Disclaimer: I do not own 'Shadows of Amn', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them.
I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

The head that wears the crown

Anomen awoke early that morning, for a moment unsure as to why, before he remembered the previous day and was suddenly wide awake, rising to dress and pack up his belongings as quietly as possible, while his three other roommates slept on. But it did not take as long as he would have thought and he slipped from the room but half an hour later, his family shield slung at his back and mace at his hip, quietly leaving the dormitories to cross the courtyard to the Great Hall.

The morning bell would not sound for a while yet and the high pillared room, though usually quiet, was not normal so empty and held an eerie air. He stared up at the huge statue of Torm that towered at the end of the hall, very aware of the eye of Helm that hung about his neck, the metal cold against his chest. Perhaps he had been hoping for some sort of epiphany, some guidance on how to achieve the recognition he sought, but his mind remained as silent as that cool stone hall and eventually he turned to leave, starting as he almost collided with someone.

'Ah, Squire Anomen.'

Anomen stepped back, finding himself looking at a strong lined face, two dark eyes watching him kindly from under greying brows. He bowed.

'Prelate Wessalen, good morning, my lord.'

'Good morning, indeed, for I hear tell that you have found yourself a group to travel with.'

'Er, yes, sir, that is so,' Anomen nodded, a touch nervous as they instinctively fell into step, heading back towards the doors. Anomen's direct superior was Sir Ryan Trawl, a sober paladin of middling years who joined Anomen in his worship of Helm and the squire knew what to expect from him, their relationship ordered and predictable. The prelate was a wise man and an excellent tactician, managing the Order's many battalions and paladins with a shrewd mind. But he had a paternal, almost jovial air that seemed out of place for a man of such power, and Anomen could never quite shake the feeling he was trying to catch him out.

'And I also hear,' Wessalen continued with a smile, 'that it is the same group who so narrowly averted the war with Baldur's Gate.'

'Well, sir, I must admit to being less sure of that,' he answered honestly. Anomen had spent an age last night going over what his friends had said, and he had found on reflection he could easily dismiss it as hearsay, bearing no relation to the girl's words at their meeting. The prelate, though, looked surprised.

'Truly? The descriptions match from what I hear. A Rashemi warrior, a female druid and half-elven girl with an abundance of-'

He raised an eyebrow and Anomen, slowly finished, '…auburn hair.'

Wessalen beamed. 'The very same. Tell me, is she as fair as the bards would have it?'

Anomen blinked, an uncomfortable heat rising in his face as he was once again wrong-footed.

'I- she is not unattractive, sir,' he answered finally, having a hard time even bringing to mind what she looked like under the old paladin's enquiring gaze. But the prelate merely laughed.

'That pretty, eh? Well, it seems your patience has paid off; not many squires are lucky enough to find such company to make a name with,' he continued genially as they reached the doors. 'Should you be in the area, do bring them in. I am sure Sir Ryan has a task or two to occupy them with and I myself should like to meet them,' he smiled mildly, 'Confirm the bard song.'

And with that, he turned to stroll back to his office, still chuckling to himself.

The sun was above the horizon as Anomen stepped outside into the courtyard, and he could hear the morning bell waking the rest of the Order as he pushed open the doors to the nearby temple of Helm but moments later. The first service would not be for hour or so yet, but he was known by the priests and he moved through to the chapel exchanging greetings with those he passed, his meeting with the prelate no more than an uncomfortable memory. He always felt a peace at prayer that seemed to be missing from the rest of his life, but that morning he found it harder to focus than usual. The hollow echoing silence of the high stone room unable to quiet the buzzing of his own mind, his own frustrations just making it worse and he did not linger once his prayers were done.

He reached the Coronet barely a half an hour later and it would not have normally taken that long, but for the fact he was dawdling in an effort to kill time. Nevertheless, it was still long before mid-morning and he could not quite bring himself to enter, imagining the amused look on the girl's face as he once again displayed an eagerness of childish intensity. And so he stood outside, the morning's peace broken only by a distant barking and the echoed strains of a woman singing somewhere in the inn above him.

