General disclaimer: I own nothing, even Maiyn generally decides her own path.

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Rillifane's Children

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Belegir Redleaf was older than Xan, but he still retained a youthful appearance to Anomen's eyes, and his smile, though weak, was genuine and warm.

"They have nothing to lose," he explained, his voice strained and hoarse, fresh from the rasping cough that had wracked his body as they approached him. His healer had shaken her head sadly; there was little else she could do for him and she'd withdrawn to allow the group to have an audience with him in private. "We may have somehow routed them for now, but the night is still their arena; I fear that we shall have several more incursions into our city before the threat can be fully quashed by the Summoning."

He nodded along with Jaheira, his face grim as he quickly cast a look around. This part of the city was quite open; the trees had much more distance between them, and as such, the branches overhead could not hope to provide the cover that it could in other parts of the settlement. The moon was covered by a thick blanket of cloud, and Anomen was sure it would rain before long. He scowled slightly.

"Demin told us what we would need for such a ritual," Jaheira said. "We have managed to secure the Cup and the Talisman."

Belegir chuckled, then coughed again. Anomen moved forward to administer some further healing, but the elf shook his head. "Save your God's gift for those who will need it; the night is still young, and there is plenty of reason to believe you'll need it later."

Anomen nodded and fell back to stand beside Jaheira. Xan was at her other side; Nalia, Imoen and Minsc were standing across from them, their eyes trained on the warrior lying on the blanket that had been soaked with his blood.

"And now, of course, you need the Blade," Belegir continued, sighing slightly as he closed his eyes, allowing his head to fall back onto the cushion that Imoen had been handed by one of the healers. Anomen smiled slightly at the sight of the girl fussing over the position of it while she ensured that it was comfortable enough. Eventually Belegir shooed her away, his eyes twinkling slightly.

"It is one of the artefacts," Jaheira agreed. "We had hoped that we would find you in better health, to be honest; I had assumed that you would know how to perform the ritual, whereas..."

Her voice faded away as she held out her hands and shrugged helplessly. The old elf smiled up to her.

"Do not worry about your lack of knowledge, young one," he wheezed. "The Ritual is just that; a procedure that is undertaken by our People when in our darkest hours. Thankfully, we have not had many of those, though I can remember the last. I was but a boy, and it was my own father who placed the blade upon the altar, and called for Rillifane to guard his children."

Anomen looked over towards Xan. He was pale; his hands were trembling as they rested on the hilt of his own blade. The knight wondered how hard it must be for him to be here; not only witnessing the destruction of his kin in such a grand city, but also to be looking at one of his peers in his dying moments. As someone who embraced the futility of their endeavours, he imagined that the enchanter would be facing a bittersweet moment of irony, especially considering the almost never-ending attempts of his comrades to change his outlook.

"You have a wielder with you," Belegir said, interrupting Anomen in his thoughts. "I know him, though my mind... some things seem so distant now. A Greycloak, I think."

"Xan of Evereska," the mage croaked stiffly, almost seeming to try and pull himself away from the other elves gaze. "I believe you may have known my father."

"I did... and I remember you, still. Nothing but a child, you were -- as serious and sombre as you are now. You are much like your sire."

"I... thank you," Xan said with obvious difficulty. Anomen felt a pang of sympathy for the enchanter's position; although outwardly showing no signs of emotion, the knight was sure that the elf was finding the time difficult. To his surprise, it was Xan who continued the conversation.

"The blade passed to me when my father died, and has been with me for many years now. I know that I am still not fully attuned to it, but I believe I have enough of a bond to use it in place of your-"

"No," Belegir said, frowning slightly and shaking his head. "The Ritual can be draining, and your sword will use your own strength to feed the ceremony. I cannot allow this to happen when you will still have so much to do."

"But to take away your Moonblade as you are will be nothing short of a death sentence," Xan protested. Belegir smiled up to him.

"I am dying already, Xan of Evereska," he said. "But I'm prepared for it. My years have been many, and my spirit will be devoted to the future of the sword; but after it all, I will be allowed to enter the Blessed Realm with my forefathers, and the light of eternal joy will shine down on me for the rest of time."

