Chapter 5: Interlude
Just as the sun finished sinking behind the horizon, Ilyrana and company arrived at the hot springs. Pools of steaming water dotted the vicinity, six in total, each one a different depth. The area was surrounded on three sides by towering slabs of pale pink granite and littered with more rocks and a few dead trees.
They began setting up camp, laying out bedrolls and making a fire after deeming it safe to do so since the light it cast couldn't be seen from anywhere except the path that had led to this spot.
Mazzy and Jaheira were the first ones to take watch, and they settled themselves against a fallen tree, facing the path, nursing mugs of hot spiced wine.
Ilyrana gave a lustful glance at the clear blue water of the closest pool, and the steam rising from it, before sighing and climbing up the lowest wall of stone to keep watch from above, until one of the others came to relieve her after their turn in the pools. Her eyes briefly swept over the darkened landscape, glinting red as her infravision kicked in, searching for any nearby threats. Seeing only the vague heat signature of a rodent a few yards away, Ilyrana sat down with a groan.
The night air was cooling quickly, and the winds that swept through the small canyons between the rocks were beginning to bite, despite the warmth rising from the springs. Fumbling with the ties to the small, purple Bag of Holding that was fastened to her belt, Ilyrana reached down, almost to her shoulder, into the fist-sized purse. Cursing as something sharp cut her thumb, she vowed for perhaps the hundredth time in as many days to go through and organize this thing the next time she had more than a few minutes to spare. Truthfully, though, the idea of upending the ingenious little bag, which she had had since Spellhold, so about a year and a half, terrified her.
At last, Ilyrana felt the blanket of wolf hide and carefully pulled it free, making sure to retie the strings of the Bag of Holding lest it spill out suits of armor, weapons racks, or who knows what else she had stuck down in there, either because she wanted to hold onto something, she was testing the limits of the enchanted pouch, or she had been drunk and found it amusing to stick random objects into it so sober Ilyrana could be completely bewildered at finding a petrified cat or an entire cooked goose inside it the next time she looked for something.
Wrapping the warm furs around her shoulders, Ilyrana stretched out on her back, and looked up at the starry sky. She knew which thoughts would begin to demand her attention almost immediately, so she didn't fight them when they came. She had run from them all day, far longer if she was being honest with herself, and she couldn't afford to do so anymore.
Looking up at the expanse of night, listening to the wind and her companions' voices below, Ilyrana let her mind drift where it may.
She had been, perhaps, six or seven when she and Sarevok, who was probably around ten or twelve, became friends. Before that, the quiet, watchful, angry boy had never spoken to her, or to any of the other children who lived at the temple with their mothers and the priests of Bhaal. She would catch him staring at her quite a lot, and he would always look sharply away the second their eyes met, as if he were afraid that she would bewitch him if they stared at one another too long.
Growing up within a Cult dedicated to waiting for their God to die, as prophesied, so they could then begin butchering his children, which would eventually bring him back, was even worse than it sounded. It meant, for one, that Ilyrana and her half-siblings only needed to be alive for a few short years after they had been born or brought to the temple. So, their well-being and happiness meant nothing. Secondly, it didn't matter much if any of them did die before their father did, as there were so many, that the loss of such a miniscule amount of divine essence was unimportant.
The priests who cared for the temple, and it's members, laid out three meals a day inside the inner courtyard, one of the many places the children weren't permitted to enter. Whether it was because food was short, they forgot, or they just didn't care, which was likeliest, the priests didn't set out food for the bhaalspawn. Their mothers would bring them back loaves of bread, chunks of cheese, and various dried or fresh fruits, meats, and nuts from the tables when they returned from the sanctums of worship. At least, some of them did, some of the time.
The most common way Ilyrana got to eat was when one of the mothers would throw pieces of food outside onto the grass, or inside one of the chapels that the children weren't barred from. She was fast, able to dart in, grab a fistful of bread, or an apple core, and dart back out before being crushed by her half-siblings, or kicked by one of the mothers who brought them food just to watch them tear each other apart to eat it. The problem, though, was that she was one of the smallest ones there, aside from the babies. If she didn't get whatever bit of food she could get ahold of into her mouth as quickly as possible, it would be stolen from her, knocked out of her hands, or dropped when she as booted in the stomach, or back handed across the face. Her mother, in her madness, rarely ate at all herself, let alone brought her daughter anything from the tables.