He waited another half an hour, perhaps longer, the singing eventually drifting off to be replaced with the cries of merchants and passers-by as the slums awoke about him, and he finally entered. He saw Fritha immediately, recognising the copper hair even across the tavern, damp and pinned up as it had been the previous day. The elf, Aerie, was sat next to her while the other two, who he had only glimpsed so far, sat opposite. Fritha noticed his approach, holding up a hand and smiling in the tight sort of gesture of one putting a brave face on things. The shadows under her eyes were darker that morning, though she seemed less tired, rising politely as he reached them to introduce him to the half-elf and the Rashemi. The former offering him little more than a frown and the latter rising to heartily shake his hand, proclaiming they always welcomed an another sword with an enthusiasm which seemed incongruous amongst his companions.

Fritha had expected him, it seemed, and Anomen sank into the place she had laid for him feeling welcome in spite of their reactions and his own worries; the girl taking a moment to offer him some food and pour his tea, before going back to her own cup, the table returning to the silence he had arrived to. He ate quietly for a few uncomfortable moments, but silence in company had never rested well with him and, at last, he drew a breath and turned to the girl at his side with a smile.

'Yesterday, we did not have chance to discuss your intentions within the city, though I assume you wish to make some attempt to retrieve what was stolen.'

Everyone seemed to stop at his words, each frozen mid-action while eyes flickered between them before Fritha finally swallowed her mouthful with a sigh, turning towards him in her chair as the others returned to their food.

'I would it were so simple. You wish to know of our first objective here in the city? We are here to raise coin, twenty thousand gold pieces to be exact.'

He stared at her, wondering if he'd heard correctly as a humourless smile twisted her mouth. 'They say you can buy anything in this fair city of yours, but what I seek seems to command a high price.'

'What on Toril could possible cost such a sum?'

'Information, namely the whereabouts of my friend. She was taken yesterday by the Cowled Wizards for a magic-related infraction within the city. The gold will buy us the location of where they are holding her and aid her return.'

'But it was her first violation of the law? Surely it must have been a serious one to brook such a response?'

'No…' she answered slowly, eyes dropping briefly to the cup she was swirling, 'but circumstances were not helped by the fact she was attacking the mage who had destroyed half the promenade.'

'That was you?' he cried incredulously and the mirthless smile was back.

'Yes… I should probably go further back. My friends and I left the Gate just over a tenday ago, but we were not three days from the city when were we captured by unknown assailants. I remember nothing from then on until I awoke later, caged and alone, a mage, who I now know as Irenicus, standing over me.' She paused, watching the leaves drifting in her teacup, her causal tone somehow making the account all the more horrific.

'He spoke of experiments, though if his tests held any value other than torture, I could not tell. The days passed in a blur and my next real memory began yesterday, of my friend, Imoen, picking the lock to my cage. The mage's stronghold was under attack by a rival guild of sorts and in this chaos we made our escape. It was then we realised that not all of our group had survived our capture…'

Her face darkened, her voice so low he had to lean in to hear her. 'Jaheira lost her husband and Minsc, his ward. In the end, only four of us escaped alive…' She stopped again, watching as the tealeaves finally came to rest at the bottom of her cup, before continuing, her voice stronger.

'Irenicus stopped us as we reached the surface though, a battle ensued and the Cowled Wizards came and took both he and Imoen away.'

'So now you pursue them in hope of finding Irenicus and exacting some justice.' he concluded, his voicing coming loud and falsely hearty, but the girl just shrugged, finally facing him with an impassive look.

'I can't speak for the others, but revenge holds no interest for me. I just want my friend back… Right,' she continued, turning back to the table to include the rest of them. 'We need to replace our supplies before we go any further. We'll go shopping this morning and can spend the afternoon looking for work.'

She drank her remaining tea in one mouthful, setting the cup down with a snap that seemed to signal the end of the meal, everyone pushing aside plates to rise with her, and after a few moment's bustle as bags were shouldered, they filed to the door and he was out once again in the sunlit slums.

...

Fritha stood on her vantage point, the plinth of one of the couchant marble lions that guarded the steps of the western archway, shielding her eyes against the sun as she scanned the promenade. The marketplace was as loud and busy as it had been the previous day; perhaps more so, she considered as she glanced across the sea of heads to the eastern end, the crowds milling curiously about the rubble she had been stood upon only a day before. Whether more had collapsed in the night or she just hadn't noticed the previous day, but the destruction looked much more that morning. The neat tiered steps nothing more than a slope of scree and rubble while the nearest of the six domed towers that stood at intervals about the arena had lost two of its walls, the beaten copper dome crumpled in on itself.

