Chapter 2: Slipping
Dig up her bones but leave the soul alone
Boy with a broken soul
Heart with a gaping hole
Dark twisted fantasy turned to reality
Kissing death and losing my breath
Midnight hours cobble street passages
Forgotten savages, forgotten savages
Dig up her bones but leave the soul alone
Let her find a way to a better place
Broken dreams and silent screams
Empty churches with soulless curses
We found a way to escape the day
Dig up her bones but leave the soul alone
Lost in the pages of self made cages
Life slips away and the ghosts come to play
These are hard times
These are hard times for dreamers
And love lost believers
Dig up her bones but leave the soul alone
Let her find a way to a better place
Broken dreams and silent screams
Empty churches with soulless curses
We found a way to escape the day
Candy bar creep show
My highs hit a new low
Marinate in misery
Like a girl of only seventeen
Man made madness
And the romance of sadness
Beautiful dance that happened by chance
Happened by chance, happened by chance
Dig up her bones but leave the soul alone
Let her let her let her let her find her way back home
Broken dreams and silent screams
Empty churches with soulless curses
We found a way to escape the day
-Bones by MS MR
Rana
"Ah, my small friend, it is good to see you again! Aerie and I were just wondering what became of you when we received your letter. Glad I am to be putting the boot to evil's ugly face once more!"
"Can't breathe… need oxygen to live…"
"Oops!" Minsc laughed, releasing Rana from his bear hug and gently lowering her to the floor. "Boo has spoken to me of watching my strength with the smallers. 'Pretend they are me.' He tells me. And I would not crush him, so I must remember."
"No problem, how important can internal organs be, I mean really?" Rana grumbled, massaging her ribs.
"Rana? Oh, I'm so happy to see you well!"
The next embrace was much more welcome. The heavy scent of lavender engulfed her senses as she buried her face in Aerie's gleaming golden hair. The slightly taller, willowy avariel didn't pose nearly as much a threat with her hugs as the ranger did.
"I'm glad you came, Aerie," Rana whispered.
"As am I," she whispered back, releasing her and stepping away to examine the other woman. "How've you been? No, I know you need to greet the others first. We'll talk later, though, I hope? Oh, and I've been working on a new salve, I'd like to try it on your back if time permits."
Her bonds with the other women had all been forged and enhanced by their trials together, but the one that Aerie and Rana shared went a bit beyond the norm.
Unlike Jaheira and Haer'Dalis, Aerie was pure elven, as Rana was. And, like Rana, she had not only been tortured and maimed, but had had something precious stolen from her as well. Aerie would never fly. Rana would never bear children.
"Rana, darling, you aren't seriously going to make me beg for a hug, are you? I mean, for you I might, but I'll make you pay for it later."
Chuckling, Rana briefly embraced Safana, who had emerged from her perch atop the railing of the staircase.
"I'm surprised you answered my letter, Safana."
"Really? After I heard you tore Eldoth into pieces back in Athkatla, you think I could stay away? Besides, you've always had a knack for attracting the most handsome men to your side. I was just admiring the recent additions to your haram, but I admit seeing your half-brother again was something I thought to be merely an overblown rumor. I'd love to hear that story."
"Sarevok? Is that who that is?" Minsc asked, stepping right up to Sarevok and peering into his face, forcing him to immediately jerk away from the ranger's sudden intrusion into his personal bubble. "I must admit I did not recognize him without the spiky armor. Are you sure it is him, Rana? He is not yelling. Minsc is confused."
Oh, it was so worth inviting Minsc.
"I'll start yelling if you and your rodent don't back away, addled one!" Sarevok exclaimed, leaning away from Minsc, who was eyeing him suspiciously, Boo balanced in his hand, his whiskers twitching as he sniffed violently in the Deathbringer's direction.
"Boo says it is you, but not you. This confuses Minsc. How can you be Sarevok if you are not Sarevok?"
So, so worth it.
"Seriously, girl. Minsc isn't the only one confused. I thought I watched him die. Or was I high?" Safana asked her, crossing her arms and tilting her head as she looked Sarevok up and down.
"Long story. It's him, though. He's on our side now."
"This… this is your half-brother?" Aerie asked nervously. "The same man who killed your foster father? And he fights beside you now? I have to admit, I'm confused as well. How could you be comfortable with that? And how did you resurrect him?"
