The Wedding

"It's from Poquelin," Al says quietly. "I think... I think it's Bilewing's heart. I think it's the reason Nessa died." Her dark hands are steady as on the package, but through the ice in her heart she thinks they should be shaking. "I shouldn't open it," she says as she slowly unwraps it, "but I think that somehow it's already too late."

Erevain's face does not mirror Alalla's unease. "If it is the heart... Alalla, this could be our answer."

Alalla unwraps the package, and finds a black case with a silver clasp. She pops the clasp and opens the lid, revealing a large black sapphire nestled in dark velvet. Grooves cut through the surface of the gen create a texture much like a dried grape. It catches the nearby lights of the feast and reflects them back in an odd rippling fashion, unlike the cut of any gemstone the companions have ever seen.

A small scroll sits alongside the sapphire. It reads:

Alalla,

This is the heart of Valraxxaxath, prepared specially for a ritual that will allow you to bond it as your own. So long as you have priests and healers on hand, removing your own and replacing it with this will be an easy task, yes?

While not a solution in itself, the heart will prolong your lifespan - and grant other benefits I am sure you will make proper use of - until you trust me enough to save your soul from The One-Eyed God. It is within my power, but I cannot act without your consent. When you are ready to hear my proposal, you may contact me with the sending stone in your possession.

I highly approve of lawful marriage. May yours bring you much satisfaction.

Revered Brother Poquelin

The handwriting seems familiar, but none of the companions are sure from where...

Alalla chokes as she reads the beginning of the letter- Remove my-!- and grinds her teeth as she reads the rest. Approves, does he?

When she is sure Erevain has finished reading, she passes the letter across to Zenithral. She hands the heart over to Erevain, then stares out at the party, breathing deeply.

That man! Her hands threaten to shake now out of anger. Al focuses on her breathing, not really seeing the lights of the feast.

Erevain shuts case and tucks it away. He takes Alalla's hand. "We do not have to think on this right now. Please, sharuhk, let us enjoy this moment! I have a surprise for you that will be ready shortly."

Realizing that she is bladeless, Alalla opens her mouth to ask Zenithral for a knife, but Erevain cuts her off and jars her thoughts. Of course. They are supposed to be in the middle of a wedding celebration.

Al clears her throat instead and grips Erevain's hand. "I'll try, for you. I don't think I like surprises anymore, but I'm sure yours is more pleasant."

"I'm sorry Zenithral, what were you saying about fish?" She looks at him attentively, refusing to glance back at the black box.

"Remove your--?!" Zenithral exclaims while reading, then stops himself. He glances up with an uneasy look. "Might want to get a priest or paladin to look at the dragonheart before you do anything like that. Even then, I wouldn't---Oh, fish? Yes, fish."

He hands her two wooden earrings, intricately carved to resemble knucklehead trout, the fish from Easthaven. Every scale seems to be individually carved, with some elven writing etched along it. "These are knucklehead trout. The fish from Easthaven, where you met each other. They could work as earrings or simply as trinkets for your clothes, armor, or weapons, whatever suits your fancy." He shrugs. "I just thought I should explain."

Despite the heaviness of the previous moments, Alalla actually laughs at the little fish as she is drawn into a memory.

Al bends to pick up a small tin of makeup that has fallen out of her pack. A little face cream could help hide the green tone that lies under the deep brown of her skin, Al thinks, with memories of sparring with a handsome elf spinning in her mind. Immediately annoyed with herself, she moves to put the tin back in her pack but hesitates at the last second, torn. She grumbles and pulls the lid off the tin, rubs a small amount of the brown cream over her face and neck, then throws it roughly into her pack, grumbling unintelligible insults at herself, all elves ever born, knucklehead trout, and the first knucklehead to decide to fish them.

How long ago that feels. Alalla is rather fond of the fish now.

"Thank you, Zenithral," Al says, admiring the carving with a trained eye. "They're wonderful!" She slips them into her ears with a smile for the half-elf.

Once Alalla had told Erevain that she thought that her and Zenithral's association was only temporary. Business. Having endured what they had together, though, she thinks that now they are friends.

When the time is right Erevain takes Alalla's hand. "Come! It is time for your surprise." He leads her a short distance away from the lights and sounds of the feast to where a tall, thin man in a grey robe stands. It takes a moment for Alalla to recognize Orrick the Grey, as she only saw him that one time the night Kuldahar was attacked.

The smile that touches the wizard's lips is polite, if not warm. Alalla has the feeling that this man does not socialize much. "And here you are. Your husband came to me earlier today to ask a favor. He was quite insistent, and even offered his sword as collateral. The mage puts a hand under his robe and pulls forth a helmet that sparkles with three jewels. He hands it to Erevain.

"Not a scratch," Orrick says, holding up a finger to the couple. He moves to return to his tower, but something in the nearby festivities apparently catches his eye - a small, skulking goblin who has had entirely more than his share of cake. Orrick pulls out a book and begins scribbling furiously, having apparently forgotten all about the couple standing nearby.

Erevain holds up a supplicating hand, urging Alalla to play along. Then, with one hand on the helm and one pulling Alalla along with him, the elf moves to a nearby hedge. He pulls back a branch to reveal their traveling packs neatly tucked away.

He turns to Alalla, gesturing with the fancy helmet. "This will take us anywhere in the world we would like to go - teleported there in an instant." He steps closer to her, speaking excitedly. "It's ours for a few days. There are so many magnificent sights I would like to show you! I would like to pick our first destination, and then after that it is entirely up to you. We can go to Waterdeep, or to Cormyr, or to the Bloodstone Lands. The Moonshae Isles!" He tosses the helm into the air and catches it. "We can go to Targos, and see your father."

He grins. "And you don't need to worry about leaving affairs here, we can be back any time you like. I have spoken with each of your companions, and they - more or less - agreed that they can be without their fearless leader at least few days."

Alalla gasps. "Anywhere? Now?" She laughs and places the black heart box (she hadn't wanted to leave it lying about) inside her pack, then takes up her gear. "I thought we'd be stuck in the Spine until spring! I'd like to go to Targos to see my father, but not until I get to have you to myself for a while." Al grins and takes Erevain's hand again. "Lets go, sharuhk. Anywhere."

Erevain shoulders the packs, then dons the helm and pulls Alalla close. "The first place I would like to take you... You remember that dream we shared? The forest, and the stream? You need to experience it in all its true beauty. Though I know it will be all the more wondrous having you there."

As the gems on the helm light up, he keeps smiling. "There is one other thing you should know... Orrick informed me that the magic of the helm does not guarantee immediate arrival at the destination. There is a small chance that we could end up having an adventure or two on the way." His smile does not fade in the least.

The jewels on the helm flare, and when the light fades, the two are gone.