Author's Note: Time to pick up a few more figures -- Kivan won't be along for long, but Garrick's stay with the party is as yet undetermined :) Thanks, as usual, for all the reviews -- this chapter was slightly harder to write, if only because I'm not very good at writing for charming bards, it would seem :D
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All my life I've been waiting
For you to bring a fairytale my way
Been living in a fantasy without meaning
It's not okay, I don't feel safe
I don't feel safe
-- Anastasia, Left Outside Alone
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Branwen was beginning to get on his nerves.
Since they'd arrived in Beregost and found out that Tranzig was renting a room in Feldepost's Inn, the warrior priestess had been desperate to pay him a visit. Nuila had spent the best part of a day explaining why they had to wait, explicitly going over the fact that both she and Imoen were inexperienced, and that they may lack the kind of power needed to take down someone of his status. Branwen had been distinctly unimpressed, storming out from the Jovial Juggler as Nuila rolled her eyes in exasperation, being dragged off by Imoen shortly after for 'sightseeing'.
They returned just before Branwen did, and they were as stunned as he was with the cleric's new found friends.
"This is Garrick," she smiled smugly, waving at a young boy who looked around nervously. "And this is Kivan." A tall elf stood behind her, glaring around at the other customers. He nodded to Xan when they shared a glance, acknowledging his kin, but only regarded Nuila and Imoen with some scepticism.
"This is your war band?" he asked. His voice was low and quite rough for Tel-Quessir. Branwen nodded and he sighed heavily. Nuila and Imoen gave him an indignant look.
"Well, we might not look much, but there's more to us than meets the eye, mister!" exclaimed the pink-haired one. Xan rolled his eyes slightly; the girl believed every word she'd said, which was almost pitiable. Nuila was fiercely voicing her agreement.
"We might not have been doing this as long as you, but we've been through a lot so far, and we can handle ourselves -- there's no need to give us such an obviously dismissive look."
The elf named Kivan regarded her with amusement, then threw his hands up in defeat. "Fine," he relented. "The warrior maiden said you intended to hunt bandits in the area -- since I have been doing likewise, I suggest we join forces... if you're accepting new members to your group."
Xan noticed that Nuila's chin was sticking out rather defiantly. He closed his eyes in desperation -- please don't let her turn him away just because he offended her, he entreated to the Seldarine silently. Ages seemed to pass before he heard her voice -- somewhat reluctantly, it sounded to him, accepting the offer to join together. He opened his eyes as the others turned their respective gazes to the other newcomer.
"So... Garrick is it?" asked Nuila. A smile lit up her face and Xan felt his stomach sinking. The man nodded back enthusiastically. "You wish to join us too?"
"Well, not exactly," he replied hesitantly. "I'm actually looking for some mercenaries..."
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That evening they found themselves sitting around a table back at the Jovial Juggler. Imoen was brandishing a brush, trying to work it through the charred parts of Nuila's mane of hair while the elven girl stared darkly at the piece of paper in her hands. It had been an... eventful afternoon, to say the least. Xan had harboured a foreboding feeling when they agreed to help 'guard' Garrick's former employer. In the end, they'd killed her after she tried to trick them into killing some of her contacts; Nuila had in turn knocked out the thieves that were delivering her gem, then sent Branwen off to find a local guard. That had been easier said than done, but eventually one had been found, and he'd dragged the men off while looking most disinterested in the whole event.
Due to Garrick's newfound state of unemployment, he'd agreed to join the group, despite what Xan saw as his dubious position of having been the man behind their most recent danger. He'd suggested a quick drink in the local tavern to calm all their nerves after the fight; that plan had been a spectacular failure, only leading to Nuila effectively breaking a table in half as she kicked out at the dwarven assassin that charged at her, knocking him backwards with some force. The barkeep had tried to fine them for the damage, but Kivan had said something to him in a hushed tone, and he'd wandered off while muttering to himself.
Xan sighed. Sheer luck had kept them alive another day, only to allow them the most painful and prolonged death at the hands of Tranzig, no doubt. The lightning bolt that had come from Silke's hands -- the woman who Garrick had worked for -- had done no more damage than to mess up Nuila's long, silky hair, and no matter what Imoen tried there seemed to be no way of repairing it. The thief sighed heavily as she worked, frowning and shaking her head as she tried rubbing some oil onto the frazzled ends, occasionally causing Nuila to yelp in pain as she pulled the brush rather violently through the larger knots.
"So, Garrick," he heard Nuila saying pleasantly. "Are you a bard, too?"
Silke had been an actress, apparently, and a skilled minstrel. The young man nodded, and pulled a small mandolin out from somewhere -- Xan had no idea where it had come from, and decided he probably didn't want to know; instead he sat glumly, listening as the 'bard' gushed on about his love of music. Nuila looked positively delighted.
