Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everyone but Kayla and Fa'iza. It's been a long time since we've had anything OC related... like 10 chapters. This will be remedied soon, but there's still two chapters to go before that.

With everyone gone to bed, Kayla sat at the bar, watching Duncan polish pewter tankards. She thought about asking him about a few important things, like the silver shard in her chest, or either of her parents, but she found she did not really care, right then.

"Got something for you," her uncle said. "Sal decided he was tired of walking up and down the stairs."

He passed a pair of keys across the bar. One was marked with a yellow ribbon, the other, blue.

"The blue one locks Casavir's door," Duncan said. "It's up to you whether you give him the yelow one or not, but I don't want to hear about any more free runs on the keg because you need Sal to go lock or unlock a door."

"Thanks, Uncle," she said absentmindedly. "But... does Casavir seem a little odd to you, lately?"

"You mean apart from that business with Shandra?" Duncan snorted.

"What 'business with Shandra'?" Kayla asked.

"Er... you know, with her catching him in the all-together and all," he said uncomfortably.

"Oh, that," Kayla shrugged. He could hardly be held accountable for being struck over the head, after all, and Shandra's involvement had not exactly been scandalous. Besides, that all blew over more than a month ago.

"No," she said, "I mean recently, like tonight."

"Dunno," Duncan scratched his scraggly beard. "What did he do that was so strange?"

"Well, you know Neesh took us to the Mask tonight, and Casavir was watching Cormick and I dance – don't look at me like that, I asked Cas and he said he'd rather watch – and next thing I know, I turn around and he's gone. Half a candle later, Neeshka's feet are sore, Grobnar's drunk, and Cas is still missing. Well, Cormick sent us all home and said he'd wait for Cas himself, and then he didn't come back here for over a candle. I'd call that pretty strange. You know how attentive Cas is, and for him to just disappear like that, something has to be wrong."

"Er... Kayla?" Duncan said slowly, "I want you to promise me something."

"Sure, Uncle Duncan," Kayla said reflexively.

"Don't ever ask Cas where he went," Duncan said promptly.

"If you say so," she agreed reluctantly. "But why?"

"Er... you went to the Mask, right?" Duncan repeated the obvious. "Rich food, at the Mask, and you know that man's got a sensitive stomach."

"You've got to be joking," Kayla snorted. "Cas ate about half a pound of sausage and the same of bacon yesterday. He taught me to cook lizard, for crying out loud, and he eats Sal's cooking every single day. Don't tell me he's got a sensitive stomach."

"Well, now, that's all plain, honest food," Duncan said. "Don't know about the lizard, but you can't get much more wholesome than sausage or bacon. Point is, he isn't used to all those sauces and gravies, and you know he never drinks much. Put a load of rich food and half a bottle of wine in the belly of a man with a weak gut, and, well, small wonder if he goes off by himself for a while."

"You might have a point," Kayla said, feeling very relieved, suddenly. "Dinner was very rich, too. Poor Cas... I wonder if I should go up and see if he's all right."

"Trust me, lass," Duncan said, looking relieved himself, "he doesn't want any company, right now. He'll be fine, just leave him alone until morning. And I wouldn't mention it, if I were you. A man doesn't like to be reminded of things like that."

"Right," Kayla agreed. "I won't say a word."

"Good girl," Duncan patted her hand. "Now I'm off to bed. Don't keep our Sal up too late, you hear?"

"Yes, uncle," she smiled.

Sal was already turning the chairs up onto the tables. Kayla was just about to turn for the stairs herself when Bishop appeared at her elbow, a tankard in either hand. He passed one to her and took a long pull from his own.

"So," he drawled, "do you mean to tell me you believed what that old fool told you?"

"What?"

"I know where the paladin went," Bishop said. "Want to hear?"

"What is this information going to cost me?" Kayla asked warily.

"This one's on the house," he said around a rather reptilian smile. "Just sit down and have a drink... on me."

She sat down and took a cautious sip from her tankard, vaguely wondering if he drugged it.

