Disclaimer: Obsidian owns Casavir and Bishop, but Kayla and the incidental characters are mine, I'm afraid.


Kayla followed Casavir through the darkened streets of Port Llast. She kept well back, clung to the shadows, and tried to move as quietly as she could, but she was afraid that he would move too quickly for her to follow. She wished that Neeshka was not out, that she might have borrowed the tiefling's invisibility ring again, but wishing did her no good. Fortunately, Casavir appeared to be in no hurry, despite the haste of his departure.

She felt a little guilty about that. She should not have goaded him. He was what he was, even if he infuriated her, at times.

She could not even say why she followed him. He clearly wished to be alone. She told herself that she worried about him, alone in a strange city... alone, unarmed, unarmored, and half-drunk, as well. But Casavir was born and bred in Neverwinter, and knew better than she how to avoid trouble. It was more the manner of his departure that made her uneasy for him. He was so troubled, and there did not seem to be anything she could do to help him.

She had tried treating him like any other companion, and avoiding even the suggestion of intimacy between them, but that seemed to unsettle him worse than her former behavior had done, and it was making her cross and irritable, as well. It would all be so much easier if he could just admit that they both had needs, and that they would both be better off satisfying them together.

Unrequited love was far less satisfying than the bards described. She had always imagined that it would be all sighing and long, teary goodbyes while the unwitting object of her affection rode away, living his life as if she did not exist in it. That part was partially correct. There was plenty of sighing, living with Casavir, and plenty of pain, but there was also a lot of frustration, and a lot of wondering what she saw in him at all. Yes, he was handsome, certainly, but that was not enough to sustain the feelings that bound her to him.

Then she remembered. She thought back on all the times they had huddled under his lean-to, talking through her watch shift and half of Grobnar's, and about the time he had read to her aboard the Double Eagle, and about their walk on the deck. He revealed his inner self slowly to her, allowing her into his confidence only gradually, but by now, she knew that she was closer to him than any living person. She knew his moods, his mannerisms. Often, she knew what he would say before he even spoke. She understood his subtle, self-effacing humor, and she loved his shy, quiet smile.

It would be easier if he did go about his life as if it did not contain her. Then, she could mourn something that would never be and eventually get on with her own life. But he clung to her, even as he pushed her away. He knew she was there, and he wanted her there, but he simply could not allow their relationship to grow.

And she did worry about him, but not for fear that he might lose himself, or come to harm in a strange city. He was so fragile, so needy. If he loved her, his puzzling behavior might be excused. She could easily forgive him, if he had trouble reconciling, as he put it, the demands of his faith and the demands of his lover. If Casavir had ever been in love, it surely could not have been a healthy relationship. And his upbringing was no help. Kayla, at least, had Brother Merring and Retta Starling to show her what love looked like. Their love might be undeclared, but it was obvious to anyone who knew them. Casavir had no one. He would not know how to behave, and as shy as he was, he would have a hard time learning. But, as convenient an explanation as it might be, he did not love her. That made him a very close friend, but nothing more. She had many friends, in the course of her life, and none of them required the reassurance that Casavir seemed to need. He loved to be touched, to be held close, though he balked at even the thought of sexual contact.

She remembered Madam Mina and her cart, and she remembered what the old sweets peddler said of her conversations with her husband, how she felt so sorry for the little boy with no mother to tuck him in at night. At the time, she had taken it as little more than the fond recollections of an old lady, but now, it rent her heart. She had kind Brother Merring to confide in, and to console her as a father would when she was feeling sad or lonely, but Casavir was all alone. Was it any wonder that he craved affection so strongly?

She had made a mistake. When she proposed to Casavir that they treat each other as nothing more than friends, she had not listened to him. She gave him a choice between becoming lovers or becoming distant. She offered the choice before ever asking him what would make him happy. It would be only natural for Casavir to assume he had no other options, literal as he was. She would always want more than hand-holding, but if that was what Casavir wanted, a little frustration was a small price to pay for his happiness. At least it was not too late. He would go back to the inn eventually. When he got there, she could approach him, and listen to him, not talk to him.

Casavir was no longer moving. He stood on the wharf, beside a laden barge. He was speaking with three impossibly burly men. She crept closer, trying to make out what they were saying. There was a row of stacked crates between them, so she hid behind it. She might not even have bothered. There were no lamps here, save the one the longshoremen used, and as it had begun to rain, there was no moon.

