Chapter XI: The Chosen

Saradush exuded a great tenseness in the streets, the buildings, the people that Harrian had never before really seen. Trademeet and Imnesvale, when the party had been there in the past, had been filled with a certain taut air that kept one on their toes, but it was subtle, below the surface. Here, the city reeked of death and fear, and with great catapult shots hurtling into the streets intermittently, Harrian couldn't say he was overly surprised. But here they were, in a great unknown environment, and thus it was quite necessary to scout around to see what they could learn about the place. They also needed to do their best to find a way into Gromnir's keep.

It had been Reynald who suggested they break into pairs and report back in a few hours, so as to cover more of the city and attract less attention, which Harrian had thought was an excellent idea. But the actual forming of the pairs was more of a blur in his memory, which was why he was now walking the streets with Imoen by his side, Anomen and Jaheira having opted to take the northern district together, Sarevok and Reynald taking the river.

Fortunately, the two of them would probably present the least distinctive sight of all of the pairs. There was no hulking Sarevok in his huge armour, or Anomen with his shining plate to make a declaration of skill and wealth that would come as being intensely different in these surroundings. Harrian simply wore his shadow dragon scale, faintly indistinguishable as it was and covered by his cloak anyway. Imoen had left her elven chain behind in the rooms they had arranged for themselves back at the inn and was looking even more 'normal' then he was – she was doubtless the member of the party who could be the most deadly with the least amount of equipment.

He gave his sister a brief, sideways glance as they meandered down the streets, trying not to attract attention to themselves. Her eyes were downcast, watching the uneven cobblestones as if to ensure she didn't stumble. Harrian wasn't fooled; the agile Imoen wouldn't be unbalanced by anything as simple as rough paving. If anything, she was more aware than he was, especially in an urban environment.

But to his surprise, it was she that started up the conversation, and Harrian figured she must have realised he was ready to press his concern but she wished to do the directing of the talk rather than be interrogated.

"Is this how you expected things to go?" she said, looking up at him as they turned a corner into another one of the broad, empty streets of Saradush. "When you sneaked away from Suldanessellar, I mean?"

Harrian made a slight grimace, knowing that now she was deliberately being difficult just so that he couldn't pressure her. "Of course not, Immy, you know that. I wasn't expecting us to end up here. I've said as much before. How many more times do you want me to say it?" Irritation crept into his voice, unbidden and uncontrolled.

"Perhaps until you actually say it in a way which explains suitably why you sneaked away like you did," Imoen replied tersely, paying more attention to their surroundings now. They had wandered for an hour or so now, but had not found anywhere distinctive in this city. It was turning to death before their very eyes.

"I've said why as well," Harrian insisted, wrapping his cloak around him a little more. "Some things are my own business. I don't mean that in a horrible way, but… I didn't know what to expect from the grove. If it was something ground-shuddering, I wanted to find out on my own terms and deal with it myself before you all found out, instead of having to deal with the news and your reactions at once. That's something you can understand, isn't it? Worrying what others will think about surprising news?" He couldn't quite keep the unfair edge out of his voice.

Imoen faltered a little. "I…" She shook her head, before resuming her confident stride. "The situation's different. My little secret didn't turn our existence upside down. You were walking into an unknown situation without our help or even knowledge. That's… dangerous, Harrian. In these times." Her voice was more angry than concerned.

"I wasn't keeping a secret," Harrian defended himself truthfully. "And are you more annoyed about me not telling the party, or about me not telling you?"

She came to a halt at last, rounding on him with a bristling, indignant air he was unused to from her. "I'm your sister, Harrian, in more ways than one. So not only is it that you don't trust me, but you seem to think that matters of the Children of Bhaal affect you, and you only."

Harrian blinked, suddenly a little clueless. He hadn't quite expected this vein of anger, which made enough sense to him that he suddenly felt very ashamed. "I… it's not like that, Imoen," he started weakly.

"No?" She took a step back, her expression crumpling before she resumed walking. He fell into step beside her uncertainly. "I know you've been looking out for me since about forever. And I know you're finding it hard to understand that I don't necessarily need looking after. But I'm not the lost little kid anymore, Harrian. I can take care of myself."

"I know!" Harrian declared indignantly. "I have never coddled you in battle or in the party. I know perfectly well that there are many areas you can best me, and I'm fully aware that the party needs you to operate as it does. I don't treat you like a little kid!"