Xan made a strangled noise, which caused Anomen a brief moment of worry. Jaheira seemed completely unfazed by it, however, and so the priest assumed that it was just one of the elf's strange noises that he was wont to cause when under stress. Belegir rolled his head back to look up at the sky above, then spoke in a language unfamiliar to Anomen's ears. He frowned in confusion, noticing Nalia was wearing an equally puzzled look. Minsc seemed to be oblivious to the sudden change in tongue, happier to stand guard over the whole group than to listen to the debate over blades. He felt Jaheira pulling at his arm.

"Come," she said quietly, guiding the Helmite away from the scene, where he was followed by Nalia and Imoen, Minsc taking the rear. "I believe Xan may benefit from some time alone with his kin," the druid continued, looking back to the two elves who were now staring at each other; one looking depressed and miserable, and the other seemingly relieved despite his health. Imoen was nodding slowly, and also looking back over to them, and Anomen realised; the time she'd spent with the group before meant she had a knowledge of their language, and did not find it as alien as the two nobles in the group.

He found himself smiling again, softly and wistfully; Imoen's charm and wit, and now her continuing displays of intelligence, never failed to amaze him. Her mere presence made him feel like he'd never felt before, and not a single day now managed to pass without her invading his thoughts either by her presence, or by her noteable absence. It made him very glad to be a part of the group.

But it didn't stop him from wondering what would happen when their business was done. He was now a member of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart, and it would be his duty to return to Athkatla to report to his seniors on the outcome of the battle; to report on Maiyn's condition and intentions -- and perhaps even those of the Lady Imoen, since she suffered from the very same heritage as her sister.

Would their suspicions stretch to her? Perhaps he would be encouraged to stay with her in order to report back to them regarding her-

No. He shook his head wearily. He disliked it enough that he was all but spying on Maiyn as part of his orders, but she was well aware of the situation and had simply smiled and shrugged when he'd asked if she was offended. He would not, however, be party to the same with Imoen. Despite the high regard that he held for his comrades in the Order and for the tenets he had sworn to uphold, he would not risk the idea of one so dear to his heart becoming bitter with his motives, or falsely believing his attentions to be at the whim or bidding of another man. No... he would rather wish her a fond farewell than endure losing her trust, and commit himself to the Order's other businesses, far from the intrigue regarding the Children of Bhaal.

He kept staring at her, unable to miss how lovely she looked as they stood there. The scars on her face were almost hidden by the shadows cast in this dark night, and her eyes were looking down, making her a sad, but beautiful vision. He drank in her appearance as if he would never see it again, and only managed to tear his gaze away when she shifted slightly, her eyes rising to meet his own.

He felt himself flush slightly. There were words between them that had remained unsaid, though he was sure, in his heart, that she felt similarly to him. But now was not the time to be thinking on it; they were still in danger, here in the elven city, and the prospect of the terrifying and difficult battle that they yet faced was something they'd all done their best to avoid thinking of.

It was time for him to concentrate on the task at hand, and -- more importantly -- the task still to come. He offered Imoen a quick smile which she returned, and his heart immediately felt lighter. Then, he moved away from the others, kneeling down beside a plinth that was almost completely covered with wild brambles, and opened up his mind in preparation to commune with his God.

-----------------------

"There was no need to switch to this tongue." Xan could not help his manner, even though he knew he was appearing abrupt and brusque. It did not seem to bother Belegir at all, however; the elf seemed completely unaware of Xan's cold manner, and the enchanter wondered, once again, if Maiyn's harsh assessment of her kin's demeanour had been warranted.

"Your friends do not need to hear this, and I do not have the time to keep you here all night," the older elf noted. "So I believe they feel no resentment to my insistence of our small discussion, and at the end you may claim this blade temporarily in order to perform the Ritual, before it is returned to the care of Prince Elhan. He will find a worthy wielder."

"If such a thing exists," muttered Xan dourly. "Why do you insist upon this? Being parted from our blades weakens us, and you will not be able to withstand the effect in your state."

"Do you not understand? I only remain alive because I will it for now. I am prepared for what comes, and prepared to give my future to the blade. I am still breathing because I do not think, if our roles were reversed, that you would be able to say likewise."

Xan frowned slightly. "I think you misunderstand me," the enchanter protested. "I am all too aware of the fate-"

"But are you? Are you really?" Belegir coughed again, then wheezed as he recovered. His breathing appeared to be laboured, and Xan shook his head slightly.

