A/N: At first wanted the whole trial-part to go as one big chapter, but it seems sort of too clustered. So breaking it in two. Hopefully, the second one is soon to come :)


XXXI: Snakedance (part one)

Laces were a bitch.

Serves you right. Maybe you'll start thinking before doing. For a change.

Adele peered right into the eyes of her reflection, the tall figure even thinner than usual, with arms ridiculously twisted backwards in attempts (so far vain) to lace the back of the corset. Were it someone else, she would have grinned.

So she did.

Just shut up, will you.

Craning her neck back as much as possible, the woman glared down two rows of stitched eyelets meant for the lace. Not from her vantage point, neither by touch it seemed particularly difficult to catch them all. But when it came to actual lacing the process resulted in some skewed horror.

Adele couldn't even blame her nervously shaking hands for that. Because they were not shaking. Quite the opposite, she woke up surprisingly calm this morning. So uncannily calm, that spent a good half an hour in bed trying to wind herself up on purpose. It didn't feel right, being so serene on the Trial day. Even the early morning breakfast in the company of people constantly throwing worried glances at her and doing their best (too obvious best) to keep the spirits high didn't falter her, only brought some sort of detached amusement. Like she was observing a badly performed play that had nothing to do with her, but sympathized with the tortured actors too much to bash the show.

Maybe just a trick of my mind. It got so overwhelmed with worries that simply closed down.

Want to suck a problem out of your thumb? Ask Delly how.

Thought I told you to shut up. You are not helping, - she fingered the eyelets, bracing herself for another attempt to guide the lace through all the loops. – Could surely use some helping, though.

Qara seemed like the most reasonable option, since the particular corset was her choice. Adele hadn't plan on any at first, hoping to escape with only a fancy new tunic – but after seeing herself in silken muslin the woman decided that if she was to fall into that chasm at any rate, she might as well do it with pomp. Not having any experience with corsets, she resorted to Qara's expertise, since out of all of her companions the sorceress was the only one who shared some past with female noble attires. It took a bit of asking and a lot of pleading for the girl to agree to lend her help in shopping, and after hours of fitting parlors and endless 'too peasant', 'too slutty' and 'are you kidding me?' calibrations Adele ended up with this particular piece.

She had to admit it was good, soft suede of deep-gray with silver embroidery did look both respectable and not too gaudy. Besides, she found its combination with white silk of the tunic to even fit her stupid half-coloured hair.

Half-drow hair…

Adele blinked, looking at her reflection almost curiously. Nothing. Even that thought, haunting her for the last several days, didn't bring up a single emotion.

Yep, definitely closed down.

Or the damned corset forced everything else out of me. And I haven't even laced it yet, - she grinned. – Not sure I ever will, at this rate.

Giving up, she let the loose laces fall down along her spine, turning away from the mirror and coming back to bed, almost falling to sit on it. Shoving her hand into the depths of her bedside table, she fished out a flask of wine stashed away for those nights she couldn't fall asleep. After Ember such nights happened more and more often.

That's that, - she concluded, taking a sip. – I just need a good sleep. After the trial is over, I'll make sure to fetch some sleeping draught from Sand and conk out for several days. Like Hells anyone's going to wake me up.

She heard footsteps in the corridor and hastily hid the flask away, barely managing to suck up last drops from her lips not to spill any on the new tunic. Sand wouldn't appreciate her drinking on such a day. Though the footsteps seemed too heavy for a slender elf. Neither did it fit Grobnar. Or any of the female part of her band. Or Bishop, with his ever-silent gait. Not that she saw much of Bishop as of late, the ranger was mostly absent after they returned to Neverwinter and dumped their loot to the merchants. Was probably drinking and whoring away his share of income. Adele didn't care. At least she hoped she didn't.

Though he would definitely know how to handle a corset, eh?

Half-grinning half-scowling Adele strode towards the door, opening it and sparing the newcomer a knock. Casavir stopped mid-step, obviously a bit taken aback by her sudden appearance. In both meanings of the word.

"I heard you," she smiled.

"The convoy from the castle is here," he informed her without any formalities, then held up a plate covered with napkin. "Duncan thought you might want to take a bite. We weren't sure you are ready yet."

"I am, just had some… technical problems," she chuckled, lifting her eyes up from the plate to glance over his shoulder down the corridor, towards the kitchen. Duncan wasn't there, just one of the street kids he started to feed as of late was watching them curiously, nibbling at an apple. Adele didn't know where all these children came from – probably some of Neeshka's buddies – but chose to start locking her room. Just in case. "I take it you got the short straw, then? About who's going to check whether I hung myself on scabbard belt or something?"

