mickume/dnd_drow · Datasets at Hugging Face

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"Oh, I will be, but first, I would love to know who this sudden object of your desires is," he remarked, his eyes judging Astarion. "I have not known the Lady Veluthezara to be loving whatsoever."
"Ah, then I suppose you must have been quite the disappointing lover indeed," Astarion smiled devilishly.
"Let us take our leave, Astarion. We’ve done what we came here to do." Aethelle took his arm once more.
"My dear, what was it you came here to do? Delay the suitors from your door? Perhaps you may have done that, but you know deep down you belong to me." His voice cut through the air like a knife. "Or did you truly wish to promenade with your newfound love? I know as well as you do, you hold no love in your heart for anyone or anything. Or is he to be another casualty of our decade long tryst?"
"Torriel, stop this," she hissed quietly. "If you called on me weeks ago to try and dissuade me from finding an actual man of honor, then consider your plan quite foiled."
"You think so little of me, my dear," he chuckled. "I am quite surprised you are here, to be sure, but perhaps I should not have bargained with those cultists."
"What?" The sorceress’s voice cracked.
"What did you do to her?" Astarion stared daggers into the necromancer, his voice piercing the air.
"How else was one of the Upper City’s own abducted? Oh my dear, you should know my plans better by now, if you ever want the scraps of your sorcery back." Aethelle winced at his words.
"You offered me up, who is and has not been yours for a decade, to those illithids?" The sorceress’s voice shook.
"Finally, you seem to be catching on. I was hoping the tadpole in your head would have made it easier for me to take the rest of your sorcery from you. Unfortunately those bastard Absolutists had no intention of returning you to me," continued Torriel. "Judging by your appearance here with an undead of your own, I presume the tadpole is still very much in your head, and that you are now utilizing it for your own cause. No matter. You are still, and always will be, mine."
"I pity you, Torriel. You speak of the love that I might have once showed you, but your soul has become so corrupted, that none would ever show you a modicum of love again." The necromancer's face twisted, and the sorceress stepped forward, holding his gaze. "Does it drive you mad, my dear Torriel, that the so powerful necromancer was no match for an undead himself in the contest for my hand?"
"You will regret you came back here, Lady Veluthezara."
"Yet, here I still stand. Good day to you, Lord Zantharen."
Aethelle quickly pulled Astarion away, making way for the carriage they arrived in. The previous clear skies were now overcast, a gentle rumbling of the clouds preceded before a gentle sprinkling of rain. As the two hurried through the park, Astarion knew the droplet on the sorceress’s cheek was no precipitation. It could not have been.
"Gods damn it all!" Ryn slammed his fist on the table. The five companions sat around a table in the lounge. The storm outside crackled, roaring with thunder. "I’m a damned fool. Of course he was there. I should have gone with you."
"To have done what, Ryndel? The same to the Viscount that you’ve done to my poor table?" replied Aethelle, catching the bottle of wine before it fell.
"Now is not the time to jest, Aethelflaed. At least Astarion was there with you," replied Ryn, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Do you really think so little of me? After all this time?" Her voice grew louder.
"It is precisely because I think so highly of you," Ryn’s voice grew to match Aethelle’s, "that I would be devastated if I had to watch you die again." Aethelle suddenly realized the purpose behind his words, and looked shamefully at the ground.
"I watched you die, and he intends to kill you again. Now I find out you went to him willingly, without telling me, and that is how you disappeared for weeks? You were abducted by mind flayers, Aethelflaed!" Ryn looked at her, his eyes watering. "Look at me, you damned sorceress."
She peered up at him.
"Heed me, Aethelle." The paladin’s voice was shaky. "Stop thinking you are my burden. I am here because I want to be. You are my greatest friend. If you are so hardheaded and insistent to go on a suicide mission, tell me beforehand, so that I might try and forget you first."
"I am sorry, Ryndel." She looked away again, the tears now flowing gently from her eyes.
Shadowheart, Gale, and Astarion looked on with wide eyes. They had yet to see the sorceress so undone, her walls broken down. Astarion placed a gentle hand over hers on the table.
"You... died?" asked Shadowheart softly.
The sorceress wiped the tears from her face. "I suppose if there was ever a time to explain, it’s now."
"We all carry our own burdens, even a sorceress," smiled Gale gently. "Do not explain that which you do not want to."
"I want to, and I need to," her breath hitched.
"Would you like me to begin, Aethelle?" Ryn’s voice was now hushed and comforting. The sorceress nodded, tightening her grasp on Astarion’s hand.
"A bit of a history lesson for you all, first," began Ryn. "Centuries ago, an avariel named Aennaflaed roamed the lands near where Baldur's Gate would eventually come to be. She was a devout dedicated to the Winged Mother, the goddess Aerdrie Faenya."
"The Queen of the Avariel, correct?" asked Gale.
"The very same," affirmed Ryn. The rain rushed down the glass of the windows outside.
"Now, it is well-known that the Winged Mother is a distant deity indeed. Elves seldom worship her today," continued the paladin. "Nevertheless, Aennaflaed was a stubborn one. She prayed and offered her life up to the goddess. The goddess was pleased, and Aennaflaed became her Chosen. She took the surname Veluthezara, and served as a tempest cleric to her Queen." Ryn took the bottle of wine from the table, and poured his goblet. He used the rest of the bottle to fill the goblets in front of everyone.
