New Life
How long she'd been unconscious, Lysara didn't know. But she woke up with the sun shining brightly overhead. For a moment, just one moment, she didn't remember anything of the previous night, and wondered why she was upside-down with her rear laying on what felt like a bush, with the blood rushing to her head and her shoulders pressed uncomfortably into the dirt. The pain in her left shoulder, which threatened to knock her out again when she tried to right herself reminded her. In fact everything hurt as a tide of horrible memories flooded back, and her cheeks grew damp, then outright wet, as tears came more freely than she'd ever shed them. Then, as suddenly as a curtain dropping down on a stage, her sorrow, her rage… everything, all her emotions… went numb, and the flow of tears stopped. She'd obviously fallen out of the tree, and debated whether she was lucky to be alive. In the end, she decided she was.
The unknown man in the armor, however; the bastard who had taken her father from her and shattered her heart… that she was alive would prove very unlucky for him, very soon, if she had her way.
Whatever toxin had coated the bolt was obviously no more serious than a sleep-inducing poison; making her wonder briefly whether or not they wanted her dead. Perhaps they had meant to take her alive for some reason. Perhaps the bastard had simply wanted her defenseless so he could kill her without a fight. She pushed the question and her suppositions aside, filing them away for later; assuming there was a later for her. The crossbow bolt protruding from her shoulder was very serious, though she didn't know what she could do about it. She had nothing to heal herself with on hand, no skill to use it with even if she had something, and knew she wouldn't make it very far alone even if she could force herself to walk. Even touching that thing sticking out of her shoulder seemed to make her want to faint again and just lay there until she went to meet her god. It was a fight just to stay awake.
But one of the things she'd always liked about herself was that she had a strong will; a fact that had caused Gorion to call her pure stubborn on multiple occasions. With some difficulty she extracted her legs from the bush she was laying on, and forced herself into a sitting, and then a kneeling position. After fighting her body for a few more minutes after that, she stood up, and took her first staggering steps toward her father's corpse. Even that wasn't easy, as getting to her feet made her head swim so badly she had to fight that much harder to stay conscious, and each step renewed the feeling, and sent a fresh bolt of pain through her. If she had eaten anything in the last day or so, she would have been in serious danger of losing her last meal.
She found that she didn't care, as if she were looking at herself from outside her own body even as she forced herself to move. She still couldn't move her left arm, or even twitch the fingers of that same hand, and glancing down showed her that she was still bleeding around the bolt, though slowly. Likely the bolt itself was all that was keeping her from quickly dying of blood loss.
She knew she should have felt surprised that she didn't care, but she just… didn't care.
She collapsed to her knees again at his side, and the jolt nearly made her pass out again by itself. For what seemed like an eternity, she knelt there, staring at all that was left of the man who'd raised her, cared for her, and loved her as if she were his own for as long as she could remember. The man that she loved as her father, who had frequently made her wish that she really was his daughter, though she'd known since she was very young that she wasn't of his seed. This man was her father, and she would correct anyone who tried to say differently.
His body was in two pieces, lying in a massive puddle of dried blood that had soaked into the ground, and ants and other insects were already at work on his flesh. They were nothing she could do anything about. She thought she should say something, but no words would come, except:
"I'm sorry, father. I'm so, so sorry."
She sat there, her weight resting on her ankles, saying goodbye to him over and over again and trying with her good hand to compose his hair, smoothing it out of his face, until she fell over again onto her side. The world spun around the one point upon which she could focus: his kind features. He looked so peaceful; she'd expected a mask of pain, perhaps worry or fear, but he was… serene. Her head buzzed, her shoulder throbbed, and she couldn't seem to move at all anymore.
"Goodbye, father," she whispered as the world faded to black once again. "I'll… see you… soon enough."