She expected him to avoid the answer or choose to ignore the joke, as he usually did, but Casavir surprised her, admitting with a soft shrug: "In a sense. It was mutually decided that I have the most calm face to bring you out."

Adele snorted, stepping back into the room. "Any chance you know how to lace a corset? That'll be more helpful at the moment."

"You mean as in…" he glanced at her back. "Ah, I see. Technical problems, these are?"

"Yep. Wouldn't want the shine and pride of Neverwinter Watch to look like an overworked dock harlot too worn down to bother about her outfit, would we?"

"I guess not," Casavir examined the laces, then made an indistinct gesture: "Pull up your hair, I'll see what I can do."

Adele obeyed, gathering all the heap of her hair into her hands and lifting it up to the top of her head, stealing a glance at the mirror to watch the paladin. He seemed to be on a quest of surprising her today, dropping to one knee and switching to the laces with the same confident calculating carefulness he cut down orcs with. She was severely tempted to make some sort of comment about how he was the last man she expected to be skilled in handling female garments – but found herself unable to. After all, he couldn't be a paladin for his whole life. And even if he was, that set no particular restrictions on his relations with women as far as she knew.

But those logical assumptions were pure theory up to this moment. Only now, seeing him so calmly engaged in such a trivial yet in some way intimate act, without any armor or weapon at hand, she came to realize that he is actually… what, human?

Oh gee, human. Brilliant. Of course he is human, what else?

No, not human… A man.

Adele smiled, cocking her head to the side to get a better view in the mirror. Indeed, right now it was easy to believe how some women could easily go all cow-eyed on him. Not like on some embodiment of stupid bookish concepts of chivalry and other shiny crap that had nothing to do with reality of everyday life, but like on a man with rough character and firm beliefs – yet with soft patience and gentle hands…

"It's not about face," she murmured, making him look up to meet her eyes in the mirror. "You are calm. About the Trial."

"I've seen many trials, being a servant of Tyr. At some point you start viewing it as only a procedure, one of many. Not necessarily a final one, too." Oh boy, and he's being cynical. Totally decided to blow up my world today. "That's not to say I try to belittle your case, of course. But your ground is sounder than many, you'll see it through, I'm sure."

Like you did?

Sand's words buzzed in the back of her memory, about the paladin having a record of his own. She would've thought twice about bringing it up in any other situation, but this weird… accessibility Casavir was showing today, without any shields of codes and commonplace percepts, encouraged her.

"Sounds like you have some first-hand experience."

He looked at her for a moment longer then went back to the task at hand, breaking their eye-contact.

"Sounds like you already know the answer," his voice was blank.

"I might. But I'd prefer to learn about it from you, not from street gossips."

That was a nasty move, one Adele was perfectly aware of. But no regret or guilt accompanied it - her absence of emotions for the day included those as well.

"I… killed a man," he said finally, slowly, making the woman arch her brow in wonder.

"I killed a lot of men."

"That was different. He was just a fellow, misled into believing I… was guilty of something I wasn't. He attacked, and I was forced to protect myself. Exceeding of self-defense, as the accusation stood. I was found innocent."

"…Were you?"

A bitter smile came to his face, a smile of someone who spent too much time mulling over that very question. "The man is dead by my hand. I do not think such notion as 'innocence' even exists for a happening like that. But," he shrugged, twining his fingers too carefully into the laces, pulling them just a tad too strong, almost making Adele wince, "my higher command and the court decided that such a… misstep for a soldier of good record and good faith is something that can be overlooked. Especially with the war at hand."

Good for them, - she almost felt like saying, but bit her tongue. Thought about voicing something encouraging instead, about how he shouldn't blame himself, or… or anything. But who was she to say what he should or shouldn't feel? She – who of all people hated for her thoughts and reflections to be dictated.

"So," she drawled evenly, "if I was to, say, put down that boy back at Port Llast… Dan, was it? The one who thought I was the Butcher of Ember…"

"But you didn't," Casavir answered even before question, with his usual simplicity Adele often felt like punching him for.

"Just because he was stopped from attacking. But if he did…?"

"He didn't. We didn't allow him to. There's always another way. Always. I hadn't found it back then. Of that I am guilty, no matter what…" he went silent abruptly, staring too intentionally on the damned laces, then heaved a deep sigh. "I'm sorry, but… it's just a bit too… personal. Hard to explain. Let us just… leave it, please."

The woman breathed quietly. She didn't know what to answer, really. To try and play Tyr for him would have been going too far.