"So where did he go?" Kayla asked. She felt like she was betraying her uncle, but she had promised that she would not ask Casavir where he went. She never said anything about Bishop. Besides, if Bishop's story was too ridiculous, she did not have to believe it.

"Drink up, Princess," he said. "It's going to take a while to work up to the punchline. And don't worry, I'm not trying to get in your smalls. I got my fill of wenches at the Mask."

"Anyway," Bishop went on, "you had a nice, posh meal and some fancy wine, and you know your boy can't hold his drink. Well, he's feeling pretty mellow, but the wine just keeps on coming, and there's all these pretty ladies in clingy dresses, waving their tits, right at eye level. Trust me, Princess, there's only one reason a man wants to watch women dance, and it isn't because he's got a thing for tafeta.

"Thing is, all those women are there to dance, especially since they keep going back again and again and again, when there's plenty of men around who wouldn't mind a screw.

"Well, you know paladins are horny bastards. Comes from keeping it all bottled up all the time. Poor idiots can't even jerk off. Anyway, he's all snug and comfy in his chair, and half-drunk besides, and he's been watching tits and asses all night, so he's got a bit of a pressure problem.

"He isn't going to go polluting one of his fine ladies with his rutting, so he's in a bit of a bind. Lucky for him, he's in a glorified whorehouse. So, he goes to scope out his prospects, when who should he stumble upon but a nice, plump little tart with tits that go into a room a quarter candle before the rest of her.

"'Let me sing you a lullaby,' she says, and next thing you know, he's off to her room with a prick that would drive nails.

"Looks like your holy man polished his sword, Princess. Don't cry, I'll console you."

"You've got some imagination," Kayla snorted. She put her unfinished ale on the table and left him sitting there staring after her.

Once in her room, Kayla put on her nightgown, braided her hair, and went resolutely to bed, fully intending to follow Duncan's advice.

Sleep would not come. Duncan's explanation left her anxious. The thought that Casavir might be lying in his bed, wracked with indigestion and thinking nobody even cared upset her. She knew him too well to discredit her uncle's suggestion. Casavir would suffer in silence, rather than ruin her evening. He never had any natural disease, so he had been even more uncomfortable than he might otherwise have been, the few times in the past when Sal's cooking had unsettled his stomach. How much worse was he now, with a belly full of unfamiliar food? She wanted to go to him, despite her uncle's assertions that she should not.

But suppose Bishop had the truth of it? Suppose Casavir had succumbed to the needs he had so long denied? She knew that giving in to them would place his calling in jeopardy. If he was forbidden to take comfort in the arms of a lover, how much worse would it be for him to even contemplate paying for the pleasure?

What a foolish, unnecessary restriction! People needed physical, as well as emotional, closeness to be whole and healthy. A person who tried to survive on only half the food he needed would eventually sicken. How could a person be expected to live while denying himself half of his other needs? Lathander certainly asked no such sacrifice of his servants. She would have been encouraged to marry and start a family, had she remained in West Harbor, and had she elected not to marry, but start a family anyway, or even just take casual company, the villagers might quibble, but there was nothing in her religion that forbade it. Tyrians, it seemed, were not so uninhibited.

Still, he was what he was, and his faith was an integral part of his identity. He might not be as free as she, but she had to respect his beliefs. They made up his soul.

If he had... strayed... tonight, she might even be to blame. Their evening together the night before had been chaste, but it had been one of sensual pleasure. Tonight, she had all but forced him to go to a place that virtually exuded sexual liberty. He was unused to temptation of that magnitude, and she had subjected him to it in the face of his protests. If he Fell, it would be her fault.

One way or another, she had to go to him. She put on her robe over her nightgown, thrust her feet into her slippers, and set out to do what she could for him, if Duncan had the truth of it... or console him until he could atone, if Bishop did.

Casavir closed and locked the door behind himself. He did not light the lamp, but opened the shutters to let the moonlight into the room.

