I've edited the previous chapter to add detail to the fight scene with Firkraag, and altered the aftermath accordingly (relevant author's note at the beginning of that chapter) for those who, like me, were a little underwhelmed by my rendition of that battle. Hopefully it's more dramatic now. :P
And a quick warning for those who are not familiar with Vicona's romance dialogue, the story she tells at the end of this chapter is not a nice one. :(
Onwards, to a chapter that demonstrates viewpoints of characters at wildly different ends of the alignment spectrum! And a certain avariel who likes considering things. A LOT.
Let me know what you think. :)

Chapter 12: Strength, Not Weakness

Aerie had heard the distant rumble from the castle on the mountain when she, Garren's daughter and Anomen were no more than two miles from the main gates. It was still raining, more heavily than it had been when they arrived, and it had been impossible to make out the shape of the castle upon its rocky cliff. All they could do was hope that everything was all right, and that their friends had averted the dreadful threat the dragon posed to the Windspear Hills. It was at times like this that Aerie wished most poignantly that she still had her wings.

Anomen had given his cloak to Iltha, Garren's daughter, and from then on the rain had tinkled loudly off the priest's armour. In truth Aerie had been worried that this might alert any enemies that lingered, but Anomen had just laughed confidently in that startling way that made her heart beat just that little bit faster. She reminded herself that she had her spells if it came to a fight, and it was not that far to Garren's house from the castle, really.

Still, it had been a relief to finally reach the cabin, Iltha starting into a run as soon as they reached the hill to the building. Her cries of tearful, joyful relief had brought her father to the door and he had swept her up into his arms as soon as she reached him. Anomen and Aerie had stood back a little, and the avariel was smiling so much at the sight that she wished she could have shared this moment with more of the others. After a few moments Garren had ushered them into his house, thanking them effusively and asking about the others. Once more Aerie had been overtaken by worry, thanking him all the same for the hot food he offered them, along with towels to dry themselves.

The avariel had been staring out of the window towards the path amongst the trees, watching the sun fall beneath the hills, when she saw familiar shapes in the gloom. She could recognise the rather opposite forms of Mazzy and Minsc, with Jaheira following. When another figure, tall and definitely male, appeared out of the heavy mist of rain, Aerie's heart had skipped a beat hopefully but a moment of staring had proven to her that this was Valygar…not Haer'Dalis.

"They are here! I see them – coming up the hill now!" she cried.

Anomen was on his feet in a second. Iltha watched them from her father's side with nervous curiosity, wrapped in a blanket and hungrily eating some soup from a large bowl. Garren had an arm wrapped around her little shoulders protectively.

"Are they all there?" Anomen asked as Aerie flung open the door, waving at the others and earning a bellow from Minsc. She felt the priest's chest brush against her shoulder as he moved to look over her head at the others.

"I…I can't see all of them," she admitted, her stomach dropping further.

"Where are the others?" Anomen called over the rain as Minsc and Mazzy stumbled up on to the terrace and under the shelter of its awning, stamping mud from their boots. Their grins ought to have been enough, but the paladin answered all the same.

"Well. We are all well – and a great thing has been achieved today," the halfling promised as Aerie and Anomen stepped aside to allow her and the ranger to enter. Garren immediately moved to get them towels and food, Iltha in tow.

"Where are they? Are you not all together?" Anomen demanded, leaning about Aerie to peer once more into the rain just as Jaheira and Valygar arrived at the landing, pulling off sodden cloaks.

The druid sent him a long-suffering look and shook her head. At least all of them seemed well; Jaheira, Minsc and Valygar all bore bruises and cuts, but any nastier wounds must have been dealt with before they set off.

"The others have stayed to gather the reward Lord Windspear promised them," Mazzy explained darkly, her frown telling enough.

Aerie sighed, at once relieved and disappointed. She had come to expect and fear such behaviour from Elatharia and Viconia, and though it rather saddened her it was somehow worse to realise that Haer'Dalis had chosen to stay with them. But then, she had seen how he and Viconia were speaking of late and it was…hard to judge what his true intentions really were…

"They are welcome to all the wine and beer they can stomach from my stores," Garren laughed as he closed the door behind the last arrivals, handing out blankets and smiling in a way that made him look years younger.

"I rather think they will drink it anyway," Jaheira told him honestly.