And not like some pats on the back and cheesy cheers are going to alter his understandings of right and wrong. He's too big of a boy for that.

"…'kay," she finally said. "I mean… I am – with what happened. Just so you know."

For several seconds there was only silence, broken by the barely audible rustle of fabric, almost torturous in its monotony.

"I appreciate it," the paladin answered at last, with calm gratitude, yet without any indication that her words or opinion swayed him in any way. Maybe that should have upset her – but it didn't.

So be it. His demons are his own. I've got plenty of mine. At least no pretending we understand each other when we don't.

Adele closed her eyes, concentrating on careful breathing, allowing her heaving ribcage to form the curves of the corset. Casavir indeed knew what he was doing, for the fabric started to envelop her much more delicately than before, turning from distorted cage to a well-rounded vessel. Cracking her one eye opened, she peeked at the reflection – and suppressed an amazed smile.

My, you just look at that, it's almost like I have actual boobs.

Casavir's hand slid tentatively along her spine, checking the evenness of the lace, and the paladin rose to his feet, taking a few steps back to appraise the result: "Done, I think."

"And done well, if I might add," Adele finally grinned, giving in to the girlish impulse to turn round and get a better view of her new-formed figure. Her hands didn't wish to come down from her hair, too, as she realized that tucked-up hairstyle fit well with her appearance, leaving the line of her neck uncovered. Nya's pendant also seemed to be in place, shining dimply in the collar of her blouse. The only things out of tune were her travelling boots, worn down and cracked – but Adele liked it that way. At least something familiar to keep her down to earth. "So, how I look?"

The paladin glanced at her reflection, then back at her, and gave a small smile: "Not like yourself."

She snickered: "I guess in this particular case it's for the best."

"Doubtful," he added softly, looking solely at her.

Adele cleared her throat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable, like they were treading at the line they shouldn't cross (because she didn't want to, not with him) and hastily pinned her hair up, turning away from the mirror and the paladin. Quickly scanning the room to make sure she forgot nothing of importance, the woman picked up the plate Casavir brought with him before, lifting the napkin, and smirked at the small pile of buns. Sal could be a questionable cook when it came to complicated meals, but his baking was surely among the best she had a possibility to try in Neverwinter. A shame her corset was already on.

"Bun for the trouble?" she smiled at Casavir. "Can't have any, at least will have a pleasure of seeing them come to use and not wasted."

"We shouldn't make the convoy wait," the paladin was also back to business, but took the plate nonetheless, out if courtesy if not actual hunger.

"Ah, something tells me this whole thing won't start without me anyway."

Adele shook her head slightly to ease the hair, then adjusted the collar of her shirt in the most purposeful manner and took off towards the doors, her smile at ready. Out there was a whole tavern of people who, no doubt, were anxious to wish her good luck and assure her everything is going to be wonderful.

Smile and nod, smile and nod…

"Well, I'll be damned."

She froze, the bottom of her stomach falling off into the endless pit, all her insides crawling up into a battle-ready stance at the mere sound of the voice. It took her some time to acknowledge that the opponent was anything than a threat at the moment, obviously hangover or even still drunk, and currently failing the objective of opening his own room. Bishop gazed her over, his tired bloodshot eyes moving with habitual slowness, like warm liquid lead dripping down her skin. Adele returned the gaze, keeping her face neutral despite the irritation – because, damn him, she'd spent too much time on the garment to go and feel naked all over again.

"Wasn't sure you'd show up."

"What, you thought I was going to miss the pompous show of your suicide?" he squinted at her – or at the headache, she couldn't tell. "Though why you decided to dress like a topnotch hooker from the 'Mask' for that is beyond me."

"Coming from you, I'll take it as a compliment," she smiled.

The ranger smirked, looking her over once again. "To earn a compliment you should have had the corset leather. And black. With metal studs. And a whip."

"Dream on, ranger."

"Well, a man needs some fancy image of you to remember in case you are going to lose your head today, doesn't he?"

Damn you, you asshole, - her smile cracked to an honest one. – I think I missed you.

"It warms my heart to know I won't be forgotten," she nodded, brushing past him, not even the acrid vinegar smell of burnt-out alcohol able to spoil it. She did miss him.

Behind her back Casavir sighed with obvious disgust:

"You know, Bishop, there are occasions when it's better not to come at all than in such a state."

"What, we have some special occasion? Relax, paladin. Our little leader is only going to try and put her ass above her head again. Just your ordinary day."

She barely held from laughing, stepping into the main hall.

Just your ordinary day indeed.