Fritha shook herself, trying to focus on the task at hand as she jumped lightly from the base to rejoin her group, the people moving through the arch behind jostling her as they passed. Growing up in Candlekeep, she had never really become accustomed to large crowds and this, coupled with her memories of the place from the previous day, was serving to make her uneasy.

'Right,' she shouted, having trouble hearing herself over the roar of the masses, 'everyone try to keep together. Aerie, you must know this place as well as any, you're up front with me.'

And with a smile to the girl, she turned, drew a deep breath and stepped down into the throng.

Fritha blinked sweat from her eyes, breathing through her mouth in an attempt to lessen the sour smell of the air, as all about her people jostled to get to and from the stalls that lined the promenade in narrow avenues. Not that she could see anything of them for the wall of chests and backs that surrounded her, and Fritha found herself having to walk sideways, every other word an apology as she sidled through the crowds, constantly glancing back and forwards, keeping an eye on Aerie's pale gold head as she led the way, while trying not to lose others in press. Fritha sighed, the close air making her tunic cling unpleasantly to her back as she pushed her way after the elf. She had hardly noticed the heat the day before, not wholly unsurprising considering the circumstances, but it was definitely at the fore of her mind today.

Finally, the crowds seemed to thin slightly as they moved further from the western gate, and at last they reached a patch of open space along the northern terrace, presumable kept clear by the nearby sewer grate, produce deemed unfit for sale currently piled about it and left to rot. But Fritha found the smell was the least of her irritations as she wiped yet more sweat from the bridge of her nose, turning to the elf as the others pushed their way through the crowds to join them one by one.

'Gods, Aerie, is it always this busy?'

'Not usually, n-no, but this is the last tenth-day market of Eleasias,' she explained, her expression becoming sheepish, 'Sorry.'

'Goodness, it's hardly your fault,' Fritha sighed, though Anomen seemed to think otherwise.

'Really,' he snorted, his condescending tones audible even over the clamour as he glanced about at the bustle with disdain, his gaze falling for a brief yet pointed moment on Aerie. 'If I had known of this, I could have led you to the Bridge district; there are stalls there.'

Aerie flushed and shot him a look, though she remained silent and Fritha tried to keep her voice free from the exasperation she felt as another customer knocked into her on his way past.

'Well, it's neither here nor there now, for we're here. Let's see what's available.'

She watched as the group disbanded, moving away to the nearby stalls, but Fritha lingered a moment longer, enjoying the relative space, unwilling rejoin the press so soon and letting her mind wander over what she would need to buy. Thankfully, barring their more expensive items such as armour and weapons, everyone's bags had been retrieved from the dungeon relatively untouched, their meagre belongings clearly beneath the mage's attention. There had been no sign of Fritha's lute though; the leather bands that had strapped it to her pack hanging slack and empty, and at the time it had been a source of slight disappointment for her. She had been schooled in music back in Candlekeep, amongst the other bardic arts. And though she had been shy of performing for anyone bar Gorion and select few others, her lute had left Candlekeep when she had, suffering the trials with her since she had been forced from her home, and she had not liked to think of the instrument lost, or worse, being played by another.

But then other things had come to light and its absence had paled into insignificance. All in all, Fritha had lost only her lute and her sword, her last suit of chain rotting somewhere off the coast of Balduran's Isle through no fault of the mage's. Replacement weapons had been found easily enough during their escape from the dungeon, as had leather armour to fit Jaheira; something Fritha could only be glad of when she considered how little coin they had for supplies. Her hand tightened reflexively around the purse in her pocket, woefully light and containing barely two hundred gold's worth in coin and stones. From that they would have to find two sets of very cheap armour, plus provisions and other basic equipment.

Something which appeared to have escaped the others as she finally pushed her way after them, finding the group scattered over a couple of nearby weapons dealers, Aerie rifling through the books and trinkets on the alchemy stall opposite.

Great

'My lady,' called Anomen as she approached them and she wandered across to where he was stood at nearby arms stall, his eyes trained on the blued-steel cuirass that was hung from the frame above.

'Have you ever seen such craftsmanship? The merchant here tells me it's of dwarven make,' he enthused, and Fritha glanced up to it with a sigh. Five interlocking plates that fit together almost seamlessly, the highest one decorated with a brass inlay of lions. It was beautiful… and clearly worth more than all she owned put together.

Anomen was still staring at her though, evidently waiting for some professional comment as to its merit or suitability.

