Prologue II

That voice… masked… from where? She knew it; she had heard it before… Firebead Elvenhair? But how? Why? He was Gorion's friend, wasn't he?

"You think it a coincidence I knew where and what you were, how easily I claimed you?" That cold voice, devoid of everything but contempt and perhaps the last vestiges of pride, intoned, as if aware of her thoughts.

Hecharna stirred, aware of the stone slab beneath her, its chill seeped into her behind, her thighs and calves cramping, her lower back all but in spasm. She could not move; there were no restraints, and she was dressed as she had been: in tunic and leggings, without the comfort of her sweat-soaked gambeson and ankheg plated mail, but still that belt that changed her form, as if her captor thought so little of her, he had not even bothered to strip her of her 'armour'.

"Think, god child." The words rang in her head. She found herself remembering: that book, the errands…

"The identity scroll… you should have used it on yourself, silly girl."

It didn't work that way, did it?

"Did you never stop to consider divining your own origin?" The contempt hung heavier, "Foolish child, I have observed your every step; I allowed you to roam, watching as your nature asserted itself, awakening you to its truth. And then you came to me, too afraid to face your rival. Yes; I know about you both, have known. You do not deserve the gifts given to you. Gorion was a fool. It was… interesting watching you grow, but now the time has come. Let go, cease struggling. No one wants you here. You could not even protect your precious Imoen. I revived her, brought her to my abode. Had you thought to check the cellar…. Yes, Bhaal child, I was there that night, shrouded as events unfolded. How did you think I knew of Gorion's death? Did you never stop to ask yourself?"

Her eyes glazed over and memories spun in her already swimming mind. Was she drugged? She couldn't see straight. Centeol; she had tried to warn her, that Jon Irenicus had cursed her. She should have understood that 'Irenicus' meant 'shattered one', had she paid attention to the tongue of her elven ancestors, had she listened to Kivan's translation, his revulsion. She had passed it off, like so much else.

"These halls hold the world's knowledge," a tutor's voice resounded in her mind. Knowledge… the prophecies. Even Sarevok had come to Candlekeep. Prism; how had Prism seen Ellesime? He hadn't… a clone, an escaped clone. It was before her the whole time and she had failed to see. Clones… Imoen had shown her the clones. Was it Imoen, or her captor? Not her captor. Imoen. They had tried to escape, hadn't they? Or had they? Had she fought and killed Imoen's clones, over and over, or was that just another dream?

How did she know her captor's name? Imoen had told her. Had it really been Imoen? But that voice, his voice, that was real, more real than her own thoughts. More real than anything. It was all that existed within the darkness, that and the chill.

"Now you are thinking, child of Bhaal. You understand, don't you, what it is that must happen?"

She didn't, couldn't, but somewhere deep inside, she felt something stir, something deep, dark; that voice from the dreams…

"Yes, we shall coax it out together. And every time you resist, every time you fail, Imoen shall suffer. She will suffer because of you." He allowed her to think about that for a moment. "Now let us begin."

A strange spell ravaged her; everything felt afire with icy burning, pain beyond anything she'd ever experienced, searing, writhing, agonising –

"That is but a taste of what Imoen will experience. Do not fail her, Bhaal child."

Hecharna felt her eyelids begin to close, so leaden, so heavy, and understood she had already lost, already surrendered. Hapless in her own armour, imprisoned, entombed, even as it began to creak, to crack. Even if it was a lie, she had to spare Imoen this and worse. The intonations resumed, the rhetorical questions almost sardonic, the lectures spearing through her thoughts, stabbing into her brain, each word instructing her, as though she were an especially slow child, an especially stupid one, reaffirming what her anxiety and insecurity, her experience, had told her all alone: she was alone, helpless, and unwanted. Her consciousness passed from the waking world. It would begin again, as it always did.

"Ah, the child of Bhaal has awoken."

[...]

A/N: And there it is, the AU bridge, a link between Baldur's Gate and Shadows of Amn.