It had grown late enough for the candles to be lit in the drawing room. Most of the guests had already assembled there, but the guest of honor had yet to arrive. Patricia eyed herself dubiously in the mirror. She couldn’t remember ever being this nervous about a party before, or so worried about her own looks. Oh, she’d had a few butterflies in her stomach when the Dukes had thrown the grand ball in Baldur’s Gate, but nothing like this. It hadn’t dawned on her until lunchtime that this was no longer the simple supper she had envisioned from Maria’s invitation. They’d not spoken of it while Cadril was there, naturally, but afterwards, Delaine had commented that from what she’d heard, half of the Order would be at the Firecams’. Patricia had watched anxiously from Leona’s room as her mother’s dire prophecy was fulfilled, more and more people entering the house.

Keldorn’s oldest daughter was tremendously excited about it all. She had been given the extraordinary privilege of being allowed to stay up until midnight, and had kept up a steady stream of chatter ever since Patricia had arrived at four. She was good-natured enough, and had been eager to help the monk get ready. Luckily, Leona was quite good with hair, and had jumped at the chance to arrange Patricia’s. The girl had taken almost an hour, twisting it this way and that, before they found a style that was satisfactory to them both. It was now piled much more loosely on her head, most of it pulled into a large bun high on the back of her skull. The bun was held in place by two carved ivory sticks, each topped with a cabochon of rose quartz.

Patricia had already put on a pair of rose quartz earrings and a matching pendant on a silver necklace. For this evening, she had removed her Order chain, tucking it into an inner pocket of her gown. Still she dawdled about in her petticoat, oddly unwilling to go downstairs before Anomen arrived. So many strangers! She smoothed her hands over the plain pink silk once more, entranced by the feel as it lay across the back of a chair. This was the last thing Allinie had shown her, and it was the piece she loved most. It was extremely high-waisted, with short sleeves and a scooped neckline. The dress was absolutely unadorned, except for a sash of dark rose velvet and matching bands at the ends of the sleeves.

Leona gave it a skeptical once-over. “Lady Patricia, how come your dress is pink?” she asked disdainfully. “Nobody wears pink except babies! It’s pale and insipid. And it’s so plain! No ruffles or lace, beads or feathers, barely even any ribbon! Who made this, anyway?”

“Well, I’m afraid pink just happens to be my favorite color, Leona,” Patricia said with amusement. She personally wouldn’t be caught dead in the frothy bright lime green dress Leona had on, though she’d never have said so. “And it was made by Madame Allinie.”

Leona’s eyes grew round. “But she’s supposed to be good! Not as good as Herr Maurice or Lakiki, but decent! She designed this thing?”

“Yes,” Patricia answered quietly. Funny, she actually felt less nervous now that she knew Leona thought her dress was boring. Dull was what she was used to! “Come on, I might as well go ahead and put it on.”

Leona helped her slip the dress over her head and fasten the five small buttons up the back of the short bodice, then tied the sash ends into a large bow. Then the girl looked it over critically again. “You know, that funny color does suit you,” she admitted. “And the bodice fits like a glove.”

“Well, hand me that long string of pearls,” Patricia said, “and I’ll slap on a little lip gloss, and we’ll go down.”

Leona looked appalled. “Lady Patricia, you can’t do that! What about mascara and rouge and eyeshadow? I thought you were just waiting until you had your dress on so you wouldn’t smear your face!”

“Leona, my face is my face. It’s clean, and that’s good enough for me.”

“Ohhh, why? You could do so much with it!” Leona mourned, even as she followed the monk out of the room.

Only once they reached the head of the stairs did Patricia realize that her delay had made things worse. If she had come downstairs early, she could have found a nice dark corner where she could have lurked undetected for most of the evening, using her training to blend in with the woodwork. Now she was poised at the top of a huge stone staircase that descended in a gentle curve to the main floor. The kind of staircase that was designed to draw attention upwards from anyone in the hall below--- and said hall was now teeming with guests. Well, there was nothing for it but to make an entrance. She forced herself to move, taking some comfort in the fact that Leona was with her. If pink was so unfashionable, maybe she could pass for the girl’s governess, allowed downstairs to supervise her pupil….

