Disclaimer: the things you own, ultimately end up owning you. Good for me that I own nothing. Ingrid is finally getting to the end of her trip, and I know too well what we all face at such arrivals: disappointment.
12. Neverwinter Forest
They make slow progress through the forest. The former slaves form the bulk of their procession, many of them are young and tire easily, and four women have babies with them – they were being sold like this, and Valen chose two lives instead of one whenever he could. The tiefling pulls an improvised cart with the supplies from Sigil. Gann scouts and hunts while Jayne leads them, her hand on her sword in case anyone ambushes the strange caravan.
Ingrid walks last, her arm around Casavir's waist. She guides the paladin over tree roots and molehills and just drinks his presence in. He is as taciturn as he has ever been, but there is something else hanging in the air between them that she is afraid to question aloud for now. He responds to her care with a neutral expression on his face, and sometimes, when she strokes his arm, he pulls her closer for a moment and then lets her go as if he should not touch her.
In the evening, Gann is lucky to shoot a deer, and they set camp early. Unusual – and good – food makes the freed folk brighten up, and Ingrid uses this chance to sit down with some of them and try several languages in search of the one they might recognize. Most of those she manages to talk to did not even understand they were not slaves anymore. Two of them are elves, captives from that war in Cormanthor; they had been to Rashemen before, and she gets Gann sit with them by the fire. At last, she returns to her own modest dinner, and before long Jayne plops down next to her and snorts ungracefully at the contents of her bowl.
"You never eat meat." The adventurer remarks with a friendly poke into Ingrid's ribs. "You do not happen to be a closet druid on top of all this magic, do you?"
Ingrid looks around to see if everyone is far enough. She does not want to ruin their appetite or the light mood of the evening. She answers quietly, so that only Jayne can hear.
"I have burnt enough flesh to know that we all smell alike when cooked." She wills a small fireball into existence and lets it die above her palm. "I struggle to find meat appealing."
Ingrid's eyes are drawn to Casavir, who is having his meal in some distance from them. His hand freezes halfway in the air and he lowers it down slowly. He could not hear her answer, but he must remember it. Jayne wrinkles her nose.
"I hate it that you always have a reason for everything you do, and it is usually some awful reason." She follows Ingrid's gaze to the paladin and the lines in her face soften. "He will come around, you know. Give him some time. He has never been the one to need assistance, it must be hard for him to accept sacrifices, not offer them."
Ingrid is suddenly very tired. She closes her eyes and lets Jayne pull her into a patronizing, with a slight touch of 'motherly', but very welcome hug.
Surprisingly, Casavir accepts Gann's help much easier than hers. Whether that is because Gann is a man and it relieves her modest paladin's embarrassment or because they have no history, Ingrid cannot say. She lets them sit and talk quietly without her during rests, averts her eyes when Gann walks her love, her husband, into the woods when necessary, and tries not to be conspicuously bitter when Casavir falls back into the habit of calling her 'my lady'.
The night before they are out of the forest, Ingrid takes the first watch. The people around her settle down and everything quiets. Despite her will, she is again distracted by the way Casavir gets ready for sleep. He takes off the soft band that covers his eyes, folds it carefully and puts it into the small pouch he wears on a string around his neck. He does not lie back in a normal way – his back must be hurting him, so he presses his lips into a thin line, falls on his side slowly, awkwardly, his face twitching in the process, and then rolls over on his back. For a while, he breathes in and out steadily, and then his arm searches for the edge of the blanket. He covers himself and his stern expression slowly relaxes.
Ingrid looks away. Her heart beats so aggressively that her ribs groan, and the big bone in the middle of her chest aches. She feels very small, stupid, vulnerable. As if her skin is covered with cracks and her life force leaks. What is happening to her? The night is peaceful, and the forest smells are comforting. She walks the perimeter of the camp to calm down, and the soft pine needles give in pleasantly under her feet. A barn owl hoots in the distance. She tries to abstain from all rational thought and focus on the sounds of the night.
Her watch is uneventful. When the high summer stars travel halfway to the west, she wakes Valen and spreads her bedroll by Casavir's side. For a long time, she lies and listens to his breath. His left arm rests on the ground, his long, callous fingers are so close to her face, and Ingrid tries to resist the temptation to touch them. She fails and covers his open palm with hers. The sensation must be calling him back from his sleep: his breath changes slightly. She is about to withdraw her hand when his fingers trap it and give it a squeeze. Casavir turns his head to her questioningly, and Ingrid is flooded with sadness. She does not say anything. His fingers search her face and she is surprised to feel a wet trail down her cheek. Casavir starts, rolls over a little, pulls her closer and drapes his maimed arm over her frame.
