Chapter 1: Mine

"In Flames"

Keep your confessions

Cause babe I'm no saint

We're playing with fire

But I like this game

And I know your devils

I know them by name

When you look my way

Oh I'm not afraid

With your kiss on my skin

And this mess that we're in

In flames

We're going down, we're going down, we're going down

In flames

We're going down, we're going down, we're going down

In flames

We're going down, we're going down, we're going down

In flames

We're going down, we're going down, we're going down

Love be my villain

We're one and the same

Got a heart full of bullets

Cause we got good aim

Come lay down beside me

Be savaged and tamed

You boil in my veins

We won't ever change

With your kiss on my skin

And this mess that we're in

In flames

We're going down, we're going down, we're going down

In flames

We're going down, we're going down, we're going down

In flames

We're going down, we're going down, we're going down

In flames

We're going down, we're going down, we're going down

We'll rise from the ashes and do it again

We'll rise from the ashes and do it again

We'll rise from the ashes and do it again

And do it again, and do it again

In flames

We're going down, we're going down, we're going down

In flames

We're going down, we're going down, we're going down

In flames

We're going down, we're going down, we're going down

In flames

We're going down, we're going down, we're going down

We'll rise from the ashes and do it again

We'll rise from the ashes and do it again

We'll rise from the ashes and do it again

And do it again, and do it again

-Digital Daggers

Rana

Rana snarled in irritation as she realized she was right back in the middle of the room with the columns. Back in the place with the shadows and the doubts and the lies.

She knew she'd eventually end up here again one night while she slept. She just wished it wouldn't have been this soon.

In the dream, she heard someone begin slowly clapping from somewhere in the dark, the sound echoing up and down the room, making it difficult to know where it was coming from.

"I must say, you are my favorite for a reason. That was a spectacular performance, Ilyrana of Candlekeep. Bravo."

A man emerged out of the shadows, and his clapping ceased as he stopped a few yards away from her.

He wore the trappings of a rogue, all dark leather and extra pouches, with knives strapped on his thigh, and around one bicep. His hair was black and longish, his eyes too shadowed for her to make out their color, and there was a light dusting of stubble across his jaw. Handsome enough, in a generic sort of way, but there was something strangely magnetic about him, like he would draw her eye in a crowded room and she wouldn't be able to say why exactly.

He smiled at her, spreading his arms wide and turning a slow circle so she could finish examining him. When he faced her again, he looked like he found her curious perusal of him amusing, and pleasing.

Whatever, she knew where the rest of some of those knives were hidden now, at least. It was going to take a lot more than what he had to impress her, as at the moment, nothing short of a god could do that.

"Who the fuck are you?"

The man blinked, startled by either her bluntness or her ignorance of who he was. Which told her he thought he was important.

Narcissism, check.

"Who would you like me to be?"

Were this not a dream, and she'd run into this joker in a tavern, she'd have turned around and walked away at that line. But, because this was inside her head, and because it was obvious that he was the one running this show, she settled for giving him a bored look instead.

There was only one being who had ever been able to manipulate her dreams like this, forcing her to see something with the same strength that her subconscious wielded to keep her locked inside her nightmares.

But this wasn't Bhaal. She was almost sure of it.

The man chuckled, taking a step closer to her, and like trying to put the North poles of two magnets together, she felt herself shifting back involuntarily, repelled by his nearness.

The effect was deeply unsettling. That she simultaneously wanted to draw closer to him and yet not allow him a single step nearer.

He stopped, and that smile looked different than it had just a second ago. Because he had moved close enough to the light emitted by a nearby torch for her to clearly see his eyes. The irises were dark, perhaps a deep brown or even black. And staring into them made her feel like the ground had suddenly given way beneath her. Like she were tumbling down the rabbit hole, with the void rushing up to meet her. And he was that void.

"Who are you?" She asked again in a whisper, all bravado gone now.

"I think you know the answer," he whispered back, and it felt as if his reply came with his lips pressed to her ear, rather than from across from her.

Even though he hadn't moved any closer, she took another step away from him, and for the first time since she came to this dream, she found herself wondering why she couldn't feel Sarevok.

As if hearing her thoughts, the man's smile widened into a grin.

"Forgive me for barring your protector from this meeting, but I wanted you alone the first time I spoke with you."

Her wariness and unease morphed into true fear at his words, for a number of reasons.

"Now, Rana-" he paused. "May I call you 'Rana'? Or is that too intimate? You'll have to excuse my manners, while you aren't familiar with me, I am very familiar with you, so it feels as if we are already well acquainted."

