Chapter 18: Darkest Before Dawn
Sarevok
Lying awake, listening to the rain that had begun falling the previous day and hadn't let up, which had prompted Ilyrana to further postpone setting out to explore the area around the city in search of any signs of Sendai or Abazigal, Sarevok mulled over his "latest debacle" as Viconia would put it.
Some combination of watching Rana almost die to those remaining mercenaries, unsure if he would get to her in time, the ensuing retreat to avoid discovery by the guards, nearly being caught because of her sudden whim to catch cats, that blinding smile she had given him while reminding him of his vow to get her a pet when they were children, and her inability to take anything seriously had thrown him enough that he had let his frustrations get the better of him.
In the past, his temper had often goaded him to act ahead of his better judgement, though it rarely affected his words. Now, with her, it had completely flipped.
The only upside of no longer having the taint was he had far more control over his anger. No longer did his vision cloud over with a scarlet haze that rendered him unable to do anything other than exorcise his fury until it dissipated. The problem now, however, was that he seemed to have lost all ability to censor what came out of his mouth where she was concerned.
She knew how to bring his wrath to the fore, as he did her, and because she seemed to think he won't hurt her, she no longer used caution when they argued. And he was unused to being spoken to like that.
Before, when last he lived, everyone around him took care while speaking to him, in fear of invoking his anger. Some more or less than others of course. His inner circle was freer with voicing their opinions as they were there for just that purpose. The only one who had ever outright disobeyed him or refused to back down when his eyes began to glow was Tamoko. Winksi, too, at the very end. And where were they now?
Rana appeared to have lost any misgivings she may have ever had with telling him exactly what she thought, and it was because she knew he wouldn't harm her. Couldn't harm her. And she hadn't required an oath from him to not turn on her, thus denying him the illusion that his restraint wasn't self-imposed. The damned girl was safe from him. She knew it and she used it. All the while, he struggled to stop himself from enraging her, lest he drive her away and lose his only chance at the kind of power she could offer him. A thought the old Sarevok would have found infuriating beyond all reason rather than just irritating.
Was he really so different now? Rana seemed to think not, but at times he hardly recognized himself. Before, he would have never looked back on something he'd said, especially to her, and felt… guilty. That was the word, he supposed, for how he was feeling. It wasn't something he was used to either, and it had annoyed him to the point that he'd been avoiding nearly everyone since their fight.
She'd warned him to stop and he hadn't listened. He was just so damn intent on trying to get it through to her how foolish she was being for not even considering Ascension, that he had ignored the anger in her voice and the pain she was trying to hide in her eyes until it was too late.
What concerned him was that he might have pushed her too far this time. That she'd meant her dismissal. Hopefully, though, like him, she had just let her anger speak for her instead. She hadn't attacked him or released the Slayer. Nor did she outright tell him to leave, so there was that, at least.
Releasing a sigh of frustration, he rose from his bed and went to the window, looking out into the dreary night. He knew what he had to do. Having known her as a child, and seeing that that girl was still very much alive in the woman she'd grown into, he knew there was still some small chance of salvaging this.
What made him hesitate, though, and had kept him awake for most of the previous night and through half this night as well, was he wasn't sure of why he was considering trying to earn her forgiveness.
He could tell himself that it was because he still wanted her, now more than ever. That he craved the smell of orchids on his sheets with an intensity that almost frightened him.
He could follow that thought up with the drive to become her right hand after he convinced her to ascend. Something he still desperately wanted.
The problem was that the former desire was becoming stronger than the latter. He wanted to claim her and just worry about the rest later. Which is why he wasn't as steadfast in his convictions anymore. And that wouldn't do. If he lost sight of his end goal, then where would that leave him? He'd be damned if at the end of this war, once the last foe had fallen, he was left standing with absolutely nothing to show for his entire existence. That this prophesied point in history passed him by like he were nothing. That the woman who defeated him had given up something almost anyone else would die for. That he had died trying to take.
Turning his mind from that winding avenue of thought, he began to ruminate on her response to his question about going back to Baldur's Gate. He didn't know, exactly, what had prompted him to ask her that. Maybe walking through the throngs of people in the city square had reminded him of his former home. Or maybe he had some kind of secret desire to return to that city with her at his side. To see the Dukes tremble in fear as they watched their scourge and their savior descend upon them together. Of course, in order for that little fantasy to come to fruition, she would have to refuse her birthright, at which point he doubted he could stand to be anywhere near her.
He was sure of one thing, though; Duke Eltan's days were numbered. He'd almost succeeded in killing the man during his rise to power, if only because he was an obstacle to be removed. To hear that he was the reason Rana was turned out of the city before she could finish healing, leaving her vulnerable to Irenicus, gave him something to look forward to once the prophecy was fulfilled.
Sarevok supposed it didn't matter why he wanted her forgiveness. He needed it if he hoped to even so much as speak with her again. Two times they'd been in the same room together since then. On both occasions she completely ignored him. The only sign that she was even aware of his presence was her hands slowly closing into fists. Otherwise, she neither looked at him nor talked to him.
Gathering up his sword and a cloak, though it wouldn't do much against the downpour, he readied to leave. As much as he did not want to go outside at this hour, in the cold and wet, he needed to at least move or go mad staying in this bedroom.
And he was tired of trying not to remember her words and the unforeseen effect they had on him.
For reminding me why I should hate you.
I wish Gorion had just killed you.
I wish I had never brought you back.
Sentiments he had always assumed she already felt. Hearing them said aloud, however, had been startling. Because at some point, he must have thought she no longer felt that way.
As he no longer felt a great many things about her.
Ilyrana
Walking out of her room, Rana began making her way downstairs, as quietly as she could so as not to wake anyone. Her destination? The kitchen. Or more specifically, the small wine cellar beneath it.
