Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

Mercy...


Ithilwen arrives late in the village. She walks directly to her rooms without giving much attention to any who would address her. Her cold demeanor seems even colder than normal. Once in her rooms she wards the doors and stays in for the rest of the night and the next day.

Following the arrival of a large, pitch black bat, the dark figure of Archmage Kael of the fallen Kalinor emerges from the shadows of the forest, stepping into the Dharashan glade as he lowers his face mask under the watchful eye of the rangers. He barely acknowledges their presence, as Ithilwen forges on towards her room leaving a deep winter chill in the air as she walks by. Narrowing his eyes, the archwizard proceeds to follow her with the aim to knock on her door, using his endless magical expertise to...try not to get killed by anything she might have warded the area with...

Shortly after he touches the wards with his magical gift, an icy voice sounds from the other side of the door.
''I know you are there... You do realize those wards are there for a reason? To keep...people...out...''

From outside the door, she can hear the familiar muttering of blasphemies in some dead dialect of a deader language, before he replies: "Good...good...keeping people out is a respectable practice, I do it all the time. However, I am not people, therefore I am coming in. Don't make me dispel your wards...

It remains silent for a long moment. Just as he is about to attempt to dispel the wards, the blue glow fades slowly from the door. A muttering from the other side can be heard containing the words ''stubborn'' and ''archmages''.

Sighing heavily, he takes a look around to gauge the Dharashan folk's reactions, and then he pushes the door open with his right hand after the briefest hesitation.

"Good day to you, dear! I could not help but notice your rather foul mood... Is there anything you wish to share? Anything I may be able to help with?


''Shut the door...''
It remains silent once more after those three chilling words. She sits on the ground in front of the window. She then turns towards Kael, her eyes cold with a hint of rage for the keen observer. ''Foul mood? By the Seldarine I have no idea what you are talking about... I...am the embodiment of sunshine and rainbows.'' Her voice sounds flat as she turns back and stares out of the window.

"Really? Well, I cannot really say I possess the keen eye of Mendel, but when you pass by the village and flowers freeze in a warm day, even I can tell something is off...You will save your time, and most importantly mine, if you tell me what is going on right now...

As he speaks in a sardonic tone, he waves a hand almost casually and the door closes behind him.

Ithilwen turns towards him abruptly. ''Save your time? Save your time... then why would you come in here in the first place? Did I ask you to come in? Save your time and leave...''

"I said save time, not give up. You know what you mean to me, and you know I will not leave..."
He glides towards her, slowly, his left arm gently touching her shoulder as his glove already begins to freeze
"Talk to me. Whatever it is, it's better shared than kept inside, evidently..."

She sighs. ''I just had a rough day. A giant red dragon decided to land on me.'' A slight chuckle escapes her which causes a jolt of pain searing through her. Her hand moves to the left side of her ribcage. She grimaces. ''The odds of that...'' After a short pause she continues. ''I...almost killed someone today....Someone I considered a friend.''

"I take it the Dragon part is a joke, because if it isn't, tell me where it happened and I will bring you dragon soup for the evening dinner. The latter, however, is far more complicated..."

He sits beside her, ice crystals already forming on his black mantle and hood, puffs of smoke escaping his bloodless lips as he speaks close to her ear:

"Tell me everything" he whispered, almost inaudible. Outside, Nightwing was preparing for his dusk to dawn hunting session, circling the homestead...

More questions...




The stars stood bright in the cold, clear sky. Not a gust of wind, no cloud floating by. All was silent in the middle of the night, high up the Cloudpeak mountains. A soft, humming, pulsating sound broke the silence then, even if barely noticeable. A soft blue glow broke through the fresh snow on the frozen floor. It increased in brightness until a blue beam of energy shot up, vanishing in the cold darkness of the night sky. Silence returned, as if nothing ever happened.

Ithilwen moved to the location where the blue light had appeared. She placed her hand on the snow. She spread her fingers, then dug the tips in the snow. A soft blue glow appeared once more. She muttered some words in the arcane language and for a short moment the light increased, to fade shortly after. She sighed and stood up, walking away as she only left the slightest of footprints.

She looked around the cave she had entered. There was no sign anyone had walked there in recent times. Before moving deeper into the cave she took a hand full of snow from the entrance and shaped it in the form of a small ball. She touched it with her gift, the little ball started to hover in front of her. After whispering some words to it, the little hovering globe started to emit a blueish light. Just enough for her elven eyes to see the inner cave emerge in front of her. A lonely frozen chair and table stood against the wall, ice hanging over it. No-one had used it for years. A small cooking area, mostly empty shelves, some chests, pots, pans and other house equipment. All covered under a layer of ice and frost. It was obvious nothing had been touched for quite some time.

The signs had not told her anything yet. She had placed many. If he was in the area he must have noticed them and send her a message. This place didn't seem to provide any more answers either. A place she had once called home. She had not been here for decades but perhaps he had. She decided to follow the path, meandering down, deeper into the cave. Up ahead the path divided itself in three but she remembered the road she had walked many times, years ago. Many turns followed, many cracks and different corridors. A maze for someone not familiar with the area, but not to her. She walked on until the path lead into a small chamber. Iced stalagmites and stalactites adorned the little bubble at the edges, leaving only a small open place in the middle. She moved towards it and wiped away some of the frost. A piece of dark blue cloth pierced through the ice. Once a warm and soft blanket looked now stiff, frozen over and ragged.

"Hold still! Try not to tense your muscles, fight the natural reaction of your body. Just let it happen. Feel the cold taking over. Let it form a shield around you!" But it didn't matter how hard she tried. The shivering became uncontrollable, her muscles did not listen to her mind at all. How long did she sit here? Candlemarks? She had the feeling her teeth would shatter out of her mouth soon if she had to go on like this. "I...I...Can't...Itt.t.ts too C,c,c...Cold" He took a dark blue blanket and threw it towards her. "Stand up, it was better than last time... But not nearly good enough. Keep on practicing. You need to have this down before we can go on with your training." He walked away slowly. She could swear she heard dissapointment in his voice.

A small smile appeared on her lips as she touched the remnants of the blanket. The memory still fresh in her mind. No longer did she have any trouble with it. The cold was now hers...a friend, an ally, a force at her command. She let out a sigh. Where had he gone to? She lifted herself from the central spot. There was nothing for her here but old memories. As she walked out of the room her eye fell on a piece of parchment, just behind one of the stalagmites. It seemed as if it was ripped out of a journal. There was handwriting on it she recognized as his.