"Only my friends can call me 'Rana'," she replied quietly. "And you are no friend… Cyric, the Dark Sun."

His ensuing laugh made her skin crawl, because it made her want to smile, as if his amusement should be gratifying to her.

"Just Cyric, if you please, Rana. I was going to be deeply wounded if you couldn't figure out my identity for yourself."

The casual use of her nickname made her angry, but she tamped it down as best she could. She was alone, cut off from Sarevok, as if he'd brought her to a different plane, and there was no fighting him here.

"Or anywhere," he purred, finishing her thought aloud.

"Stop that!" She snapped before she could stop herself.

"My apologies. I'm afraid interacting with others is difficult for me at the best of times, and I am just coming down from a brief interlude of insanity, so I trust you'll forgive my rudeness."

His tone suggested she would forgive it whether she liked it or not.

"What do you want?" She asked, trying to keep her rising fear, and the anger that naturally tagged along with that emotion, out of her voice.

"Excellent question! But first, I'm sure you would appreciate a change of scenery, yes? No point in having a conversation while you are in a place that makes you uncomfortable."

Says the man who brought me to this particular memory in the first place.

He winked at her, reminding her, yet again, that he could hear her thoughts. She was screwed. She had a hard enough time controlling her tongue, there was no helping her knee jerk reactionary thought responses.

The room disappeared around them, bleeding into a different setting. A familiar one. A painfully familiar one.

"Here we are! I recall you feeling safe and comfortable here once, I trust this will ease that fiery temperament of yours so that we may speak amiably."

They were in Gorion's study in Candlekeep.

She swallowed down the tears trying to choke her up as she took in the room.

Soft, worn cushions covered a ring of plush chairs and sofas arranged around the fireplace. Bookshelves filled to bursting with carefully preserved tomes containing subjects that ranged in subject, from herblore to divination, animal husbandry to the history of Waterdeep, military strategy to a collection of poems written by long forgotten poets.

She could recite nearly all of the titles found herein, as she'd read most of them, save a few that Gorion expressly forbade. And only one of those unnerved her enough just by brushing its spine that she actually chose to obey him in this.

Sneaking in here, hoping for some new juicy romance novel, and the scandalous thrill of finding such a thing in her foster father's study, only to become distracted by one of these very texts. He'd caught her, eventually, curled up on the rug in front of the fire, fully engrossed in reading about troop formations based on differing terrains. She'd expected his ire, but it never came. Instead, he silently studied the cover of the book she had open, then went to one of the shelves and pulled down several more like it, setting them in a small stack atop the nearby coffee table.

From then on, every once in awhile, when she woke from a bad dream, or got annoyed with Imoen's pranks, she'd make her way up here, select a book, and curl up to lose herself in it. Sometimes, he'd make them both a cup of hot tea, sweetened with honey or flavored with fresh lemon. He rarely spoke to her on those nights he'd find her in here. Suspecting, and understanding, perhaps, her need for quiet, if not solitude.

As she breathed deep of the smell of parchment and smoldering oaken logs, her gaze finally settled on Cyric, who'd made himself comfortable in one of the chairs and was watching her exploration of the room and its memories. He nodded at the chair across from him.

Having no other choice, she sat, unable to stop from curling her legs beneath her as she'd always done when getting comfortable in this room.

"There. Better?"

"Not really. We both know you brought me here to throw me again, hoping to keep me off my guard. For what, though, I haven't figured out yet."

"I suppose your paranoia is to be expected, all things considered."

"You don't seem to want to dispute my observation, though."

"Because you're right," he answered, startling her with his sudden honesty. "Keeping you confused works to my advantage. I would ask your forgiveness in this as well, but that would imply I regret it, and I do not."

"You haven't told me what you want. Why you brought me to this dream."

"In due time, precious. First, I'm sure you have a lot of questions in regard to my dearly departed servant, Jorval."

She was pretty sure she'd rather him use her nickname over any sort of term of endearment. And judging by the mirth twinkling in those dark eyes, the more agitated she became with the casual, intimate way he addressed her, the more he was going to keep doing it.

Just now realizing the rest of what he'd said, she tried to focus. If she kept letting him throw her, she'd never be able to figure out what the hell was going on.

"Why did you bind your followers' magic? And not Jorval's?"

"Because they weren't my followers. They followed him, not me."

"But they still worshipped you through him. I thought that's how the whole hierarchy of these sorts of establishments worked. The sheep go to the priests, who in turn go to the gods."

"'The sheep.' Yes, I suppose that's an accurate term. And yes, that is, at its crudest description, how this works. Or how it's supposed to. In this case, however, they worshipped Jorval, who worshipped himself. My name may have been slapped on what he was selling them, but I saw none of the returns."

