I've had a lot of hits and favourites over the past week - thank you so much! I'm glad things are picking up and that people are enjoying this. It's going to be a long ride, and I hope you enjoy it!

It may be a bit before the next chapter; I'm going to want to replay some of the game to make sure I have all of my ducks in a row. I promise I'll update as soon as I can, however.


Ch. 9, Wizard, Meet Paladin - In which our heroine returns, and the hero finds more than one thing to disorder his thoughts.

Gwyn was glad to take second watch when Casavir woke her, for her dreams were disordered and disturbing. She sat for a time, staring at the fire, trying to reorganize her thoughts. As for keeping her feelings for Sand hidden, well – it would not be as hard as perhaps it sounded. She'd known from a young age that her foster father cared nothing for her, but she'd also known that to show how badly that fact hurt her would only cause things to be more uncomfortable. She loved him, in her own way – he was the only family she'd known, for although Bevil's mother, Retta, had stepped into a mother's role many times, it wasn't the Starling household little Gwyndeth went home to every evening. She tempered her love as well, however – for she could tell that it, too, would make Daeghun uncomfortable – and so she'd been hiding such things for as long as she could remember.

A small part of her mind found her situation almost amusing; she remembered Amie's nights of self-torture over whether Bevil loved her when, in Gwyn's eyes, it was completely obvious that he did. Her friend had always been fond of drama, and she had lived in a way that suggested that sometimes she thought herself a heroine in one of the many romance novels she loved to read. Gwyn, however, was the opposite. Quiet and subdued, there would be no fevered weeping, no nights of agony. She knew Sand did not love her, and she accepted that fact. The pain that knowledge caused her might be considerable, but there was no reason to broadcast it to the world. Which is lucky, because there are no secrets in this camp, and I can only imagine the mess Grobnar would make of it trying to tell Sand. He's well-meaning, but whoever made him left common sense completely out of the mixture.

The others rose soon after dawn – even Neeshka, who had a soft spot for Grobnar's sausage and egg breakfasts – and they were on the road before the sun was far above the horizon. Between Casavir's healing, Grobnar's cooking, and his own sense of determination, Issani was already in much better shape and was able to keep up with them surprisingly well for someone who looked like an inveterate scholar.

The day was ordinary and when the sun set they were still a few hours from Old Owl Well; after a consultation with Issani and Casavir, Gwyn decided to push on. "After all, there shouldn't be many, if any, orc patrols left, and they've got tents at the Greycloak camp." The mention of tents brought a wry smile to her face; she remembered what Sand had said when she'd asked him to accompany them. It's good he didn't come. He would have hated this and I will bet you that between Grobnar's incessancy and Sand's complaining we wouldn't have had a minute's silence. He's such a cat. Ayree switched Gwyn across the ankles with her tail, and her mistress laughed, then sighed. I still wish he was here.


It was a little before midnight when they finally walked – or staggered, as it had been a long day – into the Greycloak camp. By the time a guard had been dispatched to pull Callum out of his tent, more than half of the camp had woken up and the next thing Gwyn knew there were two shouts of 'Casavir!' from two opposite directions.

Callum was nearer and so reached them first, although Katriona was a close second. "You daft idiot!" the dwarf roared, laughing as he clapped the paladin on the back. "I should have known it was you out there – I wish I had known it was you! We probably could have done a lot better if our forces had been able to join up earlier!"

Casavir shook his head. "I had to do it alone, Callum. You know my feelings about Neverwinter."

Callum sighed. "Aye, I do. You know that no matter what the others said, I-" he looked at Gwyn, then at Casavir, and shook his own head. "Nevermind. But is this the emissary? I see you were successful beyond my expectations!"

Out of the corner of her eye, Gwyn saw Katriona come running up to stand just behind the group, biting her lip with an anxious light in her eyes. Their gaze met, and Gwyn gave her a quiet nod, then stepped up to the commander. "Callum, we've done more than that – Logram and Yaisog are both dead." The dwarf spluttered and she motioned towards the briefing tent. "I've got their emblems and banners, so let's sit down and we'll tell you all about it?"

He nodded and turned away and Gwyn took that chance to turn to Casavir, who was blinking at her. "I believe your captain deserves a bit of your time, Cas. She has been waiting patiently for some days now, and deserves to know that you and her people are now safe."