"Aennaflaed was a great warrior indeed. However, even Chosen can be slain."
Gale's brow furrowed.
"The Winged Mother did not want to lose her Chosen so easily, and vowed her powers she had bestowed to Aennaflaed would reappear in the tenth generation of the Veluthezara line." Ryn motioned to Aethelle. "Thus, we find ourselves humbled in her very presence," the paladin grinned, stood, and bowed with grandeur towards her. "Let me grab the book from the library, Aethelle. You tell the next part."
"Very well," replied Aethelle, as the paladin left the room. The room alit suddenly from a strike of lightning outside, and the sound of the crack ripped though the sky.
"As Ryn previously told you, one of our longstanding alliances was to House Zantharen. Not many knew of the Winged Mother's promise to Aennaflaed, but they did," said Aethelle.
"I believe I see where this story takes a turn for the worse," added Astarion, sipping the dry red.
Aethelle nodded. "Torriel's father, Caenred, became a powerful necromancer, and trained Torriel in the same art."
Ryn entered the room again, and Gale quickly glanced at the book the paladin procured. It was indeed the same one he had read from the previous day. Ryn opened the book and placed it on the table, the parchment detailing years and years of precise lineage.
"The more recent generations of her lineage became obsessed with the power that the family knew was soon to reappear," continued Ryn, pointing at the book as he sat back down. "They soon began killing their own line off, to ensure the powers would appear in one person."
"My parents were soon the only ones left. Their bloodshed ensured my inheritance." Aethelle’s voice oozed with disgust while she eyed the journal's detailed notes.
"Obair and Brynnawen hid Aethelle from the world, knowing she was their only chance at power. The high society of the Upper City knew they had sired a daughter, unseen from the public eye. Everyone, including my own family, assumed they were simply just protective and doting parents. They played the part well." Ryn took another sip of the wine. "Until the curious elven boy next door couldn't comprehend why'd they hide her away, and figured out he could sneak under a hole in the wall of their estate to visit her." The paladin beamed.
Aethelle smiled. "His visits certainly made the days a little easier to bear."
"Eventually her parents struck a deal with Caenred, offering Aethelle in the hopes the necromancer would use his magic to siphon her power and split it amongst themselves." Ryn’s voice dripped with anger. "They did so under the guise that it was nothing more than a marriage contract."
"We didn’t find that part out until all was said and done," murmured the sorceress. "I finally did debut to appease to society, since I suddenly found myself engaged to a man I had never met. I was still confined, but I left for the important events and such. Nobody wanted to arouse any suspicion amongst the socialites." She let out a sigh. "When I finally met Torriel, it was... easier than I had imagined. In the beginning it was... love."
Gale turned to the sorceress. "I imagine when your powers still did not develop, they were not too happy." Aethelle shook her head in agreement, and nodded to Ryn to continue.
"Caenred finally told Torriel of their true intent. Soon the promise of power twisted Torriel, too. The two Zantharen, along with Obair and Brynnawen, decided it was time to try their final attempt at triggering her powers." The wind outside howled as Ryn's voice grew lower. "I climbed over the wall one day, and heard..." Ryn's voice trailed off, as he stared blankly at his chalice.
"I went inside and saw what they had done to her," continued Ryn as a tear fell down his cheek. "She was on the brink of death. Suddenly I felt a surge in the air. Her body burned blue, and she levitated from the ground. I was so taken with what was happening, I was too slow to react to Caenred goading Torriel to drive the dagger into her chest."
"They say," Aethelle started slowly, "that in your final moments, you feel no pain, before you slip into the black." She shook her head and her voice lowered. "I felt the greatest pain I could have never even have fathomed."
"You're right," said Astarion quietly.
"I watched as Torriel cast the soul cage upon her in the grand ballroom of her own home, and used it to siphon the sorcery from her lifeless corpse," lamented Ryn. The rain on the window was unrelenting.
"Like Balthazar and Dame Aylin," murmured Shadowheart.
"I only could see my own rage," hissed Ryn. "I ran at Torriel, and cleaved his hands from his body. It had ruptured the spell enough to free Aethelle, and in the chaos I was able to revive her with a spell. She awakened, and her body burned blue once more, albeit duller than before. Torriel's burned an even weaker blue, as well."
"I can't quite remember it fully," breathed Aethelle. "It was like I was a passenger in my own body."
"Then... the lightning exploded from your hands."
"I begged the force controlling me to guide it away from you," the sorceress replied. "Caenred took the blast for Torriel and died. Torriel disappeared, teleporting off to rejuvenate. As for the staff of the house and my parents, they were..." her throat tightened, and she could not bear to finish her sentence, lest it close completely.
There was a long pause before Ryn finally spoke again. "When the sundering was over, I held you for a long time."
