King of Shadows, Queen of Light
I write to music; and this chapter owes a lot to certain pieces. I haven't had a Sarah McLachlan-inspiration for a while, but listening again and again to her Elsewhere on her album Fumbling Towards Ecstasy managed to help me in writing the first part of this chapter. Sting and The Chieftains provided the idea for Ballard and the soldiers' singing with their rendition of the old Irish song Mo Ghile Mear on The Long Black Veil. The 'Amnian Handkerchief' is paraphrased from the Irish ballad, The Holland Handkerchief, as sung by Connie Dover on If Ever I Return. There was also Goodbye My Love, from Tyler Bates' soundtrack to 300, for the end scene.
I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… I take full responsibility for that Pendwyr girl, though...
Chapter Fifty-Three: The Space Where I Can Breathe
That winter was simultaneously the longest and the shortest of my life. The new year arrived, 1383, The Year of the Vindicated Warrior, as the Candlekeep scholars named it after the ancient prophecies that assigned a name to each passing year long, long before they came to be. The weather was bleak, the days short and the nights cold, although the City itself didn't suffer snow due to the river's warmth. Hammer almost passed, and every morning I rose from wherever the night found me, knowing that the day would probably be the exact same as the previous one. And every night when I went to bed, I prayed so I didn't have dreams about my mother.
Those letters…While I was grateful to Duncan that he gave them to me, it felt like they opened a gate to a hitherto unknown part of my soul, the part which somehow was locked away that night when my mother died defending me and the silver shard of Gith's sword embedded in my chest. I knew you were not supposed to have memories of the time when you were a year and a half-old or younger, yet there I was, in my dreams clearly seeing my mother's face leaning over me. I saw that she had flaming red hair arranged in tight braids pinned over her head, she wore a finely-woven linen shirt and soft trousers, and the god's holy symbol was hanging from her neck that I loved to grab and chew on. I heard her deep, melodious voice lifted in a song, smelled the scent of jasmine lulling me into sleep, knowing that I was safe with her…
There weren't any big secrets revealed about my heritage on those yellowing pieces of parchment—they were semi-regular missives sent by my mother to Duncan, her old traveling companion, back to Neverwinter when he retired from adventuring and opened up the Sunken Flagon. She continued with the wondering life, as her Order gave her some specific missions from time to time. She sent the letters via the network of Tyr chapter-houses and their correspondence couriers, and apparently Duncan made the trek regularly those years to the Halls of Justice to get them, sometimes several bundled into a package at once. All these I was able to gather from those pages, and more: my mother wrote in a tight, precise and somewhat eloquent style, occasionally full of references to places and events that probably alluded to their shared adventures.
I hear Daeghun and Shayla are back in West Harbor. She wrote in a letter dated 17 Marpenoth, The Year of the Prince, 1357. I have my sources, and you know how famous Dae has become eventually. I wish them all the joys Sune has to offer without the heartbreaks she can also bestow on occasion. I know how much in love they are—I've never seen him as happy as the day when Shayla finally agreed to marry him. I wish, dear Duncan, that you'd find a lass who's willing to share your newly chosen profession with you, I wish that you… Would you tell them their Esme thinks about them often?
I swallowed thickly as I traced the signature at the bottom of the parchment. It seemed I stumbled upon some secrets after all, but it wasn't my own, and it only made the long loneliness of Duncan Farlong more poignant. My mother's unfinished sentence there put the way Duncan almost never talked about Esmerelle Pendwyr but how he treasured the few physical memories of her existence—the letters, her headscarf—in an all new light. I was glad he found Shandra at last, and I truly hoped, like my mother, that Sune's light will shine on them without any clouds marring it.
The last missive was brief, and hurriedly written, with a hand quite unlike my mother's now-familiar, elegantly loopy handwriting. The letters and sentences were almost heaped upon each other, tumbling out of her quill in a frenzied haste with ink splotched across the page.
The world goes mad, Duncan. The heavens tumble and shake, and there is a storm coming the like of which we haven't seen in our lifetimes and perhaps beyond. I looked at the date: the Year of Shadows, 1358. A chill went through me when I realized when that was: The Time of Troubles, the year when the gods were cast down, when many of them died, when Chaos seemed to reign on Abeir-Toril for the better span of a year. The year before my birth.
We learned to see its signs… but now it's upon us and our world will never be the same. My Order bids me to keep my silence, and I can't, even in this secure missive, tell you more: I am heading back to Neverwinter on orders. If you don't hear from me again by next month, dear one, and the chapterhouse cannot give you further news, please do light a candle for my soul, for the mission I am embarking now surely is the most dangerous one I've ever had.
I spoke too much already. I must go—the time is here. Know that I was thinking about you. Know that I wished you'd been here with me. Know that I…
That was all. I stared at the parchment for a long, long time before I carefully re-wrapped the whole bundle and hid it amongst my clothes in my chest. Then, like a sleepwalker, I rose and headed out of my room, up to Castle Never, where I buried myself in recruitment reports, equipment requisitions and building plans for the rest of the day. The night found me by my desk still, and I worked feverishly until sleep finally found me, still dressed, resting my head on a stack of papers. The next morning I sent for my belongings to the Flagon and moved in to the castle, to my temporary office, setting up a cot in the corner. I just couldn't face anyone with that in my head. It didn't stop the dreams, like I said, but at least I was out of the way of everyone with my troubled thoughts about the secret mission my mother was on and about which she never talked about, not even to her closest friend.