"Oh, of course." The paladin's expression cleared and Gwyn turned again to Katriona, who looked surprised, then returned Gwyn's previous nod, showing a new, wary measure of appreciation. Gwyn did not stay to see how their meeting went; she knew that it was none of her business.


Callum was so relieved that the orc problem had been taken care of that he ordered one of the camp's few actual stone structures to be prepared for Gwyn and her party to use until they departed. A long discussion was had, with Casavir reappearing halfway through; it was decided that, since the orc threat was assuaged, most of the camp – with a few troops left to help patrol and watch for stragglers – would pack the next day and leave for Neverwinter. Issani agreed to go with the Greycloaks once he'd been assured that he could send an earlier message by courier; Gwyn took him aside after the meeting and asked if he would allow her to also send a letter, to which he readily agreed.

She had planned to send two notes – one to Duncan and one to Sand. She wrote her uncle's first, then started on the second; six torn sheets of parchment later, she reopened the first and added a postscript. "P.S. If you see Sand, please give him my regards and let him know that we're all well. Tell him I really miss his cooking, and him as well (to some extent)." She chuckled. That should make him laugh. And really, what else can I say?

Gwyn was just re-sealing the letter when there came a knock at her door. She opened it with 'Grobnar, I'll deal with it in the morning, so go to bed,' on her tongue, but blinked as she saw Katriona standing on the doorstep. Recovering quickly, the mage stepped back. "Please, come in?"

The captain nodded and followed Gwyn inside, looking uncomfortable but matter-of-fact. Gwyn offered a chair, but Katriona refused; she also shook her head at an offered mug of tea. Taking a breath, she got quickly to the point.

"I spoke with Casavir... thank you for giving me that opportunity." Gwyn nodded. "I asked him to stay – he has done so much for us that he will always have a place here, and we could use his help to rebuild. He says, however, that he is promised to you." Her gaze was questioning and close to hostile, but it was apparent that she was trying to temper her resentment.

Gwyn, who'd reseated herself at her desk, put her head in her hand, her elbow resting on the papers, and pinched the bridge of her nose in weariness. "Oh Mystra, he is not promised to me. I will have a word with him and-"

Katriona cut her off, shaking her head. "No. I – he has not told me of his past, but I know he has a history with Neverwinter. If you tell him to stay he may, for he seems to be eager to obey your orders – but he would never be happy. I don't want Casavir out of duty." Her face was red at the end of this statement, and the last words came out quickly. She paused for a moment, looking defiantly at Gwyn. "Help him face his past if you care for him at all."

"I don't-" Gwyn flushed. "I don't feel that way for Casavir, but I do consider him a friend. I will talk to him about this – I think he's making a mistake – and I'm sure-"

"I don't want your pity," Katriona said, coldly. Gwyn flushed again and the captain winced. "I'm sorry. But I've loved Casavir since I met him – I'm sure you've noticed, if he hasn't – and I don't want the woman who walked in and captured his gaze to condescend to me."

Gwyn took a deep breath. 'It's not me, it's just what he thinks is me' is what she wanted to say, but she knew that right now it would sound demeaning. Instead, she merely apologized. "I understand, and I am sorry, Katriona. That isn't how I meant it. All I can say is that I want him to come to terms as much as you do. Whether you believe it or not – or care – I can tell you that I am in somewhat of the same position as you are."

The captain gave her another long look, then nodded again. "This is, then, ideal for neither of us, but maybe something good will come of it, eventually." Turning, she walked back towards the door. "Thank you for your time, Lieutenant. I hope we can meet another time under better circumstances."

After Katriona left, Gwyn sat back in her chair, sighing at Ayree. Her familiar purred, and Gwyn sighed. "Maybe this side excursion to the Ironfist stronghold will bring some semblance of sanity back to this group – Mystra knows I could use it!"


A week later, they finally left the dwarven valley, leaving behind a camp of dwarves and a large family headache. Gwyn found herself wondering if she'd perhaps been mistaken in her definition of sanity.

They'd found the old stronghold, all right – after finding a group of Khelgar's clan who were none too happy at seeing their errant relation again. They had challenged him, saying not only that he had no right to search, but that he wouldn't have the stones to try; Gwyn's group had not only been able to locate the ruins but had also managed to drive out the resident ogres and claim the Gauntlets of Ironfist, relics belonging to Khelgar's clan from their long-gone years of glory.

