The Angel
A/N: Thank you for all your lovely reviews! The ending is coming soon, before the year's end if all goes well. I hope you like it!
They rested. For the citizens of Amkethran being free from the army of mercenaries Balthazar was gathering in hopes of defeating the other of the Five, meant the end of draconian taxes and starvation. Surely that meant better times were coming.
But Daria's group didn't share their optimism. The upcoming battle with Amelissan – the treacherous priestess of Bhaal, the one who guided the taint to it's source to resurrect Bhaal, weighed heavy on their minds. Even more so the question – who would sit on the Throne. There weren't many contestants left and no option was truly a good one. Could such place remain unclaimed?
"Hey, Daria." Imoen broke the heavy silence. "Where do you see us going next?"
"Well you see, sis..." I don't see anything. Just a bright mana pulse that shatters my perception to a point that everything's possible all at once and my brain can't take it – Daria didn't say. "I don't see you coming back to visit Valygar in Athkatla. Why is that?" instead she chose.
"Who? Ah, that guy who hates magic. I'm over him, he's boring." Imoen puffed a blond lock from her face and pretended to look at the window.
"I'm sure he misses you."
"Well… I guess." Imoen shifted her gaze further. Maybe Daria's distraction worked on her, but everybody's been listening. It was unlikely Jaheira missed the fact that her ward avoided answering.
"It's going to be a glorious battle" Minsc smiled, cleaning his sword. "Boo can feel it in his little bones."
"I hope this all will be worth it." Daria caught Sarevok mutter. And it suddenly came clear to her, what that egomaniac wanted. It was staring her in the face the whole time. Sarevok could stand being defeated – but not wrong. He didn't want to feel that the way he chose to live his life wasn't the only reasonable one. His decision to leave Tomoko behind, then his teacher, to abandon all that fulfilled their purpose… If he wasn't destined to be the new god, then he wasn't – he could accept that. It was natural to be abandoned after he wasn't the strongest anymore, he got what he deserved – that wasn't a punishment, just the order of things. But he couldn't live with the fact, that maybe there were other ways he could have led his fate. That the very core of his philosophy was flawed – there was more to life than gaining power.
And that meant that he just shifted his ambitions on her shoulders. She defeated him – only the one chosen by the prophecy should have been able to do that. Daria had to become the next God of Murder. That would lessen his defeat. More, it would mean he did well, supporting her on this path, showing her the way she was supposed to reach the one true goal. It meant there was a place for him in the prophecy after all. Perhaps he was already preparing a speech to ask for the position of a right hand-man to the new goddess.
'But am I any better?' Daria knew what would make her feel her life was worth living – or at least she thought so. But was she truly the right person to judge Sarevok's insane fantasies? At least he was moving forward with his life, had a clear goal. She felt more like idling.
Then again… She needed to talk with Xan first, but there was a path she deemed probable and one she could live with. Not ideal, there were no ideal paths when you were born with the blood of a god of murder, but good enough.
"I'm going to retire for the night. I have a long list of spells to prepare" Xan stood up to leave. He didn't look her way, but she felt melancholy in his voice, his heart like a painfully stretched string, waiting to either break or be released. He didn't ask for her company, usually it was her that came to him. Well, first she needed to prepare as well.
Daria took her bag and went to her sister's room to change.
He was doomed, Xan realized the second he saw Daria come into their shared room in that ridiculous dress she bought on a whim in Tradesmeet, these few finicky strips of cloth barely covering enough skin to pass for an article of clothing. He couldn't help but ponder how it stayed in place, with only a button or two connecting it at her hips, with cleavage ending below a bellybutton. Logically, this should slip from her skin at a deeper breath – now that wasn't a calculated thought anymore, that was a full blown fantasy. There was no way this wasn't a farewell, Daria's way of giving him one more memory to shatter his heart after she leaves. Xan drew a shaky breath.
"I have an idea" his love confessed. Xan heard a click of a lock as the doors were secured. He was sitting in bed, thinking more than studying as he should be, and Daria wasted no time climbing on.
"Mm?" he muttered noncommittally. The diviner sat on him, gently taking a spellbook from his hands and placing it on a night table, giving him little time to prepare for this sudden intimacy. She must have been mad if she thought he was capable of listening to her like that. Or that was precisely why she was doing it.
Gathering the pure concentration of an archmage that survived decades on the battlefield, and could cast through pain and exhaustion, through fire and ice, Xan lifted his eyes and said:
"Tell me about it."