She knows I'm here. I might be too late but so is she. The girl is far away now. Hopefully out of her reach, forever. I taught her all I knew. I hope it is enough. Her gift is strong and it will be her curse. If she ever finds out she won't rest until she has her. Of that I am certain. Jay, if you read this it will be too late for me. You know what you must put in play. She will want to -

The paper had been cut right through that sentence. It was all she could read. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat. Her eyes scanned the parchment again and again. This was Aza's handwriting, of that she was certain. Was she the girl mentioned? Who was 'she' and who was Jay? In all her years with her teacher, he never had any friends visiting him. Or anyone visiting at all for that matter...

What, in the Seldarine's name, was going on?!

It is dark outside as Ithilwen returns to her chambers. In one hand, the piece of parchment she had brought back with her. After closing the door and throwing her mantle aside, she reads it over and over again. She sits down on the cold floor of her chambers. Her familiar spot right under the window. She glances out over the village that seems to rest under the night sky. A smile appears on her lips at the sight. Her home, her people now. She was theirs and they were hers. She did gain here...then lost, then found back once again...

She found him too...

She lets out a sigh as she stands up and walks over to her desk. She closes her eyes and concentrates to touch a trickle of her gift. A piece of parchment with a quill float towards her. She stares at the parchment and the quill hoovers over it, moving, forming words.

Kael, my love.

I write you these words so you will not be worried. I have to search for something. I do not know how long this will take or if I return with what I seek at all. I might be away for a few days.

Yours,

Ithilwen.

The letter folds itself in the air and she lets it float out of that same window. towards its destination.

At first light, the First Mage can be seen leaving the tranquil village. No emotion shows on her frozen face as she nods to the last of the rangers who guard the elven settlement. A white flash engulfs her, and as the light dissipates, the elven maiden has vanished with it.

The Search...

He once more unrolled the parchment with his gloved hands, and read the message. And again. The rock boulders kept raining around him, some even crashing against his wards, but he seemed not to mind. All that existed was the parchment, and its content:

Solaris wrote: Kael, my love.

I write you these words so you will not be worried. I have to search for something. I do not know how long this will take or if I return with what I seek at all. I might be away for a few days.

Yours,

Ithilwen.

The cold wind coming from the Cloud Peaks lifted his black mantle. He raised his masked chin, his emerald eyes scanning the mountains in the distance, his mind wandering. The boulders were more frequent now, and more accurate. He whispered something, moving a hand as an afterthought and a large rock aimed straight at his head was pulverized and subsequently blown away by the same wind tugging at his cowl.

The Hill Giants had gathered a critical mass, and were now charging towards him with large spiked clubs the size of tree trunks. Perhaps they were tree trunks. Still, he paid them no heed. He was already in the kind of trance every mage knew full well, invoking in his mind the arcane formulas, speaking the words of power in forgotten languages written in time-eaten tomes, and tracing in the air the glyphs of power required for spells of the complexity of the one he was casting.
A dark mist enveloped him, cracking with arcane energy. The first Giant reaching him was also the first one to regret it: his oversized cudgel met a steely-muscled forearm, and splintered almost as his very head suffered the same fate, when a powerful fist connected with his face.

Seeing their fallen comrade, the other giants accelerated the pace as two red eyes watched them from the dissipating darkness. They were too late. The frail-looking humanoid shape that was their target was gone, leaving a large, dark-skinned Devil in its wake. Roaring with the guttural sounds typical of the Infernal Language, the creature spread its huge bat-like wings and bolted into the air, cutting straight through the closest Giant as it took off in a rain of blood and knocking down two more with the air blast it created. In moments, it was out of sight, flying at supernatural speed towards the Speartop Mountain.

Judging by the eternal, harsh white waste all around him, the ice crystals long as a giant's blade and every bit as sharp and the chilling wind that shaped the Cloud Peaks into what they were, and would keep shaping them as the ages went by, it was not hard to imagine the place was definitely cold and inhospitable. Imagine, because he surely did not feel a thing.

The persistent ward against cold he had woven was extremely powerful, and nothing short of the First Mage's mastery of the element would be able to pierce it. Safe behind his magical bulwark, the black-robed figure studied the mountain once more, blazing green eyes scanning the dark mouth of the cavern all over again, as if waiting for it to speak, to answer his many questions.

The trail of power was leading here, but it was faint, and hard to follow. It had costed him time...too much time. By now, his kin would be engaged in battle against the enemies of Doron Amar. A battle he should have taken part to...He dismissed the thought, angrily. He would apologize later...now, he had problems to solve. Searching this complex of caves was out of the question. It could take days, or months...he absolutely did not have the time. Besides...Traveling from the inside was going to be complicated, if at all possible, therefore he had no intention to venture forth only to get lost and being forced to level the Cloudpeaks to the ground to get out. As he pondered, a weary sigh escaped his pale, thin lips as the solution came to him. Back to basics it was...

As the gate he had opened, seemingly sliced out of thin air, vanished all of a sudden, his emerald gaze met the red eyes of the summoned mastiff: "This is hers. Smell it. Find her. And do not worry about me keeping up...I will know when you do". Oh yes, he would...he only hoped to hear the explosion before the mastiff's pieces started flying towards him...

Ithilwen touched the iced wall of the small chamber within the cave complex. There must be something...some clue as to what happened to him. The message was not complete. Where was the other part? Perhaps it was still around. She had made a sweep of her surroundings multiple times now. There was nothing...no trace but the old iced over furniture, books and artifacts. What had happened here, and most of all... when.

She reread the parchment again. ''The girl is far away now. Hopefully out of her reach, forever.'' This didn't bode well. So he knew of her past all along? Why didn't he tell her before? A splitting headache was forming and she decided to sit down on the iced floor. She felt helpless.

Candlemarks passed as she just sat there, staring at the paper. She heard something then. Something in the distance, scraping on ice...
She stood up rapidly, gathering the shadows around her instantly. She pressed herself against the wall after tugging away the small piece of parchment. The sound came from up ahead the tunnel. There it was again. Scraping, sniffing... Closer this time. Her breathing picked up. ''Steady...steady... slow...'' She whispered to herself. She moved closer to the sound, foot by foot. Another scratchsound on ice, as if nails moved over it. An animal? In here? Normally they don't venture this deep into the cave systems...