[-]Lysara was surprised, in a disinterested, analytical sort of way when she awoke next. She was surprised that she awoke. She'd been certain that she was going to die. Flat on her back, her eyes focused with some difficulty on the leaves sprouting out of the branches above her. Her shoulder had stopped throbbing, but when she tried to sit up, it started again, and an incredible wave of nausea nearly overwhelmed her once more. Moving at all seemed to make that happen, as she discovered when she tried to wiggle the fingers of her left hand. As before, they didn't even twitch that she could feel. She just let out an inarticulate moan and lay back again, this time noticing that something soft had been placed under her head, and that her cloak was acting as a blanket. So, had someone rescued her? Was it some lackey of the murderer from last night, keeping her alive long enough for him to return and finish her off? Or some kind-hearted person who had wandered by and decided to help?
Even turning her head was an effort. And she had the most lovely view of dirt and trees surrounding her. She seemed to have been dragged – at least, her back and rear felt like she'd been dragged rather than carried – to the foot of a large cypress tree. Directly above her she saw nothing but white bark and green leaves, and small patches of open sky visible in the gaps between. But she managed to look down at herself, finding that someone had changed her blouse for her, and the bolt was no longer sticking out of her shoulder. The tightness across her chest and neck – she still couldn't feel her left arm – told her that she'd been bandaged. Her head felt… hollow, likely from the blood loss. Likely there was barely enough for her heart to process and keep her alive. Her breathing was labored and she felt cold, despite the pleasant warmth of the sun.
After what seemed like an eternity, she heard movement not far away. Feigning sleep, she heard soft footsteps closing in on her. She lay stock still until she sensed someone very near her, and felt a gentle pressure against the side of her neck. In one sudden movement that almost knocked her out again, her good arm snapped up and her fingers closed around a thin, lean wrist even as she snarled. Her eyes opened, but whoever it was spoke before she could clear the black spots from her vision.
"Oh, thank Mask," a familiar voice of a young woman spoke from above her. Her eyes focused with difficulty on the face of her best friend. Her chocolate-brown, almond shaped eyes were filled with concern and fear for perhaps the first time. And Imoen's round, normally cheerful features were filled with worry instead of their normal mischief. "I thought you were dead for sure!" she exclaimed. "Now don't you try to move," she added, gently and with shocking ease prying Lysara's hand off her wrist and laying it on her stomach, "H-how… how are you feeling?"
"Water," Lysara croaked in response. Imoen moved out of her line of sight, but returned a moment later. As gently as she could, Imoen helped Lysara into a sitting position, and pressed the mouth of an open water skin to her lips. Delicious water flowed slowly into Lysara's very dry mouth and straight down her throat a little at a time, for which she was grateful. Even those small amounts made her sputter and spit the first few mouthfuls back out. It may have been warmer than she liked, but at that moment it was the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted.
"You lost a lot of blood," Imoen explained as she gently laid her friend back down, "I was terrified that I was too late. A-are… how are you feeling?"
"Thick," Lysara answered quietly, summing up how her body felt with just the one word as she closed her eyes. "How…" she started, but she'd also started shaking her head, which made that damnable dizziness return.
"How did I find you?" Imoen asked her as much as asked for her. She really did know Lysara well, and how her mind worked under normal circumstances. Then again, it was an obvious question. "It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. There were a lot of broken branches and trampled brush on your trail and once the sun was up I saw smoke. Two big bodies – I think they were ogres, by the size - were smoldering still, more like melting really. I lost my dinner before I saw you… and then I lost it again."
"Father…" Lysara let out. She tried to scan the clearing, but couldn't muster the strength to raise her head.
"He's… He's dead, Lys," Imoen said gently. "I am so, so sorry. You were at death's door. I couldn't let the carrion be drawn here while-"
"What… have you… done?" Lysara gasped out, realizing that she must have done something with his body. She tried to rise even as Imoen gently but firmly restrained her with that same frightening ease.
"I set his stuff aside and I… I burned his body," Imoen blurted out. "Still! Be still. You shouldn't move around yet."
"How could you?" Lysara demanded, still struggling against Imoen's grip, though the nausea was almost overwhelming her yet again. "We could have… could have…" But if Imoen replied, Lysara didn't hear it. The darkness had reached up and claimed her senses again.
