Disclaimer: I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them.
I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.
– Blackcross & Taylor
HomecomingAnd so it was that as the long hot days crept slowly from Kythorn to Flamerule, they made their way southward back to the place where, for the two girls at least, it had all begun. Those few days found Fritha even quieter than usual, clearly anxious about what mark the Iron Throne had made on her home, while Imoen was more full of talk than ever, though as a symptom of her own worries or just high-spirits, Jaheira could not tell. It had become clear after the first day though, that Imoen's maddening chatter would be fraying more than just her own nerves and her dear Khalid had taken it upon himself to play warder to them both, patiently talking to them through the long days of endless walking, allowing Imoen her chatter whilst trying to draw Fritha out with gentle questions. Imoen had seemed happy enough, talking at length about the thieves and some Niklos boy, while had Fritha responded politely to his questioning, always with a slight smile, and Jaheira suspected the girl knew what her husband was trying to do, though she remained pointedly silent when any mention of the thieves' guild was made.
But all the waiting was over now. They had made camp last night at the crossroads on the Coast Way and the morning found them walking the final hour or so to the Keep unusually quiet, Fritha's nerves seeming to infuse the rest of them.
Perhaps it was just her, but Jaheira thought the girl had seemed to take extra care over her appearance that morning. She had washed the night before and was dressed in the fresh blue tunic she'd been wearing on the day they'd first met, her hair neatly gathered up and pinned in place, for once behaving itself. The breeze was from the west and Jaheira could smell the salt in the air as they drew near when, at last, the trees thinned before them and the library fortress of Candlekeep filtered into view.
The druid smiled slightly. It had been years since her or Khalid had visited Gorion here, but the sight of the place, grey towered and tall, rising up from the imposing cliffs of its peninsula like a great stone tooth, always made for a heartening view. She glanced back to the copper-haired girl behind her, hoping to see this sanguinity in her too, but the girl's eyes were trained on the horizon and as Jaheira looked back, she noticed why.
Outside the gateway and ready to receive them: the Gatewarden.
Grey haired and bearded, he was well on in his years, but an aura of power hung about him still and he seemed at home in his armour, his hand resting causally on his sword hilt as he watched them draw closer. They walked up as a group, Fritha neither pressing forward nor hanging back, her state of equal measures anxiety and excitement, balancing her firmly at their centre as they drew near, until finally he called out to them.
'Hold Travellers! Mean you to enter Candlekeep? Before you will be allowed entrance, you must donate a volume of great value to our libraries.'
And suddenly the girl seemed swathed in an assured calm, pushing gently past herself and Khalid to the head of the group, smiling serenely.
'We have your tome, Warden.'
'Fritha!' he cried, coming forward to take the book she proffered and heartily shake her hand, 'It is fine to have you back again within these hallowed grounds.'
'And Imoen, dear, welcome back!' he continued as the other girl came forward to greet him, 'Well, go in, go in, I know many will be happy to know you are safe.'
Imoen nodded, smiling, leading the way through the gates as the Warden pulled Fritha gently to one side and, with a cursory glance to the rest of them, whispered audibly, 'And please have your less civilized friends refrain from causing any trouble. We are very strict here, as you know.'
The girl's grin had never been so broad.
Fritha stared about her at the place she had been so longing to return to and yet afraid of as well; scared to discover what damage the Iron Throne could have wrought in her absence. But to find the Warden still at the gate had allayed her worries and it was a truly heartening to look upon the outer keep in the bright mid-morning sun, the lay brothers bustling about their work, watched over by guards who drifted in pairs about the walls, all as it should be.
She was home.
With a smile, Fritha led them forward, Imoen at her side, the rest hanging back slightly as though wary of their welcome. Through the smaller arch of the inner wall she went and into the gardens beyond, the neat beds of lavender and camomile vivid in the sunlight while Tethtoril's bees weaved blithely amongst them, alone in the gardens save for the few sages who had dared to leave their precious libraries.
'Fritha!'
Fritha glanced up at her name and her heart leapt at the sight of Phlydia, dark red dress hitched up to her calves as she limped across the lawns towards them, a cane gripped tightly in her free hand.
'And Imoen too!' the old woman exclaimed as she reached them, out of breath and beaming, 'I wondered if you were ever to return! When I heard of Gorion's passing, I must admit I feared the worst. Hull and Fuller went out to gather his body not long after you left, dear, but said you were nowhere to be seen.'
