I've actually posted two stories in one quiz, this must be a record! The basis for this one comes from one of the romance dialogues with Anomen. In it, he tells the PC how he became a priest, and depending on what you say later, he tells the PC that she must try harder to fight evil and that she is selfish. I'm sure all the ladies remember that one fondly.
*growl*
I was always really offended by that, so here Devon gives him his come-uppance. But in a nice way, of course. 
I apologise for it being so melodramatic. And long.
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Fanning the Flames
The eastern horizon was brightening as Anomen strode the cobbled streets of Athkatla. Soft lilacs and roses, as delicate as a maiden's blush, flushed the sky overhead and heralded the dawning of a new day in the City of Coin. The street he walked seemed to be bathed in a pastel light, lending the Slums an innocence that would be lost in the harsh light of day. Garbage sullied the illusion of purity, blowing across the uneven paving stones under his boots and collecting against the walls of the buildings in small drifts. Beggars stirred in doorways and under balconies, shivering under their tattered blankets. The shutters of the poorer, wooden houses in this part of the city were still tightly closed against the last of the night, but candlelight gleamed between the chinks. Soon the citizens of the Slums would begin their morning chores, but for the time being, their homes remained quiet as they tried to defy the rising sun. Shadows lingered in the narrow alleys, concealing the thieves and assassins who would flee the coming light to find their beds after their night's work was done. Somewhere close by a dog barked. Anomen grimaced and adjusted the fall of his cloak over one shoulder as he watched for the stealthy movements that might betray someone watching him. He knew he could best a mugger thinking about earning a last coin, but still, a man walking alone needed to be cautious.
Irritation prickled his spine as he left the Copper Coronet behind him. The summons to meet Devon had come in the form of a small boy smeared with soot and what appeared to be coal dust. A smart mouthed little urchin, the boy had ordered him to leave the Coronet immediately and had haughtily refused to divulge any details. Anomen gripped the symbol of Helm that he wore on a chain around his neck as he walked towards the meeting place, searching for a calmness of spirit to drive away his dark mood. He had donned his armour with his usual care and precision, and the silver plates, polished to a high sheen, reflected the glory of the pinks and oranges in the sky above. As much as he took pride in his beloved armour and was thankful that he had a place, albeit a lowly one, in the ranks of the Order, he still chafed under its weight. There was no denying that the armour had been made for another man. It fit just a little too tightly across the breadth of his chest, yet was far too wide for his hips. The plates that protected his thighs chafed through the trousers he wore beneath them. Although an enchantment had been laid upon the metal, the leather straps were wearing thin and he needed to replace a couple of the buckles. It was a sharp reminder that just as his armour was borrowed, his time with the Order was likely fleeing away like the grains of sand in an hourglass.
The group had returned from their wearying journey to the Windspear Hills the night before last. The loathsome dragon, Firkraag, had been defeated, and yet their triumph had been soured by the death of the knights from his own Order. Anomen tried to quash the familiar fear that snaked its way into his heart. What if he was judged unworthy when his test for knighthood finally arrived? Although Garren had spoken to the Order on both his and Keldorn's behalf, Anomen still felt that the deaths had stained his honour. It had been a cruel trick that the dragon had played upon them to satisfy his malicious desire to discredit Devon.
Thinking about Devon made him tense in annoyance again. Who did she think she was to disappear for the better part of a day and night, only to imperiously summon him the next morning as if he had nothing better to do? As soon as the companions had risen from their beds after their trek the previous night, Devon had closeted herself with Keldorn and Jaheira for an hour, leaving Anomen to break his fast alone. Aerie and Nalia had been too busy laughing and arranging to go to the circus with Hendak and Minsc to notice him. Feeling excluded, he had watched with the bitterness growing within him as they continued to ignore him. Devon and Keldorn had left the Coronet together but not before Jaheira, glaring in annoyance, had passed Devon a purse that Anomen knew contained an enormous amount of their precious gold coins. Devon had never returned and he had been left to cool his heels. He had desperately wanted to go to the Temple and seek Helm's guidance in the matter of the dead knights, and to explain to Sir Ryan Trawl that he had not knowingly participated in the massacre, but no, Devon had abandoned him! And now she was expecting him as if she hadn't betrayed his trust. Obviously he meant very little to her. A black scowl stole over his face and he fought to leash his anger before he faced her.
