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This Is Why We Fight, Chapter 11. Passages

Deviation Actions

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11.



 




 A/N: Yes, the last two chapters and this cover a series of events fairly close to each other, forming a kind of a ‘triptych’. It’s fully intentional, as in my story here is the crux of the relationship between Adele and Valen.




 As always, many thanks to my readers who keep reviewing and favoriting, despite this not being a usual romance plot. Good things take time…




  



When she comes to, she’s swaddled in blankets, there’s a little fire not far from her, and a hushed but very tense whispered conversation is going on by her ear.



“We need to move them both as soon as possible. My healing powers can only do so much, I’m still not fully recovered and I’m not sure if it’s even possible from me in this environment, there’s still so much lingering death magic. Is your city far from here?”



“Not my city, Heaven-lady. But yes, is far. Boss has a way to move fast though…just doesn’t like using it.”



If that’s not Torm’s honest truth, Adele thinks as she blinks once, twice, and tries to move her head.



“Ouch.” It comes out really more pitiful than she intends to, but really, heads generally are not supposed to feel like there are razorwires attached to her eyeballs and they are sawing the insides of her brain. And what is it with her throat?



Her hand comes up and touches a hastily applied bandage just under her chin… and suddenly she remembers.



Her head hitting the cold stone of the cavern; sharp white teeth descending towards her exposed throat; something large and snarling and



Valen.



She squelches the rise of pure black panic in the wake of that thought and takes a deep breath. No. Not now. There’s no time for that.




 Focus on the mission.




 Always focus on the mission.



She exhales loudly and turns her head to the side.



“Lavoera?” she calls out, and her voice is stronger this time. “Situation?”



“You’re awake!” Two faces appear in her field of vision: both are visibly relieved. Deekin’s grin is exceptionally toothy (did he grow more teeth again?), and the deva’s statue-perfect lips are curved into a tremulous smile. “I wasn’t sure how long the healing spell would knock you out, its duration and really, side effects can vary with the species, moral alignment and sometimes even weight of the subject, and…”



“Never you mind that.” Adele says curtly and manages to maneuver herself up into sitting: the blankets around her are tucked in Deekin’s unmistakable ‘we’re making a sleeping nest’ style that is almost impossible to unfold. “Tell me what you got.”



“Oh.” The deva swallows; she’s clearly not used to military speak, or taking orders, for that matter. “Well, we patched you up and got you here and really, I had no idea your kobold friend had this many blankets, it was truly remarkable, but we wrapped you up real good and got a fire going and then I cast some healing spells but had to knock him back again when he got up and started to ask about you because you were still out and…”



“Deekin.” Adele turns to the kobold, and he blinks at her in surprise as he crouches next to her, because she’s using his first name. “Can you shorten that for me, please?”



“Okay.” Deekin nods. “Deekin tries. Goat-Man knocked Boss over and bit her neck. Boss’ powers knocked Goat-man off her and straight out. Nice shot. Heaven-lady and Deekin dragged everyone out from half-under dead dracolich and into treasure-chamber, made fire and patched Boss up. Heaven-lady wanted to tie Goat-Man up but Deekin said Boss be angry so she just spelled him to sleep again when he woke. Here for a while; told Heaven-Lady that Boss could use the Relic to get back to Lith My’athar quickly, but Boss woke up just then.” He tilts his head. “Is enough?”



“For now.” Adele presses her thumb between her brows to relieve the tension. “Now let me think for a moment.”



I’d be angry if Lavoera tied Valen up, he says. Adele firmly and decisively squelches the images Deekin’s remark conjures in her mind and the desire that rises in her to ball her hand into a fist and hiss like a cat. She decides to attribute it simply to post-battle stress-induced fatigue she knows very well from her long service to Torm.



So I managed to Smite him somehow, after all, she thinks instead, and isn’t sure whether she should be horrified or relieved, as she sees (now that Deekin stood up and scurried to her other side to hand her a mug full of hot tea) the prone form of Valen, tucked in blankets much less carefully, on the other side of the fire. He is breathing slowly, and there are two red spots on his cheekbones, as if painted by fever: the rest of his face is bone-white. Adele turns her Sight on him, and is relieved to see that the roiling, oily stain of the demonic taint is gone from his aura, back to whatever deep recesses of his soul it came from. But I’ll have time figuring that one out once we’re back in the city. Her mouth twists as she considers the next step. At first we need to make sure we get there



“Boss knows what to do now, right?” Deekin asks, head still tilted to the side, as a bird. “Heaven-lady’s not very decisive,” he confesses in a confidential whisper, leaning closer.