"I'll catch y'all up later, I promise," Rana reassured them, not looking forward to that at all. "Do you know where the others are at, by the way?"
As soon as she and Sarevok walked through the doors of her home, she had been swept up by Minsc, and hadn't seen a sign of Imoen and the rest.
"After dinner, some of them headed out for patrols. I believe Imoen and Haer'Dalis went for a walk, and Keldorn and Anomen are upstairs in their rooms. We all started showing up yesterday."
"Ranger, this is your last warning! Stop prodding me with that hamster or I'll feed it to the cat!"
As if on cue, a loud MERP! rang out from the dining room, followed by the sound of galloping, something one doesn't often expect to hear from a kitten.
"There you are, sweet boy," Rana cooed, bending down to catch the gray cat as he leapt into her arms, purring furiously. "We were gone almost three days and you already feel heavier. Chauntia has been sneaking you treats, hasn't she?"
"He's been sulking since you left, how could I not?" The girl said from the nearby dining room doorway. "I'm glad you're both home, safe and sound."
"Me too. Thank you for looking out for him while we were away."
"Rana, if you don't call off this deranged creature, and his pet Rashemi, I'll be forced to do something violent!"
"Alright, Minsc, down boy. You can study him later," Rana said, suppressing a laugh at Sarevok's indignant expression, which was magnified by her words.
"Had I known this particular rumor were true, I would never have come, Ilyrana," a painfully familiar voice intoned from near the staircase.
Materializing from the shadows, Kivan stepped forward, his longbow in one hand, and those striking green eyes hard with disapproval and disgust.
"I don't know why you came at all in the first place," Rana sneered, stepping away in shock. "I don't recall sending you a letter. How the hell did you find me?"
"Imoen wrote me."
Fury coursed through her veins, and she clenched her fists as she glared up at her former lover. Why would Imoen do that? It had to have been weeks ago, long before their standoff.
"Well, I don't know why she did, and I'm sorry you made the trip, but if you already have a problem, you are more than welcome to leave. Viconia's with me, too, and I don't wanna have to listen to you antagonize her like you did before."
"My issues with the drow pale in comparison to you somehow bringing that butcher back," Kivan replied, shifting his weight and squaring his shoulders as Sarevok turned to him from across the entryway. "You may have taken leave of your sanity, Ilyrana, but your sister hasn't. She was wise to believe my presence was needed. I couldn't ever imagine just how much though."
"Careful, elf," Sarevok said softly, his voice like growing thunder. "I have no quarrel with you, but if you insist, I would be more than happy to change that."
"Your thug, Tazok, tortured my wife to death!"
"And then, if I remember correctly, you hit Tazok in the face with a detonation arrow," Rana drawled. "Last warning, Kivan. Reign it in or leave. My tolerance for inter-party fighting has long since reached its limit."
"You travel with a drow and a paladin of Torm, a Harper and this monster, and gods only know what other corners of Hell you've dipped into to find more companions, and you expect everyone to just get along?!"
"Yup."
"I'd hoped you'd managed to mature some over these past few years, Ilyrana, but I see that even at my age, I can still be naive."
"Oh, Kivan, I could have already told you that," Rana sneered.
"Well, in Rana's defense, she's always had a knack for making even the most ill-tempered of people willing to fight beside anyone she asks them to," Aerie giggled, oblivious to the tension in the room.
Kivan looked at the avariel, cleared his throat as if to reply, then looked away, his cheeks reddening slightly.
Oh, now that is interesting.
"Make your choice," Rana exhaled, weary and ready to be done with this. "If you can't play nice, like the others have more or less learned to do, then you need to leave."
"Can we speak in private?" He eventually asked her after a moment of consideration.
"No," Sarevok replied before Rana could speak. "Bury the past now ranger, or I'll make sure it buries you."
"Enough, brother."
Kivan glared at Sarevok, and the Deathbringer returned it in full. That was one fight that Rana did not wish to see. Not while Sarevok was unarmored, anyway.
"Keep your dog on a short leash, Ilyrana. So long as he keeps his distance, I will keep mine."
Not surprising. It's harder to make a kill if he's within close range, isn't it, Kivan?
"Fine. Anyone else show up, or is this it?"
"We are the only ones who've arrived. Who else did you invite?" Aerie asked.
"Doesn't matter. I'm going to go speak with Keldorn. I hope you've all been apprised of what's going on?"
