Chapter 11: Not Strong Enough

I'm not strong enough to stay away

Can't run from you

I just run back to you

Like a moth I'm drawn into your flame

Say my name, but it's not the same

You look in my eyes, I'm stripped of my pride

And my soul surrenders, and you bring my heart to it's knees

And it's killin' me when you're away, I wanna leave and I wanna stay

And I'm so confused, So hard to choose

Between the pleasure and the pain

And I know it's wrong, and I know it's right

Even if I try to win the fight, my heart would overrule my mind

And I'm not strong enough to stay away

- Not Strong Enough, Apocalyptica

Sarevok

They had been on the move for two days now. Picking their way through the rocky countryside, Sarevok, Ilyrana, and Viconia would reach the foothills surrounding the Marching Mountains by nightfall. Yesterday, Ilyrana had picked up the trail of Imoen and the others, and though their progress was slow, due to Ilyrana still recovering her strength, it looked like they might overtake them in a few more days.

The trek was relatively uneventful, though fraught with a silent tension that had been building since Sarevok and Ilyrana's standoff. Adding to the brewing storm was Viconia, who had begun trying to coax Sarevok into sharing her bedroll.

Caught between an enraged elven ranger who almost lustfully caressed her bow and stroked her newly-fletched arrows tipped with serrated steel heads dipped in a paralytic toxin anytime he came near her, and a vicious dark elven cleric who could potentially refuse to heal his wounds, or even decide to hit him with a debilitatingly painful spell if she felt rejected, Sarevok's temper was strained to its limit.

Walking several yards behind Viconia, who was even further back from Ilyrana, Sarevok took a moment to savor his temporary solitude and reflect on the irritating, and dangerous, position he found himself in.

Though the drow was stunning in form, with a voice that could enthrall weaker men, he was no fool. He knew of the predilections of her kind, particularly the females. He didn't possess a single submissive bone in his body and he sincerely doubted she would accept anything less than complete surrender in the bedroom. From experience, Sarevok did not enjoy fighting for dominance during sex, at least not for long, so however honeyed her propositions were, he ignored them.

Which was fast becoming ineffectual.

"So, Sarevok, have you had enough time to find your courage and reconsider my offer?"

Viconia had dropped back and was now walking only a few paces in front of him, with a subtly exaggerated sway in her hips. Releasing an annoyed sigh, he stepped around her so that she couldn't pull the same trick she had yesterday. When she had suddenly stopped just in front of him, so that, when he collided with her, she arched back against him like a cat, giving him an idea of what her body felt like. Naturally, Ilyrana had chosen that exact moment to look back, raise one delicate eyebrow at them, then turn back to continue walking. It had taken a godly amount of effort on his part not to strangle the drow. Coupled with the fact that the sweltering heat provided the perfect excuse to shed her armor and clothing to the point that there was little left to the imagination, her antics were pushing him closer to violence than desire.

"No, drow. I am no one's plaything and I doubt you would live through trying to mold me into one. Work your charms on someone else once we return to civilization. Until then, leave me be."

"Tell me something, jaluk, would you be this dismissive if I were Ilyrana?

"Yes," he bit out, feeling his temper fray even more. "If I wanted easy, Viconia, I would seek out a whore."

"Ah, so the chase is just as important to you as the prey is. I should have guessed. Your methods for the pursuit, though, leave much to be desired. I'm curious to see how you plan on resuming the hunt after your latest debacle."

"What are you going on about? Speak plainly. I haven't the patience for your games."

"Very well. I've seen the way you look at her, Sarevok. I know that, despite your past and your shared blood, or perhaps because of these things, you desire her. You reach high for one such as she, but you already know this. What I fail to see, however, is how you think that threatening and insulting her is going to make her more inclined to allow you into her bed."

"You presume much."

"Do I? I think not. You would do well to work your way back into her good graces, if you were ever even there to begin with. And do it soon. Lest she decide that she prefers you dead. And wouldn't that be a pity."

