Chapter XIII: What Hurts the Most

When he opened his eyes, Dernhelm found himself on his back in a soft bed, surrounded by a calming yellow light. Fluffy pillows felt good behind his head and he reached up to adjust them. The mistake was soon realized as the pain in his hands brought the memories of the recent past crashing to the fore of his mind. Nearly gasping in shock, he sat up and cast about the room.

The small chamber was empty, aside from one chair occupied by a red-eyed Tarlin.

"I wish for just once that I wouldn't have to come back to consciousness only to find myself in a bed with people looking at me disquietly." He meant it as a piece of humor to act as a diversion to the pain, but it seemed to only make Tarlin's expression turn more miserable.

"Does anyone know what that thing was?" he asked, again trying to focus both their attentions on something else. He had no idea what was making her act this way but all he could see was the stalwart human he had come to know reduced to gibbering terror.

"A Bebilith," she said at last, her voice as flat as that of the principal Hill Elder. He could tell she was hiding her emotions with a titanic effort. "It is a creature from the Abyss."

Dernhelm pursed his lips thoughtfully. "And it was here also to stop us…

"It must have dug its way under the city into an area that it knew the elves could not even be forced to go… so we can assume the Enemy knows we are-"

Tarlin cut him off. "It had built a lair and had nothing to do with us or the Enemy."

"But how can you be sure?"

"The elves investigated the tunnel after we emerged looking like we had been through a holocaust."

At her statement that the elves had actually entered the Tower of Vilshire, his eyebrows rose into his hairline, but she nodded as if reading his thoughts.

"Concerned by the possibility that something may have found an entrance into the city, and calmed to a certain degree that the artifact was not currently active, the Hill Elders ordered a large number of soldiers to investigate, led by our friend Fanuilous. They discovered the creature's lair in the hole we saw and it was filled with bones of nearly every creature imaginable. It had the air of having been there a long time."

"And the elves didn't know about it?"

"How could they? You said yourself that the tower hadn't been entered in ten thousand years. They had lulled themselves into the false security that everything was as it has always been. They will think differently now."

Dernhelm looked down at his hands. They were still red and extremely painful, but did not look as disfigured as they had when first he had spied them in the underground 'tomb.' The elves must have begun to heal them.

As if reading his thoughts, Tarlin reached out and placed a hand on his upturned forearm.

"Why did you protect me?" she asked suddenly, her voice soft and gentle.

"What? Why wouldn't I?" he said, startled.

"You could have taken the artifact and left me there."

"But… I wouldn't do that and you know it."

"Why? Had you died down there, then many more would have died, friends and loved ones, including your wife. Why would you risk that to save me?"

"It is not a question of who lives and who dies; it's a question of what is right. How could I claim to be on a journey to save lives if I let those I can help fall along the way? I would be saying your life wasn't important in favor of others."

She was silent for a moment considering his words, but at last she spoke, her voice sad, her emotional restraint loosened.

"So you did it because it was the right thing to do?"

"Well, yes," he said. "Er, no. I… did it because you are my friend."

"Your friend? After the way I have treated you?"

"Just because we don't see eye to eye… and you have been trying enough at times that I would just assume slap you until your head spun around," he tried a roguish grin, but it failed against the anguish in her eyes. "I still value you and depend on you.

"Why are you asking me this?"

"I need to understand your motives…"

"Why? Can't you understand that sometimes people just do things out of friendship, whether at the cost of financial gain, or the respect of their 'peers,' or even at the cost of their own life? You don't need a reason to help people."

"Don't people sometimes do it because they feel they need to make up for times when they were unable to protect people in their past?"

He was shocked.

"You think I saved you out of guilt?"

She paused for a long moment as if deciding the next words to say but then she pushed ahead.

"You weren't able to protect your wife."

He took in a long breath at her prognosis and then his brows drew down in disapproval.

"There was no way I could protect her. I can't be with her at all times, nor would I want to be, though I love her more than anything. She needs her space to exist as a person even as we depend on each other. To be glued to each other's side would be codependency… and even then, injury… or even death happens."

He swallowed hard at the thought, and forced himself to not consider that possibility… at least for now.