"Then they may. I see before me many honourable people – but I know that the trade of the adventurer does not always allow us to choose those we travel with. They have helped you save my Iltha and freed this land of Firkraag; for that I will be grateful forever. And I have already told them that they may have free choice over the gold that wretched dragon amassed from my stores and his own."

"You are perhaps a little over kind in your assumptions that they will leave you with anything," Jaheira sighed, and Aerie's heart sank a little further. A glimpse at Anomen showed that his face expressed a similar level of disappointment. Garren Windspear appeared surprisingly unbothered.

"Trust me, they will not find my true stores of wealth. That castle was built by a man who slew dragons, and he knew not to leave his wealth in obvious places," the Lord of Windspear smiled again, his eyes shining with his continued relief and thanks, "Now, I have hot food and drink if you should like it. Please, make yourselves comfortable and dry yourselves off. I will pull up some more chairs by the fire and you may tell my daughter and me your rousing tale of dragon battle…"

Aerie had been distracted by her own thoughts after that, staring out of the window behind the others as they settled down, dried and free of armour about the fire to tell their tale. In truth, the death of anything, even an evil dragon, made her sad. And this mountainous place with its rushing winds made her think too much of her half-forgotten past with her true kin, the avariel. It had made her happy to begin with, but now it just made her miss her wings and the promise of the open skies.

Then there were her other thoughts - thoughts of Haer'Dalis. Since she had met him he had fascinated her and as time passed he had been in her thoughts increasingly. The sight of him made her heart race and he seemed to know exactly what to say – and how to say it – to make her blush and giggle. He wore feathers in his blue hair just as she did – as well as that woven bracelet. He named everyone after birds and spoke in that unusual, exotic way. He was uncommonly handsome, and tall, not to mention confident and perceptive. And then there were his dizzyingly attentive attentions. 'Dove'! He called her a dove! True, a 'mourning dove' at times, but a dove nonetheless. It was as if he saw her true winged self rather than this half-thing she had become. He had asked her to act in a play with him and complimented her on her candour, her strength, her beauty.

But…she could not hide the feelings of doubt and disappointment when she saw how unfazed he was by the less moral behaviour of some of their companions. She counted Elatharia as a friend, not least because of her evident love for Imoen and her determination to get her back…but Aerie would never consider the morals of the Transmuter to be a good starting point from which to judge all of her acquaintances. Viconia made her skin crawl at times with her comments and her worship of the dark goddess Shar. Edwin was so rude to nearly everyone that the avariel had done her best to stay out of his way. Korgan was even worse. Yoshimo was less offensive but rather shifty and silent at the best of times, while Jan – though endearingly akin to the gnomes she had become acquainted with when adopted by Quayle – was peculiar and sometimes unsettling.

This did not seem like the kind of company that could reflect well on Haer'Dalis – and it would appear that he had chosen to stay with them. Not to mention the time he spent with Viconia. Though the drow was so bitter and rude in her responses to him, he continued to engage her in conversation…and increasingly it seemed as though he was winning her over. Not that Aerie would begrudge anyone the chance to improve the drow's temperament and wretched outlook upon the world…but something about it tugged at her uncomfortably. Something about the way they talked to each other made her feel like an outsider, an unwelcome guest, an inconvenience…

"You seem troubled, my lady," a deep, well-spoken voice noted from nearby, a warm hand brushing against her shoulder. With a start she looked away from the rain to see Anomen leaning against the opposite side of the window frame and smiling across at her in that charmingly crooked way of his, arms folded across his broad chest.

"Oh! I…I was thinking about the battle. And the others," she admitted at last, pausing before glancing out at the rain again, "And…and about my wings," she added more quietly.

"It sounds as though 'twas an impressive thing. I am disappointed that I could not partake in such a valiant fight, also," Anomen agreed, totally missing her meaning but doing it so kindly that she almost did not notice, "But the choices of the others do make me worry," he frowned now, ducking his head a little as if curious, pausing uncomfortably as if unsure of how to phrase his next comment, "I have heard you and some of the others mention that you once had wings…"

"I am an avariel," she agreed, "I am…I was…a winged elf. We had our home in the mountains, up amongst the clouds, and we could soar out in the open sky whenever we wished," a smile found its way to her face at the memory, but she remembered that he had mistaken her words earlier, "But…I cannot share your wish for such a battle – even against a foe like Firkraag. Death of any kind saddens me."

