Author's Note: Thank you for all the suggestions to potential party members -- I have a pretty good idea who we're going to stumble across now, but views and thoughts are still very welcome, on any aspect:D
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You left a lovestain on my heart
And you left a bloodstain on the ground
But blood comes off easily
-- José González, Remain
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Xan sighed. He remembered the sight -- around him lay the bodies of many creatures, alive until the party descended on their fortress home to wipe their existence from the Realms. There had been gnolls mainly -- a few xvarts had infiltrated their ranks for some reason, but even their fast and vicious attacks had proved useless against the fighters as they cut their way through, the tall berserker at the front. Their weapons had made short work of their foes, but Nuila had not been standing around idly. Her way of killing was much more involved -- much more personal.
Xan had discovered a morbid fascination in watching her as she swiftly approached her target, deftly stepping to the side to avoid the blows aimed at her. She moved with a grace that was absent from her normal gait, ducking and weaving as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Her dusters would catch the sunlight, glinting violently as her hands pushed forward, striking and lashing out at her opponent, tearing at the skin when she managed to find an opening in the armour. Her feet would kick out, sometimes as part of a move for her to regain her balance, sometimes because there was no opening for her punches. She moved to a rhythm only she could hear, and he was mesmerised. But then her victim would fall, as bloodied as if she'd wielded a club in her hands, and he would be dragged back to the present -- the very violent, very gory present.
When they all fell, it had been Minsc's howls that echoed around them, bouncing off what little was left of the crumbling walls of the ruined higher reaches. The final body they discovered had not fallen to their hands, but to those they'd killed. The dark-skinned woman had suffered heavily at the hands of the gnolls, it seemed, and no words could console her former guard. He had left them shortly after -- they'd aided him with the burial of his witch, but Nuila had made no effort to persuade him to remain in their group, wishing him well on his future journeys as he walked into the forest alone. Jaheira had been incensed by the elven girl's alleged 'lack of care', lecturing her about loyalty and comradeship. Nuila had shrugged, insisting she didn't want to force anyone to remain in her company.
"People are free to come and go as they wish," she'd said simply, walking away.
There had been an uneasy silence all the way back to Nashkel, then a full blown row at the inn. The druid was unwilling to drop the subject, quizzing Nuila relentlessly about her intentions and her motivations for allowing a man so obviously broken to leave the safety of the group. Eventually the girl snapped, standing abruptly from the table and informing Jaheira, in no uncertain terms, that she was not a child, and did not have to answer to her any more or justify her decisions. She was, Nuila said, as free to leave the group as Minsc had been, and if she was not happy with her actions, then she was free to go.
The next morning the monk stood by her words, stonily marching from the tavern as he followed her, Imoen and Branwen by his side. Jaheira and Khalid followed too, but they'd only made it half way to Beregost before the half-elves gave in, drawing the two younger girls to the side and wishing them farewell. Xan didn't know where they were going to, or what other factors had caused such a sudden departure, but relations between the elf and the druid had become cold and unfriendly -- only Khalid and Imoen showed any sadness at the way events had transpired.
With a heavy heart, Xan marched on with his group. They were now severely weakened and heading to a battle that sounded dangerous. He knew he should make his excuses and leave, but he couldn't -- he'd promised to stay, and even if he hadn't, they were investigating the very matter his Greycloak duties would have him following. He was doomed to stay with them.
They stopped to camp a few hours from the town, and Nuila declared that he would take the first watch with her. He groaned slightly, but she paid little attention, sitting beside Imoen as the young girl stirred the pot that was balanced on the campfire. Branwen soon joined them, their chatter light but quiet, free of the tension that had been apparent in the group after Minsc's departure. Xan withdrew from them as much as he could, opening his spellbook and pouring over it; only speaking to accept a plate of stew from Imoen when she handed it over to him. Soon enough the thief and the priestess were asleep, leaving Nuila alone by the fire as she stared into the flames, seemingly lost to the world around her. He frowned slightly, then rose from his own seat to move closer. She smiled as he settled down to her side.
"You have been very quiet today," she noted, holding her hands out to the flames. He wondered if she was really that cold -- the night air was chilly, and although they were sheltered in their location from the worst of the breezes, there seemed to be a draught constantly passing over them.
"No more than usual," he replied absent-mindedly, wondering if he should offer her his cloak. He decided not to -- she already had her own, after all, and the fire was providing ample heat. Well, it was for him -- but he seemed to be... well, bonier than her. She wasn't particularly large, but her muscles were honed, and she was stockier than any other elf he'd seen. She probably had more to warm up.
"I saw you frowning when Jaheira and Khalid left," she said quietly. "You might think it was a bad idea, but-"
"No." He interrupted quickly, suddenly uneasy with her topic of conversation. "You don't have to explain anything to me -- it is your band, to deal with as you see fit."
She smiled slightly, but her eyes were still fixed to the dancing lights before her. "Perhaps," she nodded, "but... I'd like to tell you, at least vaguely."
He didn't say anything. She seemed to take his silence as an approval for her to continue.