Sarevok, unsurprisingly, was one of the biggest children there, and one of the oldest. Not to mention the strongest, cunningest, and fiercest. Yet, he rarely stuck around to brawl with his siblings over as many scraps as he could get, choosing instead to snatch up what he wanted, and biting, kicking, punching, and elbowing anyone slow or stupid enough not to get out of his way. Ilyrana had avoided him at all costs when there was food about, knowing damn well that she didn't stand a chance of stealing food from him or escaping unscathed if he jumped into the melee while she was there. At least, she avoided him until, one day, when her stomach was cramping so much from having gone days without a single bite of food, one of the mothers was spotted leaning against a marble column outside, lazily flipping a loaf of bread end over end in her hand.
The heartless woman waited until a sizeable enough crowd of children had begun to gather, each of them skulking closer to her, and farther away from each other, having already begun sensing the taint within each other, even if they didn't know its meaning, so that none of them trusted another enough to team up. Once there were eight of them spread out around her, hollow, ravenous eyes of varying colors flicking up and down as they followed the life-giving bread in her hand, did she take the entire loaf, not bothering to tear it into pieces to prolong her cruel little game, and throw it.
Ilyrana didn't glance around at her kin, noting which ones would be more likely to reach the bread before her, or marking the ones she could more easily steal the bread from if they got to it before she did. These were survival tactics she had developed in order to maximize her chances of eating and minimize the injuries she would receive in the process. Desperation, though, overrode prudence, as this was the closest she had been to starvation thus far. Tearing after the bread, her limbs weak, heart already pounding harder than it should be, Ilyrana could think of nothing but eating, see nothing but the golden crust of the loaf spinning through the air.
A cry of dismay, and rage, went up from her, and the others, as Sarevok caught the loaf, and turned to face his charging siblings, his own snarl of rage meeting theirs. Three of the smaller ones stumbled to a stop and began making their way back to the mother, who may have had more food that they would have a better chance of getting to eat. The remaining three, a human boy, half-elven boy, and half-elven girl, all launched themselves, almost simultaneously, at the older, bronze skinned boy.
The ensuing fight had been vicious, even by the usual standards. Rarely did they ever gang up on one another, none of them willing to trust that much. This time, though, the three must have realized that their odds were better if they incapacitated Sarevok, then fought amongst themselves. Ilyrana hovered nearby, eyes snapping from the bread lying temporarily forgotten in the grass to the snarling whirlwind of limbs and teeth that raged around it. Too risky. She had seen a girl larger than herself get elbowed in the face by Sarevok during a previous fight for food, and Ilyrana reasoned that it must be hard to eat without any teeth to chew with, so she continued to hang back, watching.
It was hard to tell who was winning the battle, but Ilyrana assumed it probably wouldn't be Sarevok this time, so she was surprised when she heard a loud crack followed by a scream of pain. The half-elven boy slumped to the ground, cradling his arm. The remaining combatants didn't seem to notice as they stumbled over him, still fighting. The injured boy rolled out of their way, crying from the pain, and froze as he saw the loaf of bread, slightly squashed, sitting just in front of him. Ilyrana gave a wordless cry as she watched the half-elf snatch it in his good arm and start to run. Hearing her shout, Sarevok turned, caught sight of what was happening, and dove for the boy's feet, knocking him back to the ground.
Ilyrana didn't remember telling her muscles to move, so it took her a second to realize she was in motion, sprinting towards the bread that had tumbled out of the boy's hands. Just as her fingers were mere inches away from grabbing it, strong arms wrapped around her neck and jerked her back, throwing her roughly into the grass. The other human boy. He fell atop her, pinning her to the ground with his weight, and began driving his fists into her ribs. He only got two hits in before he was yanked off of her. Not caring who had saved her, Ilyrana turned onto her stomach, gasping for breath and from the pain in her torso, and began to crawl back towards where the bread lay, ignoring the others behind her. A shadow fell across the bread, and, without thinking, Ilyrana rolled sharply to the side, barely missing the half-elven girl's kick to her head.