Which was what she and Sarevok had suspected all along.

"So you prevented them from wielding power in your name, because they weren't really using it in your name. Why let Jorval off the hook, then? He was the fraud. I'm assuming he used his illusions to manipulate his church into giving him the praise rather than you."

"That's precisely what he did. One of my more faithful servants came through there some time back and left with the ones who could differentiate between a god and a worm with delusions of grandeur. Those that remained with Jorval were stripped of their magic, though they weren't made aware of this until you and your Deathbringer showed up on their doorstep."

"You do realize that Tiax, the one who took some of his followers away, is also a worm with delusions of grandeur, right?"

"Oh, absolutely! But you see, my dear, he is my worm. And he suffers his delusions with far more grace than most."

"That's a matter of opinion, I suppose."

"Now, Rana," he chided with mock aggrievement. "Not all of us are so blessed with such fine a specimen of worshipper as say, your half-brother. Or that drow of yours. Or even the woodsman with the magical pedigree he tries to ignore."

"They follow me, they don't worship me."

"Do they not? Whose name burns in their minds if not on their lips when they go forth to do battle? To whom do they kill for? Whose secrets do they keep, even at their own expense? Which side of the line will they stand on when your decisions are questioned?"

"If those sorts of things are considered forms of worship, how is it we aren't overrun with gods? Every military leader, or political figurehead, or regent would be considered a deity."

"Ah, but not every military leader, political figurehead, or regent is a direct descendent of a god, now are they? You see, my sweet, there are several different ways a god can accrue power, but the easiest is through their followers. The number of them. And their quality."

"I am not worshipped," she whispered.

"Oh, but you are," he replied just as softly. "And not just by those closest to you. How many people do you think there are, scattered across this realm, that credit you for saving them? Or aiding them in some way? How many statues have been erected in your likeness? How many Bards sing of your exploits? How many enemies curse your name each time you evade them, or they are reminded of being undone by you? How many little girls pretend to be you when they play with their little friends? How many men's eyes linger on you when you walk by them, leaving them to covet what they cannot have? You've made your mark on this world. As have countless before you. The difference, though, the thing that separates you from them, is in your blood."

"What are you getting at, Cyric? And you never answered my question. Why did you leave Jorval's power intact?"

"In regards to Jorval, I initially hadn't dealt with him because of that bout of insanity I mentioned earlier. Then, once I realized you were going to swing by there eventually, I decided to wait and see what happened. I understand he was quite the nightmare for you when you were a child. Killing such a foe, one you feared and despised, one who was once so much more powerful than you, is far more satisfying if you have to work for it. Trust me in this."

He's referring to Bhaal.

Just thinking of her father made her queasy while she sat here with his killer.

"And," he continued, pretending he hadn't heard that particular thought. "I thought this experience would be humbling for you. Wouldn't want you getting above yourself, now would we? We've already spoken of delusions of grandeur, I see no need to go over that topic, again, do you?"

There it is. The reason why we're here.

"Very good, Rana," he purred, caressing her name in a way that made her want to gag. "You see, this little meet and greet serves several purposes. It allows us to finally get to know one another face to face. Well, not quite that. Trust me, I'm far more difficult to deal with in person, or so I'm told."

No fucking doubt about that.

"It also allows me to extend my warmest thanks for dealing with a small thorn in my side, by way of Jorval and his little temple. If he is, in fact, dead. With those pesky illusions, who's to say?"

Rana's stomach clenched at the thought of him still being alive. That he'd faked his death with yet another illusion.

It was possible. They could go back and find out, but she didn't know what she would do if she returned and his body wasn't there. The look in Cyric's eyes told her nothing. Nothing except that he found her sudden paranoia and doubt to be entertaining. She knew he wouldn't tell her if he was really dead or still alive. Because he wanted her to go check. And he knew she wouldn't.

"And, most importantly," he continued as if he didn't know of the turmoil he'd just caused her. "It gives me the opportunity to warn you."

"Warn me? You mean threaten me if I think about trying to usurp you."

"No, my Rana. Not threaten. You haven't done anything to warrant that. Yet. I would like to keep it that way, wouldn't you? No, I believe letting you off with just a warning is sufficient. I know you've thought about my position. What it must be like to hold the kind of power I do. And, believe me, it's far more now than you can even imagine. And I know your imagination is surprisingly vivid, though I can't tell if that's because of your divinity or just a quirk. Anyway, I digress. I'm warning you not to get too ambitious. As I said when I brought you here, you are my favorite among my predecessor's brood. You remind me a bit of myself when I was still mortal. Don't disappoint me. I have such high hopes for you."