"When we first met them, at the Friendly Arms, they were... well, they were strangers." She sighed heavily. "Khalid spoke first, breaking the ice. Jaheira spoke after him. She was... less than warm. She said she could see a resemblance between Gorion and I, though..." Her face scrunched up as she thought back. He thought it looked endearing. "Ah yes... it was a slight on him."
He winced slightly, offering her as sympathetic a look as he could manage.
"From then on," she continued, "all the way to the mine and beyond, she would bring up everything wrong I did and multiply it tenfold. Khalid insisted it was because she was concerned, Imoen told me to give her a break until Jaheira started finding faults with her too. She wouldn't stop calling me 'child'! I'm probably older than her, even if I can't remember most of it!"
Xan fought hard to keep the smile off his face; her actions, the way she waved her hands around as she spoke when she got excited, the rising of her voice when she felt wronged or indignant -- they all said 'child' as loudly as the druid's formidable voice had... but he could also see the woman in her. Naive, stupendously innocent to the world, and ridiculously sheltered from everything relating to her past and her childhood... but a woman, nonetheless. She turned to look at him and smiled. He blinked twice and raised an eyebrow.
"What?" he asked.
"You were sitting there smiling at me," she remarked. He felt the colour rushing to his cheeks and prepared a denial, but she spoke on. "You think I'm a child too, don't you? I don't blame you... I know I'm not worldly -- but neither is Imoen, so don't let her tell you she is! But I'm not stupid... I don't think I am, anyway."
"I don't think you are either," he replied quietly. "Rash, perhaps, but not stupid."
She gave him a slightly outraged look. "Rash?" she spluttered. "Rash?! I'll have you know I'm very calm and controlled, due to years of practice at meditative arts..." Her voice drifted off -- he was giving her a wry look and she grumbled in complaint. "Okay," she relented. "Occasionally I can be... pushed into impatience." She smiled smugly. He rolled his eyes. "Is that why you've been quiet? Because of everything that happened."
"Ah... slightly," he admitted uncomfortably. "It was... a bit of a surprise to see them depart so abruptly." He noticed her nodding -- she looked sad again. He wondered if she really had wanted them to leave, or if too many things had been said to save things.
"This morning, Jaheira came to see me in my room and tried to explain to me that I should value steadfast friendships, especially since I'd lost Gorion. I told her that I had Imoen for that, that I had her and Khalid, now you and Branwen. Why would I want to make a man stay with me when he was miserable and declared his intention to leave? She said he probably was too confused to know what he wanted, and that I should have insisted he stay with us so we could look after him. But I have Imoen to look after... and me."
She turned into a child again before his eyes, huddled into her robes as she sat at the fire; her knees drawn up before her, her arms wrapped fiercely around them. Her chin now rested on her knees, her green eyes were tinged with sadness and loneliness... and fear? She looked scared -- no, terrified, and alone. She shouldn't be alone like this. He sighed.
"It hardly matters," he said softly. "Whether you stand with one friend or five; your enemies won't care in the slightest, cutting you all down with a practiced ease. Considering we'll be lucky to survive the next encounter we have whether it is a wild wolf of the woods, or an ogre roaming onto the roads, we have nothing to look forward to, except a swift death at the hands of Tranzig."
"It'll only be swift if we're really lucky," she replied morosely. "He might drag it out, seeing how long he can make it last." Several moments of silence followed her words as he pondered the validity of them, but then to his surprise he heard her giggling, her face buried into her arms as she tried to muffle the noise. He smiled.
"Sorry," she snorted in between chokes of laughter. He saw her pulling down her sleeve to cover her hand, and quickly pulled a handkerchief from his own pocket, offering it to her graciously. She paused, her makeshift tissue halfway to her eyes, then accepted his gift, daubing at the tears as she continued to chortle. "Your expression, though," she whispered, trying to regain her breath as she handed his cloth back, "was priceless."
He didn't know whether to be offended or not, so instead resorted to a haughty sniff, and shifted himself so he'd turned away from her slightly, looking back down at his spellbook. He felt her hand on his arm and immediately tensed.
"Sorry," she repeated, this time solemnly. "I didn't mean to offend you."
He shook his head. "You didn't," he said reassuringly, offering a weak smile until she brightened up. He couldn't stand to see her looking down -- the life seemed to ebb from her features, the zest vanished from her countenance. When she smiled, though, it added colour to his surroundings. It came close to making him feel... moderately all right. He frowned at his train of thought, shaking it violently from his mind and letting out the most heart-wrenching sigh ever heard. She looked at him in surprise.
"Are you sure?" she asked. "That was one terrific sigh, and something must have caused it."
He shrugged at her, discretely removing his arm from her hand. She pulled away, and for a moment he wondered if he saw hurt in her eyes -- but no, it was likely a trick of the firelight, because soon enough she was back in her usual, hunched position. Before long her eyes were closed, her reflective meditations entered. He wasn't foolish enough to think she was unaware of her surroundings though -- the time he'd spent around her had shown that when she sat like this on guard, her senses were heightened to such a point that she was usually the first to detect anything unusual nearby. This helped him to relax slightly, and with great reluctance, he looked back to his book, trying desperately to concentrate enough to memorise his spells.
If the next day came and he had no magic at all at his disposal, it would be her fault.