21st Day of Reaping, 565 CY
The Brass Dragon Inn, Furyondy

The Heart of Home.

Although he technically no longer lived at the inn itself, Argo Bigfellow still considered the Tall Tales Room at the Brass Dragon to be the place he felt most comfortable in. Everyone he knew here seemed to own a piece of it, and every trophy held a story all its own.

Thus, the big ranger felt a twinge of unease this warm morning as he sipped a cup of blackberry wine from his padded chair and watched as a lamia tail was strung over two pegs that had been pounded into a wall.

This wasn't really their kill. Back in Fireseek, Elrohir and Tojo had driven the monster out of the dragon's lair in the Earldom of Farlyow, but only recently had the party of Sir Dorbin slain the beast after encountering it to the north, in the Barony of Chauv. The missing tip of its tail had been proof enough that this was the same lamia, but none of Elrohir's party had been present for the creature's demise. They didn't even have the end section severed by Tojo's katana- no one at that time had been thinking of saving possible trophies- only their own survival.

Was this all simply a magnaminous gesture on Sir Dorbin's part, or was the knight staking some kind of subtle claim here?

Still, Elrohir had graciously accepted the gift, and Bigfellow had little interest in second-guessing his leader's decision, especially when it didn't directly involve him.

Argo caught his fellow ranger's eye.

"You had said certain portions of her were quite attractive, Elrohir. We should have had her front end mounted up there like a deer. We could- OW!"

Argo winced and rubbed the top of his head. With impeccable timing, Caroline had entered the room just in time to catch her husband's latest quip and had brought her fist down on his noggin as she walked behind his chair. Hard enough for him to notice.

Bigfellow scowled in mock irritation at his wife as she came around. "You know, I'm going to start wearing my armor and helm full-time again at this rate!"

Caroline plopped down into his lap.

"It always pays to be prepared," she said with a mischievous smile.

Elrohir sighed in exasperation. He really wanted to get this meeting underway.

Argo and Caroline had always been a couple apt to display their affections in public, but this seemed to have ramped up even further recently. This was starting to annoy Elrohir, although he had yet to say anything to Argo. For one, Elrohir had no practical reason to bring up the matter.

For another, he couldn't be sure that there wasn't any jealousy involved on his part. His own wife had been morose and withdrawn since that fateful encounter with her sister. Elrohir hadn't liked Talat from the moment he had found out about her existence, and these latest revelations had dropped his opinion of her to about the level of the lamia whose tail now graced this room. She'd certainly had about the same effect on his mental state.

Cygnus and Zantac, satisfied with the tail's placement, went over to one of the two couches and sat down. Cygnus stared down at his knees, but Zantac was clearly watching the Bigfellow burlesque show out of the corner of his eye.

Tojo stood in the far corner of the room as he always did. Elrohir was pretty sure that the samurai's eyes had flickered over to catch Argo and Caroline's embrace, but had just as quickly flitted off to meet the dead gaze of Sandcats.

Although their latest mission had been completed successfully, Tojo had made no mention of leaving to seek the Pearls of Hamakahara, despite everyone's insistence that all he had to do was say the word, and the party would accompany him without any qualms. Apparently, the Yanigasawa samurai intended to see the entire slaver matter through to the end.

The end. Elrohir glanced over at Talass.

The cleric sat in the other chair, her hands clutching the bearded face that was her holy symbol. She sat hunched forward slightly; her expression distant and her gaze dull. Elrohir knew his wife wasn't seeing anything in the Tall Tales Room.

She was looking at a volcano.

One of us won't be coming back.

There was a sudden knock at the door.

Aslan had been less cheerful than Talass, or even his own recent self, these past few days. Elrohir had relayed his recent observation about Nesco to the paladin and while Aslan had appeared to accept the veracity of it, his disposition had not improved.

"It's only a matter of time before she finds out anyway, Elrohir," he had muttered.

Nesco's departure from the party had been an uncomfortable and awkward affair for all involved. Before returning the others to the Brass Dragon, Aslan had teleported the two of them to Chendl first, as per her explanation that she might be needed there at any time.

Lady Cynewine's good-byes this time had been short and business-like. Nesco had implied that she would see them all again when they returned to Chendl, but her words had a vague, distant mien to them that everyone found unsettling.

Nesco had said farewell and left Aslan less than a minute after their arrival in the chapel.

He'd stared down at his hand for what seemed like ages after she had left.

