"So, is Arrow seeing that monk?" Coran asked Freya quietly. The party were approaching the dragon's cave. It was another bright, sunny day, but early enough that it had not yet grown uncomfortably hot. They, Corwin, Rasaad and Viconia had left first thing in the morning. The monk had proven surprisingly sluggish and difficult to rouse, though Coran was certain that he had slept solidly all night. At first Coran had worried that Rasaad might be too unwell for the task ahead. Yet the walk had revived him, and now he was bickering energetically with Viconia about the merits of their respective faiths. Each of them had decided that the Flaming Fist Captain was a juicy target for conversion, and were giving her the religious hard-sell. Poor Corwin was sandwiched between them, thinking that even getting eaten by a dragon had to be better than this.

"Thinking about going back for seconds? I don't think so, but Arrow picked up a juggernaut of a half-orc at the crusader camp," Freya grinned mischievously. She did not really think for one instant that the Ilmatari was likely to strike up a relationship with a Blackguard. Rasaad was in a vulnerable place though, and could do without the competition from Coran. "Big fellow, really big," Freya hammed it up. "Could even give me a run for my money. I wouldn't risk it if I were you."

"Oh," sighed Coran glumly. Then almost immediately his cheerful expression returned and he enquired; "And how is Safana these days?"

"Half-way to forgiving us I think!" Freya told him brightly. "And you know what I reckon will get her the other half of the way?"

She raised a perfect golden eyebrow as her grey eyes caught his green. Elf and werewolf pictured their insatiably covetous friend's face when they brought home their intended prize. The pair of them laughed aloud and said at the same time; "Dragon's horde!

"And what about your love life?" he asked her when they had stopped snickering. Freya chuckled and shook her head. The sunlight caught in her long blonde hair as she moved, giving the impression of dazzling gold.

"Complicated," she sighed.

"Not Skie? Not still?" he groaned. "C'mon Freya, even I know a lost cause when I see one."

"Coran you're my best mate, and I love you to bits," said Freya, clapping him on the back. "But you don't understand about Skie."

It was true, he didn't. Freya stood mesmerized by the elegant criminal dancer. The woman had enchanted her from the moment they met whereas Coran, who had lived longer and seen more of the world, saw a more disturbing side to Skie. She was manipulative, wilful and, in his opinion, a great deal more intelligent than anyone gave her credit for. In short, a politician in the making. Both women were still young and immature but Skie was growing up like a baby cobra. Even if she were capable of returning his friend's love, which she clearly wasn't, Coran thought it a dangerous match. Freya was simply not bright enough to handle her.

"Round up this war quickly and get back to the city. I've found exactly the woman for you!" Coran promised. Freya looked at him sceptically. "Her name is Nalia d'Arnise, she's the sole heir to a thumping great castle and her father is here on trade for at least another couple of weeks. Bit posh for my liking but a real dog-person, she has four."

"Well that rules her out," quipped Freya. "Werewolves don't keep pet dogs Coran, at least not unless they're perverts. Do I have to draw you a picture?"

"They live in the courtyard not the bedroom," said Coran. "Come on, just let me introduce you and you can decide for yourself. She's totally your type."

"You mean she has big tits and a fat arse?" asked Freya glibly.

"I mean she'll boss you around and insult you a lot," said Coran, who knew his friend better than anyone. "And keep you on a short leash. Maybe literally if you ask nicely." The Hero smiled and raised an eyebrow.

"Where is this castle?"

As the party drew nearer to the entrance of the cave, their conversations dialled down to nervous silence. The sudden cold when they entered was a marked contrast to the warmth of the sun outside. Only Viconia seemed to welcome it. The place already smelled dank and mouldy. Once the dead cultists on the level below started to rot it was certain to get worse. They were here to negotiate but all the adventurers, even the good ones, started quaffing their best potions in preparation. Just in case talking to her failed.

She was asleep again. Apparently at some point between them destroying the cult and returning, she had woken up. They could tell because there was a new pile of cattle bones on the cave floor and her horde had been meticulously reorganized. There was so much treasure it would need to be carried back to Baldur's Gate in a caravan. A huge pile of gold coins spread out like a mattress, interspersed with crowns, jewelled goblets, rings, tiaras and every colour of gemstone imaginable.

"Excuse me," ventured Rasaad. Now that he actually came face to snout with the beast, which had fangs as long as his hands, he was starting to reconsider the wisdom of this course. The dragon let out a rasping snore and slumbered on. He tried again a little louder. "I beg your pardon!"