They'd finally parted with the dwarves somewhat mollified and Khelgar somewhat thoughtful; it seemed as if perhaps he was a little closer to meeting some of the 'know thyself' tests set upon him by the brothers at the Temple of Tyr.

All Gwyn knew, however, was that she was tired, and wanted to go home.


It took them another fortnight to return to Neverwinter, thanks to more rain; all told it had been two months since they'd originally left and Gwyn never thought she'd be so relieved to see the city, rising in the distance. They made it back to the Flagon just before noon; Duncan was very glad to see them, but Gwyn was less than thrilled to see that Qara was still around. There was also a lanky individual who introduced himself – with a leer – as Bishop; he seemed to be of the wilderness persuasion so she wasn't sure why he was there, but apparently he had business with Duncan. She just shook her head and went off to report to Captain Breilana at Watch Headquarters.

The Captain had been more than pleased at Issani's safe arrival and the report he'd given; while no one was happy that it had taken so long, the fact that the orcs had also been destroyed was a boon in Gwyn's favour and allowed the Captain to turn a blind eye to the fact that she'd returned a week and a half after the emissary. Gwyn was was also given another week's rest, and told that once she reported back they'd see about letting her into Black Lake. She chafed at this delay, but not as hard as perhaps she might once have; she was weary, and glad of a rest – and was hoping to spend a little time with Sand.

On her way back to the inn she had the urge to go by his shop, but she felt oddly shy about it, and decided instead to go home, have a long bath, and take a nap. She and Ayree both slept until supper time; her familiar was anxious to see Jaral, so Gwyn told her they'd go after everyone had eaten.

The Flagon was lively now. They'd started with Gwyn, Khelgar, Neeshka, and Elanee; with Casavir, Grobnar, and Qara added to the party, and Bishop still hanging around – gods, don't tell me Duncan owes some stupid debt again. He gets into the worst financial troubles – the main room was constantly in a dull uproar. After cooking something for those of her fellows that didn't wish to indulge in inn food, Gwyn sat at the fire, eating with Casavir. Bishop, for some reason, decided to join them and this put the paladin on edge – which Gwyn appreciated. I don't feel safe around that man, and I'm glad of company when he's nearby. He seems altogether like a predator. He's spent the entire evening leering at me and making snide remarks.

Just as she'd come back from taking the dishes to the kitchen, Ayree perked up and shot across the room. Gwyn felt her pulse quicken ever-so-slightly, but sat back down as if nothing was unusual, and tried to keep her mind on what Casavir was saying. I'm a fool. There's a very good chance I will see Sand and after two months find that there's nothing there anymore.

Then the door opened and her head shot up; seeing Sand step inside with a puzzled look on his face – more than likely thanks to Grobnar, who was singing at the top of his lungs – she broke out into a smile. He smiled back and she stepped past Casavir to meet him. "Sand! I was going to come by later and see you, once I was able to get everything settled."


After puzzling over the odd song - really? Whitethistle? - Sand finally pushed the door open and was gratified when Gwyn turned to look and immediately smiled upon seeing him. Pointedly ignoring the daggers he could feel Qara glaring towards him, he picked his way through the tables, dodging both the gnome – who seemed to be performing a complicated dance on one foot in the middle of the floor – and also Jaral, who was off like a shot to find Ayree.

Gwyn stood, taking his hands and looking very much like she'd like to hug him – which he didn't think he'd have minded - with an expression that plainly begged save me. "Sand! I was going to come by later and see you, once I was able to get everything settled."

The paladin stepped forward. "Begging your pardon, my lady, but it's late and you shouldn't be outside at night in this weather."

She sighed. "Thank you, Cas, but I'll be fine, really. And I thought we'd already settled the 'my lady' thing. Relax – we don't have to worry about orcs now, so you don't have to be so nervous."

The paladin bowed. "Of course, mi- er, Gwyndeth." He then bowed again, this time to Sand.

Gwyn opened her mouth – to introduce them, Sand assumed – but was interrupted as Bishop swaggered up; Sand couldn't describe the man's movements in any other way. "She's not your lady anyhow, paladin."

Again gratified, this time to see the immediate wariness jump into Gwyn's eyes as Bishop spoke, Sand rolled his eyes. Gwyn tried again to introduce the two, but the paladin had turned to glare at Bishop, who was saying something else in a taunting voice. Gwyn – who was already looking peaked after her long trip and as if she'd lost some weight – winced and sighed.

