~*-{/=S=\}-*~

The roar didn't give them nearly warning enough, not when a swipe of claws accompanied it; Imoen—struck?—rolled down the hill, momentum tumbling her nearly into the dark cave yawning open below. Where a dark shape waited.

"Imoen!" Sajantha leapt forward—past the first bear; the others could handle it—and sped down after her, heart catching in her throat with every lurching step.

Imoen—on her feet—had her sword out, but she was a fraction of the animal's size. Plenty of room to strike around her, then, with the right attack. Sajantha's mind raced as she closed the distance. A spell—what spell—

Fighting momentum, she didn't wait to stumble to a stop at the foot of the hill; the creature had already drawn back its massive paw.

"Valignat!" Sajantha stretched out her hand. The familiar stomach-dropping surge flowed through her as her nerves flared to life, a giddy surge of power that blanked out her vision a moment, sped up her heart—but, nothing more happened. She looked down at her hands.

Imoen had ducked out of the way, clambering for cover, for distance. From the ridge above, two arrows whistled overhead; two spells slumped the beast into stillness before it caught back up to her.

Back on her feet, Imoen ran a hand through her hair. "Whew," she said, jogging towards Sajantha. "That was–"

With a gut-wrenching twist, the surge re-awoke—a burst of brightness, a flare of flames— roaring free of Sajantha and blocking Imoen from sight. Sajantha rocked to the side, twisting away as she tried to draw the flames back, draw them inward; the fire didn't die.

She collapsed to her knees, curling in on herself, and shoved fiery palms into the dirt as smoke and grit choked her.

"Aussir nomeno oium!" Dynaheir's voice sounded far away.

The spell racked through Sajantha—as a drenching of icy water—and the flames guttered out; her cold fingers pressed into the chill earth. All was quiet, save the pounding in her ears.

Shaking her hair from her eyes, Sajantha glanced back, and her breath stopped in her throat. "Imoen!"

A figure lay sprawled in the dirt. Armor a seared mess—leather unrecognizable, as if welded to the very skin below it—red and black, all the way up to the neck.

Char flaked from her as Sajantha reached out. "No–!" She fell back to her heels. "Imoen—Imoen. Oh—oh, my gods. I—I–" Hair whipped back and forth as her head shook. "No. Oh, no."

Feeling fled her fingers, blunt and cold and nothing; she felt nothing as they ran over Imoen's face—her chest—no sound, no breath. "Jaheira!" Sajantha's own breath choked out. "Jaheira—help her, heal her—you have to, oh, oh gods." Her shaking hands couldn't even hold on. "You have to. You have to. Jaheira!"

Her friend's eyes stared up, seeing nothing.

Nothing. It dug in, all around. Sajantha couldn't feel her face. The words dribbled from her lips, numb. "No, no; oh, no." No breath, no sound. A silence pressed in; her ears rang from the pressure of it. It hurt to breathe. She couldn't, she could only gasp it out, her friend's name: a mantra, a spell that did nothing.

"Imoen." Her hand hovered above Imoen's face. "Imoen, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Don't do this. Please. Please, don't leave me." Lips parted, but frozen open. "Listen to me—you have to, you have to," her voice ground out in a shout; sparks flew from her fingers, light blurred her vision as she reached out.

A dizzying surge—the world spun—a strength pressed beneath her arms and hauled her up, and Sajantha twisted, struggling to break free.

"Jaheira's seeing to her. She'll be alright. C-calm yourself. She'll be alright."

Khalid. Khalid's arms held her tight.

All her nerves abuzz, Sajantha swayed on her feet, gripped his arms. "What do I do? If she... Without her, I..." Her voice didn't work right; words jammed up in her head, in her throat. "I can't," she gasped out, the word digging from her raw throat as deep as the hole gouging within her. "Do you—do you understand?" Without her–

There was nothing.

Her stomach plummeted, taking all her balance—all her air—with it; her feet couldn't hold her, the ground buckled beneath them. Khalid's arms, warm and steady, held her still: the only thing that kept her standing. His face doubled and blurred through her lashes.