Ingrid cries herself to sleep, listening to his heartbeat.
There is no inn in the first village they come across. They rent an empty farm from an elderly couple whose children left in search of work several summers ago. Jayne suggests they should have at least two days of rest before hitting the road – her flock of former slaves is tired; they have blisters on their feet, and the villagers can make shoes given some time. The farm has enough hay to make comfortable beds for the four dozen of them. What is more, the farm barn has enough small tubs, troughs and deep bowls for General Jayne to declare a bath day. Clearly, they all stink too much even for the adventurer's nose.
Ingrid is shy to demonstrate her scars to the world, so she arranges a small improvised bathhouse in the farm kitchen. When she feels clean enough, she decides to offer Casavir her help in washing his hair.
She finds him at the back of the barn. He has taken his worn shirt off and beats grime and sweat out of it. He has cleaned his torso with a cloth, for some foam still adorns his left shoulder. At her timid offer, he nods obediently and lets her lead him into the house. He has always been a very clean person.
Ingrid guides him to lie down onto a wide wooden bench so that his head rests in the basin she has put up on a low stool. She drops a tiny ball of fire into a pot of cold water; it bursts underneath the surface, and the water is instantly hot. Casavir cannot contain a happy sigh as she pours it into the basin. His eyes are firmly shut; he had to forego his band, and she knows he loathes the idea that she may see his empty eye sockets.
The soap lathers eagerly. She massages his scalp gently and her caressing hands wander to his jaw, neck and collarbones now and then. If he notices, he does not offer a comment. When his hair is clean, she supports his head and helps him sit up. She lets her hands rest on his shoulders. His brow creases in thought, and when his hand balls into a fist, Ingrid recognizes the moment as one of those when whatever has been brewing in his heart is ready to be spoken.
"When you speak, Gann holds his breath. Do you know that he is in love with you?" Casavir says in a steady, measured voice.
"I… do." Ingrid replies slowly. She did not expect that. "I cannot return his feelings."
Casavir is silent for some time. She waits patiently.
"You should." He replies finally. There is no emotion in his face at all. "I mean, you should return his feelings. He is a good, honorable man."
Ingrid recoils in fear.
"I cannot. I am your wife. I… We exchanged vows."
"Duty should not keep you tied up." Sadness swells in his words. "Sometimes, a priest can dissolve what has been sealed. Let me go to a monastery and free you of this bond."
"No." She says firmly, and he perks up, surprised at the steel in her voice. "No. I love you. I have travelled through hell and fire to find you, to bring you back. You cannot reject me. Do not dare to reject me."
"Look at me." Casavir demands. His eyelids fly open and his empty, scarred, inflamed eye sockets stare at her. He spreads his arms wide to demonstrate the scars crisscrossing his chest and the stump of his right arm. "Am I fit to be a husband? It hurts me to move. Before, I earned my place by your side fighting for you, protecting you. Now, I am a burden, even on a travel, to say nothing of a fight."
"I am done travelling, and I am done fighting." Ingrid cups his face and strokes the wrinkles around the wounds where his blue eyes used to be. She wants to cry, but she is not scared. "I love you. I need your heartbeat to scare my nightmares away. I want to feel a smile on your lips when I kiss you in the morning. I need your presence, your smell, your touch. I love you."
A grimace distorts his face and he shakes his head. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, and he struggles to find words.
"My lady. Ingrid. I am… I am not… I am afraid I cannot give you children." He whispers finally, and Ingrid is suddenly so angry at all those who have hurt him that she is aching to get back to Luskan and level it with the ground.
"It is all right." She hears herself answer. "I don't think I can bear children anyway. The spirit-eater curse burnt through my body, and I think this kind of magic is gone for me."
This was the thundercloud hanging between them, and now Ingrid can almost hear it dissipate. He clasps her hands and presses them to his lips, mourning their lives that did not happen.
"You think you are a ruin, my love, but you cannot see me. I am a ruin as well, of a different kind, perhaps. I was growing cruel. I was growing mad. I was growing evil, Casavir. I was so empty, and then my soul was back, but I was still empty, a charred desert that walked and talked for some reason. I only remembered I needed you, to find you, to get back to you." Ingrid confesses her pain to his bowed head and continues in whisper. "Please do not abandon me. Please do not reject me. Please."
He pulls her into a desperate, suffocating embrace and there is no shadow between them anymore.
