Chapter 22: Ouroboros

Ilyrana

I had another dream.

This was a new one, and thank the shadows, my subconscious's usual stars were absent this time.

No Sarevok.

No Irenicus.

No Bhaal.

No Slayer.

I was back at Saradush. After the city had fallen to Yaga Shura's forces. It should have reeked of death and decay, but it smelled like… honeysuckle? And primrose. Lilacs, too. Well, also blood, but that's not an altogether unpleasant smell. I would say it reminded me of Candlekeep, outside in the gardens, but that pervasive musty smell of old parchment and the rank body odor of robed old men was absent. Even in the fresh air, that smell would still linger.

I walked through the body strewn streets, and how I didn't lose my footing among the rubble, I'll never know. I'd like to attribute it to my natural grace, but let's be honest here, even for an elf, my grace is rather hit or miss.

The blood and ichor was still fresh, but I never slipped.

Ash blew so thickly through the empty city that I should have hacked the whole way, but I breathed deep and never once so much as sneezed.

Gromnir's keep was so choked with dead that I couldn't enter. I was a little sad. I never did set foot in there.

I remember talking to Melissan as she helped me enter the city, can remember her urging me to seek an audience with my half-orc brother to try and make him see reason. To call for aid and mount an offensive before the walls were breached.

Something about her had seemed… off. Yoshimo's betrayal still clung to my heart so fiercely that I recognized the duplicitous gleam in her eyes, having seen it in my former lover's, but hadn't been able or willing to interpret it at the time.

So I ignored her advice. Stocked up on arrows, spells, potions, and rumors, and left to find a way to kill an immortal half-giant. By the time I had returned, ready to kill the unkillable, Yaga Shura's army had already broken through the ramparts and slain Gromnir.

Having been well acquainted with another half-orc some years ago, I can just assume he wasn't much for conversation. I doubt I missed a whole lot in not meeting him.

Swarms of biting flies rose up from the mounds of corpses as I passed them, but they didn't bother me. At times, they were so thick I could barely see, but they never once landed upon my skin.

It took me nearly half the walk, from one end of Saradush to the other, to finally notice the eyes of the dead open, if they weren't already, and turn to look at me as I passed. For awhile, I would meet their gazes with my own, expecting them to speak or something, but they just watched me.

It should have scared me, but I felt safe there in that desecrated place. Among the dead and the flies. The ghosts and the smoke. Like I was passing through a small village I had been to before, one where I had stopped and refreshed myself, made a few awkward drunken memories, and moved on.

When I finally reached an outer wall, half crumbled from the catapults, I stopped. When I turned around, tens of thousands of eyes stared back at me. I could feel their reverence. Their awe at what I was and that I walked among them.

The sight was beautiful. All the muted grays of rigor mortis, the flaky brown of dried life's blood, the off white of unseeing eyes. The feeling of joy that I felt at beholding such radiance made me laugh and throw my arms out wide so I could dance in the befouled streets. The sound of my giddiness echoed loudly through the city, as it was the only sound. Not even the ravens and carrion birds dared utter their squawks while I danced.

The dream never once seemed ugly to me. Not until I woke, anyway. Not until my memories of what a battlefield actually looked, smelled, and felt like tried to replace those surreal impressions. I didn't want the dream to be tainted by reality, though. I had been so happy, and felt like I was finally where I was meant to be, doing what I was meant to do, that I clung to that feeling for as long as I could.

It's rare that I don't like waking up from a dream. I can't remember the last time I had one that I actually enjoyed. We're just gonna ignore the fact that this one was still pretty morbid and fucked up. And that I probably shouldn't have enjoyed it.

And by "we" I mean me. Not me and others. Like the voices in my head. Just lil ole me. Okay I'm gonna stop writing now.

Closing her journal, Rana rose from her desk, stretched, and scratched Rook behind the ears when he climbed the thin material of her long sleeved shirt to perch on her shoulder.

Looking out the window, she noticed it was mid-afternoon already. She'd slept soundly all through that morning and lunch. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since dinner last evening.

There was a gentle rap on her bedroom door, followed by Anomen's voice.

"My lady? I apologize for waking you, but Imoen is beginning to stir."

Opening her door, she looked up at the knight, noting the deep shadows beneath his eyes.

"Thanks Anomen. Has Viconia woken up yet? It's time for a shift change, you're dead on your feet."

"She has, my lady. I was just finishing up a late lunch when I noticed your sister seemed to be waking up."

"Okay, good. Get some rest, you've earned it."

