Title: Not Yet by Lightning

Title: Not Yet by Lightning

Chapter: Four

Author: Jade Sabre

Notes: It occurs to me that I might have said this earlier, but obviously this fic isn't intended to be a retelling of the plot, but rather a series of connected one-shots, anchored by the main plot of the game but hopefully forming their own subplot (or two).

Disclaimer: I don't own Neverwinter Nights, 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.

4

"So?"

"How'd it go?"

"Are yeh all right? Shandra said—"

"A squire! How terribly exciting!"

"My lady, it is good to see you well."

"I don't understand why—"

"Did you tell them—"

"I thought perhaps we'd start—"

"Shut up!" Duncan yelled, putting an end to the chatter. The anxious assortment of beings before the door parted, revealing Laura, looking a little dazed, followed by Sand. Duncan stepped forward and put an arm around his niece's shoulders, steering her towards a large round table in the back of the common room. Sal was already there, mugs of ale at the ready.

She sat down as deliberately as ever, seeming to come back to herself a little as the others settled in; Sand drew up a chair, much to Duncan's surprise, though he delicately declined any of "Duncan's cheap swill." Neeshka, tail twitching with excitement said, "So?"

"So I'm a squire now," Laura said, her voice flat as always. "And I'm going on trial, and Sand's my new lawyer."

"Sand?" Duncan demanded. He hadn't taken a seat at her table—this was Laura's adventure, after all—but he always stood nearby. "What good can—"

"The knight—"

"Sir Nevalle," Sand supplied. "Also a member of the Neverwinter Nine."

"He's a priss," said Qara dismissively. "A shame, 'cause he's really pretty."

"Here, here!" Neeshka said, clanking her mug against Qara's and spilling a little on the table. The candles in the room flared.

"—seemed to think fighting Luskans would be of special interest to him."

"Oh, certainly," Sand said, as silky as always. "Hated enemy of Neverwinter, overly arrogant hoarders of knowledge, etc. etc."

"Shandra said—"

"Yes, I was attacked," Laura said, her lips drawing into the tight line that served as her unamused smile. Khelgar looked as though he were about to press her for every detail, but then she added, "We held them off. Sir…"

"Nevalle."

"Nevalle said they were Luskan assassins." She shrugged. "Frankly, I was more worried when the gith were chasing me; these men can't be much worse."

"Still," Casavir said, "it would be wise—"

"Luskan assassins, eh? I wouldn't be too sure."

They all looked up in surprise to see Bishop ambling over, a mug of his own in hand. He smiled at them all—more a sneer, but there was a black mirth to it—and said, "They're a nasty bunch. Not exactly human."

"Something you have in common with them, Bishop?" Duncan said, glaring at him.

"Watch it, half-breed." He looked around the table of upturned faces, carrying varying levels of disgust or suspicion, and said, "No need to look so surprised. I said I was staying, didn't I? Do you have to have an invitation to these pow-wows?"

"You said what, now?" Duncan said, gritting his teeth.

Before Bishop could answer, his niece's cool, calm voice said, "He offered to stay, and I accepted."

"You did what?" Duncan turned to her. "Are you insane? Were you not listening to a thing I said?"

He could feel Bishop's murderous gaze on him—as if it wasn't his prerogative to tell who he wanted; as if he would have exposed his niece to such a tale—but Laura simply said, "If he wants to stay, he can stay."

"Laura—"

"My first task as squire," she said, "is to find evidence to defend myself against the Luskan accusations. Whoever wants to come can come; we're heading for…"

"Ember," Sand said. "Best to start at the scene of the crime."

"This is absolutely ridiculous," Elanee said. "Why do they think—"

"It's politics, duh," Neeshka said. "One of those things that civilization brought down on us."

Laura sat back and listened to her companions talk, trading ideas and insults and plans, often in the same breath. She was tired, but had a full night's rest to look forward to (barring any surprise abductions—though she was pretty sure Shandra would be able to hold her own now), and she enjoyed hearing what the others had to say. They were a diverse group, and she was somewhat gratified and more than a little bemused that they chose to rally around her.

Gradually the others drifted off to bed; she nursed her drink, not yet willing to go to her room, but longing for solitude. She was behind on her prayers again, which left a sort of dark nagging in her gut, a barbed hook reminding her of her obligations. Obligations to her god, and lately to the people around her, and now to Neverwinter too—she didn't like feeling tied down to any one group or structure, other than her faith, but the current situation made it seem unavoidable.

She didn't like not having options, either.

"Contemplating your death?"

She didn't look up from the table as her newest addition slid into the chair next to hers. "No," she said. "Responsibility."

"Bah," was his response, and he took a long swig from his mug.

She glanced sideways at him, a new thought creeping into her mind; she waited, then said, "What's your opinion?"

He went still for a moment, and then set his mug on the table. "On what? Death or responsibility?"

"The trial," she said. "You didn't seem to have much to say about it."