She could hear a yelp now, growling and more scratching on the frosted floor as if it was running. A wolf? She moved on towards the sound. Then she saw it around the corner. A mastiff! Sniffing around, running from one corner to the other as it caught a smell, venturing closer and closer. What by the Seldarine was a mastiff doing down here in the mountains? The question lingered only shortly in her mind. The creature was venturing closer and closer...to her!
Ithilwen took a deep breath and gathered her gift. She could feel the energy build up inside her, gliding down her arm as a soft blue glow grew brighter in her hand. The mastiff came closer, was about to turn around the corner where she stood in shadow. She waited only a moment longer until the beast was right in front of her feet, sniffing where there was nothing to be seen. She unleashed some well placed icedarts on the creature. Empowered by her special gift. One dart pierced through its skull, the other through its spine, a third in the middle of its back, killing the beast within a heartbeat.

A cold feeling creeped up along her spine. A dog, was hardly far away from its owner... Immediately she gathered the shadows around her once more. She moved away from the corpse to keep an eye on the tunnel of who or what might follow. Ready to unleash more deadlier magic.

The Search... (part II)



Right when the mastiff's body began to disappear, sent back to its far from enviable plane of existence, a black robed figure glided into the cold chamber. A humanoid figure judging from shape and size, but spectral, as if cloaked in mists and shadows. The sinister, wraith-like being turned towards the location the infernal hound was dispatched, and he began raising his hooded head just as the arcane words were spoken in the darkest corner of the cave, and an immensely powerful Polar Ray was woven right towards it. The being lifted one shadow arm to protect its face, and was frozen solid exactly in that position, subsequently falling down and shattering in countless ice shards scattering across the large room.

The First Mage of Dharasha stepped forth to inspect the catastrophic damage inflicted by her deadly spell in the subsequent silence, when a chuckle came from the entrance of the chamber, just as a large bat flew in and began circling the scene. "Since last time, in the forest, during the Shovotar days, in a situation like this one I received exactly the same treatment and I barely managed to deflect the attack, I thought to take some precautions this time...I hope you don't mind...dear."

The Archmage's voice had an amused tone, as if considering the possibility of his own destruction were some incredibly funny jest. He reflexively dusted himself off and adjusted his sleeves, tightened his gloves and touched his hood before adding, as he slowly moved towards her: "Let us leave aside the fact we are missing the battle for Doron Amar, and even more annoyingly I cannot snatch the life out of all those pesky human mercenaries personally, leaving Mendel all the fun yet again...What are we looking for?" he paused a moment, before raising his glowing emerald gaze towards her: "You...did not think a note like that one would cut it, did you?"

The First Mage stood there, motionless in front of him as her eyes locked with his. A hint of rage hidden in her eyes for the keen observer to find. ''Indeed we did walk this path before and I would have believed you to know when to follow me and when not to by now. Why are you not standing with our brothers and sisters for Doron Amar? That I am not there myself makes me feel angry enough, but both of us missing...'' She shook her head slowly. She then stepped over the remnants of Kael's simulacrum to stop close in front of him. ''And yet again, you take a lot of risks. You do realize that when a weave like this one hits you, you'll die in an instant? What were you thinking? A simple sending could have sufficed!'' Her expression changed all of a sudden as something she hadn't thought of entered her mind. ''Sending...'' She walked past Kael with a steady pace, moving up towards the cave's corridor.

The Archmage's eyebrow went higher and higher as she talked, laughing softly when she described his death at her hand scenario. When she mentioned using a Sending, he cleared his throat, before replying in a blank tone, with just a hint of sarcasm: "I am terribly sorry you ever thought I was inclined to do what you tell me to. I realize you wished for me to do as I was told, but there is a hole in that plan, namely I do not take orders. From anybody. Not even the mighty First Mage of Dharasha..."

As he nodded slowly to himself, he glided closer under her piercing, icy stare: "I am not especially happy not to be there for our kin, but I know Mendel, and I know our brothers and sisters: they will triumph, even without my awe-inspiring power (which obviously would have made the entire matter uninteresting...even trivial, really...). As for you killing me with your weave...your concern is heart-warming, pun intended, but there are a few things you failed to take into account in your analysis, few of them being that I am one of the most powerful mages roaming the Coast, I have lived almost four centuries and not exactly quietly, and I know full well how to protect myself...even from one as skilled and gifted as you are, dear..." He paused just enough to lock his gaze into hers: "After all, as you just mentioned, you already tried to kill me twice with that favourite trick of yours..."

He chuckled, before adding: "Had a Sending weave been an option I would certainly have considered it, instead of carving myself a bloody path all the way here, and looking for you with non conventional means to say the least...The same wards blocking Traveling also work on Sending spells, I reckon, so-" he paused as she began moving past him, towards the corridor.
"...Er...Ithilwen? Hello...?" when it became clear she would never have answered, or even listened to him any further, he sighed deeply and hurried after her.

He hated to hurry...

The Search...(Part III)



Her footsteps moved silent but quick over the frozen floor. She could hear Kael following her. They walked tunnel after tunnel until she stopped in another small room. The wall showed a lot of iced glyphs, similar to those she had left in the cloud peak area. Yet these glyphs failed to glow. Their dull blue color only barely showed through the frosted layer of the room. In the middle of the room a small pillar stood. On top were the remnants of what once used to be a sphere. Some of the shards had fallen down to the ground, shattered.

Ithilwen moved over to the broken sphere. She took a large shard in her hand, observing it. ''Well, that explains a lot...'' She sighed visibly as she placed back the shard. She turned around, sensing Kael stood close by her. ''With this broken...I... I don't know how to find him. I have no idea what happened. I fear to know...'' She remained silent for a long time before taking out the piece of parchment she found earlier. After a slight hesitation she handed it over to Kael.

She knows I'm here. I might be too late but so is she. The girl is far away now. Hopefully out of her reach, forever. I taught her all I knew. I hope it is enough. Her gift is strong and it will be her curse. If she ever finds out she won't rest until she has her. Of that I am certain. Jay, if you read this it will be too late for me. You know what you must put in play. She will want to -

''I have come to a dead end...''


He followed her through the ice maze as best as he could. Getting to her had been easy, just following the summoned mastiff and thumping it on the head with his staff when it was going too fast (or too slow...or too medium...now that he thought of it, he thumped it a lot...). Now, obviously, he was lost, more and more hopelessly after every turn and every new corridor, the fleeting figure of Ithilwen kissed by the shadows and fading in and out of sight.