"I shall, but first I thought I'd go into the town proper and talk to the new captain of the guard. Sir Keldorn returned a short while ago and informed me that a few of the men survived the attack, and I wanted to assist in setting up patrols. I may retire at the Sawtooth Inn, so that I may be close at hand to help."

That sounded a little off to Rana. The man was clearly exhausted and was, in fact, swaying on his feet. She was sure Keldorn would have already helped out and that Anomen's presence wasn't actually necessary.

"Are you sure?"

"Aye. Viconia took over Sir Keldorn's watch outside the mines, and that abom… ahem, and your brother took over my patrol around the house. The bard has been assisting him in removing the bodies that litter the grounds. If anything goes amiss in town, I can return to inform you while Viconia oversees the problem."

Whatever.

"All right. Just make sure and get some sleep."

"As you command, my lady," he replied with a smile and turned to leave.

At least he would be out of her hair. She just hoped he wasn't looking for an excuse to stop at the bar and have a few drinks. She sincerely believed that Keldorn would dismiss him if he caught the younger man drinking again. And she wouldn't even intervene. This raid was a sobering reminder that she, and all of them, needed to stay sharp. Which meant less drinking for her, as well.

Entering the dining room, she saw her sister sitting up in her pallet, her red hair mussed and partially obscuring her face. The girl glanced up at her as she walked in, then immediately looked down at her lap.

"Good morning, sleepy head," Rana said gently, pouring herself and Imoen a cup of coffee each.

"Is it morning? What day is it?"

"It's mid-afternoon. You've been out since just before dawn."

"Oh…" she replied, slightly confused. "Look, sis, I'm so, so, sorry-"

"Stop. Im, there's nothing to be sorry for. You were right. I should have been there. I also should have been helping you control the taint. What happened wasn't your fault-"

"Yes, it was, Rana. You can't keep shouldering the blame for everything. This was my fuck up. I felt the taint trying to use me. I heard Bhaal's voice. And I made the choice to use that spell. No, you weren't there and you should have been. But we both know that if you had known we were gonna get ambushed, you would have been. This is my guilt to bear, Rana."

"You still couldn't have known how much stronger that spell was going to be-"

"STOP IT!"

Rana flinched at the sudden scream of fury.

"You don't always get to take responsibility for everything! And you're not going to do it anymore when it comes to the choices I make! And don't think for a second that you do this out of love for me or anything like that. You try and take the blame for shit like this so you don't feel as guilty for the shit you do! Like absorbing my mistakes is gonna somehow make me forget your own! Godsdamnit, Rana, how am I supposed to learn and grow and move on when you keep swooping down to pluck up my bad decisions before I can even understand what I did wrong and how I can avoid doing it again in the future?"

On the surface, Rana knew her sister was right. Just beneath that, her heart ached at the thought of Imoen suffering with something that she wasn't allowed to help with. And deeper down, she knew that part of the reason she did this was so that she wouldn't have to focus on her own mistakes. Dealing with her sister's pain was something Rana could do. Wanted to do. Dealing with her own…

"Imoen, I want you to walk away from this war as intact and whole as you were the day you snuck out of Candlekeep to follow Gorion and me. If that means more blood on my soul, then so be it. A little more can't possibly matter at this point. At least let me help you control it. This is something I absolutely should have been doing since that Earthquake spell at the hot springs."

"You mean where I woke up the earth elemental that killed Mazzy? Yeah, Rana, I hate to break it to ya, but that wasn't the beginning. Not by a long shot. I've been dealing with this a lot longer than you think."

"If that's true then why haven't you said anything before?" Rana demanded. "Why didn't I notice it any sooner?"

"Because I've already been working on controlling it. That's why I never asked you for help. I've been managing it on my own. No, I don't have it totally down, but neither do you."

"How long then?" She asked incredulously.

She could feel herself growing angrier. If Imoen was trying to bullshit her into letting this go, she was going to be in for a rude awakening. There was just no way this could have been going on longer than a few months. For whatever reason, the taint had been slow in developing within her sister, allowing it to go entirely undetected until Irenicus discovered it and revealed what she was in Spellhold. Imoen had told her about the Bhaal dreams, that they had started after arriving in Saradush.

"Imoen, how long?" She asked again when the girl didn't answer.

"Since Khalid."

A sickening feeling began spreading in her stomach, writhing and burning like a fiery serpent, and she knew that what she was about to hear would haunt her.

"What do you mean 'since Khalid'?"

