Chapter XXXVII: Complete Picture

"I do not think I will ever be adjusted to this place," Harrian commented as he gnawed on the meat which might have been chicken, bought from a stall in Amkethran and taken down to the pocket plane, where they were pitching their tents for the night. It felt odd to camp under a green sky and all manner of strange statues and symbols of Bhaal, but the air was warm and the light would conveniently come when the party needed it or turn dark when slumber came. Harrian had expressed to have no control over the plane, and to have no desire to learn control, but there was certainly a subconscious influence affecting matters.

"Then perhaps we should try to make sure we do not need it for much longer," Anomen said, stirring the large pot of southern, slightly spicy stew in the middle of the circle of adventurers, gathered amongst their tents. "It is a little disconcerting, to tell the truth."

"Ignoring it is possible," Reynald insisted, finishing off the scraps left in his own bowl. They had thus far dined over plans of where to go tomorrow, and the atmosphere over them was thick, sleepy, and full of anticipation of active days to come.

"Especially from the inside of a tent." Imoen yawned, stretching greatly, then set her empty bowl and spoon down. "So I think that's my cue to go to bed. I'm getting a little sleepy. It's been a long day."

And indeed, it had, travelling across deserts and with all of the commotion in Amkethran. Getting a room at the inn had not been viable, not after their display, and so they had gathered food, tents, and gone back to the pocket plane to spend the night. It kept them away from awed villagers, whose interest had become more distant after Sarevok's disciplinary action in the square, and angry mercenaries not liking the interference or attacks by the adventurers.

The remaining five of them lingered for only a little time, Harrian bowing out for sleep shortly after Imoen had left, Jaheira following moments after, leaving just stilted, uncomfortable silence between Sarevok, Anomen and Reynald, all of whom filled it by eating the remnants of the thick, spicy stew, only pausing when none of it was left.

"No river here," Anomen noted grimly as he peered at the cutlery and bowls that remained. "Washing up will be fun, indeed. Drinking water, I believe. It is just as well we gathered supplies in Amkethran."

"Stop whinging, priest. It will be dealt with," Sarevok grumbled, gathering bowls. "Go to sleep. You earn your keep by cooking often enough that the dark knight and I can clean up mess once in a while." His gaze flickered to the tent Anomen shared with Imoen a little pointedly, before returning to the cutlery.

Anomen hesitated, but only briefly, and he nodded his thanks to Sarevok and Reynald before turning to the tent, pulling the flap open and slipping inside quickly. Normality seemed to return once within the canvas, not surrounded by the strangeness of Harrian's personal plane, once the plane of Bhaal, and he could almost pretend to himself that they were camped in some silent, empty woodland.

"I was wondering if you were going to come at all," Imoen said sleepily from where she was buried under blankets in the very corner of the small tent. Boo was curled up inside one of her boots, squeaking only occasionally with slumber. "Thought you'd stay up talking about silly men things with Reynald."

"I fear we would both run out of topics far too quickly," Anomen replied fondly, giving her a small smile before he wriggled out of his jerkin and stripped just down to the undergarments he would sleep in. The pocket plane might have been odd, but it was safe, with no need to keep watch in.

Still, as he slipped under the blankets to join her, it was with a certain guarded air that she clearly noticed, for the moment he was settled she reached out to take his hand quickly, not moving closer but clearly establishing his presence. "I need to talk to you," she murmured, her expression one of slight difficulty.

"Oh. About today." Anomen sighed, closing his eyes. "I was being unreasonable. You have problems to deal with that I do not have any particular right to be informed of. I lend you support when you wish it, and will not try to draw from you tales you do not wish to tell."

"Don't get all selfless, Anomen. It doesn't suit you." There, finally, was a hint of a smile, her smile, and he shifted over to glance at her uncertainly. "You were right. Today. I haven't necessarily been fair to you. I haven't necessarily told you all that I could… should. I've been keeping you at the door. Since… since pretty much the first time I met you."

"I am aware of this," Anomen said gently, but he didn't resist when she moved forwards for him to hold her in his arms tightly. "Perhaps, what bothers me, is that you have talked of problems to those who are not me. And I do not just mean Harrian, or Sarevok, because it is true, they can understand more than I. But when you can discuss your fears with Jaheira, with Haer'Dalis, and not with me…"

She rested her forehead against his shoulder, taking a deep breath before speaking. "It's not because I don't value your support, or your judgement, as much as theirs that I don't tell you these things. It's because I value it more that I don't tell you."

Anomen frowned. "I don't understand."