"Ah, you have a good and gentle heart, Lady Aerie," Anomen smiled, his expression softening at her words.

She felt her cheeks warm up as she blushed, turning back to look at him again. His coppery hair was still a little damp from their walk through the rain, swept away from his face but tending to flop back forward endearingly. He was tall – in their group only Haer'Dalis, Edwin and Minsc were taller – and evidently muscular, dressed in a black gold-trimmed doublet over his white shirt that emphasised his broad shoulders and narrow hips.

"Th-thank you," she managed at last, remembering her manners. He was still smiling at her, unconsciously leaning a little closer to speak to her further.

"'Tis honourable, to be so good-hearted. The Radiant Heart teaches us that we should be honest in mind and soul, and it seems to me that you are both," he watched her for a moment, his eyes searching her face for something. She just blinked up at him, feeling foolish and clumsy, "If you would be willing, my lady, I should like to hear more about you. The avariel must be a good and beautiful people to count you among their number."

"Oh, my! Your flattery is starting to make me think you have me mistaken with someone else!" Aerie giggled despite her embarrassment – or perhaps in part because of it. Anomen just grinned more and shook his head.

"Nonsense! And I am serious about my request as well – will you tell me of yourself, Aerie?"

"I…I can try," she acceded after a moment, looking away shyly and suddenly feeling rather at a loss for words. The last time she had spoken to anyone about herself, her real self, had been to Elatharia over a month before. It suddenly struck her that for all of his attentions Haer'Dalis had never tried to get closer to her in this way, "But…it is not a pleasant story, Anomen. You may come to think less of me when it is over."

"Never!" he reached out and caught her hand up, pressing it firmly between both of his and meeting her eyes with an earnest look of his own, "People may have done bad things to you, and you may have seen terrible things, but that can never make you bad. To hear the truth of one such as you, and see you as you are, must surely prove that you are as good and strong as I suspect."

"I…Anomen what has brought this on?" she tried to pull away, uncertain all of a sudden. But his brows just rose in innocent confusion.

"You have helped a relative of mine today, and I have watched your kindness for a little while now," he admitted a little bashfully after a moment, his eyes flickering away before returning to hers with a radiant vengeance, "Would you permit a would-be knight a moment to learn more of you, my lady? I fear that I have been remiss in my attentions to you before this day."

"A-alright," she was blushing fiercely now, and it was making him smile more – which was making her blush more. Her voice sounded a little higher than she had expected, but she forged on rather than be thought an utter fool, "But I want you to tell me of yourself, too."

Radiant Heart, indeed.

They had found no more enemies in the castle, and when Yoshimo had been the only one to suggest that they remove the bodies of the hobgoblins they had killed, Haer'Dalis had offered to help as if not trusting what the Kara-Turan would do if left alone. They had rather given up on the concept of moving Firkraag's body; there was no way that they could get him through the door, let alone up the stairs. Korgan suggested taking an axe to him but no one else had the stomach for it.

Instead, while the rather tense and unlikely duo of the bard and the bounty hunter went about Yoshimo's suggested task of removing the bodies (which probably entailed making use of the castle's windows) the others moved through the labyrinthine building. Edwin vanished into the library with a bottle of wine and Elatharia lingered a little with him, while Korgan and Jan took most of the alcohol stores with them on their quest for more gold and gems. Viconia crept off on her own somewhere without a word, and Elatharia knew better than to go looking for her. The drow had her own secrets and they haunted her more than she admitted. Sometimes she just need time alone.

The Windspear library was quite large, a long room full of overflowing wooden bookcases. Its musty smell and impressive cross-vaulted stone ceiling sent the Transmuter's mind wheeling back to thoughts of Candlekeep and happier times flitting from book to book, searching for the best stories. Now she saw the titles of the adventure books and felt a pang of nostalgia…but also something else, something more bitter, brought on by the knowledge that life would never be like those books and she had been deceived by them in her childhood.

"It's never like they say it is," the Transmuter complained after flicking through the pages of yet another novel, pushing it back into place behind Edwin's seat with a puff of dust.

The Red Wizard had found the one table in the room, hidden away by the place's only window – a huge, arching thing that overlooked the hills of Windspear which were now grey and apparently endless in the evening gloom and the rain. He had been rather efficient in determining the library's organisation system and found only about four books which held any interest to him. He coughed as the dust Elatharia had unsettled drifted around him, swiping at the air above the pages of the book he was perusing, shooting her an annoyed glance as he covered the mouth of his wineglass to avoid particles settling in his drink.