"I was under the impression that you, and the other gods, have been limited by the Overfather in regards to meddling with the prophecy," she replied sweetly, finally able to use this bit of leverage that she'd learned from her clerics after reuniting with them outside of Suldanessellar. "So, while I appreciate the warning, I think your words are just that. Words. With no power behind them. Not until this thing is over. Not while you still have to abide by what Ao says."

He smiled again, and this time, there was no amusement in his eyes. Slowly, he rose from his chair, and as he walked towards her, the room melted away, leaving them both in utter darkness. All she could see was him, and when she tried to back away, to maintain distance, she found she couldn't move. When he stood just before her, gazing down at her with a cold, calculating look, all traces of flirtiness and good humor gone, she realized just how much of an act it all had been.

An illusion.

Leaning over her, he put his lips to her ear, and she could feel herself beginning to wake as he released her from the dream. But not before he whispered one last thing.

"And when have I ever been known to follow the rules, Ilyrana?"

Sarevok

Reflexively reaching for his sword as he was jarred awake, Sarevok gripped the hilt of the Sword of Chaos beside him, sitting up, gasping for air in a cold sweat. The feel of his weapon gave him little comfort.

With his other hand, he reached for Rana, his fingers tangling in her hair before grazing her shoulder, then sliding down her back. She mumbled something in her sleep, something about sheep, he thought, but didn't rouse.

It was just a dream. It hadn't been real. None of it.

The canopy of leaves far above his head was too thick to allow him to judge the time of day. That itwasday was all he could tell.

Releasing his deathgrip on both the sword and Rana, he rubbed at his eyes, trying to disperse the images that still lingered behind them.

It was that fight with Jorval and his illusions, only this time, it had been his step mother that he ran through. As he'd fumbled for a healing potion, she'd whispered that she was glad that she died before she could watch him turn into a monster. Before he became like Rieltar.

Her words had cut into him just as brutally as the garrote had to her. Before he could even respond to her, to deny or justify his actions, Rana had appeared. He watched as he attacked her, accusing her of being another illusion. Just another shadow puppet of Jorval's. Watched as she begged him to stop, to believe that she was telling the truth about being real.

In the dream, he didn't release his hold on her throat as he had actually done. Instead, he dropped his sword so he could use both hands to strangle her to death. Blood vessels popped in her eyes, staining the amber. It was impossible to tell how long he had to watch her die, as time does not follow its own rules within nightmares. But it was long enough that the scene was now branded into his mind.

He woke just as Rieltar clapped him on the shoulder and told him a garrote was a far better tool than his own hands, but he was proud of him nonetheless.

Rana murmured something again and rolled over, facing him, the blanket falling to her waist.

Yellowish bruises dotted her neck, from nearly doing to her what he did in the dream, interspersed with faint red bite marks. More of those marred her breasts, more evidence of his loss of control. More bruising, and cuts, around one of her arms, from grasping her in the dark of the temple, when he'd held onto her to reassure himself she was there beside him. Yet more purple and yellow discoloration on her hips, where he'd clutched her mercilessly while he took her.

"Anything good in me began with you, my son," his step mother had whispered in the dream. "And ended when you followed in both your fathers' footsteps."

He had sacrificed everything to achieve his ambition of becoming Bhaal. His humanity, his mentor, Tamoko, his life. He'd never realized how much like Rieltar he'd become in the process. Willing to destroy those closest to him to attain what he wanted. Sarevok had justified what he'd done, but then, Rieltar had felt justified, too. If he'd even cared enough to think about it, that is. Even when godhood was out of his reach, he'd still ruthlessly tried to manipulate Rana to gain what he could through her.

And when he finally set that ambition aside, and she'd given herself to him, he'd hurt her yet again, unaware of the damage he was inflicting upon her body. Because he'd drowned himself in his lust, in his need to claim, after all this time, what should have been his all along. And he did so not long after nearly killing her in that temple.

All that had mattered in that moment was she was finally his at last.

To make matters worse, gazing down at her, he wanted her again. Even knowing he'd caused her pain, and would risk doing so again, he couldn't stop himself from reacting to the sight of her asleep beside him.

And, deep down, in the darker recesses of his heart, his marks on her flesh stirred him. The bruises and the bites were a physical affirmation that she now belonged to him, that she'd submitted to him in the end.

"You're being creepy," Rana mumbled, her eyes still closed, likely feeling the intensity of his stare.