He looked at his bed, but there would be no sleep for him, tonight. He stripped to his shirt and his smalls and positioned his fire-screen on the floor. He had much to atone for. It was not yet midnight, so he might take all night, if he wished.

He did not wince as he knelt upon the grating, but turned his thoughts to the prayers that would center him, and open the conduit to the infinite. With that accomplished, he confessed his sins.

I have sinned against Shandra, he prayed. I have taken advantage of her receptive state and used her as a proxy for another as the object of my lust. I have debased her virtue and violated her person. I have hurt her, in confessing that my ardor was intended for another, though in that, honesty compelled me to speak.

I have sinned against myself, he continued. I have allowed myself to become polluted with animal lust, and I have disregarded my vows. I sought neither to fulfill the needs of another nor to father a child. I sought only my own carnal gratification. To facilitate this licentiousness, I allowed myself to become addled with drink to the point where my will weakened.

I have sinned against my lady, he concluded. I have made her the object of my lust... and I have... violated her in my mind...

His concentration was broken by a knock on the door. He got up to answer it without thinking, then paused with his hand on the latch. The last few times he had assumed that only The Lady would ask admittance to his room, it had, in fact, been someone very different. He might keep the caller waiting a moment while he made himself decent. He pulled on his discarded leggings, scowling at the bloodstains from his knees. He put the fire-screen back in front of the fireplace and turned the key in the lock.

His preparations were not in vain. It was Shandra.

"I need to talk to you about something," she said, her voice flat. "Can I come in?"

"Yes," he said, opening the door wider, then closing it behind her.

"Listen, Cas," she said, "I'm really angry with you. You had no right to treat me like that."

"You are right, Shandra," he admitted heavily, "I did not. I am profoundly sorry for having so little regard for your honor."

"Screw my honor!" she snorted. "It's my feelings you're pissing on."

He sighed.

"Yes, Shandra," he agreed. "I have treated you shamefully, and I can only beg your forgiveness."

"Yeah, you keep saying that," Shandra said. "You've been asking my forgiveness since I met you, and you know what? You still treat me like shit. I thought you guys were supposed to be the be-all and end-all of compassion, but you don't give a gibberling fart about anybody that isn't your precious Kayla."

"Shandra, that is untrue," he said. "I care deeply for the wellbeing of all her companions -"

"Do you even listen to the words coming out of your mouth?" She accused him, and he feared that she might be right. "When we went up against those pirates, do you want to know why I had two of the bastards on me? It was because none of them wanted to go near the two of you. You stood over her like a gods-damned tower shield, and I got hacked to bits. She doesn't need you, Cas. She knows how to fight pirates."

He opened his mouth to deny it, but closed it again. She was right. He was neglecting his duty to the rest of her companions. That, at least he might remedy.

"You are right, Shandra," he said. "I had not been aware of that failing, but I now see that I have done what you say. I shall be more attentive in the future."

"I'll believe it when I see it," she said. "But that isn't the only thing. When we were talking to Cormick, and before, the pair of you were so worried about Kayla, you forgot I was even there. It wasn't bad enough that you were leading me on, but you and Cormick both were more worried about Kayla's feelings, and she wasn't even there. She doesn't know what you did, and she never will, but I'll have to live with that for the rest of my life. I can't tell you how great it feels, knowing that making love to me was the biggest mistake you ever made."

"I spoke in madness, Shandra," he said. "I should not have said that. I may only excuse it by saying that I feared I had damned myself with my behavior."

She snorted.

"Now that's a lie!" she said. "You didn't start thinking about that until later."

"Perhaps... and it was also fallacious," he said. "Thinking about it rationally, I have made one even more grievous error in judgment, at least, though that is no comfort to you. Shandra, I cannot excuse my behavior toward you. I would undo it, if I could, for your sake, more than anyone else's, but I cannot. I wish I might make things right with you, but I do not know how."

"You can start treating me like a human being," she said. "Kayla isn't the only one with feelings."