With a feral growl of fury, Ilyrana lunged at the other girl, wrapping her arms and legs around her, and sank her teeth into her upper arm. Screaming, her sibling threw herself heavily to the ground, landing atop Ilyrana in hopes of dislodging the smaller girl. It worked. The breath knocked out of her, all Ilyrana could do was gasp for air and watch the other girl's foot come speeding towards her ribs. She turned to the side and took the blow in the back, then braced for the next kick. It didn't come.
The half-elven girl hit the ground hard when Sarevok tackled her from behind. Ilyrana weakly tried getting to her feet, chest still heaving to get enough air into her lungs, eyes frantically seeking out the bread. She saw, instead, the other human boy limping towards Sarevok, a jagged rock held tightly in his hand. A quick glance around and there was still no sign of the bread, but she did catch a glimpse of the half-elf boy staggering back towards the temple, one arm hanging uselessly, and no bread clasped in the other. Turning her attention back to the others, she watched the boy advance slowly towards Sarevok, who's back was to him as he was busy knocking the half-elven girl unconscious, or killing her, Ilyrana couldn't tell from this angle.
The logical thing to do was let the boy kill Sarevok, as Sarevok was a much bigger threat than the others. Just as she took a step away, she saw the bread, sitting on the other side of the girl. Ilyrana had an idea.
"Behind!" She screamed.
Sarevok surged to his feet and turned, just in time to catch the other boy's wrist in his hand, and keeping that rock from striking him in the head. Ilyrana darted forward, dove over the prone, bloody half-elf, and grabbed the bread. Tucking it against her chest, she rolled, sprang back up, and kept running.
Fear kept her moving forward. The girl wasn't going to be getting back up, soon or ever, and Ilyrana doubted that the other boy could take Sarevok alone, even if they were both tired and injured.
She could see the outer wall of stone that ringed the temple grounds now. Heading for one of the trees that grew right up beside the wall, Ilyrana brought the loaf of bread up to her mouth and bit into it, holding it partially between her teeth, leaving her hands free. The buttery taste of the bread, even mingled with the dirt and blood that covered most of it, made her mouth water.
Leaping up to grab a low branch, Ilyrana began to scramble up the tree until she was level with the top of the wall, then leapt onto it. Taking the bread back to hand, and gulping down the soggy bit that had been in her mouth, she looked back.
The girl was sprawled on her back, face bloodied to the point of being unrecognizable. Ilyrana couldn't tell from this distance if she was breathing. What made her stomach want to bring up that one meager chunk of bread, though, was seeing Sarevok bash the other boy across the face with the jagged rock. He fell, and Sarevok followed him down, striking him again with the rock. The sound of the impact was almost loud enough to feel.
Ilyrana was frozen atop the wall. Jumping down on the other side meant possible safety from Sarevok, albeit at the price of exposure; there was little protection to be found inside the walls, but none outside of them. On the other hand, she could run along the relative safety of the wall, about ten feet from the ground, until she reached somewhere she could hide, and eat the bread that might have cost at least one of her sibling's lives.
A shiver went through her small, starved body when Sarevok suddenly looked up from beating the other boy's head in and locked his eyes onto her. She couldn't read his expression from this far away, but it didn't matter. What mattered was the bloody rock gripped in his right hand, the two still children, and him rising slowly to his feet.
Terror made Ilyrana turn and jump, rolling as she landed on the hard ground below, her need to escape blotting out reason and logic. She collapsed when she first tried to rise, fatigue, malnutrition, and her injuries finally beginning to best her strength of will. Fear, though, was now her ally, pumping adrenaline through her, giving her the borrowed energy she needed to flee across the field that stretched out around the temple.
Across the field was a strand of trees, possibly a forest, she couldn't tell in the dying light of dusk that was settling around her. She didn't look behind her to see if Sarevok had found a way to clear the wall in pursuit, was too afraid to do anything other than run as fast as her exhausted body could go, the barely recognizable loaf of bread clutched tightly in one hand. She had never been outside the walls, only atop them, and so had no way of knowing what might be waiting in the growing dark ahead. To her young mind, though, nothing could be worse than what lay behind her.