Sand rarely gave into impulse, but at Gwyn's sigh, he looked around the room, sent a ~poke~ at Jaral, then bowed to Gwyn. "I'm glad you're back; I have an experiment I need help with, and it's rather urgent." She blinked at him, and started to speak, but before she could say anything he took her wrist and led her rapidly towards the door. His common sense was enraged. Are you mad, Sand? What in Faerun are you doing? He ignored it.

He stopped when they were outside – away from the blinks and stares of the others in the room – and started to laugh. Gwyn looked at him for a moment, then joined him. "What was that?"

Shaking his head, Sand just glared at her. "Two months and no word? We thought you'd died!"

"It's not like there were postboxes every five feet! Besides, we were up to our elbows in orcs. And I did send a postscript! I was finally able to send Duncan a letter after we found the emissary, and I let my uncle know we'd be a bit later – we went looking for dwarven ruins – and I told him to tell you that we were fine and that I missed your cooking."

Sand found himself flushing ever so slightly at this, but he just glared. "Duncan – that drunken reprobate! He didn't say anything, and I've been by weekly to bring him his purgative." He shrugged. "Oh well, no matter. What that was, was that you looked as if you were tired and needed a break – and to be honest, you needed to be away from Bishop. Your paladin friend can handle him."

Her face sobered. "It's not just me, then? Bishop seems very suspicious, in my opinion."

"He's a villain who has absolutely no morals and fewer scruples. Let him devour Qara and you stay away from him, if you'll take my advice, which you should."

She nodded, and they began to walk back to his shop; an awkward silence threatened but she forestalled it by turning to him and asking, "So, how have you been? I know Jaral's fine, Ayree babbled for a bit and then dropped off the radar. I'm sure they're following, but I don't particularly feel like checking."

Sand chuckled dryly. "Indeed, I feel much the same. But if they wish to be fools, let them. And I've been fine, though I will admit that it has been a bit dull around here."

Gwyn grinned. "As I get the feeling that's the only way in which I'll ever hear you say, 'I missed you', I'll take it. And as I told Duncan to tell you, I missed you too. You should have come along! We had so much rain I don't think I'll ever feel dehydrated again."

She expected a snort and a 'No thank you,' but Sand just shook his head. "Hopefully, you won't have to go on that sort of a journey again. And I assume they'll be letting you into Black Lake soon?"

"Mmm, I've been given a week off, and then when I report back they'll have some business for me there."

He grinned. "A week off? Excellent, because my alchemical experiments are sorely lacking for want of a second opinion."

Once they got to his shop, Sand made tea and Gwyn sat back, truly relaxing for the first time in months. She watched him as he bustled around, and realized that no, two months had changed absolutely nothing in her feelings. But to be honest, I'm happy right now. I don't know what's going on with these shards, and I don't know what my immediate future entails. Anything more would be stress; right now things are just about perfect. Now, if I could go back tonight and find that Khelgar and Neeshka have stopped bickering, Qara has left, and Duncan has somehow sobered up, I do believe life would be perfect.

Did she believe herself? Not completely, but at least it sounded good.


Sand handed Gwyn her tea and was happy to see her settle back and loosen up, as if a weight were finally off her shoulders. He started with small talk, and she was soon telling him about the journey. He found himself speechless – possibly for the first time in at least fifty years – at her depiction of the first conversation she had with Grobnar.

Her conversation frequently dwelt on the paladin, whose name was Casavir, and he found himself feeling a little impatient as it drew on. Damn paladin thinks he's found a new cause, and someone to protect. Gwyn can protect herself.

His ego jeered. Jealous?

He snorted, mentally. As if. Considering how much injustice really is happening out there – as close as in the streets of this very city – he could certainly find something else to devote himself to and stop wasting our time. Pushing the thoughts back, he focused again on Gwyn, who was describing the shadow priest they'd dealt with, and his attention sharpened. "Wait, worshipping the King of Shadows, you said? And you've run into them before? Mystra, why didn't you mention them?"

She grimaced at him. "I'd forgotten, all right? After all, with little githlings ambushing me from around every corner, it's not like I can remember every enemy I've fought! I did, however, sit down that night and write out everything I could remember about them." She brought out her spellbook as he nodded approvingly, carefully tore out two or three pages, and handed them to him.

