Al and Erevain

Alalla heads to the barracks. There she finds someone who's name she remembers to unbuckle the straps on her breastplate, then goes in search of an empty room.

It isn't too hard to find one. The Targos militia is the biggest in the Ten Towns, but the barracks had been built ambitiously. Al picks one that looks the least likely to be disturbed, then goes inside to wrestle off the plate armour.

Free at last, Al sits cross-legged beside the pile of plate pieces, sighing deeply. She pushes up her sleeves as she prepares to meditate, and hesitates at the sight of her smooth arms. Her midnight skin is completely unmarked.

Alalla looks over her hands. Both the tops and paler palms are free of scars. She feels at her chest and finds that the ribbed claw marks that Halla left behind are gone too. It seems that more than just her eye was healed in her resurrection.

The realization comes with a twist in her gut. Some she was happy to be rid of, the 'gift' Gruumsh gave her for one, but most of the other scars marked her history. They testified of the battles she fought, the work she gave, the lessons she learned.

It is very orcish to value scars, Al knows. One of the few pieces of culture her mother had passed to her that neither woman shunned. Something Alalla shares with her mother, if no one else.

With a grunt Al places her hands on her knees. There will be plenty of other scars, if it matters that much to you. You were running out of room for them anyway."

Sufficiently scolded, Alalla sets to work breathing away her emotions. Out goes the fear at Ghartog's strength. Out goes the bloodlust and battlerage. Out goes the manic panic of a trapped animal.

She is angry about all of those things, and she breathes it out too. She won't tolerate it. Especially not the anger at Erevain.

After some twenty minutes, Erevain arrives at her room. The elf looks exhausted, but his eyes light up at seeing her. He comes and sits in front of her and takes one of her hands. "How are you feeling?"

"Calm." Al keeps her breathing smooth and steady so she can stay that way. "Erevain, what did you do? What did you promise him?"

Erevain sighs and shakes his head. "Alalla, I vowed that I would keep you safe. You have your work to do, and I have mine. I do not want you to be distracted."

Alalla blinks and pulls her hand away. "And I told you at the altar that I wished you hadn't. Knowing that you're doing things behind my back is pretty distracting!" Al takes a deep breath. "I thought we were supposed to be a team. In it all together."

Erevain puts his hands over his face. A shudder wracks his body. "I... Alalla." He forcefully puts his hands at his sides, revealing an impassive face - but eyes that are wet with unshed tears. "Alalla, with our own efforts we are no closer to finding a solution than when we started. When I started." He takes a deep breath. "I came back to save you. Please, just let me do that."

"I thought you came back to be with me. I just wanted you. But you're hiding things from me." Al closes her eyes for a moment. All her fears since learning about Erestor and the Hand can't be coming true. They can't. She hasn't even had a moment to talk to him about them. They can't be happening.

Alalla gently takes Erevain's face in her hands. "Erevain, please. Please. What did you promise him?"

Erevain leans his face into her hands. "I..." He reaches up to strike her dreads and his hand touches a bead, causing it to clack against another. He freezes, every muscle in his body tensing. "Alalla!" He pulls back, eyes wide. "Out there, I passed a body they found within the walls. It was that halfling priestess of Avandra we spoke to. I was distracted and did not think on it until just now, but it appeared as though her eye had been gouged out." He leaps to his feet and grabs the buckles of Alalla's armor, fingers hastily fastening them in place. "The only connection that woman had to Gruumsh was you. We must reach your father and uncle!"

Alalla freezes, the ice sheltering her heart spreading across her whole body. "Idiot," she whispers as Erevain tightens the straps. "Idiot!" she shrieks as she grabs her weapons and runs out the door.

This is what happens when you let yourself have feelings.

Al and Erevain walk in silence to her uncle's home. When they arrive, the work of removing her armour is also done in silence. Shoulders lighter physically, if not emotionally, Al climbs the stairs to the living quarters of the building.

"Alalla!" Simeon and Ellis turn from their seats near the fire to greet her as she enters. The fading smiles and looks of confusion make her stomach sink.

"Alalla?" Simeon reaches out for her. She walks to his chair and kneels as she puts her hands in his. Simeon turns over her unblemished hands examines her new face, and blinks in shock at her tail. "What happened to you, fierce one?"

Alalla sniffs, then snivels, then breaks. She sobs into her father's lap like a child. Ellis takes Erevain's elbow and gestures for them to leave as she cries.

When Al has voice enough, she tells Simeon everything she had withheld. Her death, her experiences with Gruumsh, Poquelin's designs on her, and everything that had happened since they had spoken last.

Simeon stays silent and strokes Alalla's hair as he listens. Occasionally she can feel his fingers knock against the bony base of the horns she had burnt and ripped free.

"How could he do that to me?" Al growls finally. Even that doesn't sound the same, and it kindles her anger further. "How dare he! He tore me in half and never even asked."

"You speak of Erevain, not this Poquelin?"

"He should have talked to me first!" Alalla says by way of confirmation. She stands and angrily wipes away her tears.

"But since he didn't, he should have let you kill yourself, instead?"