She gestured to Leona to go first, then took a deep breath and plunged down the stairs after the girl, moving as rapidly as she could without seeming to run. Deliberately she closed her ears to the noise of the crowd. If anyone said anything about her, she didn’t want to hear it; she just wanted to disappear as quickly as possible. Even so, she caught a few whispers. Did you hear about the Jysstevs’ new resident artist?…Is that some Planxty poor relation?… Looks like that, she won’t be poor long, no matter how badly she’s dressed…D’you think Maria will let Keldorn pull out the Turmish ’68?… Nonsense, couldn’t possibly be Calimshite, look at that skin! She was thankful once she had run the gamut of the guests to the double doors; now perhaps she could look for that dark corner.

Patricia followed Leona into the drawing room and made her formal curtsey to the host and hostess. Maria and Keldorn were resplendent in deep red garments trimmed with gold. Maria gave her dress a somewhat quizzical look, but said nothing. Keldorn seemed a tad relieved to see her. “Lady Patricia, I am pleased to see you looking so well. You seemed a bit preoccupied during our earlier conversation. May I hope that all went well?”

“Yes, it turned out that my request had been anticipated, and the matter has been settled as we hoped,” she replied, warming at his kindly interest.

“Well, I believe your parents are already here. But you should not have put off your own entrance so late; several people have already been asking Maria where you were to be found. Sir Cadril and Sir Waleis I know inquired after you.” Keldorn’s voice was friendly as he conveyed this subtle warning, and she blessed him silently for his kindness.

“I see,” she said neutrally. “I shall certainly be on the lookout for them.”

He smiled. “I am afraid they will not have long to converse, Lady Patricia. Sir Ryan should be arriving with our guest of honor at any moment, and we shall go in to dinner at once.”

She moved on, searching for Winthrop’s bald dome. Once she located it, she studied the crowd around him to make sure Sir Cadril wasn’t lurking nearby, then darted towards her father. They had deliberately not informed Sir Cadril of their relationship this afternoon, knowing word would spread like wildfire if they did, so she refrained from hugging him.

“Winthrop, where is Delaine?” she asked.

“Oh, over with Lady Nalia and Lady Delcia,” he replied. In a lower voice he added, “Girl, be glad you didn’t let me see you in that dress before you got here. I’d never have let you come.”

“But… there’s nothing immodest about it,” she said in surprise and dismay.

He sighed. “Child, that’s the problem. That Allinie is a genius. That dress is so unlike anything else here that it sticks out a mile. She knows everyone else will be trying to compete for the most gaudy effect, so she turns the competition on its head by deliberately going to the other extreme. At least, that’s what Delaine said when she saw you a minute ago. I just thought that you were entirely too pretty to be let out by yourself, especially with ravening wolves like that Cadril around.”

She felt herself blushing. “You know I couldn’t very well get out of that….”

Winthrop looked at her seriously. “I know, Tisha. I don’t have to remind you to be more careful next time. But here comes Delaine.”

Her mother bustled up. Parties of any sort always brought out the best in Delaine, and her eyes sparkled as they took in her daughter. “You look lovely, Patricia. Don’t worry, Maria assures me that most of the guests will be clearing out right after dinner.”

“Oh, good,” Patricia said with relief. “You know I don’t like such crowds….”

Delaine laughed. “Now go on and let Lady Delcia get a look at you. I promised her I would send you over as soon as you arrived.”

Patricia moved off instantly, glad to see the crotchety old woman again. For all Delcia’s many flaws, she was beginning to understand Nalia’s affection for their great-aunt. There they both were, Nalia in a daffodil yellow brocade and Delcia in sapphire blue. Patricia took her great-aunt by the hand. “I heard that you wished to see me, Lady Delcia,” she said.

The woman’s face lighted up as she peered intently at Patricia. “Well, it’s good to see a young one with sense to leave well enough alone,” she said approvingly. “In my day it was a point of pride among young girls not to wear all this heavy makeup; we left that for the old women. I don’t know about the pink, though; it’s been out of favor a long time.”

Nalia, who had obviously spent a long time carefully applying many layers of cosmetics, was understandably irritated by Delcia’s comments. “Well, I think it’s neat,” she said. “It’s way different from anybody else, and without these hoops she can at least move through a crowd!” She tugged disparagingly at her own huge panniered skirt, which was held out stiffly over a whalebone framework. “You could use a little more color, though, Tish. That’s what Jan’ll say.”