The dragon opened one eye, and turned it lazily toward the monk. As he politely introduced himself and explained that they were with the Flaming Fist army and concerned about the dragon's possible culinary intentions toward the local populace, it yawned. Nevertheless it was not attacking them, which gave Rasaad hope that perhaps it could indeed be reasoned with. The creature stretched out, sending a cascade of pretty blue sapphires skittering down the pile. They rolled away with a musical tinkle to the edges of the cave. One landed at Viconia's feet. She smiled. Freya was gunning for an excuse to have the party fight the creature, and Viconia had spotted a way to make it happen.

Very softly, while everyone's attention was fixed on the dragon, the drow tapped her leader on the arm. She wanted full credit for what she was about to do. Viconia reached her clever elfin fingers down discretely, picked up the sapphire and held it up so that the dragon could see. Freya grinned broadly and winked. Then before any of the others noticed what she was doing, Viconia pointedly pocketed the treasure.

"THIEVES!" The dragon let out a roar of fury that shook the room.

"N- no!" cried Rasaad, "We have not come to steal from your horde, I swear it!"

"LIAR!" roared the dragon, opening her jaws wide in Rasaad's face. The bottom dropped from Viconia's stomach and for a moment she feared that her plan had backfired and the creature was going to eat him.

It never got the chance. Freya sprang toward the dragon, both swords flashing and sliced down hard inside the dragon's mouth. This made her even angrier but also, critically, prevented her from speaking and revealing what Viconia had done. As blood bubbled over the dragon's teeth and tongue, Freya grinned and smacked her on the muzzle provocatively.

"You picked the wrong god, dragon," Freya growled softly. "This is my fucking temple."

Corwin and Rasaad exchanged a worried look. There was something about this place that seemed to make Freya imagine that she was not just a child of Bhaal, but Bhaal himself. It was disturbing to say the least, but this was not the time to dwell on it. Not when the dragon was rearing, flinging her wings and tail and sending the whole party flying backward into the walls of the cave. The horde fanned out too, peppering their faces with sharp little gemstones and coins hurled at speed. When they stood up each of them had dozens of little cuts all over their skin.

"Corwin, Coran; aim down the gullet when it opens its mouth. Viconia; defensive spells. Rasaad; with me!" Freya barked her orders as she jumped to her feet. As she ran back into the melee she was forced to jump the dragon's swinging tail. She avoided it successfully but the dragon swiped her armour with her claws, leaving deep grooves in the metal. Freya laughed and looked pointedly at the dragon's green hide. "Doesn't matter, I was planning on getting some new armour anyway!"

Rasaad attempted to punch the creature but its hide was far too thick for this to do more than irritate it. His real role was to distract the dragon from the archers. This fact dawned on him as he ducked and dodged the dragon's powerful limbs and fiery breath. Coran's arrows flew swiftly past his head, some of them damaging her a little where he could not. So the elf had out-performed him again. At least Arrow was not here to see this.

The Hero was on top form. Her first choice to end this would be for one of the archers to fire down the dragon's neck. If they could get one down when she opened her mouth but before she released her fire it'd choke her, but such a feat would require perfect timing and a good deal of luck. Freya's backup plan, which she had perfected battling wyverns, was to shave enough scales from the same patch of neck to allow a weapon to puncture her gullet. She wove around the dragon's defences, sometimes allowing it to strike her so that she could get into position. Coran was impressed. The Flaming Fist drills that Freya found so pointless had improved her combat technique. She had become less wild and more disciplined. Now the werewolf relied on tactics as well as her raw strength.

He took a speculative shot at the patch of scales that Freya was wearing down. It stuck for a moment but became wedged between two remaining scales and only the very head of the arrow penetrated. The dragon shook it loose furiously. Rasaad saw that Coran had made it bleed and felt incredibly foolish. All he could do was kick and chop at the creature, to no better effect than making his own hands sore.

A series of imagined scenes flashed unbidden in his mind's eye. Coran kissing Arrow, touching her… her turning pink under her freckles and smiling at the elf the way she used to smile at him. Before long, Rasaad's eyes were more on Coran than they were on the dragon. The result was inevitable.

Fire seared his lower half, and pain beyond imagining enveloped him. The world went black, he could not open his eyes. So intense was the agony in his lower half that he did not notice as he fell backward onto the ground. There was nothing left in the world except the burning, inescapable fire and his own screams ringing in his ears. He did notice when the dragon raked her claws across his chest to finish the job.

