Chapter 67: Certain Attachments

Anomen managed to wait until they had reached the river before snapping. This was probably a bad idea, as the build-up of his tension and fury made the explosion all the more great and destructive.

"You… are an even more immoral creature than I had ever dreamed of imagining, tiefling!" the cleric barked at last, throwing the pots and pans into the river with frustration as he glared at the bard. "I cannot believe you would do such a thing!"

There was a long pause as Delryn realised his accusation covered a lot of ground.

Haer'Dalis raised an eyebrow at the squire's outburst eventually. "My hound, I am sure you slight me! There is nothing I have done, no wrong I have committed, no person I have offended with my –"

"Imoen," Anomen replied simply, kneeling in the waters to collect the pans he had thrown, not making eye contact with the blade. "I'm talking about her, you planar fool, or are you so lost in your world of chaos that you can't even see what you are doing?"

The tiefling folded his arms across his chest and gave the cleric a scanning look. "I do not believe that these are matters which could possibly be of interest to you," he mentioned, before moving to clean his pile of pans.

"Does it matter? My point still stands!" Anomen snapped, scrubbing at a pot viciously. "I know what you are like, tiefling. I have studied you for a long time." Haer'Dalis barely gave away even a hint of surprise, but it was not missed by Delryn. "Yes, bard. I am a Watcher. I am a priest of the Vigilant One. There is little I do not notice," he spat venomously.

Haer'Dalis raised an eyebrow. "Why are you concerned?" he asked in his usual light tone. "I would not do anything to hurt Imoen, and, even if I would… I do not see why this would work you up into a frenzy of this magnitude."

"That," Anomen responded firmly, "is not of your concern. But I consider the well-being of the party something of my personal concern. I am a priest, after all, and simply because you know so very little of my clerical duties does not mean I do not have them."

"Are you sure?" the tiefling asked lightly, once again without a trace of venom or malice. Anomen realised he'd never heard the bard let out any negative emotions – let out anything other than a light, mildly ironic aura. "It has often struck me that you are far more squire than priest. Your faith seems more vessel of use than heart and soul of your being, which is very different to the faith of other clerics I have encountered amongst you primes."

The corner of Delryn's mouth twitched up in something of a snarl, but the tempestuous priest smothered it quickly and replaced it with a derisive glare. "My faith is not the issue here," he pressed. "And I would thank you not to question it again; not unless you are content with a dented skull."

Haer'Dalis straightened up, gathering the pots he had already finished cleaning. "I shall not. Then it seems as if we are done here… I bid you goodnight, my hound," he declared with an infuriating smile as he disappeared into the trees towards the camp.

Anomen swore so loudly and coarsely that he was sure High Watcher Oisig would have condemned him to the hells on the spot had he heard. It was amazing nobody back at the camp seemed to have heard him as he threw a pan into a tree.

Then he went over, collected it, and set about calmly cleaning the pots and pans. His fury often needed release to stop it from overwhelming him and letting itself out in some completely destructive way which could ruin him and those he cared about.

It was his turn on first watch, so he was quite surprised to see the campsite was not abandoned as he headed through the trees towards the flicker of light the fire provided. A small, lithe figure stood, silhouetted against the flames and for a horrific moment he feared it was Haer'Dalis, remaining for more jibes.

As he approached, however, he realised that it was in fact Imoen standing there, seemingly deep in thought. His heart leapt into his throat for reasons he wasn't quite sure about, but he managed to ignore her and pile his load neatly by one of the packs, trying not to disturb her.

He straightened up, looking at her. She was gazing into the fire, her usually bright face creased in a thoughtful frown. Anomen knew he should probably move on, finish clearing up before assuming his post, but he couldn't tear his gaze away as he stared into her eyes. They seemed of a darker shade of blue than they usually were, full of a depth he hadn't seen in anyone… except, oddly, that her expression reminded him vastly of Harrian for only a split second.

As he went to move away, his boot strap caught on the pile of pans he had just unloaded, and they tumbled over with a phenomenally noisy crash. In reality, it was probably little more than a rattle, but it managed to jerk her out of her reverie.

