A/N: Witchwolf, my faithful reviewer: Never fear, as long as there is at least one person reading it, I'll continue. I've gotten used to people overlooking my stories… I'm not quite sure why, but they do, so I have to learn to live with it.
Anyways, this could very well be considered a continuation of the last chapter, showcasing the 'other hero.' I tend to write as 'streams of consciousness,' one thing blending into another, which makes it hard to break the story into bite-size chunks for uploading.
"No – I cannot die! I am immortal! NOOOO!"
Saima planted her sword tip on the stone floor, panting, as she watched Morag, the one-time Queen of the Old Ones, die. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back, and smiled. Yes…it was over. Against all odds, she had conquered the 'immortal' Old One. Now, perhaps, she could rest.
But not at this second, she realized as the ground beneath her gave a lurch, startling her into raising her sword…Of course. Morag had created the Source Stone, and with her death…by the time that thought crossed her mind, Saima was already sprinting full out through the twisting passageways.
The world, such that it was, was going into its death-throes, and Saima didn't know if there was a way out anymore…she splashed through the shallows at the edge of the small pool, and then froze. There was a shimmering golden portal right in front of her…that had not been there when she entered this, the Inner Sanctum. She hesitated for but a moment, and then dived into it just as rocks from the ceiling began falling down around her; beggars could not be choosers!
She stepped out onto a small rock island in the middle of what appeared to be an endless ocean. Pleasant, but…not Neverwinter. She turned in a slow circle, and relaxed when she saw the only other surviving Old One approaching her – the Word Slave Haedraline. "Haedraline! What is this place? How did I get here?"
Her voice was weaker then it had been, but no less sibilant, "I used my magic to open a portal from the collapsing Source Stone into this astral pocket, a temporary place of refuge between that world and your own. I am glad you found the portal and escaped with your life, warm-blood…but my time here grows short. The Words of Power are broken and my magic is fading. Soon I will pass from this existence and this astral pocket will also collapse."
Saima shook her head like a dog trying to get water out of its ears so that it can better hear its master, "You mean…you're dying? What?"
Haedraline nodded, "The time of the Creator Race is over. There is no place for me in your world now, just as there was no place for Morag. I have accepted this, warm-blood."
Saima shook her head once more, "I can understand why, but…it seems a bitter reward for you, after all these millennia…Never mind," she added hastily when Haedraline hissed annoyance, "go on."
"You have faced Morag and the Old Ones and triumphed. Even the foul and ancient magics of the dark Queen could not stand against your might. You are the savior of Neverwinter, warm-blood - but you are also much, much more. You have altered the fate of not just your own world, but a thousand others that would have fallen to Morag's armies."
"Thousands?" Saima could hardly wrap her mind around it, "I saw the doors in the Source Stone, but…there were only a handful of them. Thousands of worlds?"
Haedraline nodded, "Yes, thousands. Already there is one who rejoices at the death of Morag."
Saima shrugged, "I did what I had to do."
"Perhaps. But few could have faced Morag's power and survived. But even though you have ended the threat of the Creator Race your work is far from done, for I have seen glimpses of what fate awaits you," Haedraline took on a faraway look as she spoke, "Your legend and fame will continue to grow, spreading throughout the North. But Morag will not be the most dangerous foe you face in your lifetime. As you become ever more powerful, so will those who seek to destroy you."
"Someone seeks to destroy me?" Saima repeated, then shook her head, "No offense, but tell me something I don't know. People have been trying to destroy me since I graduated from the Academy six months ago."
Haedraline chuckled, sounding like a broken tea kettle, and elaborated, "There are many who will try to steal that which you have worked so hard for, and others will seek to forge their own legend by destroying you. Your enemies will band together; they will strike when you least expect it, where you least expect it. That is the price of fame and fortune. More than this I cannot say, for my magic has grown weak with the destruction of the Words of Power, and the mists of time cloud my vision."
Saima sighed, "I was afraid of that…" she muttered.
Haedraline continued as if she had not been interrupted, "Quickly now, warm-blood. I cannot sustain this astral pocket much longer. The portal behind me will return you to your own world," Saima glanced behind the lizard-woman at the platform at the back of the little island and nodded understanding; nothing she hadn't done a thousand times before. "I thank you for all you have done - never again will I be a Word Slave. Go through the portal so that I may finally pass to my long awaited eternal rest."
Saima bowed, unable to stop a prickle of hot tears in her eyes as she whispered, "Goodbye, Haedraline." With her sword sheathed at last at her side, she walked passed the leader of the Word Slaves, climbing the low steps that lead up to the portal. Her face lit by the glow of the blue column of magic, she paused once more, and glanced back. Her eyes locked with Haedraline, and a wave of understanding passed between them. She gave a short nod, which was returned with due gravity, and then she stepped into the portal. The tiles beneath her feet trembled, and then she was gone.
