As always, many thanks to everyone who's following this story. I own little, except for a few original characters.

Chapter Thirty-Five – Whispers

The day wore on, and the wind scouring in off the desert brought stinging sand. With his cape wrapped around him, Haer'Dalis trailed alongside Jaheira and Valygar, and tried to distract himself by eying the fluttering swirls of silk that hung from the stalls. He noticed silver as well, laid out in glittering arrays, and jewels set against sweeps of bright cloth.

The walk to the monastery left his shirt heavy with sweat. He brushed the clinging ends of his hair away from his shoulders and silently concluded that he needed another bath, and soon.

Jaheira waited stiffly while the guards wrestled the gates open. "We need to see Balthazar."

"He's busy."

"He'll want to see us," she said firmly. "It's about Sendai. The drow."

The guard scowled. "What about the drow?"

"It's done," Jaheira said. "Now let us in, and tell Balthazar we need to see him."

The guard hesitated, swiped a hand across his forehead, and nodded. "Alright. Follow me."

The guard led them to the same small courtyard, and while they waited, Haer'Dalis leaned back against the wall and let the coolness of it seep in through his shirt. He turned his cheek against the stone, and when Valygar smiled slightly, he grinned and shrugged. "It's warm."

"I noticed."

"My friend, flushed with this terrible heat is not something that becomes me. Flushed with passion, in the arms of a lover who appreciates such a thing, well…that is acceptable and indeed expected."

Valygar frowned. "You didn't have to qualify that for me."

"I know." He opened his mouth to add something deliberately lascivious, but the far door opened, and he watched as Balthazar's long, loose robes brushed the floor. "We aren't disturbing you, I hope?"

The man paused, his hands lightly clasped. "You bring news?"

"Sendai is dead," Jaheira said. "Along with many of her drow. Those that remain are leaderless."

"Indeed?" Something flickered across the man's face, and Haer'Dalis thought he saw interest, and the slightest touch of surprise. "How?"

"She fell, as drow tend to," Haer'Dalis said. "She fell, as most tend to, when introduced to the sharp edge of a sword."

Balthazar's gaze swung and pinned him, and the skin between his shoulders tightened. "And Kera?"

"Is well," Jaheira answered.

"Good. Your payment will be waiting with the guards at the gate."

"And Abazigal?" Haer'Dalis asked lightly. "Any words of suggestion or wisdom as to where he may lurk?"

"North and east, where the sands give way to the high rock plains, and the wind there screams." Unwavering, Balthazar added, "There is a fortress there now. Some kind of fortress, in any case, built into the rock."

"What does it hide?"

"Abazigal, and secrets." Balthazar sighed. "I can offer maps, and supplies once again, but you should know now that neither merchants nor travelers nor mercenaries brave that part of the desert now."

"What is Abazigal?" Jaheira asked.

"We do not know. I would presume that he has his own followers, and that they are many."

"It will be done," she said.

"And you shall be paid, in turn. Now, you must excuse me."

The man swept away, as silently and as quickly as he had before, and Haer'Dalis wondered at his strange, dark eyes and the smooth planes of his face. Silently, he followed the others back to the gates, and summoned an idle grin when he weighed the coin bag before throwing it to Valygar.

"Haer'Dalis," Jaheira said, when the monastery fell behind them, and the wind whipped up pale clouds of dust. "What is it?"

He paused, and eventually, he confessed, "I cannot read him. Not properly. All I see in his face is reserved concern, and that cannot be all he is."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes," he said. "He claims himself the defender of this place, and yet he hides behind his walls. His eyes are mirrors, my fierce beauty, and I do not know how to shatter them."

"You don't need to."

"No?" He pushed on ahead of them. The sand shifted beneath his heels, and the twinge that ran up the back of his calves distracted him a little. "Then what else? We face Abazigal, and lead him to his death, return victorious, and yet still this man remains here?"

"I know," Jaheira said, softly.

"Forgive me," he said, and smiled. "Some days my temper flies away from me like some errant breeze."

The noonday sun fell bright and sharp through the window, and Solaufein turned his head away slightly. He sat on the windowseat, his bare feet flat on the warm stone, and leaning back against Kera. Her knees were raised either side of his, and her fingers played through the loose ends of his hair.

"Solaufein?"

"Yes?"

"When did you first see surfacers?"

He traced one hand up the inside of her thigh, felt her shiver in response. "I saw elves in the Ust Natha slave markets when I was very young, and then elves on the surface when I went up with a raiding party. But I did not see human surfacers until much later."