Imoen shifted suddenly, turning to look at him, and the thoughtful expression was gone. Back in its place was her usual bright look, the eyes twinkling, and as she saw it was him, she smiled her sparkling smile. Oddly, Anomen imagined it was slightly more lively than usual, and he felt his own mildly stupid grin cross his face.

"Heya," she greeted him, sitting down on the log nearest to her. "That clean-up was pretty quick. Are you sure you did it right?"

He felt a sudden, irrational stab of irritation at her question, even though it was a completely flippant joke. Shame rapidly took over anger; shame that anger had been so quick to surface, shame that it had directed itself at her… shame that he had not bottled it down absolutely instantaneously.

Anomen nodded slowly, the smile fading, yet still present. "Yes, I'm sure," he said at last, easing himself across towards the log next to hers. There was a brief silence between them as they both stared into the flames. "You should probably get some sleep, my lady. The travelling will be long tomorrow – I shall make sure to awake you when it is your watch."

She shook her head, pink locks flashing in the firelight. "I'm not tired," she confessed, scrubbing her face. "If you want to switch, I'm game, and you can get a bit more sleep right now," she suggested.

Delryn smiled wanly, also shaking his head. "I believe our esteemed leader would be a little distraught at such an action," he mused, reaching over to where his armour lay, shining after he'd retrieved his polish from Jaheira, and collected his cloak. "Are you cold, my lady?"

Well, he's still keeping up with the 'my lady' stuff. I can live with that. Still, she shook her head. "If I'm silly enough to sit out here in the middle of the night and not go to my tent when I get cold, I shouldn't stop you from being comfortable, should I?" Imoen chuckled.

The squire stood, then walked towards her and slid the thick fabric over her shoulders. "I won't end up as much of a knight if I let a beautiful maiden get cold, will I?" Anomen deliberated, then coughed lightly, affecting a far lighter air. "'Tis not the chivalrous thing to do," he continued, making himself chuckle as he returned to his seat.

Imoen opened her mouth to protest, but at his look merely drew the cloak closer around herself gratefully. "Thanks," she said instead, grinning. "I'm sure you'll make a great knight, Anomen. Though I'm not sure you'll fit in. Most of the paladins I've met wouldn't be caught dead travelling with a Bhaalspawn."

Delryn considered her words a moment before responding. "It seems as if you have been unlucky enough to encounter the more… puritan and fanatical members of the Order. Not all knights are like that. See Sir Keldorn – he is a veteran, a hero of the Radiant Heart and yet he is actively supporting Harrian," Anomen pointed out, shrugging.

Imoen frowned mildly. "I hope you're right." For a second, she seemed oddly concerned, though Anomen couldn't quite place her melancholy. Then, in a second, she smiled brightly and leant forwards towards him. "So… I didn't know you where a master of riddles, my squire," she informed him lightly.

Delryn grinned and chuckled. "Aye, my lady," he responded in the same light tone. "Being quick of mind, wit, and tongue serve you well when you are the odd one out in a group, as a cleric-squire is when surrounded by paladins. But I've always been good at riddles, if a little too impatient to deal with them…"

The mage's smile softened, becoming a far less enthusiastic and overwhelmingly cheerful sight, instead seeming more personal, secret and intimate. This was not a smile Anomen had seen before, and even her usual, beaming visage seemed to pale in comparison. "Good. Haer'Dalis wasn't quite up to scratch – he's more a ballad man. Try this on for size: 'I am free for the taking through all of your life, though given but once at birth. I am less than nothing in weight, but will fell the strongest of you if held'…"

In the end, they both stayed up for two watches, neither of them able to succumb to the deep oblivion of sleep until the early hours of the morning. They sat, swapping riddles, anecdotes, stories, and the morning after were quite unaware of what they had shared.

But in the first few hours of the night, oblivious to all around them as they taxed mind and heart in their discussions, they both failed to notice a small figure creep discreetly away from the camp, silent, secretive… the figure of someone who would never be noticed if they did not want to be.