Aslan hadn't really expected anything other than a handshake given the circumstances, but he knew everything was still wrong.

He was standing in one of the holiest places in the Flanaess, and he still felt unclean.

The door opened part-way and Fee Hal's youthful face appeared in the space.

It was met with several puzzled frowns. While the Sir Dorbin party had been given leave to use the Tall Tales Room in the the Elrohir party's absence, the knight's team made a point of scrupulously leaving their hosts alone when the latter were ensconced within. Elrohir couldn't imagine anything less than an emergency that would warrant an interruption.

The squire did look perturbed. He kept glancing over his shoulder at the common room and then back at the others.

"I'm sorry to bother you," Fee Hal said, the words pouring out in a rush, "but Sir Dorbin thinks you should know that-"

Aslan abruptly appeared in the doorway as he opened it wide. Without a word or glance, the paladin brushed past the youth and slammed the door shut in his face.

By the time Aslan had seated himself on the second couch, his companions' expressions of puzzlement had moved through concern and in some cases were heading towards alarm.

The paladin's clothing looked wrinkled and slept in. His hair had come loose from its ponytail, and it seemed as if he hadn't given it a second thought. Aslan's face was flushed. His lidded eyes regarded nothing but the wooden floorboards beneath him.

"Sorry I'm late," he said. "Lest get this started."

Lest?

Elrohir stared at his friend. When he was depressed, as he had been recently, Aslan was known to mutter. Sometimes even mumble.

He never slurred his words. Never.

It was only the incongruity of what they were looking at that held back the obvious conclusion from everyone's mind for those first few seconds.

It was Talass, currently seated closest to Aslan, who voiced it first. She leaned over to peer at the paladin, who slowly lifted his gaze up to meet hers.

"Aslan," the cleric breathed, unable to keep the wonder out of her voice, "are you... drunk?"

The paladin scowled at her. He seemed to test his tongue before replying, but his inexperience with inebriation betrayed him.

"Iz that your faith telling you that, Talass?"

"That's my nose telling me that!" she replied, waving her hand in front of her face. "What has gotten into you?"

Aslan glared at the priestess. "I wonder," he said softly, "do I ever sound that stiff-assed to everyone else?"

Wounded, Talass shot cold blue fury from her eyes at Aslan, but the paladin had already looked away, and was now addressing the room in general. "I couldn't sleep last night after my last teleport. I thought drink might in this in- in this case help me mindrest. It didn't. Mitstake on my part- I won't do it again, now can we get the damn meeting started?"

"All right then," stated Elrohir loudly after a short pause. "If you consider yourself in a condition to participate Aslan, I'll take you at your word." The ranger's gaze swept across the room, trying to gather everyone's attention away from Aslan.

"As best we can determine," the party leader began, "the entire slaver operation is directed from the city of Suderham. This group that Markessa referred to as The Nine appear to be the ultimate ringleaders. We need to find and eliminate this group, hopefully without bringing the entire city down on our heads- again," he added with a sour grin.

"Our plan at present is the same as has gone before. We'll teleport to Chendl, inform the king and receive our authorization, pick up Nesco if she's willing," the ranger continued, somewhat rushing that last part, "and then head back to the general area of the stockade. The map Cygnus has indicates the general location of a concealed entrance to a long underground passage that should take us to the outskirts of Suderham."

Elrohir fastened his gaze on Cygnus.

"Who is going, and who isn't?"

The Aardian wizard glanced back down at his hands, apparently surprised to find them restlessly squeezing each other. After a short pause, he looked back up at his long-time friend.

"I'm going." It was little more than a sigh.

Zantac silently squeezed his fellow mage's left shoulder and looked up at Elrohir with a weak smile. "You can never have too many wizards." He jerked a thumb over towards the Bigfellows. "Besides, now that Argo has officially laid claim to Icar's ring, I need some new trinkets to replace it."

That drew Elrohir's attention over to Argo and Caroline. The former nodded at his wife, who got off his lap and stood silently by.

Argo's auburn eyes met and held Elrohir's deep blue ones.

"I'm going. Caroline isn't."

This drew a few puzzled looks. Considering she had raised no complaints whatsoever about rejoining the party for their entire two-month trek, most of those gathered had assumed Caroline would be accompanying them to Suderham. Also, unlike previous times Mrs. Bigfellow did not seem at all distraught about remaining behind. In fact, a small smile played about the young woman's lips, dimmed only when she glanced over at Aslan.

