A/N: Expect more delays between chapters now as I have busier days ahead.
Her quarters at the temple are surprisingly luxurious: enough that she actually looks forward to getting back to them after each mission. The drow of Lith My'athar are not poor, obviously eager to please The Seer and her Chosen, and trade still flows freely on the river enough that there's no shortage of all manners of exotic goods that she'd never seen, smelled or tasted before. Sitting in a tub of steaming hot water scented with some perfumed oil and combing out her tangled locks with a finely carved bone comb, Adele reflects on the fact that there's still a lot she doesn't know about life in the Underdark. It's a completely alien world that is rarely spoken of on the surface of Toril, and then only in the sense of 'absolute darkness, evil and untold dangers'. And while she now can personally attest to the 'untold dangers' part (and she absently rubs her shoulder where an almost healed little pink scar reminds her of the agility of sword spiders and their eerie ability of dropping from stalactites and finding small gaps in armor), she can also definitely see that not only it's far from being utterly dark, but terming it 'absolute evil' also requires correction. A while ago, after their first mission to the strange island with the city of the winged elves, she started to compile her impressions in a more organized fashion in writing, thinking that it might serve her Order if she ever gets out of here…
"Add that to Deekin's constant scribbling, and we might just manage to get somewhere," she thinks, remembering how her kobold companion even manages to take notes after battles almost immediately, carefully noting the enemy's numbers and composition, amending the narrative with quick but eerily lifelike sketches. "Although the next time he wants to publish my adventures, I definitely shall insist to go through the manuscript and edit. Also make sure he gets a good contract, with royalties." She frowns, remembering Deekin's sad story about how he was taken advantage of by practically all the humans in Waterdeep he encountered, and silently promises to herself not to let that happen again.
Provided I will not be summoned back to Tantras yet again for 'debriefing', she thinks and makes a face, remembering the long, stern face of Mother Dia, heading the three-person committee that questioned her for days following the 'Undrentide Incident' as they called it.
The knock on her door catches her at the corner desk, adding notes to the end of a parchment roll she started after her first marketplace visit, and which lists an impressive amount of raw material types she's encountered in the Underdark so far.
"A moment!" She calls out, frowning a little: she didn't expect anyone, and, truth to tell, was even looking forward to a little privacy that is not easy to get while out on a mission.
She puts the quill down, ties the sash of her spidersilk robe tighter just on principle and goes to the door, head still full of thoughts regarding kobolds, human prejudices and possible avenues to help.
"Master Scalesinger, if it's you, I'm afraid I again need to decline your invitation to listen to…Oh." She did not expect The Seer standing on her doorstep, in her full priestess regalia. "Mother Seer…" she stammers out a greeting, bows awkwardly and tries in vain to smooth down her still-wet hair.
"Adele, child." The Seer smiles at her gently. "I did not realize you were…" She makes an elegant gesture at Adele's house-robe and the tub behind her.
"Of no matter." Adele shakes her head. "I always have time for you." She steps aside so the older woman can enter. "To what do I owe the honor?"
"I was merely curious if… you have finished with your evening devotions yet." The Seer hesitates. "I realize that this might be an unusual request, but I've raised the issue to my sisters and we have no objection, should you wish to say your prayers with us tonight and from now on whenever you are here. As you know, the main hall of the Temple has been… cleansed from the remnants of Lolth's cult, and thus it is suitable for our congregation's ceremonies. I wish to offer you the opportunity to join us whenever you feel the need. Worshipping alone is fine and well, when you're on the road, but…" Again that radiant smile. "Plainly spoken: you're one of us, Adele. You've proven yourself a true defender of our goddess, and our people. You are always welcome in the Dark Maiden's Circles in Lith My'athar."
"Mother Seer, I…" Adele is suddenly at a loss for words. She knows the protocol, the polite answers, and the words of acceptance or gentle refusal: all of them. They were taught to her while a novice quite well; still, the invitation right here and right now catches her unawares. She blinks at the tall, regal priestess in front of her, who dreamed of her coming, who welcomed her to the city with warm smile and quiet gratitude for deeds yet to be performed, who convinced her followers and allies in the city to accept her, the surface warrior of a different god, and who, apparently, understands very well the deepest needs of her heart.
And she understands that this is one of those invites that absolutely cannot be refused if one calls herself the true follower of her god.
"I am honored, "she says finally, and tries to hide the trembling in her voice in vain as she bows, with honest gratitude. "I would like that; very much."
It is at once familiar and weirdly alien; welcoming and warm and yet different enough that she is grateful for the corner chapel The Seer offers her when they finally descend to the temple hall. Eilistraee's worshipers call their service "The Circle of Song", and the name doesn't lie. The priestesses, clad in white and silver sit interspersed with the faithful in a great circle (Adele understands now why The Seer prefers to listen to her post-mission reports sitting cross-legged in a cushion in her little study chamber), and take turns to lead the congregation as one by one they stand, gracefully bow and lift their voices in song while their feet traces the marble floor in a complicated dance in which, Adele has no doubt, every step has strict ritual significance. There are little silver bells woven into their long tresses that chime along with their clear voices; the whole ceremony is charming and almost mesmerizing, as the great silver magelight , hanging from the ceiling (and which represents the moon, sacred to Eilistraee, The Seer explained to her shortly after she arrived to the city) shines it enchanted lights to the congregation. Adele can easily see the remnants of surface rituals in everything they do, thousands of years of hiding etching the precise moves of the dance and the cadences of the songs into their memories, passed down from generation to generation of priestesses and taught in secret… and yet, the faces turning upwards in the silver light mirror nothing but joy over the fact that they are here, together, joined in song and dance, and, at least for a little while, imagine themselves to truly be on the surface, under the light of the hunter moon.
She has heard little echoes of their worship often enough from her chambers upstairs, but the beauty of the whole thing surpasses her imagination a hundredfold. In the privacy of the chapel she kneels on the small carpet The Seer's acolytes thoughtfully provided to her, and says her own prayers, the rolling chant of the prescribed litany filling her with familiar calm and strength. She includes her thanks for this evening, for The Seer's kindness and wisdom, for the joy in the voice of her followers, for their soothing silver magelight: for the chance to feel the sense of belonging and to witness the very reasons that she is fighting for every time she leaves Lith My'athar. The tugging of Halaster's geas faded almost completely from her heart: it's still there, of that there's no doubt, but it's no longer the reason why she's here, why she battles and bleeds and is ready to die for these men and women. It is this, she realizes as the last syllables of her prayers are said and she rises from the carpet, fist over her heart closed then opened in the sign of Torm. It is the song of many, raised in praise and in hope that there is light in the darkness, that there is hope in the night, and that one day those voices will sing the same melodies accompanied by silver bells under the true moonlight of the Silver Lady.
"Please, Lord," Adele whispers, leaning against a slender pillar and watching Nathyrra, slender and deadly Nathyrra, the once feared assassin and killer, meandering in dance amongst the rest of the worshippers, her face carefree and full of joy like she's never seen before, "please, make it so."
Her dreams are free of nightmares for the first time since she's arrived to Waterdeep weeks before.