He didn't respond, too busy trying to force himself to rise and put some space between them before his will crumbled even further. When she opened her eyes to look up at him, her sleepy expression and tousled hair was so like what he'd imagined it would be when he'd fantasized about waking up next to her that he reached for her before he'd even told his body to move.

Her eyes slid closed when his fingers trailed up her arm to slip sable locks away from her face. When they brushed against the bruises on her throat, she winced slightly, just a few tiny creases around the eyes, but it was enough to bring everything crashing back down around him.

Jerking his hand away as if she'd scalded him, the words of his step parents echoed in his mind, and he moved to get away from her.

"Seriously?" She asked, anger and hurt rising in her hoarse voice. "I swear to the gods, if you get all weird about this, I'm leaving your ass here."

She sat up, wincing again, and turned away from him to find her clothes. He couldn't stop his eyes from roaming over her, and he clenched his hands in fury that she affected him this strongly. He remembered hoping once that this would get her out of his system. He'd been a fool. She was so deeply imbedded now that he doubted even causing her pain could force him to shake her loose.

Suddenly realizing she was dead serious about leaving, he hauled her back to the bedroll, his anger magnified by the knowledge that he'd probably just hurt her yet again.

"You're not going anywhere," he hissed at her as he pressed her down into the bedroll, struggling to be gentle while he grappled with the panicked insanity brought on by the dream, yesterday, and the prospect of her leaving him.

"Then stop freaking out about this!"

"I'm not freaking out!"

"Are, too! Look, I get it, this is all overwhelming for me, too, but damn, can't you just… give this a chance? I mean, I'm not expecting anything of you, just that you don't try and shut me out because you don't know how to process this yet."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Um, I woke up trying to remember what it was I was just dreaming about, and I could feel you glaring at me. Then you pulled away, because I know you, you're struggling to come to terms with everything that happened yesterday, not just at the temple, but telling me about our soul being merged since childhood, and being stuck together because of it, and then coming here to our tree and-"

"You think sleeping with you scares me?!"

Which, in a way, it did, but not in the way she thought. He was bad for her, he knew this, but he wasn't nearly noble enough to give her up and walk away. He just needed to get away from her so she could heal while he worked on getting this strangling need under control, and getting his strength in check, before putting his hands on her again. He didn't trust himself not to hurt her, and his fear that he'd enjoy it if he did was incentive enough to stay away.

I will not be like Rieltar. I will not revel in causing her pain. Not her.

"Why else would you be acting weird?!" She yelled at him, sitting up when he allowed her to move, and he sat back on his knees.

"It couldn't possibly have anything to do with that!" He roared back, gesturing at the bruises.

She looked down at the ones on her hips, and he indicated the ones on her throat, too.

"You're upset because you think you hurt me?" She asked, looking baffled, which pissed him off even more, as if this weren't something to be concerned with.

"I did hurt you! I nearly killed you when I thought you were an illusion! And I lost all control with you and now you can barely move without hurting!"

"Your concern is sweet, really, but wholly unwarranted."

Her dismissal only fanned the flames of his ire.

"Unwarranted?! You're covered in bruises and you wince with every movement, and you say it's unwarranted?!"

"It's not like you did it on purpose. And I'm not complaining."

He looked at her as if she were mad. His only comforting thought was that she believed it had been entirely accidental.

"You're not upset that I left you bruised and sore, and that half your injuries came from me trying to kill you because I thought you weren't real," he said in a flat tone.

"Honestly, I'd be pretty upset if I weren't bruised and sore. After all that build up over the past couple weeks, if I woke up and could immediately feel my legs I probably woulda left."

"This isn't a godsdamned joke, Rana!"

"I'm kinda not joking," she mumbled under her breath, then huffed and shook her head at him. "If you're that concerned about me being in pain, then dig out a healing potion. And about almost killing me, you thought I was an illusion, and that you already had killed me, so you get a pass on that. Unless you want me to be angry with you?"

She was insane. There was no other explanation.

Leaning over to reach for his bag, he drew out the potion on the first try, frowning at the memory of not being able to find it when he'd thought he needed it yesterday.

She gave him a patient kind of look as she took a few swallows from it. Handing it back, she lightly poked around her neck, no wincing this time.

"Happy now?"

He grinded his teeth in answer, seething from her flippant attitude about something that was tearing him up inside. She rolled her eyes.

"You know, I think I changed my mind. I am mad at you. I can't remember anything of what I was dreaming about before I woke up. And I feel like it was important somehow. Did you see anything from it? Or were you up half the night being creepy and watching my bruises form?"

"No, I was having my own dream this time."