"So you sing?" she asked. She sounded far too eager for Xan's liking, and to his dismay Garrick nodded, then started plucking on the strings of his instrument. His voice joined in soon after -- not that bad, in all reality, for a human, Xan reflected, but still quite gravelly compared to the voices back home. The tune picked up, causing both the girls to squeal in delight. Imoen dropped the brush to the table, Nuila's bad hair day momentarily forgotten, as the two girls leapt to their feet, whirling around together as they joined in the song. Branwen was clapping along and even Kivan's foot was tapping slightly as he watched the sight.
Xan was mesmerised. The elves of Evereska loved to dance, and so the sight was not uncommon to him -- but never had he seen it done with such raw energy and boisterousness as Imoen and Nuila displayed. There was little grace in their movements as they used momentum and speed to keep them spinning round and round, only their hold on each other preventing them flying apart and into the surrounding tables. But they were perfectly in time, jumping and clapping each other's free hands to the beat of the song, their eyes fixed to each other in delight as they forgot their worries and let their fears slip away.
But it was only for a short while -- before long the song ended, the girls slowed down, and then staggered back to their seats, dizzy from the dance and supporting each other. They giggled together for a few minutes, then the seriousness returned -- Imoen picked up the brush once more and Nuila's eyes fell back to the paper she'd been studying so intently. It was another bounty notice; the same as Jaheira had picked up in Nashkel. Xan wanted to take it gently from her grasp, to toss it into the fire -- to get it away from her.
The others spoke around him, but he paid little attention; his eyes remained on Nuila whenever possible -- he'd avert his gaze if anyone else looked over to him, but it wouldn't be long until they found their way back to her, wishing the cheerful, happy girl would return. Eventually Imoen gave up with the hairbrush, bidding goodnight to the group, Branwen and Kivan following her shortly after. Xan briefly pondered doing likewise before he realised it would leave Nuila alone with this new boy. The enchanter found it hard to not carry some suspicion -- not only had he led them to his potentially murderous employer, but he just happened to suggest they frequent an inn homing a trained killer who was seeking Nuila's head. None of the others seemed to think these events were related, however, but Xan couldn't help but let the distrust build up.
Plus, he was talking to Nuila again, and she'd begun to smile.
"You must tell me about your adventures in the mine," said Garrick eagerly. "I'm sure it would make an amazing tale!"
"Oh, I don't know," replied Nuila quietly. "Most of the heroics came from two others who don't travel with us any more."
"Come now, fair lady," coaxed the bard in what Xan assumed was meant to be a soothing voice. "I'm sure you're not telling me the full story -- surely there is something good about it that you can tell me?"
Nuila seemed to smile slightly. Her eyes darted up -- he thought they briefly settled on him for a second before drifting off to gaze around the other clientele. "One or two good things did come from it," she murmured softly, grinning mischievously to Garrick when he raised an eyebrow. "But that is for another time. Tell me of your stories."
"I am sure my experiences are nothing in comparison to your own," he said ruefully, a small sigh finishing his sentence. Nuila gave him a sympathetic look and Xan diverted his eyes, staring over to the bar. He felt awkward in the presence of the two, but he was loath to leave her alone with what was essentially a stranger. "I travelled for a bit with Silke. I knew she was trouble, but she always managed to get out of things, and it made life exciting, that's for sure."
"Have you travelled far?" Nuila's eyes lit up -- a quick glance was all Xan needed to realise her curiosity about the world, another sign of her incredibly sheltered life. Perhaps he should have mentioned his past missions to her... the places he'd been, the towns he'd seen. Perhaps she would have been interested...
"Well, not as far as some," admitted Garrick, "but recently we were in Calimport-"
Nuila's eyes widened. "Really?" she asked, her voice tinged in awe. "Khalid -- one of the people I travelled with before -- was born there, and he told me a little about it. It sounded fascinating..."
"Oh, it was!" exclaimed Garrick eagerly, immediately recounting his tales from his visit to the city in the south. Nuila listened intently, hanging onto every word, even when it was so far-fetched it had to be untrue. Xan sighed but neither of them paid any heed -- her attention was taken up fully by the bard, and his eyes were fixed firmly to her face as he spoke; he smiled when she did, he nodded when she gasped. He held her enraptured with his words, charmed by his stories, and all Xan could do was sit at the other side of the table, an invisible attendee at a private discussion.
When Garrick finally finished he leaned back in his chair, smiling broadly to the girl. Nuila still had her chin in her hands, her gaze fixed to him. Xan idly stretched his arms, partly because they were stiff, partly to show he was still there. Neither acknowledged him.
"You might get bored travelling with us," said Nuila to Garrick. "I can't imagine we'll go anywhere nearly as exciting as Calimport. Though we might get to Baldur's Gate, eventually.
"I think the company would more than make up for it," smiled Garrick charmingly. Xan felt himself glaring, and he quickly reigned in his stare, forcing himself to study his fingernails intently so he couldn't see Nuila's rapidly blushing face.