"Bad drow and big dragon," Safana yawned.
"Okay, if Keldorn agrees, I'd like to move on the drow within a day or two, so everyone get some rest."
Going up the stairs, she briefly dropped by her room to set Rook down on her bed and throw her bag of holding and sword belt onto her desk. As soon as time permitted, she needed a bath.
Just as she reopened her bedroom door to go speak with Keldorn, Sarevok barged in and slammed it, and then locked it, behind him.
"My memories of your former companions is a bit dim, Rana," he said without preamble, advancing on her as he spoke so that she was forced to take a few steps back. "But that elf conjures up a feeling I've only just recently become acquainted with, thanks to you. Who is he to you?"
I was wondering why the "I have no quarrel with you" remark seemed so out of character.
"The fact that you feel the need to ask kind of already answers that, doesn't it? We were together, briefly."
"What happened?"
"He's an asshole?"
"Considering that I now share your bed, this does nothing to reassure me."
Reassure you? Scared I leave assholes just as quickly as I acquire them?
"Well, you heard him, Tazok tortured and killed his wife. I was just recently sprung from Candlekeep, thanks to you, and he was the first elf, Elvenhair notwithstanding, that I'd met, and I found his broad shoulders and devotion to his departed wife to be attractive."
Fighting back a chuckle at his glare, she continued.
"It just sort of happened. He was an experienced ranger, I was an up and coming one. We were both elves. One thing led to another. Then he decided it didn't work and I agreed and we parted ways."
"Now, I want you to tell me again, only this time without the half-truths."
Sighing, she stepped closer to him and looked down at one of the scars on his forearm, tracing the silvery line with a fingertip, and avoiding his gaze as she told him the truth.
"I wasn't lying when I said it just sort of happened. There wasn't much courting, it was the result of constantly being pursued by assassins and the everyday fight for survival. He wanted me to be like his Deheriana, though he didn't say so at first. I figured that one out on my own, but it didn't bother me, I wasn't interested in anything serious, anyway. He… eventually voiced complaints that I was too… intense. Nothing like his wife, who was gentler and sweeter. And when he told me that made it difficult to pretend I was her, and being with me already felt like a betrayal to her memory, it stopped. I wasn't upset, and we still shared a common goal, so he remained a part of the group till the end. I haven't seen or heard from him since he left Baldur's Gate a few days after we killed you."
She didn't really know how she expected him to react. Growls and threats that if Kivan looked at her too long then he wouldn't be responsible for killing him. Something along those lines, perhaps. She had no way of knowing how to handle this, as neither Kivan nor Yoshimo had ever expressed any sort of possessiveness. When Sarevok lifted her chin to look at him, the simmering anger in his eyes wasn't surprising, but the understanding was, even if it shouldn't have been.
"You mentioned this morning that you'd had complaints about your ferocity in the bedroom. You were referring to him weren't you?"
"And Yoshimo," she murmured.
The understanding overtook the anger, but only by a margin.
"It disgusts me that his confession to using you as a placeholder for his dead wife doesn't infuriate you as it should. Were you to tell me that you thought of another while I was inside you, I would lose my mind, Rana. That you act like this is okay is beyond imagining. "
"Fine. You want me to rant about how much that stings?" She snapped. "That my first romance was all an illusion I knowingly played along with because I was young and stupid enough to believe he'd grow to want me for me? And that my second relationship was a lie? That I found out days ago, in this very room, in the letter from Yoshimo that he did actually lo… care about me, which is even worse than if he hadn't? Is that what you want to hear?! How is that any better, Sarevok?"
"There it is," he whispered absently, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone. "Eventually, I hope we'll reach the point where I won't have to goad your wrath to get you to put aside the jokes and the deflections and just be honest with me. And yourself. The elf is an idiot, as was your bounty hunter. But the latter is dead and gone, and the former can barely keep his eyes off the blonde, and I'm selfish enough to admit that his error in judgment with you in the past works to my advantage now."
"Even if you weren't here, I still wouldn't consider pursuing him again," she mumbled. "It's not just that he's a dick, it's… well, he's elven."
"That didn't bother you before… oh, I see."
She looked away.
Elven males were something she didn't think she'd ever be able to feel attracted to again. Not after being subjected to Irenicus. Which greatly limited her romantic options, as falling in love with someone who didn't share in her long life was suicide.
Oh, look. A non-elven immortal male. Just my luck.