Fritha swallowed, throat suddenly tight. All that time out there in the world, it hadn't felt real, almost as though Gorion was still there waiting for her, that he wasn't truly gone. But now…
She closed her eyes, her mind numb as she heard herself ask, 'Where is he…?'
'Interred, dear? The crypts under the temple, in the tombs reserved for the greatest of us. I am sure Parda could show you, should you…'
Phlydia trailed off as Fritha turned away, a horrible emptiness blossoming low in her stomach. How could she have thought returning here, where her father now rested, where her memories of him were at their strongest, would be anything but torturous?
'So what happened to you?' asked Imoen, breaking the silence as she gestured to the woman's cane and Phlydia laughed, almost gratefully, hitching up her hem to show them a slightly swollen ankle.
'Happened just a few days ago. One of those blasted cats got under my feet and down I went. Whelan patched me up straight away, but it's still a little stiff. It was Falex, the adorable little beast,' she continued with obvious affection, 'I haven't seen him since though, he's probably hiding from me until he thinks I've forgiven him.'
They all laughed at that and warmth engulfed Fritha again. Memories or not, it was good to be home.
'Anyway, enough of my nonsense,' Phlydia smiled, how are you finding life outside these walls?''
Fritha grinned, glancing to her friend to raise an eyebrow and they began.
'Huge-'
'And scary-'
'Full of bandits -'
'And bounty hunters!'
'Oh, you two,' Phlydia chuckled, messing Imoen's hair gently much to the girl's annoyance, 'always full of fun! Really, how are you finding it?'
Fritha and Imoen stared incredulously at each other before breaking to identical smiles, Fritha throwing an arm about the woman as she spoke.
'Oh, Phlydia, never change, you must promise me. It does my heart good to think of you here like this.'
The old woman looked puzzled but laughed all the same, making them both promise to come and visit her before they left, before bidding them farewell and they finally walked the last few steps and entered the keep.
Through those great oak doors and there she was, stood at the entrance just as though she'd returned from Winthrop's or the barracks, as though she had never left at all. And the peace of the place. The all-pervading air of calm, heavy with knowledge and secrets… she had almost forgotten.
It was dim inside compared with the brightness of the grounds, the tall narrow windows set high in the walls behind her doing little to lift the gloom. Dust swirling in the shafts above them like motes of gold, the statue of Alaundo the Wise watching her with serene stone eyes. The aisle before them led into the keep proper, lined with the bookcases that made up the Hall Library where the general books and tomes that could be found anywhere were stored. It was empty save for the odd monk wandering between the aisles, the only sound the rustle of pages as they read.
Fritha led them forward, on through the library into the high-ceilinged refectory and down the steps into the kitchens. All was just as it has always been, the large light room dominated by the scrubbed wooden table that ran the length of it. Bright copper pans of every size and bundles of herbs hanging from racks above them, the two great fires roaring merrily in spite of the heat, while every one of the high windows were thrown open to tempt the breeze. Breakfast had been served and cleared by now, and she found Beth as she had often done, bright eyed and ruddy cheeked, ambling to and fro between various pots and ovens while Theoden and Jessup, too old now for the more strenuous chores, were sat chatting quietly at the end of the table, chopping vegetables as they talked.
The plump woman straightened from stirring a large black pot, sighing as she mopped her brow with her apron.
'Here, have you two finished with those yet?'
Theoden glanced up to answer when his eyes fell on them and Fritha finally spoke up.
'Beth?'
The woman turned at the familiar sound, her face a mix of surprise and joy.
'Fritha?' she gasped, rushing forward to pull her into an embrace. 'Oh, my songbird! My little lark's flown back to me! How have you been, my chick? Stand back, let me have a look at you. Still as thin as a reed, I see. Oh,' she exclaimed, finally tearing her eyes away from her charge to notice the rest of them, 'and who are these with you?
'Well, there's a welcome for you!' said Imoen archly, a grin warming her words, 'Finally gone senile then, have you?'
'You, I only wish I could forget!' the woman laughed, making to cuff the back of Imoen's head as the girl danced past her to steal a carrot from Theoden.
'Beth,' continued Fritha quietly, 'this is Jaheira, Khalid, Dynaheir and Minsc.'