"Hah!" she said, sitting up straight. Xan looked up long enough to see her batting her eyelashes at the young human, and he clenched his teeth. "You must say that to all the girls!"
"Only the ones who deserve it," replied Garrick, seemingly serious -- his pale face and wide eyes were gazing at Nuila in a lovesick manner. Xan went over all the domination and charm spells he knew off by heart. "And there has only been one lady to be worthy so far." The bard took Nuila's hand in his, delicately raising it to his face as he brushed her knuckles with his lips. His eyes never left hers. Xan cleared his throat.
"Oh." Nuila looked over to the enchanter, slightly abashed. "I'm sorry Xan... you must think we're terribly rude to have ignored you this long."
He was about to reply when the infuriating bard interjected. "I'm sure he's been fine, dear lady -- and the hour is late, so if our... discussion is not to his taste, he could always turn in." Garrick threw him a hopeful smile and a wink. Xan glared frostily back.
"I am not tired," he said bluntly. Nuila seemed to shift uncomfortably, and Garrick's smile faded to leave a puzzled expression.
"Ah... well, I see," the human said quietly. "I... ah... think I shall retire for the evening, however." He turned back to Nuila. "It has been... enchanting." More smiles were exchanged and Xan's hands clasped tightly together as the human took far too long to actually leave the table and move towards his room for the evening. Nuila watched him go, her eyes not leaving him until he'd disappeared around the corner to the stairs. She sighed softly as she turned back to the table, examining her mug for any traces of liquid.
"Is it wise to trust him?"
She looked up to him with a raised eyebrow. A few moments passed before she replied, carefully. "What do you mean?"
Xan sighed -- partly with frustration, partly with weariness. "Twice today you have found your life in danger -- both have been at his behest. You should be careful in his company."
She kept staring at him, and he became uncomfortable. Then she started nodding slowly. "You think he's dangerous?" she asked.
"I think anyone you don't know has the potential to be dangerous," he said.
"I don't really know you."
The words cut into him sharply -- more than he'd expected or been prepared for. His breath caught, his body tensed -- he was sure she noticed, because her eyes narrowed and a small frown creased her brow. He quickly composed himself, trying to wave it off as if it had never happened. "You have shared my company for longer," he eventually managed. "I'd like to think you can trust me to some degree."
More silence. "I can," she said quietly. "But I see no reason why I can't trust Garrick either."
He groaned, but relented. Risking an argument with her would only push her away, and for some reason, he didn't want that. Instead he found himself moving over to Imoen's vacated seat. He picked up the brush she'd left on the table and motioned for Nuila to turn around so she had her back to him. She gave him a bemused look but complied, and he slowly began to work the implement through the strands of her hair.
"Just be careful," he urged, gently working out the tousles. He felt her head nodding at his words.
"I will be. And I have Imoen, and Branwen. And you."
Something about the pause caused a strange sensation to pass over him, but he swallowed hard, concentrating on the job at hand. Soon enough he'd solved the problem with the knots, but the charred ends of her hair were still brittle to touch. He let his hand run over them, a mournful sigh escaping before he could stop it. She turned around to face him.
"Is it really bad?"
"There's nothing I can do for the damaged parts," he admitted. She nodded and pulled a sharp knife from one of her boots. He flinched when she handed it to him, but she just smiled encouragingly.
"Cut off however much it takes," she insisted, turning back to face away from him.
He looked at the dagger; it was sharp -- sharp enough to easily perform the job, he guessed, but the thought of it made his hands tremble, and he hesitantly took some of her hair, biting his lip before he sliced through the strands. The damaged locks fell to the ground easily, and it took him no time to remove all traces of the lightning. Her hair was left half as long as it had been, and her hand wandered up to it, experimentally feeling the new length as it curled around her shoulders. He placed the knife on the table, using his hands to arrange the settling of the waves, allowing his hands to slip through her tresses for longer than was strictly necessary. Her hand found his, and both paused, momentarily reaching for the other before they drew away simultaneously and she turned back to face him shyly.
"Thank you," she said sincerely. "It will take some getting used to, though."
"It... befits you," he replied hoarsely. He meant it -- though her hair had been lovely and flowing before, the new, shorter style afforded just as much natural beauty, and it seemed to naturally draw away from her face more -- meaning that he could see her cheekbones, her eyes... her ears, so much clearer. His throat went dry, and he desperately tried to swallow.
She'd turned a moderate shade of pink at his words, but was grinning widely to him. She returned her dagger to her boot then watched as the last of the taverns other patrons moved carefully towards the inn's door and sighed. "I guess that's our sign to go to bed," she said, standing up from her chair. To his surprise she held out her hand, and he hesitantly accepted it, entwining his arm in hers as they walked to the stairs together. She wished him a goodnight from the doorway of her room, then disappeared from view, the sound of Imoen's snores drifting from the crack under their bedroom door. He stood there for many minutes, his mind swirling around as he looked at the closed door. Eventually he turned, and managed to find his way to his own room.