Like summer, winter too was mild in the city of Neverwinter. The temperature dropped but remained just above freezing; only sometimes in severely cold seasons a mild blanket of snow descended but usually, the season passed with no further discomfort than the rain. On the rare occasion that the sun dispelled the slate gloom and graced the sky, many a citizen could be seen heading toward the park, picnic basket slung over one arm. Families gathered together when such days coincided with holidays and the park was crowded, the clamour of excited children rising above the trees.
On that particular weekly holiday however, even though the weather was unusually crisp for the time of year, and the sunlight bathed the city, the park was silent and bereft of children. Nevertheless a large gathering stood assembled upon the green, dressed in dark mourning hue and Lord Nasher himself stood in attendance next to the priest of Tyr, whose silver hair caught the sun most and shone like mercury.
"We are gathered here to solemnly lament the passing of a great soul. May the City of Judgement welcome our honoured sister." He read from the voluminous tome in his hands."Amen!" the crowd murmured.
"Kelemvor! Who judges the dead, be merciful to our Hero!" He pleaded.
"Amen!"
"Kelemvor, who is just and fair, forgive our sister's follies and judge her faithful. Spare her the torment of the Wall!"
"Amen"
"And may Chauntea who watches over the Mere, welcome a brave daughter of the tilled soil to her Realm." The grave, silver haired priest finished.
In the middle of the front row, with courtiers on either side stood Nevalle, least aware of the rather comely lady at his side who even at the funeral hoped to catch his eye, or of the brilliant weather, or even that Nasher himself observed him.
He only thought of a day months and months ago, when Captain Brelaina of the City Watch approached him with her rather extraordinary problem. He had been requested to dispense with tradition and take a young lieutenant of the Watch as his squire with immediate effect in order to save her from Luskan low justice.
Nevalle was traditional to the core, his father had served Nasher faithfully all his life and his father before him. Never in his entire life, had he bent or broken the rules by which he had been raised – the rites, rituals and traditions he followed and above all the devotion to duty he bore the City of Neverwinter and Lord Nasher, were very firmly entwined in his heart with the compassion, mercy and benevolence his mother indoctrinated within him. To ask that he dispense one for the former, as Brelaina at that point did, upset and unsettled him. His father deceased, he had only his old mentor to approach for advice, and the old sage had given him the most cryptic of answers. Ill at ease, he had reached Brelaina's office, still uncertain about what he was about to do.
Yet, when he first laid eyes on her, he knew. He knew her heart was compassionate and her manner kind, he knew the nobility of her heart as he knew himself. The doubts he harboured were dispelled and for the first time ever since Brelaina approached him, his conscience was at ease. He wanted to make her a Squire and knew she would one day be a Knight of the Realm. He had seen the fire in her brilliant, uncanny green eyes that reminded him of the spirit essences Master Quitoric had once brought to show in 9th grade Arcane Arts class at school.
Nevalle sighed and the dream dissolved. He looked up and regarded the elaborate sarcophagus that carried only her rapier, and the tattered, singed cloak – the only legacy she had left him.
--
It was a brilliantly clear day that summer, when newly appointed Captain, she had ridden with him to Crossroad Keep. A light breeze rustled through the foliage and brushed against his cheek and as he looked over at the figure upon the sable charger trotting beside his white steed, it was the first time that he felt that now familiar tug in the pit of his stomach.
Her neck, smooth and pale arched above the blue city watch cloak she had thrown over her shoulders. Her hair, always neatly and tightly twisted atop her head had become undone by the day's hard ride and tumbled across her shoulders in waves of rich hazelnut brown that caught the sun and gleamed with a cool gold lustre. He was caught, to his utter surprise, by the sudden desire to run his fingers through those locks and ringlets that cascaded down one side of her neck. The realisation filled him with colour and he struggled to look away but found himself unable to avert his eyes.
"Quite the sight, is she not?" The greycloak sergeant at his left wondered.
"Yes." Nevalle blurted, without even realising the soldier had referred to the Keep and not the woman.
--
Just in time to realise the service was over, Nevalle broke from his reverie and quickly dashed to take the rope from a City watchman and helped lower the sarcophagus into the earth.
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust." The cleric recited, sprinkling the casket with Holy Water as the ditch was filled up with earth.
