Author's Note: Thanks to work in real life settling down slightly (for a short while, at least), I decided to make the mostof the time I had to update; and so, this time around -- as the chapter has already informed you -- we meet a very shiny man with a very deep pride of his city.
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Sleep will not come to this tired body now
Peace will not come to this lonely heart
There are some things I'll live without
But I want you to know, that I need you right now
I need you tonight
-- Smashing Pumpkins, In The Arms Of Sleep
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Xan was jumpy. Well, more jumpy than normal, which was certainly saying something. The slightest rustle of a branch above him, or the crack of a twig underfoot was enough to make his eyes dart to the source, almost as if he expected an army of assassins to flood out from the undergrowth and bring about their swift deaths. Of course, knowing his luck this might not be so far from the truth.
It had started that morning while they were still in Beregost... while they were still in their room, indeed. The shared reverie had been pleasant, if a little telling; Xan had found himself being carried along by Nuila as she spent her quiet days in the fortress, fading from memory to memory. Childish pranks with Imoen featured highly, but he was pleased to see there were a fair number of recollections about lessons learnt at the hands of the monks. The girl had been a voracious reader and would quiz whichever tutor she came across as soon as she finished a tome about the information she'd picked up.
He wondered what she could have done if she'd put her mind to it. Certainly, the ability to understand, to learn, was there, but the practice... Many of the memories involved Nuila trying her hand at various professions in an attempt to please her worried looking foster-father, and he was dismayed to realise she hadn't exaggerated her inability to take up anything naturally at all. Of course, she was something, wasn't she? A honed and skilled fighter, who didn't need a weapon to be deadly, and was improving in her style almost daily, it seemed. The very thought of it made him shudder.
He stole a quick glance over at her. She was walking with Imoen, as was the normal case, looking tired and drawn. He sighed. She'd fallen asleep after they'd come round from their reverie; one minute he was comparing the small gardens of Candlekeep with the acres of flowers to be found in Evereska, and the next he was listening to her steady breathing, her eyes closed as she lay by his side, completely relaxed and at ease. He'd smiled and extended a hand slightly, almost nervously, heading towards her cheek. But just before he could touch her she'd let out an almighty scream -- much louder than anything to date -- and began the usual process of thrashing around. It had taken him a long time to rouse her properly, and by then his arms had found their way around her as he desperately tried to stop her from hurting herself -- or him.
She had been drenched in sweat, her heart racing as told him what she'd seen; rivers of blood, the bandit camp, flying through the air... her words had been muddled and rushed, and despite his efforts to calm her down, even more time had passed before she could talk normally. And by then it was paining her to remember, so he pushed no further for clarification -- the gist, itself, had been enough.
She glanced over to him and he hastily looked away. Within moments he could feel her presence beside him -- she was almost as quiet as Imoen when she wanted to be, though her clumsiness was far greater on occasion. He offered a small nod and walked on briskly, watching as Imoen's nimble fingers worked the straps of Tiax's backpack loose.
"I wanted to thank you for this morning," she said lightly. "For being, there, I mean -- though sometimes it feels like I say nothing but 'thank you' or 'sorry' to you."
He smiled wanly. "It has helped me to realise that your nightmares do not relent. You are not alone in this, although mine hardly compare. I have seen you dissolve to dust before my eyes whenever I have taken to sleep since we met, and there seems to be no escape from it. That is why reverie is such a welcome escape -- and sharing yours was... delightful."
She smiled back at him, but he could see some worry in her eyes. He wished he'd not mentioned his own visions. "I thought it would be boring, if you want me to be completely honest. Visitors were only occasional, and our lives were dominated mainly by routine." She sighed slightly.
"I notice you found plenty of times to, ah, apply your combined skills in the field of problem-solving. Or rather, problem-creating..."
She grinned at him. "Well, we were young! We are young!" She fell silent and they walked on for a bit before she spoke again. "Do I always turn to dust?"
"Always," he replied. "The situations differ, the companions, backgrounds... never the same. But you melt before my eyes, into golden dust that just disperses in the wind." He saw her shudder slightly and he instantly regretted telling her.
"It was when I started having the nightmares that I started finding out I could do those... things," she said quietly. She wasn't looking at him, her green eyes looking around them as they left the forest and wandered out onto the open road, not far from Nashkel. A river snaked as long beside them at this point, its banks covered in a variety of wildflowers that swayed gently in the breeze. "And again, this morning... when you woke me up, I felt different. Something else has changed, but I don't know what it is."
