9.
A/N: A slight warning for this chapter: M rating is justified by possible triggers of mentions of rape, violence, torture, prostitution and human sacrifice. In addition, if you have issues with mentions of student-instructor consensual relationships, you've been warned. I don't like these listings up front, but judging by recent issues in some fandoms, I find it prudent to play nice. This is an adult fic with serious themes, that are, while not necessarily sexual, dark nevertheless.
We're now returning you to your scheduled wartime romance plot.
Oh, one more thing: you might want to to listen to 'Something Dark Is Coming' from Bear McCreary's Battlestar Galactica soundtrack while reading this. It will make sense.
"And then our brave heroine, with radiant smile on her benevo... Boss, how you spell 'benevolent'?"
"All this time traveling with her and you still haven't had a chance to practice it? Here, let me help you, Master Scalesinger… see?" Scratching noise on parchment, small whistle.
"Neat lettering you have, Goat-man. Be that a double 'l'?"
There is a sigh.
"I am not quite sure if we could possibly make any more noise while sneaking up on an entire nest of vampires, gentlemen, but if you think we can, I'll ask Enserric to contribute to the discussion."
"Oh. Sorry, Boss." Deekin's face: almost, but not quite contrite. "We be discussing penmanship and…"
"And apparently this was the last time I've helped your kobold with the fine arts of calligraphy," Valen mutters darkly, but he bites his lip hard to keep from smiling, as he bows. "Apologies, Lady."
"Of no matter…" Adele waves a hand. "It's not that I am the expert on undead here or anything." She sniffs. "Gods, this place has me on edge; I haven't had a headache like this since we've cleaned up that crypt in the Coldwood." She glances down at her legs, covered in something dark and sticky from her sabatons up to the knees. "Of course, 'cleaning up' is a relative term here…"
"Look at it this way, Lady: at least it's not beholder ichor." Valen says encouragingly and Adele shudders.
"Dear gods, thank you for reminding me." There is such a heartfelt expression of disgust on her face that Valen has to chuckle.
Oh, really? Adele thinks, one eyebrow going up. We're being funny today, is that it? By the Lord's gauntlet, this starts to become eerily familiar again…
"I do notice, though, that you are usually in a better mood when you manage to gross me out, sir," she says, trying to sound arch. "I wonder if there's a wager involved there somewhere between you and Master Scalesinger, or…?"
"Me? Wagering with your kobold, Lady?" Valen opens his eyes wide. "I am offended that you even think me capable of such things." He turns away to measure up the room they just cleaned up for a hasty rest stop in the sinister temple's lower crypts, and murmurs, barely audibly, eyes half-shut. "The wager was with Nathyrra, of course."
Adele can't help but grin as she rearranges a half-smashed chair to be able to sit down a bit. The only way to deal with the increasingly more and more oppressive environment is, she knows this from experience, to engage in truly bizarre jesting. Earlier during her career she frowned at older brothers at the Temple when they recounted their field experiences, reassuring herself over and over again that she would never stoop down to base jokes while engaging in the cleansing acts of the god. After puking her guts out on her first undead assignment when two zombies disintegrated on top of her, however, she quickly learned the wisdom of this almost-custom as Brother Veneficius, her knight-instructor at that time helped her up and asked in a deceptively courteous voice: "I trust now you understand the importance of closing your mouth and withholding your breath after the incantation for destroying undead, sister?"
"Good memories?" Valen inquires quietly, settling down next to her. They both root through their pack for some cleaning rags and set out to fix some truly reprehensible spots on arms and armor while Deekin uses wood splinters from several chests and tables to set a little fire and boils a little pot of water.
"Merely reminders of just how horribly I behaved on my first few field assignments." Adele removes her helmet with a sigh and puts it on the table next to her gauntlets. The liner sticks to her forehead: she pulls it back with a disgusted expression that fades to mild annoyance fast. "It seems like a lifetime ago. My nickname was 'Know-All' in school; even my family used it after a while instead of Dellie." She looks at Valen quickly and catches the incredulous expression on his face. "I ought to warn you, sir, though…"
"Far be from me to betray the trust of a lady's secrets." Valen lifts a gloved hand. "I shall forget I've ever heard that…" He tilts his head to the side and regards her very carefully. "Dellie?"
"If you ever tell Deekin, I kill you." Adele leans closer and whispers sweetly. "Slowly, and letting Enserric provide commentary. In rhyming couplets."
"Not. A. Word." Valen nods seriously, reaching for the next rag, and passing it to her along with the little pot of armor polish. "So: you were one of those who sat in the first row in school, always had their hands up first? That kind of thing?"