“Yes, Master Scalesinger.” Adele resists the urge to pet the kobold’s head: she might be many things, but what she never wants to be is condescending towards her longtime traveling companion. “I’m afraid we’ll indeed need to use the Relic to travel.”



Deekin nods, with something like distaste on his features.



“Understand, Boss.” He sighs. “Good thing I got those books last time we be shopping, right?”



“Indeed.” Adele decides that it is time to stand up, and is incredibly relieved when she manages without falling over, or even wobbling.



There. Testimony of excellent healing powers of divine creatures, resilient flesh and bone of prime Tantras bloodlines, the power of paladin conditioning, and a really thick skull. Praised be Torm.




 And now the hard part.



“Come on, general,” she mutters as she kneels by Valen’s side and smoothes his sweat-soaked hair out of his face. “Time to end your beauty sleep…”



“Are you mad?” Lavoera hisses, grabbing her wrist. “He tried to…to kill you, or worse! He was trying to rip your throat out and…and had his paws all over you, and I am not even sure how you managed to fend him off, and I had to knock him out again when we woke up because I knew he just wanted to jump up and start all over again. And you just…”



“I know what he is, Lavoera.” Adele sounds cold now as she raises her eyes at her slowly; the deva takes a step back. “I do. I fought and bled with him side by side for many weeks now. He’s a man who has a heritage that he never asked for and never wanted. He fights it with all his being every time he takes a breath. He should be worthy of songs for that alone. Should I condemn him for that? I am a paladin: I was raised to recognize Light when I see it, and encourage it to grow, not to rip it out and stomp on it. Lord Torm teaches compassion as well as duty; if He decided not to kill Valen with the powers He vested in me, who am I to judge?” She shakes her head and her eyes soften a bit. “I do appreciate your efforts in aiding us and I am grateful for your decision to come and help our besieged city in need—but do not presume to judge so quickly without understanding.” She turns her attention back at Valen, who’s stirring now. “Master Scalesinger, may I have some of that excellent tea of yours, please?” she says, in a louder voice, and hands her mug to Deekin. “I have the feeling the general might need it.”



When he finally comes to, Valen bolts upright so violently he almost knocks Adele off her feet as she crouches in front of him.



“What did I… what did I do?” he asks in a hoarse voice. His eyes are wide and he breathes fast. “Are you hurt?”



“Easy there, sir.” Adele says in her most soothing voice. Both her hands are when Valen can see them, right in front of her, holding a mug full of steaming tea, and not even remotely close to her sword, dagger or any other instrument of destruction. “All is well. The dragon is dead, our injuries are tended to for the moment, but we need to get back to Lith My’athar urgently for further assessment of your wounds.”



“Are you hurt?” Valen’s voice is insistent. Blue eyes, blissfully clear of any red, search Adele’s form frantically, and stop at her throat. “By the Abyss…was that me?”



“Later, sir.” Adele keeps her voice and gaze steady. “Right now we have other things to worry about: such as tending to your injury, the manner of our return to Lith My’athar and the significant amount of treasure in this room.”



“None of those are as important as…” Valen swallows what he wanted to say and looks around, taking in their environment and the two others in the small room. “You’re right,” he continues, a little less frantic and more like himself. “This is not the place. But you and I need to talk.”



Oh, that’s to put it mildly, Adele has the sudden urge to giggle somewhat hysterically. That is, yet again, one of your usually colossal understatements. Sir.



“As soon as we’re back in the city.” Instead, she makes a wise choice and hands him the mug: she’s very careful that their fingers barely touch. “My word. Now drink that and let us talk about our return.”



She is immensely relieved that the crisis was averted at least for the time being: she wasn’t looking forward to any awkwardness, explanations, accusations or else right here and now, under the watchful eyes of Lavoera, and Deekin is also there with his pen, no doubt, ready for his new book… no. Better to postpone all of that; sensible, really, until after the mission is completed and everyone’s safe and Valen’s grip on reality isn’t threatened by multiple auras of holiness, injuries and the lingering scent of bones, marrow and magic conjured from blood and death.