He swallowed hard. "If your nightmares are indeed the source of your eerie powers, they might give you the key to who you are," he said thoughtfully. "However, this way is too drastic and damaging. I do not know which is worse; shrinking from this path or embracing it." He regarded her for a moment. "Tell me about these... abilities. How do you know what you can do?"
She shrugged helplessly and sighed. "I don't. I mean, I know there is something, but I have no idea what it is unless... unless I try it. I only found out that I could heal myself a little when I tried, in desperation, to make myself feel better."
"You don't know what else you can do?"
She shook her head. "It feels... it felt wrong -- unnatural, to have them. But when I realised that I had something so good in me..." She smiled slightly. "Well, having the power to help someone with curative blessings; that's not a bad thing, is it?"
"If it were truly a blessing, I'd say it wasn't, no," he sighed. "But you know you are not a cleric, and despite your fanatical devotion to your dubious choice of God, I doubt She has decided to randomly gift you."
She nodded her assent dourly. "I guess you're right. But it makes it harder for me, really. If it was just nightmares, I could cope -- but there's the fear that I'll change whenever I fall asleep and have a bad dream; and even though you showed me how to reverie, I feel the lull of sleep so strongly sometimes... I just don't have the willpower to fight it."
He wanted to reach out and pat her on the shoulder, but it felt too impersonal after everything. He wanted to reach out and put his arm around her, but that... that felt too intimate. Instead, he sighed. "I can help, albeit a little," he offered. "Erecting a mental shield against your nightmares is beyond my current skill, but you may share my reverie from now on... if you want. Perhaps it will stop both of our dark visions. Or perhaps it will doom us together."
She smiled to him and he could see her shyness. A warmth started inside; a small glow that threatened to expand out of control and consume him, and so he forced himself to look to the road ahead. His heart began to sink.
"I'd like that," he heard her say. Even that wasn't enough to replace the feeling of gloom that was rapidly descending upon him. He could only hope it was a vision, a bad dream -- but the image was soon backed up with a voice, and he felt himself groaning, only just resisting the urge he developed that made him want to slap his hand to his forehead.
"By Helm! Travellers, if I am not mistaken! What brings you out to these dangerous roads in such a time?"
There was a crash as Tiax's pack slipped to the ground, and the gnome span around in temper, his narrowed eyes peering at the rest of the companions. "Tiax knows who it was!" he screamed, waggling his finger at all of them in turn. "And when Tiax sits high upon his throne, ruling all, you will be the first taken to the torture chambers for Tiax's amusement!"
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Ajantis was seeking to become a paladin, he'd said, as they travelled the last few miles to Nashkel together. Nuila had immediately invited him into her group, and despite his rather worried questioning of Tiax's sanity, he'd accepted the offer with a smile. Xan had grit his teeth somewhat and moped at the back as they continued on their way, her voice drifting back to him as she introduced herself in greater detail and listened to what appeared to be his whole life story.
He was tall for a human, towering over the girl, and making her look extremely slight and delicate as he stomped along in his plate armour. He never seemed to stop smiling -- even when Tiax started on one of his all too frequent tirades, Ajantis wore a smile on his lips, though his eyes were beginning to betray the confused expression so many adopted when faced with the gnome. Both Imoen and Branwen had crowded around him too, leaving Garrick alone and glaring daggers at the squire's back when he wasn't looking. Xan hated feeling like he had something in common with the bard.
When they arrived at the inn, he persuaded Nuila and the other girls to hand over their packs, taking them upstairs to the dormitory they were all to share. Xan was not highly comfortable with this arrangement, but at least it meant that he could keep an eye on the newcomer's intentions and not spend each night wondering what might be happening through the thin walls of the establishment. Though that was unlikely anyway, and he was being foolish; Nuila had already asked if he'd meant what he said regarding the shared reverie, and she'd appeared delighted when he affirmed his offer. He wondered if she meant for them to partake in it while the others lay around them in such close proximity, snoring.
Downstairs, Imoen had kept a seat for Ajantis, and Xan bristled slightly at the sight of him being flanked by the two pseudo-sisters. Branwen wasn't far away, all three females cooing over the aspiring knight, with his boyish charm and youthful good looks. He mentally compared himself to the human; excluding the obvious gulfs that lay between them due to the difference in race, he felt old. Old and tired, haggard and worn. It was no real surprise that the girls were showing such excitement in their new 'friend' -- the only other young man they'd met had been Garrick, and at least they'd shown the sense to steer very clear of his excessively suave intentions.
