Author's Note: I'm not sure about the end of this chapter -- the discussion between Nuila and Xan is meant to be slightly confusing, but still to make some sense... so if anyone has any thoughts or suggestions on it, I'd be happy to hear them! And, of course, on anything else too -- the pace, the style... whatever:D

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I'm here, so please explain

Why you're opening up a healing wound again

I'm a little more careful, perhaps it shows

But if I lose the highs at least I'm spared the lows

-- Will Young, Leave Right Now

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That morning, for the first time in many years, Xan didn't know how he would describe his mood. The small amount of happiness he'd allowed to creep into his life seemed to be constantly washed away by the everyday occurrences that the party faced. After leaving Garrick behind in Nashkel, the group had gone back out to the wilderness to find Commander Brage. What Xan hadn't been able to leave behind was the lingering presence of Nuila's eyes on him.

She'd not asked him what he was going to say, though the following breakfast had been an uncomfortable affair. He'd caught her giving him a questioning look on several occasions as the others chattered around them, and then... then she seemed to give up on any hope of him continuing where he'd left off, preferring, instead, to converse with Ajantis about their task.

The paladin had led the way, with her by his side, as they marched through forest, along a valley and over the brow of a small hill. And then they'd found him; Commander Brage. He'd been like a man possessed -- quite literally, Xan had discovered, later. The sword he'd been given by a mysterious figure shortly before he murdered his family was under a strong curse, and only when Ajantis' own weapon cleaved the commander's hand clean from his arm was he able to let go of his grasp on it. The mist had lifted from his eyes almost instantly, and he fell to his knees, weeping for his sins.

His cousin, a scared looking woman, emerged from the caravan that he had wrought his latest destruction upon, and pleaded with them to take him to the Temple of Helm for forgiveness, rather than delivering him to the hands of the Amnish Guard. Ajantis and Nuila had held a hushed conversation, excluding all the others until Branwen marched up and demanded to know what was being decided.

From there it degenerated, more or less into a petty squabble. Ajantis was siding with the woman, insistent that Helm would be the wiser option -- for the man to atone, for the All Seeing Eye to cast his judgement on the unfortunate happenings. Branwen had snorted while Nuila argued; Brage had murdered in cold blood and was due to face his punishment. All the time, the man sat weeping and rocking with his cousin holding him close, in tears herself.

It was only when Imoen had stepped in, reminding them that some agreement had to be found and something had to be done, that they stopped bickering. Nuila had looked abashed when she looked over to the fallen man, then quickly composed herself. She did a quick sweep of opinions, asking what her companions wished to do. Ajantis was resolute with returning to Helm, Branwen was stubbornly on the side of the Amnish Guard. Tiax just wanted to kill both of the cousins, there and then, in the name of Cyric; and so Nuila seemed to disregard his voice in this matter. Imoen was undecided, though she eventually sided with Ajantis, preferring the idea that Brage might be allowed to live and repent now that he was free from the curse.

And then Nuila's eyes had fallen to him.

"Xan?"

He wished the ground would open up and swallow him. Time stopped, the eyes of his companions and two innocents fixed to him. By agreeing with Ajantis, he would solve the issue. By agreeing with Branwen, he would leave the casting vote to Nuila. But no... he must not think of it that way. He must not.

His eyes had closed at that point, and he'd let out a large, mournful sigh. The man had admitted to them that he had taken the lives of those closest to him, when they were defenceless and trusting him. But he, as a mage, could recognise the malevolent power lingering on the sword that had taken the decision from his hands. Still... Brage had chosen to wield it, trusted a stranger's gift without thinking of the consequences -- consequences his family -- his children -- had paid for instead of him.

Fully responsible or not, their lives had ended due to his actions. Due to his materialism.

It had felt like a lifetime had passed before Xan opened his eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke.

"The decision, ultimately, is yours remember? But if you truly wish my opinion, then... then I think we should return him to the Amnish Guard."

Pandemonium was then unleashed. Ajantis was clamouring for Nuila to accept that Helm's judgement would be sufficient for the garrison; Branwen was roaring her lust for justice to be served, while the cousin wept and screamed for mercy to be shown. Imoen was looking terrified; for the first time, pink-hair looked as she was -- barely enough years in her to pass her from a child to an adult, caught in a situation she'd never imagined. Those who wanted to be adventurers simply didn't fantasise about these scenes. It was all heroics and easy decisions; never the awful reality where the 'right' decision wasn't black and white.