"Sis!"
Ilyrana jumped, her hands flying to the knives sheathed on each hip, or trying to, as they tangled in the furs wrapped around her.
"Woah there, it's just me," Imoen soothed as she plopped down next to her. "What's got you all jumpy? Didja see something? Or didja fall asleep on watch? You did, didn't you, lazybones?"
"No," Ilyrana grumbled as she sat up. "Lost in thought."
"Uh huh. Well, I brought you some dinner."
Ilyrana took the hot bowl of stew and slice of sourdough from Imoen, set them on the ground in front of her, and snatched the more important thing.
"Make sure and leave some room for the stew, drunkard," Imoen snorted as Ilyrana uncorked the skin of spiced wine and began draining it.
"Yes, mother."
"Psh. Anyway, you gonna come down and soak with me? Or you wanna lay up here, 'not sleeping', not keeping watch, and smelling like a kobold?"
"I don't smell like a kobold," Ilyrana replied tartly, taking another swallow of the wine, savoring the heat and the taste of cloves, cinnamon, and mumbleberries.
"Naw, you just look like one, what with the shortness, and the beady eyes, and all."
"Watch it, sis, or your knees are mine," Ilyrana growled, trying to sound menacing, and failing, as evidenced by Imoen nearly choking on her own skin of wine.
"Alright, alright, but are you coming or not?"
"Later, when someone comes up to take watch, unless you're here to do that."
"Nope. I didn't draw any watches for once, so I'm going to spend all night turning myself into a prune."
"With or without Haer'Dalis?" Ilyrana asked slyly, hiding her smirk behind another drag on her wineskin.
"Excuse me?! Without, bufflehead! Where did that question come from?!"
"The fact that you two have been arguing over every little thing, like an old married couple," Ilyrana explained, then cutting off Imoen's response by continuing, "and the teasing, and the mutual hair-braiding, which is adorable by the way, and-"
"Okay," Imoen loudly interrupted. "First off, he's actually really good at braiding hair, far better than you, and far more willing than Jaheira. Second, I tease everyone. Third, if you're going to use constant arguing as an indicator of attraction, then I expect you and Sarevok's handfast announcement any day now."
Now it was Ilyrana's turn to sputter.
"Um, I would think that disagreeing with our former enemy is very different from having a shouting match over whether the table in the inn we previously stayed at was, in fact, mahogany."
"'Former' enemy, huh?" Imoen smirked.
"You know what I meant," Ilyrana growled through clenched teeth.
"Uh huh. No need to get so worked up. I get it, you know, his appeal. The tall, dark, and terrifying thing. He's our half-brother, kind of, I think, but hey, if that's your kink-"
"If you don't cease speaking, I'm going to throttle you."
"Well, then, don't imply I want Haer'Dalis."
Ilyrana opened her mouth to reply, but stopped herself. If her sister didn't want to admit the obvious, she wasn't going to force her. And she sure as Hell did not feel comfortable having it suggested that she was attracted to Sarevok.
Especially after last night, when she still couldn't look at him without remembering everything from that conversation. Especially when she simultaneously wanted to never speak to him again, and wanting to go down there and find out why he said it would have mattered, did matter, that they talked about when they had remembered everything.
Why couldn't she let this go? Pursuing answers would only hurt, not to mention give him more power over her than he already had with the practically one-sided effects of sharing a soul. She didn't dream his dreams, which was a plus, Ilyrana thought, but being able to see hers was too effective a weapon for him to have.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to make you pout," Imoen said, bringing Ilyrana back to the now. "It's just, I guess Haer'Dalis is cute, and charming, when he wants to be, but I've seen him flirt with tons of women, so I have no illusions about what he's after."
"I'm not pouting," Ilyrana sighed wearily, picking up her rapidly cooling bowl of stew and playing with the spoon. "I get what you're saying, about him being a flirt, but you should see the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching. I'm pretty sure if he thought of you as just another potential notch on his belt, he would have surrendered and sought lower hanging fruit by now."
Imoen blushed and looked away, taking a long pull from her wineskin.
"Doesn't mean anything," she said after a moment. "I'm gorgeous, so it's no surprise he likes to look at me."