'Well met, friends,' Beth smiled, suddenly grave, her arm still about Fritha who seemed more comfortable than Jaheira had ever seen her, 'I have no doubt that Fritha being around to return to me must be, in part at least, some of your doing and I thank you for it. But enough of this formality,' she continued, brightening and pulling out the nearest chair, 'have a seat and I shall get us all something to drink.'
She moved off into the pantry while they seated, Fritha following Beth to wait by the door, placing each thing passed to her on the nearby workbench. Imoen was already sat next to Theoden, listening with interest as the man shook his head, smiling wistfully as he spoke.
'How you girls have grown… I still remember you, Fritha, running about the keep in your swaddling clothes, pestering the elders and spooking the cows. Ain't that right, Jessup?'
'Surely was,' mumbled the man next to him, no pause in his chopping.
'Yep. Of course, you never did stay in those rags of yours for long.'
Fritha laughed brightly, no hint of embarrassment as she moved over to the table and handed out the cups.
'Well, that's hardly surprising. I know I was small for my age, but four years is a bit old for swaddling!'
'Ah ha. You'd be naked as a jaybird the moment someone had their back turned on you. I remember the day that Blackstaff fellow came floating in and there you were, tearing around the outer keep with Gorion hot on your trail. Took the cloak right off his back, you did. Scampered off and made yourself a fine little nest in the stables. Such a lark, eh, Jessup?'
'Thought I'd end myself laughing, I did,' he affirmed in his sober mumble; though it looked to be a real hazard for the two girls, especially Imoen who was laughing so hard her face was in danger of matching her hair.
'You and me both! Gorion was shaking like a leaf, he was so mad. Nobody was sure what to do and then Khelben mutters something and catches you up with some great spectral hand. Drops you right in front of him, grabbing his filthy cape in the process and gives the biggest laugh you ever heard. And everyone in the keep is laughing like mad, except you Fritha, you were just stood there wondering what all the fuss was about.'
'Oh hush up, you two, you'll embarrass the poor girl!' scolded Beth, bustling over to the table to set down a wooden tray, unloading a large silver teapot as well as a dish of honey and small plate of sliced lemons.
Jaheira smiled, amused more by the sight of Imoen and Fritha than the story. The girl had been too pensive lately, even taking into account the Iron Throne; some secret worry pressing on her. It did the druid's heart good to see her like this, so calm and free of care. The tea now served Fritha straightened, a gentle smile still pulling at her mouth.
'I'll just go up and visit my old room; I trust I can leave them in your capable hands, Theoden?'
'Ah, surely you can, I've a hundred stories of you when you were younger -you and Imoen both,' he added with a mischievous smile and the thief suddenly looked a whole lot less amused.
'Keep an eye on them, will you?' Fritha continued with a smile to the old cook, who chuckled merrily and assured her she'd try, before the girl bade farewell to them all and skipped up the steps to the refectory.
Back through in to the Hall Library, Fritha slowed her pace to a ponderous stroll, moving between the rows of books just enjoying the feel of being back home. She had been so afraid before, of what could have happened, that to come back and find everyone safe and well had left her almost giddy with relief. She breathed deeply, drawing in great lungfuls of dusty air, revelling in the smell of parchment and leather.
'Fritha? Is that you?'
Fritha turned, looking back to see the tall, narrow figure of Ferescian, precentor of the temple marching up the aisle towards her.
'Master Cantor.'
'It is you. I could recognise that hair anywhere,' he smiled, pushing the score he had been studying into his sleeve. 'So, you have returned to us at last. The whole of the keep was in chaos when Gorion was brought back without you. Then the girl, Imoen slipped out after you…' he trailed off, shaking his head sadly, 'troubled times, child, troubled times. But,' he continued, brightening, 'you are back among us now, and safe by the look of things. Tell me, did your jaunt in the world manage to rid you of that silly fear you had of singing in front of others?'
Fritha smiled slightly, biting her lip as she shook her head and Ferescian laughed heartily.
'I told Gorion to send you along to the temple. A couple of descants in front of the full tenth-day congregation would have set you to rights!'
Fritha laughed too, the image of her stood alone before the altar staring petrified and silent at the assembled residents of Candlekeep, a surprisingly amusing one. She turned slightly and instinctively they fell into step, continuing slowly along the aisle as they spoke.
'So what has happened in my absence?'