"Were they slaves?"

"Yes. There were ten of them, and they were all men. They seemed so tall. I didn't see a human female until years later."

"What did you think?"

"That you are all very strange."

She chuckled and wound her arms around his waist. "All of us?"

"All of you." He turned his head slightly and nuzzled the side of her face. "You are very beautiful, surfacer girl."

He heard the hitch in her breath. "Solaufein."

"I'm here." He turned, and saw how she was looking at him, her eyes wide and wanting. He hesitated a moment longer, and when he kissed her, her lips parted beneath his. "Kera?"

"Yes?"

"Stay there," he said, and slipped off the windowsill. He cupped both hands beneath her thighs and urged her forward slightly. When he knelt between her knees, she touched the back of his head. He looked up at her, at the way her hair spilled over her shoulders, at the shy curve of her mouth, and he wanted her.

He teased her until she trembled beneath the gentle pressure of his mouth and his hands, and when he pulled away long enough to kiss the soft skin just below her hip, she sighed his name. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She found his ears, and when she caressed and pinched and lightly pulled, he groaned.

"Stop," he managed, breathlessly. "I can't do this if you're doing that."

She laughed. "Make me."

He was on his feet an instant later, tugging her off the windowsill and against him. He wanted to carry her across to the bed, but when she caught the very tip of his ear between her teeth, he gave in and let his weight take them both onto the floor.

"Solaufein!" She was still laughing, softly, and something inside him twisted. "Oh, Solaufein."

Her legs opened around his waist, and his first, deep thrust had them both shuddering. She dug her fingers against his hips, guiding him faster, and he tried to last her out. He slipped one hand between them, and even when the muscles in his back tensed awkwardly, he stroked her until she writhed. She sighed his name, and when she arched into her climax, he followed, his head falling against her shoulder.

When his thoughts settled, and his pulse slowed a little, he leaned up on his elbows. "Kera?"

She was flushed, her temples dappled with sweat. "Mmm?"

"Did I hurt you?"

"The floor may have met certain parts of me rather swiftly," she said, and grinned.

"I was going to carry you to the bed." He cupped her chin. "I wanted you."

"I know." She nibbled at the tips of his fingers. "I wanted you when I realised you were there in Sendai's rooms with me."

"I am slightly appalled," he said, and smiled. Hesitantly, he added, "Last night I needed to tell you…well. You needed to know."

"Yes." She swept his hair away from his face. "I know."

"What are you doing?"

"Looking at you," she said. Her thumb stroked beneath his jaw. "Just looking at you."

"Can you do that in bed just as easily?"

"I think I can." She wriggled out from underneath him and grimaced. "Oh. If I can make it there. I think your enthusiasm has broken me."

"That's…good?"

"It's wonderful."

She led him across to the bed and tangled herself around him. They lay like that for a while, and he listened to even tempo of her breathing, and the soft sounds of her fingers as they slid through his hair and brushed against the rings in his ears.

"Solaufein?"

"Yes?"

"I missed you." She rolled on top of him and rested her cheek against his chest.

He sank his hands into her hair and guided her head up. "I am here. You are here."

"I know," Kera said, softly.

For a long moment, he looked at her, at her pale surfacer's face and strange brown surfacer's eyes. He kissed her, and she met him desperately, her mouth working fiercely against his. He sat up and drew her onto his lap and slowly, they surged together. Afterwards, in the hot, breathless silence, he rested his chin gently against her shoulder. She was shaking, her skin flushed and damp, and her eyes were too bright.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," she said, and smiled. "You're here."

Jaheira quartered the room again, and when that failed to banish the tension in her shoulders, she spun and jammed her hands through her belt. Through the window, she could see the fierce blaze of the sunset, and beneath her shirt, her shoulders were damp with sweat. Abazigal, she thought, and could not quite push aside her unease. A name, and that was all they had, and a bag of coin, and this man Balthazar and his strange dark eyes.

She had seen Kera in Sendai's rooms, seen the stripped fear on her face, the blood on her hands, and she wondered again what had happened between them. She remembered that day in Baldur's Gate, before they had ventured beneath the city, and Kera had sat at the window and stared into the darkness.

"I can't do this."

"You have to," Jaheira told her firmly. "Sarevok is waiting for us, and if we do not do this…"

"We?" Kera's head jerked up. "I'm the one with the same blood as him. I'm the one he's going to kill."

