Shadows From the Fire

Part 2

The drow encampment was as busy as ever when Mercutia, Valen and Deekin stepped from the Maevir Public House. Commander Imloth's forces were hard at work down by the river, training for the day when they would be forced to put their lives on the line for the Seer. Further north, the bazaar was bustling with drow trying to get their hands on the finest magical goods, anything to give them an edge within their house and the coming war. Overlying all of that, the faint smell of rothe drifted through the air and the gentle lapping of the river on the shore made for an odd thing underground. Nevertheless, this was home to a few hundred drow and it had become home for a tiefling too.

For the half-elf however, the shadows and the blackness spoke of an all too familiar time. A sudden sound or movement from the corner of her eye put her ill at ease and on the defensive. While the Underdark was not as toxic as the Plane of Shadows, the constant darkness triggered memories of shadowy horrors.

Her time on that parallel plane was depicted in the physical – and mental – scars she bore. In Mercutia's head, events were blurry at best and rightfully so! Her first few days there had been spent crawling about the wilderness in sheer terror. She had searched for some marker, some familiar place, but all she found were inverted landscapes and chances for death. She had traveled to the phantom image of the city Amn and had spent time immeasurable lying in a gutter of the street - clawed, bitten and scratched to the brink of insanity. She had crawled, hands and knees, away from her attackers, a sobbing, hysterical wreck. The paladin had become encrusted with blood and grime, her hair matted and her armor tarnished.

And Frostblade.

Frostblade kept her (slightly) sane during the ordeal, but the light that she emitted was absorbed into the darkness. This offered little solace to Mercutia, who's panic had forbid her to sleep or eat. By the time she had stumbled into a planar rip, she had become a gaunt figure, ironically a shadow of her former self. Things didn't get any better when she landed into the sewers of Baldur's Gate…Needless to say, she had never bothered to ask just how long she had spent away in the planes.

Slowly, she had made her way to the nearest temple and sought out healing and respite. Mercutia had made the clerics of Torm cleanse her of any taint, but they could find none. Naturally, the paranoid paladin didn't believe this and spent the rest of her time in seclusion…until she heard of Waterdeep. The city's troubles moved her to action and she set out immediately. Her state of mind was much repaired as she neared the gates and the discovery of Deekin amongst the Yawning Portal's resident heroes had significantly raised her spirits. Yes, she had almost returned to her normal self.

Almost.

Still, the paladin marveled at the kobold's courage and tenacity. Through out their earlier adventure, he had been afraid of every shadow, but now their roles were reversed. He was the one scouting ahead for an illithid or beholder and she was the one wishing she were elsewhere.

Speaking of wishing people elsewhere…

"Umm, Boss?"

Valen's hand slowly crept away from its surreptitious path towards Mercutia's back. The blasted creature ruined all his opportunities!

The paladin looked down to her left, reaching out a hand to her right to stop Valen from continuing on. He collided with her, and Mercutia hissed in pain as a sharp ridge of his chest plate cut through her glove and into the skin of her palm. "Yes, Deekin!" Her voice was strained.

"Ummm... nothing. Forget Deekin says something, boss..." The kobold, embarrassed, tried to move away but Mercutia's free hand quickly grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt neck. Her injured hand she curled into a fist and held tightly by her side. The blood dripped down a crevice and into the dirt.

"No, go ahead... what did you want to say?" she asked firmly. She had not mangled her hand for idle pleasure!

Deekin shifted uneasily from foot to foot. "Ummm... no, it okay. Deekin alright."

Mercutia let go of his shirt and squatted so that she could come eye to eye with him. She placed her good hand on his shoulder. Though irritated, she tried to put on a positive attitude for her little friend. "It's okay, Deekin. You can tell me."

"Well, maybe... no. No, no, Deekin be fine." The kobold was hopping on his scaly toes now. "Just continue adventure, boss."

