Post by Jaezred Vandree on Oct 9, 2022 18:58:08 GMT
Co-written with the wonderful Anthony 🖤
When Jaezred arrives at the same little café off the Great Garden of the Mountain Palace, Margotin is already there, sitting all by his lonesome at a table with a cart of tea and pastries next to him. The drow lord’s gait is uncharacteristically ginger as he approaches and sits down at the table across from the butler.
“Margotin. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
He nods politely. “Lord Jaezred. Apologies for the delay, my duties have been keeping me quite busy of late. Would you like some tea?”
“Tea would be great, thank you.”
He lifts the copper tea pot carved with an effigy of the Mountain Palace and the moon in all its phases and slowly pours steaming tea into Jaezred’s cup. He then deftly uses a small pair of silver tongs to place a lemon slice on the side of the plate, followed by a miniature scone before pouring into his own cup. “I trust his lordship enjoys the tea, though I must confess it is not of the same calibre as that of Ms. Stonehide.”
“Oh. Did Miss Oussviir tell you about my visits?”
“No, my lord. But a few people around the court have spoken of you and Ms. Stonehide, and knowing the illustrious Ms. Stonehide’s proclivity for accosting visitors with tea, it is a sensible assumption to make that you have sampled her tea.”
Jaezred chuckles. “Palace gossip spares no one as usual, I see, not even its most prominent monger.”
Margotin settles back into his seat and neatly positions his tea cup before him. “How may I help you, Lord Jaezred?”
“I have been thinking, Margotin… Well, certain recent events in the Dawnlands have prompted the thought, really… You never recovered your memories during your time as a—“ He swallows, struggling to say the next word a little. “A drider, did you?”
Margotin’s jaw visibly tenses a moment, but he maintains his calm expression. After a few seconds of silence, he responds, “That is correct, my lord.”
Jaezred takes a slow sip of the tea, trying in vain to soothe his discomfort with the warm drink. Honesty and open talk is truly more frightening than a battle. “I don’t know about you, but…I believe being unable to remember it is more painful than being able to, strange as it sounds. However, I cannot know that for sure, now can I?”
“I suppose not, my lord. Despite whatever capabilities one might have, we are still limited by our own experiences, however they may be attained. For what it is worth, however, I personally have the opposing perception and belief. Not remembering, to me, seems a blessing.”
“I see. Well, then I am…happy for you,” Jaezred replies, a little hesitantly. “I was told I almost killed two of my friends during that time.”
“That sounds like a terrible burden to hold, my lord. One, I imagine, is scarcely alleviated by the fact that you did not, in fact, succeed. Not that I wish to presume upon your feelings.”
“They do not blame me and Lady Imryll keeps telling me that it was not my fault, and yet, truth be told…” His voice trails off and he inhales shakily. “She made me into a monster. A creature of terror. Even now that I have mastered the form, I…”
“The Lady Imryll is correct, my lord. Under her control in such a way, you would have hardly been yourself. Still, I can understand that is of little comfort when the hand that was used to harm a friend was still your own.”
Jaezred nods, staring down into the teacup as his fingers anxiously grip the edge of the table. “Every drow who has ever been turned into a drider remains in that accursed form until their last breath, and after they die, they are forever remembered in that way,” he says contemplatively. “I felt that I was alone in my struggle, but that has never been true.”
“No, my lord.” Margotin slowly takes up his own tea and fixes a deep stare into the gently rippling surface. “It is…a difficult thing to come to terms with. There is a malicious irony throughout drow culture. The constant threat of being warped by the Spider Queen, encouraged to live our lives at her whims, scheming and forever watching your back, for those closest to you are the most likely to harm you. Worse still, for daring to consider another way she changes you. The scorn you continually suffer as a result, for daring to displease her… We are made to suffer alone but we do so in unison.”
The older man takes a quick sip of his tea and deftly replaces it back on its coaster. “You are not, nor have you ever truly been alone my lord. Now more so than ever, if I am allowed to be so bold as to say.”
“I have never thought about it that way,” murmurs Jaezred, shaking his head, “but you are right. She has worked hard to make sure that we could never trust our kin or neighbours — so as to divide us, so we can never band together to oppose her.”
“Indeed. It is a most wicked game she plays and she is nothing less than a master at it.” Margotin’s face takes on a thoughtful look as he watches Jaezred across the table.
Jaezred’s shoulders slump. “And what am I supposed to do now?” he asks despairingly to no one in particular.
Margotin gently clears his throat and shifts in his seat, a little uncomfortably. “If I may ask, my lord, to what extent do you mean? Only, there are perhaps several answers to such a question.”
“I am tired of despising myself for the things she had forced upon me or coerced me to do. How do I rid myself of it?”