[-]"Hey… you awake?" Imoen's voice pierced the veil of nothingness. Lysara struggled, breath gasping as her eyes opened to Imoen's face once more. She turned her head away, not able to do much else, refusing to look her in the eye.
"Go away." Lysara said flatly.
"Not a chance," Imoen countered instantly, sounding truly hurt. "Look, I'm-"
"Go away," Lysara repeated, just as flatly. She should have been feeling bitter and angry. Knowing that Gorion was gone beyond any hope of raising him from the dead, and being 'helped' by the bitch who had sent him beyond recall should have been enough to set her temper off like throwing a torch on a wagon full of fireworks. But there was nothing. She was shocked to realize she'd thought of Imoen as a bitch; shocked enough that Imoen got her opening.
"Listen to me… please?" Imoen implored. Without waiting for Lysara to say anything she pressed on. "I'm really sorry about it, but… I had to choose. You were dying, Lys, I know you were. He was…" Imoen's speech was choked off with tears now, but she made herself keep going. "H-he was already d-dead; m-mutilated past any hope. If I hadn't burned him, the carrion would've been all over this place... all over you." She wiped the tears from her own eyes, and straightened Lysara's hair, which kept Lysara's attention on her. "They… they would've been ripping you apart. I couldn't… I couldn't…"
"You're an expert on telling when someone is 'past hope' now then?" Lysara asked quietly, objectively; though she didn't think Imoen had heard her.
"I couldn't carry you both back, not by myself," Imoen continued when she'd composed herself a little. "A-and… and I didn't dare move you more than I had to anyway. A lot of the blood you were laying in was your own, probably almost half of it. So… I-I had to choose between the dying and the dead. If I had to again, I'd do the exact same thing. Maybe one day you can forgive me… but even if you don't I'm sticking to you like glue until you're better. If you want me to leave after that, fine. But you're stuck with me until then."
Imoen had made the right choice, Lysara knew on a rational level. It seemed all she could do at that moment was sit and think rationally. As it was, she just lay there with a growling stomach.
"Sorry Im, I'm… sorry…" Lysara issued the apology she didn't feel, still hardly able to move. Even speaking seemed to be a draining effort. Still she reached up with her good hand. But before she'd gotten it to her intended destination - Imoen's shoulder - Imoen took hold of it again and put it back down with a soft, relieved smile.
"You just rest," Imoen said gently, wiping the tears away from her own eyes. "I, uh, borrowed a curative potion before I left. Just in case, you know. Think you're strong enough to down it? They're always horrid."
"Please."
Imoen disappeared for a moment and came back with a flask of light blue liquid and helped Lysara into a supported sitting position before unstopping it and lifting it to the elf's lips. Just as she'd warned, it tasted utterly foul, but after drinking it the pain in her shoulder lessened and she found herself aware of her arm again, and able to move it a little, and close her fist. She felt a little stronger, but still as weak as a newborn. And hungry, she felt very hungry. It was then that she noticed another leather scrip on the ground next to her. It was caked with dried blood and the strap was broken, cut clean through.
"It's, it's what he had on him…" Imoen explained quietly when she noticed where Lysara was looking. "I guess that makes it yours now. I swear I haven't even opened it."
Lysara pulled it into her lap, and Imoen helped her open the latches that had held it closed so they could rummage through it. Going through Gorion's things felt… weird, and unconsciously she kept expecting him to just walk up and berate her for not keeping her nose out of his private things, though she knew that to be a child's hope.
In his bag they found a small amount of coin, some spell scrolls – none of healing, unfortunately - that Gorion apparently hadn't had the chance to use, and a very long letter. The letter was the most valuable, telling Gorion of allies in the region staying at the Friendly Arm Inn, across the Cloak River, and that they'd been told he was meeting them, and would await his arrival. It avoided mentioning names, however.
As she focused on the haze of the previous night, Lysara remembered him saying something about that inn, and two names: Khalid and Jaheria. Apart from that, it was a very cryptic text with no useful information. Even the signature was mysterious, consisting of nothing other than a stylized letter E. The letter's tone reminded her of that errant thought that Gorion had been expecting something to happen, and 'E' seemed to have expected it as well. But who 'E' was they had no idea. And how could they have possibly predicted that someone was going to try to kill her?