Her eyes softened as she heard something in his voice or read something on his face that indicated his dream had been... unpleasant.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" She asked, reclining back in the bedroll and pulling the blanket up to her chin.

Her naked body abruptly being covered, when he hadn't yet satisfied his need to explore it, had him tugging the blanket right back off again. The cold be damned.

The sudden glow in her eyes, and the way they went from concerned to aroused in a heartbeat, quickened his pulse and stoked the still smoldering embers of his wrath and possessiveness.

It was a dangerous combination, those two emotions, and she was already unknowingly adept at bringing them to the fore prior to last night. Now, the need to mark her again with his teeth, since the healing potion had smoothed those blemishes away from her fair skin, so that there would be some kind of visible claim upon her, had him snatching her up, pulling her off the bedroll and up against his chest.

He was losing it. The fight. And his mind. But still he continued.

With one arm around her lower back, holding her flush against him, he used his other to smooth her hair to the side, revealing the slender column of her neck. As if knowing, and understanding, what he was doing, she tilted her head back and to the side, exposing her throat to him. Submitting to this unexplainable animal need to possess her completely in every way.

Her whimper when he brushed his lips against the scars on the side of her neck had him adjusting her so that she straddled him, and his arm flexed tightly around her when his cock slid against her heat.

"Do you have any idea how maddening this is?" He murmured against her throat, breathing in the addictive scent of her.

He wouldn't know what her reply would have been, as the words she tried to speak were lost in a throaty cry when his mouth clamped down on the spot between her neck and shoulder. Gripping his arms, her nails biting deep into his skin, she clung to him as he lifted her just enough to sheath himself inside her.

"It's as if I've been infected with the taint again. Like I've lost all control once more, only this time, the sole focus of its desires is you…"

He was walking along the knife's edge, and if he plummeted, he would wake with her broken beneath him, her cries of pleasure long since turned to pain and fear. But the longer he managed to keep his balance, the deeper he was cut while just trying to hold on, trying to keep his sense of self, even when he no longer knew who that man was anymore.

"No… the sole focus has always been you," he rasped in her ear as his hands circled her hips to press her further down his length. "The taint, the prophecy, our father, all of it was just in the way before."

A small sound, followed by her pressing her face to his chest, and then his name whispered in a torn, pleading gasp. It drove him wild, and before he could remember that he was doing everything in his power to walk the line with her, he pushed her down onto her back, pinning her throat with his hand, wedged so deep inside of her that he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

"You're mine," he hissed, rising up to stare down at her, madness glowing in his eyes, as he began to lose the fight against the maelstrom inside his head.

The memories of his step-mother bled into the dream that had jarred him awake. His memories of Rieltar did the same. The illusions at the temple toyed with the end results like a child playing with paints.

He would not lose her. Not to death. Not to Jorval. Not to Gorion. Not to Bhaal. Not to Rieltar. Not to another lover. Not to Irenicus. No one and nothing could take her from him now.

"Does she feel real, son of Bhaal? The harder you believe, the more solid she becomes, so what does it even matter if that's not really her?"

"Sarevok-"

"Say it! Tell me you belong to me now."

Gently, she wrapped her fingers around the ones pressed against her throat. With her other hand, she reached up to touch his chest. The scar from her killing blow. Her eyes, glazed with desire only seconds ago, now seemed to see straight into him. Piercing through the storm wall to look into the agony, the rage, the brutality, the terror, churning inside him.

When she finally answered him, she spoke aloud and within him, her words reverberating through the depths of their soul.

"I am yours." And you are mine.

His hold on her throat loosened before he slid his hand to the back of her neck, pulling her to him as he leaned forward to kiss her. It was that gallows kiss again. That feeling that any second now, she would disappear from beneath him. Her scent and her touch all that lingers, like the echoes of his dream.

"Rana…"

Sliding an arm beneath her, he went to his back, pulling her up to straddle him. He couldn't hurt her, he wouldn't hurt her. Wrapping his hands around her waist, it took every ounce of will to hold himself together at the sight of her atop him.

That cascade of dark chocolate hair brushed his thighs as she tilted her head back, the glow of her eyes winking out as they slid shut. The hypnotic roll of her hips; her lips, wet from their kiss, parted on a moan, rendered him incapable of thought, for which he was grateful. Her nails dug into his stomach, and he could feel the muscles of her thighs clenching around his as she moved.

When she opened her eyes to look down at him, and they shimmered honey gold in the filtered sunlight, he reached up to cup her face, his thumb gliding across her bottom lip before dipping into her mouth. His breath hissed out as he felt her tongue twine around it, and his hips bucked up at the sensation, her breasts swaying with the sudden motion.