“Hmmm… In truth, my lord, I fear that is a deeply personal decision that it would be irresponsible to try and answer for you. However”—his hand takes hold of the teacup again, not to drink from it, but as if to use it to focus his thoughts—“for what it’s worth…for myself, I find comfort in my faith. I do not wish to sound like I am trying to sway your beliefs and…perhaps Sarin, despite his…ahem…frontal approach, may be better to learn from but…with everything that has happened to me, the scars I bear… It was the Dark Maiden’s song that guided me away from that life. It brought me here, to the place I now call home. Where some may prefer to…seek revenge or bury their past, I find myself able to undo some of the pain that the Spider Queen has caused through the drow who follow the Maiden’s song and find their way. For me — that is enough.”
Jaezred sighs, leans back in his chair, and folds his arms. Oddly even to him, he has never given Eilistraee much thought after coming back despite everything that happened.
“Why? What can she do that makes the pain go away?”
“Directly? I’m afraid, my lord, not likely very much. But I say that in the same way that there is not likely very much anyone would be able to do, deity or otherwise. However, as I mentioned, I may not be the most qualified to answer such matters of faith, only offer my own perceptions… What she can do, for myself at least, is give some degree of direction and purpose. The pain is not gone, but through her, I find I am better able to cope, accept and move on from it. If I may, Lord Jaezred… You are within the Witching Court in the Feywild — there are numerous beings within a twenty minutes’ walk of this café who could simply, yet crudely, remove those memories and pains if that were simply what you wanted… So what exactly do you want in that regard?”
Jaezred sighs. “As I have learned, Margotin, taking away the memory of a painful event does not, in fact, lessen the pain. I suppose that means I can do nothing but try to cope. Put on a stiff upper lip and pretend everything is fine.”
Velve the black widow crawls out of his sleeve and begins nibbling at the scone whilst he absent-mindedly strokes her abdomen with a finger. Margotin picks up a butter knife and delicately cuts off tiny crumbles of another scone and places it on a napkin before the spider, who scuttles towards it and gratefully nibbles away.
“That is one option,” Margotin says. “I suppose what I am trying to say is that, my faith in the Dark Maiden is what makes that easier to do. It is an irrefutable fact that bad things happen in the world, some natural and others supernatural. But the knowledge that there is someone out there guiding us to a better way of life, something I now have tangibly experienced, makes all of those painful memories just that: a memory. That is why, I continue to help guide others where I can to follow her… Do not misunderstand me of course, I am no priest. First and foremost I serve the Lady of Copper and Crystal, but my position here still leaves me room to help others, something our Queen most graciously allows me the space to do.”
“Why? Why do you care about others needing help?”
“The short answer is: because people need help,” he replies, taking another sip of his tea. “Please understand; I do not live through a code of altruism, Lord Jaezred, beyond serving our Queen. The majority of affairs and concerns people have I personally have very little interest in helping them, that feels more suited to the likes of the priest Sarin. I do recognise, however, that the only reason I escaped that life was because someone cared to help me. Elistraee guides us, and for some that is enough, but I would not have managed that journey were it not for my sister. I have faith in the Dark Maiden and help those who follow her because of what she has done for me and many others like me… To some degree, like you now too, if you would forgive me for being so bold as to say.”
“You’ve not seen your sister since that day, have you?”
The is the briefest of pauses, then: “No, I have not.”
“Why did you not go seek her out?”
“To what end? I do not seek some grand reunion or answers from her.”
“To thank her, perhaps?”
“I feel we have passed the point for such pleasantries now. A great many years have passed and though we have not met, I know we still work together through the Dark Maiden through the visions I have had — the same such that led to me asking you to seek her out. I’m sure if I have had such, she has had more.”
Margotin finishes the last of his tea before topping up his cup again, pausing to offer Jaezred a top up, but the warlock does not react to the offer. Instead, he cocks his head slightly to one side as he stares at the man sitting across him. He truly has no affection for his sister, Jaezred thinks. Despite many years of devotion to Eilistraee and her teachings of love and kindness, he is still a cold, unfeeling spider underneath.
“I understand now. You do it out of duty. And your duty distracts you from the pain.”
“Hmmm… Not precisely. First and foremost, my duty is to my Queen. I do it because I want to, because I have faith in Eilistraee and it eases the pain to know more might follow in her light, to…find a safer life. Mine is not a personal touch; I do not hold their hands and coo over their worries, nor do I chase this cause and actively seek out those who need help. I merely answer her call… I apologise, my lord, I realise this must come across akin to a sermon with how I have spoken of matters… In truth, I may not find myself helping anyone for many months at a time, sometimes years.”
“So you believe that Eilistraee sent me to you so that…I can be…helped?”