Pushing away the thought of how strangely perfect Sarevok was for her, in this one regard, she glanced back up at him.
"You noticed his interest in Aerie."
"Mmm. If a man can tear his eyes away from you in favor of another female, then it must mean something."
Rana snorted and rolled her eyes at him, even though his words made the butterflies in her belly get all excited.
"Don't even try and say she's not pretty. Even I've drooled over her."
He chuckled and pulled her close, nuzzling her neck until her nails bit into his arms.
"'Pretty' is perhaps the appropriate word for her. But her inability to meet my eyes, and her fluttery, simpering nature, leaves much to be desired. My tastes are far more refined."
She burst out laughing.
"And here I thought you hated that I call you out on your bullshit and don't let you get away with the intimidating tactics."
"No, Rana, as irritating as you often are-" his words were briefly cut off when her elbow connected with his ribs. "-I'm rather fond of your annoying tendency to bicker over every little thing imaginable."
"Keep it up."
"I intend to…"
His lips captured hers before she could reply, and when she cocked her elbow for another retaliatory strike, he snatched her wrists and pinned them behind her back in one of his hands. Before she could muster the will to protest, he'd lifted her and pressed her back against the wall, her legs wrapping around his waist.
"A fortnight," she groaned, trying to remind them both that they'd agreed to keep this a secret for that time.
"I'll be damned if I have to wait that long to have you again," he hissed as he began pulling and tearing at her clothes.
Lowering her to her feet, she kicked out of her boots and shimmied out of her pants while he tore at his belt before picking her back up and pushing her roughly back against the wall.
It was fast, neither of them able to last for more than a few moments. When she threw her head back, her body tensing as she came, he clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries, before sinking his teeth into her shoulder to muffle his groan as he spent himself deep inside of her.
Her forehead fell against his neck, panting as she rode the aftershocks of her release. For several minutes, they stayed locked like this, savoring the contact.
"Can't sleep like this, little one."
"Can," she murmured drowsily, snuggling closer and yawning loudly.
"Come, you can go to bed and I'll talk to Keldorn," he said, brushing his lips against her hair as he set her on her feet, holding her waist when she swayed.
"Mokay," she yawned again, shuffling to her bed and collapsing into it.
Dragging the blankets over her, he scratched Rook behind the ears when the kitten curled up beside her head.
"Sleep well, little one."
Rana barely got out a 'good night' before she started snoring.
*
Rana gazed up at the Iron Throne headquarters in Baldur's Gate. Beside her on the worn stone streets, a patch of discoloration, discernible only when the light shines just right and you were standing in just the right spot.
She knew it was there, could see it out of the corner of her eye, but her attention was drawn to the more prominent stains that ran down the face of the towering building.
Sarevok's former home looked to be weeping blood. It oozed out of the windows, the bright red seeming to drain the color out of the stone and the greenery around the lawn.
A movement somewhere on the edge of her peripheral finally broke the trance of the sight. Looking around, she frowned at the rats swarming down a side street. Turning to follow their progress, her gaze found that discoloration, and she focused on it, wondering how it had come to be there, but it gave no answers, so she moved on.
Ravens called to one another as she walked the streets of the city, one of the only sounds now heard in what was once a noisy, busy place.
Shop fronts and homes that lined the streets were all bleeding as the Iron Throne was doing. The shattered windows and broken down doors looked like open wounds.
More rats swarmed around her, oblivious to her passing, as they moved from house to house. Tiny scarlet paw prints painted the ground, further leeching the area of color, except for that vivid, mesmerizing red.
The Ducal Palace was in similar shape, except for the corpses spilling from its interior. Bodies draped half-out from windows, with more lying scattered across the steps, and the entrance was choked with them and crawling with yet more rats. Their movements reminded her of maggots, the way the dead seemed to writhe and pulse with their feasting.
The Elfsong Tavern was gone, a heap of rubble all that remained.
The Flaming Fist were nothing more than suits of rusting armor left out in the sun, the bleached skeletons within obviously the first to have died and been devoured.
When Rana reached the harbor, after her circuit of the city, and finding no living people, she saw the smoking husks of a hundred ships clogging the waters.
"Rana? Rana!"
A girl's voice. Imoen's voice.
Rana followed her sister's call, all the way to the temple of Bhaal beneath the city.