Hearing the front door close, she detoured to a nearby window and looked out, allowing her Infravision to kick in as visibility was practically zilch in this weather.
Sarevok's towering form flickered red as he disappeared into the night.
Where was he going? And at this hour? And in this rain?
Why do you care? She asked herself.
Fuck him. May he stay gone.
Turning back to her mission, she fought the urge to flick his soul half with her own, to find out if he was leaving for good. Not that she cared.
Quietly gathering three bottles of the Berduskan Dark that she'd had Chauntia, their new servant, buy earlier today, she started back to her room.
Purposefully not looking out the windows, she stabbed the cork in one of the glass bottles with her knife, twisted, and pulled it free. Taking a few healthy swallows while she closed the door with a hip, Rana set the two unopened bottles on the floor beside her bed. Climbing between her sheets, she tucked her wine into her side, picked up her quill, and continued updating her long neglected journals.
She'd forgotten how soothing something as simple as writing could be. Even if the subject matter often left her haunted. Sometimes, she didn't even know how she felt about some things until she'd put it into words on parchment. Other times, she was tempted to lie about what went through her mind during whatever encounter she was recording.
Lying to your own diary had to be a special kind of low. Especially when she already wrote in Elvish, rather than the Common tongue. Which was due in large part to Imoen having read her earliest entries back in Candlekeep. Rana did not want her sister reading about pretty much anything after leaving their former home.
As the flow of sentences stuttered in her head, she began to doodle until she could get her thoughts back in order. It didn't help that her mind kept absently wondering if Sarevok had left for good. If, when she woke tomorrow, she would discover that he'd cleaned out his room and vanished without a letter or explanation to anyone.
It would be for the best if he had. For her, for her relationship with Imoen, and perhaps Jaheira, too. If that truly mattered that much to her, though, then why did she feel like she'd lose something if he left? Like a small piece of her would be missing in the morning. Which was ludicrous all things considered… but that feeling persisted nonetheless.
Letting out an annoyed sigh, she tossed her journal and quill aside, took a long drag from her bottle, and got to her feet.
Why wait till morning?
Padding quietly out into the hallway, she began making her way to the end furthest from her room, to the very last door on the left. Pausing to listen, her sensitive ears primed for even the smallest sound, she plucked two pins out of her hair, the bun loosening but not coming undone, and began fiddling with the lock.
Cringing as the door creaked when she began to open it, Rana swiftly darted inside and closed it behind her as silently as she could. Candles still burned on the dresser and nightstand, their light reflecting off the surface of his armor that laid across a desk. His sword was gone, but that was not unusual if he was venturing out anywhere. All evidence pointed to him coming back. She told herself it was disappointment that she felt with that conclusion.
Maybe he'd gone to one of the taverns for a drink. Or company.
She told herself it was indifference that she felt with that thought.
As she turned to leave, something on his dresser caught her attention. Staring at it, one hand on the door handle, she told herself not to do what she was thinking of doing.
Bad idea. Leave it be. Walk away.
Ignoring herself, she flitted over to it, grabbed it, and made her way back to her own room, making sure to lock his door behind her.
Once she'd locked her own door, she tore off the scratchy shirt she was wearing and slid the one she'd just stolen from him on. She figured he owed her for stopping her from taking those kittens. And being a total ass shortly after that.
She should be thankful he kept pushing her away. What pissed her off, though, was his habit of doing so shortly after pulling her in. Every single time he made her start to question, to waver, to want, and wonder… he would give her twice as many reasons not to.
It was emotionally draining, especially when she was already tapped out thanks to Yoshimo's letter. And Jaheira's paranoia. And yet she kept letting him do it.
Why?
As she returned to bed after gulping down a few more generous swallows of wine, she decided to forgo writing anymore tonight in favor of getting some sleep. Or at least trying to.
Sarevok's scent clung to his shirt, which was irritatingly distracting. The only reason she didn't ditch it was because it was comfortable enough that she didn't want to. She had a theory that men's shirts were all made of higher quality than women's. Their pants, too, as their pockets were actually usable. The only reason she hadn't taken to filching any of those was because, even with a belt, none of them would come close to fitting her.
At least she'd found a new source for shirts, since Keldorn and Valygar had gotten all greedy with theirs. The only others she could take were Haer'Dalis's, which smelled of sulfur, and Anomen's, which had a chance of resulting in him planning their wedding if he discovered she wore his clothes to bed. Which is why she avoided his at all costs. She didn't know what Sarevok's reaction would be, if he found out, which was unlikely, and she didn't much care.
Drifting off to sleep, she could only hope that the rain ceased before she woke, so that she could begin hunting the other bhaalspawn, and thus be too busy to think about the chaos that was her life.
Ilyrana strolled casually down the busy streets of Tor Niedrig, lifting purses, dropping a few coins into the hands of beggars, and slipping fresh produce up the sleeves of her cloak; only to hand them out to children later as they stopped to stare at her for they were unaccustomed to seeing elves in these parts.
The late autumn sky was a deep blue, dotted with a few sparse clouds. The wind was crisp, but hardly noticeable if you just kept moving.
Turning to inspect a selection of finely crafted daggers, she almost missed her name being called from across the square. Raising her head, she scanned the faces of the townsfolk, looking for the man shouting for her. Just as she began to return her attention to the glittering steel before her, assuming she was just hearing things, she caught sight of him.
"How… how is this possible?!"
"Rana, my Rana, I feared I would never find you again."
Yoshimo slid through the people, his dark eyes fixed on her face, looking like a drowning man who's just grabbed onto the lifeline that had been tossed to him.