"Well..." Daria smiled, a little mischievous spark shone in her eyes. She raised her hand to play with his hair, but Xan knew it was his ear that was the real target. He steeled himself further. "I don't want to become a god of anything, especially murder. And becoming a mortal seems dangerous, since the essence is a part of my spirit, which is pretty torn up already, not to mention all the other breaks and cuts I healed through it..." He kissed her wandering hand, taking it in his to buy himself a little more time. "But then again, being a demigoddess isn't all that bad, is it?" She shifted to sit more comfortably. Xan exhaled audibly, his hands taking a chance to rest on Daria's thighs as his willpower weakened momentarily.
"But can it last?" he asked.
"I don't know. When I look too closely at the Throne of Bhaal… there's a lot of power there and it… clings, even through time and space. That's why, of you're not against it… If it wouldn't matter to you that I'd never be fully elven… We would take a small detour tomorrow, before confronting Amelissan. I need to know, if it's possible not to ascend. I read stor… records of demigods moving freely between the planes of gods and mortals… I could possibly reach Arvandor and ask Seldarine to accept me as a… freelancer of sorts? It would very likely lead to one more quest or even more..."
Xan let out a sigh, brushing away what little cloth she had on from her legs and replacing it with his palms. Her soft warm skin already felt divine under his fingers.
"What? You don't think it's possible?" she asked, worried.
"No. Somehow I do not doubt you will be able to do that and more" he told her just what she wanted to hear. It would probably be easier if he was lying, but no, she forced a weak spot in his heart and was now comfortably nestled inside. He truly couldn't imagine her failing anymore. He knew she could… Just couldn't summon an image. "See what you did to me? I'm feeling hopeful." He moved his hands up.
"Oh my, Xan, but don't you think we should just lie down and… Ah!"
He didn't let her finish.
The Throne of Bhaal, her part of it, welcomed her with eerie silence of a regent that never truly expected the king to return.
"Something's wrong" she halted her group and before she finished the sentence, she already knew what it was.
A crack she left in this place, the first time she came. A hairline fracture on an abandoned and desolate plane, with no one there charged with keeping it stable. She neglected it as well, only furthering the desolation while preparing a way to the Throne, and now there was an unwanted squatter awaiting her return.
But it was still her domain. She held all the power gathered here. She opened her mouth to speak.
"You need to..."
"I hope you're to trying to send us away, Daria" Jaheira cut dryly.
"...be careful" Daria quickly changed her words. "This place isn't so stable and I think something got in."
"...something? Like what something?" Imoen clearly didn't forget her bout with a demon in the Underdark.
"Like… that." It wasn't Daria's intention to time her answer exactly to a crack appearing before them, the darkness she invited, an open passage to the depths of Abyss, the darkest places where her sire used to rule. Slayer wasn't the only one of his avatars, she knew that already. And she got a glance at the other too.
The Ravager was a personification of death of entire nations. While the Slayer was quick and agile, a predator that outshone all assassins in the art of bringing death, the Ravager shared none of those characteristics. A hulking mass of thorns and blades, pale bloated flesh holding them in it's rotten grasp, it was a death that could wait millennia, but as surely as gods and demons, the oldest, most sophisticated elven kingdoms and youngest, thriving human clans, all would come to an end. And as the avatar made its first step towards her, Daria wavered, knowing she could not defeat it.
'I can collapse this pocket plane and enter the Throne of Bhaal. We're prepared.' The first thought came to her mind, panicked. 'But I still want to use it for summoning, I can't do it on my own. If I abandon it, it may mean I'll have to abandon my plans to remain as I am.'
"We're stopping this thing" she barked an order. She could collapse it at any time. But she wasn't going to give up without a fight.
"How?!" Imoen was kind enough to let her doubts be heard. The hulking mass of blades was more of a building that monster, a shed stocked with death instead of hay. And it started to move towards them.
"Defense!" Daria ordered. Sarevok and Minsc moved to the front, Jaheira and Anomen beginning the well practiced line of regenerative and defensive spells. Immy focused on summoning a magical sword, an indestructible magical construct perfect to weave into the barrier of blades, Xan bolstered their minds to be able to stand against an avatar and Solaufein began to enchant himself into a moving fortress.
Daria focused to peer into the very nature of personification of death of nations, gazing into the details, rather than the terrifying whole.
"The blades are a divine manifestation, we can breach them! Immy, Xan, Sol, together! Minsc and Sarevok, plunge just after the spell! Jahiera, Ano – stay back! Support only!"