Even for his overly keen senses, it was increasingly hard to hear her faint steps and keep her in sight. He did not like it one bit. "Care to tell me where we are going, or at least slow down below galloping horse's speed? The frozen soil is slippery...I'm not a 120 years old child anymore!" She obviously did not answer, and just as obviously did not slow down. As he passed more and more intricate sets of ice-carved glyphs, he wished he still had a mastiff to thump with his staff...

Finally, after three tendays (maybe it had been a couple of candlemarks only, but it surely felt like a decade...) of marching through this sort of crystal daedalus, she stopped in front of...yet another small opening which he could not really discern from any other. Except...The pieces of a rather big, spherical artifact were lying on the ground. From Ithilwen's expression, that was probably not a good thing. Correction: it was definitely not a good thing. He had no idea just how bad, before she actually handed him the note.

He had a plethora of questions, of course, but he did not get very far with them: "What the...what is this supposed to mean? And who in the Nine is Jay?!?" She paused for the longest moment, then let a shard of the broken sphere drop back onto the iced floor. "I have come to a dead end". Her voice was utterly devoid of emotion, but he could easily see how desperate she was.

"Perhaps... Perhaps not. Tell me everything, we'll figure it out." He said, exuding a complete confidence he did not possess in the slightest.

The Search... (Part IV)


'There is not much to say Kael. I know as much as you do. Aza never spoke of someone called Jay. Nor of a 'she' that is supposed to be after me.' She tiredly turned her head towards him. 'We should move back. Perhaps we can still be on time to aid our brothers and sisters in the battle.

The archmage pondered for a moment, his gaze fixed on the broken fragments on the ground but obviously looking far, far beyond the actual scene. After interminable moments, he finally spoke in a soft whisper:
Unless...Aza also had no idea about this, or at least not all the pieces of the Mosaic...What i- Ithilwen...?
He could already hear her footsteps getting farther. Muttering a potent curse into a fortunately long-dead language, he paced to follow her once again...


Once outside she welcomed the cold wind, the few snowflakes falling down and touching her face. She loved this place, she always had. It was a place she could return to in the past, a safe haven. But now it no longer was. She recovered the beacon she placed not too far away from the cave complex. It was useless now the sphere had been broken anyway. As she raised herself from the frozen floor and took a few steps she sensed something with her gift. After lingering for only a moment, as she determined where it came from, she took a few steps forward. She turned around to search for Kael. The snowfall had picked up and it made it difficult to see. She saw his dark form plowing through the snow. She raised her voice somewhat.

'I sense something here, someone teleported from this location. It is old but the magical residue is still strong.'

Staggering towards her through the deep snow, which did not do much to improve his already killing mood at all, he already knew what she would say before he even made out the words she was screaming to him. After all, it did not take the First Mage of Dharasha or its Loremaster to sense what had happened. The fading weave had been cast by a considerably powerful individual. Nowhere near his own level, of course...but then, who was?!

Yes...I can feel it.

She knelt down. Yes, this had been someone with considerable power. She didn't believe in coincidences. This desolate place had been wandered by very few only. She spoke some words in the ancient arcane language as she seized the Weave to try and trace the teleportation. What she sensed, she didn't like one bit.

'Amn... By the Seldarine this leads to Amn...'

She watched towards Kael for confirmation, inwardly hoping she had her directions mixed up this time.

Wait, don't tell me: Athkatla, here we come...?!

He chuckled sarcastically, but there was no mirth in his laughter. Not in his eyes. Especially not in his heart. All of a sudden, he felt bone-weary, and found himself longing for that very goblet of wine he always tried with all his might to avoid...

Decisions...




The cold wind had picked up since she arrived. Tiny snowflakes were traveling in the gusts that swept around her. She did not mind. In fact, she welcomed it.

She removed the wards she had put in place and entered the cave, meandering through the small corridor until she stood in one of the larger rooms. With a simple wave of her hand the cave illuminated with a blue-like arcane light, exposing her private little palace of ice and frost.
After making herself comfortable in one of the chairs she took out the amulet. She let it hoover and turn in front of her. Such a small trinket, so incospicious, yet so much trouble...

They had driven off one of the attacks on the city's walls with her brethren of Dharasha, together with the humans and their allies. Even if they retreated themselves from the council of knowledge and the war council, they could not let them fight alone. It would be their last gift to the human city, however.

With the exception of her own self, of course. The paladin Aelcar had asked her to stand with him once more, on the wall. This fight was different, heavier, more intense. Yet, brave hearts did not give up and fought on. Despite all odds, and the very commanders shouting to retreat inside the inner city, they held the wall. It drained her to her last drop of energy she had. Other parts of the city were not as successful and hordes of undead now entered through the northern breach, pouring in every moment. The defense of the city looked dire. Didn't the elves do enough already? Was this worth even more of her people's blood? Was there even a chance of success? There was no despair, nor other emotions inside her. All was cold logic. A frozen pond.

She knew Kael fought an inner battle. He probably cared little for the city itself or its people, but she knew he loathed leaving their friends and allies alone...and letting Magmire go free. They could have made a tremendous difference in the defence of the city, probably turn the tide of the entire siege. Maybe they still could. Kael or her. Bound by blood, the pact made it so that it could be only one of them. If only they decided to use it. Such a small trinket, so incospicious, yet so much trouble...

She would rather not let Kael use it if she could help it. He had too much anger in him, too much hatred, too much emotion in general. But the alternative was not exactly appealing. What would the consequences be? After everything that happened? It could mean the end of her, and not only that. If anything happened to her, would she not bring another danger to the coast? She was well aware of the potential the archmage had. She was his anchor, his soulmate, his balance. If she was to fall away, she was sure he would take his revenge on everything and everyone directly and indirectly responsible, carelessly slaughtering the innocents in the process...He would challenge mortals and immortals, even the gods themselves. He would stop at nothing to reach his goal then, no matter how destructive, nor dark.

Their friends...death was just one step behind them. The Order of Lions she was part of, the Order of the Silver Rose that had helped her unconditionally back in the Shovotar days, Sir Aelcar himself. Should the city fall, they would all fall with it. She closed her eyes and relaxed back in the chair. She knew what had to be done, it was only logical to do so. The needs of the many, outweight the needs of the few. She opened her eyes and took the amulet out of the air in front of her. Such a small trinket, so incospicious, yet so much trouble...

Home…


It was an unusually cold night for this time of year.
One silent footstep followed another as she moved steadily toward her destination. The crisp air felt good against her skin. She drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment, listening to the silence around her.

