A brief author's note: From here on, I'm going to be merging two narratives – the story of what happened to Anomen in Brin Dhal's company (though by no means an exhaustive recount of BGII! I'm already doing that with Bell!), and the City of Gold. Having thought long and hard about it, the earlier events are necessary for Anomen's progression here, and I think it'd be kind of cool to highlight them side by side. There will still also be the perspectives of other key players in the story – Yamash, for one, and Cato and a secret secret person who will not make an appearance for many more chapters yet. Hopefully, though, this doesn't get too clunky. I guess the joy of is being able to play around with stories like these and getting helpful feedback. Thanks!

He'd had wanted to drink alone that night, so he'd traversed the city until he came to the last place an squire of the Radiant Heart would be seen – the Copper Coronet. It was a den of sin, the kind of place with a tawdry reputation that the young squires joked about, and the elder knights frowned upon. "Brushing your horse the wrong way?" the lads would say. "Polished your armor wrong? Well, finish the job and get thee to the Coronet."

He'd been curious about the humongous tavern, though, and once he and his father had severed their final ties – and his family's reputation was so tarnished that little could save it – he'd gone to the Slums to investigate. Whatever the place's reputation, they had good brew at a fair price, and few would question who he was; nobles frequently rubbed elbows there with the whores, drunks, and lotus-eaters, and he had a generic enough look to him, out of his armor and tabard, that no one would bat an eye.

The smoke was high – a big party of dwarves sat at the next table, exchanging and sampling exotic weeds for their pipes – when Anomen caught sight of a small group that had just entered. An adventuring party, no doubt, this one led by a dark-skinned woman with a shaved head. They were a ragged and mismatched bunch, looking half-starved and in poor armor. One of them, a hulking man with facial tattoos, looked about innocently, like he didn't comprehend what was going on around him; a half-elf with fine features surveyed the crowd calmly, unlike the full elf, who - with wide blue eyes – tread carefully, like at any moment, someone would come and snap her in half.

He was deep into his third pint of ale and toying with the idea of a fourth when the foursome walked by. He was not a particularly nice drunk, nor meek – a legacy of his father's – and unfortunately for them, the group had piqued his interest.

"Strangers," he called. "Perhaps you have more courage than the worms that frequent this pit of corruption. I am Anomen."

Their leader – who was not bald as it turned out, but not far off – affixed him with a highly dubious look in her black eyes. "Are you now?"

Bravado gone – he'd expected more of a response from them, somehow – he faltered somewhat. "I… what… what is your name, my lady?"

"Child, let us go." The half elf touched her shoulder gently, guiding her towards the bar and away from him. "Leave the drunk to catcall other –"

"Brin," she interrupted, taking a step forward towards his table. "My name is Brin." She was a northerner from the sounds of it. Odd, a northerner with such dark skin; she was as swarthy as a Calishite.

The juxtaposition of her appearance and accent – or perhaps it was just the alcohol – made him chuckle. "Well met, 'Brin'. Tell me, my lady – is your heart filled with courage, or be it steeped in cowardice?"

The woman's expression gave way to a slight, lopsided grin, even while her party members looked confused or impatient. "When there's cause for it, sir knight, I have courage in abundance. Now tell me something, Anomen – are you drunk?"

He'd opened his mouth to ask something else, but realized after a few moments that she was not just responding, but poking a bit of fun at him as well. He cleared his throat. "I must confess that it would neither be prudent for me to ride my steed nor draw my mace at this time."

Her grin widened, showing even white teeth. They contrasted nicely against her complexion. "Good answer. Tell you what, then – if you're as tipsy as you seem, we–" she gestured to the ragtag group that followed her, "Can do one of two things. We can scrape up some coppers so you don't have to spend the night on the floor, or one of us can escort you home." 'Brin''s smile faded as she gave him an appraising glance – her eyes rested on the holy symbol laying upon his broad chest. "Home, I would assume, is with the Temple of Helm, unless you're not telling us something…? I doubt that, though as you, Anomen, seem like an honest man. Honest, if inebriated."