“In a way… Perhaps helped is the wrong word. ‘Guided’ may be better. Either way, as with us all who follow the Maiden’s song, the decision is only our own.”
“Guided towards what? Oh, don’t tell me — you don’t know, only she knows.”
“Only you know, my lord. She guides to the surface, not a utopia. She guided me to the place I now call home. Where do you want to be guided?”
Jaezred shrinks in his seat.
After a long moment of introspective silence, he says quietly and a little hoarsely, “I just want to make sure that my future family does not go through what I went through. I fear that if I continue to hold on to this judgement of myself, I shall pass it to my future children, who do not deserve it.”
“I see.” The two of them sit in silence for a moment. “May I offer an observation, Lord Jaezred?”
“Go ahead.”
“Whether you attribute much or any of it to the Maiden…you have already followed the path many struggle to do: leaving the underdark and taking up a life on the surface. You speak of family now, though notably not that of the Vandrees left behind, but those you will bring forward. You fear passing on the scars of the past, though you yourself have already moved on some distance from them yourself, not only in your relationship with Lady Imryll, but in your service to our Queen, forsaking the shackles and promises given by the Spider. Then, of course, you speak with me now of the Maiden and have asked how to rid yourself of the pain and guilt of the past… It seems to me that perhaps the real problem you are having is resolving the difference between the life and man you once were with those you have and are now. You seek absolution, despite your friends and family confirming that the deeds that transpired were not your own, yet they plague you still. In such a case, I do not believe any single act or word will give you what you seek unless it comes from within yourself and that, as I have come to understand it at least, my lord, is usually found in faith. Until recently you have lived in a world where a goddess mercilessly taunted and persecuted you and everyone under her domain. Whether you believed in her or not was moot, since she was to be feared. But now you live a life without that fear, or at least significantly less so. Perhaps that is the real root of your discomfort?”
“No. Maybe. I-I don’t know. I am happy where I am now, but I…cannot stop feeling awful about being happy.”
Margotin gives him a small smirk. “That’s because previously we were never allowed to be happy…”
“That is precisely right,” Jaezred sighs. “I did not tell you this, but your sister offered to take me to some place after she…after she saved me. I refused, I said her path is not my path. And now, here you are, pointing me to the daughter of Lolth’s sanctuary.”
“Well, I can only offer my perceptions on the matter, partly influenced by your own visions from the Maiden, of course. I imagine if you were to ask someone else, you might get a different answer, but…for what it’s worth, I think it would be prudent to consider it as an option for you to explore, Lord Jaezred. You need not, of course, embrace Sarin’s habits if you do. Nudity is…not mandatory.”
“Yes, thankfully, both Miss Oussviir and your sister have the good sense to remain fully clothed. Or perhaps unfortunately — after all, Balpassa was quite good-looking…”
Jaezred flashes a cheeky grin. Margotin’s face gives nothing away, but nonetheless Jaezred senses the butler getting ever-so-slightly miffed at the joke being cracked in the middle of their serious conversation. “A sentiment I would presume Lady Imryll would agree with you on, I’m sure,” is all he says.
“Just messing with you, old man,” Jaezred chuckles, then promptly puts on a serious face again. “Right. Maybe I’ll give it a chance. I go to your chapel and then what, just…pray?”
“That would be for you to discover, I’m afraid. Again, I am not a priest, Lord Jaezred. I merely indicate the chapel as an obvious location to begin your spiritual journey. I, myself, prefer solitary worship to Sarin’s congregation.”
“Is the nudity a bit much for you too?”
“Sarin is a bit too much for me,” Margotin replies with the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips.
Jaezred laughs. “You and me both.”
“Then perhaps there may be another option you could follow? I’ve shown you one of the abandoned shrines in the Court already. Or perhaps Miss Oussviir may be willing to speak with you? Though I do imagine the Lady Imryll would prefer the rowdy bar and chapel, were she to accompany you.”
“Miss Oussviir has repeatedly invited me to visit the chapel.” And I may have hinted at agreeing, he adds in his mind. “And yes, Lady Imryll was both delighted and disgusted by the Moon and Web, but this is not about her preferences.”
Jaezred takes several moments to contemplate his choices. In the intervening quiet, Margotin procures more scone crumbs for Velve, who happily continues nibbling.
“I will have a think about it. Thank you, Margotin. I suppose…we really might be the only two people in the world who have experienced what we did,” he says, trying his best to be empathic. Maybe he succeeds this time.
“Then, as horrible as it was, let us at least hope there will be others who live through to better times.”
He nods absently.
“Aside from such heavy topics, was there anything else you wished to discuss, Lord Jaezred? I have come to understand you report directly to the Queen so I will not presume you require my services in a professional capacity.”
“No, I shan’t keep you further from your duties. Though, perhaps, if you are inclined, you, Imryll, and I could have lunch or tea together from time to time…?”