"I was under the impression that you desired me in your bed."

"I really do miss the training of pleasure slaves. Your arrogance and domineering nature would be most fun to break, though humans usually don't fare so well. Your minds are too rigid to bend. Either way, as long as you're being used, I won't quibble about the details."

And with that, Viconia's entire sultry demeanor vanished. Quickening her stride, she resumed her position to the middle of them.

Watching the sudden shift in her behavior left him wondering if the attempted seduction had been in earnest after all. Or if she had merely used it as a ploy to have this particular conversation. Hells, she could have just been bored.

Women.

At least, for now, he thought he was safe from one of them. Turning his attention back to it's most frequent target, his gaze once again settled on Ilyrana. She had slowed her relentless pace somewhat and was now close enough that he could faintly see the scars along her spine. Like the drow, she had shed some of her clothing to stay cool, though not nearly as much. Thin leggings, knee-high boots, and a loose cotton shirt with sleeves that hung off her shoulders, her attire could be called modest if it didn't expose more of her skin, and her shape, than he had seen before. Her hair was braided over one shoulder, and she seemed to be alternating between twirling one of her small knives and unbraiding and rebraiding the sable locks.

Watching the steel flash in the sunlight as it blurred around her fingers, he couldn't help but drop his hand to the dagger hanging from his belt. The one she had stolen from him years ago. He had forgotten about it. And that random encounter. It had been the first time he laid eyes on her since Gorion had torn her away from him. That bastard's spell had been effective. He didn't recognize her at all. But it was far from perfect.

She had been young, young enough that he wouldn't have hardly noticed her, even barreling into him as she had done, but those whiskey colored eyes, wide and expressive, had captivated him. The way she had looked up at him, head tilted to the side, brow furrowed, lips pursed, had teased at his memory. The mischievous grin, and the graceful way she moved, had kept him staring out that window long after she had disappeared into the barn.

He remembered a past conversation with his mentor, Winski, about the possibility of a bhaalspawn being kept hidden at Candlekeep. It had been a couple of years since that chance meeting, but he knew it must be her.

"I've seen her. Young elven girl. I believe I overheard that she was a ward of that Harper, Gorion. A pity. She's a pretty little thing. Hardly old enough to pose a threat, though I suppose it would be better to kill her before that changes."

Even then, he had been reluctant to make the journey back to Candlekeep. Offering a small bounty for her assassination, he had hoped the problem could be dealt with without his direct involvement. The cutthroats however, had proven to be useless. In those few short years since she had run into him, she had already become a capable fighter.

Once word got back to him that she had survived the attempts on her life, other spies were already informing him that Gorion was planning on moving the girl somewhere out of his reach. He couldn't leave the matter to amateur assassins. She had to be dealt with by him if he was going to be sure it was done.

The night of the ambush felt like centuries ago. He could still remember the looks that Tamoko and the hired swords had given him when he changed the plan at the last second. Originally, he wasn't going to announce his presence at all. He was there to oversee that the task was successfully carried out. Let the men he brought with him deal with whatever resistance the pair put up.

It was the sound of the old man's voice, though, that had made him want to confront him. Something in the timber of it, perhaps, had the taint suddenly burning through him, demanding the monk's life. When he stepped out of the shadows, he had had every intention of striking them both down, but when he locked eyes with the girl…

No, she was a girl no longer. Though still young, she was hauntingly beautiful. Those amber eyes looked much older than when he had last looked into them, and it wasn't because of time. For a reason he couldn't name that night, seeing the fear in those eyes shifted something in the taint. He wasn't walking away until Gorion was dead at his feet. The elf, though, he wanted alive and unharmed. For now. At least until he could find an answer as to why she had such an effect on him. He assumed that it must be the taint, but he hadn't felt this drawn to the others that he had slain.