As she entered the place that Sarevok had fallen, she found a man sitting atop the throne there on the dais. When he raised his head to look at her, she stopped, and drew no closer.
"Beautiful, isn't it, Rana?"
"What is this about, Cyric? What happened here? Why are all the people of Baldur's Gate dead?"
"You happened here, my dear. You… and him."
Cyric opened his gloved hand to reveal the broken remains of a small statue. She instantly recognized the features. He opened his other hand to reveal a similar statue, only this one was of her, not of Sarevok, and it was whole.
No… not quite whole. It wasn't in pieces, as his was, but there were cracks marring the surface. A few chips were missing.
"For every choice, a consequence," Cyric murmured, his voice echoing almost melodically throughout the chamber. "For every door you choose to walk through, a thousand others just like it close behind you. Other choices that you discarded, knowingly or not."
Cyric turned the statue of her over in his hand, then flipped it up into the air, sending it spinning end over end, where he caught it as it came back down.
"This dream is one of those doors. One of the ones you closed in favor of another. In this alternate moment in history, a child of Bhaal stole into the bedroom of another child of Bhaal one night. She tried to assassinate him in his sleep, but failed when he woke to stop her blade from piercing the back of his neck. He meant to retaliate, to kill her as he swore he would one day, but he failed, too."
Rana felt as if the room had begun to tilt and spin on its axis.
The dream… the one I'd had all those years ago, about trying to kill Sarevok in his sleep. The same one that he had dreamt too… this is what he's talking about. How… how could that have meant anything? We both saw it because we shared a soul already, thanks to Gorion, but it didn't mean anything. Or were we seeing what would actually happen if I'd tried to assassinate him?
"In that dream," Cyric continued. "He failed to kill you when he kissed you instead. This… would have been the end result of what happened in that bedroom. Your memories would have begun to return, and you both would have found it difficult to kill one another outright. Even though that is what fate demanded. What your father demanded. So, you would have raised your armies, rallied your allies, and laid siege to each other. This city would have been your battleground. And all of its citizens would have died in the crossfire."
"Why show this to me? What does it matter now?"
Cyric tilted his head, and his eyes flicked around the room, prompting her to do the same.
Bodies now littered the gleaming floor.
Tazok, Semaj, Angelo, Cythandria, Tamoko, Winski, and dozens of Flaming Fist.
Ajantis, Viconia, Minsc, Dynaheir, Kagain, Safana, Dorn, Kivan, Jaheira, Khalid, and all of the other companions who had joined with her during her time on the Sword Coast, whether they had still been there at the final battle or not, all lay dead around her.
"Only one survived this battle," Cyric said as he watched her turn a slow circle, looking at each of the faces of the slain.
Imoen sat against one of the pillars, her head in her hands, Rana's bow, broken in half, across her lap.
"Tell me something, Rana," Cyric said, and she stumbled back when he disappeared from his seat and appeared right in front of her. "If I told you that in the days ahead of you, in a battle not too unlike this one, that you would be the only one still standing, would you go back, if you could, and take this door?"
Raising his arms out wide to encompass the whole of the slaughter, Cyric's voice rose, and the voices of the dead around her joined in.
"For every choice, a consequence."
A sound of pain and denial escaped her as Imoen was suddenly among the dead, lying flat on her back, the Sword of Chaos impaling her through the chest. Sitting against the pillar now was herself, looking tired, but a triumphant smile playing across her lips as she took in the carnage before her.
"Would you take the door that led to the end where your sister lived? Or would you take the one where you lived?"
"I thought this was supposed to be a vision of what might have been. Not a vision of what could be."
"Some doors may be closed, but not always are they locked. These may appear once again further down the line, a second chance to right a wrong or perhaps to make the same mistake twice. Fate is fickle like that."
"You're saying I would have died, Sarevok and I both, along with the entire city, if that dream had been reality. Everyone except Imoen."
"Perhaps. It would have depended on what doors you chose after walking through this one. A thousand different possibilities open with each door, a labyrinth of yet more doors. This outcome was possible."
"And there's a door somewhere in my future that may lead to something like this."
"With you as the sole survivor. The sole victor. Your comrades in arms all slain. Does this future appeal to you?"
"Of course not!" She snapped, forboding and horror threatening to strangle the words in her throat. "It's no victory if everyone I love is dead!"