“Of course. If you wish, I might also speak with Ms. Stonehide to procure some of her tea?”
Jaezred smiles. “That would be most delightful.”
It is still where he last saw it. The corridor is quiet, feeling almost separate from the rest of the mountain, and it still remains concealed behind a wall of vines and moss.
A small figure in a niche on the wall, a simple design carved out of stone, depicting an elven woman wielding a sword in a dancer’s pose. The silver dish at her feet is still there and empty, a little tarnished with age.
As he kneels down before the statue, He’lylbreia sitting beside him as a panther, he is enveloped in the silence of his surroundings. It is not a supernatural silence, simply one borne out of a lack of traffic in the area. Isolation.
He glances over at He’lylbreia, wondering what to do. The shadow panther, with a low growling purr, gently nudges him towards the effigy with their head.
“Fine, fine,” he says to them, fondly ruffling the fur-like shadows on the back of their neck. He lets out a tired sigh, before bowing his head and turning his palms skywards to begin a silent prayer.
I don’t know if you can hear me, O goddess, but if you can… Give me a sign.
It takes a moment for Jaezred to notice that the silence is gone.
Taking its place, very faintly and only for a few fleeting seconds, is the sound of a delicate song. Soft as a snowflake falling on a leaf. It doesn’t quite echo up the corridor and he isn’t able to make out the melody beyond the inclusion of chimes and strings.
Yet it sends his pulse into a rush almost instantly. His breathing becomes quick and shallow as the memories of a similar experience in the Underdark, hours before the Spider Queen visited her wrath upon him, flash before his eyes…
But it feels different this time. Previously, whenever he heard the song play behind his ears, he would be assaulted with visions of spiders and pressing malice in response. Now, however, there is no contesting force fighting against the song, and it plays out freely and in peace. For whatever reason, Jaezred finds his breath calming down.
As softly as it came, the song fades away and the silence returns. The stillness is broken by a sudden nudge on his arm by He’lylbreia. He shoots a quick glance at them again to anchor himself, and then he continues praying.
…I know not what to say. I still do not think that your path is meant for someone like me. I just wish to move on from my past.
No words come, but the faint sound of music once again and a sensation welling up within, of a desire to dance.
I most certainly do not want to dance.
The sensation rises and begins to ebb away again as he resists the call to dance, though the music remains on the edge of his hearing for a few moments longer.
The feeling that remains is familiar but different at the same time. It is a feeling of being watched by someone — not with the sense of scheming and observation that he felt as a Favoured of Lolth; rather, a calming presence that instils in him a faint sense of confidence. He is being watched over.
Doubt flashes through his mind, a knee-jerk response to the strangeness of this new experience, but it swiftly washes past him. It is during this time when he realises there is a light emanating around the peripheries of his vision, lighting up the corridor. As the realisation comes and he looks around for the source of the light, it fades away. The sense of a supportive presence remains throughout, filling the space within him where Lolth’s gaze used to sit.
As if on cue, He’lylbreia whines a little and opens their maw in a yawn. Surprisingly, this simple act dispels the feeling of isolation in the corridor. Although the panther has been by his side the whole time, only now is the loneliness gone, though everything remains quiet.
Jaezred sits there wide-eyed, hearing only the sounds of his deep breaths and his pounding heartbeat. He was half-expecting his prayers to be ignored as Lolth used to do. He did not foresee the speed at which the Dark Maiden answered him.
“Why did you never visit me after I returned from the Underdark?” he wonders out loud.
Silence. A thought pops up in his mind regarding his conversation with Margotin earlier today. The royal butler called it a spiritual journey, suggesting maybe coming here today was only just one step. What comes next is possibly yet to be discovered.
Jaezred lets out a grumpy sigh. “Why does everything have to be so oblique with gods? Fine…”
He slowly climbs to his feet and begins heading out of the corridor, beckoning for He’lylbreia to follow him.
Until next time. Perhaps.
When he returns to Imryll’s chambers, she is there, sitting on one of the sofas, several books and hand-written notes scattered around and suspended in various points in the air as she appears to be cross-referencing them all.
As he walks in and she sees the expression on his face, she waves a hand and dismisses the books and parchment into a neat pile on the floor beside the sofa. He sits down next to her and takes her hands in his.
“I have been struggling with a few things since the Underdark,” he says, holding her gaze with sorrow and determination. “I have hated myself for a long time now. But I am working on it.”
After a moment of stunned silence, taken aback by the sudden and upfront outpouring of emotion from Jaezred, Imryll brings up her arms and embraces him tightly.
“My love, you should not hate yourself over what happened down there,” she murmurs softly in his ear. “But I am glad you are working on it.”