"Hand over your ward and no one will be hurt. Refuse, and it shall be a waste of your life."

A lie. As the old man well knew, but Sarevok wanted to try and get the girl out of the way before they struck. A glancing blow from his sword, or a stray arrow, and this would be for naught.

"You're a fool if you think I would trust your benevolence."

Something in his tone gave Sarevok the impression that the old man knew him, or knew of him. He was almost certain that he had never seen the monk before. The fury seething inside him, though, was too strong to allow him the time to place where he might have seen him. His sire's blood demanded its due, and he had waited long enough.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, old man."

The next minute happened almost too fast to recollect properly. Gorion put up a much better fight than he had anticipated. He also hadn't expected the girl to attack, as well. Two of his men fell to her arrows, and it wasn't until Tamoko grazed her with one of her own that the girl finally heeded the old man and fled.

"I WANT HER ALIVE!" He had shouted at Tamoko, furious at how close she had come to killing her.

Looking back, he knew now why watching Gorion breathe his last had filled him with such a fierce feeling of joy. In the end, Sarevok won, hadn't he? The old man was dead. He was alive. That damned spell had been broken.

He often wondered what might have happened if he had captured Ilyrana that night. Fleeing into the woods, and most likely scaling a tree to hide in until morning, Sarevok didn't have the men to send out and search. Had he, though, and she were found and brought before him, what would he have done? He doubted the fear he had first glimpsed would still be there. Her cry of anguish when her foster father fell, and what he knew of her now, she would have likely been enraged to the point where she would have ripped his throat out with her teeth if he allowed her that close.

Would their memories have returned sooner? Maybe just being near one another long enough triggered the spell to break. What would he have even done if they had? Kept her prisoner? For how long? Until they were the only bhaalspawn left and hers was the last life he needed to take before he could ascend? The only preferable part of this scenario was that he became the new Lord of Murder. The thought of her being there, just waiting for her time to come, while they both fought that strange pull, was an unpleasant one.

At least, had things happened that way, he could have protected her from Irenicus. He would have made sure no man ever touched her. Kept her safe… just to kill her in the end?

She had taken everything from him… then given him back his life. All he had now was his vengeance, but every time he found himself in a position to take it, he didn't. Couldn't. Why?

It was time to stop lying to himself. She was right. If he was going to kill her, he'd had several opportunities and did nothing; had, in fact, gone out of his way to keep her alive. He could have let her hit that Protection from Evil barrier. He could have left her to the mercenaries when he saw her fall to the crossbowmen. Could have let the Slayer finish dragging her down into the Abyss and leave her there. Each time, he didn't stop to think. Instinct had demanded that he protect her. Just as it had when they were children.

So where did that leave him? His hate was misplaced, Gorion was the one who had torn them apart, made them forget one another, and left him to wander alone before eventually being found by Rielter. She was not, as he once believed, anything like her own foster father and his ilk. She wasn't ambitious, nor did she like using her considerable power unless it was sorely needed, but she also didn't seem overly concerned about the woes of the peasants who approached her for help either. She did what she wanted because she wanted to, not because she wanted the praise or needed the flames of her ego fanned.

If he let it all go, forgave her for the part she was forced to play in this game, and accepted that he was no longer a contender for godhood… what did he have left? Where would he go? He couldn't return to Baldur's Gate, there was nothing left for him there. When you had the chance to become a god, and spent much of your adult life trying to attain that, there seemed little point in living now that it was out of reach.

He tried to imagine himself walking away from her, like he kept thinking of doing. Leaving her to her destiny, only to find out the outcome later, once the bards had formed their ballads. To hear them sing a dirge for the Hero of Baldur's Gate, slain trying to end the Bhaalspawn war. Or a song heralding her victory as the new Lady of Murder. Or maybe she'll actually succeed in getting what she wants, "freedom", whatever that meant.