At the end of the street, rising incongruously out of the stone morass of the dirty city, was a small garden. Some unknown benefactor in trying to bring a place of beauty to the Slums had planted a circle of beeches and elms. As Anomen approached it, the first golden rays of sunlight streaked over the horizon to shine on the emeralds and greens of the leaves. The garden had become woefully neglected over the years and the trees had been left to grow wild. Ivy twisted its way around the tall trunks and shrubs flourished, creating a shadowed grove that filtered out the noise of the city. Devon loved it. She had discovered it days ago and came here when she needed peace. Spending so much time amongst buildings and throngs of people, away from the quiet of the woods, unsettled her. Devon had admitted one afternoon that she sometimes felt as if the city walls were suffocating her, but here she could relax with the sun on her face and listen to the music of the birds nesting high in the trees. The garden was indeed an oasis in the heart of the city. It was a place where lovers might meet for a stolen kiss. He may even have enjoyed its beauty if he hadn't been in such a sour mood.
Pushing his way past the tangle of vines and thorns, Anomen's eyes were drawn to the woman who waited for him. She was sitting on the stone edge of a fountain, her head tilted to one side as she trailed her fingers in the cool water. She had left her hair loose this morning. Freed from its accustomed braid, the dark tresses tumbled halfway down her back in unruly waves. Small tendrils curled around her pointed ears and tickled her cheek. But for her leather armour and the longbow, Heartseeker, lying against her knee, Devon could have been a maiden dreaming of heroes and villains. Spray from the fountain drifted on the breeze to settle upon her face and head, and Anomen drew in a quick breath as the tiny drops of water glistened in the sunlight that pierced the leaves of the trees. For a heartbeat, the droplets captured in the silken strands seemed to glow with an inner crimson fire as if a jewelled net of firedrops had been laid over her hair. She was as bewitching as a siren.
“Good morning, Squire Anomen.” The dry tone in Keldorn's voice abruptly snapped Anomen out of his imaginings and he turned to see the veteran paladin sitting on the bench facing the fountain. Anomen's lips tightened as his irritation bloomed anew. Neither Devon nor Keldorn had returned to the Coronet and it shouldn't have surprised him to see them together. Devon was increasingly relying upon the old paladin's wisdom and experience and she was often with him now. It was another source of pain for Anomen. He felt useless with Keldorn's expertise overshadowing his own military knowledge. He was no longer Devon's right hand but a simple squire with dreams of one day becoming a knight. Anomen's gaze was drawn to Keldorn's gleaming armour and the engraved hilt of Carsomyr. A sick feeling welled in his stomach at the sight. With the fabled Carsomyr sheathed at his side, Keldorn radiated a knightly virtue that Anomen longed to attain. It only made Anomen feel more unworthy by comparison.
When Keldorn arched an eyebrow at his uncharacteristic silence, Anomen struggled to find his manners and return the greeting. His ill-fitting armour chafed but he stood stiffly and tried to ignore the discomfort. He could feel the other man's measuring gaze upon him. Assessing him. Judging him. Finding him weak and lacking.
Devon smiled up at him from the fountain. “Anomen, I'm glad that you're here. Now we can get going.” She rose gracefully and stretched the kinks from her limbs with a little sigh.
“Milady, you should be resting, not gallivanting around Athkatla. No doubt you were up all night. This can wait until later, I'm sure.” Anomen was amazed that Keldorn didn't question Devon about her whereabouts. Surely he should have asked what she had been doing all night with that purse of gold!
Devon shook her head. “I'm tired, Keldorn, but I'll rest later. I want to do it now.” It was true that Devon was exhausted. Anomen could see the shadows under her eyes and the strain around her mouth, but her blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she glanced from Keldorn to Anomen. It was a marked change from the sadness that had shrouded her since they had freed the slaves and been forced to leave Minsc behind, and he was secretly pleased to see the change in spite of his resentment. “Shall we go?”