"... unloaded before midnight, or there'll be hells to pay," one of the burly dock workers was saying.

"I would be happy to assist you, if my help would spare you the lash," she heard Casavir volunteer.

"Heh," a different dock worker grunted, "you help us? We can't pay you."

"I would ask no compensation," Casavir replied.

"You must be the paladin," the first said. "What do you say, boss? Do we see what he's got?"

"Yeah," a third, colder voice agreed. "He's eager enough."

She heard a loud thud, quickly followed by a grunt in what sounded like Casavir's voice.

"Watch the beam," the cold voice advised. "Hold that arm, lad."

Had she seen a crane? She did not remember, and she could not stand up to look, or she would be spotted.

A rapid series of softer thuds followed, punctuated by grunts from the men. Suddenly, something crashed against the crates where Kayla hid, shifting them dangerously. She curled up into a protective ball, but none of the crates fell.

"Mind the cargo, lads," one of the voices snapped. She heard a sound like the slap of a hand against a shoulder, and a muffled groan.

"You're a tough blighter, aren't you?" the cold voice drawled. "Always ready for more punishment."

"I am not easily broken." Casavir's voice sounded strangely slurred, but he had been drinking.

"That's all we needed to hear," the apparent leader laughed. "Back to work, lads."

More scraping and shuffling followed, punctuated by grunts and a few muttered oaths. The crates shook again when something big struck them, and she heard something that sounded like a heavy sack dropping onto the wharf.

She heard the sound of something being dragged along the stone paving, then, after more crashes and thuds, silence.

"I suppose we're done here," the cold voice said. "And in exchange for all your help, I'll give you a little advice to pass along to your mistress. Stop digging. Go back to Neverwinter and wait. Bad things can happen to little girls who play with things bigger than they are. And you can't exactly help her now, can you? Why, you can't even help yourself. Have a good night now, paladin, and mind you don't venture too far from the street lamps. It'd be a pity if something happened to that pretty face of yours... something else, that is."

Kayla did not like the way he said that, and Casavir had made no reply. She waited until the light from the workers' lamp faded, then emerged from behind the crates.

She saw nothing. The rain was getting heavier, and it was turning cold.

A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the wharf. She could not see everything in the short burst of light, but what she did see left her colder than the chilling rain. If those men were longshoremen, they were the sloppiest workers she had ever seen. The wharf was strewn with sacks and broken crates... and no crane.

"Casavir?" she called softly, but heard no reply.

She took a few hesitant steps forward and tripped over a sack. Something moaned.

Conjuring light, she stooped to examine what she tripped over. Her light showed the outline of a man, lying curled-up on the wharf. She pulled at his shoulder, turning his face to her light.

Casavir.

He was hurt, perhaps badly. His face was a mask of bruises and welts. He tried to speak through swollen, bloody lips, but no sound came out.

The healing spell was on her lips, but Casavir grabbed her wrist.

"No," he choked out, "do not heal me."

"I must!" she cried, trying not to weep. "You're hurt."

"I will live," he coughed. "Help me sit up."

He gasped when she shifted him, blanching in the darkness, but she was able to help him to a sitting position, though he leaned on her heavily.

"Cas, please!" she sobbed. "Let me help you."

"No," he insisted weakly, though his voice was getting stronger. "I can manage. Let me just rest a moment."

"What happened?" she asked, starting to regain control of her voice.

"I will tell you when we are safe," he coughed again. "If you help me, I think I can walk."

"I don't think you should move until you're healed," Kayla protested.

"Do not argue," he said. Despite her concerns, she had to admit that he sounded better.

She feared broken ribs or worse, but he might not be quite as bad as she thought, at first. She put her arm around him, and wedged her other hand under his armpit.

He gasped and moaned as she helped him to his feet, and he stood unsteadily, but he did not fall.

"Please, Cas," she tried again, "let me help you over to those crates. If you won't let me heal you, you can rest there while I get Khelgar and Shandra, and we can carry you back to the inn."

"No," he snapped, sounding encouragingly cross. "I feel fool enough already. I can walk. Leave me, if you must, but I will get back to my room on my own feet."

"If that's the way you want it," she replied, smiling in spite of herself.

So, she thought, you do have some manly pride, my fledgling saint.

