Coraline: A Star Shines on the Hour of Our Meeting
I can't sleep, and I know why. I would rather I did not, but I'm too tired for self-deception now.
I could say it's the despairing look on Imoen's face as the wizards hauled her through the portal. I could say it's the memory of Khalid's mutilated body, lying spread-eagled on that table, discarded like some worn-out rag doll. I could say it's the shriek of pure grief Jaheira gave, the first time her eyes fell on him... on it.
I could say it's the raw anguish in Minsc's voice as he told me what they had done to Dynaheir. I could say it's the memory of Irenicus's knives, both the physical ones and the others, still whispering through my skin, through my mind.
Most of the truth is stretched out on the bed at the far end of the room, lost in reverie. Kivan.
Yes. Struggles, tortures, the loss of trusted companions... and I am ashamed to say that all of these weigh less heavily on me than the simple fact of his presence.
I remember the day he left Baldur's Gate. The day he left... no, not me. Us. I stood and watched until the crowds and the distance swallowed him up. Not once did he look back. Not once. And I remember thinking: Perhaps it's for the best.
Then, today, his voice came cutting through the confusion like a blade through my soul, and my heart nearly stopped. I had thought him halfway to Shilmista, but no; there he was, picking his way through the dust and rubble. Picking his way towards me.
He had heard of our disappearance, he told me, and he had turned back, found our trail, and followed it all the way south to Athkatla. I wish the one who had caused you injury answered for his crimes to me, he added, and the echoes are in my head still, his voice low yet full of emotion. If I did not know he would have done the same for any friend...
Yes, friends. That is what we are. No less... and no more. Friend Kivan. Kivan mellonamin...
Elen sila lumenn omentilmo, I said, welcoming him back into the group. The traditional elven greeting, one of the earliest Elvish phrases Gorion taught me. A star shall shine on the hour of our meeting. Aye, but what kind of star? A chill sparkle, taunting and distant, a promise of beauty without any hope of fulfilment? Or a dying star, red and heavy, its last throes soaking the clouds through with blood?
I could say it's the despairing look on Imoen's face as the wizards hauled her through the portal. I could say it's the memory of Khalid's mutilated body, lying spread-eagled on that table, discarded like some worn-out rag doll. I could say it's the shriek of pure grief Jaheira gave, the first time her eyes fell on him... on it.
I could say it's the raw anguish in Minsc's voice as he told me what they had done to Dynaheir. I could say it's the memory of Irenicus's knives, both the physical ones and the others, still whispering through my skin, through my mind.
Most of the truth is stretched out on the bed at the far end of the room, lost in reverie. Kivan.
Yes. Struggles, tortures, the loss of trusted companions... and I am ashamed to say that all of these weigh less heavily on me than the simple fact of his presence.
I remember the day he left Baldur's Gate. The day he left... no, not me. Us. I stood and watched until the crowds and the distance swallowed him up. Not once did he look back. Not once. And I remember thinking: Perhaps it's for the best.
Then, today, his voice came cutting through the confusion like a blade through my soul, and my heart nearly stopped. I had thought him halfway to Shilmista, but no; there he was, picking his way through the dust and rubble. Picking his way towards me.
He had heard of our disappearance, he told me, and he had turned back, found our trail, and followed it all the way south to Athkatla. I wish the one who had caused you injury answered for his crimes to me, he added, and the echoes are in my head still, his voice low yet full of emotion. If I did not know he would have done the same for any friend...
Yes, friends. That is what we are. No less... and no more. Friend Kivan. Kivan mellonamin...
Elen sila lumenn omentilmo, I said, welcoming him back into the group. The traditional elven greeting, one of the earliest Elvish phrases Gorion taught me. A star shall shine on the hour of our meeting. Aye, but what kind of star? A chill sparkle, taunting and distant, a promise of beauty without any hope of fulfilment? Or a dying star, red and heavy, its last throes soaking the clouds through with blood?