The sorceress stared blankly out the window from the table, trailing the rain with her eyes. The roaring thunder was a comfort to her. She closed her eyes and exhaled, remembering the way the paladin and herself sobbed on the marble floor. They sat there a long time, holding each other, to the point their legs were numb and their eyes were swollen. She breathed in and out once more.
"You came over every day after that." The sorceress’s voice was barely heard. "There was nothing but blood and ash. You had your staff come and clean up, paying them extra for the service and to never breathe a word."
Aethelle exhaled, mustering the strength to continue. "I spent my days in the master bedroom hardly moving and hardly eating. You bathed me and dressed me. If I wasn't asleep, you would tell me the gossip of the day, or what your siblings were currently fighting over, or the weather. I never replied much, I just listened. After some time you convinced me to get out again, to assume my duties and my title. I didn't want to at first."
"You are ever so stubborn," jested Ryn.
Aethelle smiled weakly. "Eventually I realized that the one thing that could propel me upwards was... rage. I used my anger to learn my sorcery, but I wanted more. I wanted Torriel dead. I wanted the piece of myself back. But I knew I could never kill him unless I had mastered my power."
"Did he ever come back for you?" asked Shadowheart quietly.
The sorceress nodded. "He did make his attempts, yes. But Ryn and I always managed to stay one step ahead. But we've never been able to kill him," murmured Aethelle. "Such is the dance we've been in for a decade."
"It seems we have found you in a most convenient point in life," chimed in Gale. "He may have power, but you also have a band of allies to bring along with you to the fight."
"I would love nothing more than to see the sight drain from this bastard's eyes," affirmed Shadowheart.
"Ha! I do like your newfound companions indeed, Aethelle!" Ryn slugged Gale's shoulder, albeit a little too roughly, as the wizard grimaced in pain.
"We will kill him, my love, I promise you that much and more." Astarion looked at her sincerely and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Perhaps we should speak on happier times, now," smiled Ryn.
"Do remind me of the little elven boy who climbed under the garden wall, Ryndel," the sorceress said fondly, hugging her knees to her chest.
"Ah, where to even begin?" Ryn sat back in his chair, his hands behind his head. "I snuck through the gardens and found the little elf sitting and reading a book. I told her she was beautiful, and she screamed." Ryn laughed heartily. "I ran out of there before anyone could see me, and came back the next day."
"What happened the next day?" asked Shadowheart.
"The next day, she pulled a dagger on me," grinned Ryn. "You see the recurring theme, here, yes?"
"It must be some old elven proverb, that the best relationships form from those who pull a knife on the other," smirked Aethelle, eyeing Astarion.
"You too? I'll be damned," said Ryn, gesturing to the vampire.
"The opposite, actually. I pulled the knife on her," replied Astarion.
"Ha! No wonder she cares for you so." Ryn leaned into Astarion and spoke in a hushed tone, pointing to Aethelle. "You're the only bastard crazy enough to give her a taste of her own medicine."
"I don't know, I suppose that fellow in the goblin camp certainly made sure of that as well," said Shadowheart slyly as she sipped the wine.
"Now wait just a damned minute!" Aethelle turned to the cleric, before she was interrupted by the paladin.
"I don't even know if I want to know." Ryn rubbed the bridge of his nose once more.
"Back to your story, Ryn. Please. Start talking. Now. Before someone else says something," stalled the sorceress nervously.
"Ah, yes. Back then I wasn't sure if the path of the paladin was right for me. I think, as you stood there with the knife, I just sat there and started asking you your thoughts."
Aethelle laughed. "I remember it well," she said as she took a drink from the goblet. "I was stupefied. You had just trespassed into the garden and were sitting there, asking a girl you had never met, her opinion of all things."
Ryn shrugged. "You looked like a nice person to speak to! Am I wrong? These two certainly spoke highly to me earlier of how you first met." Ryn gestured to the cleric and the wizard.
Gale and Shadowheart nodded in agreement. "I certainly enjoy still being alive," smirked Gale.
"Likewise," agreed Shadowheart.
"So, what did she make of the great paladin's conflict?" remarked Astarion.
Ryn gestured to Aethelle. "Do you remember what you said to me?" The sorceress shook her head, and the paladin laughed once more.
"You said I was certainly brave enough to be a paladin, and stupid enough, too."
The two lovers sat on the chaise in the bedroom. The sorceress was covered by only a blanket as she sat in front of the crackling fireplace. The rain outside had softened, and a dull pitter-patter on the windows was all that was left of it. Astarion shared the blanket with her, the throw being his only semblance of clothing as well. He held her in his lap tightly, her legs swung over him, her head nestled beneath his chin. He ran his hand over her hair, gently caressing her raven locks.
"My beautiful little tempest," whispered Astarion. She peered up at him and met his loving gaze.
"I am sorry you had to meet him today," she said softly.
"Don’t you dare apologize." He raised a hand to her chin and brushed his thumb across her lips, as if to erase the words she had spoken. She leaned up to him, and he kissed her delicately. The sorceress nestled her head beneath his chin once more.
"You are everything to me," she spoke as she reached for his hand.
The rogue brought her hand to his lips and kissed it as well. "And you to me."
"Did you mean what you said in the park?" her voice whispered.
He leaned back to look at her, eyes wide with concern. "Was I not genuine?"