"I… I always tried to fight back when Irenicus came for me. Even though it was pointless, ya know? He'd bind my magic, but not my hands. No, he wanted me to still be able to use those. At first, he'd just make me watch. He'd make a cut and explain what I was looking at. I tried not to see, but he would keep doing it. Over and over, cutting again and again, until I found myself unable to look away."

"Imoen…" Rana whispered, her voice shaking. "What does this have to do with Khalid?"

"Irenicus told me what I was. There in that dark room. With the jars. I'd known I was a bhaalspawn before we ever escaped to the surface. I'm sorry I never told you that. He… woke it up? The taint? And it would take over every time he pressed the scalpel into my hands. At first, I cried and pleaded with him not to make me do it. He never listened, though. Once I'd started making the cuts… they were so pretty. The symmetry. I didn't notice how many I'd made, or how deep, and how much I'd peeled away to reveal what was underneath, until there was hardly anything left. Irenicus said I played too rough and so we had to throw Khalid out. He was ruined. We couldn't fix him back up so I could keep cutting."

Oh, gods…

"He… Irenicus made you kill Khalid?"

A wave of nausea had her pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. The memory of what was left of a once strong, noble man, lying discarded and forgotten on a table, his body so mutilated it had taken them all a moment to piece together what they were looking at… that memory was almost serene compared to the truth behind what had actually happened to him.

"No. He wasn't supposed to die. Irenicus just wanted me to practice making the cuts on him. I got carried away. Cut, cut, peel. Cut, cut, peel. The taint made me feel so calm, so focused, that after awhile, I forgot who it was I was working on. At least Irenicus never actually followed through on his idea to make me work on you. I don't think I could have made the cuts as pretty as he did with the ones on your back."

Rana staggered away from her sister, not aware of the tears on her cheeks or the way Rook was hissing at Imoen from his perch on her shoulders. The girl didn't seem to take any notice, her eyes stared unseeing, unblinking, at the far wall as she continued speaking.

"I'm sorry, Rana. I didn't want to tell you about Khalid cause I knew how upset you'd be with me. And Jaheira was so sad. I still hear her crying at night sometimes. She must not realize that I keep my bedroom window open and she likes to sit at the tree beneath it and talk to Khalid like he's still here. You really should be nicer to her. She's still so sad."

"Fucking Hells, Imoen…"

The girl finally blinked and looked at her.

"Rana… I'm so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I keep getting lost inside my head, like just now, and I'm scared I'm never gonna find my way back out. Or, when I do, I'll have done something horrible. Like with… with… Khalid. Oh gods, Rana, I'm so scared!"

She wanted to go to her sister and comfort her, but she stood frozen in place. Something scratched at the back of her mind, another memory trying to surface. It was somehow tied to what Imoen had confessed, and the flashbacks Sarevok had accidentally triggered with torturing the drow.

It scratched harder, clawing its way up, and the only thing Rana knew for certain was that it would shove her over the brink into madness if she saw it.

Another hard scratch, this time across her cheek, and the shocking sting of it forced the memory back down. Turning her head, she looked at Rook, who was puffed up to nearly twice his size, his thick gray fur bristling and his green eyes wide and dilated as he took another swipe at her. She pulled him down from her shoulder and curled him into her chest, but it took him a moment to relax enough to start purring.

"Sissy, you're bleeding," Imoen whispered, pointing at the three bright red lines across Rana's cheekbone.

"I'm fine," she replied numbly, absently swiping at the marks with her sleeve.

"Are you mad at me?"

"What? How could I be mad?"

"I butchered Khalid, Rana."

The anguish in her sister's voice, coupled with the burning claw marks, finally prodded her into action. Sitting down beside her, she set Rook in her lap, freeing up her arms so she could wrap them around her.

"It's not your fault, love. Irenicus and Bhaal pull our strings, so there's only so much we can blame ourselves for. I want to say that the right thing to do is harness that pain and anger and use it in some kind of good way, but I think we both know those words would be hollow coming from me at this point. I knew he'd done things to you, but I thought… I hoped, it wasn't anything so bad as what he did to me."

"Is this where you tell me what all happened? Some more of those secrets that you promised you wouldn't keep from me anymore?"

"Imoen…"

"I just told you that I'm responsible for killing Khalid, Jaheira's lifemate. Rana, please, it can't hurt any worse than that."

"Why would you want the added pain?"

"Because I shared mine with you, and now it's your turn to share yours with me. So we can heal together."

"Some wounds don't heal."

"All wounds heal eventually. Some with time. And some only when you rip them back open so you can cut away the rot. Rana, please, just tell me."