Ahead of him, he watched the girl sheath her knife, slide her shortbow off her back, knock an arrow, and fire it off towards a strand of tall grass, practically all in one smooth motion, without breaking stride. Veering in that direction, she bent down and retrieved the pheasant she had shot, removed the arrow, and dropped it into her bag. Over the next hour or so, she repeated this, until there were at least a dozen of the birds collected.

Dusk began settling across the horizon as the three entered the foothills. Dusty earth, scraggly shrubs, and crumbling boulders slowly began turning into vibrant green grasses, towering pines, and gently rolling fields of wildflowers. As they began searching for a suitable place to make camp for the night, details from her most recent dream began tugging at his attention again.

He had had many dreams in his youth that were much like the ones she had described. Visions of murder and mass genocide; the byproduct of their father's taint in their blood. What disturbed him, though, was the nature of each of the murders she had described. The parallels.

Dreppin's face bashed in with a rock. Like he had done to their half-brother when they were children, fighting over that loaf of bread.

A knife through Phlydia's neck. The knife he had sunk into Alianna's.

Arrows shot in Jondalar's back as he ran. The magic missiles Gorion had hit him with when they had tried to flee from him.

Each death mirrored the ones she had witnessed at the temple. And, even though he hadn't died that day, he may as well have to her, as their memories had been wiped clean only moments after Gorion had attacked him.

These were all explainable. What wasn't explainable were the last two murders in the dream.

"I've taken a rope and wrapped it around Gorion's neck and pulled until his eyes bulged and his face turned purple. I've… I've… gods… I've whipped you in the back with leather until there was hardly any skin left."

Rielter garroting his stepmother.

Rielter scourging him for disloyalty.

There was no rational explanation for how she could have known about that at the time. Nor could it be just a coincidence. There were no coincidences with her involved. The dagger was an uncanny enough reminder of that.

"This is as good a place as any," he heard Ilyrana say as they reached a stream running lazily between two oak trees.

Without a word, he began gathering up firewood and kindling, still mulling over this newest puzzle piece of Ilyrana's. The more he thought about it, the longer he looked at the chain of events in their lives, the more uneasy he became. Since the beginning, when they had forged a friendship in the temple of Bhaal, their paths had been permanently entwined. A friendship that was unheard of among their kind. Every other Bhaalspawn mistrusted each other on principal, and ached to kill one another by instinct, driven by the taint to do what was needed to fuel their father's rebirth.

Yet he and Ilyrana had bonded. Bonded in such a way that not even a powerful spell cast by a powerful man could make them completely forget one another. Not even his undoing could stop him from trying to protect her, regardless of how much he wished otherwise.

Settling in for the evening, they reclined around the campfire and began to eat the roasted pheasants Ilyrana had shot. Sarevok ate mechanically, barely noticing when Viconia announced she would take the first watch after she cleaned up in the stream. It wasn't until the drow was gone, and he and Ilyrana were left alone, on opposite sides of the fire, that his awareness of her became strong enough to pull him from his brooding.

She had barely touched her dinner. In order to regain all of the energy she had lost to become the Slayer, she needed to eat, more than the rest of them, yet she seemed repulsed by food. Thinking back to that last night in the inn, when he saw her dream of Irenicus, he supposed she figured there would be less to throw up when the nightmares came if she didn't eat a lot or often.

He watched her stare blankly into the flames, it's glow emphasizing the shadows still under her eyes. He wondered what she was thinking about. If she was replaying what he had said to her a few nights ago as he had been doing. They hadn't spoken a word to each other since then. Though he didn't want to break the silence, there was one question their conversation had birthed that he needed an answer to.

"The other night… you mentioned that Tamoko had been there in the end, and had helped you kill me. I had sent her out to slow you down as I prepared for our final confrontation. I had sent her to what I thought would be her death. You didn't kill her."

Not so much a question as a statement, but Ilyrana had obviously spared his former lover, and she, in turn, had helped her. He wanted to know why. Why would she refuse to kill the woman who had aided him in killing Gorion? Whom she had still cared for at that time.