"I know," he sighed. "I have no excuse, but I ask that you might forgive Cormick. Shandra, you must remember that you and I are newcomers, to him, but he has known her since her birth. Their close friendship might predate ours by no more than a few months, but he has memories of her from her first steps, and he spends nearly every day in her company. He has few real friends, for all that he has been in Neverwinter since the wars, else he would not spend so much time at the Flagon with her, nor would he seek her company even when he is not working. You must forgive him if he values the feelings of a woman he has known and respected since infancy over those of a woman he has just met."

"Oh, and that just excuses everything!" she laughed, though there was no mirth in it.

Casavir shook his head.

"I have no answer to that," he said. "If you want one, you must speak with him yourself, though that might be difficult, unless you wish this evening's disaster to become public knowledge."

"No," Shandra sighed, her anger deflating, "I don't want that. It's bad enough that I know what happened, I sure don't want anyone else to find out. But you can't exactly lie about it, can you?"

"No, I cannot," he sighed. "Nor am I comfortable deceiving her with my silence. Yet in keeping it, I am more conscious of your comfort than my own. I do not want her to think you wanton for having the misfortune of being the victim of my sin."

Shandra stared at him. He could not understand why that should be so hard to believe, but Shandra apparently found it so.

"Well, I've said all I wanted to say," Shandra said. "I don't feel any better about this whole thing, but I don't see how I could."

"I know, Shandra," he said, "nor do I, but there is little more I can do than apologize again. Sleep well, if you can. I still have my peace to make with Tyr."

"Don't beat yourself up too badly," Shandra said. "I'm pissed at you now, but I'll get over it. You're only human. Good night."

He closed the door behind her, removed his leggings, and knelt back down on the fire-screen. His conversation with Shandra had been just long enough for the pain in his knees to recede, so he felt the bite of the metal on his still-raw skin with fresh intensity. This gave him some satisfaction. Numbness should not blunt the pain of his penance.

Four candles later, he was almost at the point where he felt that he might perhaps have knelt there long enough when there was another, much softer knock on the door, followed by the unmistakable snick of a key in the lock. His head whipped around, but it was too late.

The Lady stood on the threshold, the rushlight in her hand illuminating her surprised face... and his own form, kneeling on the firescreen.

He lurched to his feet, but his mutinous legs gave out, and he collapsed on the floor.

"Oh, Cas!" she cried, flying to him. She knelt beside him. She set her lamp down and extended her hands, but he pushed them away.

"Do not, my lady," he begged her. "Please, do not rob me of my penance."

"This isn't penance, Cas," she said in horror, "it's self-mutilation. Your knees..."

"This is not even half of what I owe," he said.

"Oh, Cas!" she sobbed. She gathered him into her arms, but he pushed her away.

"My lady, do not touch me," he gasped. "I do not deserve your mercy."

"Merciful gods, Bishop was right," she breathed. She looked at him in silence for a moment, then smiled. "And you were wrong."

"My lady?" Casavir shook his head. Something was wrong with his ears. She was not making sense.

"Duncan thought the rich food you ate upset your stomach," she explained. "He thought you left us while you suffered the worst of it. He made me promise to leave you alone, and not to ask you where you went. He said you would not be comfortable talking about it, and that you wouldn't want the company. Bishop thought you... well, he thought you availed yourself of a prostitute."

The Lady was blushing crimson, but she smiled at him.

"And you wouldn't be kneeling on your fire-screen over a case of indigestion," she went on, "so... well... Anyway, Cas, don't you understand? You haven't Fallen. Your powers are still just as strong as they ever were."

Casavir looked away. She knew half, but not all. She thought he lay with a whore, and that he had done so without penalty. She did not know about Shandra.

He had two choices. He might allow her to continue to think... what she thought, or he might tell her the truth, and drag Shandra into his guilt. It humiliated him, to allow her to think he had used a prostitute, but it shamed only himself. She would have no reason to think any less of Shandra. Pride was a vice, not a virtue. He would be silent as to the identity of his companion.

"My lady..." he said, hanging his head, "I was weak. Forgive me."

"You don't need my forgiveness, Casavir," she said. "You have not done anything wrong. Don't you see? Tyr has not abandoned you."