Rana stumbled away from him, disbelieving that he was alive.
"You're dead! I watched you die!"
"No, my love. Well, yes, I did die, but I've been brought back. Through the grace of the Pain Bearer, I've been returned to the land of the living so that I can aid you once more. This time… with no one holding my strings but you."
The Kara-Turan stepped closer to her, eyes roaming over her, as if he also couldn't believe she was real.
"I don't understand," she whispered.
"We are not meant to understand, I think. Death is beyond mere mortals' comprehension. Who am I to argue with gods? Besides, your brother is alive once more, and he was dead far longer than I."
Yanking off his leather gloves, letting them fall to the ground at his feet, he reached out with one shaking hand to caress her cheek.
Rana closed her eyes, overwhelmed with what was happening. That he was back.
When his fingers met her skin, she shivered and involuntarily jerked back. They were ice cold.
"What's wrong, love? Please don't tell me I'm too late. That you've already given your heart to another."
"What? No, it's just, your hands are freezing."
She found herself shifting back as he got closer. As much as she wanted to embrace him, that unnatural cold disturbed her for some reason.
"There is no other? Good. I would hate to surrender you right when I found you again. I've no wish to have you, though, if you've already let another man despoil you."
"Despoil me?!" She exclaimed in confusion and growing anger. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Shhhh love, it obviously does not matter, does it? You are still mine, just as you always were. As you will remain."
Rana's back hit the stone wall of a shop as he continued to advance on her. Placing one hand on the wall above her head, he leaned in and kissed her before she could protest. His lips weren't quite as cold as his hands, but the butterflies were absent from her stomach. Unlike the times before with him.
"I was never 'yours'," she hissed after turning away, breaking the kiss. "How could I have ever belonged to you when you were Irenicus's pet? This doesn't even sound like you."
"You've always been mine, my Queen. I will make you see."
"Queen? What are you-"
Rana watched in horror as Yoshimo's features began to melt into those of her tormentor. Panic seized her and she made to run, but those cold, cold hands seized her upper arms, holding her in place.
"Now, godchild, you know how much I dislike it when you struggle. I let you believe that I was your bounty hunter, so it's only fair you allow me to pretend you're my Elliseme."
She didn't stop to think. Throwing the gates open, she called to the Slayer, and felt it immediately respond and begin to rise. Irenicus may be strong enough to kill it, but she would be untouchable; safe within the cage of the beast's mind until it snuffed her out, sending her soul to the Abyss.
"Ah ah, Ilyrana," Irenicus scolded her as the cold intensified on her arms, making her feel as if he was smothering the fire that the Slayer was trying to ignite inside of her in order to cross over.
Black spots danced in her vision as the pain of his hands warred with the agony of the Slayer's rage as it failed to shred it's way to the surface. Her ensuing scream was loud enough to blot out the mage's next words.
She could feel herself losing consciousness. Fear urged her to fight back. To try and run. Memories of being at the mercy of his every whim, knowing that obeying him meant marginally less pain and humiliation, left her paralyzed.
Staring up into those dead, emotionless eyes, feeling the searing frost emanating from his fingers, and hearing the sound of his voice once again, Rana felt that familiar feeling of hopelessness begin to pull her under. Like an undertow, it threatened to sweep her out into deeper waters, where the bottom was far below her kicking feet, and there was nothing to grab onto for miles in any direction.
She wanted to fight, but what was the point? Irenicus always won. Even in death, after leaving him defeated in Hell, his memory still clung to her like a contagion. Having walked away, alive, was no victory when he still got to torment her.
Rana began to surrender to unconsciousness, to the swirling black that was her only hope of escaping the pain. Until another voice sounded, much louder than the mage's.
"My lady? Mistress! That's it, I'm coming in!"
Rana jerked awake, heaving for air, drenched in sweat despite the cold.
Her door flew open, the explosion of sound had her snatching up the knife beneath the pillow as she rose to her knees atop tangled sheets.
Chauntia, their new servant girl, froze after taking one step into the room, her hand still wrapped around the door handle. Her startling green eyes, made all the more vibrant against her dark skin, were wide with fear as she stared at the elven woman. Rana could only imagine what she looked like.
Without a word, she staggered out of bed, the knife falling to the floor, clattering as it hit the wood. One hand flew to her mouth as her stomach heaved, and it was all she could do to make it into the small bathroom that connected to her room.
Luckily, she was able to avoid throwing up her dinner from the night before, and the wine she'd consumed a few hours ago. Still, she remained slumped beside the basin for a few moments just in case.
"Um… mistress?" The girl asked hesitantly from outside the bathroom door. "Is there anything I can do?"
Rana almost laughed at the naivete of the question.
Chauntia was a tall, willowy young woman of seventeen. She had a shy sweetness about her that endeared her to the group almost immediately. As well as a fair amount of backbone, but for unknown reasons, she hardly let it show. Whether that was because she was still settling in to the duties of looking after such a motley assortment of characters, or she was a foreigner, or because of the scars she tried to hide with scarves and gloves, Rana didn't know exactly yet.
Her and her father, Mezoar, the other hired hand, were both from Chult. They had told Sir Keldorn during the interview that they had left their home because of turmoil within their family, and ended up travelling across the realm, seeing it's wonders.
Mezoar was a rotund, balding older man who had obviously seen as many or more years as the paladin. He was quiet, but kind, and was possibly the best cook Rana had ever seen. It was how he was able to support himself and his daughter during their travels, he'd said. Picking up the various dishes and customs of other people's, he knew a thousand different ways to cook with a thousand different ingredients, a bold proclamation to be sure, but one Rana didn't doubt after tasting only a few of the meals he'd begun preparing for them.
"Mistress?"