"Yes! If I were dead then he wouldn't be sentenced to an eternity in hell!" Alalla paces furiously before her father's chair.

"Alalla Shelur Cort Blacksheaf." Simeon's usually mild tone is short and stern. Alalla stops in her tracks, mouth agape. "Such hypocrisy," Simeon continues, close-clipped head shaking.

"Hypocrisy!" Alalla squeaks with outrage, tail lashing.

"My grown, married daughter returns home from war, and I have to scold her like a child," Simeon laments. "Erevain should have spoken to you? Like you spoke to him about your contemplation of suicide?"

It takes some work for Alalla to get any sound out. "But I-"

"You would rather go to hell than see your husband face it. He would rather go himself than let you. If you two are going to race to acquire damnation, you don't get to be upset that he beat you to it."

"This is about more than just him or me!" Alalla insists. She isn't whining. "I'm too dangerous alive."

"I'm certain he's counting on it," Simeon counters sternly. "He knows you are destined for great things."

"Everyone keeps saying that!" she grumbles. "Look at what he did to me!" Al grabs her tail and shakes it at her father.

"Pull yourself together, Alalla!" Simeon shouts, raising his voice for the first time. Alalla jumps and drops her tail. "He hardly intended it. Erevain was doing his best, and only acting on love. You cannot blame him for that, especially when you were doing the same." Her fathers face softens. "This is not like you, fierce one. I know this hurts, but blaming won't help. You know that. Calm yourself, and tell me what the matter really is."

Thoroughly chastised, Al closes her eyes. In an instant her emotions are cooled, and she finds the answer.

Alalla pushes up her sleeves and stares at her unblemished skin. Yesterday morning her forearms, like the rest of her, had been marked by a number of scars. Most were badges of achievement and proof of hard work, but others were memories.

Al traces a spot on her wrist that once held pale, thin line. She had mishandled the knife when her mother taught her to clean fish. The darker mark on some fingers on her opposite hand is gone too, from when she tried to cook the fish on her own as a surprise for her mother. And her face...

Alalla hangs her head. "I'm sorry, Papa. You must be so angry with me."

"Angry with you? What are you on about, girl?" Al looks up to see her father holding his hands out for her once more. She goes to him and sits at his feet.

"You hated that I put my hair in dreads to cover my ears, and covered my smiles to hide my tusks. Now my ears are round and my tusks are gone. The rest of my face is different, too."

"Oh, child. Then I feared you were ashamed of your mother, and in my grief that made me angry. I've tried to make amends for that and show you I'd changed," Simeon touches the beads decorating her locs, "but I suppose an apology would have been better."

"But she's been erased," Alalla despairs. "Everything I had of hers is gone."

"Come now, child. You still have her language. Her determination. Her fire." Simeon grips Alalla's chin. "Her love. Your body is different now, but I still see my wife when I look at you. Tail and all." He winks. "I know she would be proud."

Alalla takes her father's hand and places it on her cheek. "I kept thinking that if I had to go to Nishrek, then at least I'd see her again."

"Your mother hated what Gruumsh did to the orcs in life, but in death, what did one thing matter over another? But that was only her perspective for herself. She wanted better things for you. I don't know what she would think of the price, but I know she would be pleased with the outcome."

"Well..." Al glances at her tail. "I'm still not sure what that outcome is, exactly, except that it doesn't involve Gruumsh."

"Do you still love him?"

"Erevain?" Alalla asks with confusion. This has been a long conversation. She must be losing him.

"Yes. You promised to love him forever. Do you?"

"...I do. Of course I do."

"Then I'm sure you will figure it out together." Simeon takes up his carving knives and the project he had lain aside. "Him and your friends, fierce one. You don't have to carry your burdens alone anymore. I don't think that's sunk in the way you think it has."

"You're right, Papa."

"Well then. Don't you have things to do?" Simeon begins carving.

"Yes, Papa. I'd best get to work."

"There's my girl." Simeon leans forward and kisses her forehead. "I'm glad you're safe, Alalla."

Al gives him a hug. "Me too."

...

Alalka knocks lightly on her bedroom door. "Erevain? Can I come in?"

The door opens, and Erevain lets Alalla inside. The elf's shoulders and face sag with weariness and grief. "Alalla... I am sorry. I did not mean for this to hap-" He chokes off and tries again. "...to happen. I just tried to do my best. I thought..." Tears stream down his face. "I thought I had done it. I thought I had saved you."

Fists clench and unclench at his sides as he looks into Alalla's eyes, his face twisted in sorrow and horror. "What have I done?"

"Oh, melindo." Alalla takes Erevain's face in her hands, and brings his forehead to hers. The gap between them is shorter than it used to be. "What else were you supposed to do? I backed you into that corner. I'm sorry it took a lecture from my father for me to see that." Her tears threaten to return. "I'm sorry, Erevain. It's on me, not you. When I told you all I had to offer you was pain, I didn't expect to ruin you so quickly."

"Ruin me? Look at you, Alalla. This was my doing. My foolishness. I should never have trusted that devil enough to risk a deal with him. And now... He squeezes her hand. "Even if we kill the fiend, will that restore to you what my actions have taken away?"