"I have met Elminster and he just seemed like an old man in a red cloak. They always say that he cast that huge fireball at the Magefair…and I suppose he must have. But…the stories always paint him as invincible, as endlessly powerful, surrounded by the glory of Mystra always. I did not see any of that. Still…"

"Ugh. I remember that you were more impressed than that when you met him for - what was it? The second time? In Baldur's Gate. 'Elminster this, Elminster that'," Edwin watched her for a moment when she glared at him, a hint of something that might have been mischief in his dark eyes until he turned away and sipped at his wine, "(Give me two thousand years and a pointy hat and I'd kick his arse!)"

Elatharia smiled at that.

Taking up her own wine glass she peered over his shoulder, not really seeing what he was looking at but rather remembering how those tattoos visible across his neck and collarbone had glowed with his magic earlier. In truth, the defeat of Firkraag had put them both in a good mood. She felt rather giddy. And promptly quashed the beginnings of those thoughts that whispered her mood was thanks to all of the dead they had left in their wake that day.

"I suppose you will also be an old man in red robes one day," she acceded after a moment, grinning when she awaited his response.

"Not if I can help it," Edwin muttered, so softly that she almost did not hear him.

A real glance down at the book in front of him revealed that it was that same book of maps he had been looking at since she met him in Athkatla, this time open on a page discussing the origins of a certain section of the Graveyard District. Drawing up a chair, Elatharia rather unceremoniously reached out and covered the page as best she could with her hand.

"What?" Edwin demanded, staring down at her hand in outrage before turning to look at her.

She raised an eyebrow at him before remembering that she was still wearing her mask. Such expressions were harder to make out whilst she was wearing it, so she tugged at the ribbon holding it fastened and removed the cloth, settling it upon the table and taking a long gulp of wine before looking back at the Red Wizard and emphasising her previous expression, waiting for him to catch on. Unlike Haer'Dalis, Viconia and Aerie that morning, he did look at the markings splayed beneath her eyes, those dark and indented lines that had made so many uneasy. Unlike those who had instilled in her the need to wear a mask, however, the Red Wizard seemed far from offended. He seemed distracted, curious – though this was by far not the first time he had seen her face like this. He did not seem revolted.

"Well?" she prompted, earning a frown from Edwin and breaking the moment.

"Sadly, Divination is never going to be a school with which I can entangle myself," he told her icily, pushing at her hand to attempt to read the book again and groaning in annoyance when she did not relent, "And so sadly – or perhaps fortunately for my sanity – I cannot read your mind."

"The book, Edwin," she reminded him, "You have been looking at that book since we met in Athkatla. On the road here, in this library when you have new books to peruse. What's in the Graveyard, Edwin?"

"Nothing for you," he grimaced, slamming the book shut and only narrowly missing her fingers when she pulled her hand away sharply.

"So…something very interesting," she surmised, unable to keep her tone quite so cheerful when he had so nearly caught her hand, "Let me think…a Red Wizard looking for something powerful in the Graveyard District…hmm…sounds like Necromancy to me. And what would a Red Wizard who is in fact a Conjurer want from something like that? Well, maybe it has something to do with that comment you made earlier. That one about not wanting to become an old man in red robes…"

"You cannot have it," the Red Wizard snapped, pushing the book away and turning to face her fully, glaring, "I have spent quite some time considering its location and I will not be stopped or thwarted…"

"Did I say I want it, or wanted to stop you?" Elatharia asked too innocently, "Necromancy is a fascinating subject, one that certain fools at Candlekeep would never permit me to consider at any length – for reasons that seem to make a little more sense nowadays, I suppose. But I do not want lichdom," when his eyes flashed, she knew she had worked it out, at least to some extent, "At least not at the moment."

It would be a shame if he decided to take such a course, she would not deny herself that truth. For all of his acerbic ways and his tendency towards insults, there was something very alive about Edwin, something fierce that she found fascinated her as much as his substantial magical powers. He would not seem like that once he was undead. He would be calm and still and cold, not fierce and impatient and warm.

"It is not what I seek currently, either," he admitted after a moment, "(Though the aim remains. One day.) But it is attached to the theme of lichdom. It is…a Nether Scroll. And that is all I shall say about it. Oh, well…and it is guarded by a lich, I suspect."