"Intriguing. I've seen how well you handle killing in the name of what you love. And what is right, or at least what you believe to be right. But I have not seen enough to know how you deal with sacrifice. I wonder… if you can manage that with the same grace as you do with loss and vengeance."
"Nothing is worth sacrificing all of them," she hissed, gesturing to the bodies of her companions.
"Nothing, hmm? And what if it weren't all of them? What if you could keep your Deathbringer, and the others, and only sacrifice one?"
"You're referring to Imoen. You should know that that is never going to happen. As I said, nothing is worth the sacrifices you speak of."
"Not even godhood?"
"Especially godhood."
"Ah, my little fool, you think to lie to a liar? I can see the hesitation, hear the uncertainty, even underneath that righteous indignation. I know you've thought of ascending. And, hey, I don't blame you! I thought of it, too! And then I did it. Do you want to know if I thought it was worth what I sacrificed?"
"I don't give a single fuck if you thought it was worth it."
"Because you know it was worth it. That it is worth it. You may try to bury that knowledge beneath your bleeding love and the scraps of honor you have left to your name, but I see it glinting beneath that rubble."
"Fuck you. Let me out of this."
"You do not command me, my dear. You're lucky I find it cute that you would even try. Tell me something else, why do you worship Mask? His power is all but gone, I saw to that. You cling to shadows, literally and figuratively. Why worship nothing when you could worship me?"
Rana bit her tongue to keep from telling him where he could stick her worship.
"I know where you're going with this. You said in the last dream that the quality of worshipper is important. I'm sure having a half-god as one of your sheep would be a nice boost for your power."
"It's not the power I would enjoy. It's the boost to my ego, having the daughter of my predecessor on her knees in supplication."
"If you're actually trying to get me to worship you, then that was the wrong thing to say."
Chuckling, he patted her on the head and turned away.
"Before I let you go, do me a favor?"
"No. And am I going to have to expect this everytime I go to sleep?"
"You should not be so quick to dismiss a favor for a god, sweetling. And yes, I intend to visit you again. I rather like our little chats."
Tossing her the statue of herself, he began to walk away, and the chamber and the bodies around her began to fade away.
"Look after that," he said over his shoulder. "You've already seen what happens when it breaks. Oh, and since you're not up for favors, how about a simple request? Tell Haer'Dalis I said 'hello', won't you?"
*
Sarevok
"Keldorn informed me last night that he's learned from the priests of Helm in this town that Cyric is in possession of six portfolios. Six, Rana. Deception, Murder, Strife, the Dead, Lies, and Intrigue. Strife, Deception, and Lies are what he's utilizing against you in these dreams. Why else would he tell you that? If Haer'Dalis really followed him, why would he reveal that to you?"
Rana continued to pace, her arms folded, and he could see her nails digging into her skin.
"Think for a moment, little one. He has no reason to help you, but every reason to make you tear your own group apart."
"You said he holds Illusion as well. He claimed Jorval didn't actually worship him, but Jorval was one hell of an illusionist. He disarmed the other clerics, but empowered Jorval. Probably to lull us into a false sense of security. Which worked, by the way. We weren't prepared for Jorval at all. Haer'Dalis is a Doomguard, and all of Cyric's portfolios sound pretty fucking chaotic, so it's not out of the realm of possibility that he'd be drawn to a god like that."
"So, what, you think he told you about Haer'Dalis in hopes that you would confront him, so that the tiefling would tear you apart once he learned he was outed? That he'd be able to take you and I down because he's been strengthened by his god?"
"I don't know what to think!" She snapped, running her fingers through her hair that hung freely down her back. "Maybe you're right, and he's just saying that to make me paranoid. Or maybe you're wrong, and Haer'Dalis is working for him, and maybe instead of confronting him like he wants, I should take care of this while he sleeps."
"And how would Imoen react? When she learns that her sister, who she's had a falling out with, sliced her lover's throat in the middle of the night. You spoke of mending fences, this will not do that!"
"Oh don't act like you care about my relationship with Imoen. I would think more love lost between us would make you happy."
He rose from where he was sitting on his bed and went to her.
"I know that if you don't fix things with her, your rage will grow and the taint will swallow you whole. I don't want that."
"And yet you don't like the idea of keeping us a secret for a little while. As if advertising what's going on between us would do any good either!"
"Do I have to spell it out for you why I don't like it?" He snarled. "I understand, and I agreed to do it, but you ask too much if you expect me not to resent it!"