"Of course, dear," Ilyrana replied in a patronizing tone, and getting an elbow in the ribs for it. "Seriously, though, you can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me. There's something there. Not saying you should act on it, but at least acknowledge it."
Imoen got to her feet, raking her fingers through her shoulder-length red hair, and took one last sip of spiced wine, before turning to climb back down.
"I'm not gonna acknowledge anything until you do, Rana." Imoen chirped from the ground.
Ilyrana closed her eyes, took a deep breath, counted to three, exhaled, and focused on her food, deciding to pretend she hadn't heard her sister. The stew, though cold now, was still good. Chunks of venison, potato, onion, and carrot disappeared as Ilyrana stared out into the night, her mind already beginning to gently tug her back to its previous attentions.
Picking up the hunk of sourdough that they had bought at the inn, Ilyrana started to shred it, but stopped herself. Flipping the bread deftly into the air and catching it, Ilyrana then hurled it out into the black. Placing her half-finished bowl down, she picked the wineskin back up and drained the rest of it, before settling back down and returning to her memories.
Humid days gave way to near freezing nights. The kind where the grass would crunch beneath your feet in the morning, the dew forming a thin, fragile layer of ice over everything, and would melt away at the first glimpse of the sun.
Ilyrana had reached the forest just as night fell. Tripping over upraised roots, her eyes switching from normal to infravision uncontrollably in her panic, she made her way deep into the wood. Smacking her forehead into a branch, she blindly grabbed onto it, tested its sturdiness, then hopped up onto it and began shimmying up. The ancient live oak's bottom-most branches hung nearly to the forest floor, and gracefully rose up higher, providing Ilyrana the perfect means of hiding.
Huddling atop the wide wooden limb, with her back resting against the trunk, she finally began to eat the bread. At this point, after being stepped on, kicked, bled upon, crushed in her hands, and everything else that had happened to the loaf, it should have tasted nasty. It would have, anyway, if Ilyrana hadn't been starving. Ignoring the grit and the strong coppery tang of her siblings' blood, she devoured the food, nearly choking as the shoveled in bite after bite, trying to eat all of it before it was taken away from her somehow.
Once the last crumb had disappeared, thirst began to set it. She ignored this particular need, as she could find water easily enough in the morning. For now, she was full, for the first time in days, and almost certainly for more days to come, so she savored it. The dropping temperature demanded her attention, but it was another thing that she could do nothing about tonight. Wrapping her skinny arms around herself, and curling up into as small a ball as she could manage, she tried to concentrate on falling asleep.
After what felt like only seconds, Ilyrana's eyes cracked open, her heart hammering as the prey instinct of being watched by a predator roused her to consciousness. It was still night, only a few hours had passed. The moon hung behind clouds which hung behind the trees, so it should have been pitch black, would have been, if not for the green luminescent glow emitted by colonies of foxfire mushrooms growing sporadically across the trunks and branches of the tree she was in and the ones surrounding it. This immediately caught her attention, and the initial feeling of nearby danger was temporarily forgotten. Slowly sitting up to a sitting position, her arms shaking from cold and exhaustion, Ilyrana looked around at the softly lit fungus, eyes wide with the childish delight of discovery.
As her eyes swept from left to right, lingering on each emerald green cluster, she almost missed what was sitting only several feet in front of her. A small sound of denial, and terror, escaped her throat as she locked eyes with Sarevok. He sat just out of arm's reach, legs folded beneath him, watching her. Ilyrana cowered back against the trunk of the tree, eyes wide, shudders of fear and cold wracking her small form. She wasn't in any condition to try and flee, and attempting to fight him was pointless.
The night seemed to hold its breath. The sounds of the forest died away, the insects' songs, the muted calls of nocturnal animals. Even the rustling of the leaves faded, as if the very wind itself didn't want to miss what was about to happen. The ensuing silence was deafening.
With deliberate slowness, Sarevok reached behind himself, his gaze still fixed on her. Ilyrana tensed, torn between wanting to see what he was grasping for and not wanting to see, as images of that bloody rock flashed through her mind. Curiosity won out, as she flicked her eyes down to the shadowy bundle he brought out from behind his back. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she realized what it was.
