pair of demons? If you believe them, all I want is to bed you." He stared at me a long moment, looking alarmed and realizing he was cornered. Obviously he saw there was no escape, as the tension seemed to suddenly drain out of him, though wariness replaced it. He sighed, running a fretful hand through his hair. "My la—Lianna."

"Well, gods know maybe even a bit of lust might be an improvement. You haven't given me much cause to think you see me as anything but your valiant leader."

"Yes, they have the right of it, but it's more than that."

"So tell me then, or else you can be sure I'll assume the worst." Pausing for a moment, he finally nodded and gestured me to the shade of a linden tree. He must have known the meaning—the linden was sacred to Tyr. In many a village under the older ways, all important dealings were held in the shade of the holy tree of the god of justice and truth. After all, there could be no deceit there without committing sacrilege and so inviting divine retribution.

As a paladin already sworn to tell no lies, and now choosing in addition to tell me this under a linden, he was taking a far more binding vow that his words would be only truth than any that could be made in a court of the cities. Whatever he told me, I would believe it. He spread his cloak out for us to sit on, which made me smile and think him a gallant idiot—we both looked a bit rough from several hard days of travel so a little more dirt would hardly matter—but I liked him for it. "You've been avoiding me like a scalded troll, and I'd like to know what's on your mind."

He propped his head in his hand, looking at me. "What's on my mind? I've traveled with you a good while now, and I know that being with you…it's made me a far better man than I've ever been."

I sighed, crossing my legs to sit tailor-style, as ever enjoying sitting near him and feeling his aura. It may have made poor Neeshka's skin itch, although she'd said it was more of a tingle now, but for me it was a sensation like sitting in the gentle warmth of spring sunshine. "I don't save people's souls, and I don't want you to be afraid of me or worship me or obey me—I'm not Umberlee, even if I can be a bitch."

He laughed at that, a sudden flash of humor in his eyes. "Oh, Umberlee? Every son of the Iron Shore knows that she's not to be actually worshipped, just feared and kept happy in hopes that the seas are calm and the nets full."

"Point taken; but if you've changed, it's because you weren't happy with who you were, and got on a new path. If that happens to have been since you've been traveling with me, that doesn't mean I did it."

"Very well." He sobered again, speaking hesitantly at first as he obviously tried to find the right words. Apparently paladin charisma didn't work in every situation. "It's difficult to explain: I don't feel for you because of that, though I thank you for it. You have the courage to fight your battles, whether for something simple as the life of one man or something as great as the fate of our nation. But you also know when to put down your sword. You'll listen to anyone and give them consideration, from Lord Nasher all the way to the lowliest foot soldier. You've somehow taken a group of people who would never have volunteered to travel together and forged a fellowship between us. You even humor Grobnar's delusions, Qara's complaints, and Bishop's snide remarks. And yes, it's true you can match the curses of a Waterdhavian stevedore—"

"What?"

He smiled a little to himself, leaning back against the trunk of the linden. "I know that one for certain as I was one myself for a short time after I left Neverwinter. You also like a mug of mulled ale, blackberry tarts, very sentimental ballads, children, and a well-made sword, and I've seen your eyes light up equally at market over a leather jerkin and green satin ribbons—both of which would have been rather fine on you, by the way."

"Well, probably not at the same time." I blushed, remembering how wistful I'd been over that set of ribbons, thinking of the finer days from West Harbor, the harvest dances with songs and laughter, pumpkin mead and apple turnovers. And Amie laughing and dancing with her willowy grace on the village green, her natural vitality making her so lovely that she'd never need a mage's glamorie to make the men speechless. I'd lost her months ago, and now Shandra who reminded me so much of her. I wondered then just how many more of my dear friends would die before this quest was finished.

He must have seen something of my dark thoughts in my face, because he reached out and took my hand in his, tracing the lines and calluses of it. It hit me suddenly how intimate even that simple gesture felt coming from him, and I was startled when I realized that in all our months together, his only touches had been the impersonal ones of a healer. "In short, you've got a good heart of both a warrior and a woman. Is that not reason enough that I should love you? And I do."

"If you think so, then it is. And…and I've felt for you for a while now."

He grinned almost shyly at that, looking suddenly like the young man of twenty-eight that he was, rather than a hardened veteran of battle and loss and pain. Then his expression sobered a bit, and he looked down at our joined hands. "One thing, and forgive me for asking. Lianna…with Ophala, I ended up having to kill a man because he thought I had taken what wasn't mine. I'd rather not repeat that, even if I don't trust him to not stab you in the back—maybe even literally."