He sighed.

"Tyr has not abandoned me because I never... " he paused. How could he tell her what he had done, and how close he had come to breaking his vows? "My lady, I was only spared because I did not complete what I had started. I... was interrupted, and came to my senses before I had transgressed too far to be forgiven."

"Oh," she said, slumping back against the side rail of his bed, but she took his hand. He tried to pull it back, but she resisted. He gave up, and let her hold it.

"I want you to know that I don't think any less of you," she said at last. "You are human, Cas, and you have needs, even if you deny them. Still, I can't believe that Tyr would be so cruel. Are you certain that you are allowed no relief?"

"My lady, pray forgive me if I am reluctant to talk about that with you," he said. Yet there she knelt, holding the hand of a man she believed had been prevented from lying with a whore only by the timely arrival of an unknown intruder. She deserved at least part of an answer, but he could not even give her that much.

She sighed, and looked at him intently, but there was pity in her gaze. Her mercy was almost unbearable, but he was grateful for it.

"If you aren't going to court her, let her go," Cormick had said. He had intended to obey, but now that she held his hand and looked on him so kindly, he could not bear to do it... yet. He knew he must not give her false promises, but must he reject even her compassion?

"Cas, will you please let me heal you?" she asked. "You can't even walk."

"No," he said. "I will be fit enough, once I walk off the stiffness."

"Then we're going for a walk," she said. "But let me bandage them, at least. You're all bloody."

He got his arms under himself and pushed himself onto his bed. She rooted around in his pack until she found his healer's kit, and spread it out on the blanket beside him. Water splashed into the basin on the washstand, then the dribble of a cloth being wrung out over it. She entered his field of vision again, and sat on the bed next to him, dabbing a wet washcloth on his legs and tut-tutting over the damage.

"I think you should see this," she said. He sat up and obediently looked at his knees. They were raw, as he knew they would be, and bruised, as well, with a double cross-hatch of cuts where the wire had pierced the skin. He had expected no different. He lay back down and waited for her to complete her ministrations.

"Cas, what would you say, if you found me looking like this?" She sounded exasperated.

"I would not like it," he said. "I would be angry, that you should damage yourself without need. But you have not done what I have done."

"Maybe not," she said, "but that's only because no gold changed hands. I'm no maiden, Casavir."

He stared at her. His hearing was going, he was certain of it.

"No," he said at last. "You are a lady. I know you are virtuous."

"And so are you," she said firmly. He just shook his head.

She had begun to bind pads of muslin to his legs with gauze. Her training patching scraped knees, at least, was evident. She knew precisely how tight to wrap the bandages to prevent their slipping, but still allow comfortable movement... if such a thing were possible, right now. He could not feel his feet or calves, and his thighs burned. His zeal, perhaps, might have been excessive. Still, the ache while they healed would remind him of his duty, and the dangers of distraction.

"I think you should lie here a little longer before your walk," she said. "It isn't the cuts. They're ugly, but not dangerous. You're a soldier. You know what you've found, when a wounded man has lain too long in one position, and his muscles swell and fill with poison, and you know what happened when he tried to get up too soon, and the poison was released into the blood too quickly. Your calves feel too warm, to me, and look swollen. I should rather you rest here a while... a long while... before you try walking."

Casavir did know. He had seen it on the battlefield. The man would be bandaged, and would rise, only to succumb to the poison in his veins. What surprised him was that she should know of it.

"When did you learn this?" he asked.

"I grew up around farmers," she said. "A man can be trapped under a wagon as easily as he can fall to a sword, or easier. You'd be surprised what you can learn, on a farm."

"Indeed," he said, but he obeyed her. He felt good, lying there with her tending him. Her touch soothed him, and made him drowsy. He forgot everything but the warmth of her touch and the serenity that radiated from her.

She covered him with a blanket, then slipped under it to lie beside him. He was so sleepy, he did not even protest it, but took her hands, kissed her forehead, and closed his eyes. He felt the weight of her arms about his body, but that, too, brought a welcome stillness to his soul.