Still moving as if he were afraid she would bolt at any second, Sarevok extended his arm out to her, a ragged blue blanket hanging from his hand. Ilyrana looked back into his eyes, trying to decipher this gesture of kindness, which was alien to her. It took her a moment to notice that he was meeting her eyes, rather than looking away as he always did before. Hesitantly, she took the blanket from him. He folded his arms and broke their stare, turning his attention to the foxfire mushrooms that she had been studying earlier. The blanket was big enough to swallow her as she wrapped the scratchy material around herself, he must have stolen it from one of the priests, or maybe the mothers, as his own was dead.
"Thank you," Ilyrana whispered, the words nearly lost in the chilly breeze that suddenly picked back up again.
Sarevok shrugged, still looking at the mushrooms.
"Why?" Ilyrana asked after it became apparent he wasn't going to explain himself.
"Why what?" Sarevok asked, clearing his throat before getting the words out, obviously unaccustomed to speaking.
"Why give me this?"
"You were cold."
Ilyrana nearly huffed at his answer, which was spoken as if it should have been obvious, which, to her, it hadn't been.
"So?"
"So what?"
"So, why do you care that I was cold?"
"Would you rather I didn't?"
Now, Ilyrana did huff. Conversing with him felt strange. Conversing, at all, with anyone, felt even stranger. His evasive replies irritated her just as much as they thrilled her, because it meant she could keep talking.
"Are you going to hurt me?"
"What?" His voice a mix of confusion and anger. "Why would I bring you a blanket if I was going to hurt you?"
"Why would you kill those two kids for a piece of bread that I ended up eating and not come here to hurt me?"
"I didn't kill them."
"Oh." Ilyrana didn't know how to feel about this news. On the one hand, if he had killed them, it would have meant less competition for food. On the other, hearing they were still alive made him seem less scary.
"Besides," Sarevok continued, "I was going to give you the bread anyway."
"Really? Why?"
"Do you always ask so many questions?"
"I don't usually get to ask anybody anything," she admitted with a shrug. "Do you always answer questions with more questions?"
"And if I do?" He asked, his eyes shining with amusement.
Ilyrana huffed again, which earned her what sounded like a chuckle from him, though it was clear that laughter didn't come naturally to him. It made her smile a little, something foreign to her, as well.
The wind picked up, and would have set her teeth to chattering if not for the blanket. Sarevok, though, who was wearing threadbare linen trousers and tunic, shivered.
"Do you…" Ilyrana started to say, the words coming out before she had decided to speak them. Clearing her throat shyly, she went on. "Do you wanna share the blanket? It is yours."
Sarevok shifted his weight uncomfortably, not meeting her eyes.
"The blanket is yours now."
Pleasure shot through her, warming her almost as much as the blanket. She had never been gifted something before. Especially something so valuable. The joy of the sensation made her bold.
"Well, then, I will allow you to share it with me."
Sarevok's lips quirked at the magnanimous tone of her words as he rose to obey, closing the short distance between them and settling beside her. Grasping both ends of the blanket, he made sure they were both fully enfolded, not a difficult feat, as the blanket was for a full-sized bed and Ilyrana was so small.
He went completely still as she hesitantly snuggled into his side, her head coming to gently rest against his upper arm. Ilyrana let out a long sigh, enjoying the unfamiliar feeling of being cocooned in warmth, and the even more unfamiliar feeling of physical contact that didn't end in pain. At least, she sincerely hoped it wouldn't.
"If I ask you why you're being nice to me, will you answer?"
"Probably not."
His chuckle was louder this time at her huff of indignation. The sound made Ilyrana snuggle closer to him. After a long moment, when Sarevok thought she had nodded off, Ilyrana yawned, nuzzled his arm, and drowsily spoke one last time before succumbing to sleep.
"You're not so bad. Think I'll keep you."
Ilyrana's chest ached as she recalled her happiness at receiving the blanket, and the wondrous sensation of affection, which she hadn't known existed before then. The irony of learning that concept with Sarevok, of all people, was equally funny and uncomfortable.
Hearing footsteps approaching her perch, she sat up, this time gracefully extracting her arms from her furs.
"Hey, you, I'll take over if you want," Valygar said as he hauled himself up next to her.