Mercutia stilled the hopping. I should be commended for my patience. Saint Mercutia… "Come on, Deekin. Talk to me."

The bard exploded. "Aaaahhhh!! Okay, boss, okay! DEEKIN GOTS TO GO TO THE BATHROOM!! CAN WE STOPS FOR A MOMENT?!?!"

Valen could have sworn that he heard the sound of distant laughter. No doubt the whole of Lith My'athar heard the outburst.

Mercutia was knocked backwards by the force of Deekin's failing arms and the kobold's breath. She winced as her bleeding palm came in hard contact with the sharp ground. "Fine then. Go!" she commanded the kobold through gritted teeth.

Deekin scurried off towards the Temple of Lolth.

Valen moved to Mercutia's side and gently helped her off the ground, grasping her arm and shoulder firmly as she stumbled into him. Another hiss of pain came from the paladin when her shoulder connected with yet another spike. Quickly he pushed her to arm's length and grasped her bleeding hand between his own.

"You have to get different armor," chuckled Mercutia, eyeing the laceration on her shoulder. "Or we're going to have to start walking further away from each other."

Valen nodded absently, focusing on removing the paladin's glove to better examine the cut. It was just a clinical examination, nothing more, but the blood was such a vivid, healthy red in comparison to her silver kissed skin…and things were…things were bubbling to the surface of his thoughts. There was such a stark contrast between her blood and skin that what was proper and what was desired set his tail swishing in agitation. He took a deep breath to steady himself, but the longing remained.

Mercutia watched in fascination as he traced the cut with his fingers. He seemed to be lost in thought as he stroked her hand, fingertips barely making contact with the severed flesh. They were slow, idle caresses that set the paladin's nerves on fire. The palms and ears of elves are especially sensitive to touch and the sensations evoked by Valen's fingers only made her shiver in pleasure.

Though it wasn't only the feeling of his ministrations that caused her hair to stand on end. The paladin knew just how dangerous this could become. She had seen that look on Valen's face before; it was the one he wore when just coming out of his battle trance. His eyes were in a transition point between red and blue, not quite purple, and his face was eerily void of expression.

Sure Valen was handsome, but the demon blood he carried scared the half-elf. Valen the warrior was someone she had come to like and respect, but Valen the beholden killer was something she never wished to see. Ever. She had seen him in battle and knew how powerful he was when in full control – but out of control? He would be unstoppable and she prayed to Torm every night that she would not be at the receiving end of his fury.

Still entranced, Valen brought the paladin's hand to his lips. He made as though to kiss the wound, but to Mercutia's surprise, he instead encircled the cut with his lips. The blood flowed towards him willingly after he coaxed it with his tongue. His eyes gazed blearily over her fingers, as he tasted the rich, copper blood and the salt of her skin. How sweet she tasted! How pure and innocent!

"Valen?"

She smelt of the surface world, a pungent odor that was typically her own. He smiled against her skin, his breath hot against her hand, and grazed the sawed edges of the wound with his teeth. He kissed his way up her fingers and then down her palm, where he gave a quick nip to its base. His tongue traced hot, wet, patterns on her skin that made the paladin's knees go weak.

"V-Valen?"

He closed his eyes as her body sagged into his. He pulled her hips close to his and his free arm encircled her waist and held her tightly to him. He didn't care if she was being punctured by his armor; her quick, staccato gasps were the only thoughts in his head. Her chest pressed against and he imagined that her gray eyes were wide and glassy. He let out a muffled growl. The smooth texture of her tender flesh had him purring in delight at its succulence. He bit harder and felt more life fluid flowing freely for him.

But he felt a hand hard on his shoulder, pushing him away.

"Valen!"

He ignored the shove, instead gripped the warm body closer and ravaged the wound harder with his mouth. He felt the paladin struggled, so he held her tighter – the more she struggled, the stronger he crushed her against his muscular frame. Yet she didn't give up, she kept thrashing about, somewhere he heard distant screaming, but it wasn't important. All he wanted was the hand…

"VALEN!"