He shrugged, his nonchalance apparently genuine. His confidence was supreme, particularly after the show of power he had achieved against Firkraag.

Elatharia's eyes widened at his words. Such a scroll would be an invaluable magical item! A magical scroll that had survived the fall of Netheril, that floating nation of magical might that crashed to the ground centuries before. It was a place of myth and horror, a tale to be remembered for the great and terrible hubris of its rulers.

A small smile found its way to Edwin's face as he watched her gaping mutely at him. He sipped his wine again, keeping his eyes on hers and raising an eyebrow smugly. The silent question was there, though he was too proud to ask it, obviously. If you will not take it for yourself…will you help me?

"Will there be other things in that tomb…that might further the cause for Imoen?"

"Most probably," Edwin rolled his eyes, "You are so single minded about the girl. There could be power in there for you to take for yourself and all you think of is her. Selfless and idiotic are adjectives which invariably occur together. In this case they have merged spectacularly in you."

Elatharia was in no mood to consider that topic with him and opted to wait for him to say something else rather than rise to the bait – or else flee. As it turned out, it only took Edwin a few moments to come up with his next comment, something which was sadly not all that far away from the previous topic.

"It occurs to me that you have not entirely fulfilled our bargain, Transmuter," he noted quietly, his dark eyes gleaming victoriously, "The wine, the scrolls and the books in this library which you promised me are all here, yes. And I have told you what it is that has my attention. But I believe you said you would also explain to me what has you so entranced within your own journal."

"You are assuming it is more fascinating for you than it really will be," Elatharia promised him, annoyed. All of her giddiness had been displaced now with that reminder…of what she had been avoiding in that journal.

"Perhaps it is not a map to a powerful scroll or some valuable treasure – if that were so you would be reading it every night, I know," the Red Wizard smiled, sensing he was getting closer to the truth, tapping his fingers on the table and watching her closely as he spoke, "And I doubt you fear to read what you have written before; this would not make sense, given how frequently and religiously and fervently you scrawl away in there."

He caught her wrist where her hand still rested upon the table, turning it over and running a finger over the scars there from Irenicus's manacles. When he raised his eyes to hers they were gleaming with the pride of his victory over her cryptic avoidance, his dark smile only growing the more she glared.

"And so I must conclude that whatever you fear to read in that book of yours was not written by you but was in fact written by Imoen," his voice lowered and his fingers curled around her wrist when she tried to pull away, "And that you fear to read it because it details the tortures Irenicus inflicted upon your precious sister."

He hardly sounded disturbed. And for a moment Elatharia saw him as she suspected Aerie did, as she knew Gorion would have wanted her to. A man with more interest in power and finding it that in people, someone who could be trusted only to do what would serve himself, ultimately, and who found greater satisfaction in being right than in being kind.

Sadly, it began to occur to her that many of these traits were her own as well…especially when it came to her quest to free Imoen. The Red Wizard was at least known for keeping his vows, when such things were forced upon him – Elatharia was not. Thoughts of Bodhi immediately flashed through her mind and she bit back her angry retorts, wrenching her arm free and staring down at her mask upon the table. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Edwin relax, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms. Perhaps he had known the risks of talking to her about that most volatile of subjects after all.

"I will help you find this 'Nether Scroll'," she sighed softly after a few more moments of silence, running her hands through her messy hair and tugging irritably at a few of the worse tangles.

"Good," Edwin inclined his head, eyes narrowing as she gave up on her hair, "And in return I will not spill the secret of your weakness to the others (as if I would deign to talk with them at all)," he ignored her when she looked back at him warningly, "Though I would recommend reading it. Surely it is important to know all that you can of this Irenicus? Surely this is why Imoen wrote it in the first place? You seek him for her, and yourself. The only two people on Faerûn that your dark heart holds in any esteem," she brushed aside his mocking words, so he continued, "When you must face him, you must do it with all of the advantages you can find."

Elatharia could not deny the truth of his words.

"You think too much, Edwin," she complained at last, pouring herself more wine rather than looking at his smug expression.

"You are a poor wizard if you believe it is ever possible to think too much, Elatharia," he chided back.

"I said you think too much," she corrected him, smiling a little now at least, "That is not a problem that should constrain other wizards, but you…"

"That is because I am the best of the wizards you know," he reminded her, smiling slyly when she rolled her eyes, "And there you are really agreeing with me."