Through the fog-shrouded forest, the moon cast an eerie, pale light between the trees. Yet she knew exactly where she was. She had walked this path before. Many times. They were almost home. After seven and a half years of self-imposed exile, they were finally returning.

They had left to protect the people they loved, their family. They had defeated the Angel of Decay. They had won the war. She had believed that, at last, there might be peace. A quiet life. Ordinary days in which she could simply think about what came next.

How wrong she had been. Her fingers found the amulet hanging around her neck. At her touch, a faint violet glow shimmered across her fingertips.

She released the breath she had been holding. In the freezing air, it emerged as a cloud of mist before disappearing into the fog. She felt the weight of it again. The burden was hers to carry. Seven and a half years had passed, yet somehow it felt like a lifetime.

She glanced toward the dark figure walking a few paces ahead of her. His black robe seemed almost alive, blending with the shadows and shifting fog as he moved. She owed him. She owed him everything. Without him, she probably would not have survived.

He had never wanted her to bear the burden. He had wanted to take it upon himself, to carry it for her, to save her from its weight. But she could not accept his sacrifice. Not again. This was her burden. Hers alone. He had sacrificed enough already, his very being. He had been angry with her. Furious, even. But beneath that anger was fear. Fear for her safety. She knew that better than anyone.

She was his anchor, the one thing keeping him from slipping into the abyss, from destroying himself completely. If anything ever happened to her, if she died, she knew what would happen to him. He would unleash a fury upon Faerûn that might prove to be an even greater threat than the burden she carried now.

They had both changed. She had changed because she had to, to protect the people she loved. He had changed because he had to, to protect her.

She slowed, then finally came to a stop. Only a few more steps remained before they crossed the border into Dharasha. She looked at him.

“Kael…”

Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Thank you.”

The dark figure stopped. Slowly, he turned to face her.

“You never needed to thank me, my everything,”

he said softly.

“And you never will.”

He stepped toward her. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then he closed the remaining distance between them and kissed her.

A Dance with Fire

It was a beautiful afternoon. It had been good to meet with an old friend and ally. Time had flown as they talked, catching up on the years that had passed. But now it was time to turn home. Home. She tried the word on her tongue and could not help but smile. It felt good to be home. Not simply home, but truly home. The elven village nestled within the misty forest.

A dark sky was forming on the horizon. She could already feel the change in the weather. It would not be long before the storm arrived. Still, she felt no need to weave a teleportation spell. The walk would do her good. Perhaps it would help clear her mind.

After a while, she noticed that she was being followed. A scout party of orcs. She had been blending easily into the shadows, moving unseen by unwanted eyes. Now, however, she made little effort to remain hidden. Was it carelessness? The orcs probably thought she would be an easy target. A female elf, alone, walking through orc territory. Was she stupid Or… were they? Why, indeed, would an elven maiden walk alone without even the slightest hint of fear?  Any smarter adversary might have put the pieces together. These orcs, however, seemed to believe that sheer numbers would be enough to overwhelm one puny elf without an escort.

Lightning split the sky, followed moments later by the low rumble of thunder, heralding the arrival of the building storm. A horn sounded. Battle cries followed. Ithilwen was not surprised in the slightest. She turned calmly as a warband of five large orcs emerged from the trees and approached her. Perhaps, she thought, this might actually be a good training opportunity. As a frost mage, Ithilwen had always possessed a distinct dislike of fire. The heat made her uncomfortable, even though she was well protected by her own special aura of cold. She only called upon fire when she truly had no other choice. But the events that had forced her to leave for seven and a half years had changed that. Those years had not been wasted. She had studied. Improved. Practiced. She had been forced to change herself at her very core, until, finally, she deemed herself strong enough to safely carry the curse Aza had unwillingly left her.

That had meant, among others, mastering fire magic to the utmost perfection, in all its forms, shapes, and effects. She remembered one evening when Kael had caught her practicing. She had performed a larger spell than she normally would, and yet, in his eyes, it had still been mediocre. Good, more than good, in comparison with the average mage in Faerûn.Very effective. But nothing compared to what he could conjure, of course. He had immediately begun lecturing her on how she could improve the weave, explaining how often he had used the spell himself, how much destruction he could achieve with it, how much more perfectly he could shape it… Such was Kael. He could go on and on about his own greatness. Eventually, Ithilwen simply unraveled the weave and walked past him, leaving him babbling about his accomplishments as she went off to practice on her own. She had wondered how long it would take him to realize she was no longer in the room. It wasn’t that she couldn’t do it. It was just that… She hated fire.

In the distance, more orcs began to approach, alerted by the horn of the scout party. She must have been close to an orc camp. Very well. More targets to practice on. If they were foolish enough to make the decision to attack her, they would simply have to live with the consequences. Shortly.

As the warband drew close, Ithilwen began to mutter in the arcane tongue, tracing fiery runes through the air around her. Then the fire came. Flames engulfed her, wrapping around her body as though she had become one with the inferno itself. Only then did the orcs realize their mistake. Far too late. Five enormous spheres of fire streaked toward them. The orcs barely had time to react before the flames engulfed them. In mere seconds, the five huge warriors were incinerated, reduced to nothing but ashes. The other orcs came rushing forward, sounding their horns as they called more warriors to the battlefield. They were determined to avenge their fallen brethren. Ithilwen was ready. With little effort, she conjured what appeared to be a vast cloud of fire. Then came the firestorms. They erupted across the battlefield, tearing through the advancing orcs. More and more fell beneath the relentless heat. In a matter of minutes, more than a hundred orcs had been slain by fire. The approaching storm swept their ashes from the battlefield, scattering them into the wind. A few orcs fled for their lives. Many carried terrible burns. Some were still burning as they ran. Ithilwen watched them disappear into the distance.



How stupid some creatures could be. There was no sense of self-preservation among them. She would let the survivors run. Why waste more energy? Besides, this had been enough practice with fire. She controlled it now as she controlled no other element. Clean perfection. There was no other word for it. 

She let out a quiet sigh. Fire was still fire. She no longer shied away from it. But she still did not like it. The first drops of rain began to fall. Where they struck the scorched remains, steam and smoke rose from the battlefield. Ithilwen calmly continued along her path, leaving the ashes and smoke behind her as the storm finally descended upon the fields and the edge of the forest. Not an inch of ground was burned. Not a blade of grass. Only the husks of the once greenskins.

