So sit on top of the world and tell me how you're feeling

What you feel now is what I feel for you

Take my hand and if I'm lying to you

I'll always be alone

If I'm lying to you

Dido – Take My Hand

He was aware of Jaheira's presence before the reverie ended. With reluctance he started to withdraw from the memories; a summer day spent wandering the wonders of his home city, a sight he wished dearly to see again. And soon.

As he stirred he felt Nuila shift position, but she didn't waken, slipping into sleep almost instantly. His right arm felt numb, and he delicately managed to withdraw it from around her, letting it rest atop the back of the shared chair. All the time, the druid watched him.

"Good morning," she said eventually. He looked over to her, his mouth suddenly feeling terribly dry.

"Is it?" he managed to ask in a croak. "We are alive, I suppose, which is something."

Her lips seemed to curl into a wry smile, but her green eyes – those piercing, shrewd eyes – were firmly fixed on him. He couldn't maintain eye contact, couldn't even read her body language. This was worrying – people were usually so easy to work out. But Jaheira was in a class of her own when it came to stoicism.

"We are indeed," she said, "though I have yet to check on Yeslick or Imoen."

"The dwarf was snoring when... I... left..." He flexed the fingers on his right hand, concentrating on his circulation. She kept staring at him.

"No one has come out of their room overnight," he continued, trying to stay composed. "I mean, other than Nuila... as you can see..."

"Yes."

"She was struggling to rest. We shared, ah, memories. It... was unpleasant. For her."

Still staring. Still unblinking. He felt compelled to keep talking, but he wasn't sure why.

"So, we, ah," he swallowed, his throat was dry, "tried again. My memory. I think she has managed to rest." He looked down at the elf. She was almost sprawled across his right side, one arm draped across his torso, the other curled into his robe somewhere. Her head was still burrowed into his shoulder, her breathing soft and relaxed. She looked more peaceful than he could ever remember.

But the druid was still looking.

"And, ah," he said, swiftly disentangling himself from their sleeping leader, ignoring her whine of surprise as she woke up as he almost leapt to his feet. "I should check on Yeslick. And wash. So. Yes."

He turned on his heel, trying not to hear Nuila's muffled protests as she curled back up on the chair, trying to get back to sleep. It was barely a half dozen heartbeats by the time he'd reached his shared room and closed the door on the half-elf's eyes – glimmering with a trace of amusement, he realised – but it felt like a lifetime. With the safety of the oak panel between him and those green, green eyes, he sighed heavily and let himself drop onto his bed.

Yeslick was still snoring.

By the time he re-emerged from his room, neither Nuila or Jaheira were around. Branwen told him that the druid had been talking to Bentley, and that a name had been given who may be able to help with the poison. Nuila had gone with the half-elf and her husband to investigate, but they'd assured the priestess that they'd be back by nightfall.

Xan nodded.

"Ajantis has gone to visit the temple," Branwen noted, her brow furrowed. "He is curious to this Garl Glittergold, but I am not sure what he expects to find. He would be better spending his energy meditating and praying for the days ahead."

Xan nodded his agreement. "It is amazing that we have survived thus far," he sighed. "I fear our luck must surely have now run out and our next move will end in our demise."

The blonde-haired warrior regarded him with an arched eyebrow. "I cannot understand, mageling, why you continue to stay with this group when you see nothing but downfall and tragedy in store."

He offered a shrug in return. "Were it not for the group, I would likely have perished at the hands of Mulahey, dying underground without having seen the sky or smelled the scent of the wildflowers once again. I owe them my assistance, meagre as it is, and since our tasks seem to be linked – for now, at least – it is prudent for us to work together."

Branwen nodded. "And it is not out of fondness for any particular individual?" she asked, her thick accent not hiding her curious tone.

Xan stiffened. "I have a duty to my People, as I am regularly reminded whenever I look down at the blade I carry with me," he replied tersely. "It was an oath I undertook, and no matter how futile it becomes, it is an oath I will endeavour to keep. Even if it does mean my doom."

Branwen just shook her head at his words, standing up from her seat and stretching out her arms and back. "If it is so hopeless, then why do you bother continuing? You contradict yourself at every turn, enchanter, and fool only yourself by not acknowledging what it is that keeps driving you."

