Title: Not Yet by Lightning

Chapter: Five

Author: Jade Sabre

Notes: Reviews are always welcome. First, I should point out that my sense of time and travel time is incredibly skewed, so if the durations of trips and the like seem funny, they most likely are because I actually don't know how long it would take to travel from Neverwinter to Port Llast and back again. Also, while I have done some research on the subject of the gods of Faerûn, most of my knowledge comes from the game, and so I've invented a few details to fill in the gaps. So if you run across something uncanonical, know that it's probably because I've never actually played a D&D campaign set in the Realms and thus am not obsessed with getting every detail right. 

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.

5

Laura released a quiet sigh, letting it take her tension with it, as she sat before her dinner. It was a quiet night at the Flagon; her companions were the only people in the common room, amusing themselves in various ways as the night slowly wore on. She'd spent the entire day with Sand organizing the evidence from her trip to Ember. The elf had been very positive about what they had gathered, but he was also already requisitioning supplies for second trip to Port Llast. For now, though, she was going to sit and enjoy her dinner in relative quiet. Sal had given her the soup with a pitying look in his eye, told her that Duncan was already in bed, and left her to manage the crowd.

They seemed to be behaving themselves, though. Sand had gone home for the night, and Qara had already gone to bed (though it was unlikely she would wake before midday). Neeshka, too, was missing from the fireside group, either in bed or (more probable) out breaking the law for her own personal profit. Khelgar was humoring Grobnar—or perhaps the other way around—with a raucous tale in Dwarven that had them both bursting into laughter—Khelgar's deep guffaws contrasting with Grobnar's high-pitched giggles in a strange sort of harmony. Shandra, Casavir, and Elanee all sat around a table near the fire, doing something that appeared to involve cards. And Bishop hovered behind them, much to Shandra's apparent disgust.

She took a sip of her soup, savoring it in her mouth before swallowing and dipping her spoon in again. She stared down into her soup, centering her mind on absolute nothing, blankness, mechanically eating as she rested her thoughts. It was the closest thing she could get to a catnap. She wanted to eat alone in her room, but the others had a tendency to come find her when they hadn't seen her eat all day, and she would rather give them her presence than have them invade her personal space. It was a small sacrifice to renew their faith in her. She set down her spoon and took a deep breath, holding it for a slow count before releasing it, letting it take her thoughts with her. She could feel herself relaxing and took another breath before picking her spoon up again.

"Hey, you," Shandra said, her voice clipped. Laura looked up and saw the older woman coming over and sitting at her table, the expression on her face tight with anger. She flicked her gaze to the other table and saw Casavir lecturing Bishop, whose attention was focused on a knife, and Elanee gathering up the cards.

She withheld another sigh and said, "Yes?" before going back to her soup.

"Oh, nothing. Just thought I'd come give you a little company before—you can take that comment and stick it up your ass!" she snapped, twisting to glare at Bishop. Laura hadn't heard what he said, which she supposed was for the best, and didn't have to look to imagine the smirk on his face. She also didn't have to hear him to imagine what he said in reply, because whatever it was, it made Shandra slam her hands on the table and push her chair back.

"Shandra," Casavir said, his deep voice expanding to fill the whole room, melting into the shadows to fill them with his warmth. He had a good voice for command. In weaker moments, Laura sometimes envied him.

Shandra glared murder over her shoulder, but relented and pulled her chair back to the table. Casavir said something else to Bishop, who shrugged and moved back to his shadowy corner by the fireplace, and then turned to leave the common room, walking by Laura's table.

"Why don't you pull up a chair and join us?" Shandra said, her voice just a little too loud. Laura pressed her lips together.

Casavir paused and looked between the two of them. "Thank you," he said, "but I believe I will go to bed. The hour is late, and we all need our rest."

Laura could feel his concerned gaze on her and relaxed her face. "Thank you, Casavir," she said quietly. "Good night."

He waited a moment more, and then moved on. Khelgar and Grobnar, still deep in conversation, seem to take this as a sign to depart, and stomped their way through the common room, breaking into a loud, probably lewd, song as they went. Laura shut her eyes, though it didn't help shut out the noise, and took another sip of soup.

