Author's Note: No, I haven't forgotten about this one! It's been rather neglected, though, due to Maiyn and her story, so this chapter was more of a 'getting-back-into-it' thing than anything else; but we do manage to move the story on slightly, and set it up for the next installment, which won't (hopefully) take as long to appear. For anyone still reading... thanks for coming back to it!
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I tell myself too many times
Why don't you ever learn to keep your big mouth shut
That's why it hurts so bad to hear the words
That keep on falling from your mouth
Falling from your mouth
Falling from your mouth
Tell me...
Why
-- Annie Lennox, Why
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Xan approached Nuila that evening, as she sat alone in the common room at one of the tables secluded in the back corner. She was alone; Branwen and Ajantis had gone to see Garrick, but she'd declined the opportunity after having a hushed conversation with Imoen. Pink-hair had then bounced off somewhere -- Xan was sure he'd rather not know where -- and Tiax had decided to settle at the bar itself, muttering under his breath about an apparent waste of gems.
She didn't acknowledge him straight away. Her shoulders were slumped, and her robes really did look tattered and old. Her hair was unkempt, brushed back roughly from her face, and held in place by several bands and clips. Some human women, he realised, would probably spend hours trying to emulate the style, but he imagined Nuila had just run out of patience with it sometime during the day and had impatiently tried to tame it. He cleared his throat nervously when she looked up at him. Obviously it was up to him to break the ice.
"How did you fare today?" he asked. Sometimes it was simpler to ask the questions that people expected you to ask; that way, you didn't surprise them.
She shrugged. "We pursued an artistic outlaw, we somehow managed to find him, and then we let him go because I liked his sculpture and he was dying anyway. Oh, and we killed another bounty hunter, who the town had specifically and already employed for the matter."
Xan stared at her for several long moments. "I see."
"We were only so long because we decided to dig a grave for the wanted man, and carry the bounty hunter's body back here. Mister Oubleck was not very happy to discover his favoured huntsman had met an unfortunate demise that we, of course, knew nothing of."
He pursed his lips, trying not to smile. He couldn't condone her lying to the authorities, of course, but her manner of relating the events of the day were so flippant, contrasting with her overall gloomy demeanour, that it struck quite a comical effect. He suddenly wondered if that was how he sometimes appeared...
"Well, anyway, I've decided that I've had enough 'practice'," she declared, straightening up and laying her hands flat on the table before her, studying her fingers intently. "Jaheira and Khalid will still be over beside the Firewine Ruins, and I think we should go and find them tomorrow. We'll need their help and experience, I'd wager, if we are to go to Cloakwood."
Xan's mouth went dry. "You intend to go there soon, then?" he asked. His heart fell as she nodded, and suddenly he felt as if he were underground again; trapped between the endless walls of stone, kept from the freedom of the earth above, and continually hidden from the sun... the stars... the moon...
He was startled from his thoughts when she gently touched his hands, a concerned look in her eyes as she gazed at him intensely. "Are you well? You went quite pale."
"I... I am fine," he lied. It would do no good to speak of his foolish worried with her. Not when there was so much that needed said before. "I... I thought we should talk..."
She nodded. Her hands hadn't moved from his own however, and she was staring down at them. "I wanted to apologise," she said; a small frown wrinkling her brow. "I obviously said... or did something that caused you some distress. I think I must have been careless with my words, and maybe you misunderstood me."
"There was nothing to misunderstand." This was proving to be more difficult than he'd imagined. Could she really have interpreted his behaviour correctly? He wasn't sure he understood it completely himself, though her insinuation that she would be his friend had seemed to be a harsh blow in the middle of what he'd hoped was becoming a deeper understanding. But what was the point? It was hopeless.
"I think there was," she replied softly. "I didn't mean to be so dismissive about the... relationship we share." She paused for a moment before speaking again. "When I lost my fath... Gorion, I thought I'd never have anyone else in the world who I'd be able to trust as much as I could him and Imoen. I don't doubt that Jaheira and Khalid mean well -- he was their friend, and I trust his judgement. But they're not my friends... not yet, anyway. And Branwen and Ajantis are nice, but... I don't know them." She looked up and sighed. "I mean, I suppose I don't really know you, but... but I think, I could. You know?"
He nodded nervously. He didn't want to speak, to interrupt her train of thought. He didn't know what to say in any regard.
"I've only really met you and Kivan, from my people," she continued slowly. "And although Kivan was nice, he... he was distant. We shared a common goal, and when it was done, it... well. I didn't feel the same affinity with him as I do with you."
"We share a common goal too, Nuila," he gently reminded her.
"Yes, I know. But when it's over, we won't just go our separate ways, will we?" She looked up at him, a sudden hesitancy in her face. "Will we, Xan?"
"I will have to return to Evereska to report," he reminded her. "I have a duty to the Greycloak Elders, to my people. To our People."
"But I could go with you?"
"Nuila..." He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "You'll go on, most likely with your pink-haired friend, and... and whoever else is by your side. I will either be dead, or have other missions; other duties."