He had hated Tamoko for betraying him. When he found out that she had spoken to Ilyrana as soon as the girl entered Baldur's Gate, he had been furious. Had almost lost control and killed the only person he cared for. He knew why she had done it, she wanted Ilyrana to stop him from starting the war with Amn, because she didn't think that would work in elevating him to become the next Lord of Murder. She had been trying for months to talk him out of it, and he had grown angrier with each shouting match between them, convincing himself that she doubted only because she selfishly didn't want to let him go.

By the time he had grown tired of fighting with her, the taint had fully consumed him. He had drank too deeply of the power it promised and in return he felt nothing but rage nearly all the time. All he cared about was killing Ilyrana and ascending. However much he may have once loved Tamoko, he was capable of that emotion no longer. So, it had been easy to set her aside and take another into his bed. Someone who only cared about his power and heritage, and thus wouldn't try and hold him back. He and Cythandria had been lovers in the past, before he met Tamoko, so she was only too happy to reclaim her place at his side.

"No. I didn't kill her," Ilyrana finally responded after tearing her eyes away from the fire to look at him.

"Why?"

Ilyrana's brows furrowed and she tilted her head, studying him with a confused expression.

"Why do you care? You were too big a coward to kill her yourself, and you threw her between us so I could do it for you. What does it matter now?"

Choking down his anger, he forced himself not to react to her words. After all, she was right.

"I cared once. Considering that she helped me kill Gorion, why wouldn't you want her dead?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Then make me understand."

One of her knives appeared in her hand and Ilyrana began restlessly spinning it between two of her fingers. She didn't speak for some time, just stared at him, completely still except for the blade. He met her gaze and held it, waiting for her to talk, and unwilling to back down. She must have seen that in his eyes, because she let out a tired sigh and began to speak.

"She helped you kill Gorion because she loved you. Knowing I watched it happen didn't stop her from asking me to spare your life. Watching you take another woman to your bed didn't stop her from trying to save you from yourself. And being sent to die didn't stop her from doing it if her death meant she wouldn't have to feel that way anymore. Tamoko's only mistake was loving the wrong man. I wasn't going to execute her for that and I told her as such. I refused to fight her and she no longer had the desire to fight me. I convinced her that it would be a waste to die for someone who doesn't love her anymore. So she said she was going back home, to Kara-Tur. I didn't expect her to stick around and help me bring you down."

Sarevok didn't know how to feel about that. Any of it. There had always been a shred of guilt that he kept buried for how he had treated Tamoko in the end. It was there still, but knowing she was alive, had moved on, eased it. She wasn't dead. She hadn't paid the ultimate price for him. He felt relieved, and oddly grateful. Tamoko had still betrayed him, more thoroughly than he originally thought, but he couldn't delude himself into thinking he hadn't deserved it.

"Thank you."

"For what? Telling you or sparing her?"

"Both."

"Yeah, well, don't thank me. I came to sorely regret leaving your little bitch alive. Everything I just said was what I had thought. At that time. I ended up being very, very, wrong. Did you ever wonder how Tamoko came to be in Baldur's Gate? Of all places on the Sword Coast. Of all the men she could have had yet she chose you. You who turned out to be a child of Bhaal. You who had spent years undermining the Iron Throne in order to position the city for war with Amn, but then suddenly she decided your plan sucked and tried to stop you. Did you ever question any of these things?"

Ilyrana's eyes smoldered in the firelight, a warning that her wrath was stirring just beneath the surface. The sudden change in her tone and opinion of Tamoko made him wary. Before, she had sounded almost sad for the woman. Now…

"Tamoko came to Baldur's Gate to freelance her skills-"

"Bullshit."

"You think you knew her better than I?"