"You need healing."

"They have tried. I am beyond healing, and my blade is calling for me. It sings, you know? I can hear it now; it was gentle at first, but it is becoming louder. More persistent." The elf paused and smiled. "I am sure it is not my father's voice. He left the singing to my mother."

Xan allowed himself a slight, wry smile. "What is it you need to say to me?"

Belegir rolled his eyes. "You make sounds as though you will listen to my words, put pay no heed to them; all so I can close my eyes for the final time in the peace that I've spoken to you. But it is more than that. Listen, and listen well. I have watched you as you stood there with your companions. You are as worried about the fate of the city as they are, that is true -- more so, perhaps. But you carry yourself with an air of defeat already. Your shoulders slump, you drag your feet -- you, who carries the one of the greatest blades to ever grace these lands."

"But what is the point?" Xan countered. "A nameless grave far from my home? That is the best I can hope for while I embark on these futile endeavours."

"Really?" Belegir arched an eyebrow. "Yet you still travel. You are still far from home, when I am sure there are matters closer to your own lands that you could undertake?"

Xan shifted slightly, but remained silent.

"You preach the hopelessness of it all, but yet, you persevere."

"I have little choice."

"There is always a choice. Even for a wielder."

Xan shrugged. "Perhaps. Sometimes the choice is not easy to make."

"It never is," Belegir agreed. "But I could see the fear in your eyes when you realised I was dying, and that is why I wished to talk to you. Your eyes darted to my sword -- for a moment I thought I saw something in them -- hatred, perhaps... no, not hatred. Not as strong as that. But the terror was clear. You are afraid of dying. You are afraid of your blade."

Xan's mouth felt dry. He felt his hands trembling again, as they had earlier, when he realised his kin's fate. "I... am not looking forward to spending an unknown amount of time trapped within it," he admitted at length.

"It is perhaps not the most appealing prospect," the older elf smiled. "But there can be no real pain, no real suffering."

"If the blade breaks or is destroyed..."

"The blade will not allow anyone weak to wield it. You must have faith in your descendents."

Xan cringed slightly at his words, and he instinctively knew he'd paled. Belegir was looking at him curiously.

"You have a son?"

"Ah, hmm," Xan said quietly. "That is... it is complicated."

The other elf nodded slowly. "You do not dismiss it outright -- are your worries now for his fate?"

The enchanter sighed mournfully. "There is no reason to believe that, even if I did have a child, he or she would ever claim the blade."

"True, true," Belegir admitted. "And that is why you should not fear it. Nothing is set in stone -- least of all the doom of those you know. But know this, as I allow myself to pass from this life -- you have nothing to fear from death. Take my blade now -- your own will keep you safe, and I shall meet you in Arvandor when we arrive there, as Defenders of the People..."

His voice trailed off, and he smiled as his eyes closed. Xan watched as he took his last shallow breath, then gently reached out for the sword that lay in the man's scabbard. It sparked slightly, but allowed him to pick it up with the minimum of discomfort. Then he bowed his head, and offered a small prayer to Corellon over Belegir's body. It was something he had not done for a long time, having witnessed too many deaths -- but he felt better for doing it. More peaceful. He turned to the others, nodding to Jaheira's questioning look, then diverted his eyes to the side. Coming across one of the furthest away platforms were Maiyn and Coran.

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"The temple -- take us there," Jaheira ordered Solen, ignoring Verya as she ran past, chasing Yessie. The elf nodded obediently, spinning around and briskly marching towards the nearest walkway. The druid gave Maiyn and Coran a curt nod and smile before following, the others falling into line behind them. The two elves followed last, she having eventually let go of his arm when she realised that he was managing to keep up. He'd not said a word to her as she almost ran through the twisting, high paths leading between the trees and across the woven branches, much to her relief; and she was hoping he wouldn't have a chance to look too closely at his new sword.

Instead, he was scratching his head as he walked, a confused expression still on his face. Eventually he reached out and touched her gently on the arm.

"Yes?" she asked, not looking over to him.

"Was it all a dream?" he asked.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"Xan. The... the..." he stopped, nervously, and gestured towards her torso vaguely.