"Say it again," he quietly commanded, his voice roughened but no longer with that wild obsessiveness constricting his chest.

That feeling had changed, shifting in its intensity, from savagery to something he had no name for. She met his wounded rage with a sweetness that gentled it. But beneath that sweetness was something just as chaotic and all-consuming. It called to him.Shecalled to him. And he was helpless not to obey.

"I'm yours," she whispered, eyes boring into his as the agonizingly slow rhythm she had set began to increase.

"Mine. Mine alone."

"Yes. Yours alone."

Her head fell back as she moved against him faster still, those maddening sounds she made growing louder as he felt her grow closer to her peak. It was a sight that would stay with him till his death, he was sure. And it burned away the imprint of his dream.

Sitting up, one hand braced on the bedroll, his other fisting in her hair, he held her tightly against him as he moved with her, his face a breath away from hers, forcing her to look at him as she came. She stared into his eyes as long as she could, until the strength of her release forced them shut, and she trembled against him with each shuddering wave that rolled through her, his name cried out with each breaking crest.

He tried to withstand the pull of her flesh, the demand of her body to join hers in surrender, but it was impossible to resist that siren's song. Swearing her name like a curse, he pulled her down as he thrust one last time up into her, filling her with his seed.

Collapsing onto his back, he threaded his fingers through her hair, her head on his chest as they both tried to remember how to breathe.

"Are you alright?" She asked him after a moment, raising her face to look at him, her eyes sparkling with humor.

The sight helped to further ease the chaos inside of him.

"Yeah. You?"

"Mmm," she purred, snuggling into him, and he absently threw the blanket over them.

"You gonna tell me what that was about?" She asked, her fingers idly tracing nonsense patterns into his chest.

"I'd rather not, but I suppose I owe you an explanation."

After several minutes of trying to collect his thoughts into a coherent enough reply, he eventually gave up and tapped her soul to let him in. It would be easier just to show her.

He felt her stiffen as she saw his step-mother. Her nails dug in at the memories surrounding Rieltar. And when she felt his emotional state upon waking from the dream, and his subsequent turmoil over seeing her bruises, coupled with his conflicting reaction to them, he waited for her anger. For some kind of disgust or feeling of betrayal at how causing her pain hadn't been completely accidental or lamented.

"You're a bit of an idiot at times, you know that, right?"

Folding the pillow beneath his head to rise up enough to look down at her, he didn't even bother trying to puzzle out why she would say that. He needed to stop being surprised at how she never seemed to react how he expected her to. He'd once considered himself fluent in how women's minds worked. At least as much as a man was able to be at any given moment. Most of his previous relationships, however, couldn't prepare him for her.

"I mean, I know you," she went on, propping her chin in her hand as she rested her elbow on his chest. "We're cut from the same cloth, for starters. And I was clued in to your sadistic streak as far back as when we were children. I never expected that to be nonexistent during sex."

"Rana, what Irenicus did-"

"Stop. I know I've drawn comparisons between the two of you before, but consent is one of the many dividing lines here. I wanted this. I want you. There's a huge difference between being hurt by someone I don't want touching me, and being hurt in the throes by someone I very much want touching me. Besides, we're Bhaalspawn. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say it's probably par for the course."

"You don't know how long I've struggled with this, Rana. How much I've had to hold back in order to prevent wounding the woman I was with."

"Probably as long as I have. I've had… complaints before. Mind you, I can't inflict the kind of damage you can, but still. Most men don't like to be reminded that I'm not a delicate flower or a butterfly in danger of having its wings dusted."

Sarevok sighed and rolled onto his side, pulling her leg over his waist to keep her close, and looked down at her.

He felt a weight on his shoulders begin to lighten. As small and lithe as she was, she certainly wasn't fragile. He didn't know if her admission that she shared in his sadomasochistic tendencies made things easier, because all it did was inflame this still raging inferno inside of him. And he still didn't want to be the kind of man that got off on terrorizing the woman he bedded. A man like Rieltar.

As if reading his thoughts, she reached up to run her fingers down his cheek, her eyes soft with understanding.

"A day at a time. We have enough shit to wade through, there's no need to add more to the pile. I'll tell you if you do something I don't like. As I expect you to do the same with me."

"As you would have it."

"What was her name?"

"Who?"

"Your step-mother."

Sarevok took a deep breath and pulled her closer, not even surprised when his body responded to the silken curves pressed against him. This insatiability wouldn't do, but it was difficult to be angry about it at the moment.