"Bishop's no real rival of yours," I said, shaking my head, willing him to believe me.

"Isn't he?" His eyes narrowed a bit, worry puckering his brow. "I've seen how he looks at you; he seems to think he has some claim." Strange how Bishop saying just the same about Casavir echoed in my ears: whatever tensions their personalities would have naturally caused were amplified a dozen times over by the issue of me. It was like being around two stags locking antlers in battle.

"I'm just a challenge to him, and it probably helps that I'm a far more skilled ranger than that girl in Port Llast. He's handsome enough, and I don't think he's as evil as he pretends. I'd like to help him work through whatever chaos he's got inside him, but other than that…yeah, I know he wants me." I'd seen the gleam of interest enough in his eyes, and I knew what lay under the smarmy propositions. "I'm also aware that I could never let down my guard around him like I can around you, and that after a night or a week or a month, he'd get bored and I'd be another notch on his bow-stave. And I want more than that. That's why I haven't taken him up on it—and yes, he has asked in that sarcastic way he has."

"Oh. I-I'm glad to hear it."

"Oh, stop. It's always been you I've wanted." I looked at him, aware that I had a silly grin on my face, and not caring. "But you really don't mind the cursing and the bawdy jokes? I know you're used to sophisticated types. Even though I'm captain of a keep now I'm still West Harbor bred and raised, and that won't come out easy, if at all."

"Rub off the shine of being a paladin and I'm only a gods-gifted fisherman's son from Riverbirch Hollow, Lianna. There's no shame in being from good, humble folk. They're worth a hundred of Nasher's nobles, who have no sympathy for those who need it. You've seen it on our journey when villagers go out of their way to share what little they have with us. So few in Neverwinter give a damn; I saw that too well when I was on the city's streets."

"Must have been a rare paladin to actually go out into the city and try to do some good. Duncan's eyes almost popped out to see you in the Sunken Flagon."

"Yes, he joked with me about slumming, though it's a bitter kind of jape since there's a lot of truth to it. But I knew the character of those who matter in Neverwinter far before I took my vows."

"Oh, really?"

"I can see you won't quit until I tell you every last youthful indiscretion."

"I'm just happy to hear you have some. Perfect men worry me."

He rolled his eyes at that, but smiled at me. "When Brother Yakin first brought me to Neverwinter, I was eight years old, still a bit shaky from the ague, and I had just buried both my parents a week before. And all those at the temple said to me were words of examining my abilities and putting me into Tyr's service as a scribe, or maybe a priest. I was lonely and pretty terrified by it all. So I hopped over the garden wall my second night there; easy for me as I'd been climbing the sea cliffs back home since I was five no matter how my mum yelled that I'd fall and kill myself."

It was hard to reconcile the self-controlled, courtly man I knew with the idea of a young troublemaking boy, though he was still as fearless now as he must have been back then. But years of being raised by priests would tend to dampen down anyone's natural mischief—Neeshka would agree with that all too readily. And whatever else, the temple of Tyr had made him a thoughtful man, caring and considerate. There still were times I could see high spirits in him, though, at the humor in his words or his smile.

"I ended up living with the other urchins in the Docks for a month while I tried to get together the coin for some provisions for the walk back home. I lied about my name, tried to say as little as possible as my accent back then was obvious. So I ran messages and errands when I could, but there's little pity in Neverwinter for a beggar. I got far more kicks and curses for my troubles than coppers. I…tried not to become a thief, but when desperation hits you, nicking a loaf of bread seems far less evil than your hunger being ignored by the world. Hlam eventually found me and convinced me to come back with some kind words, though I might have sold myself to Bane by then for a good dinner and a place to sleep that wasn't in the wind and the rain."

"It probably made you a better man for having seen how the other half lives." Back in West Harbor, Brother Merring had told me often enough that you'll know the soul of a person by how they treat those that are weaker—wise words. Bishop had seen some hard living as well, I was sure, but it only inspired bitterness and contempt in him for those that were in need. In Casavir it gave him compassion and a fierce desire to give aid. He was a fine fighter, strong enough to defend himself and me as well, but gentle enough to care about those who were helpless. He always gave them what he could, whether his skill with a sword, a few coppers from his pocket, or simply a kind word. I loved him for that—and for his terrible archery, his wry jokes, his appreciation for a good drink, among so many other little qualities. I could trust him, be myself around him, without worrying about whether he'd think less of me.