Her stomach twisted; she grabbed her mouth. "I can't. I can't do this, not without her." The quest didn't mean anything—Sarevok didn't mean anything—just a blackness stretched before her, on and on and on. The chill pressed in, its fingers crawled across bare skin, delving deep; the void stared back a dark reflection, and Sajantha squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face into his chest.

"I understand," Khalid whispered, stroking back her hair. "I understand."

"She's resting. It'll take some time before I've strength enough to finish the healing." Jaheira's face was drawn, her wiry arms shaking as she raised herself. "But, she'll survive."

Khalid pulled his wife up to his side, where she leaned, unsteady. "You did everything you could."

"Thank you—thank you." Sajantha ran past them, but Dynaheir's scrutiny almost stopped her cold.

"I—thank you," Sajantha managed. "For the dispel." If her spell had gone on any longer...

"I thought such as this could occur," was all she said, and Sajantha missed a step as the strength fled from her legs; she turned away from Minsc's worried sympathy, sinking to her knees beside her friend.

Fine—Imoen looked fine. Tired, though. Drained. Her skin pink and tender with a shine to it, as if stretched too tight.

Sajantha swallowed down the lump in her throat as she turned away, eyes hot. From the side, the remains of the armor seemed to stare where Imoen could not. She stared back. Burn them; they should just burn the rest of them.

Khalid lowered himself beside her, blocking the armor from view.

"You..." Sajantha cleared her throat. "You do understand. Before, you said... I thought..." She shook her head. "You don't want to fight. I can see it. But, you don't hesitate, not at all. I just—how can you stand it? Imoen, she's all I have. My family. Without her, I—gods." She ran her fingers through her hair, squeezed her scalp. "I can't even think about it."

"You have us," Khalid said. "You're not alone; don't ever think it." He leaned closer, pressing her shoulder. "We—we give each other strength. Do you understand? All of us. We are stronger, together."

"H-how do you do it." She swallowed back a shiver, a hiccup. "Jaheira, if you lost her... How can you stand it? Watching her fight. She's always in danger."

He smiled. "But, I am there, beside her. I am afraid, b-but fighting for her gives me strength."

"But what if you lost her?"

"I cannot," he said simply. "And that is what gives me the strength to stand at her side."

Sajantha looked up into Khalid's soft eyes. "I think you may be the bravest man I've ever met," she said, and meant it.

He flushed to the pointed tips of his ears. "I... thank you."

~*-{/=I=\}-*~

Sajantha faced away from the camp, staring off into the trees, but not with any kind of alertness to her; she'd curled up into her cloak tight as a cocoon, and not much more than her eyes peeked out.

Imoen sat down on the log beside her, and Sajantha's shoulders came up. "I'm sorry," she said, her whisper all hoarse and throaty.

"It was an accident. Hey, I know what it looks like when you're trying to kill me on purpose, don't forget."

But Sajantha didn't laugh, just squeezed her eyes shut. Shoulders really shaking, now. Imoen threw an arm around her, paying no mind to the painful friction as she gripped tight, and Sajantha shuddered against her. "I'm so sorry."

Imoen pushed her friend's damp hair to the side before it got caught in her runny nose. "You finally get it?"

Sajantha blinked some of the shine out of her eyes. "What?"

"How I've been feeling. Worrying about you, this whole time."

Her friend sniffled, then dropped her head in her hands. "I'm s-sorry about that, too," she said miserably, and Imoen gave her a little shove.

"You know that ain't what I meant! And, look at you, getting your new cloak all icky. Guess it's already time for a new one."

Sajantha's shoulders hitched again as another sob leaked out, all mixed into her hiccuping laugh.

~*-{/=E=\}-*~

Between the wild magic and wilder emotions, the atmosphere of the camp was far more chaotic than even normal (and dealing with them was far too much of a headache on a good day); Edwin had removed himself to as safe a distance as he could manage, though studying the treatise upon the Nether scrolls was made little easier while anticipating further disruption. Nor was the tree stump he sat upon particularly comfortable; 'twould be a relief when this business was finished and he could return to far more civilized conditions. And company.

When Sajantha finally determined her friend would not fall deceased if she left her sight, she returned to what must be her second-favorite past-time: disturbing Edwin.

Eyes red-rimmed (but dry enough), she stared at him a long moment without speaking.