“Speaking of Jan, where is he? I had thought Master Beauregard would have had him and Minsc here by now,” Patricia inquired, glad to change the subject.

Nalia’s expression shifted suddenly. “Well, at the moment they’re about six yards behind you.”

She turned to see the three men closing in on them, Minsc’s huge figure parting the crowds effortlessly. His broad face beamed when he spied them. “Tisha! There you are!”

They made small talk for a few moments while Delcia was distracted by the appearance of an old crony, but Patricia shortly made an excuse to move on again. She was still nervous. She wanted to see Anomen just as soon as she could, but she wasn’t sure she could stand another round of tightly restrained conversation. She heartily regretted leaving him so quickly this morning. Look at the scrape she’d gotten herself into in consequence!

There was a ripple in the crowd, a momentary shift in the collective attention of the group, and Patricia knew without looking that Anomen must have arrived. She kept working her way towards the back, letting everyone else move forward around her. She moved through the drawing room and through the opened double doors that led into the attached study. This room had now emptied out, and she gladly sank into a padded armchair placed well back in the farthest corner. She’d have to move soon--- being last in to dinner would be as conspicuous as being first--- but she had a few precious moments of quiet to try to order her mind.

She heard steps behind her, and tensed in alarm. Please, not Cadril! But it was only Beauregard. He gestured her to keep her seat, though she would have risen in respect. He gazed at her long and steadily before he spoke.

“Well, Patricia, our friend has done well, and I am pleased for him. I also approve of your own conduct so far; you have exhibited a great deal of patience and wisdom. But now is no longer the time to be backward; I believe you must open yourself up more, if you do not wish to lose your chance at happiness.”

He quirked his mouth in a smile half grave, half amused. “I have known you for months, child, and I have never seen you look or act this way before. Sometimes the only reasonable course of action is surrender to the inevitable.” He extended a hand. “Come, Sister Patricia Contemplata, and let me escort you in to supper. You shall be safe during the meal, at least, though no doubt you shall be accosted by many afterwards. I am afraid you must simply endure that, as must another gentleman.”

“Yes, Grand Master Beauregard,” she said meekly, rising and placing her hand over his. She allowed him to lead her back into the drawing room, where they slipped past guests still huddled in tight knots of conversation in order to reach the dining room. By whatever providence, she and Beauregard were seated across from Nalia and Jan, safe and familiar faces, and she happily prepared to spend her evening listening to the gnome’s tall tales and Nalia’s gossip about their fellow guests. The food was excellent, as was the wine, though she forced herself to pace her drinking to keep her wits clear. She was sorry to see that Nalia and Jan were both less careful, and she finally had to say something to her ward. It wouldn’t look good if Nalia were to appear amidst this company three sheets to the wind. Judging by Isaea’s conduct this afternoon, he definitely still held a grudge against them all. Nalia took it well enough, switching to water without complaint.

She had carefully kept her eyes turned away from the head of the long table, but as the meal drew to a close, Keldorn rose to his feet and tapped with a fork on his glass to call everyone’s attention. “We have gathered this eve in honor of the newest member of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart. Sir Anomen Delryn, we salute your achievements!”

Everyone raised their own goblets, and echoing cries of support rang from throughout the room. Anomen stood to acknowledge their well-wishing, and the frank pleasure shining from his face almost blinded Patricia. She thought she would nearly burst with pride for him. Oh, he had earned this moment so many times over! She was glad he had this evening when all eyes would be on him, when he could feel that there were many people who valued him, not just herself. She had been wise not to let him trap her beforehand; whichever way such a meeting had gone would have diminished this event in his memory.

“I owe the attainment of this dream to the aid and advice of many,” he said, “but to a few I owe most of all. I drink to the past, to the memory of my mother and my sister, and also in honor of Guardian Vottnar, all of whom first set my feet on the path of righteousness. I drink to the present, to my fellows within the Order and the companions who have traveled dark and painful roads with me.” He scanned the table, eyes finally coming to rest on Patricia. “And I drink to the adventures yet to come, to new trusts given, new friends made, and new roads taken. Yet I wish above all to thank all of you who have come to join me in my happiness on this day, and so as I drink from this cup which is the very symbol of the Order, I say, here’s to you!”