Tiax seemed to be the only one undaunted by it all. He sat, looking quite peaceful for the first time that Xan could remember, witnessing the scene. He seemed to be... enjoying it. Thriving in the chaos, the enchanter reflected. It would, after all, have suited his personality quite well.

His gaze had then returned to Nuila. The conflict she felt was obvious for all to see; she was trying to convince Ajantis that she understood his views while denying she was only interested in claiming the bounty. For a while, he wasn't sure if she'd be able to cope with the pressure being placed solely on her shoulders; he expected the tears to come, for her to crumble beneath it all.

To his surprise, she hadn't. Eventually, she'd raised her hand, asked for some kind of quiet. Then... then she'd tried to compromise.

"We return to Nashkel," she said firmly, waving Branwen and Ajantis to walk at either side of Brage while they intently listened to her decision. Imoen had helped his cousin to her feet and was supporting her slightly as she sobbed. "We will report to the Amnish Guard-"

More outraged and raised voices. She'd raised her hand once again, waited patiently for some quiet. "And then," she'd said strongly, "we'll recommend that they allow Commander Brage to visit the Temple of Helm while they take some advice from the priests there, regarding the situation with the sword."

Mutterings. Murmurings. Ajantis was slightly appeased by her decision; he couldn't fully stand against it, of course, but he could feel the affront of someone deciding that mere mortals could make a decision over and above his precious God. And Nuila... was she condemning Brage to a fate at the hand of her own Goddess? For surely it would be down to luck as to how the humans took her words; whether they listened to her, or not. He had feared they wouldn't -- he'd served alongside enough human soldiers in various missions to know that their pride was almost unparalleled. To have Nuila -- a little elven girl -- suggest that there may possibly be a better, alternative solution to their problem...

He'd wondered if he should tell her, but in the end she'd marched off resolutely, only pausing to ensure the others were following. The strain was showing on her face, and she looked tired; almost older than she'd appeared only that morning. Would this show her what she was truly letting herself in for? Would this make it clear to her how pointless it all was?

He doubted it.

And, as expected, the Amnish officer who commanded his men to take away the silent Brage, while his cousin fell apart in Imoen's arms, merely nodded politely to Nuila as if she was an enthusiastic child who didn't really understand the world. He assured her that the man would be allowed to the Temple to pray before his trial, but that the Fist would handle the dispensing of justice on the matter. Then, as a bag of gold was pushed into her hands, they were encouraged to leave.

Now the enchanter was lurking in the common room of the Belching Dragon. He didn't even know the tavern existed until Imoen had told him that Nuila had gone off to spend some time on her own, and he'd gone to wander around the settlement in the hope of discovering her. He'd wondered if she'd have gone back through the meadow to the fair, but then he noticed this establishment as he wandered along the bank of the river, and decided to pop his head in.

It was a dingy place, indeed, full of a rowdier element. He'd always wondered why the Nashkel Inn seemed so... well, almost peaceful, compared to most other similar places; and he now realised that the fairly strong presence of the Amnish Guard who regularly drank in it probably helped. There were none of the soldiers in here; only drunk men from the town and the surrounding area, who had noticed Nuila as she entered, and were swarming around her like flies to honey. She was the only female in there, apart from the middle-aged serving woman, who was wearing far too much paint on her face. He sighed heavily, debating for the third time over whether or not he should approach her, or if he should just keep an eye on her safety from a distance.

His dilemma was answered for him soon enough, when one of the younger men drunkenly staggered forward and reached out for a grope. Instantly his hand was on the hilt of his blade and he felt himself marching over, but he wasn't as fast as she was. She'd leapt to her feet in the blink of an eye, her fist drawn back. Before he could shout at her to stop, her fist had connected with the young man's jaw, sending him flying backwards as the unhealthy cracking noise ripped across the sudden silence. The rest of the men shied away, yelling and screaming at her, while the barmaid dashed off to fetch the inn's owner.

He eventually reached her, taking a firm grasp of her arm and instinctively dodging the flailing hand that was aimed at him -- her eyes widened in horror when she noticed it was him that she'd almost struck, but he said nothing, merely tightening his hold and dragging her outside and away from the tavern. He walked briskly upstream, staying close to the river until they eventually reached a quiet spot. Only then did he let her go, and she flopped onto the grass sulkily, watching the flow of the water. With another sigh, he sat down beside her.

