13.
"Evening, Savior," they greet her as she makes her rounds. They stand at attention, nod, some even salute and try to show that they are just fine, but Adele feels their fear just as palpably as the dream that gripped her heart a short time ago. The dream that woke her up with a defiant cry on her lips and her body and hair soaked in sweat, her heart racing, and her right hand reaching out towards her bedside to grab Enserric.
Just a dream, she told herself, and lighted a candle, splashed water on her face and threw clothes on.
Just a dream, she repeated as she padded down to the side chapel The Seer set up for her use, holding her boots on her hands, and nodding to the white-clad acolytes still holding a prayer vigil by Eilistraee's altar in the main nave.
Just a dream, she sighed into the cold air, as she kneeled on her rug and made the sign of Torm over her heart.
Just a dream, she murmured as she finished her prayers and continued her silent way out of the Temple. She's walking along the long avenue through the quiet marketplace now, by the dark and shuttered public house; the drinking gardens, normally so full of life, are now silent and empty, with only the occasional patrol that greets her respectfully as they pass by. There is light in the armory, of course, and there's steam curling out every window and chimney: Rizolvir and his apprentices are working night-and-day since the Valsharess' army has been sighted by the scouts. High Wizard Gulhrys' normally so orderly and tidy courtyard and house is all in disarray as well: the gate's open, and harried-looking drow are carrying boxes of ingredients for potions, empty bottles and bags smelling like foul substances in and out the main door, while noxious odors waft out one of the open windows upstairs and she can faintly hear the wizard's voice from inside yelling: 'no, I said rakshasa eyes, curse it, I know there were more in cold storage, so get!'
The entire city is like that since the scouts came back, Adele remembers, and pulls her cloak closer on her shoulders. She supposes this is also something The Valsharess and her magic-users are doing: the temperature in Lith My'athar is falling steadily from its normal even warmth to something she remembers from when she infiltrated the Northern city of Luskan. There's no rain, of course, but there's an odd drizzle falling because the normally moist air of the cave complex the city's hiding in reacts oddly to the temperature change. Adele's sure Gulhrys would be able to explain it all: magical theory wasn't really something her studies really delved into beyond the basics.
This is war, she remembers the ashen-faced drow scout's voice, and how everything seems to be since then like she is under the influence of a permanent Speed potion. She climbs the stairs leading to the battlements, nods to the guards crouching next to their fires with their barrels of arrows and huge pots of boiling pitch and reflects on how eerily similar all of this is to how Neverwinter looked just before the Luskan siege. All the frantic activity that erupted from the quiet surface of the everyday scenes around her, all the grim determination and the quiet hopelessness shared only with those closest to you when no one else looks…
She finds a quiet spot on one of the towers and leans against the cold stone of the crenellation, wishing that she could get the dream, that dream out of her head. It is a good vantage point, and she wrinkles her brow trying to figure out why no one is here. Out of reflex, she sweeps the corners and checks to see if the door leading down is bolted, but everything is as it should be. She then recalls how she passed two soldiers while deep in thoughts just a few minutes ago, and understands that they let her to have some privacy out of respect.
No doubt they are watching, though, she thinks as she returns to her earlier spot. The eyes of this entire city are on me, practically since I've arrived, and even more since the word of the approaching army has reached us.
If she looks down, she can see the outer gates in the distance and, amongst the dots of distant fires, a glimpse of golden light on hair and wingtips. Lavoera is positioned there, her presence greatly bolstering the resolve of those in that almost-hopeless position of first contact with the horde of death that is nearing them minute by minute and hour by hour. She has asked for that assignment, eager to test her mettle against an army that is led by a sorceress making pacts with the very forces of Hell. Yes, the deva was very specific about where she wanted to be when the enemy arrives.
Adele wishes it would be as simple for her as well. Lavoera almost thrives now that the conflict is imminent: she and Commander Imloth were almost like two children in the past couple of days, practically crackling with eagerness to devise more and more ingenuous ways to make the Valsharess pay for every step to the city wall and beyond. Their energy was infectious: Adele suspected it was on purpose, and watching The Seer's gentle smile listening to them telling her about yet another device, trap or magical obstacle they managed to somehow squeeze out of whatever stores Lith My'athar still possessed, she found her own confidence boosted by their excited laughter as well.
Until the dream came, tonight.