"Oh, I will be, but first, I would love to know who this sudden object of your desires is," he remarked, his eyes judging Astarion. "I have not known the Lady Veluthezara to be loving whatsoever."

"Ah, then I suppose you must have been quite the disappointing lover indeed," Astarion smiled devilishly.

"Let us take our leave, Astarion. We’ve done what we came here to do." Aethelle took his arm once more.

"My dear, what was it you came here to do? Delay the suitors from your door? Perhaps you may have done that, but you know deep down you belong to me." His voice cut through the air like a knife. "Or did you truly wish to promenade with your newfound love? I know as well as you do, you hold no love in your heart for anyone or anything. Or is he to be another casualty of our decade long tryst?"

"Torriel, stop this," she hissed quietly. "If you called on me weeks ago to try and dissuade me from finding an actual man of honor, then consider your plan quite foiled."

"You think so little of me, my dear," he chuckled. "I am quite surprised you are here, to be sure, but perhaps I should not have bargained with those cultists."

"What?" The sorceress’s voice cracked.

"What did you do to her?" Astarion stared daggers into the necromancer, his voice piercing the air.

"How else was one of the Upper City’s own abducted? Oh my dear, you should know my plans better by now, if you ever want the scraps of your sorcery back." Aethelle winced at his words.

"You offered me up, who is and has not been yours for a decade, to those illithids?" The sorceress’s voice shook.

"Finally, you seem to be catching on. I was hoping the tadpole in your head would have made it easier for me to take the rest of your sorcery from you. Unfortunately those bastard Absolutists had no intention of returning you to me," continued Torriel. "Judging by your appearance here with an undead of your own, I presume the tadpole is still very much in your head, and that you are now utilizing it for your own cause. No matter. You are still, and always will be, mine."

"I pity you, Torriel. You speak of the love that I might have once showed you, but your soul has become so corrupted, that none would ever show you a modicum of love again." The necromancer's face twisted, and the sorceress stepped forward, holding his gaze. "Does it drive you mad, my dear Torriel, that the so powerful necromancer was no match for an undead himself in the contest for my hand?"

"You will regret you came back here, Lady Veluthezara."