"But I'm not leaving you here," she said aloud. "Come on, now, one step at a time."

By the time they reached the inn door, Casavir was at the end of his endurance. He collapsed, pulling her down with him.

"Cas!" she gasped.

"Damn legs," he swore. "Help me."

"No, Cas," she said firmly. "That's far enough."

She got to her feet and looked around. She saw the guards who had harassed her earler.

"You there!" she called. "Man down, over here!"

A pair of them strutted over, then stooped, peering at Casavir.

"What happened to 'im?" one of them snorted.

"He was beaten half to death on your wharf," she snapped. "While you and your friends stood guard over a mess of ale pots. I can't carry him, so you'll have to help me."

"Oh, we do, do we?" the other guard sneered.

"Aye, we do," the first one sighed. "I knows what 'Aeromos told us, but they've been mindin' their manners 'ere well 'nough."

"Ye don't know that," the other protested. "For all ye know, 'e's the one that started it. 'Ow'd ye know there ain't a line o' bodies from 'ere to the garrison?"

"Ilmater's blood, Red, look at 'is 'oly symbol!" the first one barked. "Look at 'ers. These are gods-fearin' folk 'ere, not a pair o' thugs. Now shut yer yap an' grab 'is legs."

Kayla breathed a grateful prayer to whatever god favored compassionate guardsmen while they lifted Casavir, then led them into the inn. The common room was mostly empty, with all of her companions abed, but she was surprised at how little attention the few remaining locals paid to the sight of an obviously injured man being carried across the taproom.

She led them past Casavir's door, and opened her own.

"My room is there," Casavir protested weakly.

"Yes, dear one," she said softly, "but I'm looking after you here, tonight. Hush now, and let them get you settled."

They deposited Casavir on her bed, and the suspicious one stomped out of the room before she could even thank him. The kinder one lingered, his eyes moving between her and her patient.

"'E's 'urt pretty bad, missus," the man said. "Can I get ye a 'ealer?"

"I am a cleric," she said with some exasperation. "He's just too stubborn to let me heal him."

"Aye," the man nodded, "I know 'ow that goes. Mebe I can 'elps ye with 'is wet things, then. 'E's a big un, an' 'e's too banged up to 'elp ye."

"I can bloody well undress myself," Casavir protested from the bed.

"Aye, 'course ye can, mate," the guard laughed, "an' I can fly to the moon on the flames shootin' out me arse. So stop bein' such a babe an' quit yer whinin'."

"What's your name, sir," Kayla asksed the guard as they started pulling off Casavir's boots.

"Donal, miss," he replied. "An' I knows who ye are, but I don't know 'im."

"This is Casavir, Donal," she supplied. Now that Casavir had asserted his temporarily non-existent self-sufficiency, he had fallen back onto the bed, and lay still while they pulled off his wet tunic and leggings. "He's a paladin of Tyr."

"A paladin!" Donal said in surprise. "Ain't never met no paladin. Don't they 'ave 'alos an' the like?"

Kayla waited a moment for Casavir to respond, but he remained silent, his eyes drooping, despite the pain he must be feeling. His torso was bruised more badly than his face, and even his legs were covered in welts.

"They do," she said, "but it's more something you feel, rather than something you see. If you're a friend, it makes you feel braver, and safer, and warmer, but that isn't quite the right word, since it isn't really heat."

"Aye," Donal nodded. "I reckon I knows what ye're sayin'. Is there aught else I can do fer ye? Brings ye a potion, mebe, or Nya, if she's about?"

"I can manage, Donal," she said. "But I thank you very much for all your help. I could not have done this without you. I know it isn't much, but will you let me buy you a drink, or something... or give you silver for it, since you probably can't drink while you're on duty."

"Nah," Donal shrugged, "I reckon I owed ye, after the time we gave ye when ye got 'ere. I'll check in on ye in the mornin', an' see 'ow 'e fares, but if ye need sommat afore then, I'll be outside the inn all night."

"Thank you for everything, Donal," she bid him farewell, and returned to her patient.

He was a mess, she had to admit. His limbs appeared to be unbroken, but the same could not be said for his ribs. From the boot outlines on his flanks and back, they must have kicked him while he lay on the ground. His face was nearly unrecognizable.