'Well, lay-brother Marcus has managed to add another two notes to the top of his range and the translations of the ancient prayer-songs are nearly complete, but I am sure you enquire after other matters,' he said, smiling wryly at his own wit before continuing. 'To be honest, since the havoc of your departure, everything has seemed rather quiet. The Carleck Order stayed for the tenday they were due and then left, and Khelben Blackstaff was here for a couple of days in early Kythorn, but that is all really. The Readers are considering closing Candlekeep's gates to all until this business with Amn and the Gate calms down.'
Fritha nodded slowly, wondering vaguely if such a course of action wouldn't prove to be a touch belated.
'I hear that the Iron Throne are staying here now.'
'Why, yes, child,' the cantor confirmed, looking surprised she knew, 'you are correct. Though I don't know why they bothered. I haven't seen them in the libraries since their arrival, they just spend all day holding meetings in the study rooms off the South Library.'
'They haven't done anything strange, then?'
'Strange?' he repeated, giving her a puzzled glanced, 'you mean aside from spending an exorbitant amount to enter the libraries, only to use it as a glorified meeting hall, no.'
'Do you think it would be possible for me to speak with them?'
Ferescian shrugged, clearly confused as to why she'd want to, though he kept his curiosity to himself.
'Well, they usually break at around three and the kitchens send up refreshments for them, I suppose you could try to gain an audience then.'
They had reached the central aisle by now, the stairs to her right while the doors back into the grounds stood ajar at the opposite end of the hall.
'Well, I had best get back to the temple,' he smiled with a slight gesture to the doors, 'I should be glad to see you at evensong though, if you have the time.'
She bowed slightly, hands folded under her bust.
'I will attend, and thank you.'
The cantor smiled, patting her shoulder fondly, 'You're most welcome, child.'
Fritha watched as Ferescian swept off down the aisle, the light from the windows above bathing him in gold as he retreated, before he finally reached the doors and was lost in the glare of the outside. Slowly, she turned and made her way up the stairs, stopping at the second floor to cut through the South Library, passing the study rooms that had once housed her lessons with the old mage Jesseth. The knowledge they were, at that very moment, occupied by those who could well be engineering the downfall of the entire Sword Coast, not resting well with her.
Classes had begun to break for lunch by now and the library about her was filling up with acolytes and their tutors, all slowly making their way down to the refectory. Everyone she met welcomed her, speaking of Gorion and their regret at his passing, but with each time it was easier to hear and, at last, she found herself accepting their condolences as remembrances of a great man who she had been lucky enough to know as a father. Yes, there was still the sorrow of losing him, but it could not overshadow the happiness she felt as she passed some person or place and memories of him surfaced.
And it was on the west staircase as she was recalling how he'd caught her and Imoen taking turns to race each other down the banister that another called out to her and Fritha found herself looking up into a pair of piercing grey eyes.
'Hold, you are Fritha, are you not?'
'Yes,' she answered promptly, the familiar scenario somewhat different this time as she stared up at a young man, not much older than herself, though tall and broad for all his youth, dark shaggy hair curling about his collar. 'I-I'm sorry have we met?' she stuttered, feeling strangely nervous, 'I feel I should recognise you, but…'
He smiled slightly, but it did not reach his eyes.
'Yes, we have met, but only briefly. I am Koveras, I had business with you father, Gorion. I was sorry to hear of his passing. I have had a ring of his in my possession for some time now, but, considering what befell him, I think it best that you should have it; something to remember him by.'
She smiled gently, forcing herself to ignore the uneasy churning of her stomach.
'That is very kind of you, but I have no need of anything to keep him in my thoughts. If he gifted it to you, then you should keep it and remember him as I will.'
The youth stared down at her, expression unreadable, before breaking into a sudden smile.
'Some would see your independence as a flaw, but I can appreciate its value in certain circumstances. Fare thee well, Fritha. We shall no doubt meet again.'
And without another glance, he swept past her and continued down the staircase. She stood, waiting until his footsteps had faded before flying up the stairs to the next floor, suddenly wanting to put as much distance between them as possible. Such was her haste that Fritha didn't notice Piato, one of the younger acolytes, until she was practically upon him, just stopping short of barrelling into his shoulder as he turned to greet her.
'Fritha! Good to see you!' he cried, his round boyish face split with a grin as he balanced his books in the crook of one arm in an effort to free a hand to shake, 'I heard you were back. How are you?'