She thought she planned for everything, prepared for everything, had all the eventualities covered. In the low-ceilinged war room of the Temple, leaning over maps and the tiny to-scale model of the city painstakingly modeled by dozens of drow craftsmen from the minute The Seer arrived to Lith My'athar, she believed everything will work out. Ferron's golems have arrived last night, their feet shaking the docks when they landed from their boats, and she still remembers Dahanna's face as the duergar mercenary grinned up at her from the huge metal golem's side. "Look, the surfacer is still here, too. Figured we might try to see if there's pay in this whole freedom business, ya know? Turns out Ferron here was in need of some additional forces that possess the means of river transport and it just happens me merry band fits that description. We were never ones to back out of a fight, after all."
The gladiators of Zorvak'Mur, Drearing Deep's former slaves, the beholders' kobold servants led by Attiz… they all came, they are all here, and, along with every single inhabitant of Lith My'athar above the age of sixteen, are armed and have a position to hold when Sergeant Osyyr's scouts will finally give the word. These past three days were a blur, but a familiar one; Adele has done this before, and knows that they are ready, as ready as they can be. Everything is balanced, like the finely honed edge of an excellent blade, all the infinite possibilities of the future gathered together, and Adele, in the whirlwind of the frantic activities, meetings, surveys, musters and yes, speeches of the past three days found that whenever her control over sanity started to slip, whenever she needed an anchor to reality, a counterbalance to the weight on her shoulders, she only had to feel the slightest touch from Valen's hand and felt like the world was all in order again.
Not that they had a lot of opportunity for even that, Adele reflects now, feeling her lips twist into a smile. When you are the leading figures of a city under siege, every waking moment is spent in the company of others, there's absolutely no privacy, and even sleep is nothing but an hour here and there, dozing fitfully between the frantic rush of battle preparations, head resting on the crackling parchment of a map or scout report. She was sent to bed by The Seer after the first twenty-four hours when she literally fell asleep in mid-sentence; she managed four hours before was roused by Imloth telling her the golems have landed. Valen suffered the same fate: if Nathyrra hasn't yanked a soup bowl away from him he'd have fallen into it face first the second day towards eveningtime. "Some of us will get no use for you, General, if you burn your pretty face off, so shoo, get some sleep," the drow assassin winked, and Adele wanted to kick her under the table, but resisted valiantly.
And her last attempt at getting rest has ended with… that. Adele still shivers, recalling how vivid the dream was in every detail: the heavy exotic scent hanging in the air, the rich colors of the draperies, the luxurious surroundings, the shimmering silks and gold jewelry accentuating the ebony skin and snowy hair of the statuesque drow woman, whose rich alto voice tried so very hard to sound soothing and reassuring…
"You have proven yourself to me, Adele Welters. A powerful female, able to shake all the Underdark before her… Think on it: together, our power would be unstoppable. With you at my side, all of the Underdark would be ours... and the surface world, as well. Who wouldn't want this? Maybe there's even something you really want that I can help you to get once this is all over…Something, or someone?"
"Trying to check on the defenses until the last, hm?" Curse his uncanny ability to sneak up on her… yet again. Adele startles, but manages to barely move her head as Valen makes himself comfortable on the narrow stone bench next to her. "I would say it's unnecessary except that here I am, doing the same. Old habits die hard." His eyes narrow as he takes in her face. "I thought you were ordered to get some sleep, Lady. Forgive my boldness, but you're of no use to us in battle if you're not rested."
Pot, Kettle, Adele thinks with a certain amount of edge to it, but decides not to push that line of thought.
"Bad dreams," she responds instead curtly, because really, that's what it was, and Valen raises an eyebrow.
"I see. The 'we-all-die-in-horrible-ways' kind?"
Lord Torm, bless him for his ability of being utterly formal in one second, and saying something like that in the next. And may he keep it up, because I do need it.
"The 'I-am-being-tempted-by-a-really-badly-dressed-woman-offering-things' kind." Valen snorts at that and Adele allows herself to grin. "It was useful at least for putting a name with the face: Sinvyl, Matron Mother of House Barrit'tar. She kept talking. Gods, but she likes to hear her own voice. I'd have been amused at every other time at just how misdirected the effort was, you know, except that I now know who we face and who serves her. It was… exceptionally vivid in every detail; I think that's what rattled me most."
"Let me see if I understand this right: The Valsharess tried to persuade you to side with her?" Valen pronounces the words very carefully. "She must be really desperate."
"That's what I think. It seemed much more than merely the feverish product of my exhausted imagination: I'd have added more clothes on her, for starters." There's that snort again: Adele's melancholy mood is almost gone.
"She, of course, doesn't know that it has been tried before." She makes a face, remembering other cities, other evil sorceresses, other dreams and whispers… "I think this disturbed me on a different level, though. " She rubs her hands together. "Gods, but her wizards at least are competent… it's getting colder by the minute."