"You have a lot to learn," he noted.

"Yes, thank you," she replied stiffly. "Commander Medlan made me quite aware of that fact, earlier."

So she noticed, he thought to himself, that the very man she left Brage's fate to had been quick enough to claim the vacant title. He smiled ruefully. Such was the way of humans; they would never learn. And she was hopelessly tainted by their ways. He wondered if there'd be any salvation for her.

She started picking some of the flowers dotted around, weaving them expertly in her hands to form chains and posies. He sat in silence, feeling the sun shining down on them as the river bubbled gently as it passed. Under other circumstances it might even have passed as pleasant -- this feeling was destroyed completely when she next spoke.

"What were you going to say, before Imoen called you over?"

He stiffened despite himself; he tried to remain calm and relaxed, but he couldn't help it. He'd been dreading her asking, almost hoping enough time had passed, that enough had happened to cause her to forget. Alas, it appeared that her memory was working fine. He cleared his throat, forcing his muscles to loosen slightly.

"You asked me to tell you if there was anything you thought I should tell you," he said slowly, delaying the question without really meaning to. She nodded, her hands now unmoving as she watched him. His throat was going dry quite rapidly.

"I worry about you," he managed, sighing heavily. "I worry when you head blindly into dangerous situations, when you allow yourself to become the target of our foes. I worry that my worry for you will affect me more than it did when we met those women hunters; it was the closest I've come for... a long time, to forgetting my spells completely. And if I am hopelessly unable to remember even the more basic cantrip, what use could I possibly offer to your group?"

She didn't say anything. Instead, she smiled -- a small smile, but it was there, nonetheless. She leaned towards him, taking his hand in her own and pulling it gently towards her lap where she rested it lightly, immediately beginning to entwine flowers around his wrist. He would normally have pulled his hand away; the last thing he wanted was Tiax noticing his floral decoration and making fun of it. But she looked so content, so peaceful; he didn't have the heart to ruin her few serene moments.

When she spoke, her voice was light and soft. "Your presence in the group... well, I already told you that I was glad I had someone other than Imoen to rely on, didn't I? I meant that, you know. Well, I meant more than that, if... if you see what I mean."

Her eyes didn't meet his at all, and he felt himself revelling in the chance to stare at her face while she spoke. So youthful... so naive, really. Her golden hair was hanging loose around her ears where she'd desperately tried to brush it away from her face. There was a slight frown adorning her brow -- the words were apparently coming as difficultly to her as they had to him.

"What... what I'm trying to say is, well, while everyone thinks I'm fairly easy going about who travels with us and who doesn't, I'm… I'm not." She looked at him then; his eyes met hers and they pulled him in, surrounding him with the dulcet tones of her voice. "I can't imagine you not being here now, really. Pretty much like Imoen, but... well, not."

"Nuila-"

"No, no -- wait." She bit her lip, her eyes falling back down to his flowery hand. "I know you think I'm foolish to follow Tymora, but I really do think She blesses me with Her luck. In more ways than one..."

He felt his eyebrow raising and she gave him a grin; there was certainly a cheeky glimmer in her eye. "You are hopeless," he sighed. "Your misplaced faith shall see us nowhere but into an early grave, I fear."

"Ah, because I'm doomed?" Her face went completely deadpan.

"I am serious, but it seems you would make fun of everything. Even your own death, given the possibility." He sighed.

"I'm not going to die!" she replied stubbornly. "And you have to believe me, don't you? Because a friend wouldn't lie to you, would she?"

His breath caught, and for a split-second he thought he might suffocate. He stared at her, wondering if he'd heard correctly, while she looked back at him expectantly; was she waiting for an affirmation of the sentiment? He tried to swallow, but his throat was still painfully dry.

"All these years, I have travelled alone; now I have you as my companion and my friend." The words resisted coming, but he closed his eyes, forcing them out. "I am not sure if it is a right thing, however. I have grown attached to you; your safety is above everything for me -- including my duty and my mission... and I fear it might be more than this. I am becoming more and more convinced I have committed a grave mistake."

"A mistake?" He opened his eyes to see her looking at him with worry, before her eyes drifted down to the sword at his side. "What mistake? Is this to do with your blade?"