"Loud, aren't they?" Shandra said. Laura glanced at her and, after a moment, nodded but didn't reply. The other woman seemed somewhat discouraged by this, but she soon began a whole conversation with herself about some funny story Grobnar had told her recently. Laura, feeling somewhat obligated to pretend interest, nodded and made noncommittal comments in what she deemed to be appropriate places, her mind wandering to its focused place of rest.

Shandra abruptly stopped talking; Laura looked up and saw Bishop ambling his way towards their table. He stretched as he passed and said, "Well, looks like it's past bedtime for all the good little girls and boys."

"Are you including yourself in that category? 'cause if you—"

Laura watched them both, her face expressionless, gaze fixed on a place between them.

"Oh, no," he said. "All the good little boys and girls are already in bed. Makes me wonder what you're still doing up."

"I'm talking with Laura."

"Uh-huh." He glanced at her, but she refused to look back. "Well, if you good little girls got a little lost on the way back to your beds, mine's always open." Shandra opened her mouth. "Don't worry, you don't have to say anything. I'll be waiting."

"If you think I would even consider—"

"You clearly are," he pointed out, and her face turned bright red. He ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip and said, "Think about it."

Shandra moved her mouth, but the red in her face was from more than embarrassment, and her rage made her incoherent.

"Well…" He trailed off, glancing between them both, and then said, in his sweetest voice, "Good night."

Laura finally looked at him. "Good night, Bishop," she said, as if she hadn't heard a single word he'd said before that.

His lips twitched, and then he sauntered out. Laura stared at the spot where he had been as he went, feeling him pass just a little too close to her chair, and then returned her gaze to her soup. There was only a little left, and it was probably cold. She picked up her spoon and began the mostly futile attempt to scoop all the remaining liquid onto it.

Shandra's coherency returned to her in a slow, jumbled mix of words. "How—he—as if—I can't believe—as if—"

Laura paused and looked up, watching her gesture and attempt to speak, fury still in her eyes, and finally said, "You know you're only encouraging him."

Shandra froze, her hand in mid-gesture, her head cocked to the side, and said, "What?"

"You're encouraging him," Laura repeated.

"I—encouraging him? You think I want—"

"No," she said. "But every time you react the way he wants you to react, he's encouraged to try you again. As long as you keep raising your defenses, he is going to keep prodding you. He's testing your limits because he's fairly sure he can beat you, should it come to physical violence."

Shandra stared at her. "Are you telling me he's actually thought that much about this?"

Laura shrugged. "He also finds it amusing."

"What, have you asked him?"

"No," she said. "If you've noticed, he tends to laugh at you. I would consider that a sign of amusement."

"So what do I do?"

"Ignore him."

She snorted. "Easy for you to say. He never dares to say anything to you."

Laura shrugged again. Not when you're around, she thought, but the fact that Bishop reserved his lewd comments for the benefit of her ears alone caused her some concern as to his motives. It was obvious he was baiting Shandra, mostly for his own amusement, and because it caused the others great consternation. It was obvious he wanted to antagonize them, and what better way to do it than by going after their leader? He didn't even need a reaction from her—the others' attempts to defend her would be more than enough to satisfy his skewed sense of humor. But instead he went for Shandra, and let Laura wonder about the comments he whispered in her own ears as he slipped past her.

Shandra sighed. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I shouldn't let him bait me. But the things he says—I mean, you have no clue what he's saying. Really. It's obnoxious. He should be—why don't you ever do anything about it?"

"Because it would encourage him," she said.

Shandra stared at her. "You know, I don't get you," she said. "I've been traveling with you for, what, three weeks now?"

"Three and a half, yes."

"Right. And you can look me straight in face and tell me all I have to do to make Bishop leave me alone is ignore him."

"He won't leave you alone," she said, "but he will scale back his attacks. If there's no gain for him, he's not going to expend the energy."

"He tell you that too?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Shandra considered her, and Laura met her gaze unflinchingly. "Why do you put up with him?"

"I don't."

"What do you call it, then?"

"He made the decision to stay. It is not my place to instruct him to stay or go; it's his choice."

"So you just let anyone stay who wants to?"

"I don't let anyone stay."

Shandra made a noise of disbelief. "You sure have a large hodgepodge of followers for not letting any of them stay."

Laura shrugged. "I don't let them stay. It's not up to me if they stay or not. If they're here, and they stay, then it is their prerogative to do so. If they leave, that's their choice as well. As long as they're with me, I will lead them, if that's what they want."