'Fine, fine,' she answered, trying to dismiss her own concerns as well as his, 'Here, do you know anything about Koveras?'
'Koveras?' he repeated, before dropping his voice, leaning in slightly as he continued, 'well, I haven't met him myself, but the other students are fair unnerved by him and Karen swears she saw him in the Green Library the other day, reciting one of Alaundo's prophecies.'
'So? They're there to be read by anyone.'
'True enough…' he nodded slowly, with the manner of one setting the scene for a revelation, 'except he wasn't reading… he had the book open in front of him but with his eyes closed and was reciting every word from memory.'
Piato drew back, smiling with dark pride as though he just finished telling some fantastic horror story and Fritha tried to suppress the sudden shudder that swept over her, forcibly turning her mind to other things.
'So, how have you been?'
He smiled, shaking his head woefully.
'Me? Oh, I pine for the days when you and Imoen still called Candlekeep home. You brought a bit of life to these walls.'
Fritha smiled in spite of herself.
'Well, Imoen's down in the kitchens. I'm sure she'd love to see you,' she said and was well rewarded as the young scholar turned a glorious shade of "erubescent red".
'Oh, r-really?' he stuttered, clearly trying to sound nonchalant, 'Well, I'm supposed to be in with the Chanter this afternoon, but I'm sure I could spare a moment to look in on her. I shall no doubt see you later, Fritha.'
Fritha smirked, her heart tripping lightly as she watched him hurry off.
'No doubt…'
It was now just a few paces along the hall to her room and her heart was still soaring as she came to the familiar door and slipped through, turning slightly to shut out the world, breathing in the place that was hers alone. Everything was just as she'd left it; books had priority in Candlekeep and her room was only just large enough for a bed and chest, the back wall dominated by a long narrow window that looked south over the grounds and the forest that lay beyond. Fritha dropped her bag where she stood and threw herself on to the bed with a wild joy, falling contentedly back to stare up through the window, her pale blue quilt mirroring the cloudless sky.
It was nice to be back, to be in her own room with those she knew and trusted about her and yet…
Fritha sighed gently, rolling on to her side to look down at the keep below r, the people moving about their work, oblivious to her watching. There was no place for her here anymore, and not through their doing but her own. The world had changed her and though she would always think of Candlekeep as her home, it was not somewhere she could see herself living any more. Fritha sighed again, laying back down and stretching, her arms pushing into the pillow above her and it was then she heard the familiar rustle of paper. She sat up, slipping a hand beneath her pillow to close around a square of parchment, the name upon it in that familiar scrolling hand,
"Fritha"
Moments later and she was stumbling blindly along the corridor, flying down the stairs to burst through the heavy mahogany doors that opened on to the Green Library. The room felt empty, almost tomb-like, as the doors clicked shut behind her, not even the familiar whispering of paper breaking the stillness. Her legs seemed to know instinctively where to carry her, and as though the feel of the place had crept into her very blood, she moved along the rows of books with slow measured steps, fingers brushing the spines until she finally stopped.
There, the words in faded gold along the spine, almost obscured by her fingers: The Time of Troubles.
It was as though another had control of her as she took down the book, the weight much heavier than she was expecting as she rested it upon her arm, letting it fall open where it willed.
And there it was in the faded ink. The prophecy of Bhaal and his children…
Her prophecy.
She stared at the words for a long time after she had finished reading; just staring at them while her dazed mind went over the details again and again, the script of the page before her and the voice of Gorion's final letter echoing round her head.
"The Lord of Murder shall perish…"
…the gods were forced into mortal shells…
"But in his doom he shall spawn a score of mortal progeny…"
…he forced himself upon your mother…
"Chaos will be sown from their passage."
…you are a special child…
A sound, a hiss, from the office behind her and Fritha whirled, almost dropping the book in her haste. The sudden realisation that she was not alone filled her with an unreasoned dread and with her heart in her throat, she eased the tome back on to the shelves. She stopped again, waiting for another sound, any indication that she had been heard, but there was only silence and with slow deliberate movements, she crept forward, giving the open door a gentle push and Parda swung into view. Relief flooded her at the sight of the kind old priest, hunched low over the desk before him with his back to her, and she took a small step forward.
'Parda?'
He did not turn round though, did not even start, but carried on as though he had not heard her.