"Worse." Adele glances at Deekin who's humming contentedly, busy chopping up an old chest partially for the fire, partially to form long stakes. "A lot of times I had my hand up before the teacher finished the question." She grins. "Imagine every single stereotype of the eager prodigy rolled into one: quick wit, hungry intellect and keen theological sense, brilliant reasoning ability, excellent research skills, first in class combat abilities, coupled with a sense of infallibility, a smattering of whispers about 'significant destiny', and a really highly bouncy ponytail." She pats a spot a half an inch from the top of her head. "About ye high, and long until my knighting ceremony. That's when it's cut short; some let it grow back a bit, but I never did." Her face clouds for a moment and she shakes her head angrily and with finality. "And probably never will."
Valen casts a quick glance at her, but remains silent; and Adele is grateful.
It is, perhaps, that silence that makes her feel comfortable enough to continue.
"Terribly unpractical, ponytails. Apparently they also can lead you to sin." She grimaces. "At least it was one of the theories His Holiness the Primarch set forth when I was…disciplined. Did I ever tell you I was disciplined at the end of my novitiate?" She smears a glob of polish on her gauntlet and attacks it, almost angrily with the rag. She isn't sure what compels her to speak about this right here, right now; but it bubbles up suddenly and almost unstoppable. Maybe it's the fact that she's having a splitting headache due to the proximity of powerful undead creatures; after all, they just recently dispatched several vampires, and who knows how many of them still lurk in the depths of the crypts beyond? Maybe it's the memory of the sunken-eyed dwellers of Drearing's Deep, the little collection of hovels beyond this temple's gates, with its inhabitants calling themselves 'free' while living in daily terror of the gong that takes them away one by one to be killed, under the pretext of 'protection has its price'? Maybe it's the fact that she can fall into strangely familiar routines with this outsider, soldier and survivor of terrible wars, and that she feels, when it all boils down to it, as safe with him as she's not felt in a long time? Or maybe it's all of those rolled into one, slowly pressed forward by the inevitability of something coming, the underlying knowledge of her mission here in the Underdark rushing towards some kind of conclusion, that keeps her dreams disturbed more and more as the days rush by?
"I was first in class, with a future as bright as you can imagine…I was doing semi-official squiring to the Primarch himself already, and people clearly expected great things of me." She wipes at her forehead and wishes that the pounding would lessen somewhat. "It was just… so very stupid. Something clearly got into my head, but I was eighteen and thought I could do absolutely no wrong." She casts a sidelong glance at Valen. "Contrary to popular myths you're probably not familiar with but which are common fare of jokes in taverns all around Faerun, paladins are not celibate, not even as novices—relationships between instructors and students are, however, frowned upon. Mildly speaking, that is. Bluntly put, I was discovered carrying out an illicit affair with my arms instructor. We both were cited in front of the Primarch: I think he yelled at us for an hour straight—on separate occasions, of course. He—his name was Cornelyan- was asked to resign his commission and was sent to a border fortress to support the efforts against the Zhentarim on the Dalelands. I was… offered to graduate early and fast, to receive the mantle of Special Errant Envoy Plenipotentiary due to my exemplary conduct that far and in recognition of certain family sacrifices. The very next day of my graduation I was sent to Neverwinter to aid that city on my first solo mission to battle evil and hopefully mend my errant ways regarding inappropriate conduct with handsome knights in shining armor, easy smiles and a penchant for admiring pony-tailed novices a bit too closely."
Adele grabs her helmet now and looks at Valen almost belligerently, chin lifted.
"Have you ever been in love?" she asks fiercely. "That odd feeling of 'I can take on the world and I don't care' type of love…the one when you think you know better than everyone else, that you can do anything and everything and to the Hells with what they think?" She shrugs. "That's the kind of love we had… I had, anyway. Very young, very stupid, very selfish… but very bright and blazing and consuming. I wanted to prove that I could do what I was tasked with, despite the whispers, the laughters, the fact that half of Tantras gossiped about me and him and the scandal, however much the Primarch's secretaries worked on clearing it up." She makes a face. "And then, of course, when you spend some time away from the person you thought was your everything, and you see and understand a bit more about how the world works outside the confines of your little realm you've lived so far, and you really start to take on real responsibilities and worry about decisions that impact people's lives daily, you start to forget about that big all-consuming love—after all, you fight every day for your very life, uncover secrets, do missions that would raise the hair on the arms of even more experienced knights of your order… One day, then, you think back of your so-called love and you maybe send a letter or a messenger…or maybe you meet an old friend and hear back about your love…" The helmet clanks loudly on the table as she puts it back. "He got married to the castellan's daughter a couple of months after he arrived to that castle; by now he has three kids and is a veritable pillar of the community. Of course the Primarch was right, and of course I am glad that Cornelyan is happy and content and serves Torm the right way, but… that little ache, you know? The one you still feel, back behind your breastbone like an old wound, that just flares up every time you see something just from the corner of your eye, a gesture, a smile, a color, a voice, that reminds you of them…of that stupid, selfish, terribly bright and beautiful first love that formed you, that shaped you, that molded you to be the person you became later?" She touches her breastplate just above her heart. "That is still there. Do you have that?"
