Author's Note: Apologies for the delay! It was Tiax-dialogue induced :) He's not a character I'm overly familiar with, so anything glaringly OOC for him, let me know!

----------

Call it stupid

Call it wrong

Call it reckless

See what we've gone and done

Who am I to break this young girl's heart

How the mighty rise and fall

-- Kristian Leontiou, Shining

----------

It was hard to believe what they'd accomplished in such a short amount of time; especially considering, he mused, the lack of experience held by the two leading girls, and the departure of any seasoned warriors before they embarked on their journey to the bandit camp. And it had been a memorable journey -- they'd somehow survived the creatures of the forests surrounding Peldvale, and then Imoen had bluffed the bandits that had attempted to ambush them, letting them believe they were potential new recruits. And so they'd managed to get out of the hard work of actually tracking the bandits, instead being led to the camp by an affable man named Jasper, who seemed to be very interested in holding pink-hair's attention.

Of course, when they reached the camp and Tazok strode into sight, keeping Kivan under control had proved to be impossible, and a fully fledged fight had broken out. Garrick displayed his complete uselessness by fleeing into the trees, playing his harp from a safe distance -- the song did seem to have a rousing effect on Branwen and Nuila, however, and with Imoen and Kivan's marksmanship and his own repertoire of spells, they somehow survived -- even managing to bring down the ogre before he could flee into the woods. Their injuries were fairly bad, though, especially after discovering the men in the large colourful tent that had held the prisoner. The prisoner that was now part of their company, after his healing powers had gained him favour with Nuila. Xan was quite unsure what to make of him; he'd already been quite vocal, proclaiming to have worked with Tazok and his men, but quite willing to change allegiance with apparent ease. Cyric deemed them worthy, apparently.

They'd moved far enough away from the camp to be removed from the threat of any other bandits stumbling across them, and Kivan had prepared a fire and a meal -- his last act for them before he left in the morning, as he'd implied would be the case. Nuila had graciously accepted his decision, causing him to look confused for a moment, almost as if he'd expected her to try and persuade him otherwise. He'd checked that she was sure it was fine and she'd nodded once again, offering him a bright smile before heading over to sit on her own. Xan thought his kinsman was wise to leave while he could, though he was slightly disheartened to see another capable warrior departing.

His eyes drifted back towards the elven girl. She was nursing her bandaged arm. Branwen had detected two clean breaks in it, but both she and the other new cleric -- a gnome called Tiax -- had exhausted their healing powers. He could only imagine how much pain it was causing her and he found himself wandering over, trying to work out how to offer some show of sympathy for her situation without becoming impossibly uncomfortable.

She didn't seem to notice him approaching; her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be concentrating -- her other hand lightly resting on the bruised flesh around the breaks in her bones. A blue light briefly shone from the touch, disappearing as quickly as it had come, and she opened her eyes and stretched her wounded arm slightly, only a slight frown on her face as she prodded and pushed at the skin. Eventually she looked up to see him.

"How... how did you do that?" he asked, staring at her arm. The bruises had faded -- they weren't fully gone, but they'd faded noticeably, and at least one of the breaks seemed to have mended.

"I don't know," she replied gently. She was watching him intently and he had to try and fight the look of concern from his face; he failed, the scowl only succeeding in becoming larger as he bent down beside her, his fingers running lightly over her former injuries.

"The... spell... you just cast -- it is not a natural one," he murmured thoughtfully. "I can feel that. And I assure you, it is a disturbing sensation."

Her eyebrow had risen. "Disturbing? What do you mean?"

He sighed, sitting down beside her on the fallen log she was perched upon. He wondered how to explain it; how to say that when he'd seen the light, he'd felt a shiver down his spine -- an inability to recognise where the power was coming from, and a vague sense of apprehension regarding such an ability. Eventually he took a deep breath and spoke. "When you called forth that power, it chilled me to the core. It was as if someone had walked across my grave."

She was regarding him curiously now, a concerned expression, mingled with something else... Disbelief? Fear? He couldn't tell.

"Do you even know where these come from?" he said, partly to break the silence.

She shook her head. "No, I don't. But anything that helps me survive is good, isn't it?"

He wished he could see it from her point of view; he desperately wanted to. But it was no good -- every bone in his body seemed to be shouting at him, warning him, telling him to be careful. He tried to word himself carefully. "You might survive, but will you remain yourself?" His eyes rose, meeting her green orbs; there was definite fear in them -- fear regarding his words, his manner.