She sighed. "I suppose so."
He cleared his throat. "But... assuming that neither you nor I manage to get ourselves killed on this futile endeavour, I would gladly show you the splendour of my city in its real glory. I... I think you would like it."
She smiled at him. His heart felt strange for a moment. "I'd love that," she said warmly. "And... well, if you needed help on your future missions..."
"Nuila," he said gently.
She shook her head. "Don't. Just... let me hope that there's something that'll last beyond a shared goal."
He sighed mournfully, unable to nod, but resisting from arguing any further. It seemed to appease her, and she gave him a thankful smile before she stood up, wandering away to the stairs. He was foolish; he should have faced up to the reality that would mean their separation -- most likely through death, but also very likely through his commitment to his people.
He really didn't want to, though.
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That night they shared a reverie again, and he followed Nuila as she capered around in Candlekeep for most of the time; climbing, jumping, shouting, running, hopping... When they woke in the morning, he felt exhausted from the exertion he'd witnessed, though Nuila seemed to be in good spirits. It warmed his heart to see her in such a mood, and he took his time getting ready and packing his belongings, arriving downstairs much later than she had.
He arrived in the middle of a stand off. Nuila and Tiax were facing each other; the elven girl rolling her eyes, and the psychopathic gnome waggling his finger at her and shrieking loudly. There was something about toenail clippings, latrines... a muttering of grovelling amongst the peasantry. Xan had managed to tune most of Tiax out from his normal hearing, and so he was able to wander past the cleric and take a seat beside Imoen, who was watching the scene with complete fascination.
"I am sure I shall regret asking you very much," Nuila agreed, "but you're a cleric-"
"So is the barbarian harpy!" Tiax screamed.
"Branwen is still packing," Nuila said firmly. "And I need someone to go and check on Garrick before we go."
"Tiax is no nurse! Tiax will not waste his vitally important time on the indolent earwig that cannot even feign proper injury!"
"It won't take long," Nuila said sternly, her hands on her hips. "And you don't even need to speak to him, if you don't want to. I've already told him of our plans, and he knows that if he finds his strength we'll probably pass through Beregost at some point in the next few weeks. But I'm no healer, and there was no one free from the Temple to talk to me this early, as they were busy tending to things."
The gnome made a rude noise and snatched up his backpack. "Tiax will not pander to the whim of the wench with the crooked nose! When Tiax rules all, you will regret thinking such tasks are worthy of his greatness, as you empty Tiax's chamberpot every morning!"
"Right, fine!" Nuila exclaimed. "Imoen -- would you please go over, and see if someone will just let you know how he is?"
"Sure," pink-hair replied, slipping away from the group and padding towards the tavern's door while Nuila and Tiax stood there, staring at each other with varying levels of annoyance. It was the elf who gave in first, rolling her eyes and throwing her hands in the air in exasperation as she turned away, stalking towards the bar and settling herself on a stool. Xan followed her, cautiously taking a seat beside her and letting the silence linger for several minutes.
"Your good mood did not have the chance to stay for long," he noted eventually. She snorted as she looked over to him, a grin on her face.
"It could've been worse," she replied candidly. "Garrick was far too intent on dozing thorough my visit to his bedside this morning to even register our intention to move on without him," she noted. "Which made it easier..."
Xan frowned slightly. "Are you sure it is wise to dilute our numbers? We do now know what we shall face on the road, and… well. He may have been useless, but he was another presence."
"Another target, you mean?" she asked, with a twinkle in her eye. "I hope that isn't how you view your esteemed colleagues!"
He sighed. "Of course not," he said; momentarily unsure if he did feel like that, or not. After all, there were people like Tiax, and indeed, Garrick, in their group... He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Are we to leave soon?" he asked. She nodded.
"If you want breakfast, you'll need to eat it quickly," she said. "The others have all had, and I'm just waiting for Ajantis and Branwen to come down before we go. They've been up there for a while, now... actually, I might go and hurry them along."
She smiled and stood from her stool; and he watched as she walked away, her robes managing to swirl around her captivatingly, just clinging to her body enough to-
"Hey, Xan."
"Hmm?" He only half-registered Imoen's voice as she returned, swiftly, from her task.
"You might want to make your staring a bit less obvious."
He coughed, averting his gaze immediately and feeling himself redden. Abruptly he stood up, avoiding any eye contact with the sniggering human girl, and stalking darkly towards the door. "I'll wait for you all outside," he called back coldly, ignoring Imoen's eruption of laughter.
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They left Nashkel not long after, Nuila checking with Imoen that Garrick was all right; pink-hair assured their elven leader that she could safely testify that the bard was, literally, in capable hands. His absence from the group wasn't unwelcome to the enchanter, however; indeed, without him, things were almost peaceful. He could only hope that the gnome would be next to depart...