"Yes. I had." Valen puts down his own vambrace and leans on his elbow. His face is strangely vulnerable now and looks young; Deekin's fire casts shadows under his cheekbones and paints bright highlights in his red hair. "Once, a long time ago." He looks up. "She died." One finger traces strange patterns on the rough wood of the table; Adele's eyes follow its movement as if hypnotized. "She was a servant of my master and she was kind to me. She was a mortal slave, not a planewalker, or lesser demon; I remember her singing often when she was cleaning. She was not treated kindly, not treated well: she was a plaything of the soldiers, a prize after well-done campaigns, like a nice weapon or piece of armor, or a wineskin to pass around and bide the time with. But she always smiled at me, and tied green ribbons in her hair." He swallows. "After I saw the Seer and failed my mission… I was being tortured after that, and Grimash't, my master brought her before me, and…made her part of my torture, which had been going on for quite a long time by then. He meant to break me with that, and he did quite a good job. He killed her after a while, of course," he adds, as if that explains it, and Adele feels her heart make a strange, slow 'thud' at that. "It was meant to cause me pain; and it did. So yes: I know what you mean by that little pain, right here." He taps his own chestplate, exactly the same place as she did before. "It's an old wound, and the only one of its kind I carry."
"I am so sorry." Adele whispers; her limbs are cold. "What was her name?"
"You see… that's just the thing." Valen shakes his head slowly. "I never knew her name. Or maybe I did and I forgot. I was tortured for a very long time…months, perhaps…and that kind of pain does strange things to memory." He looks up, and there's a small smile on his face. "But I will never forget those green ribbons in her hair, and the way she always smelled of cinnamon."
Firewood snaps; Deekin sneaks by, putting a couple of stakes next to them and sliding two tiny cups of hot, steaming liquid on the lopsided table, and Adele looks around as if waking from a dream.
"You've made… tea?" Adele asks surprised, accepting the drink with a grateful smile. "Thank you. That is…very good of you, Master Scalesinger."
"Deekin thought Boss needed something for headache," the little kobold says quietly. "And for something else, maybe. Deekin had tin with herbs in his pack."
"The day you will not have something in your pack will be the end of the world." Adele murmurs, folding her hands around the little tin cup.
"Bag of Holding, hm?" Valen inhales the aroma of the tea deeply and looks at the two of them. "Not very common on this plane, I take it?"
"The real ones are rare." Adele nods: she is immensely grateful for Deekin breaking the mood the way he did, and feels an overwhelming surge of affection towards her longtime companion, who understands so much more of the ways of the world on his own odd way than he ever lets on. "Fakes you can spot at almost every larger city that caters to adventurers. But the real deal: not sure where Deekin found that one, but it pulled us out from a lot of trouble in more than one tight spot." She pats the stakes on the table. "And look: he made these, too."
"Those monks in the last chamber apparently made a lasting impression on your companion." Valen stops and looks at Adele again; the raw pain of that memory in his eyes faded somewhat, and in their blue depths there's something else now. "Please forgive me for bringing this up again, but… I am still trying really hard to imagine you with a…" he swishes his own hair behind his head, "bouncy ponytail?"
"'Ye high'." Adele says, just about the same time he does, and they are only partially surprised when a little laugh bubbles up from both of their throats.
"All right," she continues after she tastes her tea again, gratefully registering how it indeed soothes her headache away rather nicely, "It's probably crystal clear to you by now: I was a thoroughly insufferable best-in-class and I clearly wanted to prove something. I suppose everything goes back to the time when my brother …" She bites her lip and falls silent for a second.
Valen does not press. He just resumes cleaning his vambrace, lying in front of him on the table and sips on his tea once more before Adele speaks up again.
"He was seventeen when the god came to Tantras." Her voice is very quiet. "That term I mentioned to you earlier: The Martyr's Progeny… it refers to all Tormtar in Tantras who were offered but not dedicated yet and were under the age of fourteen when the Time of Troubles came and the gods walked on Toril. You heard about it, yes?"
Valen nods, but he doesn't elaborate, or even says a word; his eyes don't leave Adele's face, and she's immensely grateful for the silence as she continues.
"That makes it less…I don't know, academic, then. The gods' avatars fought to decide ages-old conflicts and new animosities alike… In my city, Tantras, Torm's avatar battled Bane, god of fear, hatred and tyranny. Torm was weakened at that time, while Bane received a significant surge of power from various sacrifices, so…our Lord needed power to vanquish his foe. The High Primarch and the Chief Tormtars made a difficult decision, and in the full accordance of their faithful they…offered themselves to the god."