Rana sat there several long moments, her heart pounding in time with Rook's purrs. The kitten sprawled on the legs of both women, looking up at them with quiet, loving acceptance, and perhaps encouragement. Or perhaps Rana really had gone insane.

Gently, she scratched the tiny creature beneath his chin, marveling at the fact that he was only here because Sarevok had gone out, caught him, and brought him to her. She wanted to reach out to him, needed to feel that arrogance and raw strength, to remind herself she wasn't alone, that she had an aegisess yet again. She didn't though. For obvious reasons.

And this was something she needed to do alone, with her sister.

"Rana?"

"He… raped me."

She felt Imoen stiffen in her arms, felt her stop breathing for a few seconds as those three words hit her. Then, Rana felt her slide her arms around her tightly.

She found herself praying that Imoen wouldn't reply; terrified that she would say "Me, too". The prayer grew in her mind, that she wouldn't hear those words, and she became so focused on it that she didn't notice the steady stream of tears falling down her face, or her shoulder slowly dampening with Imoen's tears.

Both women remained silent. Sitting there on the floor, holding one another, with Rook's purrs, and the occasional sob, breaking the quiet. Neither knew how long they were there, and neither felt the need to explain when Haer'Dalis entered the room, saw them, and went to sit behind them, enfolding both in his arms.

Sarevok

Rana struggled against the leather straps wrapped around her wrists and her ankles. They were too thick, too tight, but she couldn't not struggle.

That momentary relief she'd felt when Irenicus released her from her cage and brought her to the table, binding her ankles together rather than around her thighs to hold them open, had been snuffed out when she saw him turn to his accoutrements.

It was no longer a matter of which was worse, rape or torture. She was always relieved it wasn't one, then immediately sick with fear when it was the other.

"That's quite enough of that," Irenicus said, swirling a vial of liquid as he approached her head. "I can't have you moving while I work. Trust me, godchild, this will be much worse if I slip."

Prying her mouth open, he dumped the liquid down her throat, then turned back to his workstation. She wanted to spit the vile stuff out, but the moment it touched her tongue, and her esophagus, her face began to rapidly go numb.

Like a wave of ice, the effect spread down her body, tingling along her nerves, until it reached her toes. Then it began spreading back up, this time heating her blood, feeling almost nice, like being submerged in a warm bath on a cold day. It was only when she tried to move again, did she understand what the serum had done.

A small, anguished sound escaped her throat, the only thing she could produce, and Irenicus glanced back at her.

"Ah, good. I gave you enough to keep you still throughout the procedure, but should it begin to wear off before I'm done, I would recommend trying not to move. Unfortunately, while the elixir is a paralytic, it does not inhibit pain or discomfort. I would apologize for that, but this exercise serves a dual purpose. One, to further my studies in what makes you tick, how quickly your divine blood reacts to stimuli and kicks in to protect you, your rate of healing, and so on. And two, I'm fresh out of nararoot."

Sarevok tried to wake, to pull himself from the dream, or sever the connection of their soul somehow.

She was dreaming those flashbacks he'd inadvertently given her when he was torturing the drow. He'd seen just enough to recognize this was the same. He knew she had been tortured, and cut open; that the rape was only a part of what had happened in that dark place. If her previous dreams had taught him anything though, it was that knowing and seeing were two very different things. And the mention of nararoot was an alarming enough hint of what was about to transpire in this one.

He wanted to call out to her. But he couldn't. He wanted to try and insert himself in the dream somehow and cut Irenicus down. But he couldn't do that either. The helplessness of not being able to do anything other than watch was infuriating.

He knew what it felt like to be completely at the mercy of another, to be unable to fight back. It was an all too familiar feeling when he was an urchin, and when he was being raised by Rieltar. Not being able to escape the abuse.

To feel it through Rana, though, was somehow worse than those times. He'd never been paralyzed, or bound this way. At least, not while he was alive.

White hot agony cut across her abdomen, and Rana choked as she struggled to scream, needing some way to vent that kind of pain. From one hip bone to the other, a thin line of fire blazed across her skin.

Her gorge rose as she realized she couldn't even shut her eyes, to block out the sight of Irenicus bent over her, peeling away something just out of sight. Her mind wouldn't allow her to acknowledge that it was her flesh.

She prayed for the sweet relief of unconsciousness. And perhaps some deity took pity on her and granted her wish, because she began to notice irregularities in how the mage was positioned, the bloodied tools on a side table, and the sudden appearance of a bottle of troll's blood. She seemed to drift between moments, which gave the illusion of time speeding up, but it was too disorienting for Rana to appreciate.

At some point, she must have vomited, because the acrid smell of it suddenly permeated her senses, and her head was turned to the side.