"Brin Dhal," the half-elf said more forcefully, her pale brown eyebrows knitting together. "We've come here for business, remember, and not charity."

"Since when is it illegal to mix the two, Jaheira?" The younger woman shrugged off the half-elf's hand. "Your answer, Sir Watcher?"

He managed something akin to a charming smile, all the ale aside – he was a handsome lad, after all, and knew it. "While t'would be most unbecoming of me to say no to a lady's offer of walking me home, dear Brin, 'walking' at all at this time would be most difficult. A stay at the inn is, perhaps, more in order."

The large, bald man – silent until now – spoke up. "Brin, Boo suggests that Minsc could maybe carry the drunk man to the Temple of Helm?"

Brin shook her head. "No… to a room upstairs should be enough, I think. Let's spare him the embarrassment of having to explain to his superiors about his state come morning."

"By Silvanus' thorny beard!" The prickly half-elf had clearly had enough of the whole situation. "Why concern yourself with some drunken stranger when there are a million more lurking in the corners, and we've come here for the entirely more important task of raising funds for Imoen?"

"Peace, mother bear." Brin closed her eyes out of frustration then reopened them after several seconds. "Minsc. Lend a hand to our newfound 'friend' here. Jaheira, calm yourself. We'll be back soon. Up with you," she directed Anomen, who stood unsteadily while Minsc, ever the gentle giant, lent one of his massively-muscled arms to steady him. He studied the Amnian priest curiously, like he was solving a puzzle.

"If ale does not sit well with you, little Helmite, Minsc has Rashemi herbs to calm the gut…"

"Truly, Minsc, I doubt that'll be necessary." The shorter woman grimaced somewhat at the idea of Minsc acting as apothecary. She glanced between the two men at the bar - one sallow and angular, the other quite rotund - and took a gold piece out of her coinpurse, laying it upon the bar between them. "Whoever's in charge of rooms, we'll need three. I'm sharing with-"

"Ah, Missus Jaheira!" the rotund one exclaimed, catching sight of the sour-looking druid.

Brin blinked. "Yes, her... I'll ask you about that later. Er. One for my large friend, and one for this fellow."

The sallow man grinned viciously upon seeing Anomen. "Ale in the slums too much for ye, knightling?" Then, to Brin, "Aye, he's a slummer if ever I saw one – one of the Radiant Heart boys, out for a lark. I'll give him a room, for double."

"You've got your gold." Brin's skin was dark, but the flush in her face was still evident despite the finality her words implied. "Keys, please."

The larger of the two looked over at Jaheira, who was shaking her head at the whole exchange, and took the money. "I'll deal with the extra," he informed his thinner employer. "She's with an old friend." Although they were short by several silver, he reached underneath the bar and retrieved three keys, nodding to both Brin and – in the distance – his old companion.

"Thank you." The shorn-headed woman accepted them graciously, and turned to Anomen and Minsc.

The Helmite, to his credit, looked thoroughly abashed at the whole exchange, and his expression was chagrined when she handed him his key. "My lady," he slurred, fingers curling around it. "Please know that I did not mean to embroil you in any… intrigues… with my state. Lehtinan is right. I am out of my element and imbibed overmuch."

Brin's face was difficult to read. "What your do in your time, Anomen, is your business. Consider me 'stepped out' from this point forward." Her friendly demeanor, present during their initial exchange, had been replaced by something entirely more businesslike. It almost seemed like she was… disappointed? But it didn't matter – after that night, he'd never see her again. She would be just another disappointed face in the parade of disappointment that had been his life thus far. "Minsc, take the gentleman to his room."

"Ah, yes… come, come, small Helmite. We'll talk again about those herbs, yes?"