A moment passed and then the Red Wizard reached across the table, rifling through a pile of scrolls before he found the one he was looking for. Wordlessly he unravelled it in front of her and for a moment she considered ignoring it. But she was a wizard and there were few things that could capture her interest like the shapes and sigils of magic. When at last she looked down, seeing Edwin's hand holding down the top corner, rings glinting in the flickering candlelight, she caught the slowly recoiling bottom edge of the parchment automatically. For a moment she saw the difference between them; her hand small and thin, pale and mottled by scars at the wrist. His larger, the skin several shades darker, fingers long and slender but not thin, nails carefully kept as befitted his trade as a Conjurer, one black stroke of a tattoo glimpsed above his wrist just before the cuff of his jacket…

"Well?" his voice sounded closer than she had been expecting, his shoulder brushing hers as he gestured with his free hand at the diagram before her. When she saw it and recognised it her eyes widened and she looked at him quickly, hardly even registering his closeness.

"Oh!"

Edwin's smile was slow and utterly self-satisfied, except for that way in which his eyes watched her expression changing, that altogether human pride at affecting her emotions which he was evidently completely unaware of. She knew that if he ever realised why he had done this, choosing to show her this spell now after what they had discussed, then he would never do such a thing again.

"Ruby Ray of Reversal," she uttered at last, now far more aware of the way he continued to watch her when she looked back down at the beautiful geometric designs of the Transmutation spell in front of her, "I can't cast this. This is…this is one of the most difficult spells in my field…" her fingers traced the designs, itching to learn them but knowing that, for now at least, such a thing would be beyond her, "Where did you find this?"

"In this library, obviously." Edwin did not sound as annoyed as he had intended.

"Are there more?" she was smiling genuinely when she turned to him again; and though the way he was looking at her now made her bite her lip subconsciously and her heart beat faster…she was too distracted by the promise of more conciliatory magic to care.

The rain had finally stopped. Just minutes before it had been roaring all around Viconia on the roof of the castle, the awning by the door hardly providing any protection against the downpour thanks to the rushing wind. But now all was dark and quiet, the Windspear Hills rolling out behind her, the mountain into which the castle was cut rearing sheer and cold beside her, and the Cloudpeaks, huge and close ahead, rising so high that she had to crane her neck to make out their cloud-shrouded peaks capped in snow. Though the wind was still whistling, rushing mercilessly against her cloak, the rainfall pouring over the mountainside in a torrent somewhere out of sight, there was something peaceful about being up here. She had never been further away from the Underdark, so high upon this surface world.

It was dark now, the cleared sky glittering with stars and still mercifully void of its moon. The world was peaceful…but even now she found herself looking north, thinking on what lay beyond those mountains, not two hundred miles away along the Trade Way. Nashkel. And beyond it: Beregost. And those memories, of what had befallen after she left Elatharia – and before – were far from peaceful. They were far darker than anything she recalled of Menzoberranzan. Somehow it felt as though…if she could just think for a few moments of Nashkel and Beregost without struggling to breathe then she would have won. She would be able to prove that she, a drow female, was powerful and strong and indomitable and would never be made to suffer again.

"Tis a wondrous night. The rainclouds part and the stars wheel overhead, shining silver and ancient down upon us. The wind howls and yet here you stand, still and proud, wrapped in gold and your deepest secrets…all in the shadow of these great blue-black mountains."

She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice, deep and passionate, free of the undercurrent of lies she was so used to and tinged with that slight peculiarity of an accent that was not native to this Plane.

"Did I not tell you to keep to the avariel, male?"

Haer'Dalis just laughed at that, lingering several steps behind her. When she turned unwillingly to look at him he was leaning in the doorway that led back down into the castle, heels crossed and arms folded. And smiling, always smiling.

"You did," the bard agreed with a shrug, "But I do not wish to."

"Is there not somewhere else you could be? Drinking with the slovenly hargluk and the gnome? Guarding the bounty hunter?"

"I would rather he were not with us, but I have left him with the War Dog and the Wren," by which Haer'Dalis appeared to be referring to Korgan and Jan, "No doubt they will prove a difficult problem for him, should he decide to break his cover. As for the wizards they are rather engrossed in each other and I doubt they would be amenable to my company," his smile grew when Viconia's eyebrow's rose doubtfully, "I did watch for a little moment, my Blackbird. It is rather curious, to see how they tangle themselves up in each other without ever touching. How they make love with their minds and the war of their intelligence rather than succumbing to what they wish."