He held the golden cup high, then drained it in a single gulp to thunderous applause.

Sir Ryan next stood. “Gentlemen,” he intoned. “Will you all rise as we make the traditional toast to the ladies?” Each man stood--- even Jan and Minsc, who had apparently been briefed beforehand--- and bowed to the woman on his right as the paladin said simply, “Without you, ladies, we are nothing.”

The table began to break up shortly afterwards, with guests drifting off in twos and threes. Some returned to the drawing room, others departed for their own homes. Patricia wisely stuck close to Delcia, and kept Nalia nearby as well. She saw Cadril pass two or three times, but after his experience at lunch, he seemed unwilling to approach the older woman again. He probably didn’t want to be drawn into another minute inquiry into his own background. The uninformed Sir Waleis, on the other hand, strode boldly up and claimed their acquaintance at once. She and Nalia spent such an agreeable fifteen minutes with him that at last she had to glare down Jan, who was showing unmistakable signs of preparing one of his infamous tricks. Patricia breathed a sigh of relief once the red-haired knight moved on, but then she found herself being introduced to dozens of other people, none of whom she would later remember. At last she extricated herself in order to visit the garderobe, and she afterwards lay down in Leona’s room for an hour. It was getting on for midnight now, and the monk wearily got up again. It would have been so nice just to go on to sleep, instead of having to worry about getting home….

Her blood suddenly ran cold. Oh, no. I forgot about going back in the dark! I’ll just have to stay up until dawn. Her new fear of the night had led her to ask Maria to allow her to come early and dress at their house, but she had stupidly forgotten about leaving again. A carriage wasn’t safe, there were too many ways they could get at it…. Well, if all else failed, she’d just have to ask for a blanket on the floor; surely Maria wouldn’t drive her out into the darkness. Leona came in just then.

“Oh, Lady Patricia, I’ve been looking all over for you!” the girl said. “Mother wanted me to ask if you’d like to just spend the night. You can have my bed, I’ll go into the nursery with Vesper. Oh, please say you will!” Leona looked at her admiringly. “You wouldn’t believe what they’re saying about you down there! Every woman in the room wants to know who made that dress, because all the men have had their eyes glued to you all evening! Wow, Allinie is really smart after all!”

Patricia sighed. No more comfortable dullness, then. “I’d like to stay very much, Leona,” she replied. “Thank you. But are you sure you won’t mind giving up your bed? I can sleep on the floor.”

“No, I always go in with Vesper when we have a lot of company,” Leona said. “I’ll tell Mother, but then I’ve got to scoot off to bed, or I’ll be in trouble.”

Patricia picked up the box, heavier now and re-wrapped in several layers of tissue paper, and carried it downstairs behind Leona. The crowd had nearly disappeared by this time. She spotted Winthrop’s bald head and Beauregard’s grey mop stuck back in the corner of the study she’d used earlier; Delaine, Maria, and Lady Trawl were talking quietly on the sofa near the drawing-room fireplace. There was no sign of Nalia, Jan, or Minsc, nor of Anomen, for that matter. She peeked into the dining room. Keldorn, Ryan, and Anomen were all still sitting at the head of the table, a half-empty bottle of wine before them. Her heart sank. Oh, no. If they were drunk, she’d just have to wait until tomorrow; she couldn’t face that. But Anomen was normally quite careful; she’d never seen him go to excess before, probably because he was afraid of ending up like his father.

Anomen looked up and caught sight of her. His eyes lit, but he seemed uncertain, as if he wanted to call to her, but was afraid to. Her heart melted, and she made her decision. It was just Sir Ryan and Keldorn, after all, and it was high time she took Boo’s advice to surrender gracefully to the inevitable. She slipped silently through the door, but the other men turned anyway to see what had attracted the Watcher’s attention.

Keldorn rose from his seat. “Lady Patricia, I thought perhaps you had left us already. When do you intend to leave for Imnesvale? Not tomorrow, I trust, if you are up so late tonight?”