She scowled. "Can we talk of this later?"

"Obviously it wasn't, then," he groaned. "And where, in the Nine Hells, has my sword gone?"

"Xan, er..." She paused. "It broke."

"It broke?" he asked in disbelief. "Where did this one come from? And why, by Hanali's Golden Globes, does it look so familiar?"

"I don't know," she muttered, picking up her pace slightly. Perhaps if she could sneak past the two elves ahead of them, she'd be able to be far away from him when he remembered-

"Seldarine, no!" He'd stopped, staring at the sword in his hands with obvious horror. "You cannot expect me to use... to use this?"

"We do not have anything else," she hissed, walking back and grabbing his arm again. "And we do not have time to be choosy. Time is of the essence."

He regarded her sceptically. "Is it, indeed?" he queried. "You did not think so when you took your delightful little expedition to the temple in the hills."

"That was different," she growled.

"Was it?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed.

"And why was that?" he pressed.

"Because... because I wasn't feeling quite myself!"

There were a few moments of silence. Then: "Ah, I see. I thought you were just being argumentative with everyone because you could be. Some women do that," he concluded, shrugging at her questioning glare.

"Well, I don't," she grumbled.

"You do."

"I do not! And what gives you the right to argue with me over such a thing?"

"I'm just providing you with the opportunity to prove me correct," he said. Maiyn was sure there was a faint sparkle in his eyes. She tried, quite unsuccessfully, not to grin. "But really, I cannot use this weapon. Had I only thought to, I would have taken another with me from the Keep."

"It is too late to think of what-ifs," she informed him brusquely. "We are here now, and you will either have to use it, or brawl."

"Nothing wrong with a good brawl," Coran mused. "Perhaps you are right, though. This is not the correct environment for it, methinks." Another pause. "Is it really too late for what-ifs?"

She turned to look at him; his expression was completely sincere.

"We can decide that when we are finished here," she said quietly. He nodded silently, and she let go of his arm, opting instead to walk by his side in comfortable silence as the large Temple rose before them. Slowly, the group began to amass outside, huddling around Jaheira and Xan as they stood at the doorway. The enchanter was holding up his hand.

"It is occupied," he said morosely. "I can hear conversing, in a dialect I am unfamiliar with, and I can feel the magical energies. They are protecting the altar."

Jaheira nodded grimly. "Then we fight for it," she announced. "Are we all ready?"

The companions nodded, and the small band of elves accompanying them did likewise. She motioned for Minsc to take a hold of one of the large doors and Anomen to take the other. Then, she counted down from three, and the fighters dragged the door open, quickly following Jaheira and Solen as they led the charge inside.

A solitary drow mage faced them, sneering as enchantments and spells triggered, offering him protection from the onslaught. Maiyn felt her confidence wane slightly; a demon appeared from behind the large altar that rose in the middle of the room, and a rakshasa swooped at them from the right. Their final foe was no less fearsome -- a huge adamantine golem.

The Suldanessellar elves surrounded the rakshasa, working together to contain it and try to penetrate its defences. Jaheira and Solen dashed past the drow mage towards the demon, while Minsc charged at the dark-skinned mage. Nalia and Imoen drew into the shadows at the sides of the temple, and their murmuring could only just be heard over the sounds of the battle as they began their spellcasting, their words dancing in the air with Xan's -- the enchanter had also managed to find some cover behind a smaller statue, and he seemed to be focussing his attentions on his magical adversary.

Maiyn and Coran exchanged a brief glance, then shrugged and leapt towards the golem. It towered over them, and its fist was almost as large as the ranger. The advantage they had was that it found it hard to manoeuvre around in the cramped conditions of the temple, and the elves made the most of it; nimbly weaving between its clumsy punches, trying to nick at it whenever they got close enough.

"This is no use!" Coran called out to her as they darted past each other. "We cannot hurt it!"

"Imoen!" Maiyn shouted to her sister. The young human girl raised an eyebrow. "Can you help us? Our weapons can't get through!"

The girl nodded and immediately began chanting again. When she was done, both the elves watched their weapons glimmer slightly, the glow softly in the dim light. When Coran next struck the golem there was a terrible scraping noise, and a large gash was left.