Tarlin turned away as he spoke, a ragged sigh escaping her lips as the tears seemed to well up inside of her. Heedless of the pain, Dernhelm reached out and placed a hand on her arm. She flinched at the contact but did not completely pull away.

"What is it with you?" Dernhelm asked at last.

Still she said nothing and kept her face turned away from him. He let his hand fall after a moment and just sat there considering the suddenly small human at his bedside.

Finally, she looked at him with a fierce expression.

"I should have been able to stop him."

"What? The Bebilith? It was nearly more than both of us could handle!"

"But what good am I if I can't protect myself let alone anyone else?"

"You are as good as you can possibly be, but you can't be perfect!"

"And why not? It seems you are closer to it than I!"

"Perfection?!" he was taken aback. "Since when did you get such a crazy notion that I was perfect?!"

"You must be since you were able to destroy the creature."

"Did you ever think that was sheer luck?"

"Now you are deliberately mocking me!"

"How?"

"I thought you were weak when I saw the terror in your eyes when you learned the Enemy had returned and again when your wife lay injured and you were so distraught, but somehow these very things gave you strength!"

"You're crazy!"

"Am I?" she was now openly sobbing, her hands balled into fists even as she yelled at him. "It is either that, or you are just preternaturally strong and nothing truly effects you." The she added in a low voice, almost silent "Else, I would be strong too."

Suddenly, it all made sense. "Is that why you are doing this? Striving so hard? Guilt? From what?"

Her fingers still clenched into fists, she moved to turn away again, but Dernhelm caught the side of her face with his hands, oblivious to the sudden pain.

"Who couldn't you save?"

For a long moment, she just sat there, the words hanging in the air between them like a guillotine. The look she gave him was of a broken heart, one that he felt must have been ripped out and trampled upon. Her eyes and cheeks glistened with tears but she was oblivious, just staring full into his eyes, full into the days of her past. He was almost afraid she wouldn't answer.

"When I was a child, about five years in age," she began in a voice that was almost too low to be heard even by his acute hearing. "Orcs came to my home in Direfell. They attacked the town without mercy… My father was the town mayor and he organized a resistance, hoping that he could hold on just long enough until the militia came from Phlan. I… watched them chop off his head," she stifled a cry but forced herself to continue on. "And then they raped and killed my mother. They didn't know I was hiding in the closet." At this, a single sob escaped her throat before she could stop it.

Dernhelm again reached out and squeezed her hand. This time, she made no move to pull away. He was taken aback at her honesty and the brutality of the crimes this girl had witnessed as a child. A picture started to take shape in his mind.

"I was a Damsel then, as you heard. Kind of a fitting name, don't you think?" she laughed mirthlessly, her eyes still wet. He said nothing.

"Dern Misonere, a member of the Phlanian guard took me in and raised me as his own. He trained me to be a soldier."

Dernhelm couldn't help but sigh. He thought he could see where this was going and why she persisted with the line of morbid questioning.

"And you blamed yourself for the death of your parents ever since, yes?"

Looking at him fiercely, she suddenly reached down and grabbed his hand. It was intended to take from him a measure of support borne of friendship, but instead it only elicited an oath of pain. She seemingly was oblivious to this.

"I should have been able to save them!"

"You were five! What could you have done?"

"I could have died with them at least."

"What, and saved yourself the pain of living with your apparent failure?"

"It was my failure!"

"And now you have spent your entire life trying to make up for it!"

"Yes!" she shouted, and then clamped her hand over her mouth at what she had just said. He could believe that this was the first time she had made this revelation to another living soul; perhaps it was the first time she had made it even to herself. The look on her face though was as one that wanted to curl up in a corner and die.

"Look," he said, in an attempt to share in her pain as well as divert her attention. "We are not so different, you and I."

He had never seen a face that so clearly said "You are a liar." The hurt on it was so real, she must have believed he was trying to make light of her pain, or tell her some tale just to calm her.

"I am going to tell you a story and then you will understand me and my motivation. It is not so different from your own."

She said nothing and did not even so much as nod in acquiescence, but he forged on anyway.

"I was born in the Deepingdale many years ago to parentage of which you have heard. It was an odd match, even for the welcoming, cultural melting pot, a haven for half-breeds." He said it without any sarcasm.