“I’m afraid so,” she said. “I plan to leave for the de’Arnise Keep about noon, so I can consult with Nalia’s steward tomorrow evening. Also, I don’t like to keep the boy away from home any longer than necessary.”

“Well, then, you must have plans to make with Sir Anomen, as I know you have had little opportunity to discuss the trip with him today,” Keldorn commented. “Come, Ryan, Winthrop tells me that his wife’s voice is lovely as ever. Perhaps she will consent to sing for us.”

The two men tactfully abandoned the room, closing the door behind them.

Patricia’s heart was pounding as she stood there. Anomen, too, looked a little nervous. The silence stretched on, and every second made it harder for either one to be the first to break it. Finally she got out, “I… brought… I have a… oh, here,” she said, and placed the box onto the table in front of him. As he automatically glanced down at it, she found that she could breathe properly once again. “Well, open it!” she demanded sharply when he made no move to touch it.

She watched those lean fingers fumbling with the string, and tried to withstand this strange new longing that flooded through her. She remembered the way he had laughed two nights ago in the sanctuary. Was it really only two nights ago? She recalled the feel of his hands on her face, and she was suddenly afraid that it was all a mix-up, that she had mistaken what he felt, that….

He had the tissue paper off now, and was examining the box. “Thank you,” he said, looking up at her quizzically after tracing the carved symbol of Helm. “A box, how nice.”

He tried to hide it, but she caught the slightest twinkle in his eyes, and felt all her fears drop away. “Don’t come over the fool with me, Sir Anomen Delryn,” she said with a smile, “I know better. Open it up.”

In the background, she heard the tinkling of a piano, and then the well-known sound of Delaine’s voice launching into song. An old one, one she recognized from her childhood.

Or scorne or pity on me take,
I must the true redemption make,
I am undone tonight.
Love, in a subtle dreame disguised,
Hath both my heart and me surprised,
Whom never yet he durst attempt awake. *)

He pushed his chair back and took one quick stride to stand in front of her. “Not until you allow me to tell you something, my lady.”

He gave her a long, searching look, then pulled a flower out of the vase on the table. “When I came here tonight, I had many things that I wished to say to you, Patricia, and when I saw this, I thought I had found my perfect metaphor. Do you see this flower, my lady? ‘Tis a rare find... a crimson rhodelia, if I am not mistaken.”

She barely had enough strength to nod, and she stared at the blossom because she didn’t dare raise her face to his. “It’s… a pretty enough flower,” she whispered.

“’Tis a most stately flower, my lady,” he corrected her. “Its color has the most fiery temperament, yet its aroma is piercingly sweet. It is the flower of lovers, yet it is also the flower of vengeance and warriors. And when I first entered this house, it reminded me of you, my lady. Beautiful to look upon, yet with a powerful nature.” He stopped for a moment, and raised her right hand to his lips, forcing her to look at him.

“But that was before I saw you again,” he said in a changed voice. “When you entered this room for dinner, I realized how utterly mistaken I had been. You are no scarlet bloom that beckons to all and sundry, demanding attention from all who pass through a gaudy display of color and odor.”

He led her by the hand to an arrangement in a wall vase on the other side of the room. It was filled with ferns, and among some other pale blooms, a dozen perfect pink roses reposed in solitary beauty.

“These, Patricia, these roses are you,” he said, wrapping his arm about her shoulders. “Even though you are so unassuming, every eye is slowly drawn to you, glad to find a rest in your peaceful presence. And their scent, while more subtle, has a greater permanency. I find myself drawn to it, giving myself over almost to distraction.”

“I told you that such chivalrous flattery discomfits me,” she said, feeling her cheeks turning pinker than the flowers.

He gently turned her to face him and looked down at her gravely. “Nonsense, my lady. Flattery would imply that I was exaggerating. I find, instead, that these roses are but a pale imitation of the attraction you hold for me. Tisha, you are too kind to toy with me. If you find what I say forward, or unwelcome, I shall desist; but I have discovered my feelings for you to have grown beyond that of mere friendship or alliance. I have said many times how grateful I am, but I have never told you that I was attracted to you from the start. Your gentle heart and your bright soul have always been there like a lantern in the night, guiding me when I would have stumbled. And then… then I began to see your outer beauty, and thought myself a blind fool for not noticing it before.”

