Author's Note: Thanks to all the people who have reviewed and read -- I'm glad to see such interest in this tale! As I said before, it's inspired by the Xan romance mod that's gettable from pocketplane dot net, but it'll have my own little twists onto it to give it a bit of flavour and adaptability for Nuila's character.

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We can keep on talking,

You know I've got all night

But don't keep telling me,

That everything's all right...

It's not all right.

-- Great Big Sea, Something I Should Know

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The others had gone to bed. The half-elves first, the woman suddenly appearing weary after hearing the full story of the day or so between the younger girls losing their guardian and finding his friends. The pink-haired girl interjected often, adding to Nuila's calm description of everything; she used the same tone, the same level of voice to describe being attacked by assassins and finding her father's body as she did to depict the view of the forest as they wandered through; the cute looking wolf that had leapt at her throat, and only been felled by Imoen's arrows and the magic of some other men they'd walked with before they arrived at the Friendly Arms Inn. Jaheira had set her mouth firmly when Nuila recounted meeting them and Xan had watched Khalid's hand snake over to the druid's, squeezing it gently to soothe his wife's nerves.

Not much had been said by either of the married pair before they retired, but the enchanter put it down to shock. He almost felt sorry in advance for Nuila and Imoen -- he could imagine the questions they'd have to face tomorrow when the hawk-like woman had formulated them in her mind.

Pink-hair had slunk off shortly after, seemingly bored by the lack of activity in the inn now that the mercenaries had all left, and the only men scattered around were much older farmers. Nuila, however, was still sitting across from him at the table, smiling brightly. It was... unnerving, he decided, but he wasn't sure why; he was far too busy avoiding eye contact.

"So, how are you?"

Internally he groaned. He'd almost allowed himself to hope that she'd follow the lead of her companions -- retire to bed, allow him to go to his room unhindered, without drawing attention to himself, allowing him to reverie and leave early in the morning. Perhaps leave a thank you note for them, behind the bar. Except, he wouldn't, would he? He would feel obliged to offer his services in return for his rescue, and Seldarine knows what he might end up involved in...

"It was a relief to gaze upon the unbounded infinity of the sky once more," he offered, clearing his throat slightly. "Even this tavern is much better than the frowning walls of my filthy cave. I can never repay you for allowing me to escape." Perhaps that would be enough; perhaps she would agree, let him go away on his own without holding him to some form of servitude.

"You are welcome." Her smile was still there, dazzling him more than the bright flames dancing in the hearth. He found himself entranced by two swirling green orbs as her words continued -- only the tiniest lilt in her accent betraying her bloodline. "I am glad you're feeling better after everything you have gone through."

"I am afraid I shall never be able put this experience away for good," he sighed. "Any sort of torture would pale before those bleak, empty weeks I had to endure. Not a single scrap of daylight, not a breath of a living wind; such an existence was worse than death. More than once, I wished to break my head against the wall. If not for your timely arrival, I would be dead already."

She was nodding at him. "Couldn't you get out by yourself?"

He shifted slightly. Suddenly he felt uncomfortable, but he wasn't sure why. Instead he reminded himself of the misery-filled weeks of captivity and focused his eyes on a particularly large knot on the wooden tabletop. "Bound and weakened by starvation and torture? I am afraid my powers do not stretch that far." Ah, that was good. Now, perhaps, she would no longer see him as a valuable potential asset to her group.

"Then at least you will be able to recover now, and a night of rest will do you the world of good."

He sighed. How noble she was, to put his feelings first without even knowing him. He fought the urge, but it was almost like second nature. The words came before he could even register their forming. "I would like to offer my services, however pitiable they may be, to your cause as repayment for your aid, if you would allow me to travel with you for a short time."

A silence fell. Being a mage, he was well versed in the spells and incantations that were used in the realms -- especially the more potent ones; ones he'd still take years to harness the power of. Some wizards could stop time for a few seconds -- vital, on occasion, to preserve their continued breathing, but he'd only ever read about the ability. It felt as if it had been cast at that second as the world seemed to stop around him, and his eyes lifted from the carpentry of the inn's furniture to meet the slightly surprised eyes of a rather young elven woman.

"We would welcome your presence," she replied, after what seemed like an eternity. The world sped back up to normal, and the sound of his rushing blood faded from his hearing. He felt relieved and terrified, so he did what he could to try and make himself feel better. He sighed deeply.

She cocked an eyebrow quizzically and he mentally prepared himself for more conversation, but nothing came. Instead her attention drifted to the nearby window, gazing out to the night sky as her hands absently traced patterns in the side of her mug. Her brass dusters lay at the side of the table, and he shuddered just looking at them -- they appeared quite vicious now that he was able to focus on them close up. The glistened gently in the light, the brass obviously well cared for and polished regularly. Each ring appeared to be perfectly round, with three tiny spikes rising from the top to add to the impact they'd already strengthen. A looping letter 'N' adorned each of the pair and he wondered if they'd been custom made -- certainly they were a rare sight for the average adventurer, further fuelling the mysteriousness of his newfound companions.

