AN: Sorry for the vast delays this fanfic has been suffering. Massive amounts of work have been weighing me down. But it's Christmas time, and I intend to make the most of two weeks' holidays. I'll see if I can get back to a chapter a day or so. *crosses fingers* I'm writing, I'm writing…

Chapter 89: Point of No Return

Anomen stepped into the parlour of his estate and lightly whacked Harrian, who was sprawled luxuriously on the large couch in there, on the head with his leather glove. "Are you going to actually lend us some assistance, or will you lie there and watch us merrily go about our work?"

Harrian glanced up at the cleric, smiling a little stupidly. "I was planning to lie here and watch you. You do ever such a good job of moving our stuff," he declared brightly, sliding down a little so Anomen couldn't hit him again.

The Helmite rolled his eyes and sighed with exasperation. "If you wish to live in my house free of charge, then I highly recommend you get up and help. Leader of the party you may be, but you are on my property now, so do me this simple courtesy?"

Behind him, Jaheira appeared at the doorway, gripping a pair of travelling packs. Whilst the druid seemed to have no troubles in transporting the party's affairs, the expression on her face told of her mild irritation. "Harrian? Move," she snapped, a little harsher than she usually would, before starting up the stairs.

The thief leapt sprightly to his feet, stretching a little as he glanced around him. "I'm up, I'm up," he mumbled reassuringly, deftly catching the small chest Imoen threw to him from the doorway. "Where does this go?"

Normally, an adventuring party does not accumulate a vast amount of personal property; constant moving and constant travelling would make having a lot to carry too much of a hindrance. However, the Bhaalspawn's party was quite different, for they had spent most of the last month within Athkatla, doing little travelling. Their one trip outside the city, to Trademeet, had not required them to bring all of their affairs with them, and as their stay at the Five Flagons had permitted them to live comparatively normally, Anomen's vast house had many personal effects of his party to fill it.

"You may have the master bedroom, Harrian," Anomen told him as the two men climbed the stairs, laden with Imoen's travelling trunks. In her endeavours to replace all that had been lost in the dungeons of Irenicus, the pink-haired mage had gone a little over the top in purchasing new belongings.

"That's yours by rights, Anomen," the thief replied easily. "As you said, I may be party leader, but this is your house."

The Helmite shook his head. "Believe me, my friend… I don't want that room. I shall be happy in my old room." He looked at the pile of packs, trunks and chests that had been abandoned at the top of the stairs. "Jaheira can have the guests' room, Minsc the servants' quarters – it should be large enough – Haer'Dalis the butler's room, and Imoen…"

He narrowed his eyes slightly as he looked at one of the doors on the far side of the corridor. Harrian glanced curiously at him, but said nothing as Anomen stepped forwards to open the door to his sister's old room.

He didn't know what to expect. It would be hoping too much for the room to be intact, for it to be just as Moira had left it, but deep within his heart… he wished it would be, wished it would be untouched and timeless. Then he would have to take it apart, for he could not leave the room as a shrine to his sister forever, but at least… he would be the one doing it.

The room he stepped into bore no trace of his sister. The room was stark and bare, devoid of any personal touch. The belongings that were usually scattered so randomly around the room were gone, although the corner of a chest poking out from under the bed suggested their whereabouts. Cor had removed his house of any trace that his daughter had ever lived there.

This did not hit Anomen as hard as he had expected, merely slightly enhanced the dull pang in his heart that had remained there since he had heard of her death. He turned around to see Harrian's questioning glance. "Imoen can have this room."

* *

Two hours later, affairs were neatly stowed in their respective rooms, a hurried search for a new housekeeper had been successfully undertaken, and the house itself looked a little bit more as if it had more than a dying old man living in it. The large Delryn estate could quite comfortably hold six adventurers, but they were six adventurers who would not have the time to do the cleaning or dusting. At least, not when their quest to the Underdark commenced, which could, granted, take some time.

The six of them were gathered at the great dining room of the Delryn estate, feasting on a meal hurriedly cooked by Anomen and Imoen out of the remnants of their supplies. As always, it took the form of a stew, though the existence of an actual kitchen improved its quality.

There was a slightly evil air to the atmosphere. Harrian and Jaheira both sat lost in their respective thoughts, and so the majority of the conversation at the table was carried by Imoen and Haer'Dalis… which left Minsc lost in confusion at the rapid, complex banter and Anomen sulking as usual.