It nearly slipped out of his grasp. The woman was stronger than she appeared, but he was stronger still.

"NO! VALEN! STOP! THAT HURTS!"

Her spine was yielding to him and so was her delicate flesh. His mouth was harder now, biting, licking, sucking, caressing, torturing, screaming, killing…the skin was obedient to his every caress. Ecstasy! Such rapture, utter rapture!

"Valen, for the love of the Seer, please stop."

He knew that voice.

In Valen's momentary lapse of thought, Mercutia struggled out of his grasp, flinging her hand away from his mouth. She staggered back, revulsion and denial written across her features as her mouth struggled to form words. It was left gaping as none came.

Both tiefling and paladin looked at one another in horror. Valen's eyes were completely red and battled against Mercutia's own colorless ones. Both knew that Valen had given into the calling of his blood but neither knew how to act about. Mercutia's first instinct was to draw Frostblade and lop of his head, but she knew she'd never be able to do that. Valen was her friend and certainly Torm would not ask that of her…would he? It wasn't his fault that he had demon blood. It was a poor circumstance that Valen was forced in to…but that didn't excuse his actions.

Valen's tongue quickly darted out and removed a few red droplets from his lips. He failed to realize that his nose was smeared with red. He hung his head in shame, shoulders drooping in defeat. "I am sorry, my lady. I let my demon blood conquer me. Please," he held up a hand. "Do not say anything. I shall leave. Forgive me."

"But - "

His eyes slowly met hers. They had returned to their normal color but the cool and wary arrogance he normally wore was replaced with a deep sorrow and regret. "We will meet again at the temple."

Mercutia nodded her head; she clasped her hand tightly to her chest and tried to ignore the throbbing pain in her side where she had been caught in Valen's armor. She didn't know what to say to him; but then again she didn't want to say anything to his retreating form. He needed to work this out on his own. It wasn't as if she had ever encouraged him to act on his desires because…well, she had. Yet under any other circumstance it would have been fine. If he'd been just a…just a 'prime,' then it wouldn't have felt so wrong.

She sighed and gave a bitter laugh. A first hand look at his true colors was not something she had planned for the day's itinerary…and it was still morning! At least, she assumed it was morning. Before she went any further, she made sure to swig down a healing potion and clean up the mess on her hand. It was no use tramping around the Underdark with the scent of blood reeking on her. Who knows what unwanted things might find her within the next few hours?

"Don't be so foolish," she muttered to herself as she pushed past the drow. A nice walk by the river might clear her head.

The waters were dangerous she was told, but there was a haunted beauty about them that she found soothing. If she closed her eyes hard enough, she could almost pretend that she was back at Hilltop with the sun streaming down on her face as she stopped to picnic during the summertime. But winter had come early and with it, the dawn of adventure. She stood at the bank, leaning forward to look into the icy depths of the river. There was no reflection of her image within the swirling waters.

A small sting on the back of her neck triggered a memory where she had been viciously attacked by a swarm of hornets. Were there bugs here? She didn't know. She yawned and slowly slipped to the ground, as a leaf would fall from a tree. Imloth was nearby, he'd certainly watch out for her if she just…took a …small…rest…

Her head hit the ground; eyes closed in a poison induced sleep.

- - - - - - -

Valen could barely restrain himself from beating the drow before him into a bloody mush. It was only the gentle presence of the Seer that restrained his fury, but even she could not totally quell the desire to destroy something. He picked up a small cabinet, thankfully empty, and hurled it across the temple. "That antidote had better be effective!" he growled at Imloth, "or else it won't just be the Valsharess you'll have to fight against!"

"Valen," the Seer glided up to him and placed a cool hand on his cheek. Her blue eyes put his red ones to shame. "You must have faith that the antidote will work. Mercutia is strong, she will pull through."