And the year after that, I was born…My thoughts kept returning to that fact, cold and rational. I couldn't shake the suspicion rising in me that it was more than a mere coincidence, and I ached to get to the Halls of Justice and ask. At the same time, though, I dreaded what I might find out… hence I stayed, resisted, didn't meet any of my companions, and dreamed about my mother every night, she of the flaming red hair, pale, heart-shaped face and cloud of jasmine.
And I worked. I read my way through the stack of preliminary assessments, estimates, queries, pay authorizations and requisitions already piled up on the desk in the small office I was assigned. As the days passed, as my duties increased, and my knowledge expanded rapidly, the realization hit hard, almost physically making me reel back: I wanted this to succeed, more than anything before in my life. I wanted Crossroad Keep to be rebuilt, wanted it to be what it wasn't in a long time: a home, a refuge for those who wanted something that life, Fate or the cruelty of circumstances denied them this far. I wanted it to be whole, I wanted it to work, and I grimly set myself to the task to make that happen as soon as possible, even if I had to sacrifice my hours of sleep or any human contact for a while. It was quite possibly the exact reason why Nasher made this move, and I grudgingly had to admit that it was, yet again, a brilliant move in the great chess game of statecraft on his part. Before I even had a chance to set foot on the grounds of the Keep again, I already was attached to it more securely than if he'd given me a manor house, new and shiny. Once spring arrived and construction started, I had a possibility to create something, as opposed to fight, smite and kill, my lot for such a long time since I left West Harbor. It bothered me from time to time, all the bloodshed and I suspected part of the reason for my recurring nightmares might have been the way my celestial side reacted to the necessary violence I had to perform as a paladin and as Tyr's Chosen, now.
But for this to work, I had to be single-minded and dedicated, and allow my celestial side to fully come to the surface—on the expense of my human needs and emotions. And that's why I avoided all my companions and didn't even send for Casavir. While I knew I could have used his help in making sense of managing the bureaucracy that only increased and the days passed, with my sense of hard duty I knew he'd be a distraction right now. Night after night, I lay on my cot sleepless for a long time, rows of numbers and drawings of battlements and stone walls dancing in front of my eyes, and I wished he'd be there with me. The need for physical closeness, to feel his muscles against mine, his breath on my skin was almost unbearable, spreading silver fire in my veins. My spell, the inadvertent invocation of Chauntea's and Sune's powers to bind us together tugged at me insistently, and the sweet pull of desire that made me feel almost drunk was hard to resist…This was one of those times when being a paladin meant walking the hard path, and I each morning I felt I understood better those of my calling who chose chastity and resistance of all temptations of the flesh.
I wanted this dream of building a home to succeed, and I thought I couldn't afford the distraction. And down to the last fiber of my being, I wanted Crossroad Keep to be for all of us, for all of my companions, this strange motley merry band, my adopted family.
The barracks of the Greycloaks stretched next to the stables of the castle, in one of the lesser-known wings. The official recruiting for the Crossroad Keep garrison was in full swing, and the newly signed-up had to be trained during the long idle winter hours so they were at least in a semi-decent shape by the time we moved out into our new home. And that right there presented a challenge in itself. My nominal castellan, an efficient, cool and absolutely beautiful woman named Kana was handpicked by Nasher, it seemed, for her ability to remain completely unfazed by my inexperience and her endless patience enduring my blunders. Her family, I was told by Nevalle, hailed from Shou, long-distance merchants settling down in Neverwinter. How their daughter ended up with the Greycloaks, I hadn't been able to discover yet: my attempts to befriend the woman were met with polite, but cold rebuttals and strict adherence to protocol and rank. She was proper military, through and through, and that was what really hammered home just what a big difference it was between being one of Tyr's holy warrior and one of Nasher's paid soldiers, albeit both of us lived the life of the sword and judiciously applied violence.
And that's precisely why, after Kana, observing me trying to do something on the training fielding those early weeks, politely explained to me that no, she's not here to train the new recruits and no, I was not there to do that either, I jogged to the other side of the Greycloak barracks and hunted down Captain Ballard.
"I am requisitioning you, Captain." He was busy polishing his boots when I found him in his tiny room, clearly off duty. The way he jumped up into attention, eyes darting around to see if there was anything that might offend me, taught me an important lesson right away. I should have either sent someone for him, or announced myself, but to barge in on him unannounced constituted a highly unusual move, decidedly unfitting the chain of command.
Despite that realization, I plunged forward with what I wanted to say. I was shy on sleep for quite a while by then, and that made me even more blunt than usual.
"I have a high and growing number of raw Greycloaks on my hand who need to be in a fitting shape for garrison, patrol and guard duty, come spring. My marching orders are rather clear from Lord Nasher on what needs to be accomplished, but not so clear on how." I waited for a measure and watched him swallow. "I had the honor of working with you at Lord Tavorick's. I have no idea how the channels of command work just yet, but if you tell me your commander's name and where I can find him, I will ask him to reassign you to Crossroad Keep as part of my staff. With your usual crew, of course. "I hastened to add.
He gave me his commander's name and location. I suspected he did it out of sheer self-preservation as I really was in quite a bad mood after spending the better half of the morning with Kana. I thanked him and ran further into the maze of officer housing to find Commander Ronthel. He turned out to be a terrible little man with piercing black eyes, a mustache that he probably spent hours to shape and a penchant for speaking as if he was issuing orders even during normal conversation.