"Yes...?" The odds of this being a conversation he could enjoy seemed slimmer than usual.

"I don't want to hurt anyone with my magic," she said, sinking to her knees beside him. "But I can't trust that it won't."

The only surprise was that something like this had not happened sooner. "This lack of trust in your magic seems to be the root of your troubles, certainly." He closed the book. It wouldn't do for her to begin leaking all over it.

"I can't cast it," she said. "Not at all, not anymore; it's too dangerous." She looked up, green eyes digging in with the same force with which her fingers gripped his arm. "But, you. You can." She held on so hard that her fingers trembled—or, perhaps, not hard enough to keep them still. "Don't let anything happen to her."

He pried her fingers loose, reclaiming his arm. "Best rephrase your request; it sounds quite like a command." Or—from anyone else—a threat.

"You want to remake the deal, again?" Her eyes widened—frantic—searching his own. "I don't care. I don't care about the bounty, about any of it. Just her."

He shook his head. "Did your brain leak out with your tears? No one is after her. 'Tis your own life being threatened."

"And hers. And—and, everyone's, if I keep using magic. I can't. I can't do it anymore; it's not worth it." She bowed her head. "They were right, they were all right; I should have never–"

Was she serious? "What weakness—what madness! To give up all your strength—all your ambition—for another."

Sajantha went still. "None of it means anything—none of it's worth anything—not without her." She lifted her chin, though it trembled. "She is my strength."

"You've just proven the opposite."

"That's..." Her lips flexed, as if she were trying to smile. Or trying not to cry. "That's where we're different," she said. "I can't ever believe that."

~*-{/=I=\}-*~

Sajantha sat holding Gorion's spellbook to her chest without looking at it, didn't even look up as Imoen started to lower herself to the ground next to her, but then she shot right up.

"You should take it." The book must've weighed a lot; it shook a bit as Sajantha held it straight out in one hand and couldn't quite keep it level.

Imoen stared down at the book. "You sure?"

Sajantha's curls whipped in her eyes, a jerky motion that could've been a nod or a shake. "Just take it."

And Imoen did. Gathered it into her arms, right up against her chest where it nestled in heavy and warm.

Sajantha pressed her lips together. "He's grouped them by type. Like, when he writes an M—that looks like it has a tail—that's the symbol for defense. He has lots of abbreviations like that. The bar, with the circles cut out of it? That's measuring distance, for the somatic components." She took a step back.

Imoen ran a hand across the cover. "Anything else you wanna tell me? We could, you know, go over it together."

"I... no. I'm sure Dynaheir's better at it, after all." Sajantha's hands twisted together, then dropped to her sides. "I'm sure she can tell you whatever you need to know."

"Reckon so." That's what Imoen had been counting on. She cleared her throat. "I know what that took." How hard it must have been—and still was, if that restless look caged tight behind Sajantha's eyes was any sign. "Thanks."

And her friend let out a sigh, let the tension right out, too, shoulders sagging as she deflated. "Aye," she said. When she looked up, she'd found a smile, dragged it right across her face. "But I know you can do it. I always knew."

"Sajantha..." Imoen glanced down at the book between them. "This is who you are. I done heard you say it, myself. Without magic... I won't be the reason you stop; I'm not gonna do that, take that away from you. I'm willing to risk it."

Sajantha gave her head a tight shake. "But I'm not," she whispered.

~*-{/=E=\}-*~

"Whosoever would craft a ring from this gold
Shall gain the glory of the Realms, and powers untold.
But all things have a price, and the cost of this fee
Is a life bereft of love, a heart without peace.

'You think me a fool—of what use is love?'
the dark dwarf cried with a glower.
'I will take the might, I will take the power.'

He drove away his friends, those new and those old,
In pursuit of more riches and more piles of gold.
Power he attained, and coins he amassed;
Tales of his treasures spread far and fast.

But where there is wealth, there is envy and greed:
His prize was sought by many, for such lusts they did heed.
Its true source—the ring—was sought by others, as well,
And the dark dwarf was outsmarted by a speech, by a spell.

The ring's new owner walked off, richer in gold, but no more;
Leaving behind a man who'd never been quite so poor.
More destitute than the day he'd encountered the ring:
Now the duergar lacked not just coin, but everything.

