This story takes place after MOTB. I've intentionally written in first person and left the female KC vague. You'll notice she doesn't even have a name. That is intentional. Hopefully, if I've done my job, anyone who played a neutral or good leaning female PC will be able to see their character here. You really don't care about what kind of PC I made anyway.

Although I thought I was finished, when I re-read this, I realized it was a bit rushed and abrubt. in my haste to get the thing finished, I'd left out some good stuff.

Each chapter has now been edited and I tried to catch all the typos and mistakes. I am sure there are some still left, but I think it's officially done now.

I like happy endings. But only when all the baggage is resolved. And I think there was entirely too much left unsaid and undealt with, especially if your female PC chose to romance both Casavir and Gann. How does one deal with the lost of one love and the finding of another, and how does one reconcile love for such different men?

Obviously, these characters belong to Obsidian.

#

Hmpf.

I set the heavy book down on the table and sighed. It was a copy of "Hordes of the Underdark." Deekin gave me. The binding was garish red leather that Deekin swore was dragon hide. I didn't have the heart to tell him it smelled like an old goat. Deekin meant well, so I could forgive him.

Despite the disjointed way Deekin wrote the story, it was sweet to read. I was especially fond of his description of the love between the hero and the tiefling. It was nice to read about a hero that was a woman like me. It was especially nice to have a happy ending. Of course, Deekin didn''t tell all the details about what happened afterward, but it sounds as if they road off into the sunset together. It was a good story.

My own hadn't turned out that way.

Sometimes I wondered what would have happened if I had done the right thing; the moral thing, and taken the Betrayer's place, guarding Kelemvor's realm. But I was too selfish for that. I listened to Gann, and followed him and Safyia back. I think a part of me knew what would happen, but I wanted a happy ending so badly.

I should have known it wouldn't work with him. He slowly changed as we traveled from a selfish, egotistical playboy into something else. And this new person he'd become, like others who'd followed me, Gann turned loyalty to love. I said the words in return, but I'm not sure it was fair. It had only been weeks since I'd learned of Casavir's fate from Ammon. At the Betrayer's Gate, I think I meant it, but my guilt got the best of me. Gann did stay until I was well again. He slept in my chamber and combed my hair and even sang to me in his soft, gravely voice. But once my wounds were healed –– the ones you could see anyway –– he was gone again.

I only saw him once after that. In a dream. A dream walk, more than a dream I suppose. There was that strange glimmer to the air that the lucid dreams he'd taught me to walk had that regular dreams didn't. Gann told me he did love me in the dream just as heartfelt as the moments at the gate. But he knew I wasn't ready. He told me he knew he was a pale substitute for a paladin. He told me that if I was ever ready for him, not just for comfort, I should look to him in a dream. Then he disappeared into the mist of the dream as softly as he'd disappeared back into the wilds of Rashemen.

Eventually, I returned to Crossroad Keep. I was healthy on the outside, but shattered like glass on the inside. I didn't want the responsibility of the keep, but it was mine and the only home I had left. Luckily for me, Kana was still there and efficiently kept the place running like she had while I was gone. And after all the celebration of the "Knight-Captain's" valiant return, I faded into quiet obscurity and legend.

I was only 30 years old.

I stared into the fireplace across the room, but the fire's despite merry crackling, I felt very, very cold. I closed my eyes and hid my face in my hands.

I thought about Casavir. He'd been my first.

First everything.

I loved him; I worshiped and trusted him. And he died trying to save me. I remembered love when I thought about Casavir. I remembered the moonlight reflected on his tears in his perfectly pale blue eyes when he told me he loved me on the walls of the keep. We'd wasted so much time with fear. For people who'd spent so much time battling horrors and fighting for our lives, it still amazed me that it took us so long to talk to each other. All those nights travelling from one place to the next with his bedroll just far enough away for respectable distance, but always too close for just friendship. We never realized how ridiculous our hesitation was until it was too late.

I couldn't even go up on the walls now. Despite how beautiful the view, and even though the memories should have been good ones, it hurt too much. I could still remember the way he smelled like copper, sweat and incense. I could still feel his gentle, tentative first kiss. I remember feeling so safe, despite the armies of undead at the gates the one night we had together.

Every moment of that one night was branded into my memory. I thought about it more often than was reasonable. But I knew that when it came to Casavir, reason escaped me.