"I'd hope so. Once I went back, they found out I had mage's powers, and I thought that it was a sign, that as a paladin I'd have so much more chance to do good than a scribe ever would. I believed I could bring some hope to those who so badly needed it. But justice in Neverwinter is far more concerned with law and punishment than mercy and fairness. My fight with Harcus finally made me run, but I was already pretty unhappy there."

"Maybe leaving was a good thing then."

"Perhaps it was. Because I could do nothing, I worried so much about failing when I was in the city…"

"And me? Do you fear loving me will make you fall as a paladin?" I couldn't look at him for a moment, knowing how what I had to say could wound him deeper than any sword. "Casavir, there's another good reason why I could never love Bishop. I don't think he has the courage right now to believe that love is anything but a weakness; maybe he never will have it. And if you do as well, please understand I'll still hold you in high regard as a good man, and know I'll always be glad of you as my friend. I love you, but I can't spend my entire life begging for what scraps of your heart you'd give me only in reluctance, thinking it's against your better judgment. I deserve better, and if you can't be the man who can love me without fear or hesitation, I need to know before we both get hurt."

He was silent for a few long moments, running his fingers through the soft coolness of the grass. "Tyr's grace goes far, Lianna. He didn't see me dead or break me to a mundane for the whole mess with Ophala, though it still amazes me. I lived three years after that as an ordinary fighter, so I know I can survive and even do good in this world without a paladin's spells. I've feared myself and what I'm capable of for too long, but I'm not afraid any more. I can only believe what I feel for you can't be wrong when it gives me such hope. And if I'm mistaken and I suffer for it, even then I'd rather love you than go on as a paladin without you."

He paused for a moment then added, "I did tell Hlam after your duel with Lorne that should I survive this campaign, I wouldn't return to the order. I'm not sure where I might go, but I know I've served Tyr far better since I've been outside the walls of Neverwinter."

"Cas—so long as I'm captain of Crossroads Keep, there'll always be a place for you there."

He glanced at me curiously. "And what place is that, Lianna?"

I put my hand to his cheek. "By my side, if you wish it."

Taking my hand, he pressed a kiss to my palm as his blue eyes met mine, shining with clear emotion. I smiled at that, leaning in to kiss him in the sun-dappled shade of the linden tree as the spring breeze sighed through the leaves above us.

It was tentative and a little clumsy, that first kiss, both of us shy and new to each other, feeling like we were both caught in a dream and afraid of waking. Yet it was with just such a chaste kiss that marriage rites were sealed. There were no priests to give blessing, but I knew the vow was made between us just the same: we'd be together for what time was given us, to whatever end might come.

I realized then we had a good few hours before they'd expect us back at camp. "So," I said quietly in his ear, running my fingers through his dark hair, "obviously an order was no good. Ah…how about I ask you nicely?"

He chuckled, nuzzling my neck. "You're quite welcome to try."

I laughed at that, looking him in the eyes. "So, I'm asking."

He stared back at me. "But…you meant it truly? Here?"

"That was the idea, yes. Please don't tell me that your love for me is pure and totally chaste. Mielikki, what do they teach you paladins?"

"No," he muttered, with a very sheepish smile that softened his features considerably. "I just thought of something finer perhaps, but—"

"I'm not," I reminded him, "one of those dainty Neverwinter ladies in their silks. I'm a ranger. I don't mind a cloak out in the forest; between you and me it'll still be far more honest a marriage bed than most women would have on a goose-feather mattress."

There was a sudden trace of darkness in his eyes: I knew he was probably thinking of Ophala. The banns had been read when we were last in Neverwinter, and by now she was another man's wife. No doubt hers had been a joyless wedding night, since Pierval had made no pretense of loving her. I touched his arm, trying to catch his attention and bring him back to me. "Casavir, I-I think that I don't mind what there was between you. I can't hate her for it, not when her marriage will be cold as Icewind Dale. At least she'll have known the best of it."

He shook his head. "I could almost wish that it was true when you say it so. But Lianna, she didn't lie: I never did touch her. What rumors Pierval heard about it were all just Mordren's imaginings."

"The letters, though; I didn't read much, just enough for Neeshka and I know it was what we needed for proof, but even what I saw…" It had opened my eyes to him in a new light to see that he could write with such passion. He'd burned the letters all to ash the very night I'd given them back on our way to Port Llast while investigating for my trial. He hadn't lingered over them, hadn't reread them or fed them into the camp's fire one by one. He'd simply tossed the entire bundle in with his face set like a mask, though his eyes glittered brightly with some suppressed emotion in the firelight. He'd looked long enough to be sure the paper was well caught in flame, and simply resumed his watch with me without a word.

