Title: Not Yet by Lightning
Chapter: Two
Author: Jade Sabre
Notes: By completed, I did in fact mean completed, and hopefully I will stick with a weekly updating schedule. This being the second week, I hereby present to you chapter two.
The title of my fic comes from the poem "Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning –" by Emily Dickinson.
Disclaimer: I don't own or any of its sequels or expansions, or any of the characters contained herein, aside from my PC, who was created on a Bioware engine and thus probably therefore partially belongs to them too. I also didn't write Emily Dickinson's poetry, nor have I ever used the name Emily Dickinson as a pseudonym. Though now that I think about it, that would be, in fact, an awesome pseudonym.
Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning —
Lightning — lets away
Power to perceive His Process
With Vitality.
Maimed — was I — yet not by Venture —
Stone of stolid Boy —
Nor a Sportsman's Peradventure —
Who mine Enemy?
Robbed — was I — intact to Bandit —
All my Mansion torn —
Sun — withdrawn to Recognition —
Furthest shining — done —
Yet was not the foe — of any —
Not the smallest Bird
In the nearest Orchard dwelling
Be of Me — afraid.
Most — I love the Cause that slew Me.
Often as I die
Its beloved Recognition
Holds a Sun on Me —
Best — at Setting — as is Nature's —
Neither witnessed Rise
Till the infinite Aurora
In the other's eyes.
2
When she met Khelgar, she was a fellow traveler on the road who happened to be good in a fight. The dwarf tended to speak at great length about the battles he'd endured, making their conversations a stream of information versus the occasional "oh" or question about technique. They were companions, comrades, equals, and little was needed in order to keep such a partnership working.
When Neeshka came along, she was the savior in muddy armor with a questionable taste in traveling companions. The thief was more concerned with insulting the dwarf at every turn, but her gratitude towards her new leader was such that she never questioned more than the other woman allowed. She made up for the gap in her curiosity by asking inane questions such as "What's your favorite color?" and received contemplative answers in return. She was so happy to be a part of something she didn't particularly care what that something was.
Elanee was different. Elanee had a vague idea of the past, having watched their leader since the time she was young. The leader in question—for such she became, upon discovering their band turned to four, and that the other three turned to her for answers—was wary, but the druidess seemed content with what she had seen.
It was when Elanee joined the group that Laura's talents became apparent. The shortcut through the Maiden's Glade led to the discovery of a huge, raging bear, which took Neeshka out with one solid blow to the head. Leaving the other two to deal with their adversary, Laura scampered over to the thief, fingers fumbling with something as she tried desperately to remember the words—she'd never had to heal during battle—and placed her hands over the wound. The familiar bright blue light glowed under her hands, and Neeshka's eyes opened as she exhaled with relief. Sparing only a quick smile and a pat on the shoulder, she stood and dove back into the battle.
No one mentioned the incident afterwards, but she was able to heal the others without trepidation. Khelgar was only too happy to have a healer who could mend his broken teeth and Neeshka didn't care at all and Elanee seemed to think that healing was healing, however it came. And Laura…Laura was careful, but she was relieved to be able to exercise her abilities instead of watching her friends bleed.
o-o-o
o-o-o
She never took Qara anywhere. She took an instant dislike to the younger girl (which made her a child, really, and unsuited to adventuring) and thought leaving her with Duncan was punishment enough. She only saw her when they had a break between missions for the City Watch, and she mostly ignored the burning resentment in those sharp green eyes. Qara hated her for leaving her with Duncan almost as much as she hated being in Duncan's debt in the first place. In retaliation, the sorceress agitated everyone, and Laura didn't feel like giving her any more ammunition. Besides, she had to be careful in Neverwinter, though even when she was caught people assumed the usual deity—because of the uniform, she guessed.
Grobnar—Grobnar was oblivious to everything, and able to heal himself besides. By this point it was becoming clearer that Laura was developing into something more than she'd ever meant to be—the bard took one look at her and asked to follow, which had to be some sort of sign because bards only followed the action. (Granted, Grobnar found the flight patterns of butterflies as exciting as epic battles, so it was not, perhaps, the greatest compliment or confirmation.) She let him tag along and ask his questions, only answering the ones that she thought needed answering, often halting halfway through because he had found something else to occupy his attention.
It was Casavir—of course it was—who first thought to question her. Although he led his own group and was their guide to Logram's lair, he fell under her command easily enough, listening when she shouted battle orders and charging in wherever she pointed him. He fought well and kept to himself whenever they had to stop, but she had a feeling that he was watching her, sometimes, though he was far too polite to admit to it. His gaze wasn't as much judgmental as it was…sad, and occasionally curious.
It wasn't until they were climbing back down the mountain and had stopped for the night, bruised and bloody but undeniably triumphant, that his quiet reserve broke. Granted, she provoked him—half-purposefully, half because Neeshka had done something awful to her ankle that needed serious attention—but it still didn't help when he said, "I—I was wondering…"
"Hm?" she said, not really paying attention, though she realized the others were. Her gaze was more focused on setting Neeshka's ankle to rights without getting lashed in the head by her tail.