She stepped out of the column of light, and found herself back where she started almost a full day ago; in front of Lord Nasher and Aarin Gend. They were talking in soft voices, and Saima couldn't help but notice the light of life in both their eyes. She smiled with relief; she'd thought that the troops would be cowed with Maugrim – say nothing of Morag – dead, but it was good to be reassured.
Aarin was the first to notice her; he broke off in mid-phrase and gesture, turning to her. A slow smile curved his lips, and he stepped towards her, then paused. "Ah, Saima…I am always glad to see you, but even more so now. I had feared that you had perished with the Source Stone."
Saima shrugged, "I would have, if it hadn't been for Haedraline," she admitted. Before the spymaster could inquire further into that cryptic statement, she had a brilliant idea, "You say the Source Stone was destroyed? Totally? And what of the Words of Power?"
"I know very little, only that it shattered about an hour ago. Master Ford, the leading archeologist, would know more…" his eyes lit up as he caught on to her plan, "But of course, I would be happy to go down with you to see him; I wish to be sure of what was told to me." As far as excuses went, it was weak at best, and they both knew it. And so before Lord Nasher could get a word in edgewise, they hurried off to the lower levels of the castle, seeking out the hidden passage that once led down to the Source Stone.
Behind them, Lord Nasher snorted into his mustache, muttering "And I thought Aribeth and Fenthick were bad!"
They couldn't have reached the lower passages fast enough to suit Saima. She half-dragged Aarin into a shadowed corner that she remembered from her two trips down here, spinning to face him…he pulled her into a gentle embrace, hands skimming over her form, checking for…she couldn't help but wince when he accidentally probed the gash in her side.
"My love! You're hurt!"
She arched an eyebrow, "Did you really expect me to come out of the confrontation with Morag unscathed?"
"If you had, I would not have been surprised," he murmured into her ear, "I have said it before, and I shall say it again; you are a marvel of a woman, Saima."
She tilted her head back to receive his soft kiss, wrapping her arms about his broad shoulders even as his slid around her waist, mindful of her wound, drawing her still closer. She sighed, and laid her head against his shoulder, breathing in his reassuring scent of leather and cinnamon. "Gods, Aarin….I'm so tired…tired of fighting, tired of moving…"
"You've earned a rest," he murmured as he cradled her, stroking her back, "If no one else has, then you, my love."
She glanced up, her smile crooked as she gently traced a finger along the shadows beneath his eyes, the product of many long nights coordinating the fighters of the Lord's Alliance, "And what of you, Aarin? Come; Neverwinter can survive without her heroes for a few minutes, at least."
He hesitated, then eased her to the floor, sinking down beside her, fingers straying for her side once more, "I should see to your wound…I am no cleric, but I have some skill in healing, and side wounds are always tricky to bind by yourself. I promise I'll be gentle."
She nodded and slid off the chain mail, then the plain green and brown woodland shirt below it. Clad only in a breastband, she leaned back against the cool cavern wall and shifted her arms out of his way. Kneeling at her side, his fingertips skimmed across the blood-stained cloth pad bound around her side with a single strip of linen. She glanced down into his arced eyebrow and rolled her eyes, "I did it while crouching behind a stone with Morag preparing another spell to hurl at me."
"That, my love, is quite obvious," he drawled, slitting the binding linen strip with his dagger, peeling both linen and soft cotton bandage from her skin, leaning close to inspect the wound. "I believe you were right," he murmured as he ran his fingertips along the edge of the wound, "This is not serious, or even very deep. It will heal on its own," still, he searched through her bag – bloodstained and ripping at the seams, it had seen better days – for a healer's kit to rebind it.
Saima held her tongue as he spread the salve over her broken skin and wrapped the long bandages about her lower ribs, effectively sealing the wounds from the air. The ache in her side already fading, she stretched and smirked, "So this was basically a ploy to see me without my shirt?"
He chuckled and leaned over, "Of course," he whispered, his lips brushing across hers.
She returned his soft affections, "Maybe now that Neverwinter is safe, we can finally be together…I believe you promised me one tropical paradise?"
He threw back his head and laughed, "And you shall have it." He scooped her up into his arms, then added as he settled her onto her feet, eyes roving over her form, "I once heard the court bards sing of how you found the cure for the Wailing Death; the second stanza claimed that you once stole and wore the uniform of a Bloodsailor to find the second regent. Is that…?"
She rolled her eyes, kicking her shirt up into her hands, "Unfortunately. Gods, did I hate that uniform; I looked like a cheap prostitute." She tried not to notice the gleam in his eyes, and fixed him with a glare, "Don't even think about it. Help me with my armor?"