Rasaad could not speak, but in his head he cried out the most impassioned prayer of his life: let it end! He begged to Selune, Ilmater, even Shar if she was listening, to be allowed to lose consciousness… to be healed… to die…

However much she might want to, Viconia could not abandon the fight to tend to Rasaad. They were a man down and the dragon was still going strong. Corwin had given up on trying to fire into its mouth. Instead she was aiding Freya by releasing acid arrows at the patch of neck she was trying to descale. The erosion was helping to loosen the scales and the werewolf's swipes were sending green discs flying left and right.

Coran, for the first time, was becoming distracted by Rasaad. Despite everything, he was convinced that Arrow did care for him. Though the elf certainly wouldn't say no to another night in the ranger's arms, he did not want to torture the other man. His primary motive in letting the monk see his smiles and winks to her had been to provoke a little jealousy. He had thought that the threat of some competition might prompt Rasaad to action. Instead it seemed to have prompted him to get himself killed. The man's guts were spilling out through his burned away flesh. There was no way they could carry his body intact to the camp for revival. He would need Viconia's attention soon if he were to survive.

"Freya! Fall back!" he cried. This was easier said than done, as the werewolf had been using the dragon's size to the creature's disadvantage. It was harder for her to keep track of where Freya was when she stayed close. Coran had been her best friend and fighting partner for a long time though, and she trusted him. Inelegantly, and with more than one trip and crawl, the warrior managed to extricate herself from the melee.

Coran chose an arrow of detonation. He hardly ever carried these as they could too easily be mistaken for regular arrows, and he had heard stories of them blowing up in the quiver. When he received Freya's message, however, he had risked stealing some for this fight. He let it fly into the gap in the neck scales that Freya had created.

There was a deafening bang and a wave of hot air surged through the cavern. This was accompanied by hot, sticky blood and pieces of scale which embedded themselves into the party's skin like splinters. For a moment the dragon seemed to hang there in an expression of frozen surprise. Then, very slowly, her head toppled from her ruined neck.

Ignoring her own wounds, Viconia skidded to her knees by Rasaad's side and chanted the strongest healing spells she knew over his wound. Freya uncorked an extra-potency healing potion in a hexagonal bottle that she had been saving for herself and tipped it down his throat. Even these efforts would not have been enough to save the monk an hour before. Yet the slaughter of such a powerful enemy and the cunning with which Viconia had brought the fight about, had earned her a reward from the Nightsinger. She felt Shar's power growing within her the instant the dragon fell.

Rasaad too was invigorated by the creature's death. It had indeed been a servant of Cyric, and Selune's blessing shone upon her monk for his hand in putting a stop to it. He felt stronger even as the blood fled his body. Soon he found himself sufficiently recovered that he could watch, drifting in and out of consciousness, as Freya took Sarevok's sword and began to slice away the dragon's flank. Corwin, aided by one of the potions of speed that Coran had been using for his horse, sprinted back to the camp to get help for Rasaad and carts for the treasure.

Arrow, who had been watching anxiously for their return, knew that something was wrong as soon as the caravan appeared in the distance. Rasaad was a fast walker and always strode ahead of the rest of the party. She blanched and ran out of camp toward them, to find him laying on a small cart with the dragon skin spread out beside him. Despite all of the healing potions and spells that could be spared, the monk was not in a good way. The burns down his legs were no longer life-threatening but they looked raw and painful and would leave permanent scars. So too would the slash over his chest where the dragon had tried to rip him open. The tattooed eyes of Selune had been permanently blinded. He was breathing lightly but his eyes were closed.

She hunkered next to him in the cart and started to cry, as Viconia slunk away with a revolted look. Rasaad's eyes opened blearily. He looked at her tear streaked face.

"I feared you no longer cared," he said quietly.

Arrow tried to speak but the words would not come. Instead a great heaving sob escaped her lungs.

"No, no, no. Please don't cry," he soothed, pulling her down close to his tattooed chest and stroking her hair, but Arrow would not be comforted. She cried until her lungs ached. Rasaad clung to her tighter as her tears rolled down his skin, and the feelings welling up inside him threatened to overwhelm him. "Everything is alright. I am here."

Acting on impulse, he kissed the top of Arrow's head. The cart bumped as the horse pulling it got distracted by a patch of thistles. One of the soldiers smacked its hide and the disgruntled animal cantered forward suddenly making the cart jolt more. Rasaad winced in pain.

"I beg you not to believe that I want Dorn gone because I care for Viconia's safety more than yours," he managed weakly. "The fear that something bad might happen to you grips me so hard that I barely sleep. When they told me you would have to go into the crusader camp I-"

"I understand why you think taking Dorn is the wrong thing to do, it probably is," Arrow sobbed. "But I'm terrified Rasaad! I'm surrounded by enemies and they're all stronger than me. I cannot run, I cannot hide. At least… at least with Dorn on my side I might be able to fight."