"I could heal that," he said, slowly.
She knew paladins could lay their hands on injuries and heal them through divine channeling, and that it was fairly effective, but Neeshka provided the obvious answer. "No way! It'll probably hurt worse if you do it. Laura's got it under control."
She couldn't spare a glance to see if his expression was at all hurt—doubtful—but he said, in his calm, measured tones, "Are you trained as a healer?"
"Yes," she said, closing her eyes and feeling everything line up, slowly but surely. She wasn't going to give him anything he didn't ask for first. Neeshka hissed at the moment she felt everything go right, and she immediately cast the strongest healing spell she had, mending the torn ligaments and muscle, feeling it strengthen under her hand as the glow of the spell faded.
She sat back on her haunches and dusted off her hands. "How's that?"
"Fantastic," Neeshka said, gently flexing her foot. "Thanks!"
She smiled a little at Neeshka's unbounded enthusiasm, and moved on to Khelgar. They'd bound the wound in his arm to stop the bleeding, as Neeshka's injury had been far more incapacitating, and now that she had ensured Neeshka was all right, she thankfully still had magic left to heal him as well.
"Whom do you serve?" Casavir asked, as if he couldn't contain himself anymore.
She paused in unwinding the bandage, but Khelgar answered for her. (It was funny, how automatically her companions rushed to defend her, even though they occasionally made the situation worse instead of better. She couldn't figure why they so freely gave their loyalty to her, but she was touched by their support all the same.) "Neverwinter, o' course," the dwarf said, his voice giving no indication that the salve she was dabbing into his wound caused him any pain. "She already told yeh she worked for the Watch."
"That's…not what I meant," the paladin said, his voice slightly pinched. Laura had noticed that the deeper his voice went, the more formal he was acting. She hadn't heard him sound truly passionate since they had first met, and his voice was anxious and he spoke quickly, trying to persuade his sergeant—Katriona—to join the Greycloaks.
The pause was longer this time; she healed Khelgar's arm, the light more obvious this time. She glanced at him across the fire, noting that the shadows made him look old. He was obviously several years her elder (though she'd been mistaken for older than she was, usually by patrons of Duncan's fine establishment), but he'd never looked quite so aged as he did in that moment, looking down at the ground, his head hanging and his shoulders sagging.
He looked up and caught her gaze—immediately his posture straightened, but she'd seen (though the others hadn't noticed, or didn't care), and after a moment she said, "Healing is healing."
"Yes," he said, "but there are troublesome allegiances—"
"What's your problem?" Neeshka demanded.
"I—" He paused, as if trying to phrase it properly. Finally he said, "Your leader is a priestess, and I was wondering who she served."
There was a long pause, and then Khelgar said, "Huh. Is that what it is?"
"Well, duh," Neeshka answered, "but it's not like she's some kind of goody-goody cleric or something. The healing doesn't make me itch at all."
Laura bit her lip to keep from smiling. "I suspect," she said calmly, straightening up her healing gear, "that that is exactly his problem."
"Not problem, no," he said, almost too quickly. "I have seen you in action, and you clearly…I judge you based on your actions, which are true, but I cannot help but wonder if in the future…"
The future. That sounded like she'd picked up another stray. She wondered why he would want to join her crew, when he already had one of his own—people who depended on him—but he was good in a fight, and she didn't want to dissuade him if this was what he had decided upon. She didn't answer, though she was aware that both Neeshka and Khelgar were watching her too, out of simple curiosity.
Finally Casavir said, "I cannot imagine why you would feel the need for secrecy when the goal of most holy clerics is to propagate their faith."
Ah. He had a most decided point. "It's more about Neverwinter," she said finally. "I was warned that it was a heavily Tyrran city, and that I might be frowned upon for my—"
"It is not as if you chose it," Casavir said.
She flicked her gaze over to him, startled; he met her eyes, steady, and so she smiled at the mutual knowledge they shared—it was not as if anyone could choose. "No," she said. "I serve Hoar the Doombringer."
"Tha's cheerful," Khelgar remarked.
Neeshka frowned. "I don't know much outside of infernal things—not that I worship anyone like that, I'm just your average Tymora fan—"
"Revenge," Casavir said, thoughtfully. "The few clerics I have met of his order have been much older."
"I know," she said.
He stared at her and she stared right back, and then he seemed to remember himself and withdrew into a more formal shell, his voice dropping half an octave. "Your motivations are your own. I do not foresee any serious conflicts."
She smiled, but it was more sarcastic than anything else, and then she said, "We need to rest. I'll take first watch."
"Suit yourself," Khelgar said, and promptly passed out on his bedroll. Neeshka curled up like a cat and fell into her light sleep soon afterwards. Casavir readied himself more slowly, watching her as if waiting to see if she would say anything else, but Laura had nothing more to say on the subject—he followed Tyr, and she followed Hoar, and neither of them could stop doing what they were doing. He recognized that, and she knew that it was the best she could hope for, and that if he was serious about staying, he'd make his own peace with it. In the meantime, she had more pressing concerns, and she turned her thoughts towards the problem of Blacklake.