Nevalle wiped his hands on his breeches, his heart torn in anguish as he watched the new monument eased over her grave. A smooth tall bronze obelisk, it bore a small silver plaque etched with the Neverwinter Eye at the top, followed by a brief epitaph:
"In Memory of the Lady of Crossroad Keep, whose courage stood between the Sword Coast and eternal Shadow:
Neverwinter basks in the light of the sun this day and honours her sacrifice."
The crowd begun to move and Nevalle fell in with the company that followed Nasher across the green and toward the carriage that waited for the ruler of Neverwinter. Once Nasher had left, the rest of the gathering quickly dispersed until the park fell silent and deserted once more. Nevalle appreciated the quiet and the solitude as he strolled back home, still occupied with his memories.
--
It was a brief moment in the battle at dawn. The Keep had been betrayed and the gates flung open while undead poured into the courtyard. At the very front of the battle, she stood armed with that legendary silver sword she had reforged with her will alone in one hand. How it flashed and struck down foe after foe. And in the other hand, the rapier enchanted by the might of Ammon Jerro's demonic friends, it blazed with the fire of the Nine Hells and torched the ghouls surrounding her with each blow.
She fought with the fury of an angry firestorm and the grace of a panther until the broken corpses of the enemy littered around her, but then Black Garius had materialised and summoned an avatar of the King of Shadows himself. Still, she charged at what was no more than a being of shadow, as Jerro and Zhjaeve recited from the Name Scroll. The Paladin, besmeared in blood, not all of it his own, chivalrously dashed to her side, Nevalle recalled with just the hint of resentment. Garius cast a spell and the whole Courtyard rumbled and shook as if a gigantic invisible Earth Elemental was stomping down upon them.
Nevalle saw her fall, knocked off her feet and he quickly cut through the Erineyes that battled him and ran to her side. She was unconscious and he remembered the sweet warmth of her body and her deliciously soft and pliable weight as he carried her out of harm's way. Locks of her hair, having escaped from their confines fell across her face and spilled over his arm. He remembered the slightly floral, woody, slightly earthy smell of her. Not at all like the frivolous ladies of the court he encountered all the time, drenched in fine perfumes and anointments. He brushed his thumb across her pale, slightly rosy cheek and laid her down upon the ground. The moment passed.
The recitation was complete and Casavir managed to smite the Nightwalker to oblivion. Black Garius fled. The battle was won. Dawn broke and washed away what remained of the undead army.
Her eyes fluttered open and Nevalle backed away as she rose to her feet, shaking off the daze and marching off to assess the damages.
The last time he saw her was in her main Hall of the Keep, later the same day. She spoke just a few short words to him, quietly thanking him for his support. He struggled to convey his true feelings to her, fought for the right words, the right pitch, the right tone. He grabbed her arm as she walked away and made her turn around and look at him one last time, yet all he could bring himself to say was a hoarse: "Please take care."
She stepped through the portal Aldanon had opened and vanished forever, and no amount of ale would bring her back.
--
--
"I wish to assign you to a very special mission, Sir Nevalle." Lord Nasher looked stern yet his face betrayed the concern he held for the broken young knight.
"My Lord, I will serve."
"Just yesterday, I received word from our concern in Rashemen. It seems there is some trouble brewing in that region."
"My Lord, Rashemen is thousands of leagues from Neverwinter and Thay would be ill-advised to regard the Sword Coast will ill-intent." Nevalle responded at once.
"True, and normally we, given our own recent woes, would hardly concern ourselves with such distant problems but I still wish you that you head over and report what you find for the description of the problem intrigues me somewhat, and I truly wish it thoroughly investigated."
"May I ask what has caused you to be concerned, my Lord." The young Knight enquired.
"You may, Nevalle, you may. Our man reports that an ancient dark evil threatens the land."
"Surely it could not be the King of Shadows resurfacing my Lord, our Lady of Crossroad gave her life to ensure he would trouble us no more." A twinge of pain sawed at his heartstrings even after all these months.
"Indeed, it may be something entirely different. Yet, the man reports, there are rumours that a person of great power, hailing from the Sword Coast region has also appeared and seems to be connected to this evil."
"But…it cannot be!" Nevalle's first thought was that Black Garius had somehow survived.
"I am not saying that it is anything to concern yourself about, Nevalle. If the problem involves one of ours, we should at least try and find out more. That is all that I wish of you. Besides, the travel should do you good. I fear if you do not involve yourself in something constructive, you will fall most terribly ill." Nasher declared with resoluton.
"My…my Lord! I shall do as you command."