The Burden of the Once Unburied. (Part I)


Archmage Ithilwen stepped away from her desk in the Arcane Study of Dharasha and crossed toward the window. It was a moonless night. Through the canopy of the Misty Forest, countless stars glittered in the darkness, their pale light barely reaching the forest floor. For no particular reason, her hand rose to the amulet around her neck. She had developed the habit over the years, absentmindedly reaching for it, just to make certain it was still there.

The Amulet of the Once Unburied.

A faint violet glow stirred beneath her fingers. By the Seldarine, she was glad she had never been forced to use it. Not all those years ago. Not once. And yet, it was still here. Still hanging around her neck. At first glance, it was nothing more than an inconspicuous trinket, something she had recovered from Harrad’s Rest, a ruin buried deep within the Marsh of Chelimber. But appearances could be deceiving. She had felt its power the moment she touched it. She had understood immediately why Brann had been searching for it. Kael had recognized it just as quickly. Ithilwen let out a quiet sigh and released the amulet. The violet glow faded almost immediately, leaving the trinket dull and lifeless once more. For a fleeting moment, she could have sworn she heard Lord Arkzhol’s ominous laughter somewhere in the back of her mind. She turned from the window. As she prepared herself for reverie, Ithilwen already knew where her thoughts would take her tonight. Back to that fateful day...

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Lord Arkzhol had been summoned to Faerun for the third time, in this occasion by Kael himself, but the hulking Pit Fiend Lord had come with a plan of his own. Ithilwen remembered that day as though it had happened yesterday. The towering form of the monster had loomed over them, radiating heat and malice. They had bargained with the Devil for several candlemarks. Arkzhol wanted Kael’s soul as insurance until the amulet was returned to him. In exchange, he would answer every question they could think to ask. They refused. Kael’s soul was not for sale. So they bargained further. And further. Offers and counter-offers followed one another. Eventually, Ithilwen and Kael agreed to a blood geas. They would be granted nine questions. One for each of the Nine Hells, and in return, possession of the amulet would be bound to those who shed blood that day. The geas would ensure that the amulet could never be willingly handed over to anyone except those bound to it by blood. She realized this would mean that if anyone would try to take it from her, even her friends, she would fight till the death to prevent it, no matter how unwillingly. There was only one exception. Lord Arkzhol himself.



Ithilwen of course knew better than to bargain with such creature. And yet, at the time, it had seemed logical. The entire Sword Coast was in peril. Dharasha was in danger. The Misty Forest was in danger. If everything else failed, the amulet might give them the power they needed to prevent catastrophe. It would be their last resort. She had also understood what using it would mean. It would be the end of her. The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. That was how she had justified it back then. But now? Now Magmire, Haram, Gridselda, and all the other Plaguebearers were defeated. The Sword Coast was safe, from that specific threat at least. The need for the amulet was gone. But the amulet itself, and its dangers, endured.

It was the reason they had left their quiet, safe village within the Misty Forest all those years ago. Now, with the threat that had driven them from home finally gone, Ithilwen knew what had to be done. The amulet had to be secured. Hidden. Protected from the outside world,and, perhaps more importantly, the outside world protected from it. She had never imagined that doing so would lead to almost a decade of self-imposed exile from Dharasha, from the family and friends she held so dear.

Lord Arkzhol had told them what the amulet was. He had explained what it could do and given them fragments of its history and origins. But those answers had only scratched the surface. There had been another bearer before Ithilwen. An elven Wizard of power. Someone she had known. Someone who had once been more than a teacher. He had been like a father to her. Ithilwen had followed the fragments of his trail for years. From the Sword Coast, the trail had led to Amn and eventually deep into Calimshan. But the further she and Kael followed it, the fewer answers they found. Until, at last, they found him. Or what remained of him. He had died horribly. The remains told the story of a violent battle. Whatever had happened, the elven mage had fought with everything he possessed. In the end, there had been nothing left but the shattered remnants of a once-formidable arcanist. This brought her some closure, at least, explaining why she had never heard from him again. A reason why he abandoned her. She drew in a slow breath.

“Aza…” she whispered. “Why have you never sought me out?”

It had become clear enough that before her, Aza had almost certainly possessed the amulet, for a time. Had he dared to use it? Had he spent years protecting it, and paid with his very life? Had he discovered something about it that he had been unable to share? She would never know. Whatever the truth, the evidence left behind offered no answers. Only more questions. And a dead man who was irreplaceable to her.

That evening after they discovered Aza’s remains, Kael and Ithilwen had their first truly fierce argument in years. The thought of what had happened to Aza,a mage of extraordinary power, happening to Ithilwen was more than Kael could bear. He knew what the amulet could do. He knew just as well what it had done to others, likely many others, throughout its long existence. Sooner or later, it would claim her too. There was only one solution in his mind: he would carry the amulet for her. She needed to be safe, whatever the cost. His own life had never seemed particularly important to the dark wizard, especially when measured against hers. If giving himself to the amulet meant keeping her alive, then so be it. He would gladly pay the price.

But Ithilwen knew him too well, and that was not an option. She knew his heart. She knew that if he believed sacrificing himself could keep her safe, he would do it without hesitation. And if the price demanded more than his life, if it demanded forbidden magic, irreparable damage, damnation...she was all too sure he would welcome the outcome with open arms.

Kael would justify anything if it meant keeping her alive. He already had, multiple times. And that was precisely what Lord Arkzhol had been counting on.

“No.”

The word had come quietly at first. Then again, more firmly.

“No, Kael.”

She had tried to make him understand. Tried to make him see that he could not simply take the burden from her and place it upon himself. That this was not protection. It was merely another form of sacrifice. She could not stand by and watch the man she loved throw his life away for hers.

Not again.

Not ever.

“The world does not become safer because you carry it instead of me,” she had told him, her voice trembling despite her efforts to keep it steady. “It only gives Arkzhol what he wants.”

But Kael would not listen. He wasn't easily swayed in the best of days, and now he had just seen the remains of a man who had once been powerful enough to command the respect of archmages, being burned to a cinder, with her next in line.

“I will not lose you.”

His voice was a barely audible whisper when he said it, carrying a sinister quality emphasized by the energy around him. Neither of them spoke for an interminable moment. She wanted to reach for him. To take his face between her hands and tell him that she was still here. That she was not Aza. That they would find another way. But Kael had already reached the point where words could no longer soothe him. He needed to be alone. Not to leave her. Not truly. He simply needed to silence the darkness inside himself before it consumed the part of him capable of seeing reason. Torn between objectivity and the desperate need to protect her, he finally turned away. At the door, he paused for the briefest moment, his hand resting against the frame. For a heartbeat, Ithilwen thought he might turn back. He didn’t. The door closed behind him.