Thus the knock on the door was a most welcome diversion from the rather surreal conversation about the arts that seemed to overwhelm everyone not taking part in it, and Anomen leapt gratefully to his feet. "I shall… take… that…"

The cleric stepped out, hurrying towards the door. The weather in Athkatla had been foul for the past week or so, and this was one of the few nights it had not rained. So he was quite surprised to see how heavily cloaked the figure standing at the door was.

"May I help you?" Anomen asked cautiously, his hand going secretively for his mace, which he had set by the doorway. Experienced adventurers would never be foolish enough to sit down to dinner, even in a comparatively safe haven as this house was, without their arms close at hand.

The cloaked figure nodded, and it was only then that Anomen spotted the other four individuals lurking behind him. The cleric started to get a sense of déjà vu. "Lord Delryn… I would be most grateful if you could fetch the Lady Jaheira. I would like to have a word with her." A hand was raised, and then Dermin Courtierdale removed the hood that hid his head.

Anomen frowned slightly, grabbing his mace firmly and keeping it hidden behind the half-open door. "I'm afraid she's indisposed at the moment. Terribly sorry. Perhaps you could come back later." He gave the door a forceful push, intending to slam it shut in the Harper's face then rouse and warn the others.

A booted foot made this motion impossible. "I really must insist," Dermin pressed, then gave the door his own push. Anomen, who had not been expecting either the block or the counterattack, was unfortunate enough to be caught in the face by the sturdy oaken door, and was knocked back into the wall, his grip on his mace weakening. Stunned, he staggered before sliding slowly to the floor, conscious but with blurred vision.

The arrival of the Harpers was not as secretive as their leader had perhaps intended, for they had barely entered the house before they were confronted with a fully armed, if unarmoured, group of peeved adventurers, Jaheira at the head, her scimitar twirling dangerously.

"Dermin! I would speak at you!" she snapped venomously, glaring daggers at her former mentor.

Courtierdale gave her an evaluating look as he calmly drew his own longsword, his companions similarly readying their weapons. "As sharp-eyed as ever, though your choice in companions has not improved," he mused, his voice light and lyrical. "Is your treachery not enough that you must consort with a killer? I thought you better than…"

"Shut up! I said I would speak at you!" Jaheira snapped, interrupting him. "This matter is finished! I will not acknowledge this again! If you press it I will be forced to deal with you!" she threatened.

Dermin raised an elegant eyebrow, then smiled curiously. "As you were 'forced' to deal with the Harpers that died in Athkatla?" he queried scathingly.

"Yes, actually, and you well know it! Galvarey was no true Harper. His actions betrayed him, and all those that followed him!" Jaheira exclaimed, her anger getting the better of her. Beside her, she was only vaguely aware of Harrian readying a throwing knife and Imoen notching an arrow to her bow. Indoors was not the best environment for this fight, but they had no choice.

"The garish Hold, his political agenda; he was merely using the weight of the Harper name to promote himself. Tell me: what did he offer you?" Jaheira continued, raising her sword to a defensive position.

"You don't know what you are saying, Jaheira," Dermin's tone became almost piteous. "Your association with this… Harrian has poisoned your judgement," he added, waving almost aimlessly at the irritated swashbuckler.

"Hardly an association," Jaheira mumbled under her breath, giving Harrian her own hurt look. "But if you insist on calling it that, then I suppose I am the better for it. I have followed the spirit of the Harpers, which is more than you have done; you are more traitor than I am, as others would agree if they knew of these events."

"The others do not know of these events," Dermin explained, shrugging. "All they know is that you are responsible for the murder of Harpers, and powerful, important Harpers at that. They have no reason to believe anything else."

Jaheira sighed. "Of course not. Despite the ambushes you will still be able to claim the moral high ground for your actions." Her tone was reluctant, beaten, and when she spoke next it was little more than a wondrous, weak whisper. "What happened to you, Dermin? I do not know you."

"One grows weary. We would have done good works, Jaheira, just from a more profitable perspective." Dermin's voice actually took on a slightly regrettable tone as he shrugged, shaking his head.

"At the cost of the innocents. That is always the way," Jaheira sighed.