She felt sick. She had crouched mere feet away while he was beaten almost to death, and she thought they were just making a lot of noise off-loading a barge.

"Oh, Cas," she groaned. "Why didn't you call out? I was right there."

"I knew you were," he sighed, his voice barely audible. "I knew you followed me, and that you hid yourself. One cry from me, and you would have come to my aid. I could not risk that, so I remained silent, and put up little resistance."

"Dear one, you have to let me heal you," she pleaded. "I swear every rib is broken, and you might have internal injuries. I'm not even sure if you'll make it through the night."

"I will," he said. "I just need rest. They knew what they were doing."

"I'll say!" she said crisply. "If they were trying to kill you."

"They wanted me to live," he said. "They wanted me to warn you. They were likely in Torio's employ, and assaulted me to encourage you to return to the safety of Neverwinter before you had time to assemble your case. I will live."

"Even if you do, you won't be able to ride," she countered, "and you won't be able to fight. We'll be days here, just getting you healed up enough to get out of bed."

"I know..." he groaned. "You may heal me in the morning. Let me have one night of pain as punishment for my arrogance."

"Arrogance, Casavir?" she blinked at him.

"I thought I could protect you," he sighed. "I could not even protect myself. I am a burden to you."

"You do protect me, Cas," she protested. "Every day. I know it, and I'm sorry I haven't thanked you for it. Please, Cas, let me heal you. I can't bear to see you in so much pain."

"The pain is just," he said stubbornly. "And I am already stronger. I need rest, my lady, nothing more."

"Why are you making this so difficult?" she sighed, sitting on the bed beside him and wiping the blood off his face. "I wish I could tell you what you mean to me, but you never listen. I need you, Casavir. I need you to be healthy, and I need you to be whole, and not because I want you to fight for me. I care more about you than I do about any other person on Toril, and I can't bear the thought of losing you. Let me heal you... please."

She started to take his hand, but she withdrew when he winced. He had fought back, despite his assertions to the contrary. The only part of him that was not bruised or bloody was his neck, so she lay one hand on either side of it and looked into his face.

"My lady..." he whispered. "I did not know..."

"Let me heal you," she repeated, "please."

"I will live," he said soothingly. "My injuries are ugly, and they are painful, but they are far from mortal. Use the sight Lathander gave you, if you will not believe me."

Sighing, she obeyed him. She rarely used this particular ability with a conscious patient. She disliked its invasive nature. By concentrating on the life force moving through Casavir's body, she could see the internal structures, and sense where injury had damaged them. Apart from a pair of bruised kidneys, his organs were intact, and while his ribs were cracked, they had not broken, nor did they threaten his lungs. His brain, too, had sustained no damage, despite the bruising of his face. She already knew his liver and spleen were unhurt, or he would have died of internal bleeding by now. Still, it was reassuring to learn that he was correct in his estimation of the damage he had sustained. He was weak and in pain, but he would live.

"Are you determined to suffer?" she asked him one last time.

"Yes, my lady," he said, closing his eyes.

"Very well," she sighed, "but I'm not moving you tonight. Even if I thought you could get up from this bed, I would want you to stay here, where I can watch you."

"Thank you," he said simply.

"We need to talk, Cas," she said, biting her lip. "I know this isn't a good time, but we can do it in the morning, after I've healed you."

"As you wish," he murmured placidly, nearly asleep.

She got up and draped his wet clothing over her armor and the bed frame in hopes that it would dry by morning, then stripped to her undergarments and repeated the process with her own. He stirred a little as she covered him with a linen sheet, but he did not wake, and by the time she lay down beside him, he was already deeply asleep.

She was almost asleep herself when he shifted suddenly in the bed. She sat up and conjured light again at the odd sound he was making. To her surprise, it looked like he was trying to laugh.

"Is something wrong, Cas?" she asked anxiously.

"It seems I must endure one last humiliation tonight," he groaned.

"What is it?"

"I... my lady, I need your help to sit, and to get to the edge of the bed. And... forgive me... would you fetch the chamber pot?"

"Oh, Cas," she giggled, "you couldn't have thought of this before we got comfortable?"

"I was unaware that I would feel the need," he muttered. If she could have seen his face through the bruising, she was certain he would have been blushing crimson.