"Just give me a second. Please."
Rising shakily to her feet, Rana glanced in the mirror, to see what the girl had seen. Her eyes, while dimming, still glowed, and their color had taken on a reddish hue. The shadows beneath them were darker, her skin pale and clammy, her hair wild and loose. Her teeth felt marginally sharper, her canines noticeably longer. Even her nails had grown and begun to curl. Into claws.
Staring in horror at herself, unable to look away from her terrifying visage, Rana watched the woman in the mirror smile a cruel smile, even as her own lips remained still. The room began to darken around her, as if the sun were setting far faster than it should be, until the only light left shining were her eyes.
Desperately she rubbed her face and pressed her palms into her closed eyes, hard enough to make them throb. When she opened them again and looked into the mirror, praying to the shadows around her that her reflection would be normal, her heart rate accelerated and adrenaline began pumping yet again through her veins.
The room was still dark, blacker than pitch, and her eyes were glowing brighter than ever. She could see nothing else. Backing away until her waist struck the rim of the bathtub, Rana could only watch helplessly as her reflection leaned forward, until the glow of its eyes began to illuminate the face.
Just as she could begin to discern that it's face was not her own, that its features were warped and alien, Rana lunged forward and struck the glass.
"Mistress! What in the name of Hell is going on in there?!" Chauntia cried from outside the door, obviously hearing the mirror shatter.
The bathroom was suddenly as lit as it was when she first entered it, the candles atop the shelf by the mirror now burning brightly.
Shaking, her breaths still coming fast, Rana began to wash the blood off the cuts on her knuckles. Even though the mirror was broken, she avoided looking at it, as well as the shards that littered the sink and floor. Absently, she wrapped a towel around her hand, moving mechanically, and opened the door.
Chauntia stared worriedly at her, and backed away a few steps to give her some room.
"How do I look?" Rana whispered, not meeting the girl's eyes.
"Um… what do you mean?"
"How. Do. I. Look?"
"Your… um… your eyes aren't glowing anymore if that's what you mean."
Rana nodded, her shoulders relaxing by a degree. Looking down at her hands, she saw her nails were as they should be, slightly long, but not curled. Pressing her tongue to the tops of her teeth, she felt that they were back to normal as well.
"May I ask what's wrong?"
Chauntia's accent reminded her of Hexxat, the Chultan vampire she was briefly acquainted with back in Amn. That, and her dusky skin, were the only similarities, however. Looking up at the young woman, Rana noticed a smattering of freckles, a few shades lighter than the rest of her face, across her nose and cheeks. Her hair was long and ebony, braided into a hundred tiny braids, and she wore it up in a high tail. Those arresting green eyes were filled with worry, and a little fear, but curiosity as well.
"I'm a bhaalspawn."
"I know. Sir Keldorn told us when he hired us. That doesn't explain what's the matter."
"Yes it does," Rana responded, her voice barely above a whisper.
When Chauntia's brow furrowed in confusion, and she looked as if she were about to ask another question, Rana cut her off.
"I'm afraid I broke my mirror. Would you mind cleaning it up? Be careful not to cut yourself."
She realized she sounded numb, distracted, and beaten.
"Of course, my lady."
"Thank you."
When the girl had left to retrieve a broom and dustpan, Rana stripped off Sarevok's shirt, shoved it down into a dresser drawer, and replaced it with a worn long sleeve one of her own. Running her fingers through her hair, and working loose the knots as best she could, she put it back up into a bun, as it had come undone while she thrashed in her sleep. She saw no point in changing her leggings.
A mirror hung above her dresser, and she'd thrown some of her clothes over it to cover most of it, but Rana took great care not to glimpse the glass even in her peripheral. She vaguely wondered how to smash it without Chauntia suspecting something.
When the girl returned, she was holding her equipment, as well as a slice of bread.
"What's that for?" Rana asked quietly, nodding at the food.
"The broom can't really get the tiny pieces, the ones the size of grains of sand, so you press the bread onto the floor where glass has fallen, and it collects them."
"Huh. I never thought of that. It's clever."
Chauntia gave her a small, shy smile. Rana wanted to return it, but she couldn't muster the energy. Turning to pick up the knife she'd dropped earlier, she slid it back beneath her pillow, and began to leave.
"Um, mistress?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm… sorry, for bursting in like that. I… heard you scream, and your door was locked, so I… I… picked the lock. I'm so very sorry, I didn't mean-"
"You can pick locks?"
"Yes," she responded fearfully, but honestly.
"When you return to town, have a blacksmith duplicate my key," Rana said, pulling it off her necklace and handing it to the girl. "So you don't have to feel guilty next time."
"You're not angry? Most people don't feel comfortable with a servant who can open things they're not meant to. And… next time?"
"I keep my door locked out of habit mostly. As well as to discourage unwanted visits. Should I need to be awoken from a nightmare again, and yes, there will be a next time, there always is, you can get in faster this way."
"So… these nightmares happen often, then?"
Rana had a sudden desire to lie. She didn't want to scare the girl away. Something about her made Rana feel steadier. Perhaps it was because of how she seemed to be taking all of this in stride, rather than freaking out, as she expected her to. Maybe it was because they shared a skill, lockpicking. Or perhaps because of the scars the younger woman was trying to hide.
"Yes, they happen often. Sometimes not this bad, other times it's worse. It may be best if you alerted someone else, and have them with you, next time you try to wake me. Not Imoen, if at all possible. I don't like my sister to see me like this. Sir Keldorn and Valygar are used to it. If neither are available, then… Sarevok."
Regardless of their feud, he knew better than anyone the content of her dreams, and she knew he would try to interrupt them if he could. He was also the only one strong enough to restrain her if she began to change into the Slayer.