The tiefling did not look at the drow before him. "I just find it suspicious that someone could have 'missed' the target." He spat at the drow who had been the cause of the paladin's malady. "Pray," he muttered. The drow trembled in his boots and shot a fearful glance towards Imloth.

The drow commander shook his head and tried his best to look calm. "Accidents happen," he noted Valen's withering stare but continued on, "but all things happen for a reason." The paladin's earlier outburst at the part tanar'ri had not been missed.

"The reason is that your troops, Commander, have no aim," growled Valen dangerously. He stalked past the Seer's numbing presence and took a confrontational stance against the drow leader. He twirled his mace from hand to hand. Fine, he'd take his complaint right to the source of the problem.

"We were learning," said Imloth slowly, "just that. The Valsharess's army is but days away, Valen. What are we to do with half trained troops?"

"She was going to lead them!" yelled the tiefling. "But now she is out of action!"

"Valen," said Nathyrra, "I thought you didn't believe in prophecies?"

Valen's glare became red hot and dangerous as he circled to face the assassin. His body moved with an evil grace as he took one step after another. "Do not tempt my demonic blood into action, Nathyrra! It is hard enough to control as is!" That part of that was tanar'ri wanted desperately to lay waste to the small outpost and to torture its inhabitants. It would be…fun. "If this were any other situation and you were any other being - "

"The antidote will work," said the Seer firmly. "There is no other choice."

Valen whirled to face her. "Why? Have you seen it in a vision, Seer? We have stood about for more than a day already. Waiting, of all things! The Valsharess moves and we are here," he gestured wildly, "waiting for a miracle."

The Seer simply smiled at him. Her answer was brief: "Miracles happen, Valen."

Valen stormed from the chapel proper in a rage. She was right, of course. The Seer always was. Finding her was a miracle. Mercutia was a miracle. Surviving Sigil and the Blood Wars was a miracle. He had escaped death countless times, survived the deadliest of injuries and faced the most challenging of foes…all to survive and live to tell the tale. Valen's life, however embittered he felt at times, was a series of many interlocked, tightly woven miracles.

He stood momentarily in the dark hallway, his back leaning against the wall as he listened to the quiet murmurs outside. Shame on him for doubting the Seer, the only woman who hadn't led him astray. He couldn't say that about Mercutia because, well, she did some terrible things to psyche without even knowing it. Valen colored – what she did to his body…and then he thought of her body, lying pale and sick beneath purple embroidered sheets. He knew he had to see her.

The hallway was lined with several doors, each leading to a set of similar rooms. Valen vaguely knew where the 'guest' quarters of the chapel were, otherwise known as the rooms where those beyond healing were sent. Some wounds were even too great for Eilistraee to heal. He knew that Mercutia wouldn't be in them because…because Mercutia was not that far gone. The poison created by Imloth couldn't have been that strong. Although knowing Imloth's burning hatred for the Valsharess – one that rivaled even Valen's own – he had probably forced the best alchemists in Lith My'athar to concoct something painful, deadly and…well, drow.

His clue as to which room held Mercutia was the faint light shining beneath one to his extreme right. The light flickered and wavered, the telltale sign of a candle and the presence of a person. To leave a candle burning unattended was not only wasteful it was also dangerous. Drow buildings were known for their lavish tapestries and drapes, meaning that if the candle wax became uneven and tipped the flame, a roaring inferno might occur. He gave a last look around before crossing the hall and entering.

Originally, the temple had belonged to Lolth and this room had been used as the caretaker's lodging. It was not big, but there was enough room for a bed, several chairs and a writing desk. It was comfortable too, but not like the rooms of the common house. There were many pungent candles lit around the figure lying prone on the bed. It was best if Mercutia was placed here, close to the Seer and priestesses of Eilistraee so that if any complications were to arise they could be seen to quickly.

Deekin was curled in one corner of the room, sleeping away some drought that Nathyrra had slipped into his water flask. In the other, Mercutia's equipment stood clean and pristine: the white scale chainmail, her amulets and rings placed within the pouches of her leather padding…and Frostblade.