"You have an exceptionally sentimental way with words, tiefling," Viconia sneered, tensing when he advanced a few steps.

"They keep secrets and cannot overcome them," he noted softly, still watching her closely. He was just one step from her now, still smiling, hands hooked in his belt, "As do you, my Blackbird. Would you not tell this Sparrow what holds you back?"

His words and his approach baffled Viconia. Everything about his constant pursuit of her, his unflappable responses, the way he was watching her with that knowing smile – all of it suggested that he wanted her. And yet he stopped that one step away, just looking at her in the utter darkness. That look stopped the acidic response she had intended and for a moment she struggled with her words, not sure of how to continue.

"I should thank you for your timely aid before," Haer'Dalis continued, showing her his bloodstained sleeve with a little grin that never really bothered to come close to the bashfulness that his tone suggested. The drow could see his arm beneath the tear in the cloth, muscles moving fluidly as he shifted. Remembering touching him before, her eyes followed the reverse of the path her hand had made earlier, over his shoulder and across his chest, "This Sparrow does not fear oblivion but it would be perhaps a little dull if…"

Viconia had hardly been listening and her advance upon him seemed to catch him by surprise. When she stepped forward, hooking one hand behind his neck and the other catching at the opening in his doublet, pressing her lips to his, he took a sharp breath in, his words stopped abruptly. At last, a way of silencing him! Perhaps this was all that it would take to cease his never ending questions.

She had expected a fierce response, something implicit of simple desire…and again he surprised her. And she surprised herself by how much she suddenly wanted him. He ducked down a little to keep the contact, his hands easing slowly over her waist, his lips brushing just as languidly against hers, parting them, deepening their kiss. There was nothing but her thin mithral shirt between his hot fingers and her skin. She heard herself moan involuntarily, attempting to drag him closer – but he moved back.

A little stunned by what had happened, Viconia attempted to pull him back, breathless and embarrassed again. He smiled at her, one hand moving to the back of her head and tangling in her hair as he spoke now, his lips moving close to her ear. To her horror, she found that she was trembling, closing her eyes as his breath tickled her skin.

"I will not stop asking for you to unburden yourself, my Blackbird, though you try so hard to dissuade me and distract me," Haer'Dalis whispered, humming in satisfaction when his lips brushed over her skin and her grip tightened on the back of his neck, "Though of course your attention is not unwelcome."

It seemed as if he were distracting her and it took a monumental effort for Viconia to disentangle herself from him, stepping back and trying to steady her breathing, doing her best to school her expression. It seemed she had misread the situation quite spectacularly.

"You wish to hear the truth," she stated, the reality of what she was about to do weighing heavy on her heart, "To laugh at my weakness. I should have expected nothing less of a demonspawn such as you, deceiving and using your…your betters…to weaken them and ruin them…"

"My Blackbird," his voice lowered, gently chiding, "I think you know that is not true."

Even more unsettled than if he had agreed with her, Viconia drew herself up and nodded once, as imperiously as she knew how.

"Very well. What is it you are so determined to ask of me?"

"I wish to know what it is that has so turned you against this surface world," Haer'Dalis told her, moving around her with his usual easy grace, sitting upon the low wall around the roof.

There was nothing between him and the open air…but the thought of ending his curiosity permanently filled her with a strange panic, and for an uncomfortable moment Viconia had to look anywhere but at him. His request reminded her of the crush of pressing soil, the blind madness that had overcome her upon opening her eyes to impenetrable darkness and no air. But it would be weak to run from this now, and so she began, fists balled by her sides and eyes watching the dark star-filled sky behind Haer'Dalis.

"It began with a merchant caravan. I had not been upon the surface long, dizzy from the open sky and blinded by the wretched sun, chased and hunted by the elves in the forest in which I had arrived. It was by chance that I stumbled onto the road – and when I saw the merchant caravan approaching me I thought I was surely doomed. But before the guards could kill me the master of the caravan stopped them. He was gentle with me, offered me food and water. I am drow and I know better than anyone that such 'kindness' is only ever an opening for some favour or other. As it turned out, he permitted me to live…as his 'pleasure slave' as he called it. I did as I had to, for as long as I had to and it was better than dying at the hands of the elves. Then, when we neared Beregost, he died of a heart…problem. Entirely none of my doing, though he would surely have deserved it for his impudent use of a female – but the guards assumed it was my doing, that I had called upon Shar to strike him down for using me. They attacked me…and I fled. After a short few days, I met Elatharia as I was being chased from Beregost by a group of Flaming Fist mercenaries…and for a time I was truly safe, hidden within the disguise she forms for me," Viconia hesitated, her hands shaking though her voice was steady, hoping that perhaps Haer'Dalis would take this for the end.