The regret disappeared in a flash of anger. "Innocent?! Is that what you call Corias? But he is a child of Bhaal! Whether his nature is good or bad it will certainly be disruptive!" Dermin snapped, waving at Harrian again.

"I should hope so too," the thief interjected, winning a glare from both Harpers, true or false.

Jaheira glanced back at Dermin. "It certainly disrupted you. The innocents also include Harpers that have died thinking they were fighting for the right cause. Galvarey's cause. Your cause."

Dermin shrugged slightly. "Regrettable losses," he mumbled uncaringly.

Jaheira smiled a tight smile devoid of any humour and tinged with more than a little sadness. "As was yours, though I suspect you have been gone for years."

He returned the smile, though his was more condescending. "Ah, your wit is still the most dangerous trait about you, Jaheira. I told you to cultivate it." He gave a humourless chuckle. "Little did I know I would be on the receiving end one day."

"Save it, Dermin. I have no more guilt about facing you, or any other sent on this Fool's Crusade. You are the betrayers, not I. I know this in my heart." Jaheira spoke with absolute certainty, neither voice nor sword wavering.

Dermin looked away slowly, glancing at his own blade. He seemed to be lost in an inner conflict, lost in deep thought. Then he raised his head slightly to look at her, and a belligerent flash was in his eyes. "You'll pardon me if I have a look for myself!" he snapped, lunging forwards in a sudden attack that would have skewered a slower fighter than Jaheira.

All chaos then broke out. The lack of armour of the adventurers made their fighting styles more defensive, save Imoen, who had never relied on armour for protection. Her arrows flew swiftly through the air, turning the Harpers her comrades were attacking into pincushions, aiming deftly for the weak spots in their defences.

Although the Harper warriors were skilled, they did not have the vast experience of the adventurers, and sometimes were a little overzealous in their attacks. Whilst this technique could be seen as dangerous, the skilled defenders were able to turn this enthusiasm against them.

It did not take long for them to fall as Minsc ploughed into the midst of them, Warblade flashing as it destroyed an ancient and valuable painting that hung on the wall. The stunned Anomen, who had barely managed to clamber back to his feet and solidly whack a Harper on the head with his mace, could offer only a token complaint.

The duel between Jaheira and Dermin came to a quick halt from an attack of Imoen's, and the Harper warrior fell to the floor with little more than a grunt, a gurgle, and an arrow in the throat. The party had done an excellent job of destroying the foyer to the Delryn estate in little over three minutes.

Harrian sucked at a small cut on his forearm, glaring at the body of the Harper rogue who had inflicted it. "Next time," he mumbled, "I'm sitting at the dinner table in full battle attire. No more of this caught unawares rubbish." He glanced over at the others, who were slowly recovering, Imoen forcing a bloodied Anomen to drink a potion to tend to his broken nose. "Fun, hmm?" The Bhaalspawn continued dryly. Then he spotted Jaheira, staring numbly at Dermin's body.

"I did not want to do this," the druid whispered as he slowly walked over. "I did not. We are in the right, Harrian, but why does it still hurt?"

Harrian stared at her for a long moment, hesitating, then raised a hand and clasped her shoulder. She glanced at him, then slowly sidled out of reach. "People do not always want to see reason," the thief told her gently. "You do what you can…"

Jaheira shrugged with irritation. "Yes, yes, you do what you can, not what you… you want. The Big Little Book of Alaundo, right? Insightful," she spat venomously, taking him aback and filling him with more than a little shame as she turned and strode off angrily.

Harrian sighed, then turned to the others, trying to push the glare she had thrown him out of his mind. "So… what do we do about the bodies?" he asked, forcing a little lightness into his strained voice.

"Disintegrate, then scatter?" Imoen offered lightly, grinning at him in a way he knew she hoped would lighten his mood. It did nothing to cheer him up. "Sorry about the mess, Anomen… we'll tidy it up."

Anomen opened his mouth to make a reply, still groggy from getting a door slammed into his face, but he was interrupted by a final figure appearing in the doorway, as cloaked and secretive as Dermin had been.

"My, my, my," the figure spoke lightly. "When I had been told I could find you simians here, I had somewhat hoped that your standards had risen in the time I had been away. Evidently I was wrong. You are still just as capable of making a mess of even the highest class part of town." Edwin Odesseiron looked up slowly, the candles shedding a little light on his cowled face. "I've been told you need a skilled mage?"