She remained where she was, staring at it. Every instinct urged her to follow. To find him, take him into her arms, and remind him that they had always faced everything together. That whatever happened, they would face this together, too. But she knew Kael. He needed time. He needed to come to terms with the fact that he could not protect her from every danger by throwing himself between her and it. He needed to understand that she was not someone to be protected at the cost of his own life. She was his equal. His partner. The woman he loved. And trusting her was part of loving her. So Ithilwen let him go. It was not easy. For the first time in a very long while, Kael was not at her side. Yet even then, he was never truly far away. The bond between them remained.
She could feel him at the edge of her senses, a quiet presence somewhere beyond the walls. His thoughts were distant and troubled, his emotions tangled in fear and uncertainty, but he was there. Watching over her, even from afar. And Ithilwen knew that was enough. For now. He would return when he had made peace with what he could not change, and remembered they were two people who had chosen, again and again, to stand beside each other. She trusted him. He would come back.

He always did.

Invoker wrote: ↑Sun Sep 20, 2026 5:58 am

When the Bough Breaks

It is said that Elves have long memories.

And the fact itself is hard to dispute, even though it is truer for some than for others. In the specific case of a...fairly resentful...arcanist of the highest intellect and power, through the crystal clear clarity of reverie, it was a gross understatement. And he was a lot more than "fairly" resentful. The memories and the feelings attached were lifelong companions. The blessing of the good ones, and then...those like this one...

She had made her decision, and he knew better than to try and change her mind. He could reason, beg and rage all he wanted, it would make no difference in the end, save for the damage to the environment. The darkness stirred within him. Hungry. He glimpsed his reflection on the mirror as he turned away: levigated, ageless ivory skin distorted by fury...flowing white hair lifted by the crackling energies gathering around him...but it was the eyes that convinced him to leave. His bright green eyes always had an eerie glow to them in the best of days, but now...now they were emerald pools of radiant, malevolent light. Unable to bear his own image, he raised his hood and mask, and after only the slightest hesitation on the door, he headed out in his typical, almost spectral glide, his power giving him the energy his body never had.

"If anything happens to her, you will be confronted with the full extent of my...displeasure. Do you understand?" The creature nodded, head low, crimson gaze to the ground. Without looking at him, it kept nodding even as he turned away. Most thought that such abominations knew no fear, and it was generally true. But he was a great teacher, and the subject in question one of his main areas of expertise. A last glance to Nightwing, circling overhead, ever-watching over her, before he disappeared in a brilliant white light, the Traveling weave bringing him far enough that she would not have to see the horrors he was about to unleash.

Before long, six Fire Giants closed in on his frail-looking, dark-robed figure as he slowly and deliberately walked across the bridge. Three on each side meant they had been observing him for a while, and were finally moving in for the kill, content with the chosen location. They had no idea he had heard them long before they saw him. No idea he actually came here seeking them. That their days were about to end horribly. Did they realize when they were close enough to see the light in his eyes? Was it then, the moment their deep, guttural laughter died in their throats?

He was not entirely sure. This was typically the moment a reverie lost focus, accuracy. The moment when, for a true mage of power, time slows down, and he becomes able to see a glimpse of the future right before it happens. Just mere, interminable instants and that future washed down on them all like a dark river of pain, crushing bones, severing limbs, stopping hearts. His anger made spell. His spell. Death in motion.

"Blackfire..."

The Burden of the Once Unburied. (Part II)

For seven nights, Ithilwen had been alone in reverie. Well, that was not entirely true. On the first night, she had sensed Kael beyond the shutters of her chamber, moving silently beneath the moonlight. On the third, she had glimpsed the faintest outline of him at the edge of the treeline outside of her window. On the sixth, she heard the skreeches of Nightwing, Kael's familiar. He had never truly left. But neither had he returned.

Now, a week later, Ithilwen sat in the back of a merchant wagon headed toward Cormyr, disguised beneath the name Lethiel Moonbrook, a moon elf spice trader with an entirely fabricated history. Traveling with merchants was safer than traveling alone. More importantly, it attracted less attention. An elven archmage wandering toward Cormyr with an ancient cursed relic was the sort of thing that tended to attract precisely the wrong kind of attention.
A spice merchant, however? No one cared. Beneath her cloak, the amulet rested against her chest. Sometimes it was cold. Sometimes it was warm. Once, in the middle of the night, she had awakened from her reverie because it was whispering. She had not yet discovered what language it spoke as it was contorted.

Cormyr welcomed them beneath a pale afternoon sky. The merchant caravan entered through the gates without incident, and Ithilwen spent the remainder of the day helping unload crates while quietly observing the streets. By sunset, she slipped away. Her contact waited in a modest inn tucked behind a crowded market square. He was an aging man named Varlan, who had once served as a clerk for one of Cormyr’s War Wizards.

“You came alone?” he asked.

“I came as a spice merchant.”

He smiled faintly.

“That was not my question.”

Ithilwen placed several gold pieces on the table. Varlan’s expression changed.

“Then perhaps,” he said, “we should discuss spices.”

They spoke in whispers. The tome was real. It had once belonged to a War Wizard named Althoran Vey, a scholar obsessed with magical relics recovered from forgotten tombs. According to Varlan, the wizard had disappeared twenty three years earlier, and his private collection had eventually been scattered. One book had survived. A black leather tome containing references to an object described as the vessel that remembers death. Ithilwen’s heart quickened.

“The price?” she asked.

“Twice what you offered.”

“Extortion.”

“Information is expensive.”

“Not when the information is already stolen.”

Varlan stared at her. For a moment, Ithilwen thought she had gone too far. Then he laughed.

“You’re not much of a spice merchant, are you?”

“No.”

The book changed hands. Ithilwen tucked it beneath her cloak.

“Pleasure doing business.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Good.”

She left the inn before midnight. The streets were nearly empty. A thin mist crawled between the buildings, turning lantern light into pale halos. Ithilwen moved quickly, keeping her hood drawn low. The merchant camp lay beyond the eastern gate. Twenty minutes. Perhaps less. Then she heard footsteps. Three sets. No, Five. Ithilwen stopped. Five men emerged from the darkness. Brigands. Their weapons were poorly maintained, but their confidence suggested they had done this before.

“Hand over your purse,” one said.

Ithilwen sighed and muttered. “I am beginning to dislike Cormyr.”
Another stepped behind her.

“Your purse. Now.”