"What! Can I!! Do for you!" he barked at me, with hands behind his back, rocking on his heels and looking up at me. It didn't help that he was a head and half shorter than I; I suspected the shouting was a way for him to make up for his small stature.
"I apologize for the intrusion on your time, Commander." I started with the most courteous voice I can manage. "I have a favor to ask you if I may?"
"Squire Pendwyr! Yes!!!" Ronthel shouted; outside his window a couple of crows startled from their examination of the parade field and flew up, cawing. "New Captain of Crossroad! Keep for His! Grace!!" His sudden grin exposed crooked teeth, blindingly white. "You don't remember!! Me!"
"I am afraid I don't really have the honor of..." I started, and then suddenly it came to me. It was the grin. "By Tyr... Sir Grayson's Yule breakfast, wasn't it?"
Ronthel nodded, and yet again, I had to remember that when it all came down to it, Neverwinter wasn't that big of a city by Faerunian standards. Its leading circle was pretty tight-knit, and, like it or not, I moved in it now. I indeed met him at Sir Grayson's, or at least, I vaguely remembered seeing him. I was introduced to quite a number of people there, but barely remembered any of them. The breakfast was the morning following Duncan's Yule dinner and I was still reeling from the amount of food and the several cups of spiced wine.
I felt definitely ashamed, and I told him so. He smoothed down his mustache and shot me an appraising look.
"Honest, eh!! I like that!! In! A woman!" Normally I would have bristled about that, but right then I was still embarrassed about the fact that I didn't recognize him and just smiled sheepishly. "Now, what was!! It that you wanted!!"
Honesty you like, hm? My human snide snickered wickedly. Well, here is some good old-fashioned West Harbor frankness mixed with Tyrran diplomacy then, Commander....And in a woman to boot.
"I want Captain Andrey Ballard reassigned under my command with his entire unit." I smiled again, this time showing teeth. "It shouldn't be a problem, right? He's currently without assignment if I understand it correctly. He was recommended as an excellent drill instructor by his former commander and my brother in Tyr, Lord Korranos, and..." I ducked my head and looked at him shyly. "Of course, I can always get it in writing from His Grace's office... but I didn't think it would be necessary. Would it?"
Ballard reported to me the next day at Highsun, with all his men.
"Excellent." I clapped my hands together, glad to be free a bit from the list of quarry supplies Veedle put on my desk in the morning. I jotted down on the margin 'send to Port Llast-Calindra', and tossed the blasted thing on top of the pile already threatening to topple over. The amount of paperwork I had to deal with here rivaled the requirements of the Watch, almost. "Just the man I was waiting for. Did Commander Ronthel say anything?"
"No, ma'am." Ballard stood at attention, staring straight ahead. "I was told to pack up and report here posthaste. My room was given to my lieutenant already."
"Oh." I bit my lip. I suspected Ronthel was trying for something like that. Anyone with a mustache requiring that much trimming and waxing…"We can squeeze you in; I don't have a big command staff yet, so the officer quarters here are kind of spacious." Actually, I didn't even have any staff sergeants, a fact that quietly drove Kana mad, and I suspected Ballard would need to at least use some of his own men in that role until I could find some others. I had at least one in mind, but that required either a long trip, or some couriers sent, and neither could be done until the roads thawed. "Are you ready to start with the recruits today? I could show you the ropes and such."
"Ma'am…" he started, hesitantly, still standing at attention. "Permission to speak frankly?"
"Of course, Captain." I said, attempting a smile. "Hardly can otherwise to a Tyrran, right?"
Uh-oh. That was clearly not the best thing to say; I could see from the stiffening of his shoulders that he, like Kana, disapproved of my manners that were decidedly not conforming to military standards.
He took a deep breath before he spoke again.
"You are an excellent warrior, ma' am, I could see that firsthand in Tavorick's mansion." His brows drew down as if he didn't like what he had to say next. "But, no offense, this is soldiers' work, and you're no soldier. If I am to take this assignment, I need to know that you will not be breathing down my neck, questioning the way I do things and let me do what I deem best to achieve mission objective. You're the Captain of the Keep, but you are not military; you're one of the Even-Handed's paladins and as such, you're outside the structure with no experience in command. You lead by example." He swallowed, meeting my eye for the first time since he came to my office. "I am ready to give all I have to this; if you're ready to let me."
That was the longest speech I've ever heard from him. His honesty was in earnest: I could almost taste the desire in his words to really be able to get this right, the fear that I might take offense, and the excitement of finally doing something worthwhile other than rotting in the barracks and seeing no action other than cleaning his own boots and putting up with Ronthel's tirades.
Sometimes I wasn't sure if the Sight that Tyr granted me was a blessing or a curse; I never wanted to see so deeply into anyone's soul unless it was absolutely necessary. I started to understand why the higher-ranking followers of the Just One were regarded with almost dread amongst the common folk—albeit they rarely used their Sight, it must have been a terrifying thought that someone should be able to deduce truth from lies unerringly. And my gift was even more precise than that: honed to a fine razor-blade during my Trial, if I focused it, the fault lines of any soul were laid bare in front of me.