He was keenly aware of the sword's presence. Though only tempered steel with an enchantment, the sword dominated the room with its icy glow and chilling aura. He did not like it. There were too many unexplainable things concerning it…

Her, Valen corrected himself. Mercutia had said it was a female sword, after all.

It occurred to him that perhaps the sword was possessed by some sword of demon, an ice devil perhaps, but then he knew that paladins had some sort of evil detecting spell cast upon them at all times. So he had to rule that out. He stared at her for a while longer, daring her to reveal her secrets, but Frostblade was as quiet and mysterious as her owner was. Unnerving, really.

Quickly, he shed his own armor by the bedside and laid down his flail lovingly. It was within easy reach, but not close enough to hinder him as he lowered himself gently to the bed.

Valen found that his back rested quite comfortably within the deep curve of her waist. Mercutia was a very well rounded woman, not all angles like the drow. It was quite…exotic. He shifted his weight and the bed gave a small creak. Mercutia stirred beneath the blankets. Her arms rested over the covers and he could see that she wore but a simple tunic – not the one he had seen her in earlier. If she had just worn her armor, perhaps none of this would have happened!

Damnable woman! Valen sighed sadly. She was always taking risks, not wearing her armor, standing too close to the edge of a bottomless pit, letting a tanar'ri get too close…

Valen studied her face intently. She looked so pale, no longer the milk white but rocky gray. Her lips were no longer the faint pink he had come to be accustomed to, instead they had gone the color of Stygian ice. He took her cold hands within his own, she felt like death. But she had not yet crossed the border as he could tell from the fluttering of her eyes beneath their lids that she was still very much alive. Perhaps the antidote was working. His experience with poison had always led him to associate it with fever and shaking, but she was afflicted by none of these things.

He raised her cold hands to his lips. "Please wake up, Mercutia." He placed feather light kisses along her knuckles. There was no blood to tempt him this time. Where he touched her, pink patches appeared. The heat from his skin seemed to transfer into her body and make it come alive. An idea came to him. Softly, he trailed two fingers across her forehead, down her cheek and then over her lips, a gentle flush appearing just as his fingers passed. "Awaken, my lady," he called quietly in her ear. "Please. Come back."

A memory stirred within him. It was not fair hair that fell across the pillows: it was dark, raven hair. The skin was honey color, flushed with red and the eyes that were closed were not gray but earthen. The face was softer, rounder but the body remained the same. She was the woman from a lifetime ago: slave, healer, lover, protector…

"Valen?"

And then the image was gone.

"Mercutia!" Valen nearly shot out of bed.

The paladin gave a dry smile.

"Shall I get the Seer, my lady?"

She shook her head slowly, her eyes focusing to the light. "No, it's alright." She sat herself up in the bed; much to Valen's protest as she still looked bleary eyed to him. "Torm provides all." She set about to adjusting her pillows and gave no indication as to whether she was in any discomfort.

Valen helped her in the task, not knowing what to say after his earlier scene.

"Could you hand me my amulet?" she whispered. She made a gesture to the trinket that was looped carefully on a hook in the wall.

Valen fished for anything to fill the silence. This would be useful. "I must admit," he began, "I am curious about your beliefs. Many here on your world worship a god or goddess... are you one of them?" He slid the necklace about her neck, his fingers lingering on the smooth skin.

Mercutia pushed some hair back from her face and raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Of course. I am a servant to my deity. Did you not know that?" Wasn't it obvious?

Valen nodded, grimacing at just how blind he could be. "Yes, that's true... I should have known that." He did watch her pray every time before she went to sleep, though he was watching her for the sake of watching her – not because her praying was anything interesting. "I suppose I was not paying close enough attention to your practices. I do not think I would have the same capacity for such faith, however." He paused. "I have seen my share of greater beings during my time in the planes, or heard about them. And I know that there are many who have faded away or died... or even been killed at the hands of mortals. To me, this makes them too... familiar to honor in such a personal way, despite the power that I know they have to grant to others." He glanced at Mercutia "I hope that does not sound offensive."