"You are as deluded as the others," Xan sighed. "You have obtained your vengeance against the mage who cast you into a stone form, and yet you are here still, fighting a battle that is not yours."

"Tempus would not have me shirk away from this."

"Would he not? Would he care, really? There is no war here, Branwen. There are some individuals who are hopelessly outnumbered by their foes. There will be no glorious victory, or even a valiant death. It will be understated, missed in time, forgotten by anyone involved before the next sun even rises. We will have no bards singing of our pitiful struggles, no historians writing fanciful tales based on our toils."

Branwen snorted. "Talk not of what you don't understand," she said frostily. "I will not turn away from battle; it lacks honour."

"But it is not just the battle that keeps you with us, is it?" he asked. "It is a convenient excuse, I will concede. But while we walk with the armoured simpleton who sees the world in such vivid black and white, you would be loath to leave our company."

He noticed the priestess' cheeks redden and her eyes flashed with annoyance. "You dare question my motives?" she snapped.

Xan simply shook his head. "No. Your motives matter little to me, as long as you are no danger to us. But perhaps you should examine your own reasons for fighting alongside the group before you decide that you know the thoughts of others. Excuse me."

He walked past her, ignoring her pronunciations about the liturgy that dictated her dedication to her god. He gently knocked upon, the door to the room the warrior maiden shared with Nuila and Imoen and opened it a fraction. A quick look inside revealed Imoen sitting up in bed, spellbook on her lap. She looked up and smiled at him.

"Hey, Xan."

He moved into the room, closing the door behind him as Branwen gave him a glare as cold as the barbarian lands she came from. He allowed himself a sigh, brushing away the insinuations he'd so hotly avoided, and took a seat beside the pink-haired girl. A quick look at her spellbook showed that she was studying the spells they'd been working on before Cloakwood.

"You should be resting," he chided. Part of him, though, felt a little bit proud at her dedication. The shutters over the window had been thrown open and daylight was streaming in. Three beds took up most of the space in the small room, two at either side of the door, and Imoen's at the far side of the room, sandwiched between two dressers. A threadbare rug had been thrown down to cover the scratched wooden floor, and a wardrobe hid behind the door.

"I'm not tired," Imoen said. "And besides, I don't want to forget anything just because I haven't had a chance to look at it for a while."

He allowed himself a small smile. "You won't 'forget' anything," he said reassuringly. "Not this quickly, anyway. You are bright for an N'Tel'Quess, but you are human, still. You must concentrate on your recovery before you can progress."

She opened her mouth as if to protest, but then blinked at him. "Progress?" she said, her spellbook falling closed as she sat bolt upright, eyes shining excitedly at him. "You're gonna teach me new stuff?"

He gently pulled the tome away, putting it on top of the dresser and out of her reach, and encouraged her to relax back onto her pillows once again. "There were some scrolls amongst the paperwork Nuila found in Davaeorn's study," he said. "Some would be appropriate for you to work with, when you are better."

Imoen pouted at him, but he shook his head firmly. She sighed heavily.

"But I am feeling better," she said reproachfully. "At least... I don't feel as bad as I was. Jaheira came in to see me earlier and said she might have a way to get it out of my body, but she didn't want to give me any details."

"I had heard," he nodded. "They are due back by nightfall, I believe. If Nuila's foolish commitment to luck is to be believed, then we may be fortunate enough to stave off a slow death for another day. Perhaps two."

Imoen giggled. "Two days, huh? That's almost cheerfully optimistic!"

Xan frowned. "Perhaps this poison is contagious. It may be addling my brain as I sit here. Anyway, I just wanted to see how you were."

Imoen gave him a warm smile. "It's nice to know that you care," she said. "We've all been through so much together now. It feels like we have... a family, I guess. Sort of."

Xan regarded the girl with a sigh. She was still so pale, though a spark of mischief and life had returned to her eyes. But even her hair seemed tired; the vibrant pink shade that she was so fond of had become dull and lacklustre, hints of her natural brown shade showing at the roots. She'd closed her eyes as she reclined and Xan looked at her properly, beyond the facade and pretence of the cheerful, light-fingered woman who was full of bravado and levity. He saw a frightened child, torn away from everything she knew and everything that kept her safe. But she was more than that; where others would have fallen apart, Imoen had remained optimistically positive about everything possible.