I tried to dampen it, to switch it off, even—it felt too much like a violation, almost on a physical level, to use it on someone not willing to let me. But on occasion, like now, a soul just opened up to its merest brush, and I was awarded by more than a mere glimpse. I received images, feelings, or even coherent thoughts. It was hard to describe or put it in words—the fact alone that I had it scared me enough that I didn't dare to approach anyone about it.
"Captain Ballard..." I hesitated, and then decided that this time diplomacy was not called for. "I do appreciate the honesty. I can't lie, as you know, so I won't say your words did not sting. However, it is more important that they were true. I am no soldier—and will never be." It suddenly filled me with melancholy: that was one undeniable truth, and one experience I will never be able to share with Casavir. I could only...
I bit my lip. Yes, I could only learn from him how to handle this situation, and fast. So suck up your West Harbor pride, Arrighan, and get a move on.
My human side was absolutely correct. There I was again, thinking I could do all of this alone, since Nasher put the burden on my shoulders.
That's another thing you need to learn. This time it was a brush of white feathery wings: my celestial side. Delegate and delegate. Otherwise you crumble.
I'd have been ashamed if I hadn't been too busy thinking about my next steps. I felt like I just surfaced from underneath an oppressive, dark pool of water, and I felt absurdly grateful for Ballard to remind me that I wasn't immortal, all-knowing and that yes, indeed, pride was a vice to which even paladins could fall.
So I let Ballard and his crew loose on the recruits, informed Kana that training has been taken care of at least for the time being, told her to figure out the most efficient way to have our food supply problem squared, kicked out Veedle when next time he came in to my office asking about when he could get the requested amount of sandstone and marble delivered to the Keep (had to tell him the weather mages didn't get paid to alter the frost over the roads outside the City itself)... then flagged down one of the palace couriers who always seemed to be mysteriously vanishing when I was looking for one but this time I lucked out, and sent him back to the Flagon with a little note to Casavir that simply said: HELP, in all capital letters. Then I started to make my own list of things to get done, as opposed to just following whatever Kana or Veedle's latest report contained.
I was scribbling at the bottom of the second foolscap: 'needs armorsmith-Edario from Highcliff?' in my shirtsleeves, listening to Ballard bellowing at the new men outside already, when he finally knocked on my door.
"Gods, I am so happy you're here!" I burst out as soon as he closed the door behind him. I jumped up from my chair and was by his side in a second. "I'm sorry I wasn't asking you earlier, but you won't believe the stuff they piled on me, I was…" and off I went, babbling about all the things that happened since last time I saw him, vaguely aware that I was clinging to him, the sentences spilling out of me in an unending stream, wanting just to tell him everything at once, relishing the feel of his aura, the scent of him, the warmth…
"Meum mel, meum mel, slow down…" I felt his hands on my forearm, saw the lines of worry on his face. "I can barely understand a word you're saying… is everything all right?"
I let out a sigh.
"Sorry." I said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to jump at you like that, I'm just…"
"You need a break." His sharp glance at my desk, around the room and then back at me took in the piles of paperwork, the samples of cloth and leather and metal on top of it, the five mugs lined up on the desk's corner with dried-in coffee, the cot covered with my cloak in the corner... "You need some food. " He sniffed. "And no offense, but you need a bath."
"Gods!" I was embarrassed, now. Lifting my arm, I looked at the cuffs of my shirt. They were gray. I didn't remember when I changed last time: no wonder Kana liked to keep to the other side of my desk. "I sure do…and a change. Eww." It was one thing to stink to high heavens from sweat and dried blood when out on a campaign tracking orcs, like we did when I met him at Old Owl Well; it was completely different to smell like that when doing desk duty in the middle of Castle Never as a newly minted Captain of Crossroad Keep. Double eww.
"You come back to the Flagon with me." he ordered; his voice allowed no objection. "Have a meal, clean up, calm down a bit. I shall leave a word here. After that, we will see about those Yule presents of yours from me you keep forgetting to actually get, too." he added, tone considerably warmer. "Brother Colm is ready to see you this afternoon to take your measurements for that new armor."
I blushed. While I gave him both of his presents at Duncan's dinner, he insisted that he only tells me about my practical gift and kept the nature of my other one to himself. He found a production slot for me with Brother Colm, the chapterhouse armorer, to finally have a full suit of custom-made armor. This was the second set he gifted to me, but I didn't mind. While the first one was really nice, it wasn't made for me but modified from an existing set. This one, though… I almost skipped with joy as we left the building, clasping my cloak around my neck to ward off the cold winds. Ballard was making the first group of new recruits to do pushups and have them run circles around the training field; no question about the fact that he took this seriously. Weatherly and Guff supported him enthusiastically and loudly. They spotted the two of us coming out of the barracks, too: I watched them stiffen into attention and salute.
Guff let out a bellow: "Atten-hun, yer sorry sons o' bitches, for Torm's sake!" and before I could say anything, the whole bunch was staring at us, sweaty-faced youngsters and grizzled old-timers alike.
"C'mon, you lazy-arses, show the Captain and the Commander what we learned today!" Ballard commanded, and the whole unit snapped into parade rest in unison.
"Very impressive." I said, slightly embarrassed. I was secretly glad I didn't hold Casavir's hand when they spotted us. "Well, as you were, Captain Ballard. Carry on." I said blithely, hopefully with some dignity as befitting my new status.