'Indeed. Very, ah, nice,' she mumbled lamely, rubbing her forehead; the heat was making it difficult to think. 'But, perhaps not for us.'

'Well, you said you were looking for armour.' He huffed, clearly offended by her lack of enthusiasm and Fritha left him to it; turning to notice a large well-stocked stand further along the terrace and leaving Anomen to gaze longingly up at the breastplate. Love at first sight, it seemed, entirely possible. She reached the stall and stood a moment, watching what were either young hirelings or the merchant's two sons rushing about behind him, the air heavy with spice as they weighed and bagged the powders with brightly stained hands, the wide-set merchant nodding politely to her before returning his attention to the customers in front of him.

The stall appeared to carry a bit of everything; dried hanks of meat hanging alongside ropes and horse-tackle, baskets of fruit and bolts of bleached linen lined neatly before the tables. The stand before her was covered in spice and herbs; the bright delicate saffron fronds, fragrant cumin like a dish of terracotta dust. But what drew her eye were two large baskets of dried leaves, the dusty green of the Kara-Turan, the shredded black of the Calimshite: tea.

Her first instinct was for the Kara-Turan. It was double the price of the Calimshite, but they would probably be out of the city within a couple of days, if only for the fact she could not afford to keep them all in an inn for much longer, and it would be impractical to take lemons or honey with them for the more bitter drink…

'Fritha, look!' came a voice behind her, breaking through her thoughts and she glanced behind to see Minsc holding a huge broadsword, the storekeep hovering anxiously behind him. 'Imagine what Minsc could do with this!'

'True, true, maybe next time, eh?' she called back, sending him a smile that felt more like a grimace as she returned her attention to the stall.

Still, Calimshite tea could be drunk alone at a push, perhaps- she jumped back as a plain green pendant was thrust before her, the earnest face of the elf not far behind it.

'Fritha, this amulet protects from poison.'

Fritha bit back a sigh with some difficulty, impatiently wiping the sweat from her cheekbones. She could appreciate everyone's enthusiasm, especially when she had failed to mention the fact they were practically broke to anyone bar Jaheira, but it was wearing nevertheless.

'I don't think we've quite the coin for that now, Aerie.'

'Yes,' agreed Anomen with a sympathetic and rather patronising smile, 'do stop wasting your time with these peddlers.'

Aerie opened her mouth to reply and Fritha took a couple of steps away from them until sure she could not hear either over the crowds, turning to the druid now at her side.

'Two silver a quarter,' she said with a nod to the basket of curling green leaves, 'what do you think?'

'Do you think I care for tea, girl?' Jaheira snapped, turning her back on the stall as though to emphases the point. 'We should be looking for armour for you and Minsc!'

Fritha felt her temple twitch.

'And we will, Jaheira,' she sighed, returning to the wares before her, 'but we need supplies as well.'

Jaheira snorted, marching off to stand with Minsc and Fritha let her. The druid was as uncomfortable in the city as she was, but it was still a disappointment to find that one who she had previously thought would be an ally on this shopping trip was turning out to be just as trying as everyone else. But the merchant caught her eye and she smiled anyway.

'Greetings, lady, a pearl to you.'

'Well met, sir, I'll take six ounces of the Kara-Turan tea, four of salt, a length of rope-'

'Eight or twelve yard?' he interrupted, as the boys scurried about behind him, setting scales and weighing bags.

'Twelve. And how long will the dried fish last for?'

'About four days as long as you keep it dry.'

'Okay, six of those please. Ah, two lanterns, four score of arrows.'

'Barbed?'

'No, just the plain ones. And that short bow back there, how much?'

'Forty gold.'

Fritha winced. 'It looks rather worn… I'll give you twenty-five.'

'Thirty.'

'Done. How much does that come to?'

He did not hesitate a second. 'Forty-nine and eight.'

Her look of dismay was instant and he smiled kindly.

'Say forty-nine gold straight, dear.'

She smiled through her shame, not in a position to be turning away charity however embarrassed she was, and dipped her head to rummage for the money while the two boys helped her distribute the goods among her friends.

'Right. Did you say you knew of a leather merchant, Aerie?'

The girl nodded cheerfully, seemingly glad to be of help as she led the way across the arena, the group sidetracked a moment while Minsc and Boo were distracted by a travelling zoo, before the elf finally cried, 'there, it's up there.'

Fritha glanced to the stall a couple of tiers up, the workshop set into the stone cell behind it and she followed Aerie as she tripped lightly up the steps, the merchant calling down a greeting as he saw her.