Together the four mages chanted in choir, each putting a different spin into the spell, unsure what alternative would work best. The spells hit together and just after them the warriors went, into the breach smashed into the being. A breach that only revealed more thorns, spikes… more death.
Blood fell on the gray scope of pocket plane, Minsc impaled on a spike, Sarevok slashed repeatedly. The magic sword Imoen summoned simply got swallowed by the bony blades.
"Jaheira!" Daria didn't need to scream.
"We've got them! Give as cover!" The healers were already pulling their dying companions away.
"Bombardment! Xan, Sol – quick! Immy, we go long!"
Acid arrows and magic missiles began to pelt the slowly approaching monster, Imoen sweating, struggling to hurry the Horrid Wilting incantation, while Daria weaved a phantom hand and punched the middle of the thorny mass.
That didn't give it a pause, still advancing mercilessly towards the healers, doing everything they could to revitalize the warriors. The hulking death, the merciless fate approached.
"You… you too will die. You did die!" Daria seethed with frustration. "All things die, that includes Gods…!"
Another phantom hand joined hers, trying to push back the avatar. Solaufein cast her a side glance. Daria nodded. They focused together.
Imoen triumphantly finished her favorite spell, sucking all of the moist from the area surrounding the monster and a lot from its pale, dead flesh. Suddenly her magical sword could wretch itself free. She plunged it back into the mass, pushing.
"I am going to regret that..." Xan sighed behind them.
And then the Ravager trembled. Daria heard the enchanter groan, trying to disrupt the mind of an avatar, while coming into as little contact as possible, diving into the dark, tainted thoughts of death incarnate and not coming out unscathed.
"NOW! Push it back into the fissure!" the sun elf had to seize the opportunity immediately, putting all her willpower into the phantom hand.
"RRRYAAARGH!" Minsc was back on his feet and wasted no time, charging right into the same mass that almost killed him seconds ago. The Ravager was stopped… And then pushed back.
"Silvanus, guide me!" Jaheira pelted herself with an iron bark and smashed her shield into a pale flesh, pushing. Sarevok just on her heels, limping, but unwilling to be outshined by the druidess. Anomen shouted words of a psalm, but for once no divine light answered his call. Lost, he took up his shield and joined the fray.
Slowly and surely, the inevitable death was delayed, squashed back into the darkness that spawned it.
"Someone hold Minsc back!" Daria was ready to close the way, but by the look of things, the berserker would soon land on the wrong side of the rift.
"I've got the lunatic! Close it!" Sarevok barked.
The sun elf didn't bother to wonder how, by now this place was as obedient as her own muscles. All she needed to do was to gather the dispersed energies and pull them towards the weakness, the hole in the structure she only needed a moment to suture and… there. One blind eye gazed at her for the last time from the mass of death and then disappeared in the vanishing fissure. She took control of the pocket plane. And steeled it for good measure.
"Whew..." she breathed out a sigh of relief. She turned back to her party and noticed they weren't looking at her anymore. Xan was sitting on the ground, clutching his head in pain. The rest was staring at an angel, a tall majestic being with wings reflecting the orange, red, purple of the setting sun, a solar, a messenger of gods. The very being she came here to meet.
"You wished to speak to me godchild? Please, allow me send your friends where they can rest, so that we may do so." With just a small movement of golden palms, her party was sent back, gods knew where.
"Jaheira will not like that" Daria commented. Then again she did nothing to stop the solar, so she'd probably get a talking to as well.
"Then I shall apologize later" the angel answered. Daria lifted her eyebrow. She didn't quite know what to expect from the holy being. I was supposed to be a manifestation of divine will and goodness in general… but that could mean oh so many things. A preachy priest, always right and thus incredibly annoying. A paladin, smiting any and all evil. A grandmother, always feeding cookies to the village children, even the naughty ones… all those could be considered good. Which kind could a celestial being be?
Then again she needed someone who could tell her how the gods worked on daily basis, an expert on celestial order and prophecies. As far as mortals went, she squeezed Sarevok dry of any information. If she needed more, this here angel was the only source she'd get, whether there'd be cookies or not.
"The greatest of the Bhaalspawn, the Five, have been destroyed, godchild. Nearly all of Bhaal's essence has been returned to the source… your journey is nearly complete" her voice was pleasantly calm, not a booming order from the sky, not an echoing prophecy. Good, that would become grating rather quickly.
"But what awaits me at it's end is still a mystery. Even to me. I don't like that" Daria decided to play open cards. "Because the way I see it, I can either somehow discard my taint so Amelyssan takes it, become a mortal elf with all the injuries and none of the power I accumulated, in a world back with a God of Murder. Or take his throne, get stuck with becoming Goddess of Murder myself… Or die. I was hoping you'd tell me of another way."