Thinking of him made her wonder if he'd seen this nightmare. If he'd come back and fallen asleep. It was early, she'd only slept a few hours.
"Do you know if he, Sarevok, is here?"
"No, my lady. I haven't seen him."
It made little difference. If he'd seen it, she was sure he'd let her know. She could use their soul to find him, to see if he was in his room, but she didn't want him to know she was thinking about him.
"Oh! My father said breakfast was ready."
"Thank you, Chauntia."
As she descended the stairs and headed toward the kitchen, where she preferred to eat when they weren't all gathered together to talk and plan, which was usually during dinner, she noticed how quiet it was. It was still raining, and it was dark, very early in the morning.
"Good morning, my lady," Mezoar greeted her, his back to her as he finished making her plate.
"Good morning," she replied, and slid onto the stool at the island.
"Ah, I was hoping to catch you," Keldorn said from behind her as he entered the kitchen.
He looked like he'd just had a bath after a long night's sleep. How a man his age could rise this early, consistently, was beyond her. Not that he was that old, but still. It irked her.
"Did you get those letters sent out yesterday?"
"I did," he replied as he sat down across from her. "Thank Torm there was still a wagon waiting till the last minute to leave. And it was bound for Athkatla."
When Rana had gotten back home after her misadventure with Sarevok the day before last, she'd holed up in her room, writing letters to be sent out to some of her former companions, asking for help. Keldorn had returned with Chauntia and Mezoar, and the rest of that day had been spent getting to know them, discussing the terms of their employment contracts, and setting up a household account of funds to be used for food, supplies, and wages.
She wasn't able to finish the letters until yesterday evening, but thankfully, the paladin was willing to brave the rain to get them sent out, as he had his own he wanted to add. To his wife and daughters, she assumed.
So far, she'd managed to avoid whatever talk he wanted to have with her, one she wanted far less after the one with Jaheira, whom had made herself scarce since. The druid had taken on the form of a wolf to scout the woods around town, so she hadn't been in residence much.
Viconia had disappeared, but that was normal for her during extended downtime. She would turn up sooner or later, she always did.
Anomen had tried to talk with her several times, but she'd managed to avoid him for the most part. He must have gotten the hint because yesterday he said he would be at the Temple of Helm in town for awhile.
Haer'Dalis and Imoen were intolerable now, and part of the reason she stayed in her room most of the time. They were constantly touching, and laughing, and cracking jokes. It was good to see her sister happy, even with her misgivings about the relationship, but there were only so many serenades she could listen to before she got nauseous.
Valygar hadn't been around much either. Probably because he was out scouting with Jaheira, but no one was supposed to know that. From what Rana could gather, something had happened between those two the night she and Valygar had returned home drunk. However much they disagreed about Sarevok, they appeared to not be letting it affect them like it usually did, judging by the heated looks exchanged between them. It wouldn't last, Rana was almost positive, but it kept Jaheira out of her hair for now, and Valygar appeared happy.
Mezoar began setting plates before them, each filled with toast, fried eggs, and bacon. Another platter was added with slices of fresh fruit. Before she could ask, the man set her favorite coffee mug in front of her, and it appeared he'd added the cream and sugar already. Bringing the cup to her lips, she watched the Chultan smile a little at her gaze. He was obviously banking on his ability to replicate the way she likes her coffee. She tasted it.
"Sir Keldorn, I'm authorizing you to give Mezoar and Chauntia a raise."
The paladin paused while buttering his toast, his lips rising at their corners. Mezoar gave her a grin, and bowed his head.
"As you command," Keldorn replied before beginning to eat, trying to hide his smile that his leader was so easily affected by a cup of coffee.
"My thanks, my lady. Though, I am surprised that something so simple would engender such good will."
"I've been stuck with these guys," Rana jerked her head in Keldorn's direction, "for years, and none of them have been able to make my coffee the way I like it. Most gave up a long time ago. You've been with us what, almost two days?"
"In our defense, Rana, it defies the natural order of things to make coffee that milky and sweet. For some reason, we can't bring ourselves to defile a drink that much."
Rana snorted, took another sip, and felt herself begin to relax a little. The father and daughter pair were obviously very skilled people, but they both seemed to possess an innate ability to bring about calm. Something Rana had so little of that the feeling was nearly intoxicating.
"So how long do you think until we get a response?"
"If the snows don't show up too early, and our comrades haven't headed to the far corners of the realm, perhaps two weeks for a return letter, and they could arrive in around the same time if they set out immediately rather than replying."
"That gives us plenty of time to scout and prepare, anyway. I just hope the winter doesn't stall the war."
"Indeed. This area can't afford a drawn out campaign. And the longer we wait, the easier it'll be for Sendai and Abazigal to find you and set traps."
Spearing a quartered pear, she began to eat, hoping her stomach didn't rebel at her offering of food so shortly after the nightmare.
"Where is everyone?" She asked after awhile of them both eating in companionable silence."
"Valygar got up early, at the same time I usually do, to check on a possible lead regarding the missing children. Jaheira returned some time last night from her explorations and will likely sleep late after shapeshifting so much lately. Let's see… Viconia has been absent, though I expect she'll turn up soon, likely once this rain has stopped. Our bard and your sister left last night after you retired to your room, saying they were going to spend the night at the Sawtooth Inn and will be back this afternoon. May the gods have mercy on those poor people there. Anomen is still at the Temple of Helm, he's been assisting the clerics there when he's not demonstrating his martial prowess to the town guard. He claims to be trying to help with their military training. And I haven't seen Sarevok since yesterday afternoon."
"I saw him leave last night."
"Oh? Did he say where he was going and when he'd be back?"
"No."