"You know, gloves do exist for nights like this." Valen shakes his head: his voice is that of the superior officer scolding a solider, except that his blue eyes glint with amusement. "I could have sworn you had a pair or two. In fact, I could have sworn I specifically told Rizolvir to save that special one with the cold resistance spell for you. Did you not get it last time you went to the armory for that fitting?"
"Don't remind me how many hours of sleep I did not have, please." Adele resists the temptation to either stand at attention or otherwise stick her tongue out at him. "Yes, I went to see him about that armor fitting. Yes, the new set is amazingly beautiful, and I have no idea how he pulled it off, given what he had to work with." She glances at Valen sideways. "I left it in my room. I could go and get it, but…"
"But I live to serve, my lady." Valen's fingers are warm, and cradle Adele's hands with ease. "There. Would that do, at least for now?"
"Perfect." Adele takes a deep breath; her hands were never dainty or small, and especially now, after the past weeks' intense fighting, her knuckles are swollen, fingers nicked by sharp blades, callouses rubbed raw from hours of swordwork at end, but the way Valen holds them makes her forget all of that. Not to mention that the honorific 'my lady' sounds from his lips just…
Well.
I could have sworn it wasn't this warm just a second ago.
She tries to control the tremble in her voice as she realizes that this is practically their first time alone since that time in the Moss Garden…if you can call 'up on the city battlements within shouting distance from about a dozen soldiers' alone.
But this bench is narrow, and he's close and by Torm, he is practically radiating warmth…
"Valen." She clears her throat and notices that half-amused, half-uncertain look in Valen's eyes that nearly makes her forget what she wanted to say. Gods, he probably feels almost exactly as awkward as I. "We… well, we didn't have much time alone since what seems to be forever and…"
"Which is why this finally might be the proper time to thank you for what you said in the Seer's garden. My lady." She almost laughs out loud at that, and the discord between that and what she really feels finally makes her realize what's actually happening.
"Oh," she says with that half-giggle making it all the way out of her lips, along with the words, "that's right. I am punch-drunk on impending doom. I do this often before battles: can't really control it. Sorry," she adds, apologetically, and the slow grin on Valen's lips makes her heart to skip a beat.
Yet again, he seems to be reading my thoughts.
Also, he has an absolutely wonderful mouth. I wonder if it's a sin to notice that, Lord?
"So that's what it is, then?" One of his hands tilts her chin upwards, and she can feel his warm breath on her face. "I just want to make sure I'm not breaking any paladin codes, you understand."
"I don't think so." Adele looks serious for a second, as if she'd even be considering the possibility; that, she hopes, disguises her very un-warriorlike trembling right now.
Or something.
"Isn't your aura itching? From mine, I mean?" She can't believe she just said that; yes, indeed, she has the pre-battle jitters in full effect now, thank you very much, Lord Torm, for blessing me with this almost schoolgirl-like behavior right before madness and carnage descends, every single time…
Or maybe it's not just that, you know, but this man right here and knowing that you might die any time after tomorrow. The ages-old recipe for either bliss or disaster, and you really should know better…
"I'm getting used to it." He winks, and his forehead touches hers, gently bumping. "I'd told you that I just needed to spend more time in your company and it would get better. Right now, truth to tell, it actually… feels rather nice." He closes his eyes for a second, and adds, almost absently. "Mmm."
Gods. He's doing this on purpose.
Bastard.
Of course, it's not that I exactly mind.
"Imp." Adele whispers, and it suddenly doesn't matter that she just knows there are witnesses to this, almost certainly, and knowing how drow males are practically obsessed with observing her wherever she goes ('it's that surfacer mystique, my dear,' Nathyrra explained to her once early on, 'they are trying to figure out where you fall in the dominance scale compared to drow females and maybe trying to see if they got a chance to have a…direct experience'), there probably are bets being paid off right now…but gods, this also feels good, being held like this, nice and tight and cozy and not even caring how his other arm snuck around her waist like that… it's just right.
"I've told you already: wrong family of fiends," he whispers back, mouth a half-inch from hers. "Can't they even teach that right in paladin school?" And yes, this here paladin is totally punch-drunk on doom and other…things, Adele thinks, and the hells with it, Special Envoy Welters, take that initiative, dammit…
"Yes, sir, General Shadowbreath, sir," she chokes out, and, hoping that there will not be any interruptions this time, please Torm, please, indeed does take that initiative.
