Ivan was on a mission. He tiptoed ever so quietly down the stairs to the dungeon, the tiny candle in his hand the only light. Gracefully he avoided little puddles of water that had condensed on the cool rock of the underground tunnels and slid down to the dank floors, and he kept any eye out for any leftover traps that Jalerom had missed. There likely weren't any, but Amber would be upset if he returned to her with even a scratch, so he paid extra attention.
He maneuvered past the cages and the immense pile of decaying corpses that Simula, the Warden, and Aymer had collected and discarded. Ivan forced himself not to look too closely nor inhale the pungent smells of the dead and pressed forward. His mission involved a particular body, one that had been left separate for reasons he did not know nor care to understand.
Dodging drops of muddy water, he finally found the little area where the unnamed human bard – whom Ivan had begun to call Phineas (or Finn for short) in order to give him some sort of respectful name – had been abandoned. Ivan used the candle he had brought to light the torch in the room, and it illuminated the body brilliantly. He looked over at the object of his quest sadly. Phineas looked as though he had been tortured if the gashes on his remaining flesh and the healing breaks in his exposed bone were any indication. His clothing – bright green and yellow troubadour-wear like Ivan had seen in Gatless Town – was torn and grimy as if he had been made to do everything in them.
The little gnome sighed and pulled out the shovel he had brought in order to complete his task. He pierced the dirt at his feet and began to dig.
"He's a funny little thing, my dear gnome, isn't he, Faerthurin?" a deep comforting male voice asked from behind where the elf was sitting, pouring over notes and diaries. Fae yelped at the sudden break in her concentration, dropping her book and sending her notes flying. She quickly spun around, but there was no one there. She placed a hand over her heart and took some deep breaths, willing it to calm down.
Perhaps I shall take Jalerom up on that offer to take a break, she mused as she collected the scattered materials.
"Listen for the music, Faerthurin," the voice whispered again, and Fae stiffened. The voice was only vaguely familiar, but she could feel a certain authority attached to it. She looked around again; not even Lucid had joined her today, opting to shadow Jalerom in the court, so she had no idea where the voice was coming from. She shuddered, muttered a quick prayer to Corellon, and resumed her reading.
Viz'itov was not going to unmeld themselves, and she was close to a breakthrough, she could feel it.
Ivan had been working for two hours when he finally set his shovel aside and took a seat next to the wall. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face; though the underground cavern was fairly cool, the activity had warmed him up much more than he was used to. He took off his vest and lute, rested his poor tired arms on his bent knees, and leaned his soft, white-blonde haired head against the rock wall.
Phineas deserved more than just a two-foot hole in the ground, but Ivan was not equipped to give it to him. He was just determined to do what he could.
After a quick rest, Ivan stood, rolled up his sleeves, and carefully walked over to the body. Trying his very best not to grimace out of respect for poor Phineas, he began to drag the corpse to the hole, attempting to slowly and carefully place him in his shallow grave. Gently, Ivan tugged on his legs, then a little on the torso or arms, so that the decaying parts would not come off the whole. He succeeded in getting the legs into the hole, though there was a brief scare when he thought the hips had detached from the spine when the legs hit the floor of the hole before the torso. Ivan then scrambled out and began pushing from Phineas's shoulders to get the rest of him in.
In perhaps the only time he actually regretted his small size and strength, it took him many mighty heaves before Phineas was fully in the freshly-dug grave. Ivan breathed a quick sigh of relief and wiped he didn't want to know what from his hands and onto his pants. Finally smiling, he picked up his lute and positioned himself beside the grave.
"I hope this makes you smile, wherever you are," he whispered kindly, and the gentle chords of Song of the Sun began to echo through the cavern.
Faerthurin was reaching her breaking point. A month and a half had passed with no breaks and no results, and she was beyond aggravated. She was missing a key piece of the separation spell – a word in order to safely sever their newly-entwined souls – and she had meticulously studied every book she could get her hands on, including both Arkoth Wormwood and Simula's own personal diaries. She had even searched through Aymer's notes, but his ravings were harder for her to decipher and she was kicking herself for it.
She pushed the thick tome of forbidden spells her father had collected away from her, and a tear leaked from her eye in frustration and anguish. She couldn't do it. She had failed. Closing her eyes, she folded herself in half and laid her head in her arms on the desk.
A moment passed before the melody registered in her mind. Her pointed ears perked up, easily placing the song.
Ivan?
Desperate for a distraction from her misery and drawn by the song, she bolted out of the morbid library and searched frantically for the music. It was so sweet and almost fragrant, and soon she came upon the gnome standing over the body of the bard they had discovered weeks ago. It appeared he had dug a grave himself and was now playing his most sacred song to send the poor soul off. Fae's whole being softened and she felt the song give her a renewed sense of purpose.
Dear Ivan, he is a funny little thing, but he is by far the most necessary, she thought, a slight sense of déjà vu coming over her, and she turned around to see if anyone was behind her again.
"Fae?" she heard Ivan say as he continued to play. She turned back to look at him and saw that, though he smiled, tears spilled down his cheeks. Fae walked up beside him and joined him in his funeral vigil, humming along with the sound of his lute. She closed her eyes and let herself cry as well. For the poor bard, the creatures sacrificed to the experiments, the people of Directian used for the ritual, those lost to the demons, and Simula's unborn child, her tears flowed freely and hard.
The song ended and Fae couldn't help herself; she knelt down and wrapped Ivan in a hug. Immediately he hugged back, squeezing as tightly as his tiny gnome body would let him, and whispered, "It'll be okay. We'll make it okay again. Their souls are safe from harm, and we will make the mortal plane better."
She nodded into his shoulder and took a shaky breath. It was as if something clicked into place in her mind and she suddenly stood, bringing Ivan with her. She held him out in front of her, shook him happily, and said, "That's it! That's it, I have it!" Without putting him down, she bolted to her workshop.
"Have what?" Ivan asked from her grip, holding on for dear life to both his lute and her arm.
"I have the words for the spell! I just have to reverse the draconic words for 'safe passage of soul' and add in a couple of elvish syllables and then it will be ready!" she squealed giddily, bursting into the room and making a beeline for her desk. She placed Ivan on the desk, quickly flipped through one of her draconic language books, and scratched out a few words in her own notes. Then she scribbled a few sigils that Ivan couldn't really read and, after looking over her work, hugged him again.
"I can separate them now, Ivan! Thank you! Thank you and your wonderful song!" she cried, and Ivan patted her head as she hugged him.
"Happy to help!" he chirped, and she released him as her adrenaline wore off and her awkwardness returned. With an embarrassed smile, she helped him off the desk, and the two headed back to the room where the bard lay, ready to be buried.
However, when they arrived, the grave had already been filled in. What's more, a headstone had been erected bearing the name "Ergard P. Finault of Kord". And below that was a beautiful sun carved into the stone. Both elf and gnome were speechless, but they smiled.
"Thank you, Pelor," Ivan whispered, and Fae nodded as it dawned on her that the old deity had likely been the one whose voice she heard.
"Yes, thank you, Pelor," she agreed, and the two of them soon left the dungeon to find the ones they loved. Their hearts had been lightened of a burden, and they wanted to share it.