It's because he knows…
She closed her eyes, suppressing the paranoia that welled within her and took another step into the room.
'Father? What are you doing?'
At last, he sighed and in a voice tinged with the slightest impatience, he answered her.
'I am studying, child.'
Fritha took another step forward and a great shuddering gasp left her as she stumbled back against the doorframe, recoiling at the sight laid out before her. Soft grey fur, matted and dull, while glassy amber eyes stared out at her from a head that lolled unnaturally on the polished wood of the desk.
'That- that's Falex…' she breathed, finally tearing her eyes away from the poor cat's corpse to stare at the unmoving figure of the priest, 'What- what are you doing?'
'It died and I am studying it,' Parda repeated slowly, a real anger to his impatience now, 'the bones, the muscle structure, how its fur lies. I must know it all…'
'Father,' she ventured, starting forward again, 'does Phlydia know-?'
'Must you pry so hard?' he hissed, slamming his hands on the desk and whirling on her, and the air filled with screaming as the old man's eyes flashed silver.
xxx
Jaheira smiled, following Imoen as she skipped along the aisles and hallways of the libraries, exchanging greetings with those they met as they looked for her friend. Theoden had, as promised, some very amusing tales of the girl when she was younger, though Imoen's embarrassment at them had paled into insignificance when the young boy, Piato, had turned up in the kitchens. The two had shared a rather disjointed conversation, which involved quite a bit of stalling and very little eye contact, until the afternoon bell had rung and he had hurried off, but not before a shy promise to meet later in the gardens had passed between the two.
They had waited another hour after that, enjoying lunch in the refectory with the other residents before Imoen, clearly restless, declared it was time to take the hunt to Fritha and as a group they had set off. Though she looked to have at least visited her room, Fritha was no longer there and they were currently in the Green Library, making their way to the east staircase, when Imoen reached the end of the aisle and shrieked with triumph before disappearing. Jaheira quicken her pace, the others behind her as she reached the corner, following Imoen round to see Fritha stood further along the aisle, her back to them all.
'Fritha!'
The girl did not seem to hear though, mumbling to herself as she backed along the aisle, her attention still fixed on the door at the end.
'Fritha?'
At last, she turned and Jaheira felt her stomach drop as she noticed the vacant look in her eyes, a dark red smear still drying on her tunic.
'It was all here. Everything, right here… all this time.'
'Fritha,' Jaheira snapped, grabbing her shoulders and forcing the girl to look at her, 'what happened here?'
Finally, the girl seemed to realise they were there, looking round at them all with wide eyes before something seemed to click and she was suddenly full of urgency, struggling against her grip.
'I-I have to show you something! Please, you must come!'
'Hold!' cried a voice behind them and Jaheira straightened, turning to the source, the distraction allowing Fritha to finally shake free, though she made no move to run. A tall guard, fully armed and with a squad at his back, stood at the end of the aisle, his eyes trained on the girl at her side.
'You, Fritha, ward to the late Gorion of Candlekeep, stand accused of murder.'
'No,' the girl cried, 'you don't understand, it wasn't Parda, it was-'
'You are correct, I do not understand,' the man continued with a frown, 'I accuse you of the murders of the Iron Throne delegates, Brunos Costak and Rieltar Anchev.'
'What? H-How can this be?' Khalid questioned, his eyes flitting worriedly from Fritha to the guard.
'It is known that the accused was making enquires after the victims shortly before the crime took place, and evidence retrieved from amongst her belongings gives motive. And, now to find her in such a state…' he trailed off, gesturing to her tunic as though the rest spoke for itself.
'But the child alone could not have done this,' continued Dynaheir, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow imperiously, 'or do we also stand accused?'
The guard shifted uncomfortably.
'I do not have the authority to make such assumptions, but if you give yourself up now, you will be assured of a fair trial.'
There really didn't seem to be anymore to say on either side and Jaheira looked down to the girl who had been silently listening to them argue, her eyes staring out at something she could not see.
'…I shall come.'
'We shall come,' Jaheira rephrased, laying a hand on the girl's shoulder as she stared defiantly back at the commander, just daring him to oppose her. He merely nodded though, instructing his men to let them pass.
'Please follow me. I'm sure everything will be sorted out quickly.'