Imoen sighed again. "I talk about my problems with Jaheira and Haer'Dalis and then it defines everything I talk to them about. I talk to Jaheira about bad dreams, and then suddenly every time we discuss anything, it comes back to my bad dreams. I talk to Haer'Dalis about a bloodlust in battle, and it always pops up in certain conversations. I've shared with them in the past, and then can't get away from it. Every single waking moment seems defined by my Bhaal taint, and what others know of my Bhaal taint, and how they treat me because of my Bhaal taint." She tilted her head up to look at him, and he was silent now, listening. "I haven't talked to you as much as others because you've been my refuge. With you, I can be just plain Imoen, not Imoen the Bhaalspawn. With you, I don't have to feel as if the world's going to come crashing down on me every moment."

Anomen shook his head, smiling very thinly before he shifted forwards to kiss her on the forehead. "Imoen, that's not because you don't tell me. I'm aware of you, and the Bhaalspawn taint within you. I'm aware that you have dreams, that you fight against the call of the blood. I don't know the details because you don't tell me the details, but I know there are struggles. I treat you as I treat you for you, not for what you tell me."

There was a thin silence after this as Imoen just lay there in his arms and thought for a long moment. "I've killed you, killed you all, hundreds of times in my dreams," she said at last, not looking up at him. "And I've had the urge to do it dozens of times when I'm awake. Mostly in a battle, granted, mostly when I kill an enemy and then turn to find you or Jaheira or someone standing next to me, nearer than the enemy. I just think about how easy it would be to cut you down, and sometimes… sometimes how it would be more satisfying to do it precisely because you're not nameless faces of foes."

She shifted a little, finally looking up at him. "And… yeah, another reason I haven't told you. I care what you think of me more than I care what the others think of me. You matter more than they do. I haven't… I didn't… didn't want you to know about how I'd just sometimes fantasise the best way of killing you all."

"It makes me think no less of you," Anomen said firmly. "My love for you goes to who you are, beyond the taint. It goes to how you have believed in me when no others have. When you can chase away dark times with just a smile, and a well-placed words. Are those features which are brought on by the blood of a God of Murder? I do not think so. You are yourself, Imoen, before you are a Bhaalspawn, before this fight. Do not lose sight of that – and that is all I ask of you."

She gave him another smile, this one softer than her usual room-dazzling grin, and he felt himself sink into more peace in this moment. "I'll do my best. And, right now, there's just one thing I'd ask of you."

"Anything, my lady."

She raised a hand to his face, stroking his cheek and his beard softly, her expression a thoughtful one. "Just kiss me. And pretend we don't have to march off to another war tomorrow."

When his lips touched hers, it was light and sensitive yet utterly intoxicating, and he fought to keep his own control to stop himself from seizing her in his passion there and then. "That would be two things, my lady," he commented at last, under his breath as he finally pulled back slowly.

"Then I suppose I owe you one?" Imoen shifted closer, kissing him more intently this time, one hand slipping under his shirt for fingers to run lightly across his bare stomach. "I'll have to pay you back for that, then…"

"I'm sure we can… come to an arrangement… that reaches mutual… satisfaction…" The interruptions to his speech came from more, quick kisses that compensated for limited time with firm intensity. Then he gave up on words, and just lost himself to her, to her lips and her touch and the sheer radiance that was Imoen, that he could not remember being without and did not wish to fathom losing.

Afterwards, as they lay in a tangle of blankets and limbs, and she rested with his arms wrapped around her and his face nuzzled into her hair, she told him more. More of what the taint did to her, mostly of her fears in regards to it than anything actually concrete it had caused. Of how it had caused her to react in Hell when she thought him dead, and more of the nightmares. Even some of her time in the care of Irenicus spilled out, though she just let him hold her a little closer and diverted the topic away whenever she approached it. And he, both out of a desire to further the spirit of sharing, and partly so she didn't clam up through excessive focus upon her, told her some stories of his past, of his father and his brutality, of struggles within the Order, all of which seemed minor compared to what she had suffered yet nevertheless received by her with the same quiet supportiveness he had extended to her.

Finally, Imoen twisted to face him, greedily stealing another light kiss, and rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. "One thing you're not going to get away with," she started, slowly, clearly gathering thoughts, though there was an impish smile on her face which he knew suggested something big might be coming. "You're not going to get away with thinking I didn't notice what you said."

"What did I say?" Despite being in the spotlight, he felt his own grin coming on.

She leaned forwards again for another gentle yet lingering kiss. "About loving me for who I am? It's a new one, for sure…"

He felt automatic hesitation rise within him… and then dissipate, just as quickly. "And there I thought I had been subtler about it."

"Nothing gets by me." They rubbed noses briefly, and Anomen reached up to brush some of her hair from her eyes as she sighed slightly. "I do love you, too, Anomen. I just hope we get through this… through all of this… enough to work all that out without people trying to kill us constantly."

"We've been too far to not get any further," Anomen insisted, and kissed her again, shutting off any logical arguments which could fight that assertion, happy to lose himself in her and the moment once again. Despite the morbid topics of conversation, the deep emotions at hand he had hardly been aware he could find within him, he had never felt more complete than he did that night, under a pile of blankets in a shoddy tent in the middle of some distant corner of the planes.