He embraces her back and buries his face in her shoulder. It is the closest he has come to crying in almost 250 years.
When Jaezred arrives at the same little café off the Great Garden of the Mountain Palace, Margotin is already there, sitting all by his lonesome at a table with a cart of tea and pastries next to him. The drow lord’s gait is uncharacteristically ginger as he approaches and sits down at the table across from the butler.
“Margotin. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
He nods politely. “Lord Jaezred. Apologies for the delay, my duties have been keeping me quite busy of late. Would you like some tea?”
“Tea would be great, thank you.”
He lifts the copper tea pot carved with an effigy of the Mountain Palace and the moon in all its phases and slowly pours steaming tea into Jaezred’s cup. He then deftly uses a small pair of silver tongs to place a lemon slice on the side of the plate, followed by a miniature scone before pouring into his own cup. “I trust his lordship enjoys the tea, though I must confess it is not of the same calibre as that of Ms. Stonehide.”
“Oh. Did Miss Oussviir tell you about my visits?”
“No, my lord. But a few people around the court have spoken of you and Ms. Stonehide, and knowing the illustrious Ms. Stonehide’s proclivity for accosting visitors with tea, it is a sensible assumption to make that you have sampled her tea.”
Jaezred chuckles. “Palace gossip spares no one as usual, I see, not even its most prominent monger.”
Margotin settles back into his seat and neatly positions his tea cup before him. “How may I help you, Lord Jaezred?”
“I have been thinking, Margotin… Well, certain recent events in the Dawnlands have prompted the thought, really… You never recovered your memories during your time as a—“ He swallows, struggling to say the next word a little. “A drider, did you?”
Margotin’s jaw visibly tenses a moment, but he maintains his calm expression. After a few seconds of silence, he responds, “That is correct, my lord.”
Jaezred takes a slow sip of the tea, trying in vain to soothe his discomfort with the warm drink. Honesty and open talk is truly more frightening than a battle. “I don’t know about you, but…I believe being unable to remember it is more painful than being able to, strange as it sounds. However, I cannot know that for sure, now can I?”
“I suppose not, my lord. Despite whatever capabilities one might have, we are still limited by our own experiences, however they may be attained. For what it is worth, however, I personally have the opposing perception and belief. Not remembering, to me, seems a blessing.”
“I see. Well, then I am…happy for you,” Jaezred replies, a little hesitantly. “I was told I almost killed two of my friends during that time.”
“That sounds like a terrible burden to hold, my lord. One, I imagine, is scarcely alleviated by the fact that you did not, in fact, succeed. Not that I wish to presume upon your feelings.”
“They do not blame me and Lady Imryll keeps telling me that it was not my fault, and yet, truth be told…” His voice trails off and he inhales shakily. “She made me into a monster. A creature of terror. Even now that I have mastered the form, I…”
“The Lady Imryll is correct, my lord. Under her control in such a way, you would have hardly been yourself. Still, I can understand that is of little comfort when the hand that was used to harm a friend was still your own.”
Jaezred nods, staring down into the teacup as his fingers anxiously grip the edge of the table. “Every drow who has ever been turned into a drider remains in that accursed form until their last breath, and after they die, they are forever remembered in that way,” he says contemplatively. “I felt that I was alone in my struggle, but that has never been true.”
“No, my lord.” Margotin slowly takes up his own tea and fixes a deep stare into the gently rippling surface. “It is…a difficult thing to come to terms with. There is a malicious irony throughout drow culture. The constant threat of being warped by the Spider Queen, encouraged to live our lives at her whims, scheming and forever watching your back, for those closest to you are the most likely to harm you. Worse still, for daring to consider another way she changes you. The scorn you continually suffer as a result, for daring to displease her… We are made to suffer alone but we do so in unison.”
The older man takes a quick sip of his tea and deftly replaces it back on its coaster. “You are not, nor have you ever truly been alone my lord. Now more so than ever, if I am allowed to be so bold as to say.”
“I have never thought about it that way,” murmurs Jaezred, shaking his head, “but you are right. She has worked hard to make sure that we could never trust our kin or neighbours — so as to divide us, so we can never band together to oppose her.”
“Indeed. It is a most wicked game she plays and she is nothing less than a master at it.” Margotin’s face takes on a thoughtful look as he watches Jaezred across the table.
Jaezred’s shoulders slump. “And what am I supposed to do now?” he asks despairingly to no one in particular.
Margotin gently clears his throat and shifts in his seat, a little uncomfortably. “If I may ask, my lord, to what extent do you mean? Only, there are perhaps several answers to such a question.”
“I am tired of despising myself for the things she had forced upon me or coerced me to do. How do I rid myself of it?”