It was Ajantis that Nuila had decided to walk with, while Branwen and Imoen chatted slightly further behind. Xan sighed forlornly, and resigned himself to walking alone. Tiax was lagging even more behind, which was indefinitely preferable to having his company. And though he felt gloomy about Nuila's continued developing friendship with the aspiring paladin, he realised how much wore it would be if the gnome decided to bother him.
They were following the main road north, Nuila's intention to break away from it and head west when they were nearer to Beregost. She seemed unwilling to travel across country; they'd overheard some of the guards discussing the increased bandit activity in the forests and meadows that lay between Nashkel and Gullykin before they'd left the town, and Xan was grateful that she'd had the sense to choose her way carefully. The roads were unquestionably dangerous, but they were probably a safer option than the remote wilderness.
He made himself walk far enough behind Nuila and her escort, so that he couldn't overhear their conversation; whether he wanted to, or not. The relationship between him and the girl had been resolved, to a degree, though it was no less confusing than before. But they were friends, once again, at the very least -- and he had no wish to endanger that by becoming bristled by the paladin's genial manner and gentle mannerisms. After all, if there was to be any hope of anything further developing between himself and Nuila, he would have to know he trusted her implicitly...
He sighed and shook his head. It was hopeless. These mad thoughts he continued to have; they were all hopeless.
Imoen's voice came drifting over into his sense of hearing, and, despite his brain telling him not to, he found himself listening to her voice and taking in the conversation she was having with the blonde cleric.
"He is quite handsome," the younger girl was saying, her voice low and hushed, but still as loud as a shout to him. Humans were so... noisy. "A bit too stuffy fer me, though..."
Branwen frowned slightly. "You are a spirited girl, that is true," she said thoughtfully, her accented voice only slightly louder than that of her companion. "But if you imply that the Lord Ilvastarr is boring, then I must wonder what impression you have of myself..."
Imoen giggled. "Aw, I don't think he's borin'... he's just different to me, and so're you. You both have pretty similar views on things, you know? You both like... well, justice, and stuff." Imoen paused for a moment. "You're both kinda like Nuila."
"Your childhood friend has an admirable stance, most of the time," the warrior priestess remarked bluntly. "But she is young and naive, and sometimes she seems to lack focus and proper guidance. Perhaps she will find it, in time."
"I guess." Pink-hair's voice carried some doubt in it. Ajantis chose that moment to turn around and smile at them. Imoen waved cheerily, while Branwen offered an uncharacteristically shy smile, but managed to gaze back at him with her proud, undaunted expression before he turned back to his conversation with Nuila. Xan watched it all with curiosity.
"Shucks, he has a lovely smile," Imoen observed, almost dreamily.
"It is passable," Branwen said non-committally, suddenly becoming very interested in the scenery. Imoen's grin widened.
"Does he know ya like him?"
The priestess looked momentarily outraged before finding her calm again. "He is aware of the respect I have for him, and our friendship has the potential to become strong," she said carefully. "This is enough for me."
Imoen just nodded. "I could always drop a hint-"
"You will do nothing of the sort!"
"Bah. Spoilsport," the young thief replied merrily. There was another brief silence, then pink-hair turned back and looked over to him. He noticed her body turning well in advance, however, and had managed to turn his eyes down to the ground, looking as if he was completely lost in thought as they marched. It seemed to appease the human; she moved even closer to the priestess she was conversing with, and spoke in a whisper.
It was still loud, and he could still hear.
"You know, I'm pretty glad you an' Ajantis have hit it off so well, ya know? 'Cos... I think Xan's a bit jealous of him, and how well he gets on with Nuila, which is stupid because they don't see each other like that!"
Branwen's eyebrow rose, and she, too, cast a look behind her at him. He kept his gaze fixed to the ground, quietly seething, but making extra effort to appear wholly disinterested and bored with the journey. It took quite an effort, however; the temptation to leave their company and to head onward to Beregost when they got close enough was kindled in his soul. The rest of the conversation only served to fuel it.
"Does he?" Branwen whispered back. "He is a servant of duty, but he confuses me heavily with his dourness and depressive thoughts. I cannot see how he would be of any positive benefit to her if she were to return his feelings."
Imoen seemed to take a little offence at this. "He's not that bad," she said, in slight defence of her teacher.. "He just takes a bit of gettin' used to. And well... he's an elf, and so's Nuila, so maybe it's just how they become after a certain age."
Branwen nodded dubiously. "Perhaps. Your friend does not appear to be that... type."
"She's spent too long with me," Imoen winked. "And a good job too, because I'm pretty sure she likes Mr. Gloomy-Pants. He'll have to work hard to bring her down, and she won't go without a fight. And she can fight pretty well!"
And then the conversation turned, to a topic that was more comfortable for the warrior priestess; and they spoke of battles and achievements, of tests and of glory, as Imoen listened and questioned, and Branwen spoke confidently and passionately about the blood she'd spilt on the fields of wars before she sailed from her lands. And Xan slowly let himself lose interest in their words, for they meant little to him and were of no further interest.
He'd heard more than enough.