The paladin shook her head. "No, I don't find it offensive at all. It's actually quite refreshing, believe it or not."

Valen gave an uneasy chuckle. "That's good. I have found many people on your world to be very closed in their ideas and difficult to speak to of planar notions. That paladin from before…" he saw Mercutia roll her eyes and continued on, more comfortable. "I'm glad you are not one of them. The Seer has spoken to me often about Eilistraee, the drow goddess that she places her faith in." He looked pensive for a moment, frowning. "I cannot feel the same. I do not think she expects me to, yet..." He shrugged helplessly. "Part of me believes I should become more accustomed to the ways of this world. The other part of me says I will always be a planar and I should not try to change that. What do you think?"

Mercutia thought about it for a few moments. After his earlier behavior, it might be good for him to be exposed to more humans…then again it might have dire consequences. But that was why she was around, right? "I don't think there's any harm in learning our ways." She offered him a reassuring smile and tentatively patted his knee.

The tiefling felt the touch of her hand through his breeches keenly. It sent an electric jolt down his spine and gave him a heady pleasure. She didn't hate him! "I suppose it is time that I learned more about your world. Part of the trouble is that I have never been to any of the cities." He looked at her suddenly, an idea forming in his head.

Mercutia caught the change and gave a questioning smile.

Valen pounced on the opportunity. "This Waterdeep of yours, the city that the Valsharess is attacking... perhaps I could join you when you return there. Would that be acceptable?"

That wasn't what the paladin had been expecting…but of course he could! "Yes, I'd like that very much." She beamed at him, squeezing his knee a little harder.

He returned her pleasure and smiled broadly. (Mercutia noted that at least he didn't have fangs or a forked tongue.) "I'd like that too, my lady. Perhaps you could even show me about? Then I could get," he blushed, "better acquainted with you, as well."

"You want to spend time around me?" the half-elf feigned surprise. "Now I've never had anyone willingly ask to stick around…unless you count Deekin over there. But," she laughed softly, "he doesn't really ask, does he? He just sidles up next to you and looks at you with those big, reptilian eyes…"

"Are you trying to tell me something, my lady?" questioned Valen with a smirk.

"Oh ho! Back to this again are we?" Mercutia leaned towards Valen, one hand resting on his calf and the other on her lap. Her tunic slipped over one shoulder. "Well, I could give you a few suggestions." She returned the heated gaze he gave her a few nights before.

"You sound an awful lot like a marilith," commented Valen, desperately pushing back his baser instincts. Years living under the influence of his blood had made him accustomed to doing what he wished regardless of the consequences. For someone who had only truly resisted its call for a few months, he was doing admirably. However, he wished he could be doing better. To think such thoughts about the Seer and Mercutia was totally unacceptable. And yet…

"You still haven't shown me what exactly you two did," the half-elf's eyes were challenging. "I await the lesson."

Valen chuckled nervously. "It might kill you, my lady."

Mercutia grinned in delight. "Oh really…is it that powerful?" She bit her lip in over exaggerated excitement.

"To what are you referring?" asked the tiefling cautiously.

"Oh, I think you know," she responded, her eyes making several downward sweeps.

He frowned. "You do not seem to fit the average description of such a thing called a paladin. You are far too…" he searched for the word, "impetuous. Too fey and less stoic."

Mercutia looked over her shoulder and conspiratorially leaned her forehead on Valen's. "Do you know who Sune is, Valen?"

The tiefling shook his head. "No, I do not. Who is this Sune?"

The paladin cackled. "Oh, the things I could tell you about her! A goddess," she smirked, "just as Eilistraee but a little more," she licked her lips thoughtfully, "passionate." Her grin was positively wicked and wanton.