Keldorn took a long drink of his coffee, seeming to mull that information over in his mind for a moment. Rana put her fork down, what little of her appetite was now gone. Picking up her drink, she began to watch Mezoar bustle about the kitchen, cleaning up from breakfast.
"You know I've been wanting to speak with you, child," Keldorn eventually said, his voice quiet, yet somehow almost scolding. "I know you've been through much this past week, which is why I've held my peace. I believe it's time to remedy that now."
"How much of this has to do with Jaheira? I know you know about that. You know everything that goes on between the rest of us."
"Very little. Well, hearing about your argument hasn't influenced what I'd already planned to discuss, anyway. Though I believe she and I share similar concerns. Just as we disagree a fair bit, as well."
"Alright, out with it. Let's get this over with."
Keldorn gave her a critical look at that, but chose to let it go.
"First, I'd like to know more of what happened after we left the hot springs. I've already heard the story from Sarevok, but I'd like to hear it from you."
"What did he say, exactly?" Rana asked, aiming for nonchalance and falling way short of it, she was sure.
She knew the paladin had taken an interest in Sarevok since his resurrection, and had been slowly, but diligently, trying to "turn him from his dark path". Or whatever. What concerned her though, was how much the Deathbringer may have confided in the other man. Not that he was a sharer, far from it, but Rana knew how easy it was to bare one's soul, so to speak, to Keldorn.
"He told me about the Slayer and the condition you were in after you'd used it. That was it. As you can tell, his rundown of it leaves a lot to be desired."
"I got hit with crossbow bolts after that cleric interrupted my defensive enchantments. I was dying, so I figured I'd take as many of them with me as I could. Afterwards-"
"He glazed over the explanation of your reasoning behind letting that thing loose just as much as you're doing now. Tell me, please, in detail. Not just what happened during the fighting. But what happened between the two of you, as well."
Rana's breath caught in her throat. Damn the Inquisitor's inquisitive nature.
"Does it matter?"
"Yes. Very much."
Rana sighed and downed the rest of her coffee.
"You know more than you're letting on."
Keldorn smiled sadly at her.
"It's my job, child. I know you carry the weight of many, many secrets. I'm not asking for all of them. Only a few. And I'm not asking out of curiosity. I believe what's been transpiring between you and Sarevok will have far reaching consequences. Be they good or ill. Just as I believe that your past will shape your future."
"He told you," she whispered. "About the temple. About our childhood."
Gods, how much did he know? He made it sound as if he knew about the more intimate nature of their relationship, too, but how could he?
"Yes. He told me. Now, I'd like to know, specifically, why you used the Slayer. And how you didn't lose yourself to it when you were clearly too weak to control it, let alone come back from it."
Rana wrapped her hands around her empty mug, needing something to hold onto. Only a few nights ago, she'd told Valygar everything. Viconia knew what was going on between her and Sarevok. Now, Keldorn wanted to know. She trusted Valygar. She mostly trusted the drow, but she knew she wouldn't say anything because her loyalties didn't extend very far past her goddess, and Rana. She trusted Keldorn, too, but...
The problem was that Valygar would listen, commiserate, give his opinions, then let it go. The paladin would offer insight. Would judge. He wouldn't hesitate to tell her unpleasant truths. She didn't know if she was ready to hear what kind of wisdom Keldorn could impart in regards to her and Sarevok.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, and noticing Mezoar had made himself scarce, she began.
"I wanted to try and get Sarevok out of the hot springs alive. He… he hasn't been alive that long, and he hasn't done anything since his resurrection to deserve death so soon. And I was already dying. I guess, in a way, I felt like it was my turn this time. To be the one to die."
"You sound as if you feel guilty for his first death. That you felt you owed him that kind of sacrifice."
"I do. I did. He shouldn't have died in Baldur's Gate. It was the bad timing. Roughly fifteen seconds and it could have been different."
"What are you talking about, child?"
"Our memories."
"Your memories? How do they…" Keldorn trailed off as it clicked into place, his face grave.
"Sarevok said Gorion had erased the memory of each other from the both of you. I didn't have time to ask him about how, or when, the two of you got them back. By Torm, Rana. It happened during that final battle?"
"Yes. He got his back in time to stop from making the killing blow. I got mine back just after making mine. When it was too late."
"Who else knows of this?"
"Only Valygar."
"Your sister doesn't? You never told her?"
Rana let out a hollow laugh.
"She despises him. How do you think she'd react if I told her he and I once shared something similar to what she and I did back in Candlekeep? That nearly everything was Gorion's fault? No, I never told her, and I don't plan on it. It hurts, learning someone you love has harmed you and someone you once cared about. And that someone you hate was once someone you loved, and you wouldn't have had to hate if it weren't for the other you loved."
Rana realized she was rambling, but she didn't care. She knew Keldorn understood what she was trying to say. Before, when telling Valygar everything, she'd had the comfort of copious amounts of alcohol to help her remain detached. Sobriety forced her to feel too much.
"Alright. Now, how did you manage to escape the Slayer and change back?"
"Sarevok brought me back."
"How?"
"With our soul."
"'Our' soul? It's interesting that you don't refer to it as your soul. The piece within him is still yours."
"No. It's not. Maybe if it had been just a piece, but he took more than that."
"How much more?"
"Half. He has half my soul. Making it our soul."
"By the gods, Ilyrana! You told us you gave him a small portion!"
"I lied. He asked for just a piece, but he took half. Methinks he's come to regret his greed, though."
Keldorn rubbed a hand over his face.
"Anything involving the soul, the spirit, is sacred, Ilyrana. You've already had yours stolen and dragged down to Hell. It's not supposed to be used as currency! I was aghast just at the thought of you bartering away any of it, but half!? I'd wondered how he could have been revived so completely, without becoming undead, this has to be why."