"Can't have you choking, now. Not when we're almost finished."

The room swirled, and she began to pray for death instead, hoping this prayer would be answered as well. It wasn't.

"Here we are. It's not every day you get to see what lies beneath. Take a look."

His hand, sticky with blood, turned her face to look at what he held in his other hand. It wasn't recognizable as anything she'd seen before. She saw only a glistening dark red something before he deposited it into a nearby bowl.

"There. Nothing to worry about now. Perhaps, in a couple of weeks, I'll have some more nararoot, and this won't be necessary to perform again. If not, I'm afraid I'm going to have to go in and remove your womb again. Fear not though, godchild, troll's blood will restore what I took. Let us hope that doesn't run out, either."

Hot tears coursed down the sides of her face and didn't stop until well after he finished stitching her up. He'd given her so much healing draught over the course of her imprisonment that she'd developed a tolerance to it, so that the concoction didn't restore as it should. It would take her many months for it to work right on her again.

Irenicus never got any more nararoot, an herb commonly used as contraceptive. Four more times he performed that same vivisection. Two of those times he used no paralytic. He began to run low on troll's blood, and with each smaller dose, that dark red mass that he pulled from her belly was smaller, and more misshapen.

Eventually, her mind began to shield her from what it was she was seeing, blurring the shape and Irenicus's running monologue until all that remained was the memory of the pain, and the anguish of a loss she couldn't fully comprehend.

The dream, however, laid bare the horrible truth about what happened on that operating table. About how these particular cuts weren't being done to obtain samples, or create aesthetically pleasing scars.

They were being done to prevent, or even destroy, any potential pregnancies.

"Life… is strength," Irenicus's voice echoed one last time through the dream.

Sarevok sat up in bed, the sheets sticking to his skin, his chest heaving.

He was dimly aware that it was early morning, and that just before waking, he could feel Rana plummeting into madness, with the Slayer rising to meet her.

Barely taking the time to dress, he threw open his bedroom door and ran to hers.

Locked.

Hysterical sobs could be heard from within, suddenly drowned out by the sound of breaking glass. Sarevok threw his shoulder into the door, almost roaring with frustration when it didn't burst open. Taking a step back, he threw his weight against it again, and while the heavy wood creaked and split in several places, it held fast.

"Rana, open the door!"

The sound of glass tinkling together, then being dragged across the floor made his blood run cold.

"I have a key!"

Turning, he saw Chauntia racing up the stairs, pulling at a bundle of keys, her hands shaking wildly as she fumbled for the right one.

Rook yowled angrily from the other side of the door, and it goaded him into throwing his soul against hers, trying to somehow find out what was happening inside.

"HURRY!"

The anguish, the pain, the fury, all of it was being enhanced by the taint and fanned by the Slayer as it rose up to overthrow the vessel it was trapped inside, feeding off the torrent of negative emotions, gaining strength as it pushed to take control while she was weakened.

She gave no resistance to his intrusion upon her mind. And what he saw made him realize just how close he was to losing her. She didn't even realize he was there, couldn't comprehend anything beyond battling the Slayer, while also fending off the horror of the dream. Throwing his will between her and the creature, he tried to force it back. Only when it began to tear into his thoughts, shredding his half of their soul, did Rana finally take notice and sever the link between them, pushing him out.

The click of the door unlocking jarred him back to himself, but he didn't have the presence of mind to turn the handle before pushing to open it. The Chultan girl did, however, and they both stumbled into the room, and froze at what was inside.

Because of the chaos inside her head, he'd expected to find Rana writhing on the floor, or even destroying the room. She was on her knees in the middle of the room, one hand clutching a jagged shard of bloodied glass, and her other hanging limply in her lap, one long gash across a wrist, pumping out lifeblood.

Her eyes smoldered with red-gold fire, her teeth were bared in a snarl, and her canines had lengthened. She was looking at them, but it was obvious she wasn't seeing them, her glassy gaze was focused inward, seeing things only she could see.

Chauntia was the first to move, edging further into the room, reaching out toward the other woman. Rana's eyes suddenly focused, and her grip on the glass tightened until more blood trickled over it's surface. Sluggishly, she raised the glass to her other wrist and held it there, making the Chultan pause. When she tried to take another step, Rana hissed, and the glass began biting into her skin.

"Stop," he growled at the girl. "Take the cat and get out."

Rook perched on the dresser, back arched, fur bristled, eyes locked on Rana, and hadn't evinced any reaction to their entry.