"Yet, here I still stand. Good day to you, Lord Zantharen."

Aethelle quickly pulled Astarion away, making way for the carriage they arrived in. The previous clear skies were now overcast, a gentle rumbling of the clouds preceded before a gentle sprinkling of rain. As the two hurried through the park, Astarion knew the droplet on the sorceress’s cheek was no precipitation. It could not have been.

"Gods damn it all!" Ryn slammed his fist on the table. The five companions sat around a table in the lounge. The storm outside crackled, roaring with thunder. "I’m a damned fool. Of course he was there. I should have gone with you."

"To have done what, Ryndel? The same to the Viscount that you’ve done to my poor table?" replied Aethelle, catching the bottle of wine before it fell.

"Now is not the time to jest, Aethelflaed. At least Astarion was there with you," replied Ryn, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Do you really think so little of me? After all this time?" Her voice grew louder.

"It is precisely because I think so highly of you," Ryn’s voice grew to match Aethelle’s, "that I would be devastated if I had to watch you die again." Aethelle suddenly realized the purpose behind his words, and looked shamefully at the ground.

"I watched you die, and he intends to kill you again. Now I find out you went to him willingly, without telling me, and that is how you disappeared for weeks? You were abducted by mind flayers, Aethelflaed!" Ryn looked at her, his eyes watering. "Look at me, you damned sorceress."

She peered up at him.

"Heed me, Aethelle." The paladin’s voice was shaky. "Stop thinking you are my burden. I am here because I want to be. You are my greatest friend. If you are so hardheaded and insistent to go on a suicide mission, tell me beforehand, so that I might try and forget you first."

"I am sorry, Ryndel." She looked away again, the tears now flowing gently from her eyes.

Shadowheart, Gale, and Astarion looked on with wide eyes. They had yet to see the sorceress so undone, her walls broken down. Astarion placed a gentle hand over hers on the table.

"You... died?" asked Shadowheart softly.

The sorceress wiped the tears from her face. "I suppose if there was ever a time to explain, it’s now."

"We all carry our own burdens, even a sorceress," smiled Gale gently. "Do not explain that which you do not want to."

"I want to, and I need to," her breath hitched.

"Would you like me to begin, Aethelle?" Ryn’s voice was now hushed and comforting. The sorceress nodded, tightening her grasp on Astarion’s hand.

"A bit of a history lesson for you all, first," began Ryn. "Centuries ago, an avariel named Aennaflaed roamed the lands near where Baldur's Gate would eventually come to be. She was a devout dedicated to the Winged Mother, the goddess Aerdrie Faenya."

"The Queen of the Avariel, correct?" asked Gale.

"The very same," affirmed Ryn. The rain rushed down the glass of the windows outside.

"Now, it is well-known that the Winged Mother is a distant deity indeed. Elves seldom worship her today," continued the paladin. "Nevertheless, Aennaflaed was a stubborn one. She prayed and offered her life up to the goddess. The goddess was pleased, and Aennaflaed became her Chosen. She took the surname Veluthezara, and served as a tempest cleric to her Queen." Ryn took the bottle of wine from the table, and poured his goblet. He used the rest of the bottle to fill the goblets in front of everyone.

"Aennaflaed was a great warrior indeed. However, even Chosen can be slain."

Gale's brow furrowed.

"The Winged Mother did not want to lose her Chosen so easily, and vowed her powers she had bestowed to Aennaflaed would reappear in the tenth generation of the Veluthezara line." Ryn motioned to Aethelle. "Thus, we find ourselves humbled in her very presence," the paladin grinned, stood, and bowed with grandeur towards her. "Let me grab the book from the library, Aethelle. You tell the next part."

"Very well," replied Aethelle, as the paladin left the room. The room alit suddenly from a strike of lightning outside, and the sound of the crack ripped though the sky.

"As Ryn previously told you, one of our longstanding alliances was to House Zantharen. Not many knew of the Winged Mother's promise to Aennaflaed, but they did," said Aethelle.

"I believe I see where this story takes a turn for the worse," added Astarion, sipping the dry red.

Aethelle nodded. "Torriel's father, Caenred, became a powerful necromancer, and trained Torriel in the same art."

Ryn entered the room again, and Gale quickly glanced at the book the paladin procured. It was indeed the same one he had read from the previous day. Ryn opened the book and placed it on the table, the parchment detailing years and years of precise lineage.