"It's all right, Cas," she said as soberly as she could manage, given his embarrassment. She knew he was suffering, but it was hard not to laugh at the absurdity of it. And poor Casavir. She was certain that under normal circumstances, he would have opened a vein before asking her help to urinate, but these were not normal circumstances. If he was suffering, she reminded herself, he was doing it of his own free will. Still, some things would not wait.

She got up, positioned the porcelain vessel as conveniently as she could, then helped him sit up. She had to lift his legs over the bed rail herself, then sit with her back braced against his while he did what he had to do. By the time she was able to get him settled and resting again, he was weak and sweating from the strain.

Once he was settled, she got up to push the chamber pot back under the bed. She was not surprised to see how dark the contents were. With two bruised kidneys, he was ridding himself more of blood than of urine. Still, the worst was over, and he was resting comfortably now.

She kissed his forehead gently and lay down beside him once more. He mumbled something incomprehensible and endearing, then sighed contentedly and started snoring. She shook her head at the racket, but sleep was claiming her, too. She gave in.


Casavir woke to the sound of knocking. He tried to sit, but was reminded painfully why that was impossible. The Lady stirred beside him.

"Now who could that be?" she muttered groggily, sitting up and fumbling for the tinderbox.

"Do not answer it," he urged her, reaching out for her in the darkness.

"I have to, Cas," she sighed.

She was still playing with the tinderbox, and failing to get anything to catch. It never ceased to amaze Casavir how long it took The Lady to light a candle.

"Use the Sphere, my lady," he suggested.

"Right," she agreed. A moment later, the room was bathed in the familiar amber glow.

"Let them wait until morning," Casavir said again.

"I can't, Cas," she replied, getting out of bed. He blinked at how little she was wearing, nothing more than the most basic of undergarments, but it was a warm night. "What if Donal went for Nya, after all? Or maybe Sand found something important."

"Or perhaps Bishop has grown weary of waiting for you to invite him into your bed and has decided to force the issue."

"Bishop doesn't want me, Cas," she said patiently. "He just pretends he does to get a reaction from you. When we're alone, I might as well be male."

"When are you alone with Bishop?" Casavir demanded, feeling something strangely fierce creep over him. Had he the power, he would have sat up and taken hold of her arm, but as weak and aching as he was, all he could do was glare at her.

"Here and there, Cas," she said soothingly, stroking his neck, "and never for very long."

"Let that be the explanation for his restraint, then," Casavir insisted. "Do not allow yourself to be lulled into thinking him harmless. The moment you let your guard down..."

"Cas," she said more firmly, "Bishop isn't like you. He doesn't look for anything more than a pretty face and a nice pair of tits. I haven't got either-"

"You are beautiful," Casavir protested.

"In your eyes, dear one," she smiled at him. "He sees only a chalky face with a funny-looking mouth."

"Bring that mouth closer and I will show you what I think of that assessment," Casavir said with uncharacteristic boldness.

"Easy Cas," she chuckled, smiling fondly at him. "I'm saying what he sees, not what I find fault with. Besides, even your generous eyes can't give me a figure I'll never have."

"My lady, please," Casavir groaned. "If you insist on cataloging what you perceive as flaws, you will provoke me to actions that will undo all the good my rest has done."

"Really?" she blinked at him. "You only say that because you're too sore to move."

He felt his blush rise in his still-painful cheeks.

At that moment, the knock was repeated, louder.

"I have to get that, Cas," she said, crossing to the door.

"Will you not at least dress yourself more completely?" Casavir asked.

"It's all still wet," she shrugged. "Besides, it's probably Sand, and elves don't care about nudity... and I'm all covered."

He tried, but he was unable to raise himself enough to look at the door.

The voice that issued through the crack, however, was unmistakable.

"Evening, Princess," the hated voice drawled. "Got a flask of firewhiskey here with your name on it. Open up, and we'll split it."

"Thanks, Bishop," The Lady groaned. "Why are you here?"

"Got bored." Casavir could almost hear Bishop's shrug. "Couldn't sleep, and thought you might have the same problem."

"Actually, I was sleeping quite well," she replied with reassuring coolness. "I'd like to go back to it now, if you don't mind."

"I wouldn't mind joining you," Bishop laughed.

Casavir's could bear no more.

"Not while I live and breathe!" he snarled, vainly trying to sit. Despite his resolution that he should pass the night in penance, he gathered his will for a healing spell. If he was going to fight Bishop, he needed strength. The Lady had her mace in the room. If she would not use it on Bishop, Casavir, certainly, had no such reservations.