And so had Nuila, in her own way.

He wondered what would have happened if the girls had endured the past few months alone, without each other to depend on. They were inseparable at the best of times, and could usually be found sitting together, talking on low voices about... well, Xan didn't want to think about that. But there was no doubt that Imoen's confidence and exhilaration balanced finely with Nuila's more serious and levelled outlook on life. They encouraged each other, cried on each other's shoulders, and kept each other right. Without the other, he doubted either Nuila or Imoen would have coped even half as well as they had.

"You've gone all quiet," Imoen noted, her eyes still closed. "Did I say something wrong?"

Xan scratched his cheek, thinking about his words carefully before he spoke. "It is strange to be considered part of a group so... close," he admitted. "I have my own reasons for being here."

Imoen opened one eye and peeked at him. "I know." She smiled mischievously.

Xan groaned. "My duties as a Greycloak mean I must investigate this iron crisis, and the reasons behind it," he sighed. "As well you know. And I would continue to do it, even if I had to alone. It would greatly increase my odds of dying on the mission, of course, but I would do it, regardless. There has been some fortune in finding others who travel the same path. Especially when they appear to not be intent on slitting my throat at the first opportunity."

The girl snorted. "No fun in doin' that," she remarked. "Better to take wagers on when this 'doom' you're obsessed with will hit."

Xan ignored her. "I should let you rest. Should they find a healer with experience of poisons... well, you will need all your strength."

Imoen nodded as he stood, closing her eye again. "Nuila wasn't in bed when I woke up this morning," she said. "But she looked so tired yesterday that I thought she'd sleep for a tenday. Do you know if she... got any rest?"

Xan paused midway to the door. "She did," he said, softly. "But it was difficult for her. She has been troubled by your injuries"

Imoen murmured an acknowledgement. "I'm worried about her too," she mumbled sleepily. "She needs to get some sleep. Thank you for looking after her."

He just nodded, but Imoen was drifting off. Soon he heard her gentle snores, and he quietly left the room.

Somehow Jaheira had found a man who called himself just 'The Surgeon'. He was Davaeorn's brother, he later found out, and so was well versed in the poisons used by his sibling. He worked through the night to cure the ailed, taking only a small amount of coin from the druid as payment. He left before breakfast, a small bag of supplies and spare antidotes left for them should they require further purging.

The day was spent recovering and relaxing. Jaheira and Khalid spent much of it in the grounds of the Inn, enjoying each other's company. Xan espied them from the windows more than once, initially surprised when he saw Jaheira's face broken out into a wide, genuine smile as her husband whispered something into her ear.

Branwen and Ajantis went out for a walk together, both restless. The priestess was still being frosty towards Xan, and shot him a dark look when the paladin asked if she would accompany him on his wanderings. Xan had carefully avoided eye contact and masked any expression of amusement as he studied his spellbook.

Coran had wasted little time in getting down to the bar to 'meet people'. He'd taken Yeslick with him, insisting that the old dwarf needed to be cheered up. Xan declined the invitation; kin or not, Coran was almost like a different species to Xan.

So Xan had his room to himself for a while. He'd thrown the window open to let in as much fresh air as possible, the musty smell slowly ebbing away. A chambermaid had knocked on the door earlier, to his relief. She'd quickly and efficiently changed all the linen in the room, and ran a damp, scented cloth over the surfaces before wishing him a good day. The result was a faint smell of lavender, rather than the stale smell of sweat and mildew.

To celebrate, Xan had visited the bath-house. After ensuring it was unoccupied, he'd allowed himself a thorough soak which not only left him feeling cleaner, but also more relaxed and feeling slightly more at ease than previously.

And so he was in fairly good spirits when the door flew open and Imoen bounded in, announcing what a lovely day it was and how much better she felt and how much she was ready to learn now she felt better – did she already tell you she was feeling better?!

Following her in a more sedate manner was Nuila; but she was smiling at the other girl as she softly padded into the room, barefoot and dressed just in a simple robe that he'd never seen her wearing before. She gave him a little wave, knowing it was futile to try and get a word in edgewise, and flopped down onto the chair beside the window.