"But-"

"If you take another step, she'll sever the other vein. Now GET. OUT."

Chauntia eased back, her wide eyes locked on Rana, and slowly shuffled toward the dresser. Snatching up the kitten, she backed away toward the door.

"Lock it behind you. Fetch the drow, but if any of the others have been roused, keep them out. If she changes, I can keep her distracted long enough for the house to be cleared, so listen for my yell."

"Ch-changes, my lord?"

He'd seen things far worse than the Slayer while he was in Hell. Even so, watching someone you know, someone you… care for… become a monster stays with you. And, while the girl had strength, more than he'd previously assumed, seeing how quickly she rallied herself to go to Rana's aid, he did not doubt that seeing the transformation would send the girl and her father running as far and as fast as they could away from here.

If she even survived long enough for the Slayer to win control, that is. If she didn't bleed out into a pile of ash before that.

"Go, girl. She won't want you seeing her like this. Or what lurks beneath."

"She broke the mirror over her dresser," Chauntia said from the door. "She did the same to the one in her bathroom a few days ago. I thought it was an accident. I know what it was she saw now. She cares for you… please, my lord, help her."

The girl left before he could respond, locking the door behind her. He didn't know what to say anyway, as he already knew why the mirrors affected Rana so badly. Why she hadn't broken this one before, he didn't know. Maybe she had been trying to move past it.

I know what it was she saw now.

It wasn't just her face she despised, he realized. It was the physical manifestations of the taint, the constant reminder of what waited just behind her eyes, and around a few shadowed corners of her mind. The reminder that she didn't have dominion over the body she was born into.

Too many thoughts warred and clashed inside his mind. None that he could follow right now, though he felt like he was on the verge of sliding a few more puzzle pieces into place. He knew he needed to understand, to be able to empathise, if he was going to get them both out of this alive.

"Rana…"

Slowly he stepped toward her. She watched him, completely unaware of the blood beginning to pool on her knees and the wood beneath them from her lacerated hand and wrist. She let him closer than she had Chauntia, before flexing the glass closer to the vein once more.

She looked almost alien. Her features were starker, more pronounced. Those high cheekbones were sharper. Her eyes were more vivid, the color shifting like embers in a hearthfire. The elongated canines made her appear savage, more demon than elf.

"My dhaer-"

"Stay back!"

Her voice was sepulchral and yet guttural. As if the force needed to pass the words up through her throat required far more work than normal. The color in her eyes wavered, though, the amber gleaming through the flames for just a second.

"Put down the glass, Rana."

Another step closer, followed by a hiss and a deeper cut. Two more steps and he would be within range.

I won't let it have me, her voice rang out in his mind. I won't let it have you. So stay back, damn you!

"I'm not going anywhere. Tell me what to do and I'll help you fight this."

I ALREADY TOLD YOU! LEAVE!

"Leave so you can finish killing yourself to keep the Slayer from slaughtering everyone? You think I give a damn about them?!"

You give a damn about yourself. More than anything else. And right now, Sarevok, you'll be the first to die if it takes over. And it will. It got too close before I could start pushing back.

"Then let me help you."

A shudder ran through her body, and for a moment, he thought it might be too late. Her muscles tensed, her hand bleeding profusely as it clenched the shard, and he could see the crimson begin to smoke, just a little.

Rana…

He took another step, using her distraction to close more distance between them.

Please, Sarevok… I don't want to wake up among the corpses of the only people I had left in this world. I can't hold it back much longer. It's too strong. You have to let me go.

"I lost you once, when Gorion tore us apart. I lost you twice, right after I remembered you, when I died. I will not lose you again!"

Please… she sobbed, her body shaking from the effort of fighting the change.

When she shut her eyes, just for a moment, to let the tears spill over so that she could see clearly, he made his move.

Lunging forward, he knocked her onto her back and grabbed her wrist, simultaneously applying pressure to the cut and to wrest the glass away. He squeezed to make her open her hand. The shard didn't fall. She had gripped it so tightly that it was imbedded in her hand, her blood coagulating around it to seal it there.

Claws raked his side as she attempted to shove him off her. The pain surprised him, her unholy strength surprised him even more, but he ignored his injury and used his far greater size and weight to pin her down, knowing he would suffer far worse if she completed the transformation.

Snatching the glass with his other hand, he threw it across the room, snarling at another forceful blow from her lengthened nails, this time across his forearm. He wrapped his hands around both her wrists, securing them on either side of her head, and just barely trapping her legs in time with his own before her knee could connect with his groin.

He looked down at her, breathing heavily, the blood from his wounds dripping down to mingle with her own, and prepared for the next battle.