Elrohir looked over to the far corner of the room.

Yanigasawa Tojo remained impassive. "We finish task, Errohir-san."

The ranger smiled and nodded in acknowledgement, then turned his gaze over to his wife.

Talass met his gaze head-on, then turned to regard the others.

"You all know this is it. This is the mission that one of us won't return from."

Silence filled the Tall Tales Room, broken only by the odd cough or throat-clearing.

Talass closed her eyes, fingering her holy symbol again. "Bless us, my Lord. Do not let your faithful perish as we do your bidding."

Elrohir took a deep breath. Her couldn't put this off any longer.

"Aslan?"

The paladin, who had for the most part resumed his close examination of the floor, glanced back up at the sound of his name.

Elrohir didn't like the look in his eyes.

"Why ask, Elrohir? Of course I'm going! How the hell are you going to get there otherwise? No-" and here he held up a somewhat unsteady hand, "I'd go anyway. Why not? It's the right thing to do, isn't it? Doing good deeds- serving the cause of justice- virtue izzit's own reward, and all that?"

Elrohir bit his lip, but Argo spoke up at that point anyway with his characteristic bluntness.

"Why are you hurting, Aslan?"

The paladin stood up, a little unsteady, and eyed the big ranger. He was breathing heavily but said nothing.

Elrohir tried to catch Argo's eye with a warning glance, but Bigfellow either didn't see it, or ignored it.

"Aslan," he asked quietly. "Does this have anything to do with Nesco?"

Aslan sucked in his breath, wincing as if a sharp pain had hit him in his stomach.

"Why do you ask that?" he snarled. "Why are you always trying to goad me? No, it has nothing to do with Ne- her. My problems are my own. Mine to worry about and mine to solve- on my own!"

He suddenly whirled around to face Tojo.

"You understand that, Tojo! Better than anyone!"

A terrible expression of unease spread across the samurai's face. Tojo's eyes dropped to the floor before he managed to raise them with a mighty effort back to the general vicinity of Aslan's wild-eyed gaze.

"You... herp me, Asran-san... even though I fight you. We wood do same for you."

"I'm fine!" Aslan cried. He spun around again, apparently intending to say something further to Elrohir, but the spin sent him off-balance and he toppled over. Talass was the first to reach him, but he swatted her hand away.

"Stop telling me how I should feel!" The paladin clumsily rose back to his feet and headed for the door. "Don't you think I'd know if something was wrong?"

He turned around and leaned up against it.

"Don't you think I'd know that?" he screamed.

From outside there were running footsteps and then suddenly the door was shoved inwards. Aslan, who had turned around at the sound, was knocked backwards and landed back down on the floor.

Sir Dorbin stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with concern. He glanced down at Aslan, and then at the others with a questioning look. Before anyone could think of what to say to the knight, Aslan grabbed his head and let out a wail that froze everyone's heart.

And vanished.

Elrohir idly scratched Dudraug's head as he stood outside the Brass Dragon.

For what seemed like the thousandth time, the ranger glanced around. He was standing about halfway between the inn and Aslan's cabin. At his insistence, Cygnus had used a knock spell to open the cabin door and had then left it ajar. Elrohir figured Aslan might react poorly if he teleported back to his house to find someone inside, but at least this way he couldn't close the door without the others knowing he had returned.

Elrohir glanced upwards. The stars had not changed, either.

It has to have been at least twelve hours, the party leader thought. Where did he go? Did something happen to him?

The cooshee, sensing his master's distress, nuzzled his hand more forcefully. Elrohir's hand responded instinctively, but the rest of him was still held in a torrent of worry and frustration.

About time for Nodyath to show up, isn't it?

Elrohir frowned and tried to shake his head clear of bitter thoughts. He couldn't deny that he was angry at Aslan, but he also knew the pain that seemed to be eating his friend alive from within.

I suppose I should be coming up with a miracle about now.

He turned his head at Grock's bark. The tan wardog rushed up, sniffed at Dudraug, barked again and took off, the elven hound at his heels. Strolling up behind was Argo Bigfellow Junior. The two rangers stood and watched the canine shapes quickly vanish in the darkness.

Argo spoke first.

"Do you think some creature with the Talent might have sensed Aslan's teleport?"