"My mother was technically descended from royalty and even though she was so far removed from the main line as to have no hope of serving in any hereditary capacity outside of housewife, the elves, steeped in history and tradition, still regarded her with some measure of respect as to one of noble-birth.

"My father was a woodcutter from the Dales, who, over time, rose to prominence by successfully defending the city from the drow on several occasions. It was only this that gave him any standing in the eyes of the elves, and after a series of long and sometimes bitter arguments, Linüye's parents allowed her to wed.

"My father raised me to be a ranger – a noble profession in the Dales. I traveled with my father far and wide as we made war against the drow, aiding the elves in Cormanthor and Semberholme. But of all the places I had been and all the strange people I had met, none intrigued me as much as the humans.

"Dynamic and shorter-lived than all the other races, I was amazed at their intense passions and their need for change, their incredible insights and their amazing inventiveness. I spent many years among them learning their ways. I had lived with the humans in the Dales, but they were not so different from the elves, having been integrated with them for so long. I began to feel that these "outside" humans must be specially protected, left to themselves as they otherwise were among the ravages of the world. I needed to understand this part of me – the inborn nature of me that went so far beyond what my father could teach me."

He felt like saying it was this exploration of his human side that developed in him his physique, hairstyle, affinity for facial hair, and penchant for alcohol, but he knew that would only ruin the picture he was trying to paint. He would tell her that in the future.

"This attention was not without its problems. My mother grew afraid that I would become more human, cultivating only that side of my heritage, and their propensity for war would lead to my death. My brother, Linoral, had met his demise at the hands of orcs while defending Phlan."

Not that he expected any response from her, but he figured she may feel something for his brother that had died protecting her homeland. Unfortunately, she was too lost in her grief to pay attention to it.

"One day, I was protecting a shipment of medicine to Hillsfar when the drow attacked Semberholme. My father led a resistance and managed to drive the elves deep into the forest. In their efforts to get away from him, they skirted too close to the Darkwatch. Demons issued from the rift, destroying drow and human alike. My father was felled and his soldiers barely were able to escape back to the Dale with his body."

Her eyes grew sad at this point, but whether for her pain or for his, he could not be sure.

"When I returned, I found that my father was dead. I went to comfort my mother and say that I wish I had been there – you know, a true, but trite statement. She surprised me by saying that had I been there, Harmon would still be alive. She told me that it was helping these people that caused my father's death; if I had not spent so much time away, he would not be dead.

"It did not matter that my helping the humans, as my brother Linoral before me, was something my father would have been proud of, and that countless of their lives had been saved.

"I tried to reason with her, tell her it was her grief talking, but she told me 'It is because of gallivanting around with the humans and spending more time with their kind and not enough with your own' – elven kind, apparently – 'that all your sense is gone. They have taken you away from us, from me, and now they have taken your father.'

"I told her that humans had nothing to do with this and that her husband was a human but she said that even he didn't spend so much time with their kind. I told her that I would go away for a while and she would realize that it was not my fault.

"'Go away then,' she said. 'Go away and be a human. The elves are no longer your people. And do not return, for every time I see you I will be reminded of Harmon's death; I go to be with the elves. We should have gone the way of the Retreat long ago. Then you would not be tainted and Harmon would still be here.'

"The last time I saw her was twenty-seven years ago.

"The reason I am telling you this is because I too lost a parent – two if you want to wax metaphorical – and for a while I blamed myself for his death. True, at first, I held stalwartly to the belief that I was doing my duty and he his, but the longer I thought about it, about my mother's words, I became unsure.

"I traveled the world far and wide to find an answer, and it was not until I came to Neverwinter that I became convinced of the truth. Had I been with my father, more likely I would have died, and all the things I have been a part of since then, where I have been able to help the most, would not have been. What's more, if things had progressed as they have and I instead accepted this guilt as my own, I would likely still be in the Dales with my mother, and the umbilical cord of her controlling personality would be firmly wrapped around my neck."

He could see her jaw set, almost as if she were chewing his words. Though it was difficult for him to say it, it was necessary. He had realized it the hard way, and she must as well.

"I have learned that we cannot, must not, let the past dictate the present, and certainly not those events that we could not have changed. To do so… would mean the death of self in the present."