The sound of laughter was heard often at the table that evening, and well into the night. Nuila seemed to have forgotten her intention to bed down early in order to seek out the bounties available for their claiming, preferring, instead, to while away the time with the latest charming addition to the group. Eventually they decided to turn in; Xan was glad, as he was the only one left there with them, except for Imoen -- and if the young girl had decided to go to bed before them, he would have been left on his own with them. Memories of the night spent with Garrick were quick to spring to his mind, though Ajantis had shown nothing but displays of gentlemanly propriety. Nuila seemed to like this, however, and he felt some hope inside him fade.
But hope of what? All hope was futile, after all... but he couldn't deny what he'd felt growing inside. The attachment that was forming inside was beyond what he'd expect from a friendship; though his own life had not given him very many opportunities to be able to compare. Always solitary, always alone; he'd focussed on his magical arts and studying at the expense of everything else -- almost everything else. But that was not to be thought about, now -- it was the past, and in the past was where it would stay. It was not comparable to now... was it?
His mood was slightly improved as they reached the dormitory and he witnessed Nuila bid Ajantis good night before taking the bed next to Xan's own, pushing it closer before she curled up in it, reaching out to take his hand in her own. She offered him a smile before she relaxed, waiting for him to open up his memories for her sharing once more. With difficulty, he pushed the dark thoughts within aside, praying to Corellon that they'd not surface. Not that night, anyway.
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The sun shone down as they trekked through the fields to the west of Nashkel. Any other man may have found himself smiling in quiet contentment; he had three eye catching female companions, Aerdrie Faenya, herself, seemed to be gracing them with fair conditions to travel in, and the previous night of rest had been peaceful and full of warm and loving memories. But Xan saw none of this; instead he saw Tiax, Ajantis and Garrick -- possibly the three people in Faerûn whom he was destined to get along with least -- walking by his side, the gnome and the aspiring paladin sniping at each other whenever the chance arose, and the bard remaining sullenly quiet as he watched the squire with barely concealed jealousy whenever the fighting man paid any attention to one of the females. While this went on, Xan felt an uncomfortably close air around him, full of dust and specks that made him sneeze with unerring frequency. And instead of smiling wistfully about the reverie, Xan spent the miles remembering why he missed Evereska so much.
He was only dragged from his melancholy when he realised he had company. It was pink-hair, bounding along by his side with the barely contained energy that was always so apparent within her. He pondered for a second, torn between a groan and a sigh, before eventually settling on the latter. The groans of dismay were more suited for one of the men.
She threw him a quizzical look and then thrust out a bit of parchment. She had a look of barely concealed pride on her face, which he regarded with a raised eyebrow before letting his eyes drop down to the paper. His next intake of breath was quite sharp with surprise as he accepted the offering. He was silent for a few moments as they continued to walk, his eyes taking in the details of her scripture. For one so unlearned in the art, it was promising.
"It... it shows great potential," he remarked eventually. The smile she gave him seemed to be wider than her actual face.
"Really? I mean, you're not just sayin' that, are ya? 'Cos I worked so hard at it these past few nights, an' I really, really tried -- that bit, there," she pointed to one especially complex rune near the top, "was quite tricky, but I developed this way of holdin' the quill, ya know, with your fingers round like that?" She wrapped her hand around a twig she'd snatched up to demonstrate and he found himself smiling slightly. The eagerness, the excitement -- it had been many years since he'd been in that position, but he could remember it all too well. He nodded to her, letting her continue with her tumbling description of her endeavour to produce the scroll, and he let his eyes drift back over the parchment. Yes, with some tuition, the girl could show some promise as a spellcaster.
And she would only get herself killed if she tried to learn alone. No, there was no way around it -- he was doomed to teaching her. It would be unthinkable to let such passion about the Art dwindle due to disinterest, and while the bard knew the meaning of many of the magical runes dotted around, his actual magical capability was... slight, to say the least. Xan rolled up the parchment, flinching slightly as Imoen took his arm as she skipped along, still babbling non-stop about how much fun it was going to be when she learnt 'proper stuff'. It was at that point he reconsidered his earlier choice, the sheer liveliness of the girl proving to be tiring just to watch; with barely a second thought, he groaned.