Reaching out with his half, he touched against their shared soul and began pouring his strength into hers, reinforcing her resistance against the Slayer's uprising.

It didn't go down without a fight. Several minutes passed like this, punctuated with sudden bursts of fury and enhanced strength that nearly dislodged him from restraining her. Twice, her teeth nearly sank into his throat.

He couldn't afford to distract himself with the details of what he saw and felt while their halves were joined. It was impossible not to notice, though, the blur of emotions, memories, and thoughts. Not to feel Rana's horror as the memory of being tied down by Irenicus warred with the reality of being held down by Sarevok.

Then don't showcase the similarities, she had warned him during the raid, when she had compared him to the mage. Sarevok hadn't listened to her, choosing to ignore the truth of those words, refusing to even consider if there was any truth to them.

Now, after seeing everything, the full extent of what had been done to her, and why, he had to acknowledge why she would throw that kind of statement at him.

Irenicus had wanted her soul. To possess her divine strength. To exact revenge on the ones who had dared punish him for the crimes he'd committed in his pursuit of power. He'd violated Rana's body in the meantime, using her as a placeholder for the woman who had wronged him. Doing what he pleased until the time came to steal her power. He had been more than willing to extinguish an entire city, and much more than that, to obtain what he desired.

If anything, she had understated the similarities.

How does she stand to let me touch her?

That thought stung. Not only because of the amount of trust it required of Rana to even so much as let him anywhere near her, but because she already knew of his ulterior motives behind wanting her. She knew and she still allowed it. Still wanted him despite the similarities.

Before now, the only problems he'd prepared for in pursuing any kind of relationship with her were the arguments over ascension. Trying to convince her of it while manipulating her emotions and feelings regarding him.

He realized now that he may not even live through seducing her. If he did anything to trigger more flashbacks, or more repressed memories, she could panic and lash out, even invite the Slayer as she'd done at the hot springs. If he hurt her while he took her body, a very real possibility considering his size and strength, she may never want him close to her again. If she didn't just kill him outright, intentionally or otherwise.

Eventually, the tremors subsided, the attempts to overpower him stopped, and her features smoothed back to normal.

"Are you all right?" He asked, looking down at her, his arms shaking from exhaustion.

"Please get off me," she whispered, turning her face to the side and closing her eyes.

When he tried to unwrap his hands from around her wrists, the dried blood made it difficult, and the gash began bleeding anew. Moving off of her, he tore a strip of cloth from his shirt and reached for her hand to bandage it.

She jerked away before he could touch her, cradling her bleeding wrist to her chest, and weakly sat up, just as exhausted, if not more so, than he was.

"What's wrong?"

Rana looked at him and started to laugh.

"What's wrong? Are you serious?"

"Look, Rana, I-"

"Yesterday, I learned that Irenicus forced Imoen to dissect Khalid," Rana spoke over him, cutting him off. "And the taint caused her to damage him beyond repair. You tortured a drow without so much as a twinge of regret or a second thought. Both these things caused me to remember my own dissection and torture, and forced me to again accept the fact that I'm barren because of it. I knew why I was, but I was blissfully unaware of the details of why. No longer. And then, before I can even fully wake up from that dream, the Slayer tries to ambush me. I had to make a decision, to die and save all of you, or be defeated by the Slayer and hope a few of you were still alive when I came back. Assuming I could even wrest control away from it, that is, since that's not a guarantee. So NO! I am NOT alright! And EVERYTHING is wrong!"

She staggered to her feet, having to catch herself on the dresser nearby to keep from falling.

"Viconia!"

The door clicked as it was unlocked, then opened, and the cleric entered the room, with Chauntia hovering in the doorway.

Wordlessly, the drow approached the smaller elven woman and examined her wounds.

"I can heal your wrist, but your hand will take some time to mend completely. You severely damaged the nerve endings. You'll be without feeling in it for awhile, and it will most likely scar."

"What's a few more?" She laughed bitterly.

Viconia studied her for a long moment, then looked at Sarevok, her face unreadable.

"I'm also going to recommend you go back to sleep. I know that may be difficult, so I can knock you out if you'd like me to."

"Please."

Nodding, the drow cast her spells, healing the cuts in Rana's hand and wrist. When she was done, she helped her to bed, and murmured a Command incantation, which instantly put her to sleep.

"Your turn, jaluk."

He'd almost forgotten about his own injuries. Glancing down, he saw they were worse than he'd thought, and had been steadily bleeding this whole time. No doubt contributing to his weariness, along with the energy expended holding an empowered Rana down while simultaneously battling the Slayer within their soul.