"No. I think I knew her about as well as you did. Or as little, I should say. Tamoko didn't choose to go to Baldur's Gate. Nor did she choose you for your 'charm' or your looks. These things were chosen for her."

"Oh? By whom?"

"Have I never told you that I wasn't Irenicus's original target?"

Sarevok's blood ran cold.

"What are you-"

"You were so much stronger than I was," Ilyrana all but whispered. "He wanted you. Your soul. So he sent someone to steer you in the right direction. So that, when the time came, when you were at the height of your power, he could have a soul saturated with Bhaal's might."

"How did you… why didn't you say this sooner, Ilyrana?" Sarevok demanded, sick with the implications of what she was saying.

"I don't know if Tamoko had been ordered to try and sway you from igniting the war, or if she had actually fallen in love with you and was trying to save you from him," Ilyrana continued as if he hadn't spoken. "I do know she was under a gaes. And that she's dead now because of it."

"How do you know this?!"

"How do you think? Irenicus liked the sound of his own voice. Most megalomaniacs do, as you well know-"

"Don't you dare compare me to him!"

"He talked extensively of how disappointed he was that he had to make do with an inferior soul. That mine needed to be… worked on, before he was satisfied with it… I didn't find out about Tamoko's involvement though until much later."

"Why the fuck-"

"Do you know how I found out? About Tamoko? You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Sarevok stared at Ilyrana as if he had never seen her before. Her eyes switched from haunted, to blank, to furious, and back again. How long had she been holding onto this knowledge? Why didn't she tell him?! Just like with the memories.

"Ilyrana, why haven't you told me any of this before?"

A mirthless laugh escaped her throat. It sounded eerily like her mother's.

"When would have been a good time? While you were plotting my downfall? How about during the times we couldn't speak to each other for more than a minute before we started snarling and threatening? Perhaps the other night when you were telling me how I stumble blindly and drunkenly along while also sneering that I'm a foolish little girl?"

"Rana-"

"Why is it you expect me to open up and tell you all my deepest darkest secrets, at least the ones you haven't already seen in my dreams, yet you claim to want me dead? What reason do I have to believe that you care about any of this, Sarevok?! You had said it would have mattered. That it does still matter. How? Fucking how?!"

She was suddenly on her feet, swaying a little from exhaustion and malnourishment. Her long hair fell loose from the half-hearted braid it had been in. She looked much like she did as a child. Wild and fierce. Yet now, she couldn't keep the hurt out of her eyes. Couldn't hide the fact that she was bleeding inside. Had been. For so, so long. And so much of it was because of him.

He slowly stood as well, not taking his eyes off her. The fire crackled obliviously between them, the only sound now. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. The weight of the tangled webs that had been woven around them was so great that he could no longer ignore it. He couldn't keep lying to himself. Or to her.

His pride, though, kept him from speaking. The bitterness he had long clung to kept him on this side of the fire.

Ilyrana slowly shook her head, closed her eyes, and turned away, stumbling a little as she began to disappear into the shadows. His hand clenched and his heart pounded harder as he watched her walk away from him. This felt like so much more than her just giving up.

Like this would be the last time he would ever see her look at him with anything other than a detached coldness.

Like this was the last time she would ever utter a cry for help in hopes that he would hear it. Hear it and respond.

Without thinking, he stepped around the campfire and reached for her. Without thinking, his hand closed around her arm, stopping her. Without thinking, he gently turned her around to face him.

Later, he wouldn't be able to recall if he had pulled her into his arms, or if she had collapsed against him. All that would stand out in his memory is the sound of her wracking sobs as she came undone, unable to continue the fight to stay numb to all the horror she had endured. The feel of her nails biting into his chest as she clung to him, face buried in his shirt. How her hair felt beneath his lips as he pressed them to the top of her head, as he had so often done when they were children. How she felt in his arms, after so many years and blood spilt between them.

Nor would he forget how her voice sounded as she whispered "Me too" after he murmured that he was sorry.