"I'd be happy to to serve you, should you choose to ascend, godchild. A path of divinity needs not be a dark one."
"Would you be happy to shovel my dust, if I died?"
"I would mourn your passing, should you fail." Solar clearly missed the bitter undertone.
"No, I mean, would it really be a failure?"
"Of course. You would make a splendid goddess."
"Of Murder? No, don't answer, please. This isn't what I want to know." Daria sighed. Talking to a divine being proved more complicated than she though. "I want you to tell me, if there's a fourth option I can choose. Something else I can do."
"Choices are but words that fall in the moment. What mortals see as a decision is in fact a life flowing into that point, taking it's shape and moving forward according to itself. Fate is not an obligation thrown at you, godchild. It's a gaze of centuries to come, looking back, just that. Your will is your own."
"You're saying I can choose whatever I want." Somehow Daria doubted that was the case.
"You have been learning to comprehend the word as the gods see it and welcomed the power taken from your siblings. Your choice will not be made with words. It is never made with words."
"So I'm already choosing to take my father's place. Even better."
The angel looked troubled, if Daria could read it's features correctly. As much as the elf couldn't grasp it's way of thinking, so did the messenger of gods labor to understand her questions.
"What I want to know" Daria tried to be completely straightforward. "Is it possible for me to keep only a portion of the essence? To keep what I have and not ascend?"
"Time only flows one way, godchild, and it keeps flowing. You cannot change the choices you already made."
"And I don't want to. I just don't want to ascend. Is that possible?"
"The essence of your father isn't a sum of parts, it's a whole. And what it is, is a soul of a god. A soul that needs to – must – will unite."
'I just want to keep the power, without the responsibility' Daria didn't say that out loud. She knew how it sounded. Like a whiny child, refusing to clean up after herself. She got her answer.
"Can I at least..." she didn't finish the question. "Can you please, at least give me some hope? I really need it." Abandoning her dignity, she asked.
"Each domain the Gods preside over has many sides to it. A god of Murder is a god of Murdered just as much as Murderers. You have broadened your perceptions, godchild, but this is not yet their limit" the angel said and then showed her.
Daria remembered, as she navigated the battle of Saradush, how she stopped seeing simplicity in adversaries facing each other. There were more strategies in an attack, than just positioning herself at the weakest spot. It was Yaga-Shura's archers that protected Imoen from Abazigal, without even knowing. Sendai thought she killed her… and then, that she was easily fooled. Perceptions were much more limiting than weaknesses. Maybe what truly held Daria back was her fear of even thinking about taking Bhaal's Throne. Of making something of it. Something more than a hive for the obvious – the seat of a god of assassins, killers, evil. Because if her power could take a different form…
The patron of those unjustly murdered… What did it mean for Bhaltazar, who gave each moment of his life to stop the prophecy that ground him in its wheels to a fine dust, with her hands, no less? To countless innocent Children in Saradush, who had but a background role in the theater of Fate – to be stepped upon by the marching armies? What did it mean to Khalid, dissected in a madman's torture chamber and Dynaheir, who died unable to protect them? To Yoshimo, so loyal and yet dying as a traitor? To Phaere, that died twice in Lloth's temple? What did it mean to Anomen's sister, Moira? What did it mean in a world where lives were taken needlessly, cruelly, every single day and night? What would a name mean, a goddess to call upon in mortal danger, a plea to change one's fate?
What would it mean for Gorion? For her, who could never forgive herself for abandoning him to fight Sarevok alone? A patron of the Murdered… Could this be her path to redemption, the fate of Gorion's Ward?
Could she change that?
Should she change that, if she had the chance?
And exchange it for what? A broken mortal body, with fingers struggling to hold a spoon, muscles so weak, she could barely walk at times? For living in fear of every approaching second, fully aware how little separated tragedy from another boring day, but unable to tell the difference anymore, deprived of her divinations? For weakness, pain and fear?
"You call this hope? This is just another burden..." she muttered.
"The Throne awaits, godchild. The Throne of Sculls, the Throne of Blood. Amelyssan is waiting for you there and you should hurry, for with every passing moment her power over this place grows. The victor will be decided there, and in turn will decide what happens with dead god Bhaal's essence. I cannot take sides, the laws that govern Fates forbid outside interference… But I pray it will be you. May we see each other again, godchild."
And with that, the angel was gone.