Tarlin slammed shut her eyes even as she squeezed his hand, bringing forth a pain he would gladly endure should she be saved from her own. Then, just as abruptly she let go of his hand and stood. Turning on her heel and never once looking at him, she strode from the room letting the door slam shut.

He lay there for several more hours. At one point, a soft-spoken sun elf, young even for their standards, came to reapply an unguent and bandages to his hands, and bring him food. He was gone after a short moment though, leaving Dernhelm alone with his thoughts.

They were anything but peaceful.

The conversation with Tarlin had brought forth memories, images of the past that he had thought safely buried in his heart. All of them were of his father and most of them good, but they filled his heart with sadness as he felt anew the loss of the fiery-tempered old man. He could see the tall trees of Cormanthor, their verdant leaves shining in the sun as his father taught him to hunt around haunted Myth Drannor, flitting through the shadows as they stalked a patrol of drow. He remembered the first time his father had shown him Zhentil Keep, allowing him to witness a public execution for a "traitor," a businessman that had exposed a Zhentarim murder of a Phlanian official. It was then, when he was not yet twenty, his father had made him swear an oath to seek out and stop any injustice within his ability. He could even see his father teaching him how to use a sword and he remembered how his father instructed him exactly when to use it: to dispense death only to those "who by their actions had forfeited their right to exist in civilized society."

But eventually, thinking of death and the sad things of the past, his mind drew inexorably to his wife and their unborn child. He had tried to push all thoughts of Aribeth's present plight from his mind, reminding himself that he could not help her except by defeating the Enemy. Neurik had done everything he could and he had assured Dernhelm she would live – though she looked to the contrary when he had seen her last.

But the thing that no one could help was the loss of his baby.

It is hard to believe that a person could be hurt so much not over the loss of someone they have never met, but over the loss of one that has never even yet been, but that was how it was. He knew that if he was struggling then Aribeth must be suffering even more greatly – she undoubtedly knew by now. Of all things, that was the main reason he wished he could be with her, to comfort her in the midst of her sadness. And yet, this mission was of paramount importance because all of the comforting in the entire world would not matter if the Enemy won.

He was a seasoned fighter and had spent many years of his life learning how to subsume his fears and pains, but here, in this place, with a human woman that had suffered as greatly as he and whose heart had never been healed, he found it nearly impossible to shut the door on his wounds.

It was into this room, where he lay troubled, that his mother entered, stealing through door as if sneaking. He saw her of course, and he sighed. He was dreading the time that they would have to meet alone. And worse, this woman had changed so greatly since the last time he had seen her, shifting rapidly between conflicting emotional states where before she was uniformly overbearing and strict, he scarcely had a notion of how to deal with her. And she had grown so old!

Sidling up to the bed, she sat on the chair Tarlin had vacated. She said nothing for a long time, merely looking him over as if recording his image in her mind. It was vaguely unsettling having his mother regard him in that way, even though it had been nearly three decades since they had really spent any time together.

"What do you want mother?" Dernhelm asked at last in a tired voice.

A hurt looked passed across her face.

"It has been almost thirty years and that is the first thing you say to me?"

"Given the last thing you said to me thirty years ago, I don't think you have a right to complain."

She sat back as if slapped, her face going pale, tears brimming in the corners of her crenellated eyes. She took several breaths to calm herself and then settled her hands one on top of the other on her lap.

Sighing, she said, "I guess I deserved that."

Inside, Dernhelm was stunned. This was certainly not the same woman he had known all those years ago. Then she would have pressed the issue about how he constantly wounded her with his words, how he was uncaring and hateful, regardless of who was in the right, until he acquiesced out of a sheer need to be free of the conversation. He needed to wrap his brain around this.

"Why are you here?" he said at last. "You said you were going on the Retreat to Evermeet."

"I did," she replied, her eyes taking on a distant look. "For about fifteen years I resided in the land beyond the sea – I had just grown so tired and weary of this place after your father had passed." This she said without a tremor of sadness. It seemed she finally may have put away her grief.

"…I… found I couldn't be happy even there knowing that you were abroad in the world mad at me…"

He opened his mouth to rebut her comment, but she cut him off.

"That is, knowing that I had been the one to cause the problems that drove you away. I… I just couldn't live with that."

"So you came back here? Why did you not go back to the Dale?"