"You don't need to wear it, you know," he remarked as he picked it up, "Castle Never is safe, especially by your standards…"
"I've just gotten into the habit of wearing it, that's all," she shrugged, "I feel half-naked without it. Stop staring," she chuckled as she poked him in the shoulder.
"Just the thought of it, my love. Just the thought of it…" he trailed a kiss along her pointed half-elven ear, fingers skimming along her jaw, cupping her chin to tilt her face up once more. "I love you, Saima," he whispered, "If I say it a thousand times, it will not be enough."
She reached up and framed his face with her slim hands, "My heart mirrors yours; I love you, Aarin. I cannot make many promises for the future, only this: I will find a way to be with you, always. If Fate does not allow it, then I will defy Fate."
"And anyone else foolish enough to stand in your way," he grinned.
"That, my love, goes without saying," she pointed out, "Come on, let's go see the Source Stone before they get suspicious and come looking for us."
A few minutes later, and several words to Master Ford, found them standing in front of what remained of the Source Stone. Saima was impressed; except for the inner most section, there was not a piece of the once-huge and glowing crystal left that was larger than her forearm. She crouched down, running her hand through the tiny fragments and ground dust, marveling at the tremors of magic that prickled against her skin. Even now, destroyed, it is powerful…
She brushed off her hand, then plunked a piece as long as her little finger from the dust, wiping it off as she stared at the inner section. It reminded her of the heart's core of a great tree; strong and ancient, and polished. If it had been a tree, she grinned, tucking the fragment away, she would have wanted it polished and sliced into boards for some grand ballroom floor. With that thought still in her mind, she walked up to it, then circled it, then reached out a hand and rubbed the cool, smooth stone thoughtfully.
"My love?" Aarin's voice was a quiet murmur in one ear, "Are you sure touching it is safe?"
"Safer now than when Morag was in it," she responded absently, examining the stone with more than just her five senses, "And we could touch it with no ill effect then…Feel this and tell me I'm not delusional."
His large callused hand joined hers on the remains of the Source Stone, not quite sure what he was supposed to be looking for…. "It's warm," he said at last, "very subtly warm. Saima?"
She nodded, "This was what kept Neverwinter warm and safe in the dead of winter. Now that it's shattered…" she sighed, removing her hand from the mottled blue and purple core. "I don't know what we're going to do," she admitted wearily as she began to lead the way back to the surface, "The Stone retains some warmth, but not enough to warm the entire city. Not anymore. It's interesting – or ironic, at least – that Morag sheltered the very people she swore to enslave."
Once more in the dark corridors of the secret passage, he stopped, reaching up to massage her temples, "You've had no sleep in these twenty-three hours, have you?" his chide was as gentle as his touch.
She leaned back against him, eyes closed, "No time. War going on, remember? I needed to defeat Morag…so much I couldn't even help with the siege."
"Do not worry about it," he suggested, "The siege was broken quite some time ago."
"Reinforcements from the Lord's Alliance?"
He smiled, "No. Though they have arrived at last, they were too late to do anything but help mop up the last of the Luskan soldiers."
"Then who…?"
His lips replaced his fingers at her temples, and she forgot the rest of her question. He hesitated, then shook his head, "Later, after you have rested. They're…interesting."
"My "interesting," or your "Interesting?" her lips quirked, her fingers tracing intricate insensible on his forearm, now wrapped comfortably around her waist.
Aarin just shook his head, tugging his splayed fingers through the snarls in her dark hair. "We haven't been able to speak to them yet; they've been busy fighting, and keep their own company."
"You dodged the question," she murmured, already half-asleep on her feet; wild goddess Rhea, was she exhausted!
He smiled, "Aye, perhaps I did. Trust me in this, Saima; when you meet them, you will want to be at your best." He brushed a kiss onto each temple, then onto the top of her head. "Come…bed for you."
"Only if you're going to join me," she muttered as he nudged her up the steps and into the hallway.
He hesitated, then shook his head with a rueful smile, "You would find no rest with me….and you need rest," the last was mostly to himself as six months of twenty hour days caught up with his would-be-lover; in the brief moment that he'd stopped with her at his side, she had taken the opportunity to lay her head on his shoulder and fall asleep, half-dead on her feet.
A smile tugged at his lips as he gathered her into her arms and carried her into the room he'd commissioned when the war began. He threw back the dark green patterned quilt and slipped her beneath the sheets. She sighed, then grumbled in her sleep, rolling over to find a more comfortable position.
Aarin Gend paused a moment, then reached down and rubbed his thumb across the moonstone set into her amulet – his amulet, given out of love to her in Luskan. It glowed in response to his touch, and he slipped it off her neck, setting it on the nearby stand so that it could not choke her in her sleep.
Beyond that, there wasn't anything more he could do to make her comfortable – not without wanting to take her up on her offer. He blew out the candle at the side of the bed, then quietly slid the door shut behind him as he headed back to Lord Nasher.