"But there is more," he prompted softly, "Something worse." It was the most serious she had ever heard him, but still she dared not look at him, pacing before him now as she continued, her voice raising angrily.

"Amongst my people what I have endured is a shameful thing. A sign of my great weakness and further evidence for the deeds that weakened my House and sent me from Menzoberranzan. It is for my stupidity, my childish weakness, my own lack of sense that it happened! I will not be pitied! I will not!"

"From one such as I, who has fought in the Blood Wars and will one day no doubt have no choice but to return, there will be no pity," Haer'Dalis promised solemnly, his dark eyes catching and holding her stare in a manner that made her heart pound and her breathing unsteady, caught somewhere between panic and the memory of his lips upon hers, "There will be only understanding. The divide between empathy and sympathy is almost philosophical at times, but I shall stay well clear. Say your words, my Blackbird. I shall hear, and listen, and remind you of my understanding."

He was so calm, leaning back and hooking his hands over the edge of the wall, his heels kicked out over the floor, that it was hard to stay genuinely angry. Viconia wanted to hate him for what he was making her say but instead she found that her chest was tightening with the need to say it. Sighing in resignation she leaned back against the wall of the little atrium leading back into the castle, sliding down to sit upon the floor of the roof and giving herself a moment to find her words. Haer'Dalis moved to sit back against the wall opposite, expression unreadable.

"I left Elatharia and her group, wanting to find my own way. I wanted to find a home, somewhere to stay and to call mine. It took some time, though I was helped a little by the mayor of Beregost who recognised me from my time travelling with Elatharia, but I eventually found a house a little way out from the town. I tried my hand at growing vegetables and keeping a few animals; hardly labour for a matron mother's eldest daughter, but I had already fallen and I was as determined to live then as I am now. There were still some supplies that I could not get alone, and I managed to develop an awkward acquaintance with the owner of the next farm along. I wove some lies to him about why I could not travel into the town and he seemed happy enough to help, bringing me back things I needed from the market when he went into town. He was always kind to me and never asked why I always kept my hood so low over my face. We developed a friendship of sorts and I determined to show him my true face – when I did he showed no surprise, only smiling. Believing I had at last found someone upon this surface world who did not show such prejudice, weak fool that I am, I accepted his invitation to have dinner at his house that evening."

"And I take it that when you got there they were far from welcoming," Haer'Dalis prompted. Viconia smiled without mirth, her heart pounding in her chest with the fear of recounting what followed.

"Indeed. He and his three adult sons bound me, raped me and beat me until I lost consciousness. When I awoke it was to impenetrable darkness, and a weight pressing tightly around me. I convulsed with the need for breath, my body burning with the pain they had left for me. They had buried me alive…but they had failed to kill me, and did not know that my goddess is Shar, who dwells in the darkness and heeded my call. She gave me her aid and I crawled to the surface. Once outside I saw they had buried me not far from their house, where they were drinking heavily to celebrate their conquest and victory. When the youngest son left the house to relieve himself I lured him into the barn and set it alight. Drawn by his screams his father and brother fought to help him. That brother I strangled with rope when he went to the well to fetch water, and when his first son died screaming the father fell to his knees, making it easy for me to bury an axe in his skull. I left the final son then to witness the chaos I had wrought and to learn that is what befalls those who attempt to shame and murder drow."

The silence rang between them. She waited for his laughter, his jibes…none came. Instead, his eyes turned to the starry sky, expression thoughtful.

"I thank you for sharing your tale, my Blackbird," Haer'Dalis said at length, watching her as she stood unsteadily, "And in the telling you have proven yourself strong, and not weak. The bitterness you feel is theirs, and not your own."

Gods damn him, he said it with such feeling.

Viconia had no words for him then, though something in his tone made her heart swell and her throat tighten. Her eyes were stinging. With only one more sidelong glance to the tiefling, she pressed her trembling lips together and fled from him.