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It wasn't long before they realised that none of them were very skilled when it came to tracking in the wilderness. They'd been searching for their quarry, Commander Brage, for the whole day before they decided to set up camp, hoping that a fresh start in the morning would lead them to his location. Branwen was cooking, almost reminding Xan of an old witching crone as she leaned over the bubbling pot, wrinkling her nose as she sniffed the scent coming from the cooking meat. Imoen was sitting to one side, pouring over her new spellbook. Xan had given it to her earlier since she seemed to be determined to learn the use of magic properly. It was one he'd had as an apprentice -- quite basic, but with enough knowledge inside to do the young girl for now. When he'd decided to refine his talents to the speciality of that of an enchanter, he'd taken up the use of a new book, effectively discarding his first book to the side, complete with spells he no longer wished to work with. Why he still had it with him after all these years, he'd never know; but at least it was proving to have some sort of use now.
To his annoyance, Tiax was fluttering about, trying to persuade Imoen to learn certain spells in the name of Cyric. To the elf's relief, she seemed to be mainly ignoring him, swatting at him with her hand whenever he got too close and ignoring his outraged outbursts. As if the poor girl didn't have enough on her plate, Garrick was sitting across the fire from her, softly strumming his mandolin as he gently sung some sickeningly sugary descriptions about the young thief. Somehow, she completely ignored him.
To his other side sat his remaining two companions. Nuila and Ajantis were in conversation once again, the smiling young squire seemingly unable to leave their charming leader alone. Xan had listened to Ajantis describe the sights of his home city, Waterdeep, to the wide-eyed girl, while idly shaking his head and sighing. He'd seen the human settlement himself; it didn't deserve half the praise that the foolish young man heaped upon it. Corruption and poverty were just as apparent in the city as the 'majesty' and 'beauty' that the Waterdhavian rambled on and on about incessantly, but Nuila seemed to be hanging onto his every word. He sighed. As if on cue, she looked over to him and gave him a curious glance.
"Have you been to Waterdeep, Xan?"
He groaned internally. "Yes, many years ago," he replied cautiously.
Ajantis beamed at him. "Is it not a resplended city, my friend?" he asked; well, more announced, his booming voice sounding twice as loud as the quiet elven tones.
"It is... pleasing to many who have travelled there," Xan offered, feeling more and more uncomfortable. The human frowned slightly and scratched at his smooth chin. The enchanter knew it was a sign of his youth; not even enough years in him to have a blooming display of stubble, it seemed -- even if it was unsightly to see such untamed growth.
"You almost sound as if you were not impressed by the sights on offer," Ajantis said, following it up with a nervous laugh as he looked over at Xan. Even Nuila's smile seemed tense.
Xan forced himself to maintain a pleasant demeanour. "There were certainly some wondrous aspects of human architecture," he managed to say. This didn't seem to appease the squire at all. "And, ah, it is not called the City of Splendours for nothing, no?"
"Certainly not," Ajantis replied, somewhat stiffly. "It is the greatest city in all Faerûn, a beacon of light in the depravity of some other settlements that come to mind!" He turned his attention back to Nuila, softening slightly in his manner. "You would have to see it for yourself, my lady, to appreciate its magnificence."
She nodded to him, seemingly entranced by his words; but her next move caught even Xan off-guard. "How does it compare to Evereska?" she asked the enchanter simply.
The mage tensed; how could he possibly compare the two? Certainly, for a human settlement, Waterdeep had a crude elegance to a certain degree... but it could not be likened to the verdant meadows of his home -- the flowered terraces, golden spires... the sound of singing hanging in the air. No... It was impossible. "It is human," was his eventual reply, a mournful sigh summing up his conclusion. Nuila nodded, a tinge of sadness on her face.
Ajantis had reddened slightly in colour. "You say that as if it is a bad thing," he muttered darkly. "I am sure your elven cities are pleasing to the eye, but do not dismiss such an exquisite city as Waterdeep simply because it was built by non-elves."
"I would not dream of it," the enchanter replied, suddenly tired of the whole conversation. "Everyone has, ah, different tastes, after all." Slowly he rose, bowing slightly to them and declining Branwen's offer of food. "Excuse me," he said, wandering away and over towards his bedroll in order to have some peace and quiet to himself. As he settled down, determined to study his spellbook for the day ahead, he gave one last glance over to his elven leader. She was back in conversation with the young squire; but this time she appeared to be the one doing the talking, no doubt describing Candlekeep for his benefit -- and this time he was the one listening, seemingly fascinated by her words.
He sighed, then made himself slowly turn away, trying to block out the world around him as he delved into the one thing he knew and understood; magical lore.