“Hmmm… In truth, my lord, I fear that is a deeply personal decision that it would be irresponsible to try and answer for you. However”—his hand takes hold of the teacup again, not to drink from it, but as if to use it to focus his thoughts—“for what it’s worth…for myself, I find comfort in my faith. I do not wish to sound like I am trying to sway your beliefs and…perhaps Sarin, despite his…ahem…frontal approach, may be better to learn from but…with everything that has happened to me, the scars I bear… It was the Dark Maiden’s song that guided me away from that life. It brought me here, to the place I now call home. Where some may prefer to…seek revenge or bury their past, I find myself able to undo some of the pain that the Spider Queen has caused through the drow who follow the Maiden’s song and find their way. For me — that is enough.”
Jaezred sighs, leans back in his chair, and folds his arms. Oddly even to him, he has never given Eilistraee much thought after coming back despite everything that happened.
“Why? What can she do that makes the pain go away?”
“Directly? I’m afraid, my lord, not likely very much. But I say that in the same way that there is not likely very much anyone would be able to do, deity or otherwise. However, as I mentioned, I may not be the most qualified to answer such matters of faith, only offer my own perceptions… What she can do, for myself at least, is give some degree of direction and purpose. The pain is not gone, but through her, I find I am better able to cope, accept and move on from it. If I may, Lord Jaezred… You are within the Witching Court in the Feywild — there are numerous beings within a twenty minutes’ walk of this café who could simply, yet crudely, remove those memories and pains if that were simply what you wanted… So what exactly do you want in that regard?”
Jaezred sighs. “As I have learned, Margotin, taking away the memory of a painful event does not, in fact, lessen the pain. I suppose that means I can do nothing but try to cope. Put on a stiff upper lip and pretend everything is fine.”
Velve the black widow crawls out of his sleeve and begins nibbling at the scone whilst he absent-mindedly strokes her abdomen with a finger. Margotin picks up a butter knife and delicately cuts off tiny crumbles of another scone and places it on a napkin before the spider, who scuttles towards it and gratefully nibbles away.
“That is one option,” Margotin says. “I suppose what I am trying to say is that, my faith in the Dark Maiden is what makes that easier to do. It is an irrefutable fact that bad things happen in the world, some natural and others supernatural. But the knowledge that there is someone out there guiding us to a better way of life, something I now have tangibly experienced, makes all of those painful memories just that: a memory. That is why, I continue to help guide others where I can to follow her… Do not misunderstand me of course, I am no priest. First and foremost I serve the Lady of Copper and Crystal, but my position here still leaves me room to help others, something our Queen most graciously allows me the space to do.”
“Why? Why do you care about others needing help?”
“The short answer is: because people need help,” he replies, taking another sip of his tea. “Please understand; I do not live through a code of altruism, Lord Jaezred, beyond serving our Queen. The majority of affairs and concerns people have I personally have very little interest in helping them, that feels more suited to the likes of the priest Sarin. I do recognise, however, that the only reason I escaped that life was because someone cared to help me. Elistraee guides us, and for some that is enough, but I would not have managed that journey were it not for my sister. I have faith in the Dark Maiden and help those who follow her because of what she has done for me and many others like me… To some degree, like you now too, if you would forgive me for being so bold as to say.”
“You’ve not seen your sister since that day, have you?”
The is the briefest of pauses, then: “No, I have not.”
“Why did you not go seek her out?”
“To what end? I do not seek some grand reunion or answers from her.”
“To thank her, perhaps?”
“I feel we have passed the point for such pleasantries now. A great many years have passed and though we have not met, I know we still work together through the Dark Maiden through the visions I have had — the same such that led to me asking you to seek her out. I’m sure if I have had such, she has had more.”
Margotin finishes the last of his tea before topping up his cup again, pausing to offer Jaezred a top up, but the warlock does not react to the offer. Instead, he cocks his head slightly to one side as he stares at the man sitting across him. He truly has no affection for his sister, Jaezred thinks. Despite many years of devotion to Eilistraee and her teachings of love and kindness, he is still a cold, unfeeling spider underneath.
“I understand now. You do it out of duty. And your duty distracts you from the pain.”
“Hmmm… Not precisely. First and foremost, my duty is to my Queen. I do it because I want to, because I have faith in Eilistraee and it eases the pain to know more might follow in her light, to…find a safer life. Mine is not a personal touch; I do not hold their hands and coo over their worries, nor do I chase this cause and actively seek out those who need help. I merely answer her call… I apologise, my lord, I realise this must come across akin to a sermon with how I have spoken of matters… In truth, I may not find myself helping anyone for many months at a time, sometimes years.”
“So you believe that Eilistraee sent me to you so that…I can be…helped?”
“In a way… Perhaps helped is the wrong word. ‘Guided’ may be better. Either way, as with us all who follow the Maiden’s song, the decision is only our own.”