"This is the safest place left in Faerûn, that is, the safest place for elves..."

He waited for her to finish the thought, suspecting what she had left unsaid. Maybe there were still parts of his mother very much the same.

"…and because it was closer to where you were."

Yes, parts that are very much the same, he thought.

"Why do you care? You have been here for twelve years and yet you have never tried to see me."

He could tell his words stung but he would not take them back. He would not "be nice" as she considered it, not only because of the manner of their last parting, but he did not want to do anything that made it seem like the "old times" when she tried to keep him under her wings.

She did not rise to the bait however. She just merely looked at him, her head cocked to one side as if she were considering him for the first time. It was unnerving, but he suspected she was gauging him just as he was her.

At last she merely said, "I figured you would not want to see me, so I was caught between hurting by being away and hurting by being near."

He guessed the words were true enough. He could almost echo her sentiment, but for different reasons: he was hurt when they were together and hurt to a small degree when they were apart, a tiny pang at the separation.

"I have kept an eye on you as much as I can," she said after a moment.

He didn't ask how. When he was growing up, his mother claimed that she had eyes and ears everywhere, and so personable was she that people volunteered information to her about him never realizing her ulterior motives. Many times he had returned from a raid or a mercy caravan and she had all but informed him of the outcome before he had even opened his mouth. Part of him was hoping that if his mother changed, this aspect of her personality would have been the most affected.

"So you know I am married?"

She nodded, but a look of sadness crossed her face. He did not know whether it was because he had done so in her absence, or because he had not consulted her on the rightness of his choice.

"Does she treat you right?"

"Like a king, mother, though I do not deserve it. And I treat her like one of the celestials, for that is what she seems."

"And you are happy?"

"The present situation aside, yes, we are very happy." He kept his face calm, though at the mention of his wife his insides churned. Given the speed of their arrival, he didn't think she could possibly know that Aribeth had gotten injured, but he didn't want her to know anything more than was absolutely necessary. Somehow, it always came back to haunt him.

"Do you have any children?" his mother asked suddenly, scattering Dernhelm's thoughts and bringing a sudden lump into his throat. His mother's eyes rose as if she caught the reaction, but he forced himself to be calm. Somehow his mother also knew how to ferret information from him, as if she could read his inmost thoughts. It was one of those abilities she possessed, presumably from birth, and it always made him feel creepy. It made him especially feel creepy that such an innocuous question brought up the heart of his pain that he had been struggling with before she came in.

He decided rather than answering, he would control the line of questioning, changing to topics of which he felt more comfortable and also needed to know the answers. But first, he would catch her off guard.

"I figured you would be happy, me marrying an elf."

His mother, whose mouth was open as if to ask why he had failed to respond, moved back from him as if he had struck. It was a mean thing for him to do, but it diverted her attention.

"I am happy for you," she replied.

"So how have you, a wood elf from the dales, instilled yourself in the graces of the Hill Elders?"

The look on her face told him he had her completely off guard. She answered almost without thinking.

"…when I left Evermeet, I first returned to the dales, but found that either they or I had changed and the appeal of living there was gone. I walked for a while among the trees of Cormanthor but again all I saw was history. Finally, amidst the ruins of the elves, I found a portal to this place, warded, but unused for many years, and thought that maybe here I would find the peace that I was looking for.

"When I came through the portal, the Hill Elders questioned me about my arrival and were intrigued that I had discovered such a device that they did not know about. They were not impressed about my ancestry… but about my progeny…"

She gave Dernhelm a meaningful look, but he suppressed his shock. He didn't know if she was trying to win back control of the conversation, but it felt like a sort of emotional appeal that hid some deeper meaning.

"They were happy about the re-sinking of Undrentide, especially given their problems with the Shades, and as we are a tradition-bound people, even the parents of honored children are honored."

"They didn't exactly treat me like an honored guest – especially not that rat Fanuilous."

"True, but at the same time, it is hard for them not to see you as an outsider-"

"A half-breed," he said, trying to bring truth back to the words he knew she was sugar-coating.

"Outsider," she corrected him with a look bordering on anger. "And Fanuilous is one unenlightened in the ways of the world – by his own choice. He resents the fact we needed the help of others in our war with the phaerimm and the Shades, as do many here."