"Much better!" he proclaimed. Maiyn nodded her agreement, stabbing her own sword forward experimentally, and feeling some satisfaction as it managed to gouge a hole in the formally impregnable surface.

It feels good, doesn't it?

Your timing is awful.

Really? Perhaps I should go and talk to one of your siblings instead, then...

No! But it was too late -- the presence slipped away again, and Maiyn cursed loudly before being roughly knocked to the side by Coran as the golem's fist came crashing down, the aftershock of the impact causing large tremors to ripple through the ground. She gave him a thankful smile, following him as he pulled back away from the golem as he brought a swirling cloud of poison around him.

With the momentary break in combat, Maiyn looked over towards Imoen -- her sister was standing still, her eyes closed and a pained expression on her face. The elf's eyes widened, remembering her father's threatening words, and she ran towards the human girl.

Halfway there, she stumbled, and had to clamber to her feet. As she did, she could see nothing that had caused her to tumble, but she'd definitely felt something that caused her to lose her balance. Her eyes went back to Imoen -- she was smiling, looking past the ranger with a look of satisfaction.

Maiyn slowly turned around and saw a scene of near devastation. The bodies of two demons lay still on the ground, badly burned; Maiyn assumed that the drow had called the pit fiend to his side in the battle. The rakshasa was also felled, scorch marks clearly upon its corpse. Several pieces of furniture and decoration were on fire, and so was the cloak of the drow mage, who suddenly looked very vulnerable without his spell protections. Minsc's mighty roar echoed around the room as Lilarcor tore through the dark elf's body, and the cry was only drowned out by the thunderous crash of the golem toppling to the ground beside its master. Several of the elves immediately ran to the tapestries and the paintings, trying to douse the magical flames that were playing across them by using the water from the nearby basins. To Maiyn's relief, there seemed to be no lingering damage done.

"What happened?" she asked Imoen.

"So exhilarating," Imoen breathed. "No one said it ever felt like this."

"But what did you do?"

"I managed to stop time," Imoen whispered, her face flushed with excitement. "I mean -- not for long, but long enough for me to dispel some of his protections, and to call the dragon-"

"The what?"

"-which is why there's so much fire, but it's magical fire so it shouldn't do much damage to anything except my enemies, although how it knows only to hurt them is anyone's guess-"

"Just how controlled is this dragon?!"

"-but I guess that's the beauty of magic, huh, and look, now everything's dead, though granted, Minsc and Coran got the last blows on the drow and the golem, but I think I managed to get everything else with my-"

"Your dragon, yes," Maiyn said weakly.

"Yep! So, why were you coming over here anyway?"

"Oh." Maiyn paused for a moment, watching as Jaheira approached the altar with Xan, brandishing the items for the Ritual. "I just wondered if you'd... er, if you'd maybe, heard anything strange, recently."

Imoen frowned for a second. "Well, people have been mostly quiet, so no one's had the chance to really say anything too weird. Well, no more freaky than normal, anyhow."

"I didn't mean... ah. Well, it doesn't matter."

"I really haven't -- you know I'd tell you, if I had. Anyway... why the interest?"

"Oh, no reason," Maiyn replied airily. "I just wondered, that was all."

"Okay," Imoen replied dubiously, joining her sister in silence as they watched Jaheira place the Cup and the Talisman on the altar. It was a marble ledge set upon a statue of a large tree, with gnarled boughs and legs, and a serious face. Eight carved faces looked down upon it from all angles, mirroring the grave look as Xan stepped up to place Belegir's moonblade between the two other items.

As he did, the whole statue began to glow, and the air before them became hazy, then started to shimmer. Some of the elves gasped, bowing their heads respectfully at the reverence of the situation, while the companions watched on with fascination. Before long, a likeness of the statue stood before them -- much taller, and much more imposing. When it spoke, its voice was mighty and rasping.

"THE AVATAR OF THE GREAT OAK STANDS BEFORE YOU, MORTALS. WHAT TRANSPIRES HERE THAT REQUIRES THE ATTENTION OF THE LEAFLORD?"