There were too many unanswered questions bubbling up in Lysara's mind, and nothing she had on hand was providing any clues. Khalid and Jaheria… maybe they would know. If they were really her father's friends, then they would know something about him, though not necessarily who tried to kill her or why.
That's how they stayed for the next full day. Imoen caught and cooked - which Lysara thought privately was more like charred - a couple of rabbits, and foraged up some mushrooms and berries that she recognized as being safe to eat. Imoen was even cutting the meat for her, refusing – for good reason – to let her do it herself.
"So what happens now?" Imoen asked once Lysara was capable of standing – though with assistance - a day and a half later. "Go home?"
"Can't." Lysara answered. "Without father…"
"Yeah, I know. They wouldn't let us in even under normal circumstances. And… these, uh, aren't normal. They… Uh, they say you killed someone before you left." Imoen looked like she couldn't believe it as she said it. "The dead guy's buddy swore up and down that you'd attacked them, and killed him in cold blood. Then you and Mister G just up and disappear before they can even ask for your side of it. Tethie said it made you look real guilty, and muttered something about your father that I didn't catch. He said straight-out that if you came back it'd be to go straight to the stocks… and likely the block."
"That's a lie, Imoen. They tried to kill me. They shot at me twice before they got out the knives," Lysara explained wearily, skipping over her suspicion that they'd meant to rape her before slitting her throat. There was no need to worry Imoen with that little detail. "I didn't even mean to kill them. I was just defending myself. Wait… one of them lived?"
"Yeah, long enough to swear you attacked them unprovoked anyway. I didn't stick around long enough to find out if he passed. I kind of figured that was the way of it though. Just… it's a bit of a shock, killing in Candlekeep. Don't worry, and don't look at me like that. I don't doubt your word, I'm just worried. Well, where can we go? That inn? Maybe we should. It's closer than the nearest town, but probably still days away, and I don't think you should be travelling too far just yet."
Lysara forced herself a smile she didn't feel as she looked her friend in the eye. She'd already made up her mind to try and find those friends of Gorion's. "With your help," she said, "I could make it to Netheril and back. But I'll settle for a warm bed and a hot meal."
"Aww, my blackened rabbit not good enough for you?" Imoen teased with a grin. "Reminds me of the time Winthy had me trying to make stew."
That provoked a wicked grin from both girls, piercing the veil over the elf's emotions at the reminder. "Yeah. Never made that mistake again, did he?" Lysara asked, feeling better for a few heartbeats. "Took the priests hours to heal all the burns on the guests you spilled it on."
"Almost as long as it took me to clean up the mess," Imoen teased.
"Hey, I helped!"
It was an all too brief respite where they were the same two girls, inseparable pranksters closer than sisters, which they had been for as long as either could remember. But one wince from Lysara when she tried to sit up under her own power stole all the mirth of the moment, and the curtain fell over the stage again. She suddenly caught her own smell and crinkled her nose. "I think I'll add a bath to that list, too. Cold, if I have to," she amended.
"Here, let me help," Imoen said, making Lysara put her good arm around her shoulders and lean on her. "Whew, you weren't kidding. Definitely going to do the whole 'washing' thing when we get to the river; 'cause I'm not carrying you that far smelling like that."
"Thank you, Imoen," Lysara said quietly, ignoring the jibe. Together they made their way out of the clearing, pausing only long enough for Lysara to turn and whisper goodbye one more time.
Imoen shrugged it off, Lysara feeling every tiny little nuance of the movement. "Hey, what are best friends for if not pulling your bacon out of the fire and cracking jokes about your stench?" she asked, her tone light and cheerful, though it was obviously a forced cheer as they slowly walked together.
Lysara knew even then that she wouldn't return there, that she'd said her last goodbye to Gorion. Never, not once for as long as she lived, did she set eyes on that open patch of forest again.