"Correction," Imoen started slowly. "My foster-brother doesn't treat me as a little kid. Sure, he gets a bit protective sometimes, but I know that's concern, not hovering. The party leader doesn't treat me as a little kid either. He recognises I'm a powerful mage and a dangerous rogue." She gave him a short, sideways glance which almost rocked him with its impact. "But the Bhaalspawn doesn't recognise that I, another Child of Bhaal, needs no more sheltering than he. I may not have been aware of my heritage for as long as you, Harrian, but the time of dealing with the unknown voices has, I think, also given me an edge over you."

"I didn't think I was protecting you," Harrian said with fatigue, half-closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. "Just that… Imoen, the prophecies aren't revolving around you!"

"What makes you so sure?" Imoen demanded, and for the first time he realised that it wasn't just anger that was motivating her. Fear ran strong, too. "Don't you remember the fight in Hell against Irenicus? Because I certainly do!"

Now they were getting vague glances from passers-by. In the short wanderings, Harrian had worked out one thing about the people of Saradush. They could be split into two categories: the Bhaalspawn, and those who feared and hated the Bhaalspawn. Harrian really didn't want a run-in with either category when there was a discussion like this afoot. But Imoen could clearly not be budged.

He took a deep breath. "Did it cross your mind that I'm an interfering fool?" he asked quietly, contritely.

"No, Harrian, I never considered that you made decisions for other people without even letting them know," Imoen snapped, becoming sarcastic in her fury. "But whilst you could have got away with it before, now isn't the time to hold back. Destiny's running rampant, the time of the prophecies is at hand. Don't you think that I have the right to decide for myself what my part will be – to whatever extent fate will let me?"

"Alright!" Harrian replied firmly, throwing his hands up in the air. "It's just… Imoen, I know I'm wrong. I know. But I… I didn't want this fate. I don't want to have the prophecies revolving around whether or not I'm going to die or bring back Bhaal. I don't want the nightmares, or the bloodlusts. But I can't change it. And I know I can't change it for you either, but… can't you just acknowledge that I wanted to be able to?"

There was a long pause as they stared at each other, stuck in a whirling maelstrom of emotions. Then Imoen finally broke the silence, speaking quietly – so Harrian knew full well just how much he'd managed to screw this up. "You need to stop making decisions for me. And for the rest of the party. Because right now, Harrian, times are rapidly ceasing to become forgiving enough to tolerate you being a difficult ass."

"I'm not an ass," he said vaguely defensively, and rather pathetically. "I… look, I had my reasons, Imoen," he continued, finding some strength in his voice. "And I have the right to not have my life splashed across in front of everyone. You're my friends, my family, yes… but I don't ask any of the others to bare their soul to me the way mine gets thrown out in front of everyone."

"Now's not the time for privacy!" Imoen declared. "The time for that comes when we're not fighting for our lives constantly. When all of this is over. If it ever is…" Her voice trailed off. "I… I don't want to lecture you, Harrian. I can't do it, for one." A slight, familiar and endearing smile tugged at her lips. "I know what you mean. I spent three months hiding the truth from most people, remember?"

"Oh, I remember," Harrian said, but more wryly than accusingly. "And I remember the chaos it nearly caused." He nodded slowly. "Come on, big sis. These are hard times. We're all going to mess up from time to time." He looked a little pathetic.

"Not too much, I hope, or they won't be hard times for very long at all." Imoen shook her head, then punched him lightly on the arm, chuckling a little. "You know how you get through the difficult bits of life, Harrian? By turning to your friends."

"Hypocrite."

"No, just someone who learned from their mistakes," Imoen replied, looking a little more serious. "But… hey, let's head back to the inn," she said at last, shaking her head. "Get another ale. Wait for the others to get back."

"Hmm. Yeah. I guess it's somebody else's turn to chew me out next," Harrian mumbled, making a wry face.

"Don't worry. Jaheira will just kill you. I'm sure it'll be painless," Imoen chuckled. "She has a right to."

"I… I know. But I don't think she's angry," Harrian admitted. "There's… something else there. She just seems… distant. Odd. And not as if she's trying to resist yanking my head off. Just as if she doesn't know what to do. And that's not a general state of affairs for Jaheira."

"I'm not the one to ask, though, am I?" Imoen pointed out wryly.

"Where in the Hells did Agony Aunt Imoen with the moral high ground come from?" Harrian snapped at last with exasperation. "You're practically forcing Anomen away with a stick and he's running around like a lost puppy not knowing why!"

"Now, that's unfair, Harrian, I –"

"No, it's fair," he interrupted, stepping in front of her, his expression and voice softening. "So you know what we'll do? Both talk to who needs to be talked to tonight. Because if we want to get through our fates looming ahead, we need a strong party. A party not split by personal problems." He extended his hand towards her. "Deal?"

Imoen considered this a moment, looking rather sheepish, then she shook his hand. "Alright. Deal."