Some of the deva’s magic took hold and Valen’s wound is half-healed, if still sensitive and threatening to open up again from any swift movement. Adele inspects it herself, ignoring the tiefling’s protests about it being ‘improper’.



“Are you saying, sir,” she inquires with an eyebrow raised archly, “that wounds should only be treated by healers of the same sex? That should I fall on the battlefield, none of my fellow paladins or lay soldier-brothers were to touch it, but they should stop and yell for a female?” Her fingers work deftly on the hasty knots on the linen around Valen’s torso, and she presses her lips together. “Because if you do, I hope you realize just how awful that sounds. Now if you’re complaining because I make you uncomfortable with my paladin aura, that is…”



“Not nearly as much as you used to.” Valen holds himself very still. “Do what you need to do, Lady, then let us depart this place.”



“I am in full agreement, sir.” Adele understands very well that she’s reverting back to formalities now to help Valen rebuild his wall of iron chains around his demontaint; but, at the same time, she’s equally aware that her ministrations on his wounds, however clinical and cool the touch of her long fingers on his skin is, are not helping.



Mine.



It hangs between them, invisible, like that half-moon shaped scar on her throat right above where her gorget ends about half-inch from her chin, preserving the mark that he put on her.



Mine.



It’s there every time his too-warm skin shivers under her touch as she redresses the long wound by his side, the way he averts his gaze when she has to lean close to wrap the new linen bandage around his torso, the way he inhales a little shakily as her hair brushes his chest when she ties the last knot.



Mine.



She notices the scars on him, of course. Valen’s torso is riddled with them, much worse than Adele has ever seen even on veterans of decades-long conflicts in Torm’s service, and she dutifully catalogues the most noticeable ones as she works. Parallel lines of claw-marks across his chest from left shoulder to the right side of his abdomen; a large ragged bite almost exactly below his heart that makes her shudder involuntarily just from looking at it; a leaf-shaped angry red one with an exact match on the front and back of his left biceps…but those are not the worst. The worst is the almost invisibly fine latticework of raised white scars that covers his back entirely: some are deeper, some are more shallow, but the way they overlap and have a depth, speaks about Valen’s past and the unspeakable tortures he suffered more clearly than any long story told in words ever could… and Adele works really hard not to spill any tears as emotions floods her soul in a wave that threatens to overwhelm her.



Mine.



That single word definitely changed something between them, and Adele is very much grateful that for the rest of their brief stay in that room they basically stay in the opposite sides of the fire and keep at least one of their companions between them.



To everyone’s surprise, it turns out that Deekin had more Bags of Holding stashed away in his Bag of Holding, and he and Lavoera manage to stuff a surprising amount of the most valuable items from the dragon’s hoard into them. The rest they pile in a corner with the intentions of coming back once everything is over, but what they take should provide enough influx of cash for The Seer and her army to purchase a significant amount of supplies from the caravans that pass through their part of the Underdark soon enough. The decision is also made to suggest to The Seer to offer sanctuary to the much-abused inhabitants of Drearing Deep the way she did to the surviving gladiators of Zorvak Mur; so at the end when Adele carefully extricates a softly glowing rogue stone and the oddly-shaped form of the Reaper Relic from her bag, she feels almost content with how things are going.



“And that is the means of our transportation?” Valen eyes the item with barely disguised mistrust from the other end of the room.



“Something like that, yes.” Adele carefully places the stone in front of her and whispers the single word of invocation that anchors one of the portals to this location so they can return later. “I would think that for planars such as yourself and Lavoera this shouldn’t be as…uncomfortable as for Deekin and I.”



Lavoera just nods, without offering commentary, but Valen looks a bit more interested.



“So this is basically a portal?” His tail twitches. “To where?”



Adele frowns.



“It is probably a Netherese artifact.  The scholars who examined it briefly couldn’t quite tell. It exudes immensely huge levels of magic that works for one single purpose as far as they could tell: to provide access to the portal room. The nexus itself is a kind of a pocket dimension, and the portals are opening to specified locations anchored with these rogue stones and power words.”



“Nexus, anchors, catalysts.” Valen nods. “Sigil is built like that:  hence its name, The City of Doors. Yes, I am familiar with the surface of the theory at least: but that you possess such an artifact is a surprise.” His eyebrows draw down as the general of Lith My’athar’s armies considers the strategic importance of this fact, and Adele feels a pang of regret for not telling him earlier.