She didn't mention that his words only ever served to antagonize someone, whether it was lewd comments for Shandra or baby-murdering suggestions for Casavir. He wanted to make himself an outsider, and so far he was doing a very good job. She had listened to her uncle and watched the man in battle, and knew that she was dealing with something dark and dangerous; half the struggle, then, was to keep him from knowing exactly how much she knew.

"Well, you know," he said, "legal stuff isn't exactly my thing."

"But you have an opinion."

"What makes you think that?" he asked, cutting his eyes at her.

"You have an opinion about everything else," she said, lightly.

He conceded this with a half-nod, returning his gaze to the table. "Are you seriously asking for my thoughts, or are you just making conversation?"

She held up her hand and started counting off on her fingers. "Neeshka's initial reaction to the word 'law' is to suggest 'running away.' Shandra's a farmgirl, Casavir thinks we should put our faith in his system, Grobnar and Qara are both insane, Khelgar wants to charge down Luskan's walls, and Elanee still isn't entirely sure where Luskan is. You and Sand are the only people I know who have any firsthand experience with the city—"

"I don't remember ever saying that."

She paused, then looked him in the eye and said, "You called Luskan your territory. You don't grow to be so familiar with an area without spending time in it. I don't know or care what you or Sand had to do with the city; what matters is that you have the experience that everyone else lacks."

His eyes held a strange mix of suspicion, murderous intent, and respect; after a moment he nodded and said, "That's true in more than one area."

She lifted her eyebrows and said, "What's your opinion?"

"My opinion?" He inhaled through his nose—a long, deep sniff she was growing accustomed to—and said, "I say you skip the trial and kill that ambassador of theirs."

"Brutal."

"But efficient. And straight to the point. It's the only language the Luskans are going to understand."

She shrugged. "Supposing I do this, will it make the attacks stop?"

"You're considering it?"

She met his gaze again and said, in as flat a voice as she had ever managed, "She's part of a plot that involved an entire village being razed to the ground for purely political motives." She could feel her hands clenching around her mug, the tremors starting in her fingers, and willed herself to be calm. Looking back at her drink, she said, "I would gladly see her dead in a heartbeat."

She focused her gaze on the liquid, breathing deeply, and after a moment he said, "They'd probably just find someone else to send after you, yeah. But eventually you'd kill someone so important they'd leave you alone."

"Time-consuming."

"Well, yeah. I mean, if you wanted to skip all that…"

She was suddenly aware that he was sitting beside her; she had realized it, obviously, but there was a difference between knowing he was sitting beside her and being aware of it, aware of the fact that he was aware and was using this mutual awareness to his advantage. His legs were stretched out under the table and his knee, just barely, so lightly it was as if he was going to let her pretend she imagined it, brushed against hers.

"I know plenty of back trails in the woods around here. We could go away…camp for a year or two…"

She lifted her mug to her lips and took a drink to give her an excuse to swallow. She set the mug down and said, "Is that seriously an offer, or are you being snide?"

"You don't believe me?"

She resisted the temptation to look at him and merely said, "Somehow I would expect you to aim such a comment at Shandra."

"She's not worth the effort of taking away."

"And I am?" She didn't mean to say it. It was a stupid thing to say, his knee was bumping into hers, she had only had one mug of ale but she hadn't eaten anything and she was tired, and she was horribly afraid that she would start blushing and everything would be ruined. She couldn't afford to lose control. She couldn't.

She knew he was looking at her, and not just his normal up-and-down glance, or his predatory stare, knew that he was taking his time considering what little of her there was to see above the table, covered in armor. She knew it as surely as she knew he was intentionally pressing her, as he was deliberately dropping his voice when he said, "Maybe. What would you say, if I thought you were?"

Another woman, she thought, might be able to get away with a flirtatious "yes," a sort of flippant, casual dismissal of his suit. She didn't know how to be flippant. She didn't know how to say "no" without letting on to the fact that she'd never rejected anyone before. She was in over her head and she knew it, and as soon as she recognized that fact she set about finding a way out.

"It would depend," she said, in her usual measured tone, "on what kind of woods you were talking about."

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair, his leg still touching hers. "You have a preference?"

"I'm fond of swamps," she said, honestly.

He snorted. "Not a lot of solid ground to hole away on."

"No," she said, "but at least it's reliably unstable."

"I'll see what I can do," he said, "though that's looking farther south than I really care to go."

"Am I worth it?" she asked.

He glanced at her and she glanced right back, and he said, "Maybe."

"Let me know when you make up your mind," she said. "Until then, I have a trial to prepare for."

"Ah, well," he said, and his leg shifted away from her; she breathed an internal sigh of relief and pushed her chair back, getting ready to stand. "Maybe it wasn't meant to be. Besides," he said, "wouldn't want to make the paladin jealous."

"He has his faith to keep him warm," she said, and pushed herself to her feet.

He laughed, not really mocking or sneering any more than was usual, and said, "Cruel, biting wit. Warms my heart."

"That's not to say," she said, "I don't have mine."

His laughter stopped abruptly; she lifted an eyebrow at him, and left, not waiting to see what his expression was. She already knew he was watching her; she didn't care to see if the look in his eyes was different or not.