"Why would I change?" she asked carefully.

"I am sorry," he offered, sighing heavily. "I may be speaking out of turn, or reading too much into it. But...these powers alarm me, and I would implore you to refrain from using them; if not for my sake, then for yours."

"But why?" she asked insistently. There was confusion etched on her face. "It lets me heal -- not just me, but others too. I healed up Imoen when a hobgoblin managed to slash open her arm, for goodness sake! How can that be bad?"

"You do not know what fuels this ability -- what grants you this divinity. You are no cleric, no druid, but something has granted you a healing touch. Does this not strike you as strange?"

"Perhaps," she admitted, her eyes falling down to the ground. "But... I think it's related to the dreams I've had. I... I sometimes waken up, and I just know I can do something new. I thought it was maybe because I'd meditated, honed my awareness so much... but now I think it's from the nightmares."

He watched her as she spoke; longing to reach out and hold her, to push the hair away from her eyes as it fell forward and into her face, to offer the comfort he knew any of the other companions would so easily give. "You may think that if you use them one more time, there will be no consequences; it is true," he tried to explain. "But if you continue, any change may become irrevocable. Your body may wither before its time, or your mind may go to pieces." He sighed. "I may be wrong, of course, and these are a blessed gift of the gods, but I find it hard to believe. Refuse it; do not doom yourself. Promise me you won't use them again."

Her head was shaking. "I can't, Xan. If... if someone is hurt and I can help them... I can't promise that I would be able to resist acting on that."

He nodded. "You scare me," he admitted, wincing as she looked at him sharply -- a gaze full of hurt and surprise. "This... it is more than strange -- it borders on the uncanny. You do not know your parents; you have unaccountable powers; countless assassins pursue you like a beast. Who are you, Nuila? What are you?"

She looked so full of sorrow that he felt as if his heart would burst. "I... I do not know," she replied morosely, standing from her seat. "Now it's you scaring me." She turned and walked back to the others morosely, throwing herself beside the fire as Imoen appeared by her side, a look of concern on her face. He could see them speak, but pink-hair didn't look over to him -- there were no hostile glances or obvious glares, so he could only assume that Nuila had refrained from mentioning his name. Eventually the thief's arms went around the elven girl's shoulder, and he watched as Nuila leaned on her friend, the two girls cuddling as they sat at the fire. He sighed heavily.

----------

The gnome was every bit as difficult to travel with as Xan had worried. Kivan had been gone for less than an hour before he struck up a conversation with Nuila -- though calling it a 'conversation' was almost a joke, Xan reflected, walking along quietly behind them as he listened.

"When Tiax rules all, you will be the concubine that is permitted to wash Tiax's feet after a long day standing, waving at the adoring crowds," he declared, by way of starting the discussion. Xan saw Nuila throwing the gnome an amused look.

"That's very good of you, Tiax," she said pleasantly, causing the cleric to puff up slightly and nod in agreement. "But I can only accept such generosity if you allow Imoen to primp your hair at the start of every day, to ensure you look your best as you grace the masses with your sage words."

The gnome appeared to be completely oblivious to her teasing tone, and even Imoen's stealthy sniggering didn't distract him from his thoughtful expression. "Tiax shall consider it," he eventually assented.

"Mighty Tiax, you flatter us with your benignity," said Imoen, completely deadpan. He glanced around himself, smugly. Xan was at least thankful that his presence had caused Garrick to retreat from the girls' side; the bard seemed uneasy in the gnome's company, and was trying to avoid him at all costs. Although Tiax was quite unbearable, Xan was able to see the small silver lining his company was providing.

"So Tiax," said Nuila. "Tell us how you came to work for Tazok."

The gnome spat and scowled. "Tazok is a worm that deserved the death inflicted upon him!" he exclaimed, his voice annoyingly whiny and high pitched to Xan's ears. "They lied, and said that they were true followers of Cyric in all His glory, but Cyric saw their deceit! He told me when to ignore their pathetic orderings, and when to act on His word alone!"

"And I guess they didn't like that much?" ventured Imoen.

Tiax snorted. "Cyric has found better minions for Tiax now," was all he said, lapsing into silence as they walked. Nuila and Imoen shared an amused look, then went back to their usual conversations about Candlekeep and their childhoods. Xan kept listening, trying to look around him nonchalantly as he strode, and only barely noticing Garrick and Branwen conversing to his side.