"Yes, ma'am!" He and his two sergeants cut out another smart salute (I was already getting tired of it, and my name was barely dry on that charter), then Ballard turned back to the troops and said, with a feral grin:
"Get on with it, girls... but with the song this time. Step lively!"
As we hurried towards the gates, I could hear their singing take up, first disjointed, then stronger and clearer, as they picked up the melody:
Grief and pain are all I know
My heart is sore, my tears a'flow.
We saw him go, how would we know
No word we know of him a'home.
'Sé mo laoch, mo Ghile Mear
'Sé mo Chaesar Gile Mear
Suan nà séan ní bhfuaireas féin
Ó chuaigh i gcéin mo Ghile Mear.
A proud and gallant chevalier
A highborn skald of gentle mien
A fiery blade engaged to lead
He'll break the bravest in the field.
Come sing his praise, as sweet harps play
And proudly toast his noble fame.
With spirit and with mind aflame
So wish him strength and length of day.
'Sé mo laoch, mo Ghile Mear
'Sé mo Chaesar Gile Mear
Suan nà séan ní bhfuaireas féin
Ó chuaigh i gcéin mo Ghile Mear.
"Nice song." I remarked. It was, too: the melody simple and soaring, the words stirring and sad at the same time. It brought back the memories when Casavir and I walked in another military camp back in the Sword Mountains. First time I heard the tune it was one of the soldiers whistling it near Callum's headquarters at Old Owl Well. "Is that one from the Luskan wars, I wonder?"
"Oh, gods." Casavir's voice was exasperated; as I glanced at him I could see his cheeks were blushing. "I didn't think they'd remember it, less that Ballard would teach it to your recruits." he muttered under his breath.
"Beg pardon?" I narrowed my eyes. "You need to explain that, you do realize."
"Yes…" he said slowly; he buried his face in his hands for a moment, then continued. "That song…you see, when I left Neverwinter's service, I didn't realize that those soldiers I've commanded at Old Owl Well as Callum's adjutant cared for me as much as they did. During my years in the Sword Mountains I started to hear some traveling bards sing this song…then I got back to Old Owl Well and a couple of my old soldiers joined up the farmers and other outcasts that started out my forces. They told me that…they wrote that song after I left, to remember me by."
"Waittabit." I said, the words rushing out of me together. "Are you… are you saying that song's about you?"
"I am afraid so." He looked at me with an almost panicked expression in his eyes.
"A veritable folk hero, hm?" When I was finally able to speak, I was proud of the fact that sounded quite neutral. I shook my head. "Just when I think I have you all figured out, Korranos, there you go and surprise me again with yet another aspect of your past I had no idea about."
"I am sorry, my lady." He really wanted to get away from that singing; the pace he dictated was rather lively. "I realize that a longer conversation would probably be in order, and so… that's what my other gift to you is about."
A highborn skald of gentle mien… I stifled a groan. Yep, that was him, all right.
"And I don't suppose you tell me about the precise nature of that other gift just yet?" I asked, understanding that he wished to change the subject in a way that didn't offend.
A proud and gallant chevalier…Indeed.
"All in good time, my lady." His voice was back to almost-normal. "Patience is a virtue that shall be cultivated if one wants to be a holy warrior; I trust your teacher told you that." I almost snapped at him to stop lecturing me in that manner, when I caught that almost imperceptible wink he directed at me, and I felt my insides melt.
"Smartass." I said fondly and I linked my arm in his. I tried not to laugh. This whole situation was too bizarre. "I'm not smacking you around for that remark just because this is a public place."
"And I am not doing the same for the exact same reason." His brows drew down slightly. "It's a long distance run, not a sprint, my lady...you can't do everything at once. And by yourself."
"Which is why I got Ballard do the recruit training and Kana the supply chain management." I said, somewhat irritated: hat remark cut a little bit too close to home. "Look, I'm not saying you're not right. But I came to my senses just in time, so cut me some slack please." I looked at him and wrinkled my nose. "Now if I could figure out accounting..."
"Hm." His hand covered mine, squeezed my fingers. We turned on to the bridge: the winter sun was still up high, but the air was chilly. "If I had 'cut you some slack' as you so charmingly put it, meum mel, I wouldn't be true to either of us." He lifted a finger. "I am, however, willing to be satisfied with one warning and change the subject."
"Most generous, my lord." I murmured, my irritation ebbing away as the warmth of his fingers seeped through his gloves. In truth, I wouldn't have minded if he kept chiding me, as long as I could listen to his voice. And besides, he was mostly right, and I'd have much rather taken that from him than keeping me again at that careful distance he did for such a long time. I couldn't however, just simply let it slide that fast. "Now I just have to figure out what 'mo ghile mear' means in that charming High Sword Mountains language..." I tapped my chin. "Maybe I'll ask Ballard tomorrow... but maybe I just ask you what it means."
"Cruelty does not fit a paladin." Casavir said with teeth clenched.
"Ah, now he calls me cruel." I made a face, the shrugged. "Well, you already called me what, La Belle Dame Sans Merci once... maybe I'll take that as my tongue-in-cheek motto on that coat-of-arms Grayson keeps pestering me about, since I'm a squire now."
"Indeed." he murmured, casting a sideways glance at me. "I see I can't shame you into abandoning the subject..."
"Paladins; direct questions?" I reminded him gently. "So?" I missed this; I missed this dearly, I had to realize as I leaned closer and breathed a gentle kiss on his cheek. I missed him. "Your secret will be safe with me."