'Hello there, Aerie. How's your uncle? I heard what went on in the circus. Nasty bit of business, that. I was just telling the wife last night, I spoke to Kalah only a few days back and he seemed normal enough. A bit happier than usual, I suppose now I think on it.'

'Gil, these are my friends,' she cut in as politely as was possible, and Fritha shot her a grateful look. 'They were looking for some armour.'

'Armour?' he repeated as Fritha ushered Minsc forward for the man to see him, 'well, you've come to the right place. Let's see what we've got to fit you, eh?'

She watched a moment as Gil gave Minsc an appraising look, before announcing he'd just the thing and leading the ranger into the workshop behind them, Fritha turning back to root listlessly through the rest of his stall, uncovering a heavy pair of sandals in amongst some worn old bags. Well, she had been complaining about the heat…

'There, what do you think?'

She glanced up to see Minsc and Gil before them again, her friend now encased in a heavy leather breastplate and bracers, bands of metal riveted onto the leather and encircling his broad chest.

'How does it feel, Minsc?'

The large man stretched this way and that, rolling his shoulders with a contemplative look and finally nodding once. Fritha turned back to Gil.

'How much?'

The merchant eyed her shrewdly. 'Well, since you know my Aerie… forty gold.'

'Throw in these' she said, gesturing to him with the shoes she held, 'and you've got yourself a deal.'

'Sandals?' snapped Jaheira's voice behind her and Fritha felt herself drawing a deep measured breath.

'It's too hot in my boots, I can barely think straight.'

The woman snorted. 'It is fine, girl,' she dismissed and Fritha had to bite her tongue against a retort. It was all very well for Jaheira. Her homeland, Tethyr, was even further south than Amn; this was probably a brisk autumn day for her. But Fritha ignored both the druid and the sniping of her own mind, paying Gil before turning back to face Jaheira's contemptuous look.

And that was it.

Fritha emptied half the remaining coin into the druid's hands and announced she would meet them back at the inn, pretending not to hear Anomen's offers of an escort as she clattered down the steps and lost herself in the crowds, leaving them and their bickering behind her. Jaheira watched Fritha disappear into the masses before dropping her gaze to the handful of coin the girl had left, her guilt barely registering through the anger that had seemed to have suffused her ever since they had left that dungeon, growing with each moment as though the sunlight nurtured it as a plant.

Just to be around people was enough to raise her ire to the point where could barely speak for it. Just to be in the world, surrounded by those who'd never known Khalid, who did not know of his passing, of the hole it had left. She stared out over the marketplace, so full of bustle and life; the low roar of their chatter grating her nerves raw.

That the world could continue to exist so merrily without him seemed the greatest insult!

Jaheira did not miss him; the word felt too small for a feeling so large, so completely overwhelming. It seemed to have taken a physical form, aching through her. Every breath a chore, every second a torture, for it only led into another without him, time stretching off to an infinity of his absence. She glanced up, the world about her muted and dull.

Aerie was asking why Fritha had left. The squire grumbling about how unprofessional it was to split up without proper communication of the fact, and Minsc…

She glanced over to the ranger who was watching her with a remarkably lucid look, the hamster scurrying about his broad shoulders. Her sudden hatred for them all was overwhelming; who was he to judge her behaviour? Who were any of them? Why had Fritha allowed such children to join with them? She thought back to the girl's look before she left; so clearly angry, yet unwilling to lose her temper, showing a strength of will that only made Jaheira's frustrations grow.

The druid could barely hold her thoughts from one second to the next, and she hated the way the girl could just seem to work through it, just think past her grief to what they would need for the future. It was somehow so much worse than not knowing he was gone; the fact Fritha did and was just as pained, and was just getting on with things anyway… because someone had to. And that was what Jaheira hated the most -because someone had to and after everything it should have been her.

Barely six months the girl had been in the world and already she stomped about it like a sunburnt veteran; all firm shoulders and tired eyes. It should be Jaheira keeping them together; Jaheira finding allies; Jaheira worrying about funds and work. But it was not. The druid stared out across the sunlit promenade, bright and busy as the temple bells sounded noon. Fritha was out there somewhere bearing all this alone… and there she would stay, because Khalid was dead and Jaheira could not bring herself to care about anything else.

'Come,' she heard her voice say, those about her turning to the sound. 'We should return to the inn.'