“It wasn’t needed until now,” she says finally, and is relieved to see Valen nod curtly. “I hate using it: like I said, we’re not built for this kind of travel.” She takes a deep breath. “If everyone’s ready… shall we?”



She feels the familiar twist in her stomach as soon as she utters the activation word. Gods, I hate this so much, she thinks, and the room around her explodes in a myriad colors swirling in nauseating cacophony.



“Welcome, Sojourner.” The voice of the Gatekeeper is just as deep, its timbre just as ghastly, its pitch is just as funereal as every other time before. “How may I serve you?”



“You could…at least…wait until I decide whether I’ll…throw up or not.” Adele gasps out, as she bends forward and reassures herself that indeed, she still has four limbs, two eyes, a nose and a mouth. I really shouldn’t have done this so soon after my head got slammed on hard stone, but what’s necessary isn’t always pleasant. “We need passage back to Lith My’athar.”



“You and your companions.” Still slightly nauseous and wobbly at the knees, Adele looks up to see the form of the Reaper float in front of her. The way he is always just slightly out of reach and off the ground doesn’t help with her disorientation, but at least she can see that all her companions are there and unharmed. “You’re traveling with a strange group, Sojourner.” The Reaper turns slowly to survey them. “Hmmm… a deva, a tiefling, and the kobold I’ve seen before many times, the one with the blood of dragons. This might be… interesting.”



 “That is an understatement.” Adele hears Valen murmur, and she catches a glance from him as he reaches towards her to steady her under the arm.



The movement comes so naturally to both of them that she doesn’t even notice what happened until they stand way too close. His fingers tighten on her elbow for a second, and she sees his nostrils flare…She’s suddenly keenly aware that her hair is sweaty and matted with dirt, that even the underside of her padded armoring coat is filthy, and that she hasn’t had a chance to wash up in more than a puddle of water in a dark corner since they’ve left Lith My’athar in what seems to be an age.



“Thank you,” she says hastily and steps away decisively. “I’ll be fine now.” She clears her throat and turns to the Reaper again. “As amusing as that might be for you, our need is dire for speed. We’ve brought gifts for you to bide your time with, and would depart with all due respect as soon as possible.”



“The way is open to Lith M y’athar.” The dark form waves an arm towards a slowly pulsing gateway in the darkness, then pauses, almost pensively. “Gifts, you say?”



“As usual.” Adele nods to Deekin. “Master Scalesinger, the books if you please?”



“Books?” Valen asks, somehow puzzled, looking around in the large, vaulted space with its multiple doors, recesses and alcoves. “You have your private pocket inter-dimensional portal room with its own gatekeeper, and you pay him for passage in… books?”



“Kind of.” Adele shepherds Lavoera and Valen towards the portal the Reaper indicated, and watches Deekin from the corner of her eye to start unloading several tomes with garish images on their covers. “It’s a long story, but it’s not exactly a payment. We… accidently discovered that the Reaper likes… certain stories.” She clears her throat again. “There are publishers in Cormyr specializing in a kind of…romance.”



“Ooh.” Lavoera’s face lights up. “Love stories… how sweet! You wouldn’t think, looking at him with that black robe and dark cloak that he’d be interested in…”



“Something like that.” Adele avoids looking at Valen at all costs. “I try not to think too much about it, truth to tell…”



“Boss!” Deekin’s voice pipes up by her left side, and she startles. “Boss, Reaper-Man says he be very grateful for these…’specially the one ‘Trussed Up In Nothing But…’…



“Right.” Adele cuts in, suddenly wishing she was somewhere else and fast. “Quite right, Master Scalesinger… now hurry up, if you please.” She throws a glance to the side and mutters under her breath. “I don’t select those personally, you understand. Deekin sees to that. It’s just that those awful romances have these absolutely awful titles and…”



“Of course.” For the first time in a long while, Valen sounds amused; and Adele, even though she’s still blushing slightly (and really hopes that he did not see the cover of that last one when Deekin took it out of his pack), is secretly glad, especially after he adds, with a slight bow. “My lady.”

In which another crisis is averted, there is tending to injuries, Valen meets the Gatekeeper the first but not last time, and we learn about said Gatekeeper's secret habit...
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KimiTakami's avatar
OH GOD the gatekeeper reads porn. That is one of the funniest things I've ever seen and do you mind if I include that if/when I write my own NWN fiction?