Xan hesitated slightly. At Jaheira's encouraging nod, he spoke. "The sorcerer, Jon Irenicus, has-"

"AH... THE EXILE HAS RETURNED. HE WHO ONCE WAS OF THE ELVES BUT IS NO LONGER SURVIVES YET. ONCE AGAIN HE COMMITS HIS SACRILEGE AGAINST THE TREE OF LIFE. THE EXILE PROTECTS HIMSELF WITH POWER THAT CORRUPTS NATURE. I CANNOT TOUCH HIM. HE HOLDS SHE WHO IS OF MY BLOOD IMPRISONED WITHIN CORRUPTION. HE USES HER LINK TO THE TREE OF LIFE TO DRAIN ITS POWER."

"Why?" Xan asked quickly. "What is he-"

"THE EXILE SEEKS TO JOIN THE SELDARINE. THE EXILE SEEKS TO BECOME A GOD, AS HE SOUGHT ONCE BEFORE."

"How would he ever propose to do join such ranks?" Jaheira wondered aloud. "Mad! Mad!"

"Madness indeed," Xan agreed. "Once an Exile, forever an Exile, especially after these atrocities! Corellon would never-"

"THE FIRST OF THE SELDARINE WOULD NEVER PERMIT IT. THE TREE OF LIFE MUST NOT PERISH, OR OUR CHILDREN WILL SUFFER. THE SPIRITS OF THIS WOOD WILL BE CALLED TO DEFEAT THE EVIL THAT THE EXILE HAS BROUGHT INTO OUR MIDST."

Despite being indoors, Maiyn could feel the caress of the breath of wind that coursed past her, rushing towards the grand doors, and out into the night air. She instinctively turned, watching as ghostly figures melded into existence at the call of their God.

"RISE, SPIRITS... IT IS I, RILLIFANE RALLATHIL OF THE SELDARINE WHO CALLS YOU. DEFEND OUR CHILDREN THIS DAY."

A whisper rushed through the gathering, then the spirits turned and flew through the air, invigorated by the strength of Rillifane, seeking the enemies of their descendents as they sought to cleanse the city of all traces of evil.

"AND YOU, MORTAL..."

Maiyn turned back to the avatar. It seemed to be looking at her, though she was sure it was addressing Xan and Jaheira.

"YOU SEEK TO DEFEAT THE EXILE. FREE SHE WHO IS OF MY BLOOD FROM HIS CORRUPTION, AND SHE WILL SEVER THE LINK HE USES."

"Irenicus has sealed the Palace," Xan stated calmly. "The doors are closed to us."

"I SHALL UNSEAL THEM." There was a silence; no one dared to speak, and all eyes remained on the avatar expectantly. Then: "IT IS DONE. I CAN DO NO MORE."

And as soon as it had appeared, the image swirled away into noting, and the group were left staring at the side of the statue for a very long time. Jaheira was the first to regain her wits, nudging Xan with her elbow as she began to make her way to the outside.

"We go quickly," she said. There is no time to lose, and the spirits shall defend the city while we focus on the Palace."

-----------------------

The Palace of Suldanessellar was even grander than Maiyn had initially anticipated. The spirits had stayed true to their words -- corpses of their foes littered the way, freshly brought down by the awoken forces as they found the enemy even when hidden in the darkest of places. The building was large -- much larger than the ranger would have believed could have been built so high up in the trees, and it was surrounded by a huge wall; live branches from the surrounding trees weaving together to provide the palisade.

The elven guard at the gate was hesitant to let them pass. Only Xan's insistence on the urgency of their mission, and Coran's conversational enquiry about the man's female cousin had convinced him to believe they were not illusions or phantoms, taking the shapes of help to try and breach the Palace further. They followed the path up to the imposing doors of the Palace, and Minsc pushed against them, managing to open one wide enough to allow the party to enter. Just as Jaheira was about to pass through, they heard a call from behind them.

"Wait! I have something for you!"

Maiyn turned to see Solen running towards them, Verya by his side, with Yessie riding on the back, and some items in the elf's hands. She groaned -- not another ritual, she thought to herself; but she couldn't help buy grin slightly at his eagerness and delighted expression as he presented the gifts to the druid.

"You will need these," he explained, noticing the half-elf's puzzled expression. "The Fountain of Music requires the harp and the horn to be placed on it correctly for it to play. Then, and only then, will the waterfall allow you to pass."

Jaheira nodded slowly. "You are not coming with us," she stated, turning back to the door. She only paused at Solen's indignant snort.