"Kera," she said, a little gentler. "We will be there, and we will help you. I will help you."

She had done it, that day, and Sarevok had fallen, and even now, Jaheira wondered why she was allowing herself to worry.

Because this was different and this was to the rhythm of Alaundo's words and she did not know how this could end, not really, not with Kera breathing and well.

Jaheira scowled and marched out into the corridor. Downstairs, she discovered Valygar at the table in the corner, and when she sat heavily, he wordlessly beckoned over one of the innkeeper's girls. She wrapped her hands around the cool glass the girl left and managed a terse smile. "Thank you."

He shrugged. "It's warm outside still."

"Where are the others?"

"Haer'Dalis dragged Imoen and Minsc outside. They're at the market."

"They'd better be careful."

"She'll be fine," Valygar said, and the corners of his mouth moved. "Anything threatening the bard doesn't talk to death, Minsc can hit."

Almost despite herself, she laughed. "Very astute. Have you seen Kera?"

"No."

She nodded and sipped at the drink. Part of her wished she could leave them to each other, her ward and the drow, leave them to each other for as long as they might need. But she could not, not with Abazigal waiting, so she nodded again, and said, "We'll need to leave in the morning."

The moon rose, and lanterns were lit at the marketplace and hung from the corners of the stalls. Imoen breathed in the heavy nighttime air and watched the women as they called out prices for bright handfuls of saffron and jars of cardamom. Beside her, Minsc smiled and murmured, "I don't know what most of these are, but they look very nice."

Imoen laughed. "Brave enough to try any?"

"Not tonight."

"You're so gallant," Imoen said, and prodded him lightly. "Come on. I've lost Haer'Dalis already."

"No, you haven't," the tiefling answered, and slipped past a tall, dark-haired man. "Though you are a little harder to find in a crowd than I assumed, little one."

"Is that a compliment?" She grinned. "And just what have you been wasting money on?"

"Wasting?" He held up jewels, small and sparkling and strung on a delicate silver chain. "These are not evidence of the wasting of coin, little one."

"So they're just evidence of your vanity, then?"

"But of course. You may count yourself blessed by fortune if I ask you to braid them through my hair later."

Imoen giggled and retorted, "Find some other willing slave. Have you finished preening? I'm starving."

She led them back towards the tavern, half-listening to the bard as he tried to convince Minsc of the need for both sparkling decorations and long hair with which to display them. The sand crunched under her feet, and she was glad of the slight breeze, soft and cool, that touched the back of her neck.

"You're with the strangers," said a stocky, armour-clad man. "Aren't you?"

Startled, Imoen looked up and into his face, quarried with lines and wary. "I'm sorry?"

"And the drow," the man said. Behind him, there were others, and she supposed they were mercenaries, or merchants' guards. "You're travelling with a drow?"

She opened her mouth to spin him some lie, but Haer'Dalis' hand brushed her wrist, and she let him step in front of her.

"We are all travelers, my friend," the bard said mildly. "Myself, my friends here, you and your friends."

The man's gaze flicked to the bard, and he snapped out, "And what are you?"

"A traveler, and her friend," he answered, and lazily ran his fingers across his left sword hilt. "Is there something in particular you wished to say, or do you direct such vague insults at anyone who dares to cross your path?"

"There's rumours of Bhaalspawn coming down from the north. With that, and all the talk of drow out in the desert, it seems that nothing's safe."

"Nowhere is ever truly safe, my friend," Haer'Dalis said in the same amiable tone. "Neither out in the deserts or here. Now, before the last of my patience runs away from me, was there anything you needed to say to us?"

The man hesitated, and his dark eyes flicked back to Imoen. "We don't mean any harm. It's just…all those stories. Where there's Bhaalspawn, there's trouble."

"Well," Haer'Dalis said, and grinned. "If I stumble across any Bhaalspawn, I shall be sure to keep your words in mind. Now, you will excuse us, I am sure."

Imoen followed him, and noticed how his hand tightened around his sword hilt again. Minsc flanked her, and he squeezed her shoulder wordlessly. "Haer'Dalis," she said, but he shook his head and motioned her silent.

She complied, and lasted until she saw the tavern windows. The door was open, and the lanterns strung up across the square in front threw trembling spots of light. Soft music spilled across the square, and Imoen recognized more than a few of the tavern girls, twisting and laughing as they danced. After promising to find food, Minsc meandered inside, and Imoen nudged the tiefling. "Thanks. For that."