"A relief, that." It sounded like a capitulation. "Very well.'Mo ghile mear' means, loosely translated 'gallant darling'. They named me that when um... when I first arrived to the garrison. I was eighteen, clean-shaven, full of ideals and unbearably courteous, like some lady, at least in their eyes."
"Yikes." I said, sympathizing. "I can relate: when I got to the Watch the first time..." I winced at the memory; some of the names the more hardened members of the Watch called me for quite a while took some time to get used to. "Let's just say your soldiers terming you 'pretty boy' were kind to you."
"We all have to prove ourselves, sooner or later, yes." He nodded. "But enough of sad memories of the past, meum mel, please." With considerable ease, he circled back to an earlier remark of mine. "Now, about accounting...did you consider taking some lessons in that?" The grace with which he performed these verbal feats was born, no doubt, from countless conversations during balls, hunts and whatnots. I clearly was outclassed here, so I resigned myself to just follow and not to miss any steps. And maybe learn.
"Beg pardon?" I said. "Lessons from whom?"
He shrugged.
"Oh, I am sure someone could find a suitable tutor. If you care to ask your knight, Sir Grayson…or even Nevalle might have a name for you. While noblemen mostly learn to fight and be courtiers, noblewomen need to acquaint themselves with estate management and accounting rather early on so they can manage the household."
I remembered our conversation in the Moonstone Mask about duties of noble ladies, banquet planning and such and sighed.
"Yeah, I remember…" I slowed my steps as a thought occurred to me. "Why did you suggest Nevalle, anyway?"
"You ought to meet his mother. You will understand." He said cryptically, and wasn't willing to discuss it any further. I was just fine with that: I figured I'll tackle that problem soon, now that the training issue was solved for the time being. I remembered well what Nasher told Nevalle when I've received my promotion, and I sort of already suspected he was working on finding me someone. In fact, I had a suspicion about who that might be, but decided not to voice that suspicion just yet.
"Fine, be that way." I muttered when no amount of coaxing resulted in any further information. "But be prepared for payback time."
"Oh; are you going to tell me you will try and beat me at practice in the morning again?" He raised an eyebrow. "After you left me to handle Shandra's training for weeks?"
"Couldn't have been that hard." I shot back, shrugging. "Is your stamina declining, my lord? Or maybe it's the practice of the virtue of patience you so readily chastised me about earlier that you need..."
"Hush, now." he said sternly. "I am sure I can find some suitably long stories about my years at Old Owl Well with which to regale you, my lady if..."
"Fine fine, you win!" I threw up my hands in mock surrender. "If you really do that, I swear I start screaming right in the middle of the street."
"And that would clearly bring out the Watch to investigate." He nodded thoughtfully. "It seems that indeed, I have the upper hand in this."
"Hardly." I muttered under my breath. "I am just letting you win this time. Those three words could sentence anyone to silence."
"You really just can't have someone else have the last word, can you?" he said, only half jesting. "You do realize that this might cause problems later?"
I sighed.
"I am starting to realize that... but thanks for the reminder." He was right. If I wanted to get anywhere in my new position in Neverwinter, and in his life as well... best to learn some skills in when to shut up, and fast, my human side suggested gently.
"Tell you what, though…" I said, a sudden impulse overtaking me. I haven't felt this since back at home in West Harbor, and decided to give in to it. "Race you to the Flagon?"
Now it was his turn to look at me like I've just lost my mind.
"I am sorry?"
"I said: race you to the Flagon?" I swept my hand across the wide street of the Merchant Quarter's middle. "We've walked this route long enough to be able to do it." I felt my face almost split as I grinned. "And you rescued me from working myself to death. I need to stretch my muscles. Last one in will give whatever the winner claims as a reward."
With that, I took off at a sprint. At this point of the early afternoon, what with the cold, there weren't too many people out there on the streets, and since I wasn't wearing armor, dodging the few passersby wasn't that hard. I felt the wind scouring my cheeks red, my cloak billowing behind me as I ran, my boots clacking on the cobblestones…I felt alive like I haven't in the past weeks. And yes, he was following me; I could hear his boots on the stones as well, and once I caught a hasty apology as he failed to dodge the same fat merchant I just avoided a breath earlier…
I barely beat him through the Flagon's door. I had to lean against the wall and catch my breath for a while, holding my hand up forestalling Duncan's inevitable question as he hurried over to check on me.
"I'm...fine, Uncle." I panted, grinning. I squinted up at him, bending over and clutching at my knees. "Really. We just...raced a bit."
"Raced." Duncan shook his head slowly, wiping his hands on a clean towel tucked in his apron. "Two paladins of Tyr, running through the quarter... I wish I'd have been there to see that, lass." He looked at me uneasily, his eyes darting away when my eyes finally met his. "You all right? Looks like you've had some rough days."
"And some." I caught my breath, finally and straightened. "I'd give you a hug, Uncle, but I stink. You mind if I use the showers?"
"Whatever you need, lass, whatever you need." Suddenly it dawned on me why he might be just a bit skittish. The way I had my belongings taken out of his place, not even coming myself, after he gave me my mother's letters to read…
"Uncle, all is well." I squeezed his shoulder. "Really, it is. I meant to come around earlier to tell you, but, well... shame on me but I was busy enough that finding an excuse in that wasn't a big stretch." I made a face. "Saying that I chickened out after reading my mother's letters would be distinctly unpaladin-like; nevertheless, it's the truth I am obliged to give."