"The more recent generations of her lineage became obsessed with the power that the family knew was soon to reappear," continued Ryn, pointing at the book as he sat back down. "They soon began killing their own line off, to ensure the powers would appear in one person."

"My parents were soon the only ones left. Their bloodshed ensured my inheritance." Aethelle’s voice oozed with disgust while she eyed the journal's detailed notes.

"Obair and Brynnawen hid Aethelle from the world, knowing she was their only chance at power. The high society of the Upper City knew they had sired a daughter, unseen from the public eye. Everyone, including my own family, assumed they were simply just protective and doting parents. They played the part well." Ryn took another sip of the wine. "Until the curious elven boy next door couldn't comprehend why'd they hide her away, and figured out he could sneak under a hole in the wall of their estate to visit her." The paladin beamed.

Aethelle smiled. "His visits certainly made the days a little easier to bear."

"Eventually her parents struck a deal with Caenred, offering Aethelle in the hopes the necromancer would use his magic to siphon her power and split it amongst themselves." Ryn’s voice dripped with anger. "They did so under the guise that it was nothing more than a marriage contract."

"We didn’t find that part out until all was said and done," murmured the sorceress. "I finally did debut to appease to society, since I suddenly found myself engaged to a man I had never met. I was still confined, but I left for the important events and such. Nobody wanted to arouse any suspicion amongst the socialites." She let out a sigh. "When I finally met Torriel, it was... easier than I had imagined. In the beginning it was... love."

Gale turned to the sorceress. "I imagine when your powers still did not develop, they were not too happy." Aethelle shook her head in agreement, and nodded to Ryn to continue.

"Caenred finally told Torriel of their true intent. Soon the promise of power twisted Torriel, too. The two Zantharen, along with Obair and Brynnawen, decided it was time to try their final attempt at triggering her powers." The wind outside howled as Ryn's voice grew lower. "I climbed over the wall one day, and heard..." Ryn's voice trailed off, as he stared blankly at his chalice.

"I went inside and saw what they had done to her," continued Ryn as a tear fell down his cheek. "She was on the brink of death. Suddenly I felt a surge in the air. Her body burned blue, and she levitated from the ground. I was so taken with what was happening, I was too slow to react to Caenred goading Torriel to drive the dagger into her chest."

"They say," Aethelle started slowly, "that in your final moments, you feel no pain, before you slip into the black." She shook her head and her voice lowered. "I felt the greatest pain I could have never even have fathomed."

"You're right," said Astarion quietly.

"I watched as Torriel cast the soul cage upon her in the grand ballroom of her own home, and used it to siphon the sorcery from her lifeless corpse," lamented Ryn. The rain on the window was unrelenting.

"Like Balthazar and Dame Aylin," murmured Shadowheart.

"I only could see my own rage," hissed Ryn. "I ran at Torriel, and cleaved his hands from his body. It had ruptured the spell enough to free Aethelle, and in the chaos I was able to revive her with a spell. She awakened, and her body burned blue once more, albeit duller than before. Torriel's burned an even weaker blue, as well."

"I can't quite remember it fully," breathed Aethelle. "It was like I was a passenger in my own body."

"Then... the lightning exploded from your hands."

"I begged the force controlling me to guide it away from you," the sorceress replied. "Caenred took the blast for Torriel and died. Torriel disappeared, teleporting off to rejuvenate. As for the staff of the house and my parents, they were..." her throat tightened, and she could not bear to finish her sentence, lest it close completely.

There was a long pause before Ryn finally spoke again. "When the sundering was over, I held you for a long time."

The sorceress stared blankly out the window from the table, trailing the rain with her eyes. The roaring thunder was a comfort to her. She closed her eyes and exhaled, remembering the way the paladin and herself sobbed on the marble floor. They sat there a long time, holding each other, to the point their legs were numb and their eyes were swollen. She breathed in and out once more.

"You came over every day after that." The sorceress’s voice was barely heard. "There was nothing but blood and ash. You had your staff come and clean up, paying them extra for the service and to never breathe a word."

Aethelle exhaled, mustering the strength to continue. "I spent my days in the master bedroom hardly moving and hardly eating. You bathed me and dressed me. If I wasn't asleep, you would tell me the gossip of the day, or what your siblings were currently fighting over, or the weather. I never replied much, I just listened. After some time you convinced me to get out again, to assume my duties and my title. I didn't want to at first."

"You are ever so stubborn," jested Ryn.