"My lady?" he roused himself enough to speak. "How did you enter my room?"

"Sal ordered some keys," she said. "I'll keep yours, if you don't mind, and mine is on your washstand."

"Ah," he murmured, and sank deeper into sleep. He was vaguely aware that the pain in his legs lessened, but he was too weary and too content to do more than nuzzle his way deeper into her embrace and drift. He felt her lips on his forehead, and her arms about his shoulders, and he knew nothing more.

Kayla lay in Casavir's embrace... or maybe it would be more accurate to say that he lay in hers, but the point was that he was sleeping, and his mind was easy.

She held him tenderly, living in the softness that enveloped them both. When he slept, he was like a babe, trusting and innocent, and she savored the moment. He awoke a tenderness within her. He was so strong, so brave, and so very, very human, it made her heart ache. He was everything a man should be, certainly, but he needed her, even as he protected her. For all that she desired him, and she did, he stirred something in her that she never thought she could feel for another human being.

She cared about him. She wanted him to be whole, to laugh, if the spirit moved him, or to be silent, if it did not. Even if she never made love to him, she wanted him to be happy.

All things must end, be they good or ill, and the night was almost spent. The sky through Casavir's open window was lightening, and she must leave him, reluctant as she was to do it. She felt guilty about healing him when she told him that she would not, but her fears had been justified. The constriction of kneeling had restricted the flow of blood to his lower legs, and while sleep might allow the poisoned blood in them to flow back into his body slowly enough to pose no danger to him, the risk was not worth his life. She wanted to tell him what she had done, but he needed his sleep, and she needed to get up to make her devotions.

Once she had given thanks for the dawn and offered her adoration to her god, she dressed quickly and set out for the Halls of Justice in the Merchant District. She could eat her breakfast while she worked, but her need to talk to a priest of Tyr was urgent. She was sure that Casavir's vows had never included anything as unhealthy as complete abstinence, but only a cleric of his own faith might answer her questions.

The lay brothers at the door of the temple greeted her with the formulaic salutation of doorwardens everywhere. On explaining that she wished to speak with a chaplain of paladins, she was directed to an office down a corridor toward the rear of the temple. She sat alone for perhaps a quarter candle, but it was still very early. Tyrians were not obliged to rise at dawn, so perhaps the chaplain was not yet awake.

She rose when a woman entered the office. She was not what Kayla had expected, but she sat at the desk and wished her a pleasant good morning, so she must be the chaplain. She was a handsome woman of middle years, perhaps, whose glossy black hair and olive skin proclaimed foreign ancestry.

"Good morrow, my daughter," the woman began, "or perhaps I should say 'my cousin,' as I see that you are a servant of the Morning Lord. I am Fa'iza, and I offer spiritual guidance to the paladins of the Order."

Kayla took a deep breath. Now that the chaplain was in front of her, she had no idea how to go about asking her about a paladin's sexual habits. At least the cleric was a woman. She would have been even more uneasy, had the chaplain been male.

"I'm Kayla... of Lathander, as you said," Kayla said. "I have some concerns about the spiritual wellbeing of one of my companions. He is a paladin of Tyr, and he is beside himself with guilt over something he did last night."

"That is unfortunate," Fa'iza said. "It would have been better to have brought him here to confess the matter himself. Is there a reason he did not accompany you?"

"He was sleeping when I left," Kayla explained, "and he doesn't know I came. I don't think he would have come, anyway. He left the Order a number of years ago, and I don't think he's ready to come back here yet."

"I see," the older woman nodded. "It is unlikely, then, that I would know him. I came to Neverwinter from Calimport after the wars. Still, we do not abandon our brothers in faith, even if they choose to leave our home for a while. What has he done to inspire so much unease?"

Kayla swallowed. This was less easy than she hoped it might be.

"He kept company with a prostitute last night," she said. "He did not lie with her, but he had come very close to doing it, and he feels that he only narrowly escaped Falling, as a result. There is no chastity vow."