"I kissed her once in the temple garden and that was all. I was twenty-three then, and I'd seen little besides the ways of the temple since I was a boy. I know I was very naïve for it, and so it seemed wonderfully romantic to play the gallant for a pretty girl stuck betrothed to an old man. I thought there was really no harm in writing her such things to let her know that she was worthy of being admired. I had no idea how deep a meaning she'd read into my words and actions until it was far too late."

"I believe you. I guess I should have figured you'd have stuck to your honor even then."

I could see a faint glow of pink appearing along his high cheekbones. "I've always at least tried to take my vows seriously. Those who serve the gods aren't actually—ah—forbidden the more sensual parts of life, but we're expected to not take advantage of people, or of our station. So any starry-eyed woman who wanted the romance or mystique or curiosity of being loved by a paladin was off-limits. And…it can be very difficult to get to know anyone deeply enough that you know their motivation for certain."

"And I assume you're telling me that you didn't find anyone you wanted enough to bother trying to figure that out."

"Yes, more or less." His expression caught between shyness and amusement, he looked at me and touched my face, fingers lingering against my cheek. "Well, 'least till you came along."

"I can relate." I let out a snort of amusement at his look of surprise. "Why do you think I'm still unmarried at twenty-four? Think about West Harbor for a minute. There were a few young men each year that passed through in travels, but I wasn't going to bed one of them just so I could say I'd done it—I didn't know them at all. As for my more long-term prospects, aside from the men old enough to be my father, there was just Bevil and the three Mossfeld boys. Bevil's sweet and I'm sure he had hopes, but he's always been like a brother to me. As for the Mossfelds—oh gods, I respect myself more than that. Wyl's idea of romance was trying to corner me in the barn, grope me, and suggest we find a nice haystack. I always thought Webb actually fancied Bevil from the way he always ignored me and wanted to go explore the Ilefarn ruins with him. And Ward really didn't like a woman who could outfight him; it probably made him feel," I grinned wickedly, "small."

I saw he was holding back a smile at that. "Then they're a pack of fools."

"They were," I corrected him, sighing deeply. "They're gone now too with the rest of the village." Some part of me could still hardly believe it. West Harbor was sleepy and boring, a backwater hamlet in the bog. There had always been restlessness in me that would never make me content to stay there: a legacy from my mother, and perhaps my unknown father as well. And too, I knew I'd changed drastically in the seventeen months since I'd set out as a green young woman on the road to Neverwinter. But the razing of the village and the death of its people seemed to have cut the last ties to who I had been before all of this had begun. Now I really never could go back. It hadn't been perfect, but it had been a peaceful enough life that was now lost to me.

He drew me into his arms and kissed me lightly, distracting me from my glum thoughts. "Thank you," I said sincerely, twining his fingers with mine. "You know—there was a priest of Lathander in West Harbor, Brother Merring."

"I recall him. He seemed a good man."

"He died during the attack, and though I used to make jokes about how he kept hoping to convert me, now that he's gone I can't help but think of his words. He always loved to say that with the grace of the Morninglord, every day is a chance at a new beginning. Maybe we've both looked back enough."

"Perhaps we have," he agreed.

"I can't help but think we may have so little time…"

"Lianna, nothing can hope to part us in this life or the next. I have only now, here with you, and that's enough." With that, I smiled and reached for him.

Under the linden
On the heather,
Where we had shared a place of rest,
Still you may find there,
Lovely together,
Flowers crushed and grass down-pressed.
Beside the forest in the vale,
Tándaradéi,
Sweetly sang the nightingale.

I came to meet him
At the green:
There was my truelove come before.
Such was I greeted —
Heaven's Queen! —
That I am glad for evermore.
Had he kisses? A thousand some:
Tándaradéi,
See how red my mouth's become.

There he had fashioned
For luxury
A bed from every kind of flower.
It sets to laughing
Delightedly
Whoever comes upon that bower;
By the roses well one may,
Tándaradéi,
Mark the spot my head once lay.

If any knew
He lay with me
(May God forbid!), for shame I'd die.
What did he do?
May none but he
Ever be sure of that — and I,
And one extremely tiny bird,
Tándaradéi,
Who will, I think, not say a word.

Translation of the 12th century Minnesang, "Under der Linden"
by Walther von der Vogelweide