"Offered themselves? Do you mean as…sacrifices?" Valen asks, slightly rocking back on his seat.
"They gave their life's power so that Torm could be victorious over the greatest evil walking its streets." Adele nods. "In His mercy, He decided that he wouldn't take the youngest, though—even though it might have meant he wouldn't win. I was thirteen. Everyone already called to serve at the temple but under the age of fourteen was spared and spirited away to underground caverns until the battle was over; the plan called for hasty evacuation via secret tunnels to the sea. We would have been the only ones keeping the legacy and the memory of our city alive: because if Torm failed, if the sacrifice of all our brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers in faith failed, there was no Tantras to return to—Bane would have obliterated the entire city."
Her voice fails for a second: when she continues, there's a strange little lilt to it, as if something broke in her chest again after a long time.
"My… my brother was nineteen; he was the eldest in the family then, and a full-blown cleric of our god. He… he stood on the high square with the others as we were led away. They stood in straight rows, the young, the old, the men and the women, clerics, paladins, monks and acolytes, clad in all-white under the banners of the open palm. There was no singing, no hymns, and no solemn music like they so often say in ballads and heroic songs about that time: just the rolling clouds, the wind, the smell of the sea air and smoke, the noise of the battle drawing ever closer across the city, and the cries of the seagulls from the bay. We lost the sight of their white faces and gleaming eyes as we descended to the caverns: the roar of the ocean drowned out their screaming after a while." Her voice is merely a whisper. "Most of us had a dream after: the god told us they didn't suffer."
"I'm sorry." Valen's voice is warm, as is his hand on hers on the table. His calloused fingers curl around hers almost, but not quite, gently, as if they were unfamiliar with such acts. "I am… unused to expressing sympathy, but… that tale is unlike anything else I've encountered in my life. Sacrifices such as that…" He is looking away, trying to find the words for a second. "Tell me, though: why would a god, a benevolent one such as Torm you so devotedly serve, demand something like that?"
"You understand war." Adele looks into his eyes, hand clutching his tightly still, as if with that she could impart more understanding. "You've been a soldier in a war that spanned planes for millennia for causes long forgotten and perhaps best not to be remembered. But this is Toril, and I am human—our gods embody the very ideas we're born with. Should Torm, god of duty, loyalty, righteousness and compassion have been vanquished, Bane, god of fear, tyranny and hatred would have consumed all that was of Tantras: cleric, paladin, merchant, sailor, soldier, men, women, children, babes. You understand war: but do you understand fighting for something that is threatened to be eradicated so utterly that eventually it would become its very opposite? The necessity of a sacrifice from many, fueled by their love of something they hold so dear they are willing to give their very essence so there can be a future?"
"Are you asking me if I would be taking sides in such war?" There's an undercurrent of growl in Valen's voice now, and his tail lashes out wildly about him. His eyes narrow in warning. "Are you asking me whether I would have sided with Bane or Torm?"
"No. I don't have to ask that, Valen." Adele's voice is firm again, her head high, and the certainty in her heart is like a slowly kindling fire. "I see you every day in Lith My'athar; I see you at my side when we're out here fighting. I see you battling your demon every day; I see you wanting to be rid of it and become who you truly want to be. You chose already: I don't need to bother you with intellectual exercises or 'what-ifs'. I would be unworthy to be called a paladin not to recognize who you truly are by now: but I had to tell my story so you understand where I am coming from." There are echoes of something deeper in her voice; Valen blinks as he sees a faint glimmer of light about her head that shines from somewhere beyond. "This is who I am. A paladin of Torm, the Loyal Fury: Martyr's Progeny, who witnessed gods do battle and take the lives of her loved ones as a child; one who was spared by love first, tried by it second and finally let free so she can go and live and serve by example."
There's that silence between them again, punctuated by Deekin's slight humming as he pokes at the fire in the corner: a silence of open wide places, of possibilities converging with the slow but inevitable speed of a tidal wave.
Something is coming, Adele realizes, as she hears the pounding of blood in her ears, the way she only ever heard the ocean during high tide in Tantras. Something is coming… and it has the potential to change entire worlds.
Soon, she hears the whisper in her ears, coming from beyond the spheres of her own plane. Soon, she hears her god's voice, and the air is filled with the glistening of steel, the smell of freshly fallen snow, and bone-numbing cold. Keep the warmth around you so that you stay true.
Keep your faith around you so that you stay steadfast.
And, at last, before time returns, and she stares into Valen's concerned eyes again, he hears Torm's last warning.
Keep him around you so that both of you remain.