"Step aside, man, impor— ah. Brother Morach." The presence that had announced itself outside of the half-orc's hut fell silent upon seeing its owner, tending to his chickens. Steel-haired and exceedingly noble-looking, the newcomer's bearing and expression implied that he had just smelled something very unpleasant. Morach's expression, usually quite mild, darkened slightly.

"Prelate Cato. Always a pleasure," the hut's owner smiled pleasantly, small tusks showing on his lower jaw. The Ilmatari didn't skip a beat. "You're here, I assume, for my patient?"

The Prelate raised an eyebrow at the other man's thinly-veiled sarcasm, though he was too polite to say anything directly. "Indeed. Five days for a head wound seems… excessive, does it not?"

"For a concussion? Yes," Morach conceded, dipping his head deferentially. "But five days for a skull fracture is hardly enough, in my opinion."

"That wasn't mentioned in your correspondence." Cato stiffened, cold hazel eyes boring holes into Morach's face. "You merely stated the far more vague 'head wound'."

"And you, Sir Knight, agreed to send for Sir Delryn when I deemed him ready to travel." Morach, despite the calm manner in which he challenged the Helmite, drew himself up to his full height, which saw him looking down on the older man. "I'm afraid that I'll need to send for one of the Mersks if you're determined on taking him today."

"Aye, do so," the older man growled. "In the meantime, stand aside."

Without asking for permission, the Helmite pushed past Morach into the hut, disturbing the flock of hens that had gathered for their scraps and releasing the smoke from the healing incense the half-orc had set out for his patient. Morach sighed, and set off to find his superiors.

Anomen was awake, and had been for quite some time - his dreams the night before were puzzling. They had the vividness of memory, but while he could recall some of the faces in the dream (Minsc, for example, was unforgettable), the rest was an odd blur of déjà vu. He'd also heard the small verbal scuffle outside, and was sitting up in the hut's bed when the Prelate came to visit, in an attempt at being a gracious host.

"Watcher-Knight Delryn," the steel-haired priest greeted him. Prelate Cato had a deep baritone voice, one which sounded quite heroic. It was the sort of voice Anomen had always imagined a knight to have, one that he lacked. It always had been a source of vague bitterness. Cato bowed when he reached his bedside. "It is… an honor to finally make your acquaintance, Sir."

The bedridden man, despite raising his dark eyebrows in surprise at his deference, managed something of a chuckle. "Sir Prelate. Such formality is unnecessary. I, uh… I have heard all about you, and hardly expected for you to make a personal visit."

"Ah, 'tis more than a visit, Watcher Delryn. I'm your escort back to Helmsport." His demeanor, icy with the Ilmatari outside, had melted somewhat in the presence of the younger man. From behind his black beard a smile crept out. "My peers and I felt that a presence such as yours warranted more pomp and circumstance than sending out mere squires would provide. I hope you'll forgive our indulgence."

Anomen stared at him, puzzled. Pomp and circumstance…? "I'm afraid I do not understand, sir."

"My dear knight!" Cato laughed. "Your exploits are well known to us, both in Amn with the Radiant Heart and with the Bhaalspawn. You needn't be coy about your adventures."

"Coyness was not… that is, I had not intended…" the knight lost his words. Something tingled in the back of his mind, like a thought that was trying to surface but was unclear, and the feeling put him ill-at-ease. He tried to sit up more, but Cato patted him affectionately on the shoulder.

"Brother Morach was right to keep you after all, Anomen. I shall have to apologize to him." He looked into the distance for a moment, then nodded at his fellow Watcher, having made up his mind. "No matter. Memories will resurface over time. Now, let's see about getting you out of this blasted Ilmatari backwater and back to civilization, where you can heal properly."

Anomen chucked somewhat darkly, recalling fragments from various campaigns and the adventures he'd been on. "I have seen far worse than this, Prelate, and Brother Morach has done an admirable job."