No one to love, for he'd left his friends behind,
And no one to blame but himself, for his bind."

"Idiotic." Was this to be what passed for entertainment 'round the campfire? The sorceress (or, bard, as she now professed) had dragged out her harp, more than a little rusty for the months she'd neglected it, but 'twas not the tune which most grated upon him.

The instrument lowered to her lap as Sajantha looked up. "The story?"

Edwin snorted. "That obnoxious bundle of tripe? Well beyond it. But I spoke of the duergar—'twas the duergar most idiotic." Not to mention the girl, for her ham-handed attempt at force-feeding metaphor. Almost amusing, were its transparency not so insulting.

"For forging the ring? Or for losing it?"

"For not putting it to its proper use. Wealth is fleeting. Power? It is nothing without the will to use it."

She looked away. Perhaps the significance was not entirely lost upon her. "That's the sort of lesson they teach children in Thay, is it?"

He made no attempt to stifle his sneer. "Why, are these are the sort of tales they wean you Westerners upon? Small wonder you are all so soft." And so keen to press her idealized nonsense upon others! This was what came of being raised by a Harper.

Sajantha stared at her harp a long moment. "My father taught me all sorts of stories. I bet we could find some common tales." She tilted her head. "Do you know of 'Tali and the Tinker?' "

"Your father? I should not think the trifling mage who managed to get himself killed by your monster (fictitious as it likely is) taught you any lessons worth repeating. No doubt his coddling is what left you both so unprepared to face the real world."

Sajantha stiffened, eyes flashing. "You—how dare you." Her knuckles whitened against her instrument—that tight grip was undoubtedly the only reason she didn't drop it (or throw it at him) as she surged to her feet. A sore spot, was it? "You've no right to judge him. My father was a great man—a great mage."

"Evidence to the contrary is overwhelming." Nothing he'd heard at all recommended the man.

She stared at him a moment, nostrils flaring, then tore off towards the far side of the camp. A gust flew up as she stormed away, sending the campfire flames dancing.

Even sitting a careful distance from the fire, her friend drew back. "Don't you know how to have a real conversation?" she asked him. "You know, one that won't end in someone getting all huffy."

"Don't you know how to tell when you are not wanted?" Edwin rose, brushing off his robes. Best return to studying the tome, if Sajantha had not reclaimed it. Surely she valued its knowledge too highly to do anything worse.

For some reason, the girl kept speaking, "Tali and the Tinker's a pretty funny one, actually. She was playing with you. About a halfling who defeats a dragon by talking it to death. You might like it, though; at least it's better 'n all those long, gloomy ones that just drone on and on."

"As this conversation?"

She shrugged. "You just watch it; when she gets in one of her moods, that's all we're gonna be hearing! See how you like it, then. 'Tali' won't sound half so bad."

Edwin rested his hands on his hips. The girl would try the patience of the Crying God! "This is your pathetic attempt at a warning?"

"Nah, it's my pathetic attempt at advice." Her gaze drifted towards the fire. "I'm just saying, poking at a wild mage's weak spots til you rile her up might not be the best idea." She shook her head. "For such a smart guy, you sure can be pretty dumb."

"Excuse me?"

A little smirk curled her lips. "I think you heard me."

~*-{/=S=\}-*~

This energy had to be channeled out, somehow. It built up inside her, with no outlet but her voice. Maybe if she screamed loud enough, the cloud crushing the breath from her would disperse, and the pressure behind her eyes would release.

Instead, her fingers kept dancing along the strings, all the words staying locked inside her.

Soft footsteps approached behind her, a rustle of robes. Oh, yes: Edwin. Sajantha sat very near his tent—no doubt he could not study through her noisy annoyance—but she didn't stop playing. Didn't look up, either: the evening shadows would hold him as closely as his cloak, and he didn't even need that hood to keep his expression hidden. The footsteps stopped. Watching her? Or waiting? He hurled his words—as his spells—with such deadly precision. What would he say, next?

Best focus on the harp before the song escaped her. "Do you feel anything? People have collapsed into tears, before, when I've played it." She tipped her head, letting the tune flow through her as her fingers gave it life. It seemed to expand—or she did—as she took in a great breath. "It probably only works if you've something to sorrow for."