Being woken in the wee hours of dawn by Rana slipping into his room had resulted in only one thing on his mind. But then she lit a few more of the candles on his dresser and immediately begun to pace while recounting her most recent visit from Cyric.
Her previous dream of the Prince of Lies had been disturbing enough. For some reason, he had assumed the god's hands were tied in this matter. He had to just wait and see how the Prophecy would unfold. Learning that Cyric could not only interfere, even when he'd been commanded not to, but could cut him out completely when he spoke to Rana, was very, very, unsettling. He could defend her body, and he could defend her soul from the Slayer, but he could not defend her mind from a god. Especially one that had portfolios that seemed finely honed for inducing paranoia, doubt, and insanity. And Rana's mind had always been on shaky ground.
"Do you remember," she said quietly, eyes distant in thought. "Right before we left, during the meeting, Haer'Dalis said that he'd heard rumors that Cyric isn't insane anymore. Where the fuck would he hear something like that, Sarevok?"
"The same place the paladin heard them, Rana?" He asked in a patronizing tone, his anger growing right along with her paranoia. "Not to mention he's a bard, part of his job is to listen to rumors!"
"Why are you so quick to defend him?"
That question hit him just as hard as if she'd emphasized it with a knife to his ribs. Not the question itself, exactly, but the suspicion in her voice.
I have to find a way to intercept these dreams. He obviously knows what he's doing if after two dreams, she's already like this.
Reigning in his temper, he reached out to pull her close. She stepped away, brushing his hand aside.
"Tell me why, Sarevok!"
"I'm not defending him! If you truly believe he's a spy for Cyric, then I'll kill him myself before the sun finishes rising. Say the word Rana and it's done. Whether or not he's innocent doesn't even concern me. What does concern me is that I'd be doing it because of the paranoia that Cyric planted within you. And that your sister will hate you for it. And you won't be able to handle that!"
"Don't tell me what I can't handle! You think Imoen has never been angry with me before? You think watching a companion die is new to me?! Hells, it's definitely not new to you! Like you haven't ordered someone's death because of a betrayal, imagined or real! You sent Tamoko-"
"Don't you dare bring her up. She has nothing to do with this madness. You're being irrational. Go downstairs, drink some damn coffee, and think about this. Gods, talk to Keldorn. Or your ranger."
"Which one?" She sneered, and turned to leave.
His temper snapped with that remark.
Snatching her around her waist, he hauled her close, her back against his chest. Leaning down until his lips brushed her ear, he tightened his grip on her so that she would know his next words were in earnest.
"I'm going to let that slide this time, Rana, because I know you're distressed. You need to calm down. You're playing right into Cyric's hands, and I can't help you if you won't listen to a word I say." He took a moment to gather his thoughts, as the feel of her pressed against him, the smell of her hair, and the way her breath quickened when she felt him hardening against her back had scattered them. "You think I give a damn about Haer'Dalis? About Imoen? About Valygar or Keldorn or any of the others? I'm yours, my dhaer. If watching the light leave their eyes would please you, then I will walk out of this room and bring them before you, and cut each of them down until this room runs red with the same torrents of blood that you saw running down the front of the Iron Throne in your dream. I don't fight for them, I don't bleed for their ideals, I don't kill for this realm or its people. I do all of this for you and you alone."
Gently, she tugged at his arm until he released her. She turned around and looked up at him. Her eyes softly glowing like the candlelight around them. Placing a hand on his chest, the one that bore the scars on her palm from that shard of glass she'd used to nearly kill herself, she slid it up until she reached the stubble across his jaw.
"Cyric says I'm not well acquainted with sacrifice. If that's true, I don't want that to change." Her words trailed off for a moment when he wrapped a hand around her lower back, his thumb drifting beneath her shirt to skim across the lowermost X carved into her spine. "We'll keep an eye on Haer'Dalis for now. But the dreams, Sarevok, these visions from the Mad God… I don't wish the others to know just yet. They already whisper. They already doubt. If they learn that Cyric speaks to me in my sleep, their belief in me will only erode further. And I need them to fight for me. I need Imoen."
"As you command," he murmured, letting his arm fall to his side when she took a step back.
He expected her to leave. The sun was nearly up, and the others would be waking or coming in from patrols. But then her hands grasped the bottom of her shirt and tugged it over her head before tossing it to the floor.
"And I need you."