"I-" Loss threatens to overwhelm her once more. She closes her eyes for a moment to banish it. When she reopens them her pupils adjust to the light. It's hard to separate them from her dark irises, but from his close view Erevain can see that they are slit down the center like a cat. "I want my heritage back. I want you safe and free. But we can't think about that right now. There's too much at stake to worry about it. Just... no more deals, okay? No more secrets."

It takes a few minutes, but Erevain shudders, then straightens up to look Alalla in her cat eyes. "No more secrets. People still need our help. Whatever Belhifet's next step is, we need to stop him."

Alalla nods. She wipes away his tears, then gives her husband a kiss. "I don't know how, but..." A thought occurs to her, and she pulls Ulbrec's book from her pocket. She opens the front cover and looks at the title page.

The Most Holy Order of the Radiant Heart
The courage of one can change the destiny of many.

Her heart stops and her breath catches.

"We'll make it." Al says when her voice returns. If her glaive were in her hand she would have thumped it with finality and determination. "One step at a time." Al goes to the weapons rack she has against one wall, and pulls a long knife from its place. She hands it to Erevain. "First step, this tail. It's nasty and has got to go." She digs in her wardrobe and finds some rags to knot together. She bites down on the bundle experimentally. "Then a nap, and then the orcs. Sound good?"

Erevain cranes his neck to read that page in the book. His eyes widen, and he breathes out the barest of chuckles. "That... is fitting. I think this is definitely a step in the right direction."

His smile disappears immediately when she proffers the knife. "Ah. The last time you had some sort of surgery done, we had a healer on hand. But... I think I have enough left to handle this." He hesitates. "Only if you are sure."

"Definitely."

Alalla sits at her desk in her room, hunched over papers covered in notes and numbers. She scratches out the half-finished multiplication problem- orcs times food per day times price- and turns it into a towering addition problem instead. It takes her three tries to be sure she hasn't made a mistake somewhere in the eighty numbers. Realizing she still has to multiply the sum of food by price, she shoves the paper away with a grunt and pulls another sheet toward her.

She stares at the dwarven runes coating the paper. Eighty names. Eighty orcs. Eighty people trusting her with their lives. Not just with whether or not they live or die, but with what their lives would actually look like. With their futures.

"You have been given a great opportunity. It will be hard. Not everyone will support you. But you can do it. And this is how:

Be the champion of the weak and the defenseless. Your duty is to those who lack the power you wield. Care for the sick and aid the distressed. Be an example to the young. Protect your friends. Be generous in so far as your resources allow.

Obey your masters with alert judgment and anticipation. Trust me, and the people I will put over you. There are many places where compromise is expected; loyalty is not amongst them.

Serve the common good and the rule of law established by honorable rulers. For now this means the laws of Targos. Your fourfold duties are to faith, family, masters, and all good beings of Faerun. Strive to maintain law and order. Question unjust laws by suggesting improvement or alternatives. This is how great societies are formed.

Seek prowess and skill in all endeavors. It takes more than militant strength to build a life, and each skill will benefit our tribe. Throughout your life, advance daily, becoming more skillful than yesterday, more skillful than today so that your strength may be used to build our tribe up, rather than in personal aggrandizement. This is never ending.

Stand ever alert against corruption. Gruumsh still has a hold on your hearts, whether or not you wish it. You must always be aware of your feelings, and shun those that Gruumsh provides. Your actions are always yours, however. Do not be Gruumsh's hands any more."

Alalla grabs Lord Ulbrec's book and flips it open. She scans the page listing Torm's precepts in a panic. The relief at verifying she hadn't botched her recitation is quickly replaced with fear that she had blasphemed in her modifications of them. It would be just like her to lose the apparent divine favour she had only just acquired. Favour the other orcs could never hope to gain.

Blowing out a slow breath, Al digs until she finds the list of the remaining militia members. It's so much smaller than it ought to be. The relief in finding names is equal to her sadness at the ones that are missing.

The list is sorted into groups for hunting down deserters. There should be enough orcs added that the humans feel like they can't bully them, but not so many that the humans would be in severe danger if the orcs turn on them. Alalla's wisdom on the matter ends there. All she can see as she examines the lists are orcs she doesn't know and humans who have been hurt by them. They will need strong leadership.

Alalla scrabbles for a blank sheet and addresses it to Chaide and Keggruk. Her tongue explores her new teeth as she thinks. The feel of the too small canines gives her a sickening feeling of wrongness in her gut, like the dreams where all her teeth fall out into her hands, but she can't stop. She scowls at the paper.

Dear Keggruk and Chaide. I hope the tribe can do without your leadership for a while, because I need you in Targos. You too, Keggruk. I know you're the only one able to provide any real defense for the camp, but I've created a disaster here and I'd like you to run it. Yours always, except when I abandon you to chase a devil again, Alalla.

Not that more orcs would do much to diffuse the situation anyway. Al drops her stylus. She'll have to leave it all with Lord Ulbrec and pray it's still standing when she returns.

Alalla looks over the disaster on her desk, shifting in her chair to reduce the pressure against her tail wound. "Ilmater's broken hands... what have I done?"