Pulling out his spectacles, he read over the pages briefly, and then tapped his fingers on his lips. "Well, I'll want to do some research, of course. The symbology, their phrasing – I've got a volume somewhere detailing the King of Shadows, the Shadow War, and sundry connected subjects; I've read it once, but I think this may shed a new light on it. I'll start tonight when I go to bed."

Gwyn nodded, slipping her spellbook back into her robes and sitting back to finish her tea. He offered her some wine, but she shook her head. "No, no. Not for a day or two; right now I feel too worn out – rather paper-thin, actually."

She does look tired. I think I'll make some restorative potions tonight and bring them by. Athelas, juniper, and fireflower are all good for balance and revitalization. I do feel a bit guilty; if I had gone, at least there would have been two adults taking care of the children.

Well, what about Casavir? He seems relatively mature.

If he's so mature, then she shouldn't be so worn out. All the more reason to bring him to task.

Eventually, her story was finished and he started to tell her about the goings-on in the Docks, what little there had been, now that Moire was gone. He'd had to deal with Torio once, but it had actually been rather amusing – she'd managed to say something spectacularly ridiculous in front of Nasher and Sand told it in such a way that Gwyn was laughing helplessly before too long.

"Well, you've a week off, at least. Come by, we'll catch up, and see what kind of experiments we can get to. I've had a few thoughts on the use of burdock root instead of horsehair fern when making curatives and I wanted your help in setting that up."

She nodded and was just standing when there came a knock at the door. Sand went to open it and found, to his extreme annoyance, Casavir standing on his doorstep. "Pardon me, but is Gwyndeth here?"

Gwyn walked up at that point. "Cas? What are you doing here?"

Casavir looked a bit grim. "It's late, and we were worried. After what happened with that false emissary, I swore I'd watch out for you, you know."

Sand blinked. "What happened with the false emissary? Gwyn said you just found him out as he was trying to steal your supplies."

The paladin blinked, looked at Gwyn in confusion – Sand turned his head just in time to catch her waving her hands in a 'No no no really no' gesture – and then shook his head. "Did she not tell you? He tried to take her hostage, nearly slitting her throat, and-"

"AND you were there to help get me out of it, he's dead, and I'm fine. That's enough of that and really, Cas, I'm fine and you can go home now."

Meanwhile, at the words 'hostage' and 'slitting her throat' Sand felt the blood drain from his face – indeed, from his whole body, it seemed – and he turned around to see that Gwyn was looking at him with an embarrassed wince that said 'I really didn't want to tell you'. He said nothing – could not think of what to say that wouldn't come out completely wrong, especially in front of a bystander – and she reached for her cloak, looking chagrined.

"I'll, uh- it's late, and I should really get back. It's been a long day and all that. I'll, uh- see you tomorrow?"

Sand nodded, bowing but not trusting his voice, and Casavir looked between the two of them, his confusion even greater. Gwyn picked up Ayree, who had reluctantly come downstairs, and after a troubled look at Sand, she and Casavir left.

After the door was closed, Sand finally let out the breath he'd been holding. Sweet Mystra, I should have been there. Leave it to some muscle-bound paladin to save her, after all – no, that's unfair, and if he hadn't been there... he shuddered. I have to get the details, but don't tell me – she doesn't know silent casting? What was that fool of a false 'mentor' thinking, not to teach her that as soon as possible?

Forcing himself to calm down – after all, she's safe, and I've no reason to be upset, no reason at all – he poured himself a glass of wine and after digging through his library, found the tome on the King of Shadows that he'd mentioned to her. He'd read it once, when she first told him the origin of the shards, but it had shed no light; still, he was determined to get through it again. Pulling out the notes she'd given him earlier, he reviewed them; however, turning the last page over he saw something scribbled in the bottom margins, then crossed out, and he blinked.

"Eyes so pale beneath the moonlight; will they ever look at me?" What on- did Gwyn write this? He turned the page to compare the handwriting and lo, it was definitely hers – she trailed her 'y' and 'g' characters in an unmistakable fashion. Is this – don't tell me she's actually fallen for that muscle-bound paladin!

Turning the pages quickly over, he went back to the book, trying to focus on the actual information in her notes. He was far less attentive than usual, however, and found his mind continually drifting. Finally, about a third of the way through, he shut the book, blew out the candles, and curled up to go to sleep.


As always, the characters belong to Bioware except for Gwyndeth Farlong and Ayree, who belong to me.