He was not wrong in his assumption, though it was hardly what any of them could have expected. They followed the commander without question, relinquishing their weapons and belongings to the guards, and mere moments later found them locked together in a small cage in what had but hours before clearly been just another room in the cellars.
They waited and waited, Fritha's eyes trained on the heavy wooden door opposite until finally it opened and her heart leapt only to grow suddenly cold at the sight of who had entered: Jesseth, Whelan and the Keeper of the Tomes, Ulraunt. And it was so suddenly clear that she had to fight to keep from laughing, loud and wild, as she realised what she had so peaceably lead them all into.
There would be no trial.
Fritha watched as the men filed into the room, Ulraunt to stand in the centre before the cage, while the mage and the priest flanked him to take up positions either side of the open doorway. The old Keeper stood looking at her for what felt like an age and she forced herself to meet his eyes; not defiant or angry, but the clear calm gaze of an innocent.
'So Fritha,' he finally began, his contempt for her twisting his lips to an ugly sneer, 'you have sullied your father's name by defiling his home and bringing ruin to a peace that has lasted here for centuries. I formally accuse you of the murders of Brunos Costak and Rieltar Anchev and your transgressions will be punished in the most sever form.'
'I have done nothing, Ulraunt,' Fritha countered, only just keeping the whine of panic from her voice, knowing it would do little to help her defence but unable to suppress it completely, 'why do you accuse me?'
'Why have I accused you?' he repeated, with a humourless laugh that only Jesseth attempted to share, 'You were seen fleeing the murder scene. Koveras found the identifying ring of a Shadow Thief assassin in your personal effects and gold minted in Amn. I feel that this is strong enough proof to accuse you.'
'Accuse me, yes,' she cried, gripping the bars, 'but to try me also?'
Ulraunt, paused, giving her a measured look, perhaps not expecting such a perceptive observation from his murderer. But after a moment, he shrugged slightly and the dismissive air of austerity was about him once more.
'Usually no, but there are… extenuating circumstances in this case. From everything we have seen and found it is not hard to figure what your purpose was. From what I have been told, you have been trying to place all the misfortunes of the Sword Coast squarely on the shoulders of the Iron Throne for the last few months now. I assume you and your friends are assassins in the employ of Amn.'
'They had nothing to do with this!' Fritha shouted, but Ulraunt carried on as though she had not spoken.
'Perhaps you were sent up north to create discord in the region before an Amnish invasion. It matters little, on the morrow, you and your friends are to be sent to Baldur's Gate where appropriate punishment will be administered and never again shall I have to suffer your presence here. Farewell.'
And with a last disdainful look he turned and marched smartly out. Jesseth instantly dropped any semblance of composure and took a step towards the cage, his smile wide as he rubbed his hands together gleefully.
'Oh, look at poor little Fritha. Not so clever now, are you? Now you have not Gorion to defend you.'
'Jesseth, please,' she cried, surprised his pettiness could be sustained when such things were at stake.
'Oh please!' he mocked, laughing spitefully as she felt her eyes grow hot, 'I always knew you were nothing but a pathetic little half-breed and when your limp corpse hangs from the city gallows everyone else will know it too!'
'That is enough, mage!' a voice rang out and Fritha took a moment to realise just who'd spoken. Father Whelan was stood, white with anger, his disgust for the man before him etched in every line on his face. Jesseth seemed as shocked as she was, mouthing ridiculously before he at last gathered himself enough to protest.
'Now, just you see here-'
'Get out! Now!'
For a moment, Fritha thought he would contest the priest, puffing out his chest like a petulant cockerel. But he seemed to falter slightly under Whelan's icy stare and the mage finally turned on his heel as Ulraunt had and swept silently from the room.
Whelan waited until his footsteps had faded, seemingly trying to calm himself before he turned his gaze to her.
'Fritha.'
'Please, Whelan,' she begged, tears threatening to fall in her desperation, 'please, I know we did not always see eye to eye, but I did not do this.'
'I am sorry, Fritha,' he began, his voice unusually quiet and any last hopes she had evaporated then. 'Perhaps if I had been listened to in the beginning it would not have come to this.' But he was not gloating as the mage had. His eyes were stern, sad even, as he looked at her, tears now streaming silently down her cheeks. 'Your heart is good, that I know, but your blood and bone…' He trailed off with a shake of his head and when he spoke again, it was without a trace of emotion. 'The evidence has been found and the law must be served. Helm's Mercy on you, child.'