"I would assume you have, lad!" the elder man laughed, ignoring his second statement. With more strength than Anomen expected, Cato neatly slipped his arm behind the bedridden man and helped guide him off of the straw mattress, supporting him while he stood. "There's a lad, there's strength in you yet. Now where did that blasted half-orc put your clothes…"

Dressed, blessed, and standing, the two Helmites were met outside of the hut by both Mersks and Morach, who looked quite incensed at the abduction of his patient. Jaereth had his hand on the larger man's arm, preventing him from barging in on the two of them, while Katara frowned, standing aside.

Cato addressed them, taking away the burden of explanation from Anomen. "Jaereth. Katara. Thank you both for harboring Sir Delryn here. We'll be leaving now."

"Prelate." The Ilmatari woman used Cato's title, giving him the respect that he'd left out for them. "Good morning, Sir Anomen. Prelate, I urge you to reconsider what you're doing here."

Delryn looked between the two heads of the churches, and decided he was best off with the polite route. "Sister Katara," he started mildly, hoping to appease her. "It appears, ah, that I am being called to duty earlier than anticipated."

"It does indeed appear that way…" The way she trailed off and her tone gave Anomen pause. Katara and Cato were eyeing one another warily, in a way that implied a silent conversation the rest of them weren't privy to. "You have been madeaware of Sir Delryn's condition, even if Brother Morach left out several details," she continued after an uncomfortable silence between all parties. "As healers, we can't, in good conscience, allow him to travel in this state."

"I am a healer as much as any other priest, and he is one of my men," Cato snapped back, not giving her time to respond. "If there is an issue, I will take responsibility for him. Besides, it's a short journey and we have priests on standby in the event of an emergency."

Both parties finally looked to Anomen, who felt trapped. "To be with Helm is my duty, Brother and Sister Mersk. I appreciate what you have done for me, but if the Prelate insists, I must comply."

"It is within our rights to call for our own clergy," Cato said, a note of finality to his voice.

Jaereth grunted and looked to his wife. Katara looked over to Morach, shook her head, and returned her attention to the two Helmites. "If that is your wish. He is one of yours, after all." Then, to Anomen, "Travel well."

Cato turned and began to walk off, but Anomen held back with the three Ilmatari. "Wait. A moment, if you please, Prelate. I will catch up."

"Do." He continued down the dirt road without Anomen, his business concluded; the younger Helmite turned to Morach and offered him his hand.

"Brother Morach. You have done so much for me, and I doubt I would be so hale – or lucid - were it not for you."

The agitated half-orc softened somewhat at the compliment. He clasped the other man's hand tightly, giving it a firm handshake before releasing his former patient. "It's been pleasant to finally have company to speak to. Travel safely, and mind yourself – I don't think you're fully recovered yet, and even a short journey could be taxing."

Anomen nodded at his advice. "I doubt so either, and will take precautions. You shall have your hut and your bed back, though, so there is a good side to this!" It was a clumsy joke – Anomen was bad at goodbyes even at the best of times, but the half-orc took it in stride and shook his hand once more.

As Morach laughed, Anomen turned to the Mersks. Jaereth he'd barely interacted with outside of his first night, so he offered a polite nod, but Katara had been friendly – he extended his hand to her as well. "Sister. Thank you for your guidance and hospitality."

She did not take his hand. Anomen retracted it, but noticed that she was smiling. "You know, Sir Delryn, you are welcome here."

"Assuming you're allowed back once you step foot in Helmsport," Morach joked darkly.

"It's less unlikely than it might seem," Katara agreed, with a note of somberness to her voice. "Take care. Mind my words and don't forget why you came here."

The Helmite's brows creased slightly. "Are relations between our churches such that a warning like that is warranted?"

There was a long pause, and it was Jaereth who actually broke it, after a shared glance with his wife. "I think perhaps you'd better get back to Prelate Cato," he said quietly, avoiding the question directly. His answer, however, gave Anomen the answer he really needed to know.