"I would applaud your efforts at keeping the Slayer at bay, but it seems you are incapable of doing anything good without immediately undermining yourself. I hope you enjoyed your time with her just before the drow raid, Sarevok, as that may very well be the last time you get to have her."

He waited until his wounds were healed before he responded.

"How much did you hear?"

"All of it. I heard Rana's sobs and got here just as the servant locked you inside with her. I waited to see if you could handle the situation, and if you couldn't, I was prepared to either intervene and try and heal her, or throw up a Protection from Evil barrier to keep her contained. Lucky for you, you're not quite as incompetent as you often appear to be, since I had pretty much decided on locking you in here with the Slayer."

"Watch your tongue, Viconia. If you had any idea what triggered this-"

"Oh, but I do, foolish male. Who do you think examined her to ensure Irenicus hadn't gotten her with child? Her memories of what he'd done to her were so blended and distorted that she couldn't quite remember how badly he ruined her. Until you and Imoen blew the doors wide open. Such a waste. She could have birthed powerful daughters in the future if not for that madman."

"You don't wish for her to ascend? To become a goddess? How many years of faithful service have you provided her? Do you not wish to be rewarded?"

"Gods, you really are just as stupid as the rest of your misbegotten gender. I have already pledged myself to Shar, what need do I have of another goddess? And, as much as it may irritate me to admit this aloud to you, I owe that girl much and more. If she does not wish to ascend, then that is her choice. I will continue to serve her regardless of what paths she chooses to walk."

"How did she come to inspire such devotion in a drow? I have learned enough of the ranger to understand his reasoning, but your motivations remain a mystery."

Viconia looked past him to Rana, her haughty mask slipping for just a second, revealing a tired, somewhat sad, woman beneath.

"Drow houses rise and fall by the leadership of their Matron Mothers. If they are strong and clever, their families will prosper. If not, they will die, paving the way for the more worthy. Weaknesses like mercy, and… love, will get you killed. I know this firsthand. Being on the surface is just as dangerous for a female who has shown weakness as it is being in the Underdark. At least it was. Until I found a Matron who was not only strong and clever, but also devoted and open minded enough to save a drow, not once but twice."

Viconia turned and walked to the door, then stopped and looked back at him once more.

"You are, perhaps, the only male here that is worthy of her. The only one who understands the darkness inside of her, and accepts it. But if you continue to put your own desires ahead of hers, then I will have to admit I was wrong. I do not like having to admit that. And I will be wroth. It's time to decide, son of Bhaal, what matters more to you: Rana... or the scraps of power tossed to you by a goddess. You cannot have both. To possess one, you must relinquish the other. Rana would not be Rana if she wanted godhood. The things that keep her grounded here with the rest of us will have to die for that to happen. Everything that makes her her will have to change. And Sarevok, a female version of you is far less endearing than our current Rana."

He stood in that bedroom long after the drow left and Chauntia had already come and gone to clean up the glass and blood. His gaze often returned to Rana, watching the rise and fall of her chest, searching for any signs of another nightmare. He didn't dare intrude inside her head again, nor did he seek out his own bed to sleep, not willing to risk enduring another one of her dreams.

Rook lightly patted at his shins with a paw, mewing softly, but insistently, until he finally reached down to scoop the tiny creature up in one hand. The kitten looked at him, purring softly, then at Rana, before curling against his chest and falling asleep.

It was only when he heard the voices of the others, returned from town or a watch, that he moved to the bed and laid Rook down on the pillow beside Rana's head.

Looking down at her, he thought of all he'd seen.

The dreams.

The revelations.

The secrets.

He thought of their conversations. And the one he'd had with Viconia.

He thought of their past. Of protecting her from her mother and the High Priest Jorval. Of the two of them standing in defiance against any who would come between them.

He thought of the way she'd looked up at him a few nights ago, in this very bed, and allowed him to touch her, taste her, and, if they hadn't been interrupted, take her.

He thought of the way she looked at him when he reached for her, the way she recoiled.

He thought of the power he could wield with her as his goddess, her right hand, and found the appeal had begun to wane.

Because in order for that to happen, she would have to ascend. She would be gone.

"Everything that makes her her will have to change."

Sarevok turned to leave, but something atop the mantle of her fireplace caught his eye. When he approached and saw what it was, he couldn't even muster the energy to act surprised. No longer could he ignore Fate's little nudges.

Picking up the delicate circle of silver, he examined the ring he'd given her in Candlekeep.

He had a lot to think about.