"Not exactly, though it is hard to exclude it I suppose. Even when I die, my soul will be bound to it for centuries, perhaps longer, as I told you. What possible hope for the future does that give me?"

She snorted, her garland threatening to spread up his arm. He hesitantly and gently disentangled himself before she could find enough spare flowers, and she began to thread her last few into her own robes as she spoke. "You're a capable mage, and you're an elf. You have hundreds of years left to face."

"Nuila, you are so young and naive, you wring my heart. Life is a fragile thing; a stray arrow, a loose brick, a poisoned glass of wine, and you are dead. And I would not want this."

"You are talking about me, and not you."

It wasn't a question. She'd noticed his words, understood his intent. He felt both relieved and terrified. "You have a different fate to me," he noted.

"I will see Arvandor earlier?" she asked. A rueful smile appeared. "Perhaps I should encourage my demise more than you should yours, then."

He frowned. "You are determined to joke at any possible opportunity, aren't you? Do you even realise the seriousness of your situation, I wonder."

"Of course I do!" she replied indignantly. "But why do you bring the subject up now? You have known it all along, haven't you?"

"I have, but... but much has changed. When I call to mind earlier days, I see myself calm and content with my fate. Duty was above all for me then; now it is different."

"Different?"

"Yes, Nuila, different." He sighed with exasperation; he couldn't be sure if she was genuinely missing his meaning, or gently coaxing him to speak in clearer terms. He was searching for the correct words, when Nuila spoke again.

She shrugged. "Well, I appreciate our friendship, regardless." That was it -- such simply spoken words.

It was enough. He stood up, brushing the dust from his robes. "Excuse me."

"Xan?" He heard her questioning tone, heard her scramble to her feet as she followed him. Then he felt the gentle grasp of her hand on his arm as she tried to slow him down, her face creased with puzzlement. "Xan, what-"

"Leave me alone, Nuila."

She pulled back, recoiling as if he'd slapped her. "This... are you all right?"

"All right?" He laughed mirthlessly. "I have never felt better! I am going to die, my city will be lying in ruins within years, my spirit is going to be trapped in a lump of enchanted metal for nearly an eternity -- yes, Nuila, everything is perfect!" He began to walk again, heading to the inn. His only hope was to reach it before she caught up with him again, but it was not to be.

"I don't understand," she protested, slightly behind him. "What brought this on? What happened?"

"You asked me to tell you if I ever had anything you needed to know? Well, hear this: I want this torment to end, once and for all." He stopped again, spinning round to look at her. She was staring at him in complete shock. "You don't understand what I am talking about, do you? You have never been abducted and tortured; decades of aimless wandering do not wear you down; you have never loved anyone; you treat this life as an entertaining game. You don't even comprehend the notion of dying."

"Hey now!" she was frowning; he had, apparently, annoyed her. "I have not loved? And how, pray, did you come to this conclusion, mighty enchanter? Are you such a master of emotion that you think you know all there is to know about me? To assume it?"

"If you ever had, you would have... recognised it." He sighed, suddenly weary. "I repeat my request: leave me alone."

"You can't just walk away like this!" she exclaimed, darting around to stand in front of him. "What have I done? What did I say to bring about this sudden change in you?"

"Nothing, Nuila," he answered honestly. "You did nothing. I've had enough of these illusions of safety and power. I am tired from this endless torture of guessing whether we will be alive in the morning, whether I will be able to... no. There is no point in further discussion. Just leave me be."

This time she let him go, and he made his way to the inn quickly, heading straight up to his room. When he reached his bed he sank into the mattress, letting his head fall into his hands. How could he have been so stupid to let the discussion finish that way? How could he have been so stupid to even let himself think... think that it would make things better to explain how he felt.

A tickling sensation reminded him of her flowers, and he gently pulled the decoration from his wrist, being careful to not break it any more than he had to. Then, he lightly placed it on the desk nearby, looking at it for a long time as his mind swirled around.

He'd only managed to make her more confused than ever, and it would be unbearable for him to stay and watch her misery. He'd convinced himself there would be no need to leave, that he would be able to stay and protect her. But not only had he almost failed her by allowing himself to be distracted from his spellcasting, but now he'd caused her to have worries and concerns that she didn't need.

She'd be better without him, wouldn't she?