Aethelle smiled weakly. "Eventually I realized that the one thing that could propel me upwards was... rage. I used my anger to learn my sorcery, but I wanted more. I wanted Torriel dead. I wanted the piece of myself back. But I knew I could never kill him unless I had mastered my power."

"Did he ever come back for you?" asked Shadowheart quietly.

The sorceress nodded. "He did make his attempts, yes. But Ryn and I always managed to stay one step ahead. But we've never been able to kill him," murmured Aethelle. "Such is the dance we've been in for a decade."

"It seems we have found you in a most convenient point in life," chimed in Gale. "He may have power, but you also have a band of allies to bring along with you to the fight."

"I would love nothing more than to see the sight drain from this bastard's eyes," affirmed Shadowheart.

"Ha! I do like your newfound companions indeed, Aethelle!" Ryn slugged Gale's shoulder, albeit a little too roughly, as the wizard grimaced in pain.

"We will kill him, my love, I promise you that much and more." Astarion looked at her sincerely and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Perhaps we should speak on happier times, now," smiled Ryn.

"Do remind me of the little elven boy who climbed under the garden wall, Ryndel," the sorceress said fondly, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Ah, where to even begin?" Ryn sat back in his chair, his hands behind his head. "I snuck through the gardens and found the little elf sitting and reading a book. I told her she was beautiful, and she screamed." Ryn laughed heartily. "I ran out of there before anyone could see me, and came back the next day."

"What happened the next day?" asked Shadowheart.

"The next day, she pulled a dagger on me," grinned Ryn. "You see the recurring theme, here, yes?"

"It must be some old elven proverb, that the best relationships form from those who pull a knife on the other," smirked Aethelle, eyeing Astarion.

"You too? I'll be damned," said Ryn, gesturing to the vampire.

"The opposite, actually. I pulled the knife on her," replied Astarion.

"Ha! No wonder she cares for you so." Ryn leaned into Astarion and spoke in a hushed tone, pointing to Aethelle. "You're the only bastard crazy enough to give her a taste of her own medicine."

"I don't know, I suppose that fellow in the goblin camp certainly made sure of that as well," said Shadowheart slyly as she sipped the wine.

"Now wait just a damned minute!" Aethelle turned to the cleric, before she was interrupted by the paladin.

"I don't even know if I want to know." Ryn rubbed the bridge of his nose once more.

"Back to your story, Ryn. Please. Start talking. Now. Before someone else says something," stalled the sorceress nervously.

"Ah, yes. Back then I wasn't sure if the path of the paladin was right for me. I think, as you stood there with the knife, I just sat there and started asking you your thoughts."

Aethelle laughed. "I remember it well," she said as she took a drink from the goblet. "I was stupefied. You had just trespassed into the garden and were sitting there, asking a girl you had never met, her opinion of all things."

Ryn shrugged. "You looked like a nice person to speak to! Am I wrong? These two certainly spoke highly to me earlier of how you first met." Ryn gestured to the cleric and the wizard.

Gale and Shadowheart nodded in agreement. "I certainly enjoy still being alive," smirked Gale.

"Likewise," agreed Shadowheart.

"So, what did she make of the great paladin's conflict?" remarked Astarion.

Ryn gestured to Aethelle. "Do you remember what you said to me?" The sorceress shook her head, and the paladin laughed once more.

"You said I was certainly brave enough to be a paladin, and stupid enough, too."

The two lovers sat on the chaise in the bedroom. The sorceress was covered by only a blanket as she sat in front of the crackling fireplace. The rain outside had softened, and a dull pitter-patter on the windows was all that was left of it. Astarion shared the blanket with her, the throw being his only semblance of clothing as well. He held her in his lap tightly, her legs swung over him, her head nestled beneath his chin. He ran his hand over her hair, gently caressing her raven locks.

"My beautiful little tempest," whispered Astarion. She peered up at him and met his loving gaze.

"I am sorry you had to meet him today," she said softly.

"Don’t you dare apologize." He raised a hand to her chin and brushed his thumb across her lips, as if to erase the words she had spoken. She leaned up to him, and he kissed her delicately. The sorceress nestled her head beneath his chin once more.

"You are everything to me," she spoke as she reached for his hand.

The rogue brought her hand to his lips and kissed it as well. "And you to me."

"Did you mean what you said in the park?" her voice whispered.

He leaned back to look at her, eyes wide with concern. "Was I not genuine?"