There are, thankfully, no interruptions. That first kiss is almost tentative, no more than a light touch of their lips, almost as if both of them are afraid of what might happen, but the tentativeness is fading fast and Adele feels that an irresistible maelstrom is threatening to swallow her if she's not careful. Valen's hair is like soft silk threads under her fingers, and she feels him growl against her lips as she pulls on the tie that holds it together. It finally comes loose and her hands tangle in the fiery locks: she hears herself let out a tiny, content sigh against the corner of Valen's mouth, and it's nice and wonderful, but not quite enough, he's way too careful and slow, even when her fingers work their way to the base of his horns and he shudders at her touch. She arches up, impatiently, trying to find a better way to get close to him on the awkwardly narrow bench, and finds that sliding into his lap seems to be almost as natural as breathing. Breathing, that, lately, became increasingly difficult, because that next kiss just keeps going on and on and on…
Whoa, there, now, the ever vigilant part of her mind speaks up, sensing something huge and red and snarling hover at the horizon of her consciousness, and the crescent-moon shaped wound on her throat tinges with warning as Valen nips tiny kisses down her chin, tilting her had back and his teeth scrape at the scar tissue, to return to her mouth again, even more hungrily: lips, teeth, tongue… Hold those horses just a little bit there, Adele… Remember that whole control thing?
Remember who you are; the thought echoes as she pushes a bit on his chest and feel him reluctantly give. And never forget who he is.
"Wow." Despite all of that, however, that's all she manages to say, brilliantly, when they finally part. She stares at Valen, searching for any warning signs but only sees a man well and thoroughly kissed: pupils dilated, only the slightest specks of red in them, nostrils flaring, hair in disarray, lips slightly swollen and parted…
"Wow," he agrees in a shaky voice and leans his forehead against hers again. Adele rests her palm over his heart and feels its beat: impossibly fast. He continues after a slight pause. "I take it that means you've finally ran out of witty repartees?"
Thank you, Lord: he's here. He's fully here. With me.
"I believe what you wanted to say is that you've finally managed to shut me up." Adele feels his chest rumble with laughter and his arms clasp her to him suddenly so tight she can barely breathe.
"I'm most glad that I did that, my lady." He inhales deeply, nose buried in her hair, and Adele wants to be nowhere else and do nothing for about a month right now. "Mmmm. You smell like summer, you know that? Summer and sunlight, roses and a little bit of seawater."
"Oh." She, quite absurdly, does blush at that. You say the sweetest things, and you kiss like no one else, and your smile makes me want to put you in my pocket so I could have you with me forever, and I think I am falling in love with you, she wants to say, but instead what comes out is: "Good nose."
"Good nose?" Valen holds her at arm's length and looks at her, disbelieving. "Good nose, she says. My lady Adele just got kissed so she can barely catch her breath, and when she finally can, all she says is 'good nose.'" He snorts. "I didn't expect odes, you know… after all, paladins are not exactly renowned across the Planes for their poetic souls, but surely, I deserve better?"
Adele swallows, getting lost on those blue eyes again. Torm help me, I am in such trouble.
"How about… I make it up to you and once all of this is over, Lith My'athar is saved and we are free to go wherever we want, I show you Waterdeep?"
"A guided tour though the City of Splendors, with my lady by my side." Valen tilts his head to the side, pondering. "Do I like the sound of that? Yes, I believe I do." The sparkles of mischief in his eyes return, making the fatigue and lines of going way too long without sleep disappear from his face. He leans towards her again, and brushes his lips across hers with tantalizing slowness. "As long as there are a lot of stops along the way," he adds in a low voice, with emphasis on the word 'lot', and Adele feels dizzy again.
I need to do something, she thinks as the pull of the maelstrom returns: Valen's teeth catch her right earlobe with just the perfect amount of force, and her breath hitches. This is not the place, not the time…but gods, soon.
Soon.
But I'm not quite ready to just break off and get back to my ice-cold room with the memories of that dream just yet. Is that bad of me, Lord?
"Listen, I know there are about a dozen soldiers watching right now," she says quickly, and her urge to chuckle returns as she sees Valen's pulling away from her with remarkable speed, cheeks coloring slightly, "so how about instead of umm, entertaining them further, we try to catch some shut-eye up here before first watch change, and plan out the grand tour and other, ah, optional activities, once we finished eliminating that little obstacle coming our way and impending doom no longer makes me feel like I am sixteen again?"
"That's my lady." Valen murmurs, as she settles in against his chest, head on his shoulder, his hand absently stroking her hair. "Practical, till the end." He takes a deep breath and Adele, fast sinking towards sleep, barely catches his whisper. "I am, of course, yours to command."