“Guided towards what? Oh, don’t tell me — you don’t know, only she knows.”
“Only you know, my lord. She guides to the surface, not a utopia. She guided me to the place I now call home. Where do you want to be guided?”
Jaezred shrinks in his seat.
After a long moment of introspective silence, he says quietly and a little hoarsely, “I just want to make sure that my future family does not go through what I went through. I fear that if I continue to hold on to this judgement of myself, I shall pass it to my future children, who do not deserve it.”
“I see.” The two of them sit in silence for a moment. “May I offer an observation, Lord Jaezred?”
“Go ahead.”
“Whether you attribute much or any of it to the Maiden…you have already followed the path many struggle to do: leaving the underdark and taking up a life on the surface. You speak of family now, though notably not that of the Vandrees left behind, but those you will bring forward. You fear passing on the scars of the past, though you yourself have already moved on some distance from them yourself, not only in your relationship with Lady Imryll, but in your service to our Queen, forsaking the shackles and promises given by the Spider. Then, of course, you speak with me now of the Maiden and have asked how to rid yourself of the pain and guilt of the past… It seems to me that perhaps the real problem you are having is resolving the difference between the life and man you once were with those you have and are now. You seek absolution, despite your friends and family confirming that the deeds that transpired were not your own, yet they plague you still. In such a case, I do not believe any single act or word will give you what you seek unless it comes from within yourself and that, as I have come to understand it at least, my lord, is usually found in faith. Until recently you have lived in a world where a goddess mercilessly taunted and persecuted you and everyone under her domain. Whether you believed in her or not was moot, since she was to be feared. But now you live a life without that fear, or at least significantly less so. Perhaps that is the real root of your discomfort?”
“No. Maybe. I-I don’t know. I am happy where I am now, but I…cannot stop feeling awful about being happy.”
Margotin gives him a small smirk. “That’s because previously we were never allowed to be happy…”
“That is precisely right,” Jaezred sighs. “I did not tell you this, but your sister offered to take me to some place after she…after she saved me. I refused, I said her path is not my path. And now, here you are, pointing me to the daughter of Lolth’s sanctuary.”
“Well, I can only offer my perceptions on the matter, partly influenced by your own visions from the Maiden, of course. I imagine if you were to ask someone else, you might get a different answer, but…for what it’s worth, I think it would be prudent to consider it as an option for you to explore, Lord Jaezred. You need not, of course, embrace Sarin’s habits if you do. Nudity is…not mandatory.”
“Yes, thankfully, both Miss Oussviir and your sister have the good sense to remain fully clothed. Or perhaps unfortunately — after all, Balpassa was quite good-looking…”
Jaezred flashes a cheeky grin. Margotin’s face gives nothing away, but nonetheless Jaezred senses the butler getting ever-so-slightly miffed at the joke being cracked in the middle of their serious conversation. “A sentiment I would presume Lady Imryll would agree with you on, I’m sure,” is all he says.
“Just messing with you, old man,” Jaezred chuckles, then promptly puts on a serious face again. “Right. Maybe I’ll give it a chance. I go to your chapel and then what, just…pray?”
“That would be for you to discover, I’m afraid. Again, I am not a priest, Lord Jaezred. I merely indicate the chapel as an obvious location to begin your spiritual journey. I, myself, prefer solitary worship to Sarin’s congregation.”
“Is the nudity a bit much for you too?”
“Sarin is a bit too much for me,” Margotin replies with the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips.
Jaezred laughs. “You and me both.”
“Then perhaps there may be another option you could follow? I’ve shown you one of the abandoned shrines in the Court already. Or perhaps Miss Oussviir may be willing to speak with you? Though I do imagine the Lady Imryll would prefer the rowdy bar and chapel, were she to accompany you.”
“Miss Oussviir has repeatedly invited me to visit the chapel.” And I may have hinted at agreeing, he adds in his mind. “And yes, Lady Imryll was both delighted and disgusted by the Moon and Web, but this is not about her preferences.”
Jaezred takes several moments to contemplate his choices. In the intervening quiet, Margotin procures more scone crumbs for Velve, who happily continues nibbling.
“I will have a think about it. Thank you, Margotin. I suppose…we really might be the only two people in the world who have experienced what we did,” he says, trying his best to be empathic. Maybe he succeeds this time.
“Then, as horrible as it was, let us at least hope there will be others who live through to better times.”
He nods absently.
“Aside from such heavy topics, was there anything else you wished to discuss, Lord Jaezred? I have come to understand you report directly to the Queen so I will not presume you require my services in a professional capacity.”
“No, I shan’t keep you further from your duties. Though, perhaps, if you are inclined, you, Imryll, and I could have lunch or tea together from time to time…?”