"Hmmm," the chaplain mused, "his behavior was not honorable, but he would not have Fallen if he did lie with her. A paladin Falls because he has committed an evil act, not because he has indulged his lust in an inappropriate, yet lawful, way. Had he taken a woman by force, or slain an innocent, he would have Fallen, but not by visiting a prostitute."

"Thank you for telling me that," Kayla said, and meant it. "I did not think Tyr could be so cruel."

"Tyr is not a cruel god," Fa'iza smiled, "though he is a just one. As for the chastity vow, few take them. I know of only one that has uttered such an oath, and the woman had reasons of her own for shunning male attention. Intercourse between a man and a woman is not forbidden, or between two people of the same gender, but it is preferred that the parties involved should be in a loving, lawful union. No, the only sin involved in what he did, or attempted to do, was that coin was exchanged. When there is no equality, no sharing, in the act, it becomes selfish, and that is discouraged. He would have been better relieving his tensions alone."

"I see," Kayla said. "What you are saying sounds very reasonable. I was wondering about something else, though. I do not know if you are acquainted with my faith, but we believe that physical intimacy is essential for maintaining emotional contentment. I'm not saying that we're slaves to our urges, or anything, but it's really hard to concentrate on your prayers when you're so distracted."

"A fit, serene body is the best house for a spirit of any faith," Fa'iza agreed, nodding, "though some in my care have difficulty understanding that, it would seem. I would ask that you forgive him, though. By nature, paladins see things as white or black, good or evil. They often have difficulty perceiving when shades of gray are lighter than they are dark. For example, a paladin is permitted to lie with his partner as often as required to maintain his tranquility, but if he has no wife, he is free to seek relief with a willing party. Since it is less desirable than bedding a spouse, many reject the practice, and suffer as a result. Would it be wrong for a starving man to eat a cake because he had no bread? Of course not, but many of my brethren would rather go hungry."

"This conversation has been very informative," Kayla said. "I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to tell him what you just told me, but I thank you for taking the time to explain it so thoroughly."

"Is he dear to you?" Fa'iza asked her delicately.

"He is a close friend," Kayla answered, reluctant to commit to a less ambiguous answer. It looked like she hardly needed to, though, because Fa'iza nodded sagely and smiled at her in compassion.

"You have been a very good friend to him, to seek counsel on such an important, but sensitive matter," Fa'iza said. "If you tell me where I might direct a letter, I should be pleased to spare you the discomfort of retelling my advice, and write him myself."

Kayla gave the address of the Sunken Flagon and left Fa'iza's office far happier than she had been when she went into it. Casavir might be angry with her for telling a stranger, but he would be comforted to know that he had not risked Falling, after all.

Casavir ate his breakfast alone. It was late, only a candle before noon. He had slept through the time when he was supposed to be practicing with Shandra, but The Lady would forgive him for neglecting her training, today. Khelgar had taken his place, and waved him away when he went to join them.

"I've got it covered here, today," Khelgar said. "Duncan said you had a rough time of it, last night, with the belly gripes, so just take it easy this morning and get something bland in you to settle your gut."

Casavir had obeyed him gratefully. His stomach was fine, but he still felt drained. The Lady had healed him, but he could not bring himself to be angry with her for it. Her capacity for compassion astonished him, and it would have been wrong of him to reject her sympathy.

He was baffled by the appearance of a messenger in temple colors. The boy went to Sal and spoke a few words. Perhaps the messenger was here for Khelgar. The dwarf wanted to be a monk, after all. It was possible that The Lady had made inquiries about the process. But no, Sal pointed at him! The messenger came to him and extended a thick letter sealed with blue wax. He handed the boy a few strawberries as thanks for delivering the letter, the last of The Lady's gift. He had no cakes to give him, and none of the boys would take coin as payment.

He broke the seal and read the first few lines anxiously. What could the temple want with him?

"To my brother in faith, greetings," he read. "This morning, I have had the pleasure of meeting with your companion, who has told me of your struggles. I beg you will not be angry with her, as she has only your spiritual welllbeing at heart."