"It's all right, lass." He patted my hand, looking relieved. "I'd say I feel the same way, so let's talk about it when you feel like it's time. Maybe we both need a drink with that conversation, too."
"I'd think so, yes." I nodded. "And I also think it can wait until I made that trip to West Harbor and talked to Daeghun."
"Now for that I wish I could be there." His face twisted to a sad smile for a second then made a shooing motion with his dishtowel. "And now away with you; I'd say I enjoyed the conversation, but you do need that shower, truth to tell."
"Yeah, I know." I muttered. "If one more person elaborates on the way I stink..." I glanced at Casavir who stood there with absolutely no expression on his face. "I'll be as fast as I can... oh crap, Duncan, do you think Shandra would mind if I borrowed some of her clothes? I have all mine back at the castle..." Of all my female companions, only Shandra was similar to me in figure—but even her clothes would be short.
"Well, why don't you ask her?" Duncan waved towards the corner where Shandra sat with Grobnar: they were performing The Amnian Handkerchief to Duncan's afternoon clientele. It was one of those sad and ghostly ballads I always hated and Amie so loved, and, apparently, Duncan's crowd preferred them as well.
A fine Amnian handkerchief she then took out
And with it wrapped his aching head about
She kissed his lips and to him did say
My love you are colder than any clay.
"You just know that it won't end well after that, right?" Casavir looked back with a polite but questioning look as if he had no idea what I was talking about. "You do know this one, right?" He shook his head. "Gods, man, you did live an isolated life." I said exasperated. "That one is so famous even we knew it in the swamps." Bluebloods, really.
I waited a bit until Grobnar got to a solo part and sneaked in behind them to lean over to Shandra's ears and ask her.
"But of course, Rig." she smiled at me, relief in her eyes that I showed up at last. "Here is the key... take whatever you need. There's also some soap in there."
"Thanks, Shan; nothing fancy… we are going to visit the armorsmith at the chapterhouse." I grinned. "I am getting my Yule present at last."
"Ooh." Shandra said appreciatively. "Armor as a gift... Must be true love, then."
"Shut up, you." I said quickly and smacked the back of her head gently. "I'll be going now." But a smile remained on my face and I even skipped once or twice as I made my way down the corridor leading to the room in the back where Duncan and now Shandra lived. I made quick work of grabbing some clothes out of her chest, a towel and a sliver of lavender-scented soap, then proceeded to the women's showers where I enjoyed some scalding hot water coming out of the happily gurgling pipes. Judging by the way the water in the drains turned gray, I really was rather filthy. I was mortified, but made a silent vow that apart from serious traveling or hard fights, I'll never get that way again. Forgetting myself like that steered perilously close to that self-mortification issue Casavir obviously had in him—I had no inclination to strengthen it in me when he already had it in abundance.
I was still braiding my wet hair as I ran down the stairs, hoping I didn't take too much time. I was also famished—so I was glad to see Duncan putting some bread, honey and cheese on a corner table.
"Thanks, Uncle." I smiled at him and blinked a bit sheepishly at Casavir, sitting comfortably in the corner with his long legs stretched out, sipping on a steaming mug of coffee. "I hope I wasn't too long..."
"Not longer than expected." Yep, Tyrran honesty. I sighed happily, and applied myself to the food.
"I took the liberty of telling your uncle, my lady, not to serve anything too heavy." He spread a napkin in his lap and speared a slice of cheese on his eating knife. "I, erm, have something planned for dinnertime, and..."
"Ooh." I said; my mouth was full. I swallowed.. "You mean my second Yule present is connected to food?" He nodded. "And I am still not allowed to know more about it, right?" Another nod; the man never talked while eating. Aristocrats. "You do realize I'll keep pestering you about it, right?" Still merely a nod, expression pleasant but neutral. I gritted my teeth. "Did anyone tell you that you were insufferable, Korranos?"
And still nothing but a nod.
I gave up, made a face at him and returned to my lunch. The cheese was hard, the bread crumbly, the honey sweet, and the coffee hot. M-hm. What else can a girl need? Why, whatever he was keeping from me as my second Yule present, of course, my human side giggled, not at all helpfully.
By the time I finished, the taproom started to fill with guests. I didn't much care for polite chitchat which would have been inevitable once the regulars started to arrive, so I suggested leaving while the going was still good. We ducked some sailors on shore leave now that most of the tall ships rested in their berths for winter, a couple of merchants who clearly got stuck in the city and didn't like it, and said goodbye to Duncan.
"Need to talk to you sometime soon." he said as he carefully stretched out to give me a peck on the cheek. "I got a business proposal for you."
"Sure, Uncle." I said politely. I was wondering what kind of proposal he might have had: an innkeeper to the paladin, but I've learned not to judge without knowing facts all too well. "How about I come by tomorrow evening?"
"That would do." He looked me over and grinned. "Stay warm, lass."
"Will try my best. " I muttered, drawing my cloak closer against my body. Shandra was… chestier and less hippy than I, and that, coupled with the height difference and me spending a lot of time carrying full plate armor resulted in a relatively comfortable fit that was only snug in some strategic places. The outfit was made of warm wool and the shirt had just a touch of lace at the throat, so I was happy.