"I have helped you this far, and it is my city," he protested. "Elhan has given me his permission to escort you -- and I would like the opportunity to. If you do not mind, of course," he added, hastily.

Jaheira sighed heavily. "It will be dangerous," she said. "It is not right that anyone risk themselves for a task they do not understand."

"I understand that the Exile threatens my city," Solen argued. "That, alone, is reason for me."

She shrugged helplessly. "The choice is yours, of course!" she exclaimed, shaking her head slightly as she made her way into the Palace. One by one the others followed her.

Inside, large leaves formed walls and floors, ceilings and steps, along with the familiar rough bark of the trees themselves. The floor appeared to be tiled, though it remained slightly uneven underfoot. Maiyn knew at once that they were within the Tree of Life itself, despite the fact that other, smaller trees, were growing around them. She gaped quite visibly.

Coran seemed the least phased of them all, wandering beside her as he glared down at the sword in his hands. He was still reluctant, it seemed to be using the blade, but it was now almost certainly too late for him to have any issues. Maiyn was quite distracted from his disinclination, however; she could almost feel Irenicus' presence, and the she felt her blood begin to boil.

He is near.

Maiyn grit her teeth, trying to ignore the voice. Verya rubbed against her instinctively and comfortingly, and she scratched the cat's head affectionately. Yessie had already scampered off to perch on Imoen's shoulder once more.

Solen led them to a large chamber with a beautiful stone fountain that bubbled pleasantly in the corner, and a large pool, constantly swirling around as two channels of water poured into it. Jaheira stepped forward to the fountain at Solen's nod, and placed the harp in the hands of one of the stone figures. Almost immediately, the sound of soothing harp music filtered through the air, and one of the channels ran empty. The druid stepped around to the other side, placing the horn in the hands, and by the lips of the second figure. The haunting sound joined the mellow string music, and the second channel also ceased its flow.

Within seconds the pool had emptied, revealing a set of steps that wound their way down onto one of the branches of the Tree of Life. Maiyn stepped closer, peering down cautiously, an icy feeling surrounding her heart. Here they were -- Irenicus was before them, and she was all too aware that there was a good chance some of them would not survive the encounter. She looked up to the others. All eyes were watching her; some with hope, some with fear, and some with concern. She opened her mouth to speak, but Jaheira shook her head, staving her off.

"Do not speak, child. All too often you have tried to protect us by keeping us from danger, yet we still willingly follow you. We all know the possibilities that lay before us. I, for one, will be joining you as you go down those steps. The dead would wish that I honour them," she finished determinedly.

"As shall Minsc," the berserker proclaimed. "The filthy murderer of glorious Dynaheir shall feel the sharp edge of Larry as Minsc and Boo administer a hero's dose of butt-kicking for goodness!"

"Yee-hah!"

"And I'm not going anywhere," Imoen added. "We're in this together, as well you know. You were with me when we faced Bodhi -- I'll be there when we face Irenicus."

"And so shall I," Anomen agreed. "I have learned much as I spent these past few months in your company, and I vowed to aid you until the end. I will be fighting by your side as you face this madman."

"So will I." Coran's voice was quite low, and he was still eyeing his sword with obvious distrust. "We've been through a lot, and I couldn't turn back now. Not now."

"Me either," Nalia said hesitantly. "You helped to save my home when you didn't need to. If this is how I can repay you, then... then I'll do what I can."

"Even if I had not promised to stay with you until you reclaimed your soul, I would not be able to watch as this... this abomination attempts to ruin my people and cause them suffering." Xan sighed heavily. "I am with you... though it is futile."

"I know not much of your plight," Solen said abashedly. "But my city is threatened, and whatever your motives for standing against the purveyor of this destruction -- I am honoured to stand with you."

"It is unnatural down there. I do not like it."

You do not have to come. Go back outside, and find safety with the elves. I will return soon.

There was a pause. "No. I go with you."

Maiyn smiled weakly; the loyalty was almost overwhelming, and emotion was thick in the air. When she felt the familiar sensation of tears threatening to prick at her eyes and blinked defiantly.

"Onwards, then," she said, turning back to face the stairs. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a few seconds, regulating her breathing, and then began to descend.