Tears leaked out of the corner of Rasaad's eyes and he buried his face into her hair.

"It should be me at your side," he replied painfully.

Safana's response when the shimmering treasure carts came rumbling into camp was exactly as her friends had predicted. They were forgiven, so much so that Safana began planning excitedly where the three of them would go travelling (stopping at every luxury inn on the way) when the war was over. She spread herself out on one of the carts, making a gold-angel with her arms and legs, then pulled Coran down on top of her.

"Disgusting," muttered Corwin.

If Freya was expecting a similar reaction from her own lover, she was about to be disappointed. Skie ran out to meet them, Bence hot on her heels, and smacked Freya in the face, hard.

"The hell was that for?" yelped Freya.

"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO TALK TO THE DRAGON NOT FIGHT IT" screamed Skie. Her hair was coming loose from her Fist-style bun and her face was scarlet with fury. "YOU DUMB BITCH!"

"Skie, you can't call female werewolves 'bitch'," Freya said, backing away, her hands raised placatingly. "And it attacked us first. I didn't know you had such a soft spot for evil dragons!"

"The dragon can go to the hells and stay there for all I care, but you could have died!" Skie shrieked. "Corwin, how could you let her?"

"Might I remind you, 'Fist Goldbuckler,' that we are both your superior officers?" snapped Corwin, who did not appreciate being spoken to like that.

"You should have come with us Skie," grinned Freya.

"Bence refused to let me out of camp!" snapped Skie, shrugging his hand from her arm furiously.

"That's Corporal Duncan, Fist!" Corwin retorted. She was starting to look almost as angry as Skie was.

"Men will never give a lady her due," sighed Safana sympathetically, sitting up in the cart. She was covered from head to toe in the emeralds Coran had just slain a dragon to earn. "I recommend taking first and asking permission later, if you must ask permission at all." By way of demonstration she plucked a particularly large diamond out of Coran's hand, kissed it teasingly, and tucked it into her cleavage.

"For the love of the gods don't encourage her!" cried Corwin in exasperation. "Listen recruit you're a Flaming Fist now. You do as your commander tells you and you do it without complaint. You definitely don't complain in front of him. Got it?"

"Freya didn't start at the bottom," Skie grumbled. "Nobody commands her!"

"I do," said Corwin.

"Yeah right," sneered Skie. "Freya could break your neck with her thumb and forefinger."

Captain Corwin was now the angriest that Freya had ever seen her. Even Bence was backing away from his enraged commander. She rounded on the werewolf who swallowed with nerves and arousal. Coran was right, she loved a dominant woman. The soldiers, who had limited entertainment on these long marches were gathering around to watch. Some were even standing on crates for a better view.

"Sergeant Candlekeep?" Corwin barked. The camp held their breaths.

"Sir!"

"Lick my boots."

"Sir?"

"You heard me."

Freya looked around her in alarm. It was a direct order from her Captain and as the silence dragged on it became very clear that Corwin wasn't joking. This was it then. Time to show whether she really was a Flaming Fist officer or just pretending to be one. She hovered uncertainly. The Captain was taking an enormous gamble. If the Hero of Baldur's Gate followed the order it would finally and definitively remove the ambiguity about which of them was really in charge. But if Freya refused it would completely undermine Corwin's authority, not just over her but over Skie and the entire army.

There was no real option. Without the Flaming Fist's support, Freya would be at Irenicus' mercy. She crouched down, then moved to her hands and knees, face burning with humiliation and licked the least muddy spot on the Captain's boots. It was still pretty filthy and she gagged a little.

The camp watched in total silence. Skie looked like she would quite like to kill Corwin, while Rasaad and Coran both flinched and turned away. Arrow's party watched on in mildly disgusted interest, while Dynaheir smirked slightly and Safana grinned openly. Only Edwin and the two drow were completely unfazed by the little ritual. Where they came from forcing someone to lick your boots was a standard way to assert dominance. Indeed, in Viconia's city it was considered impolite not to give your superior's boot a courtesy clean with your tongue every once in a while.

Glint and Skie were standing opposite each other and their eyes met over Freya's head. Slowly, Skie reached into her pocket, pulled out the drugged cookie that Glint had tried to give to Freya and crushed it in her hand. All the colour drained from Glint's face as he turned to run.

"Arrest the gnome!" called Skie suddenly, distracting everyone from Freya and Corwin's boots. "He's the spy!"

Writer's note: Kudos to Nimloth for spotting that it was Glint several chapters ago XD