"It's mine to do with as I please."
"No, girl, it's both of yours' now, remember? I don't think you understand just what you've done. What you both have done."
"No, I think we do."
"Explain."
Rana sighed, suddenly feeling much older than her twenty something years. Rising out of her stool, she went and made herself a fresh cup of coffee, then refilled Keldorn's before sitting back down.
"You wanted to know how Sarevok brought me back? He used his half to invade mine, found me where the Slayer had buried me, and dug me out again. When I was back at the helm, I was able to shift back."
"I thank Torm he had the presence of mind to even attempt something like. And that it worked. But, aren't you afraid he'll use that knowledge to do it again? For anyone to have that kind of access to your very being, is one thing, but for someone who's had so much hatred and bitterness toward you to have it… Rana, you're forever vulnerable to him now."
"I'm sure he would be flattered that you assumed he hasn't already done it again."
Keldorn looked as if he was about to get out of his seat, fetch Carsomyr, and hunt the Deathbringer down. She cared about the old paladin, so she made sure he didn't do just that.
"We can project words, images, impressions, and the like into each other's minds. We can synchronize our awareness so that we know exactly what the other is doing and is about to do. That's how we lasted as long as we did against that army. We can also find out where the other is at. And… and he can see my dreams."
"And you believe that's the extent of it?"
"Pretty much."
"You're likely wrong."
"How so?"
"The soul isn't meant to be torn, or shared, or touched by anyone other than the gods. You split yours in half with another. What's the greatest distance that has separated the two of you since? A mile? Two? Rana, I wouldn't be at all surprised if that's about as far as you can get away from each other. Think about that for a moment. Assuming you survive this war, and I endeavor to make sure that happens, you're elven, and part god. You are going to live a very, very, long life. One that will almost certainly have to have Sarevok in it until he dies. And, Rana… your soul is Elven. Your soul is of the Seldarine. I don't know if this occurred to you when you resurrected him, with half your soul, but you gave him much more than just his life back. You gave him immortality. Or as close to it as most races are capable of."
Rana looked at Keldorn, her eyes wide with shock.
"How did you… when… how long have you known this?!"
"I don't know it. Not for certain. Queen Elliseme may be able to confirm or deny it. And time will tell, assuredly."
Unable to remain still, she hopped off the stool and began to pace, her nails digging into her palms as the weight of everything he just told her crashed against her.
They couldn't part. Not until one of them died. She could live for centuries, perhaps even millennia, thanks to her divine blood. They could barely be around each other a few hours at a time without fighting.
AND NOW I MAY BE STUCK WITH HIM FOR THE REST OF MY IMMORTAL LIFE?!
"No, you're wrong. It can't work like that, Keldorn. It can't!"
"Rana, calm yourself. As I said, none of this is certain. It's merely a theory. The distance aspect can easily be tested. We can worry about his extended life once we determine how close the two of you need to stay. As well as what happens if you venture too far apart. There's time enough in the days ahead to learn more."
Rana looked at him like he'd just suggested she move to a monastery and take up knitting.
"I'm just supposed to go about the rest of my day with this in my head? Like I don't already have enough shit going on in there?!"
"Easy, child. I will aid you in this. You know I will. Sit down, take a breath, and try to relax."
A hysterical laugh bubbled up out of her throat. Sitting back down, she drew out the pins in her hair so she could run her fingers through it and squeeze, focusing on the feeling of her scalp being pulled on.
Keldorn topped off her coffee. Not even bothering to resweeten it, she began gulping it down, wishing it were wine or something stronger. His hand came to rest on her shoulder. She suddenly felt a wave of warmth flow through her, and it helped slow her racing heart.
"When I mentioned that Jaheira and I disagreed, much of it is over Sarevok. She refuses to see him as he is right now, in this moment in time. Instead, she still chooses to see him as he was before. Maybe she will turn out to be right. That he was the same all along. Or maybe… the way he was died with him. He may have held onto his twisted notions of power, and his disregard for the lives of others, in the beginning, at least. But, I believe that he has been shaken to his very core. By you."
Rana looked at him. Sarevok wasn't the only one to have everything turned upside down. She was beginning to think that her life would always be a series of tumbling end over end, never able to find and keep her footing.
"Now. It doesn't take my abilities as an Inquisitor to see that you two are connected. By fate. By your past. And by both of your choices to be that way. You care for him. And he for you. You may not want to admit it out loud, and I'm sure he doesn't either, but it's obvious to one who pays attention."
"Please tell me this is the part where you caution me to stay away from him," she whispered, her voice almost pleading. "Tell me we're going to destroy each other. That an unstoppable force and an immovable object cancel each other out. Please."
Keldorn reached out and smoothed her hair behind her ear. His eyes were full of understanding, though she couldn't possibly comprehend why.
"Rana, rarely does fate ever put two people in each other's path for no reason. And never does it do so as many times as it has with you and him. You won't like to hear this, but, I feel, deep down, that only you can bring him back. Only you can lead him out of the darkness, at least as far as he is able and willing to go, but gray is a far better place than the alternative, I think. I also believe that, before this war is over, and the prophecy has come to pass, you will need him. For what, I do not know. But, were I you, I would let fate reveal it's design before crying unfairness over the future. Patience, child. And faith. Always have faith."
"He wants me to become a goddess. So he can be my right hand."
"Maybe. Or maybe he only thinks he wants that, because that's what the old Sarevok would want. His will is stronger than most I have ever seen, but Rana, I want you to remember that yours was forged from the same flame as his own. Show him you will not be broken, and perhaps… perhaps he may learn to bend."