He was gone now. Martyred to save our friends. Now in the halls of Tyr; basking in the glory of his god. I wondered if I had stayed in the upper planes . . . if somehow I would have been able to see him again someday. It kept me awake some nights, imagining what it would be like to see him again. I always pictured him in gleaming silver armor, a blue cloak with Tyr's symbol woven into the threads. Always blowing slightly in a sweet wind that smelled like the scent of incense his aura gave him. I knew better of course. I wasn't among the faithless, but I didn't worship Tyr; I wasn't welcome in his halls. And Casavir could never leave. Not justly anyway. Even love couldn't sway him to break those vows.

I thought of Bishop.

I tried to forget watching him devoured in the Wall of the Faithless. It didn't work; it haunted me. I'd tried so hard to break through to him, but despite it or maybe because of it, he'd betrayed me. In end, he'd refused to fight me, disappearing back into the shadows before we fought Garius. I still sometimes wondered that if only I could have saved him, maybe he could have fought at my side, instead of dying under the rubble alone. If only I would have loved him enough or let him love me.

It was insanity of course. Bishop was always beyond redemption. He'd tried to get under my skin, and he did succeed in that. I was torn for a while between his direct, obvious desire and Casavir's coolness. But then Bishop had tried to touch me when I'd made it clear I wasn't ready and only Casavir's good timing stopped him. I hated him for it and all my confusion had melted away and somehow melted Casavir's ice too. I hated Bishop, even thought hurting me wasn't what he'd intended at first. That hatred drove me, until I saw him in the wall. Then I wanted to go back in time. Let him touch me. As if that could have changed him.

It would have made no difference; but I thought about it anyway.

I thought about Elanee. Dead too in the unforgiving rubble and truly my best friend. She'd been like a guardian angel. She watched me all those years. Even though I hadn't known it at the time, she kept me safe when I wandered too deep into the mere, crying when the Mossfeld's called me any one of the plethora of insults they came up with. Their favorite was one about being an orphan with an elf for a father, who, as far as they could see, liked me even less than they did. Or when Lorne rejected me.

Ah Lorne.

I did have fantastic luck with men didn't I?

When I was a girl, twelve or thirteen, Lorne was my first crush. I was his shadow and Bevil was mine. He'd smile at me, or ruffle my hair with his big hands. He'd wink at me from across the way when he'd catch me staring. But then I waited until after Cormick beat him for the Harvest Cup before I was brave enough to talk to him. He'd blown me off without so much as a look.

And then, just a few years later, he tried to kill me. Repeatedly. Until I stuck my sword in his chest.

Apparently, I was cursed.

I was shocked out of my brooding by a sudden banging on the door. I cringed and my heart leapt into my throat. I was jumpy these days.

"Yes?" I said to the closed door.

"Captain?," said the voice on the other side.

"Come in Kana," I answered. I felt a headache coming on. Kana never bothered me unless something truly unpleasant or bizarre needed to be dealt with. I wasn't sure I was up for any more torture today. I'd been torturing myself quite enough, thank you.

She opened the door slowly and stepped in. Her face was more serious than usual.

"I am sorry to disturb you Captain," she said. "But we have a . . . visitor. I know you don't wish to be bothered, but . . . ." She sounded rattled. There was a first time for everything it seemed.

"Who is it?" I sighed. "Another bard?"

"No," she replied. "Its . . . I think you better come see for yourself."

"Well," I said. "This should be interesting."

Kana gestured to the door. "After you, " she said. There was actually fear in her voice. Who in the nine hells could possibly show up at the door strange enough to distress Kana? The woman was a rock. Of course, the same had been said about me. And I startled easily these days.

I walked through the tapestry lined hallway to the door leading from my private wing to the great hall. The deep silence of the stone hall felt oppressive. I suddenly felt claustrophobic, like at any minute the stones might fall and crush me. I am in dire need of a vacation, I thought as I took a deep, shaky breath and pulled the door open. In the middle of the room, on the red and richly patterned rug, a figure in a dark grey cloak crouched on the floor. A hood obscured the man's face, but it was obviously a man by the width of his shoulders and the shape of his body under the threadbare fabric.

Gingerly, I moved to stand in front of him. He didn't stir.

"You wished to see me?" I asked formally.

He didn't speak, but his shoulders trembled a little. Like he was cold; or afraid. I stared at him impatiently. After what seemed like an hour, but was likely just a moment, he lifted his head and the hood of his cloak slid back.

My mouth fell open. My knees melted and I fell on to my hands and knees. Some hero I am. I looked up at him and stared.

His eyes were perfectly pale blue.

"Casavir?" I managed to say, just barely a whisper.

"Is that my name?" he asked. He swallowed and his lower lip quivered. "I don't remember."

And for a while after that, neither did I. The Knight-Captain of Crossroad Keep, slayer of the King of Shadows and SpiritEater; curse breaker and hero, fainted face first on to the floor.