Anomen gave her an anxious look. “Do my words still offend you, my lady? Have I overstepped myself? Do you have any liking for me in your heart at all?”

For reply, she in her turn clasped his hand in hers, and led him back to the table. “You will find my answer there, my lord,” she whispered, pointing at the box. “I think… I need to sit down.”

At once he pulled out a chair for her, hovering worriedly until she said, “Anomen, please… the box.”

Obediently he went round to the other side of the table, lifting the latches and throwing the lid all the way back to expose the contents. He gave one long, startled look at the object that now occupied most of the space, then lifted it with an inarticulate cry of joy, turning it over and over, examining it from every angle.

“How? Where?” he asked in a strangled voice. “Tisha, ‘tis too much!” he added, even as he clutched the golden-headed warhammer tightly.

“Read the letter before you thank me,” she said, smiling broadly at his pleasure and surprise. As he scanned the sheet of parchment that had also been enclosed, she recalled what it said.

When we discovered this hammer during our exploration of Durlag’s Tower, Dynaheir and I noticed that it had a fairly strong magical aura, as well as the word “Ashideena” painted in faded letters on the leather-wrapped handle. When I cast an Identify spell on the weapon, I received a series of mental images that allowed me to later reconstruct the history of the item as follows.

This hammer was once wielded by the warrior Dergat Wiltoon, consort of Lady Ashideena, a remarkable strategist who honed her skills against the orc armies in the Year of the Black Horde. Dergat met Ashideena when he foiled an ambush led by the great orc Varstok, and she soon after made him her Field Captain. After serving at each other’s side for the entirety of the war, they eventually fell in love and married. My sources indicate that Dergat named his war hammer after his bride to remind himself of the love he fought to protect. (Nobody wrote down what Ashideena herself said when she found out, probably because it blistered the paint on the wall. I’d be a little mad if my namesake were a blunt instrument.) This weapon fits all known descriptions of Dergat’s hammer, and furthermore, it gives a moderate but distracting electrical shock to its victims. (My hand still hurts. Never draw straws with a Witch of Rashemen, you’ll always lose. At least I do.)

Imoen Delacroix

The Watcher laid the paper down and came to kneel in front of her. “Patricia…” he said, and trailed off.

She bent forward, looking hard into his face by the failing light of the guttering candles, and she saw everything she had ever hoped to find reflected there. In the background, she heard Winthrop’s voice joining her mother’s in a duet….

Lassie wi’ the lint-white locks
Bonnie lassie, heart-full lassie,
Wilt thou with me tend the flocks,
Will thou be my dearie, oh?

Now Nature clads the flowery lea
And all is young and sweet like thee,
Oh will thou share its joys with me
And say thou’ll be my dearie, oh? **)

She took Anomen’s hands and pushed herself off of the chair, coming to rest on the floor with her feet tucked under her in a puddle of pink silk. He stood at once, pulling her up also. “My lady, it would be a pity to ruin that dress, and even I know that floors are hard on silk.”

“I don’t care, Anomen,” she found herself saying. “I just want you to hold me, if that’s not too much trouble….”

Instantly she was wrapped in his arms. “I thought you would never ask,” he murmured in her ear, “I’ve longed for this moment for two days.”

She pressed herself even closer against him. “So have I. But you know what?” she said, voice muffled by his shirt.

“What?” he asked.

“You feel a whole lot better without any armor on.”

As she’d hoped, he threw his head back and laughed as he had then. She loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he did that. Before the spasm had fully passed, she added, “And don’t even think about putting my name on that thing instead, Anomen! If you ask me, it’s on there because otherwise the man couldn’t remember how to spell his wife’s name!”

This resulted in more howls of merriment, and when he finally calmed, the new-made knight firmly clasped her face in his hands and kissed her on the forehead once more. She sighed happily, and opened her eyes to find his dark blue eyes gazing at her earnestly.

“I promise, Patricia. I don’t need your name written on a weapon; it’s already engraved on my heart.”

She parted her lips to reply, but he was too quick for her, and she was suddenly in the middle of their first kiss.

*)  “The Dreame”, Samuel Johnson
**) “Lassie Wi’ the Lint-White Locks”, Robert Burns