He groaned. She had the audacity to broadcast his shame to the entire Temple of Tyr. He wanted to crawl under the table and die of it. But no, she had acted in what she thought were his best interests, and if she spoke with a priest, the man would not repeat it. Also, the letter writer greeted him as a "brother in faith," not by name. She had not identified him. He kept reading.

"I write to remind you of your vows, which are less tyrannical, perhaps, than you remember. You are sworn to uphold justice, and the tenets of your faith, none of which require you to refrain from seeking or accepting female company, provided you do so lawfully, and with the happiness of both parties in mind.

"The practice of our faith requires serenity of both body and spirit, and neither is possible when one represses what is natural. Therefore, I do not counsel you to abstain, but rather to find some more wholesome way of maintaining your tranquility.

"You are free to marry, as I am sure you are aware. Physical relations between loving spouses is, by far, the most desirable outlet for libidinous urges, but the unwed are not forbidden to find satisfaction for those needs. You are permitted to seek gratification with a willing partner, provided you act responsibly and in moderation. You should, of course, refrain from excess, and from accepting the offers of those who will take coin in exchange for granting your relief. There is no sin in the act, but there is no virtue in such an unequal exchange. If that is your only recourse, you should seek solitude, instead.

"I do not know you, brother, but I do not deem you so bereft of friends that such measures might be necessary. Is there no one close to you whom you might rather have as a lover?

"Peace be with you. Your sister in faith, Fa'iza, Chaplain."

One more shield gone, he thought. He might no longer claim that he abstained because it was forbidden. Still, he must not give in to the temptation she presented. When he allowed himself to think with his heart, disaster followed. Would he find himself bearing another dead man across his saddle on his way to the gallows? Would he ruin another life? No, he must spare her from that, at all costs. The Duty required that he serve her and keep her safe... especially from himself. He was a danger to those he who became close to him, so he must not allow it to happen to her. She was too dear to him to allow the risk.

It was nearly noon. He must pray, and he would rest, and meditate on ways that he might keep his sanity while preserving her virtue... and her life.

He concluded his prayers and looked at his bed. He would have time for a nap, perhaps, after he meditated. He stripped naked and climbed into bed, lying on his belly, enjoying the feel of the cool, smooth linen against his skin. Her scent still lingered on the pillow where she had rested her head the night before. She had held him here, in his bed, and soothed away all his cares. Her touch brought healing to his body, but also to his soul. In her embrace, he might have been as uncorrupted as she.

He would never make love to her, he knew, but if he did, that would be how he would do it, gently, tenderly, not at all like the mad, savage assault he had made on Shandra. He really had not been himself, to imagine that he would treat The Lady with such violence, even in the throes of passion. He would cover her face with kisses, and worship her body with his fingertips. He would prolong their embrace for eternity, if he could bear it, and savor each moment. Then, when he did lie upon her, he would take her slowly, and live in the pleasure of that softer, more intimate embrace until at last...

He could bear it no longer.

Tyr help me, he moaned, I am a lost cause. Well, my sister in faith, Fa'iza, chaplain, you may be content. You advised me to seek solitude, and that is just what I have done.

He closed his eyes and slept.

Author's note: Compartment syndrome, that Casavir might have suffered after kneeling all night, is a real medical condition, and it is caused by lying too long in one position, or by having blood flow to extremities limited by compression, as would be caused by having one's legs pinned in an automobile or farm accident. Arterial pressure is enough to allow blood to flow into the affected areas, but venous blood flow is not enough to get it back out. The muscles swell and produce lactic acid. Too much of it released into the body all at once can kill. Modern medical treatment involves an injection of sodium bicarbonate to neutralize the lactic acid, if the paramedics arrive before the patient must be transported, but if that isn't possible, the best thing for the first responders to do is to keep the patient as immobile as possible, so that the lactic acid is reabsorbed slowly. If you're curious, lactic acid is also the blood chemical that makes muscles burn after too much exercise.