"You do not worship this goddess?" Valen questioned. He realized that he was clutching onto the bedclothes for dear life and self-consciously released his hold on them.

Mercutia shook her head. "Oh no, I worship Torm: duty, loyalty and all that. Boring after awhile, but it's a very stable deity." She fiddled with the amulet on her neck absently. "While it might be fun to be a servant of Sune, its not something I think I have the…stamina for. Not even when I was younger," she sighed wistfully. "And Drogan would have thrown a fit!" She laughed at the image of the old dwarf's face contorting in shock at the request of a ten-year-old girl to join the Temple of Sune.

Valen looked thoughtfully at her. "Drogan? Was he the one who took you in as a child?"

The paladin nodded. "He found me wandering the roads and took me back with him. Lovely dwarf. There were other students there too, it was home." She smiled fondly. "But enough of that, Valen," she waved her hand in a dismissing motion, "memories make me melancholy."

"You and I both, my lady," murmured Valen. He took the hand that rested on his leg and trailed a fine line on the skin and fabric, up her arm until he reached the smooth curve of her shoulder. He traced the visible scar that descended beyond her tunic with his finger. It had been a deep cut, smooth but probably long in healing. The line was thick and silver – most likely it had cut her to the bone. How many other scars did she have? Where? He hungered to see them, to kiss them away, to open her flesh with a blade and inflict some new ones… "Where did you get this?"

The half-elf looked at the mark on her shoulder. She remembered a battle in blackness; something slashed out at her from the impenetrable gloom. The wound had chilled her body and had taken far too long to heal. A year ago maybe? She refused to think of time while in that place of shadows.

Valen noted the pained look in her eyes. "This is something you will not answer." A statement, not a question.

Mercutia sighed, frustrated. "Not yet, Valen. To speak of such things will only give them the power to take me back!" They could take her back anytime they wanted. It was Drogan's fault. He had told her the story. A tale of children ripped to other places, dark places, by things black and horrible. Sometimes, in the darkness, she would lay awake and feel the presence of someone crouching at the foot of her bed. She could hear their watery breathing in the blackness: a creature of dark scales with a sagging mouth ringed with razor teeth. She would hold her eyes tightly shut for as long as she could, but finally when she opened them because she could take it no more: there was nothing there.

"Do not ask it of me," she whispered.

The tiefling nodded his head. She was panicked, desperately so, and he would press her no further. "In Waterdeep," he decided and the shaky nod of her head reassured him. She would tell him.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. She pulled the shirt back up over her shoulder. It was an endearing gesture to see, very innocent and child-like.

Valen shook his head in protest. "Do not be, Mercutia. There are some things that are best not dwelled upon."

"I suppose…but is it not better to share our burdens with those we trust?" commented the paladin.

Valen looked at her sad, sad eyes. "You trust me, my lady?" he whispered. "I who am of abyssal blood?"

Mercutia gave him a wry smile. Her voice was equally as quiet and was without scorn or mocking. "Is that so surprising, Valen Shadowbreath?"

"You have known me for so little time," the weapon master responded carefully.

"I am an excellent judge of character," assured Mercutia. "And," she reached out her hand towards the tip of Valen's head, "you have very handsome horns!"

Valen reached a hand out and intercepted the paladin's. He gripped it tightly within his own and again brought it to his mouth. He kissed her palm, the same place where he had mauled her earlier. This kiss was gentle and did not involve the use of his teeth. He was in control of himself and he would show her. He let his grip loosen, a sign that Mercutia could draw her hand away at any time, and yet she did the strangest thing – she shifted closer to him! He smiled, emboldened by her behavior, and placed a hand over her heart.

"My lady - "

"LITH MY'ATHAR IS UNDER ATTACK!" came a cry from the street.

"PROTECT THE SEER!" came various shouts.

Both Valen and Mercutia jumped from the bed. It was time for battle. Whatever they wanted to say…it had to wait.