And with that, he turned and marched out. Fritha sank to her knees with a miserable groan, the feel of Imoen's hand on her shoulder barely registering.
'Fritha, it'll be all right… you'll see.'
Fritha turned to eye the Harpers, silent all this while.
'You knew, didn't you?'
They looked to each other and Khalid turned away, suddenly sad, as his wife squared her shoulders and nodded once. 'We had our suspicions, from things your fa- Gorion said.'
'Knew? Knew what?' continued Imoen, subtle strains of panic finally creeping into her voice.
Fritha turned to look at her, the green eyes holding the first real fear she had ever seen in them and it almost felt like someone else had control of her as she heard her voice answering,
'I am a child of Bhaal. Gorion knew, they knew, Whelan, Jesseth and Ulraunt definitely knew. Gods, half the bloody keep probably knew.'
Imoen stared at her, almost as though she were trying to see some sign of this heritage on her face, but after a moment the girl smiled slightly, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
'Well, it doesn't change anything, does it? I mean, you've always been one, haven't you?'
Fritha shrugged. If you looked at it like that then, yes, nothing was different. But… if you looked at it another way…
Suddenly she was the by-product of what she could only imagine must have been the most horrific thing her mother had had to endure. And what were these "extenuating circumstances" that suddenly meant a fair trial was out the window? Yes, it made a lot of difference. Imoen, though, seemed to take her lack of protest as a good sign, putting an arm around her as she spoke.
'See, it'll be okay, we'll get through this together.'
'I should listen to her, child.'
Everyone seemed to start as a voice rang out from the shadows and a smoky form coalesced in front of the cell.
'Tethtoril!' cried Fritha, nearly knocking Imoen over in her haste to stand and greet Ulraunt's second; one who had always had some kind word or small wonder to show her as she was growing up. The old man smiled gently, looking her up and down with a fond, grandfatherly gaze.
'Oh, Fritha, my child, how you have grown, and in some ways no man wishes for those he holds dear. But no doubt it was necessary, eh?'
'Oh, Tethtoril, do you believe it too? Do you think I murdered them?'
'No, no, child. I had my concerns when they first told me, that perhaps the outside world had wrought such a drastic change in you, but I see now they were unfounded. You have changed, yes; a little older and little wiser, but you are still Gorion's daughter.'
Fritha watched as he laid his hand over the lock, muttering under his breath and with naught but a well-oiled click, the cell door swung silently open.
'Now, child, listen carefully, for there is not much time. Beneath Candlekeep run the archives you know so well. But, beneath those are places that only a few within these walls have been privileged to walk.'
'The Catacombs,' breathed Imoen behind her and the old mage nodded gravely.
'Indeed. I have already had your belongings placed inside the entrance and I now intend to transport you there as well. From there you can make you way out.'
'Wait!' Fritha cried, suddenly scared he would not leave her time to warn him, 'You don't understand. Candlekeep is in danger. Parda- Parda was a doppelganger!'
'Hush, child,' he soothed, laying a hand upon her shoulder, 'Parda was found safe and well in the temple hours ago. As for the body of the creature you killed, it is nowhere to be found. Perhaps removed by the same one who planted the ring of the Shadow Thieves in amongst your possessions.'
Fritha frowned. 'Koveras. But why?'
The old man shook his head gravely.
'I do not know, child, but if he did those things then it is likely that he murdered the delegates, as well.'
'Sarevok…' whispered someone behind her and she turned to see Khalid looking round at them all, realisation dawning in his eyes, 'K-Koveras is an anagram. It is b-backwards. The one who accused you, it was Sarevok.'
'When we're in the catacombs, where's the exit?' asked Imoen, her voice filled with a sudden urgency.
'I cannot say for sure, but it will bring you out on the cliffs south west of Candlekeep.'
Fritha watched the old man's face as he turned back to her, emotions threatening to overwhelm her as she stared into the tired blue eyes.
'Thank you, Tethtoril, you can't know how much this means to me. Tell Phlydia and- and Beth…' she tailed off, the lump in her throat making it painful to speak. He smiled, pulling her into a warm embrace.
'I will not have to tell them anything, child, they will know the truth as well as I do. Take care now, Fritha.'
She nodded as they parted, the old man already beginning to weave an intricate pattern in the air, a fine blue haze engulfing them and the world faded away.