She didn't realize she was crying until he gently wiped her tears away. Sniffling, and hating herself for it, she resumed inhaling her coffee, needing the warmth it provided. They didn't speak again for some time, both lost in their own thoughts. It was Rana who broke the silence.
"I overheard you, Valygar, and Sarevok talking about Anomen the other day. What was that about?"
"Anomen had a confrontation with Valygar about keeping you out at a bar all night. He pretended his anger was due to our worry over your whereabouts. It was, however, due to his jealousy that Valygar spent so much time with you. Or perhaps I should say, that you spent so much time with Valygar, when you don't spend time with Anomen."
"Valygar is my closest friend, after Imoen. Anomen is a friend, and he'll never be more than that."
"The other men believe he's unstable. That he poses a threat not just to others, but to you, most importantly. I was going to speak of this to you sooner, but I've already addressed it, and thought it best to wait and see."
"Addressed it how?"
"I spoke with him. I told him his conduct has been unacceptable, and should it continue, I will order him to return to Athkatla. I also told him that I forbid him to imbibe for the remainder of this journey, as it seems to be clouding his judgment and making it harder for him to control his temper. He wasn't happy about it, but he acquiesced. If his behavior doesn't improve, you and I will have to decide the best course of action."
"I see. Well, right now, I have more than enough on my plate, so I hope his time at the Temple of Helm does him some good."
"As do I."
Rana gazed out the window above the kitchen sinks, watching the rain continue to steadily fall. She suddenly felt exhausted. Not surprising considering how little she'd slept, the nightmare, that fucking hallucination or whatever the Hell that was that followed, and this conversation.
She thought about telling him about the incident with the mirror. Giving voice to it though would make it more real, so she settled on a slightly different topic.
"You haven't mentioned how you feel about me being evil."
"I don't believe you're evil, Rana. Evil comes in all shapes, sizes, and flavors. What is evil to the fly, is life to the spider. Everyone defines it differently. Mayhaps it's the blood that saturates your soul. Or the taint. But I do not look at you, with my Torm given sight, and see you as evil."
"I saw it in your face that day-"
"Everyone's faith gets tested, child. Even mine."
"You have an answer for everything, don't you?" Rana huffed.
Keldorn chuckled, and whatever his reply was, it was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing. They fell silent, straining to hear who had come home. The cadence of the footsteps retreating up the stairs told her Sarevok had finally returned. She looked at the paladin.
"I will not say anything about what we spoke of to anyone. I promise you."
"Thank you," she said softly.
"You are most welcome, child."
After taking a few minutes to finish her coffee, Rana made her way back to her room, feeling bruised and raw, and couldn't help but think about how complicated her life kept becoming. For every hurt, there were two more right around the corner. Every heartbreak carried the promise of more to come.
They had spoken of centuries. Of millennia. The thought of living that long made her ache in her very bones, as if they could imagine the weight of so much suffering. It almost didn't matter if she and Sarevok couldn't go far from each other, or that he could potentially live that many years, as well. She would die long before that became an issue. Remembering the dream, she vowed she would make sure of it. She refused to endure this any longer than she had to.
Pushing her door open, she trudged wearily into her room, turned around to close it, and rested her forehead against the wood. Closing her eyes, she felt the tears well up and threaten to spill over.
She was just so tired. Of everything. Keldorn may have meant well, but after walking away from him, the reality of their conversation had sunk in and she wanted to curl up on the floor and waste away. Anything to escape the nightmare of her life.
What was there to look forward to? More killing. More death. More pain. More sacrifices. More nightmares. Imoen had been her north star for as long as she could remember. What would happen if she lost her? What would Rana do if Imoen no longer needed her?
Wiping at her eyes, she turned toward her bed, and the wine bottles beside it, intent on drinking until she blacked out.
There was a movement in the middle of her red sheets. She froze, staring at the tiny, dark shape that had stirred at the sound of her sniffling. Luminous green eyes opened and blinked sleepily at her. A small sound escaped Rana's throat, it may have been a gasp, or a whimper, or a sob.
Trying not to move too fast, not wanting to scare the little thing, she went to her bed and gingerly sat down on the edge. Patting her lap, she waited while the kitten decided if she was safe or not.
Her heart began to pound harder and harder. This time though, it wasn't unpleasant. Slowly, it began inching toward her. When it stretched out its neck until the tip of its tiny nose touched her finger, she went as still as a statue. Curious sniffing turned into soft, rumbling purrs. It rubbed its head against her hand, offering no resistance when she scratched behind its ears before picking it up and holding it against her chest. A quick look told her it was a boy.
She looked down at the fluffy gray kitten, with his bobtail, and his impossibly large emerald eyes, and he looked up at her. His paws began to knead her arm, claws lightly pricking her skin as they extended then retracted then extended again. His purrs grew louder.
It was love at first sight.
Burying her face in his slightly damp fur, feeling his small body vibrate with the intensity of his purring, the tears came again, but quietly, and briefly.
"Where did you come from, little one?" She asked it, running a finger over the edges of his ears, making him kick at them with his back legs.
He blinked at her, and merely replied with a squeaky "merp".
That sound immediately made her smile.
Holding him close, which he seemed not to mind at all as he rubbed against her neck with his head, she started to rise from the bed when she saw the note lying on her nightstand.
The handwriting was instantly recognizable, even if the words weren't from this angle. How many hours had she spent pouring over his diary, searching for answers, back in Baldur's Gate?
Her hand shook a little as she reached out to pick it up, and her chest tightened when the kitten swiped at it playfully with a paw.
There was only a single sentence. She read it once, and huffed. She read it a second time, and started to laugh.
If you name him something foolish, woman, I will put him back where I found him, I swear.