It was a remarkably simple sentiment; she didn't quite understand why everyone seemed to have such a difficult time with it. She didn't control these people's lives; she couldn't control the way they acted towards each other, so why should she assume she could control where they went, or to whom they gave their allegiance? If they wanted to follow her, it was their choice, and she would lead as long as they wanted her to lead them. Or at least trick them into thinking she was leading them, when all she did was go on her way with a strangely large contingent of people stringing along behind her. Did this make her a leader? She didn't know.

"You know," Shandra said, "I really don't get you."

Laura waited, sipping the last dregs of her soup.

"You don't call yourself a leader, but you're in charge of all of us," she said, ticking her points off on her fingers, "you're from a big city, yet seem utterly surprised to be a noble," and again, Laura wondered where she had gotten this idea fixed in her head, and again Laura let it pass by without remark, "you're a cleric, but you never try to evangelize—"

"I'm not much of an evangelizer."

"No, definitely not," Shandra said. "You're much too intimidating to convince people to follow your god."

"Intimidating?" she asked, setting down her spoon, tilting her head.

"Have you never stopped and looked at yourself when you're all done up in your armor?" Shandra shook her head, drinking her ale. "With that flaming mace? You look like some avatar of justice—"

"Hardly."

"—sorry. Why're you so touchy about that?"

"I do not serve Tyr. If I did, then I would be a champion of justice."

"Who do you follow?"

"Hoar," she said, for she never denied an honest answer to a direct question. She summoned a spark of light to her fingertips and traced three lightning bolts in the air; they shimmered for a moment, and then she waved her hand through them, dissipating them. "Hoar the Doombringer."

"I've never heard of him."

"He's not exactly popular," she said, smiling slightly at the thought of her god—lanky and attractive, but cold and dark all at once, insatiable in his thirst for a justice lost to the whims of the system. "He only appears to those who need him, or sends his clerics to those who need their help."

"Do I need your help?"

"Your entire farmstead was destroyed because you happened to be in the way. You didn't do anything to deserve or provoke such a fate, and yet it happened anyway. And is anyone doing anything to help you?"

"Well—"

"Doesn't it anger you?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I was mad as a spitting cat, remember? But there's nothing I can do about it anymore—you've got the githyanki, and the lizardmen…well…"

"I handled them," she said.

Shandra stared at her. "You did what?"

"I handled them."

There was a pause, and then she said, "What does that mean?"

"They're gone. I drove a few of them away, and killed whoever remained."

Shandra digested this. "I won't pretend I…but…was that really necessary?"

Laura stared at her levelly. She herself didn't care one way or another about the lizardmen, but they had wronged Shandra and thus had deserved what vengeance she had been able to work upon them. Shandra seemed to read this in her eyes and the frown lines on her face deepened. "Was it really necessary?"

"What do you think?"

"I think…that's a massacre you're talking about. Who says you get to do that to them?"

"Why do they have the right to attack you and expect no retribution? Someone needs to remind them that there are consequences for their actions, and the law isn't going to do it." Shandra continued frowning, and she said, "The law can't reach everywhere, Shandra."

"That doesn't mean we should run wild—"

"I have a creed the same as any Tyrran," she said.

"But who's to say if it's right or not?"

"Who's to say if any of the gods are right? If you start down that path, you end up worshipping no one, or Ao, simply because he created you."

"I—" she stopped, and shook her head. "I just don't like it."

She shrugged.

Shandra waited, but she didn't have anything else to say on the subject. She'd made her case; it wasn't her job to convert others. Hoar had other clerics to do that. Her job was to follow his bidding and avenge those who could not avenge themselves, and this was something she could not stop doing.

"Well," she said finally. "Good night, then."

"Good night, Shandra."

The other woman waited, and finally stood and left her. Laura stared into the fireplace, one hand toying uselessly with her spoon, her mind miles and miles away. She was on the right path—she knew she was on the right path, and that this trial was a mere distraction from the bigger task ahead—but a small part of her wished it hadn't taken her so far from home. She stared into the fire, and prayed for guidance, and in return she felt the gentlest nudging to go to bed. She smiled ruefully, and pushed her chair away from the table, and did as she was told.