And even happier I was with the rest of the afternoon, spent in the warm, roomy workshop of Brother Colm at the chapterhouse. I've only met him once before, when I thanked him for my current set of armor that he modified for me from an existing one. This time, I submitted myself to one of his apprentices, a girl with wiry muscles and almost-white, close-cropped hair, who took me aside and meticulously and almost reverently took all my measurements, in even more detail than Hassim's old crone for my dress for the trial. She measured me in places I never thought to be measured; but, as she explained, this was absolutely necessary for properly fitting certain pieces of the armor. She was good: I only wanted to smack her once.
I'd have loved to spend more time there. Brother Colm radiated calmness and joy from the simple fact alone that he loved his work and took pride in what he created. He had a gentle voice, and used big expansive hand gestures as he explained some of the techniques he used to join sacred magic and steel. Most of his talk went straight over my head but I knew that Khelgar probably would have loved it, and I suggested to Brother Colm that if he needs some help in his workshop, I knew just the right person amongst the novices over under Abbot Conn's care.
"That would be an honor." Colm smoothed down his soft mustache. "A member of the famous Clan Ironfist, skilled in metalwork, helping my humble endeavors…"
"As usual, you are too modest, Brother." Casavir interjected warmly. "In Waterdeep, they would demand your services to Lord Piergeiron himself for sure." I opened my eyes wide: he was just about the last person who'd have been prone to exaggeration or fawning, so I had to take him by his word. Colm blushed and muttered something about the High Inquisitor visiting him a few weeks back to talk about some commission or other.
"I told you." Casavir nodded. "I am more than grateful that you could find the time for us, then."
"So…you'll seek out Khelgar Ironfist, Brother? Ask permission from the Abbot for him to work with you?" I hoped he'd succeed; however much I wanted Khelgar to continue on the path he's chosen, I also knew he probably missed working with metal and anvil.
"Aye, I will. Maybe even on your armor, Sister." The armorsmith nodded, thoughtful. "I have the feeling I'll need some help with this one—it will be special." With a gleam in his eyes, he bent over his workbench strewn with samples of metal, various pots of spell ingredients, parchments with sacred texts and old books. "I'll start on the sketches tonight." He fingered the spine of a well-used tome. "If you don't mind, Sister…" he started, hesitantly, as if afraid to ask. "The…marks around your eyes are rather similar to some of the invocations I used from this book I was working with and…Can I…?"
I put out a hand to steady myself on the corner of his bench; the world spun out of focus just a little.
"You... have something that has my marks in it?" I stuttered. Casavir looked at me sharply."I...yes, sure, Brother." I never had time to track down Oleff and his angelology tomes we talked about with Sand just before my trial. The last thing I expected was to have the opportunity to research the meaning of my celestial marks in the Order's smithy.
My heart pounding, I watched as Brother Colm leafed through the pages of the old manuscript, inked in black and blue. Casavir laid a hand on my shoulder, looking at me questioningly.
"Are you...all right with this, my lady?" he asked with a slight frown of worry on his face. "I know you wished to know, but..." He stopped, considered what he wanted to say next carefully. "Do you wish me to leave?"
"Gods, no." I blurted out, grabbing for his hand. "If it... if it's there, I want you to know it, too."
He nodded, his azure gaze not leaving mine, and his grip tightened on my fingers.
"The Reverend Judge was kind enough to lend this to me, so I have to very careful with it." Colm explained. He seemed to be oblivious to my discomfort as he turned the pages slowly and carefully. "I find it useful when I work on the warding of the armor I build. Some of the brothers have specific requests, and then there are the special missions...oh-ho. That's what I thought." He smiled and tapped the page he just turned to. I felt my stomach clench. "Why, that's interesting."
"What?" Casavir said tersely, leaning closer. I've never heard him being that rude; I had to blink.
"Here it is, I believe." Colm turned the tome towards me and squinted. "Yes. Hmm. Well, in case you were wondering..." There was a slight disappointment in his voice, as if he expected something else. "It's a simple one; I used it, in fact, at least once on an enchanted set of plates for the Prior himself. Or I should say a modified version of it; the one you're wearing, Sister, is subtly different. What the meaning of the difference is, of course, I do not know...you might have to ask the Reverend Judge himself." He noticed that both of us were glaring at him, and blushed. "Oh. Sorry, Sister, Brother...I tend to blather on, I don't have many to talk about this with. It's one of the Old Thorass runes for our god, with added possessive that would signify that the marked belongs to the Even-Handed. At least the one in the book means that. Like I said, your marks are a bit different." He shrugged, almost apologetically. "Not sure what you expected, Sister, but..."
I swallowed.
"I... appreciate it, Brother. "I found it a bit absurd, if not exactly funny, that I had to learn the meaning of my marks while being measured for my new armor, almost casually. But the whole situation was slightly surreal to begin with. I still couldn't quite comprehend what was happening to me. "So: it basically says "Tyr's"?
"Actually, let me see..." He frowned, his gray eyes intent on my face. "If I get this extension right here... hmmm... that would be the personal possessive as opposed to the third person, Old Thorass was weird that way." He was an armorsmith and a linguist of ancient tongues. Oghma help me.
"Our Lord indeed marked you to His service." He shook his head reverently."Instead of 'Tyr's', I would say it's more like 'Mine', Sister."