"They were given to me by my foster father," she said quietly, making him start at the sudden noise of her voice. He tried to compose himself, ignoring her amused expression as she continued. "He'd tried, for years, to get me to settle on a profession, but I never had the interest or the inclination. Then, one day, he found me in the gardens and asked me what I was doing."

He nodded absent-mindedly, his eyes drifting back to the potentially lethal rings. The impact they could have if used with force... force he'd witnessed her displaying on her would-be attacker... he let out an involuntary shudder, but was relieved to see that she appeared not to notice; her own eyes were on the items, and a wistful expression was on her face.

"You said earlier your foster-father's name was Gorion," he said eventually. He managed to keep his voice soft, knowing he was treading dangerously close to bad memories that were still fresh in the mind. She nodded to him, a small crease appearing on her forehead as a pained expression formed. He swallowed hard. "My condolences." His words sounded so forced -- but he had to continue. "I have heard the name: he was a powerful human mage, and a friend of Harpers who are always welcome in Evereska. I know how hollow the words may sound; alas, I can do no more. You have saved my life, and I shall do my best to protect yours if the occasion arises. And I foresee it will be soon, for the number of our enemies does not decrease if events earlier are anything to go by."

"Thank you." She smiled weakly, her hands moving from her cup to take each other, her fingers entwining with themselves as the fabric of her robe hung limply around her wrists. "It has been hard for us -- Imoen and I, that is. We lived for so long in Candlekeep, and it was so sheltered... this is a very new and different world for us."

"Candlekeep?" He couldn't stop himself from frowning. "Are you sure? Ah, but of course you are. I do not doubt your words, but the library fortress is strictly regulated, and carefully guarded. I assume it was Gorion's influence that coaxed the monks into allowing you to spend childhood there."

"He persuaded Ulraunt, the Keeper of Tomes, to allow us to stay, yes," she said quietly. "But he would not let me return now, not without Gorion. He never wanted me there in the first place, or Imoen, I don't think. But it didn't matter... and it matters less now, I suppose." She looked so down-heartened that he wanted to reach out and offer her some comfort, some extension of his pity at her plight. Instead he sat uncomfortably as she sniffed loudly and rummaged in her pocket for a tissue.

"Gorion must have wielded a magnificent influence to allow you to spend your childhood in such a place," he said weakly, almost desperately. The silence was almost deafening, and at least when she was talking there was a little light in her eyes, a small sign of life and vigour. When she stopped and fell into her thoughts, it seemed to be extinguished.

"Or I must have been a charming child," she chuckled, finally managing to wrestle a handkerchief free and using it to carefully dab at her nose. He imagined the druid having told her to mind her manners, and to refrain from blowing her nose until she was alone. Although Jaheira had no airs of a lady, she seemed to be firm with both of the younger girls when it came to social pleasantries, and over the course of the night, he'd spied both of them stopping themselves at the last minute when they felt the urge to belch; some habits were obviously dying hard.

He was shaken back to the present moment by his subconscious, ironically. Her eyes had found his, and he heard himself mumbling, "Oh, I do not doubt that. You are still... charming." Horrified, he drew himself back, sitting up abruptly and coughing slightly to cover the flush that was threatening to spread to his cheeks. "So, ahem. You fight with... those?"

She was grinning at him. He briefly debated returning her mischievous look with a scowl, but her eyes darted back to her dusters and she nodded. "I think Gorion assumed I'd become a cleric or a priest or some such," she said thoughtfully, her voice almost becoming hazy as she lapsed back into her memories. He was content to listen, allowing himself to relax once more as he drifted off to the sound of her voice in her easy company. "He knew I prayed regularly -- all the time I was with him, certainly, and as for before I lived with him... I can't remember any of that."

Xan raised an eyebrow slightly. "How long did you live with him? He was old, but surely you would be older yourself, considering your race?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I was with him for a while... Imoen came to stay when she was ten, or so, and so that was about eleven years ago. I was with him for maybe... five years before that? I can't remember anything before Candlekeep."

"And he told you nothing about it?"

She shook her head sadly. "Not a lot, no. Only that he knew my mother, and she died in childbirth."

"But surely she would have been with other elves? Why would he take you from that and force you to grow up in surroundings that were so... human?"

She looked at him in bemusement. He wasn't sure what she was thinking; she was neither smiling nor frowning, only puzzled. "I don't know," she replied simply. "I think he wanted to offer me the best future I could have, and so he did."

He nodded. "It still seems strange," he remarked, more to himself. She didn't seem to hear him.

"He would summon me to his study most days," she recalled, drifting back to the original question, "and ask me what I enjoyed. I'd stare at him blankly and say things like 'food'. He'd sigh, and threaten to send me to train with the cook, knowing that the boredom would eventually overwhelm me, I think."

"And so he guided you to a path of violence?" He knew he sounded incredulous, but he couldn't help it. So naive -- humans were so impossibly unsophisticated at times. To his horror, she shook her head.

"Oh no. I decided this path for myself -- well, not quite the fighting part, though it's fun I guess."