Elrohir grimaced. That was a nice way of asking if some psionic horror hadn't zeroed in on the paladin. It hadn't happened in years, but Aslan was always concerned about the possibility. He shrugged. "Aslan's no fool. Even in the state he was in, he'd retreat if faced with something he couldn't take on by himself."

"If he could," Bigfellow added, apparently determined to play the role of pessimist. He inclined his head to catch the fading sounds of his wardog. "Aslan functions mostly on guilt," he said. "You suppose he blames himself for Nesco's death?"

He turned just enough to catch his fellow ranger's eye. Elrohir smiled grimly. "For all that time you lived in a swamp Bigfellow, you're a lousy fisherman. You know I wouldn't betray a confidence."

Argo raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure that's true, Elrohir, but that fact doesn't seem to be doing Aslan any good right now, is it?"

The party leader shook his head. "You're sounding like my wife now."

"Bite your tongue."

They stared into the blackness a little while longer. "Caroline turn in?" asked Elrohir eventually.

Argo nodded, frowning. "She threw up shortly after that scene this morning, and she hasn't been feeling very well since. Nerves, I suppose. You think you could have Talass check her out tomorrow morning, though?"

"Oh, so now she's useful, eh?"

Argo returned Elrohir's tired smile. "Of course. Where would we be without our better halves?"

Elrohir was about to reply when he saw a figure heading towards them from around the far side of the inn.

He blinked. It was a horse. An unattended horse. A moment's further examination revealed it to be his horse.

He and Argo exchanged glances and walked up to meet the mare.

"What is it, White Lightning? Have your nightmares returned?" Elrohir asked as they drew up, his hand reaching out to pat the horse's neck.

The steed shook her head and then lowered it slightly. She was unable to actually whisper, but she kept her husky voice as low as she could.

"Aslan. He's come back."

She indicated the stables with a turn of her head.

Elrohir turned back to Argo.

"Get the others but tell them to keep it quiet."

Bigfellow nodded and headed off as Elrohir followed White Lightning back to the stables.

Perlial was lying down in her stall, the mare's legs bent underneath her. Huddled up against the steed's gray side, mostly covered by a blanket, was Aslan.

He appeared to be asleep.

Elrohir slowly walked towards him. Perlial's large brown eyes followed the ranger as he slowly bent down next to the paladin. Fortunately, Aslan's intermittent snores made low-pitched conversation a little safer.

"When?" the ranger asked.

"Perhaps twenty minutes? I am not sure," Perlial replied. "He looked so terrible. He said nothing, just slowly sank down on the hay. I thought perhaps I could help him rest. I was not sure what to do, but I decided to wait until he fell asleep before sending White Lightning out to tell you."

"You did fine Perlial, just fine," Elrohir said soothingly. "Both of you," he added, smiling at his own steed. Both horses' eyes radiated some relief.

Elrohir studied the sleeping paladin for a moment. He didn't really see any point in waking him. If this was where he felt comfortable, he'd let him stay here tonight. There were only a few guests staying overnight in the Brass Dragon's common room, and none of them were due to leave before morning.

He was about to stand up when he noticed the blanket.

"Did he have that with him when he came back?"

Both horses nodded.

Elrohir frowned. It was a high-quality down blanket; a two-toned blue with a ruffled frill. He was pretty sure he had never seen it before in Aslan's cabin.

A disturbing thought was trying to intrude on his consciousness, and Perlial's next question did nothing to dispel it.

"Elrohir," she asked plaintively. "Do you think Aslan is going to fall again?"

He sighed, unsure of what comfort he could offer. "Not if I can help it," he said eventually.

The ranger turned around to see the others standing just outside, standing quietly. "Let him rest," he ordered, getting back up and walking over to them. "If he came back, he obviously doesn't intend to hide. A good night's sleep may help sober him up. Half of this is due to drink, I'm sure."

Slowly they dispersed, casting frequent glances behind them at the huddled figure in the stall. Elrohir was the last to leave.

"I'm a selfish man, Aslan," he whispered to his slumbering friend. "The last time you fell, it was for your own soul that I encouraged you to atone. But for all the terrible times I thought they were then, they were nothing compared to now."

He bit his lip.

"I can't let you do it now, my friend. We need you. I need you. I need Aslan the Paladin as the backbone of this team as he's always been."

Elrohir really didn't want to say it.

"I hope you need him, too."

He walked off, heading around to the front side of the inn.

Aslan slept on. Occasionally he would shiver under his blanket, and pull it up closer to his face, as if there were something comforting about it.