"Hmph." Even knowing it was Edwin, the confirmation of his voice sent a tingle up her spine. "You expect me to be overwhelmed with remorse, or some nonsense?"

"No." She plucked out the last notes. "Not you. It must be nice, not ever having any regrets." She stared off towards the edges of camp as the music and its echo inside her faded.

"I do hope that you are not intending to 'collapse into tears.' "

"Mm." She swiped a hand across her eyes before she faced him. "No intention to, no. I would hate to disappoint you." She pulled herself to her feet, brushing off her skirts. When she looked up at Edwin, he drew back his chin, as though preparing to brace himself. What did he expect from her?

"I should be mad at you." And she had been: a single burst of fury, quickly burned out with no fuel to sustain it. "What you said..." She bit her lip. "But then, all I could think is, you're right—what if you're right? If he—if he didn't have to die." If she could have saved him. Her palm caught her forehead as she lowered her head, shook it, pressure building again behind her eyes. "I wondered about that, you know? Over and over, in circles. If only I'd been stronger—I could have helped."

"You think so? We all know what your help looks like."

Her hand lowered to cover her mouth; she couldn't help the wince that shrank her back.

Edwin shifted. "More likely it would have ended with the monster slaying you both."

"You don't think he's a monster, though."

"I lack the evidence to be certain."

"But you don't think so."

"No." He gave his head a shake. "Not with what I know of demons. Not with what I know of men. How much easier for you (in your tendencies towards delusion) to remember 'twas a great demon killed your father, than that he—and yourself—were too weak to stand against him?"

"I..." Her voice cracked. Might she have remembered it wrong? Might she have built him into such a thing? "I don't know."

"The truth hurts only those who have not accepted it. Once you are able to, it may never be used against you." He gathered his cloak, moving away.

"What's it like," she turned after him, "not having any regrets?"

He glanced back, eyes traveling over her. "If this wallowing is what it is like being weighed down by them, I should say 'tis a good deal lighter."

"I'm not wallowing." She gripped her elbows. "At least, I don't mean to be."

"Whinging." He half-turned towards her, hands on hips. "Withering."

"Just..." she touched her necklace, "worrying."

His gaze dropped to her harp before he looked back up at her, eyebrows raised. "Warbling."

Her laugh came out quiet, not much more than an exhale of air. The shadow beneath his hood looked an awful lot like lips quirking up, but he turned before she could quite catch it.

~*-{/=I=\}-*~

"It felt like I was dissolving, getting stirred into some giant pot, just melting away. It didn't hurt." Not exactly. Not til that light had burst through, brighter and hotter than even the fire. Even the campfire against her back made her skin itch; Imoen leaned forward.

"I am gladdened thou art well." Dynaheir's smile was tight. "I feared such as this could happen."

Imoen bit her lip. What was the use in expecting the worst? Like letting some dark cloud always hang over you. "We were supposed to watch her like her magic was just gonna snap, at any second? You think that would've helped, somehow?"

Dynaheir looked off into the distance. "If thou knew of a great danger unfolding, wouldst thou not do what thou could to stop it—to redirect it?" Her voice lowered. "Or wouldst thou but wait and hope 'twould not be so bad as thou feared. I... I know not how long I could watch, without acting."

"I guess it depends." Were they still talking of Sajantha? "Is this danger a sure thing? Is it gonna hurt folk?"

"That is its very nature."

"We can't all of us be like her, trying so hard to look for the good parts that we're blind to the truth of it. Sometimes... I guess you just can't think of anything except the consequences, if you don't do anything. If you think too hard about the rest of it, you'll lose all your courage, getting caught up in the maybe's."

She nodded, lips pressed together. "As much damage may be done in ignorance as in intention."

"Dynaheir... is there something you wanna tell me?"

Her hand propped her chin, fingers covering her mouth. " 'Tis time for thy lesson, is it not? Art there any spells in thy new book that thou wouldst like to learn?"

Goosebumps prickled on Imoen's skin. "I'm not stupid. Okay? Don't try to play games with me. Not if it's something to do with Sajantha."

"It hast no more to do with her than it doth with thee," Dynaheir answered. "Now, sit thyself down."