"Do you think we'll ever go back?" asked Imoen. He felt his ears straining to listen at this question; Nuila's answer seemed so important to him, but he didn't know why.

The elven girl shrugged -- the creases in her robes moving fluidly with the motion. He found himself daydreaming -- imagining her figure in more tailored clothing, better quality fabric. A gown of striking violet silk that set off her piercing eyes as her blonde hair curled around her shoulders... he blinked, shaking his head and trying to pick up their conversation again.

"...knowing Gorion was dead?" Nuila had a sad expression; his lack of concentration meant he had missed the start of her answer, and he was unsure if it was a memory of Gorion that had set off her melancholy, or a negative answer to pink-hair's question. He started frowning.

"They'd know we weren't to blame, ya know?" Imoen was trying to comfort her; from what he had gathered, Imoen's own foster father -- or the man who acted closest to it, was still alive and back at the library fortress. This was probably why she found it easier to deal with the old sage's death -- he wasn't sure if Nuila appreciated that fact, or not.

"It wouldn't matter," the elven girl replied glumly. "Without him, they'd not want me there -- you know how Ulraunt sees me... only Gorion's influence let me stay there that long. And I still don't know what I did that upset him."

"He's just an old stuffy-faced buffoon!" exclaimed Imoen. "Plenty of others liked you and will be missing you -- Tethtoril, for example! And Parda, and Karan, and-"

Nuila laughed and held up her hands in defeat. "I guess," she admitted. "I just think it would be strange to go back, now. It might be nice, though, when we find out who killed Gorion, and make sure the authorities deal with it. Even if it's just to say goodbye."

He noticed Imoen's face turn solemn. "You're serious about not going back to stay, then?" she asked. "I mean, I know it'd be hard to get them to even let us in-"

"Winthrop would make sure you were allowed back in."

Imoen blew a raspberry. "I'm not going without you, silly! And I suppose we have a long way to go yet, before we get any answers to all this -- Gorion, the whole iron thing…" The girl paused and threw Nuila a mischievous grin. "Plenty of time to figure out where we'll go to after it all!"

Nuila laughed and they locked arms, all but skipping ahead of the group as they chattered lightly and laughed merrily, ignoring Branwen's annoyed warnings about enemies in the trees. Eventually the warrior priestess gave up in exasperation, returning to her conversation with Garrick -- the bard immediately going back into his smooth mode, smiling at her charmingly, though it seemed to have a limited effect on the canny cleric. Tiax was walking by himself; but a quick look to him showed Xan that he was watching the two girls intently -- almost too intently for the enchanter's liking.

----------

When they stopped that evening, Xan approached their leader quietly, waiting patiently until she finished her meditations. She looked up to him, her gaze slightly glazed for a few seconds until her focus returned, and she raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"I wanted to offer an apology," he said hesitantly. "It was not my wish to cause you any distress."

She moved to stand from her cross-legged position, and he held out a hand to her, offering his assistance. She paused momentarily, regarding it with a hint of suspicion, as if she expected it to spew forth some magical energy to injure her. Then it passed, and he winced slightly at her tight grip, only barely managing to keep his balance as she hoisted herself up, her natural strength in full display against his own moderate reserves.

"I accept it," she replied quietly. He expected her to turn away without another word, to return to the others around the campfire, but she didn't. She seemed to be thinking, and he waited patiently for her to speak again. It took a few moments. "I understand how you feel," she said carefully, "but I do really believe there is nothing to fear. And I stand by what I said earlier -- I cannot agree to wilfully hold back on a healing ability if a comrade requires it." She raised her gaze to look him calmly in the eyes -- his heart seemed to skip a beat. "I will, though," she continued in a softer tone, "promise to not channel any energy I find I have, that is not beneficial to the well-being of the group."

He sighed; she'd obviously tried to choose her words carefully, but he was no fool. Anything she managed to do could, arguably, be beneficial to the group -- depending on the scenario. But... she had tried to appease him -- to settle his fears. Perhaps that meant more to him, for now. He nodded solemnly to her.

"That... is good to know," he said clumsily. The twinkle in her eye had thrown him slightly off-guard. He was almost certain that she knew he wasn't fooled, but she seemed to appreciate his attempts to be appeased. She reached out, taking his hand back in hers.

"Let's go back to the others."

He could only manage to nod mutely and follow her; trying to concentrate more on the twisting path through the grass, than on the way her robes swirled around the curves of her body under the bright light of the moon. He failed miserably.