"I have learned that no matter how strong you may appear, you cannot survive without allies."

She showed no sign that he had just insulted these people. Instead she replied, "So this is why you partner with the human?"

"Yes, Tarlin and I are friends, as are Daelan the half-orc, and Nathyrra, the drow," he said, giving a name and substance to each of his companions.

She ignored the last.

"And why is your wife not here with you?"

He kept his face calm. "She is leading the defense of Neverwinter."

"And you are here to defeat this creature that followed you from the Plane of Shadow?"

He nodded.

"Well, then, I have no doubt you will be successful."

"Will the elves give us any further aid?"

"Aside from horses and the aid that they have already given, I think not. Once you are healed – and they believe you shall by tomorrow morning – you will be escorted out of here with many encouraging words. Really, they are ready to see you go."

He raised an eyebrow.

"The stir you have caused to these people has been enormous. Not only have you entered a site left sealed for nearly ten thousand years, they have found that they are not as secure as they wish to be – a security that was already shaken during the last war."

"I try," he said, attempting a roguish grin, but it did not affect her.

Finally, he asked the question that was the most important, but he feared for the response or lack thereof.

"Do the elves know where we should look for this Enemy?"

"'The land through that door will not rise again until the ancient blight is destroyed.'" she recited. "The human – uh, Tarlin – related it to us earlier this morning. The elves have been considering it for several hours but they say the metaphor is too vague to be precise. They have come up with a small list of candidate sites, but I fear that they range from Myth Drannor to Hellgate Keep."

He squashed the deep-seated sigh that rose to his lips.

"When will we get back our weapons?" he asked to keep his attention diverted.

"On the morn, though I daresay they will be happy to be rid of that talking sword of yours even more than they will be happy to see you and the human gone." She actually chuckled. "I have not heard such colorful insults for many a year."

"And the box from Miyeritar?" Dernhelm asked, unamused, his heart still quaking with the jeopardy in which he found this quest.

In response, and wholly unexpected, his mother's face became ashen. Turning away, she looked toward the far side of the room as if studying the palely painted walls. He recognized that face. He had seen it only once before, when his brother had said that he would go to defend Phlan against impossible odds. She had considered it too dangerous – understandably so – and yet she knew that her son would not be dissuaded. She had done everything in her power to stop him, even to the point of cutting loose his horse so that he would be unable to ride. In the end, he had gone to his death.

Dernhelm surmised that she knew what the device was used for and it was dangerous. He suspected also that she was not about to let him have it back, that she would attempt to make his choices for him all with the idea of protecting him, against his will if need be as she had tried to do with his brother.

To his surprise, she took a long sigh and then looked back at him with slumped shoulders. She spoke after a moment. "The elves of Miyeritar were destroyed to the last during the Crown Wars, their city falling to those who would become the drow. As their last city stood on the brink of failure, they fashioned for themselves weapons in a desperate attempt to stave off the inevitable. The devices used the essence from a living being to create a powerful burst of energy, a sacrificial weapon in which one elf gave his life to protect another. It was the highest form of desperation even as it was that of love. Your device is the only one of these to ever be recovered."

Dernhelm was shaken at the danger that they had held in their hands unknowing, but was determined to possess it for little more than the petty reason that he would not see his mother afford him an unasked for and unwelcome protection. He liked knowing that others would risk themselves for him, but he could not brook those who did so because they still viewed him as a child.

"And so where will it be housed?" he asked angrily, as if reading her thoughts.

"You will be given it back," Linüye said, and smiled wanly at his shock. "The elves do not want it as it reminds them of their own mortality and danger, and as the finder, it is rightfully yours."

He paused, at a loss for words. Finally, he collected himself to say "So you will not keep it from me even though it is dangerous?"

She shook her head, and then she fixed him with a warm smile as one would to a respected friend rather than a child. It was a look he could not ever remember her affording him.

"I have learned to trust your judgment."

He nearly fainted in disbelief and likely would have done so had the young elf that had affixed bandages on his hands not come back into the room.

Standing suddenly, his mother squeezed his arm above the elbow, and then turned to leave. "It is good to see you again. I am proud of you," she said, and then the door closed and she was gone.

"It is good to see you too," he said silently as the elf began his work, and for the first time in well over three decades, it was completely heartfelt.