"Who've you got in there?" Bishop asked. Casavir heard the door creak open.

"No, Bishop!" The Lady protested.

"Who's this?" Bishop was standing over him now, leaning to peer at his face. "Nice face, paladin. Hmf. Surprised you could fuck her like this. What did she do, ride you?"

Casavir sputtered inarticulate denial, but The Lady took Bishop's arm and steered him a short distance away, though if Casavir turned his head, he could still see them.

"He was attacked in the street, Bishop-" she began.

"Don't blame 'em for that, whoever they were," Bishop snorted.

"He was attacked in the street, and he's here so I can nurse him," she said, unperturbed. "Did you want something, or are you going to waste time hurling insults at each other all night?"

"Heh," Bishop shrugged. "Serves me right. If you must know, I just wanted to see if I could take your mind off things for a while. I guess this is what I get for doing something nice."

"Thank you, Bishop," she said softly. Casavir felt a jealous pang at her gentle tone. "It was thoughtful of you, and I'm grateful, but Cas needs rest, and you should be sleeping, too. See you in the morning?"

"S'pose," Bishop grunted. "What time?"

"How long will it take us to reach Ember?" she asked.

"A day and a bit," Bishop replied curtly.

"Midmorning, I guess," she sighed. "I wanted to give C-... to give everyone a chance to sleep in, but I don't imagine we're going to want to camp in Ember."

"One day at a time, Princess," Bishop replied. Casavir was surprised at his voice. It sounded sad, almost. "Sleep well."

"You, too," she said.

Bishop sighed and moved out of Casavir's sight. He heard the door close a moment later, then the sound of the key in the lock.

She reentered his line of vision and sat on the edge of the bed, turning toward him. She brushed the hair out of his eyes and began to stroke his cheek, but guided her caress to his neck at his grimace.

"You need rest, Cas," she sighed. "You shouldn't have let yourself become so agitated."

"He was here to molest you," Casavir said sternly.

"He was here to cheer me up," she shook her head. "And it was a thoughtful thing to do. Besides, do you really think he'd try anything with you lying here like the wrath of Tyr?"

"Yes," Casavir groaned. "He would want me to watch him take you."

"See?" she smiled. "Even you admit that his only interest in me is to antagonize you."

"He did not know I was here until I spoke," he protested. "My lady, why do you even speak to him? You should shun him. His soul is twisted, corrupt. You are a creature of goodness and light. Conversation with one such as him can only lead you to darkness."

"I want to help him, Cas," she said softly. She leaned over him, smiling wistfully and stroking his neck. "He can be saved, dear one, I'm sure of it. You saw how changed he was when he came here, even though you provoked him. He didn't even say anything rude to me. With time and patience, who knows? He may surprise us both."

"When he first got here, he asked you if you wanted company in bed," Casavir reminded her.

"He was joking," she smiled. "I wouldn't know him if he didn't at least say something suggestive. Anyway, why would I accept him, when I've already got you nestled snug in my bed?"

"He would tempt you, my lady," Casavir sighed. "He would promise you ecstasy, but he would be lying. In lying with him, you would give him pleasure almost beyond enduring, but there would be nothing for you but pain and regret."

"How do you know this, Cas?" she asked. He stared at her, but there was no reproach in her tone, or accusation, only gentle curiosity.

"It was long ago," he said, unable to meet her eyes. "I was young... and very selfish. Please, my lady... I am ashamed of what I did. Do not ask me to relive those memories."

"Oh, Cas," she sighed, taking his hand in hers. To his relief, she looked at the hand she held in her lap, not at his face. "It isn't easy talking about this with you, but I think it would be good for you to hear it. I have heard that the first time between two people is often unpleasant, for one or even both parties. There is so much uncertainty, and self-conscious insecurity, and even fear, it is easy to forget that there can also be closeness, and joy. It can be very frightening, sharing something that intimate with another. But if there is love, and mutual respect, it can be a beautiful memory to treasure forever. I am sorry if you regret... what happened in the past... but it does not always have to be like that. Next time, it could be as magical as you ever heard it could be."