"Barely a trial, little one. Though if your gratitude is great and guilt-ridden enough, perhaps you would honour me with a dance?"

"You know I'm only going to say yes because I don't want to see Jaheira gut you for your temerity if you ask her."

"And because no one else in our courageous little group deigns to dance with you," Haer'Dalis said merrily. "You will have to forgive me if I stay armed."

"And here I thought you weren't afraid of anything," Imoen responded, and when he held out one hand, she stepped closer and clasped his fingers. Around them, the music changed, turned swift and dizzying and challenging. "Ah, this is rather fast, isn't it?"

Haer'Dalis grinned. "Then you will have to keep up, won't you, little one?"

Kera lit the candles, and the marigold light fluttered across the edges of their clothes and their weapons and swam in Solaufein's hair. She curled herself beside him again, and wove her fingers through his. Through the open window, she heard music, bright and fast, and she smiled.

"Do you want to go outside?"

She kissed the backs of his knuckles in turn. "I'd have to get dressed, wouldn't I?"

"This is not a drow city, so yes, probably."

"Only probably?" She let the tips of her fingers run across the delicate bones of his wrist. "You wouldn't be rushing out to defend my honour, then?"

"Why is it," he said, warily, "That I feel that whatever I say to this will be wrong?"

Kera laughed. "Forgive me?"

"I'm sure I'll find a way."

She pushed his hair behind his ears. "Has your hair always been long?"

"Yes. For as long as I can remember. Has yours?"

"No. When I was very young – around eleven? – we thought it would be fun to try something different. Gorion was very attentive, but he was still a man, and by the time he realised that both me and Imoen had hacked our hair into the most awful mess, the only thing left to do was chop it even shorter." She grinned. "I looked like a boy until it all grew back properly."

"A boy?" He ran an admiring glance over her, and added, "I'm not convinced."

"It was years ago."

"May I ask you something?"

"Of course you can."

His fingers skimmed along her collarbone, and he muttered, "How old are you?"

"I am not sure how long Irenicus kept us," she said. "I tried working it out, but I don't know if it was weeks or months or longer."

"Kera."

"No, it's alright," she said, gently. "It just means that I think I am twenty years old, but I might be twenty-one." She shrugged, and a little awkwardly, she added, "An extra year can mean a lot to surfacers."

"Twenty," he repeated. "That seems so…when we are twenty, we are children still."

"How old did you think I was?"

"I don't know. I know we are different."

"Yes," she said, and trailed one hand down his chest. "I haven't frightened you, have I?"

"I'm a drow," he said, and smiled slowly. "We don't feel fear, remember?"

"You also evade quite well when you put your mind to it."

"I am much, much older than you."

"Oh, that's not fair." She rolled herself on top of him, and when he laughed, she swung his arms above his head. "How much older? And don't you dare answer in drow."

"I have a century on you. Almost exactly, give or take a year or so. Are you going to let me go now?"

"No," she answered, thoughtfully. "Not yet."

"Then whatever are you going to do with me?"

"I'll think of something." Kera rested her face against the side of his neck and breathed him in, clean skin and the soft scent that clung to his hair. She had known, of course she had known, that he must have lived so much longer, that he would live so much longer. Still, something strange and cold pooled in her belly when she thought of it, and when she pressed her lips against the fluttering pulse in his throat, she ached.

"Kera," Solaufein said, softly. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she said, and loosened her grip on his wrists. "Just thinking."

His thumbs brushed her cheekbones and mercifully, he did not press her, did not ask. He sighed something, soft and sibilant words, and then her name, and she smiled.

"You're going to have to teach me some of your language."

"But then I will no longer appear quite so mysterious."

"Hah. True. You'll just have to teach me the important words."

"Oh, yes?" He tilted her face up. "Like what?"

"How do you say 'take your clothes off' in drow?"

"I'm not telling you that," he protested. "From there it's only a short step to 'male, fetch me dinner and sharpen my sword and clean my armour and pleasure me until I can't stand'."

She laughed. "I like the last part of that."

"Oh?" His smile turned wicked, and he flipped her off him. As fast, he was above her, his hands framing her face. His weight kept her pinioned when he rolled his hips. "Do you?"

She laughed again, and when he claimed her mouth, fierce and wanting, she surrendered. Afterwards, they lay curled towards each other, with the sheets damp around them. When she floated close to sleep, Solaufein's fingers played gently through her hair, and she listened to the soughing of the desert wind at the open window.