Years ago, after learning the truth of his parentage, and long after her death, he woke one night from a dream of his step-mother. Tears had wetted his pillow, and he'd been disgusted with himself for such weakness. She was dead. He would get revenge on her behalf, but wallowing in memories of her and missing her presence would only serve to weaken him. He'd buried everything to do with her in one of the mass graves hidden away in his heart, her tombstone standing as a reminder of what he owed Rieltar, and nothing more.

Thinking her name would unearth her. Saying it aloud would release her ghost. But had that not already come to pass? He'd dreamt of her again, after all these years. Perhaps it was time.

"Ravenna."

"She was beautiful."

"Yes. She was. It was a political match, her and Rieltar. I think, perhaps, for a time, he was good to her. Before coming to Baldur's Gate, when they still lived in Sembia. It was there that he met a dwarf, one of the last of his clan that had died in a mine accident in the Cloakwood forest. Rieltar befriended him, and upon hearing the dwarf's tale, he hired him as a blacksmith for the Iron Throne. I think the knowledge that there was a mine, still rich in resources, just waiting to be drained, was what began Rieltar's descent. I believe he was always a callous, ambitious bastard, but he was hamstrung in his attempts to garner wealth and power. Until he learned of that mine."

"Yeslick Orothair."

"Yes… that's right. He fought alongside you did he not?"

"Mmm. When we went to the Cloakwood Mine, he was enslaved down there, and we freed him and accepted his aid. He told me about Rieltar and everything that transpired between them. What he failed to mention, though, was that he was the one who forged your sword."

"Yes, I believe it was him. Winski never told me his name, only that he had good reason to despise Rieltar, and it hadn't taken much to convince the dwarf to create a weapon that would strike him down. Of course, I didn't sully the Sword of Chaos with his blood, I used a garrote."

"I remember him being conflicted about wanting to kill him. He wanted revenge, but he felt bad for wanting it. I think he was relieved that you had gotten to him before we could. That even though he wasn't the one to do it, the man who wielded his sword was a good enough compromise. He probably never brought up the topic of forging the blade because he knew it was being used for purposes far more nefarious than killing Rieltar."

"Hmm. Well, he wouldn't have been wrong about that."

Rana snorted and sat up, rolling her neck until it cracked.

"He was one of the ones I wrote to. He could be joining us, if he already isn't at the house when we get back."

"It's amusing you think I'll be letting you return."

She looked down at him with one delicate brow raised, and she tensed as if preparing for a fight.

"I jest, little one. Mostly. The idea of absconding with you is appealing, I won't deny it. I've had you to myself for not nearly long enough, and I don't look forward to having to share you with your fools once more."

"Of course, the sooner we finish this war, the sooner we can lose my fools."

"Indeed," he agreed absently, running the back of his hand down her side, the thought of them not returning taking root in his mind. "If I knew we faced anything less than a drow ensconced in some deep hole we'll have hell digging her out of, and a dragon, I would propose that we wouldn't need their help going forward."

"I still need to mend things with Imoen," she murmured, running her fingers through her hair to get the tangles out.

"I doubt that discovering you share my bed will do anything to help that. And I expect Jaheira won't react well either. I do, however, look forward to Anomen's reaction."

Rana rolled her eyes at that.

"Look, we already left a mess behind just by leaving the way we did. And there'll probably be an even bigger one when we get back if some of the others have started showing up. Until I can get things to die down, we shouldn't broadcast this."

Sarevok sat up and turned her face to look at him.

"Only moments ago you told me you were mine. I'm not going to hide that fact just to spare someone's feelings. Especially those three."

"Not even for me? Not even to spare more turmoil, for a brief time? I'm not saying for the entirety of this campaign. Just for a little while."

"You expect to just return to your room at night, and me to mine? Is that what you're saying?"

Resting her chin on his shoulder, she looked beseechingly up at him, begging him with her eyes.

"Don't you dare," he growled, looking away from her.

Using her fingertips, she turned him back to look at her, ratcheting up the pathetic look by leagues until he sighed in defeat.

"As if I can deny you anything, little vixen. Fine! A fortnight, Rana, no longer."

"A fortnight. Deal."

"We should start heading back. Before you make me agree to anything else."

"Probably a good idea. Ya know, Rook needs some company…"

Minutes later, the pair left their tree behind, silently vowing to someday return.

As the sun moved across the horizon, and they began nearing Tor Niedrig, Rana gasped and pulled her horse up short.

"What is it?"

Her eyes were wide, and she'd gone paler than usual.

"Rana, what's wrong?"

"I just remembered my dream."