Her fingers moved subtly beneath her cloak. Magic gathered. Then a voice spoke from the darkness.

“Don’t.”

Everything stopped. The brigands looked toward the alley mouth. A man stepped into the moonlight. Human. Tall. Thin. His dark robes were old-fashioned, but the silver clasp at his throat was unmistakable. Ithilwen’s breath caught. She knew that face. Not from Cormyr. Not from tonight. From Candlekeep.

“Impossible,” she whispered.

The man smiled.

“I was hoping you would remember me.”

The years fell away. A library. Dust. Stacks of forbidden manuscripts. A young human wizard who had once spent three years arguing with her over the translation of Netherese inscriptions. Marek Vhal. He had vanished from Candlekeep after being accused of experimenting with necromantic magic.

“I heard you died,” Ithilwen said.

“I have heard the same about you.”

His eyes lowered. To her chest. To the amulet.

“Give it to me.”

The brigands suddenly looked nervous. Ithilwen noticed. They were not his allies. They were hired hands.

“You brought five thieves to steal a cursed relic?”

Marek smiled.

“I brought five thieves to make sure you would not attempt something foolish.”

“You always did underestimate me.”

“And you always did mistake recklessness for courage.”

The amulet suddenly grew hot against her skin. Marek’s expression changed. For the first time, Ithilwen saw genuine fear.

“You’ve activated it.”

“I have done nothing.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then enlighten me.”

His eyes remained fixed upon the amulet.

“It isn’t a container.”

Silence.

“It is a door.”

The alley seemed to grow colder. Ithilwen’s hand tightened around the relic.

“A door to what?”

Marek took one step backward.

“Something that was never meant to be buried.”

Behind her, one of the brigands whispered a prayer.

“Enough talking.”

He drew his sword. Ithilwen sighed.

“Really?”

The man lunged. She barely moved. A flicker of magic gathered around her fingers... Then something changed. The air behind the brigands became cold. Not naturally cold. Magically cold. The kind of cold that made the skin instinctively crawl. Marek’s eyes widened. Ithilwen turned. A figure stood at the entrance of the alley. Black robes. A deep, dark hood. The man’s face was completely hidden in shadow. Only his eyes could be seen. Two glowing emerald pools within the cowl. Ithilwen’s heart skipped. Kael. For one brief moment, she simply stared at him. A week. A full week since their argument. A full week since he had walked away. And now he stood there. Watching her. Marek looked over his shoulder.

“Who—”

Kael’s gaze moved slowly across the five brigands. Then to Marek. Then finally to Ithilwen.

“Are you hurt?”

Ithilwen blinked.

“No.”

Kael nodded.

“Good.”

One of the brigands raised his sword. Kael looked at him.

“Die.”

The word was quiet. Almost conversational. The world answered. A wave of dark arcane force erupted through the alley. There was no flash. No dramatic explosion. Just an overwhelming surge of power. The five brigands collapsed almost simultaneously, their bodies hitting the cobblestones with five dull thuds. Silence returned. Ithilwen stared at them. Then at Kael. Then back at them. She slowly raised an eyebrow.

“That was unnecessary.”

Kael stepped into the alley.

“I strongly disagree.”

“They were five common brigands.”

“They were dead the moment they looked at you. I simply made sure they weren't late for their funeral.”

Ithilwen folded her arms.

“Kael.”

“Hm?”

“You could have incapacitated them.”

“I have. Permanently.”

“Stunned them.”

“Technically, yes.”

“Put them to sleep.”

“Something I rarely bother with, to be fair, but...yes.”

“Turned them into chickens for all I care.”

The dark wizard chuckled.

“Oh no...that is definitely not my style....”

“Why did you kill them?”

His glowing eyes regarded her from beneath the hood.

“Their stupidity killed them. It was big enough to warrant extinction.”

Ithilwen stared. For the first time that night, Kael’s voice carried the faintest hint of amusement.

“Besides, you were busy.”

“I was questioning Marek.”

Kael looked toward the spot where Marek had been standing. It was empty. Ithilwen’s expression fell and she spoke some soft curses. Kael glanced at her.

“Marek?”

“Yes.”

“The wizard?”

“Yes.”

“The one who wanted the amulet?”

“Yes.”

Kael looked toward the empty alley.

“He didn't seem especially keen on talking to you, judging from the haste with which he relocated...”

Ithilwen slowly closed her eyes.

“Yes, Kael.”

A pause.

“Because you killed everyone.”

“It was more like an idiocy-powered mass suicide...”

“And terrified the wizard into teleporting away.”

“I do tend to have this effect on people meaning you harm.”

“He was going to answer my questions.”

“Hardly. On his behalf, though...he was afraid of me.”

Ithilwen opened her eyes.

“Yes.”

Another pause.

“So at the very least, he has good instincts.”

She could almost feel his faint smile under the mask. Ithilwen walked over to one of the fallen brigands and looked down at him.

“You know, I had him.”

“Of course you did.”

She looked back at Kael.

“I truly had everything under control.”

“Naturally.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I wonder what makes you think so.”

“Good.”

“I am also convinced you would have spent half a candlemark explaining that to him before making him regret his life choices.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“A quarter.”

“Indubitably.”

For a moment, neither spoke. Then Ithilwen’s expression softened. The irritation faded. She looked at the black robes. The hood. Those impossible emerald eyes. He had come. Despite their argument. Despite her leaving without telling him. Despite everything. He had watched from afar until the moment she truly needed him.

“You followed me,” she said quietly.

Kael’s expression softened beneath the hood.

“Always.”

His voice was barely above a whisper.

“Always have, always will.”

Ithilwen looked away. She didn’t want him to see the smile forming on her lips.

“You could have come back sooner.”

“I never truly left, you know.”

“Hm.”

“I simply thought you needed some space.”

“You gave me an entire week.”

“A..lot of space...?.”

She looked at him again.

“I am still determined.”

“I know.”

“And you were watching me the whole time?”

A pause.

“Obviously.”

“That’s incredibly unsettling.”

“You stay with me, and what you find "unsettling" is that...?!”

She smiled. Then stepped closer. The amulet rested between them beneath her cloak.

“So,” she murmured, “you came all this way because you were worried about me?”

Kael’s emerald eyes glowed beneath the hood.

“No.”

Ithilwen raised an eyebrow.

“No?”

“I came because I was worried about everyone and everything else. Especially fragile things like cities, or mountains...”

She stared at him. Then laughed softly. A genuine laugh. The first one she’d managed in seven days.