He shuddered involuntarily at the memory of lovemaking. Try though he had, he had never been able to rid himself of the memory of that blinding moment when the wave of his passion crested and was spent. He tried to forget because he remembered only too well how relieved the girl had been, when it was over at last. She endured it, and had offered herself again and again out of obligation to him, but she had not enjoyed it. He kept trying because he hoped that the tales were true, that in loving him, she might learn to crave his touch, but she had not. Now that he was older, and hopefully wiser, he wondered if the lack was simply that she never loved him, but a brutally honest part of his brain suggested that the lack was in him, that he was simply incapable of pleasing a woman.

"Cas?" her soft voice brought him out of his melancholy reverie. She was looking at him again, though her expression was kind, concerned.

"Forgive me," he sighed. "You intend that we should leave midmorning?"

"You can't even talk about it?" She was persistent, but she was gentle, nonetheless. She wanted answers, and her quiet, beautiful voice would drag them out of him.

"She bit her lip when I took her," he said, looking away, "and tears were in her eyes while we lay together. She thanked the gods when I was done. I hoped... I prayed that her love for me would teach her to cherish the... time we spent together as much as I, or that I might find some way to please her, if my love was not enough. My lady, I could not bear to see that pain in the eyes of another, let alone in the eyes of a woman I loved."

"Oh, Cas," she murmured, "I'm sorry. I understand now why you don't want to try again, though I wish I could convince you that it doesn't have to be like that. She left you, didn't she?"

"She never loved me," he said sadly. "She chose another whose touch repulsed her less. I have nothing to give, my lady. My form is pleasing... though perhaps not now... but it cloaks nothing a woman would want."

"That reminds me," she said, smiling enigmatically, "it is long past midnight, and therefore, it is morning."

With little warning, he felt her power enter him, flooding his veins with soothing warmth, like liquid light. Her healing was different from his, warmer, and it felt like joy coursed through him. When the spell faded, he was rejuvenated, completely healed, but he was also inexplicably happier, as if she had healed a little of his soul, along with his body.

She lay her cheek on his chest, and worked her hands around his ribs under his arms. He closed his own arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

"You will ask me to go now," he predicted sadly. "I am not prepared to remain under the terms you set last night."

"Never mind that, dear one," she whispered. "You may come to my bed whenever you want, and I won't ask you to go where you are not ready to go. I do hope that one day, you will believe me when I tell you that you do have more to give than you say, but if nothing I've said to you has convinced you otherwise, you'll have to realize it on your own. I'll still be here when you do."

He sighed contentedly, and, taking one of his arms from around her, he tilted her chin so that he could look at her face. She was smiling, but she looked sad, somehow. He raised her chin a little more and kissed her gently on the lips.

"Thank you for healing me," he whispered, "and for letting me share your bed. You should sleep, though, or you will be weary tomorrow."

She shifted on the bed so that she lay alongside him, and, laying her head in the crook of his shoulder, draped one arm over his chest. He closed his eyes and tightened his arms around her, savoring the delicious feel of her body in his arms.

"Before we go to sleep, I wanted to talk about something with you," she said.

"Something else?" he asked lightly, though he wondered what else she could have to say. They had talked much, and about matters very near to Casavir's heart. He was weary.

"Yes, my stubborn, silent one," she chuckled, then grew more serious. "When we spoke last, before we left Neverwinter, I wronged you."

"You did not, my lady," he said firmly.

"But I did. I gave you the choice of becoming my lover or becoming nothing more than an indifferent companion. I never asked you what you wanted. What do you want, Cas? What would make you happy?"

"Do you remember when we sat in the common room last night? When Khelgar tried to teach me to drink like a dwarf and you lay your head against my shoulder? You did not unsettle me then, you simply took comfort in my presence and offered me comfort and companionship in return. Had you taken my hand, my happiness would have been complete. I want that."

"Then you shall have it," she whispered.

Casavir closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer of thanksgiving to Tyr for the joy that filled him.

He shifted more onto his side, so he could face her, and once more, kissed her lightly. She returned his kiss hesitantly, shyly, and he felt her tremble. The soft, yielding enjoyment she showed at his caress emboldened him, and he found himself kissing her again, more passionately, but the ache growing in his loins reminded him that he must restrain his affection for her. Drawing away from her lips, he kissed her forehead instead, and lowered her face to rest against his shoulder once more.

"Sleep well, sweet lady," he breathed, and closed his eyes.