“Of course. If you wish, I might also speak with Ms. Stonehide to procure some of her tea?”
Jaezred smiles. “That would be most delightful.”
It is still where he last saw it. The corridor is quiet, feeling almost separate from the rest of the mountain, and it still remains concealed behind a wall of vines and moss.
A small figure in a niche on the wall, a simple design carved out of stone, depicting an elven woman wielding a sword in a dancer’s pose. The silver dish at her feet is still there and empty, a little tarnished with age.
As he kneels down before the statue, He’lylbreia sitting beside him as a panther, he is enveloped in the silence of his surroundings. It is not a supernatural silence, simply one borne out of a lack of traffic in the area. Isolation.
He glances over at He’lylbreia, wondering what to do. The shadow panther, with a low growling purr, gently nudges him towards the effigy with their head.
“Fine, fine,” he says to them, fondly ruffling the fur-like shadows on the back of their neck. He lets out a tired sigh, before bowing his head and turning his palms skywards to begin a silent prayer.
I don’t know if you can hear me, O goddess, but if you can… Give me a sign.
It takes a moment for Jaezred to notice that the silence is gone.
Taking its place, very faintly and only for a few fleeting seconds, is the sound of a delicate song. Soft as a snowflake falling on a leaf. It doesn’t quite echo up the corridor and he isn’t able to make out the melody beyond the inclusion of chimes and strings.
Yet it sends his pulse into a rush almost instantly. His breathing becomes quick and shallow as the memories of a similar experience in the Underdark, hours before the Spider Queen visited her wrath upon him, flash before his eyes…
But it feels different this time. Previously, whenever he heard the song play behind his ears, he would be assaulted with visions of spiders and pressing malice in response. Now, however, there is no contesting force fighting against the song, and it plays out freely and in peace. For whatever reason, Jaezred finds his breath calming down.
As softly as it came, the song fades away and the silence returns. The stillness is broken by a sudden nudge on his arm by He’lylbreia. He shoots a quick glance at them again to anchor himself, and then he continues praying.
…I know not what to say. I still do not think that your path is meant for someone like me. I just wish to move on from my past.
No words come, but the faint sound of music once again and a sensation welling up within, of a desire to dance.
I most certainly do not want to dance.
The sensation rises and begins to ebb away again as he resists the call to dance, though the music remains on the edge of his hearing for a few moments longer.
The feeling that remains is familiar but different at the same time. It is a feeling of being watched by someone — not with the sense of scheming and observation that he felt as a Favoured of Lolth; rather, a calming presence that instils in him a faint sense of confidence. He is being watched over.
Doubt flashes through his mind, a knee-jerk response to the strangeness of this new experience, but it swiftly washes past him. It is during this time when he realises there is a light emanating around the peripheries of his vision, lighting up the corridor. As the realisation comes and he looks around for the source of the light, it fades away. The sense of a supportive presence remains throughout, filling the space within him where Lolth’s gaze used to sit.
As if on cue, He’lylbreia whines a little and opens their maw in a yawn. Surprisingly, this simple act dispels the feeling of isolation in the corridor. Although the panther has been by his side the whole time, only now is the loneliness gone, though everything remains quiet.
Jaezred sits there wide-eyed, hearing only the sounds of his deep breaths and his pounding heartbeat. He was half-expecting his prayers to be ignored as Lolth used to do. He did not foresee the speed at which the Dark Maiden answered him.
“Why did you never visit me after I returned from the Underdark?” he wonders out loud.
Silence. A thought pops up in his mind regarding his conversation with Margotin earlier today. The royal butler called it a spiritual journey, suggesting maybe coming here today was only just one step. What comes next is possibly yet to be discovered.
Jaezred lets out a grumpy sigh. “Why does everything have to be so oblique with gods? Fine…”
He slowly climbs to his feet and begins heading out of the corridor, beckoning for He’lylbreia to follow him.
Until next time. Perhaps.
When he returns to Imryll’s chambers, she is there, sitting on one of the sofas, several books and hand-written notes scattered around and suspended in various points in the air as she appears to be cross-referencing them all.
As he walks in and she sees the expression on his face, she waves a hand and dismisses the books and parchment into a neat pile on the floor beside the sofa. He sits down next to her and takes her hands in his.
“I have been struggling with a few things since the Underdark,” he says, holding her gaze with sorrow and determination. “I have hated myself for a long time now. But I am working on it.”
After a moment of stunned silence, taken aback by the sudden and upfront outpouring of emotion from Jaezred, Imryll brings up her arms and embraces him tightly.
“My love, you should not hate yourself over what happened down there,” she murmurs softly in his ear. “But I am glad you are working on it.”
He embraces her back and buries his face in her shoulder. It is the closest he has come to crying in almost 250 years.