"Fun?" He almost choked the word, but she just shrugged absent-mindedly and continued.

"He'd tried to encourage me to sing and dance -- well, he tried to encourage me once, and then agreed that it maybe wasn't right for me." Xan flinched inwardly -- she was an elf and she couldn't sing or dance?

"The Priest of Oghma was aghast that I worshipped Tymora," she continued, "and so I didn't get the best assistance in learning how to serve as a cleric. So that didn't last long either. I was allowed a sword of my own for one afternoon, until I managed to kill one of the chickens by mistake when I swung it around experimentally. It wasn't actually the death of the chicken that forced them to take it away from me, though, apparently."

"What was it?" he asked weakly. She follows Tymora… Lady Luck. Hopeless.

"Oh, Dreppin shouted a warning to me when he noticed what'd happened, and I turned round really quickly to see where he was. The sword sort of spun around in a really wide arc and clanged off Reevor's helmet as he laughed at the fate of the foul. Shortly after that, Jondalar took it away from me and said that my skills probably lay elsewhere." She sighed.

Xan found himself staring at her intently, almost with a vague sensation of fear.

"So, Gorion asked what I thought of magic. I said it looked pretty, and he sighed -- I think that might have been the wrong answer, but he seemed to be pretty desperate for me to find some sort of career, so he dug out a spellbook from somewhere and tried to show me how to scribe spells."

His mouth felt dry. "Did you manage any?" he croaked.

She shook her head. "All but one failed, and the one that I managed to finish was... well, I got it wrong somewhere. Instead of lighting the candle when I pointed at it, I managed to turn it into a potato."

He felt a smile curling his lips. She grinned back to him and continued.

"Next, we went for walks outside Candlekeep," she said, seeming to warm to the conversation more and more. "He taught me about bushes and trees and the creatures that lived there, but none of it really seemed to stick with me. I liked being in the forests, though..." her voice lowered, the yearning tone returning, "but I couldn't even fire a single arrow from a bow and I didn't want to be very close to any of the creatures around me."

"It sounds like he certainly had a task ahead of him," he murmured. Her nose wrinkled as she grinned toothily to him.

"I'd realised that I liked the peace and quiet, even though Candlekeep was pretty quiet anyway. Mornings were best -- everyone would be asleep, and the dew would settle on the grass, glistening prettily as the sun rose. I'd go outside in just my robe -- it didn't matter how cold it was because I'd not feel it -- and I'd close my eyes, facing up to the sky with my arms outstretched. I'd become so... peaceful. I did it for weeks before anyone noticed."

"Gorion?"

Nuila laughed and shook her head. "Imoen. The stupid girl had heard me sneaking out and followed me, hiding behind a bush until she thought I wasn't paying attention. I didn't know she was there, but I heard her coming, and instinctively I reached out and punched her on the jaw before I'd even opened my eyes. Needless to say, we were both a bit shocked. Gorion was too -- he'd witnessed it all from his window, we found out later. That afternoon he organised lessons in proper meditation, scribing and languages from the other monks, and persuaded Jondalar to give me some fighting tips for unarmed combat."

"And so you found your path," he remarked, suddenly seeing her for the first time; Nuila the Monk; honed and trained, calm and capable. Her frail looking form held many surprises it seemed.

"And so I did," she agreed, a small sigh escaping her lips. "Gorion supported me every step of the way -- he even supported Imoen and her thievery by turning a blind eye to it and hoping she'd grow out of it."

"You miss him."

"Of course." Her eyes met his again.

"Why did you leave the safety of the fortress?"

"I... I don't know." Her voice was small. "We flew from its walls one day at his insistence, his intention to meet with Jaheira and Khalid. He... he was killed on the road, and Imoen found me later on -- she had sneaked away herself, hoping to follow us. She always liked the idea of adventure."

He sighed. "Her self-delusion leads her nowhere. She may keep imagining herself as a hero, a legend in the making, but eventually she will come to ashes and dust. Every adventurer is doomed, and doubly so if she is expecting to stay on the road until the end of her days. Do not make such a mistake."

Nuila shook her head. The final remnants of happiness faded from her face, and it took on a colder, harder expression. "I don't intend to. I will avenge my father and it will be over."

"It will not matter in the long run, anyway," he said. "Young or old, we shall die, and all our memories will turn to dust. The past is irrelevant, as the present soon will be." He stood from the table, forcing himself to move now, to leave her before he said too much -- but he had already spoken more than he intended, and it was too late to take it back. "Good night, Nuila."

She said nothing as he walked away, her gaze now fixed to the dying embers of the fire, her hands clenched together tightly as her thoughts filled with revenge and retribution. He didn't want to leave her like that, but he had nothing to offer her -- no words of support or friendship, nothing but the harsh reality of the futility of it all. They were all doomed; she would likely die on the road before she had even managed to find out who was responsible for her foster father's death, and he would be faced with burying their bodies in unmarked graves, to be forgotten about by all except the creatures burying in the ground.

That was assuming he survived, of course -- which, he had to admit, was rather unlikely.