"You sure?"
"Yeah, this is as clean as I'm likely to get."
"No," Ilyrana snorted. "I mean, you took watch last night and ranged with me all day today, you should get some sleep. Let someone else take this shift."
"It's fine, I doubt I'll get much rest anyway."
"You two fighting again?"
"Yes. No. I don't know," Valygar growled, running his hands over his tired face. "It's not so much that we haven't been seeing eye-to-eye, it's that she doesn't seem to want me close to her."
"Have you guys slept together, yet?" Ilyrana asked, plucking Valygar's wineskin from his belt and taking a swallow.
"Rana, that's not any of your business."
"That's a 'no', then. Maybe, she wants to, but feels guilty about wanting to."
"Wait, slow down. Why would Jaheira feel guilty…" his shoulders slumped a little as the obvious sunk in, "Oh."
"Oh," Ilyrana echoed in agreement, taking another generous swallow of wine.
Valygar sighed, extracted his wineskin from her reluctant grasp, and gulped some of its contents down.
"I hadn't thought of that, and I should have. I guess I forgot because she never talks about him, Khalid, and I wasn't there, you know, before."
"Jaheira's not very good at opening up and being vulnerable, in case you haven't noticed," Ilyrana drawled sarcastically.
"That's hilarious coming from you," the ranger pointed out with a sad smile.
"Yeah, well…" Ilyrana trailed off, stealing the wine back and avoiding his look.
Raised voices cut through the night, slightly muted from distance.
"If you don't stop tuning that damned lute, I'm going to come over there and break it over your damned head!" Imoen yelled from one of the pools.
"Ah, my feisty water bug, if that means I get to watch you stomp indignantly over here, naked, tis a fate I will happily endure," Haer'Dalis hollered back from the campsite.
"And, they don't seem to be faring much better," Ilyrana quipped.
"Indeed," Valygar agreed, shaking his head in bemusement before turning to look at her. "Look, I don't mean to pry, but what I walked in on last night-"
"You didn't 'walk in on' anything. We were having a disagreement. Shocking, I know."
"But in the middle of the night? Alone in your room?"
"What, exactly, are you implying, Valygar?" Ilyrana asked icily.
"Not what you seem to think I am. I'm asking this only because I worry about you. Being alone with him, when no one else is nearby or awake, is dangerous. Especially with both of your tempers up."
"Gods, you sound like Jaheira."
"Rana, please. As your friend, will you at least tell me if he did something that I'm going to have to kill him for? With my bow. From hundreds of yards away."
Valygar's attempt at keeping things light was undermined by the concern in his voice.
"I thought you liked him?" She asked.
"Sarevok? Sure. He's more violent than the rangers I was close to back home, and seems to enjoy it a helluva lot more than is decent, but I prefer his company to most of the others," Valygar shrugged. "I also don't think he's going to betray you, despite what Jaheira thinks."
"So, why are you worried?"
"Because the two of you have trouble controlling your anger. Especially when it comes to each other. Sometimes it seems like you're both beginning to let the past go, but then suddenly realize that that means not hating each other. And that scares you. Both of you."
Ilyrana looked away. Damn if the ranger wasn't perceptive. She thought about unburdening herself to Valygar. Telling him everything. It would probably be a relief, Ilyrana was pretty sure, but the thought of it made her nauseous. Maybe another time, when it wasn't so fresh.
"I don't really wanna talk about it," she whispered.
"Alright. Word of advice, though?" He waited for her nod of assent. "I understand, better than most, how easy it is to hold onto hate. You need to decide to forgive him, and he you, and then let it go. Or, don't, and keep hating each other, gods know you have your reasons for it. But, pick one, and stick with your decision."
Ilyrana couldn't help but think of how Valygar had come by that kind of wisdom. Of his family, the Corthalas, that had all been born with powerful magical talents. And had all succumbed to their "gifts" by way of obsession that eventually led to a gruesome end. All except Valygar, who was the last of his line.
"Why you gotta be all reasonable and understanding?" She asked, aiming for levity.
"Someone has to be."
Ilyrana snorted, unable to argue with that.
"Now, go bathe. You smell like a kobold."