"So, since everyone else has gone out, we thought we'd come and keep ya company," Imoen declared happily, sitting down next to Xan, closer than was strictly necessary. "Whatcha doin'?"

"I was sorting through my tome," he replied dryly, knowing full well that she could see what he was doing for herself. "I am now talking to you."

"Grumpy as usual, I see," the girl said, peering over at his spellbook. "Oooh!" she said excitedly, pointing at one of the more intricate runes, "What does that do?"

"That is the symbol of fear," he said, carefully moving his book away from her hands. "It is currently beyond your capability. But here..." He put his spellbook aside and stood up, beckoning for her to follow him. "I did promise you these when you felt better," he continued, crossing the room to the dresser beside the window. Nuila smiled as she watched him; he began to feel a little self-conscious and concentrated on rummaging through the top drawer. "These should be sufficient for you to work on. And they won't take you long to master, I don't doubt – you are showing an aptitude rarely seen in humankind for magic."

Imoen took the scrolls with a delighted squeal, giving Xan an awkward hug involving arms, paper and pink hair, and then danced towards the door. "I'm gonna go and copy them down," she said in a sing-song voice. "And, uh, I'll let you two have some privacy."

Her giggling could be heard as she darted out of the room, closing the door behind her and avoiding the pillow thrown by Nuila. The elven girl was grinning, though, but she carefully avoided meeting his eye as he turned round to face her.

"It's good to see her feeling better," she said, her fingers playing idly with the hem of one of her sleeves. "I am so relieved that Jaheira found help."

"As am I," Xan admitted, sitting back down on the edge of his bed. He left his spellbook to the side, though. "It was disconcerting to see her so weak; she is so full of energy and life. I hope never to see that fade from her."

"Never? You speak like you'll be with us for a long time."

She met his eyes at this; only a ghost of her smile lingered, but her eyes were expectant.

"I have said I will stay with you," he said quietly. "That I will help you with your quest, that I will..."

His words faltered as she stood up and approached him. He moved slightly, inviting her to sit by his side. She did so, taking his hands in her own, biting her lip as she traced patterns onto his palms.

"Do you remember Gullykin?" she asked. "It feels like a lifetime ago; so much has happened since, and there has barely been a moment to regain that moment."

He felt her hands quivering as she spoke, but it was slight. The room began to feel hotter.

"I've been trying to find the right time, an appropriate time," she went on, "to... well, you know. But then we were at Cloakwood, and it was serious, and then everyone was preoccupied, and..."

She sighed. He risked a quick glance up at her; she was frowning as she spoke, the words coming no easier to her than before, it seemed, staring down at their entwined hands. He was desperately aware of how close she was; how unclad she was. Her robe was a pale green colour; it sat on her shoulders, encircling her perfect neck, and then hugged her body, until it hung loosely around her ankles. Yet despite its cover, he could see how thin the material was, and every curve, every muscle on her body was visible beneath it. He swallowed hard.

"You said you'd stay with me, that day," she whispered. "You told me that... that you loved me. But that it was hopeless, and mad to consider anything else." Her eyes looked up and met his. "You said you wanted to protect me. And I thought if I gave you time... But then I saw what happened at Cloakwood. Either of us could die at any point."

He managed a mirthless smile. "At least I know you've been listening to me," he said. "Death follows us, Nuila. We take a path that will lead us only to our graves."

"And if that's the case, then I wish to live before I die," she replied simply. She shifted towards him, her hands tightening their grip on his as if she was afraid he'd run away. "You think I am a foolish girl, but I know how I feel. And you have admitted your own feelings."

"Nuila..."

"Shhhh," she said. "Please." Her forehead pressed gently against his, their noses rubbing softly. He closed his eyes, ignoring the voice that was telling him to stop before it went too far. Her lips brushed against his and he offered no resistance, allowing the embrace to linger far past the initial kiss.

Eventually he pulled away as softly as he could manage, his hands still being held intently by the monk. She was smiling dreamily, her eyes closed. He watched her until her eyes opened, and she cocked her head slightly at him.

"You're smiling."

He was.