They left the grove as the sun completely rose above the horizon. Refusing to give any details about where they were going, Devon and Keldorn led the way, talking quietly. Following behind them like the lowly squire that he was, Anomen felt his frustration simmering. He struggled to remain quiet as Devon asked Keldorn about his meeting with Prelate Wessalen the previous day.
“It went as expected, milady. He understands that the deaths of the knights were the scheme of Firkraag, and he sympathises with your plight.”
“But will he help me find Imoen?” The strain of the search for her foster-sister sounded in Devon's voice.
Keldorn paused as if he were weighing his words carefully. “I…do not believe so, Devon. I am sorry. The Order rarely becomes involved in the politics of the Council of Six, and such an uprising against the Cowled Wizards would place the Order in an awkward position.” Keldorn left unsaid that the Order would be reluctant to help her because of her tainted blood, but Anomen realised that Devon knew. The tiny frown that suddenly creased her forehead gave her away.
“Politics.” Devon gave her head a little shake as if to dispel her musings. “It seems I am forever embroiled in such schemes. Imoen was…” Her voice caught as she realised what she had said. “…is good at that sort of thing. She had Duke Eltan and the other Dukes in Baldur's Gate wrapped around her little finger. I always envied her ability to smile and have people fall all over themselves to help her. Keldorn, I…I understand the Prelate's concerns.” She looked directly into the paladin's eyes as she said it and he nodded slowly in understanding. “But thank you for what you have done. We'll investigate the Unseeing Eye cult tomorrow, after everyone has rested. Perhaps the Prelate will see in time that I can be trusted.”
The anger seethed in Anomen's heart for being left out of the conversation. While he was relieved to hear that Prelate Wessalen did not blame them for the murder of the knights, he was still incensed at being deliberately left behind. Keldorn could have at least asked him to attend the meeting. After all, he was involved in this too, even if he was only a squire. And as for Devon…where had she been if she hadn't met with the Prelate? Obviously not doing anything important since she had nothing to show for her little adventure! He had liked her, admired her… By Helm, he had even developed feelings for her that the Order would disapprove of! The memory of their brief embrace after freeing the slaves rose up to haunt him and he inwardly raged at his stupidity. He had been blinded by her pretty face and had lost control. He would not let it happen again.
Anomen nursed his boiling resentment towards her as the road sloped down towards the harbour. Below him, the wharves of the Docks district teemed with fisherman returning with their morning's catch and sailors unloading barrels from the merchant vessels moored there. A fresh breeze blowing off the water billowed the brightly coloured sails and stirred Anomen's cloak. The salty tang of the ocean always reminded Anomen of his father's mercantile business, and the association was not a pleasant one. Thinking of his father only soured his mood even more as he walked sullenly behind his companions. He glared at Devon's back as she led the way along the road running beside the docks.
“Milady, I also managed to speak with High Watcher Oisig yesterday.” Anomen stopped as if he had been slapped, staring hard at Keldorn, and Devon automatically slowed her pace to allow him to catch up.
“Did it go well?”
“Aye, Devon. He indicated that he would be interested to talk with you after we have destroyed the cult…”
They finally seemed to realise that Anomen had halted in the middle of the street. Keldorn had a quizzical expression upon his face as he looked askance at the squire, but Devon's eyes were concerned. “Anomen? Are you well? You've been quiet all morning.”
He almost choked on his rage. Could she truly be so ignorant of his agony? “What…what is wrong? Perhaps it is the fact that you have abandoned me! Devon, you arranged for Keldorn to go to the Temple without me!” He was vaguely aware of the fishermen pausing in their mending of their nets to stare curiously at the spectacle he was making, but he suddenly didn't care. Releasing the anger festering in his heart felt too good. “Helm's beard!” he cursed, “I am a priest of Helm and yet you don't even require my presence in my own temple!”
“Squire, remember yourself!” Keldorn's voice cracked like a whip and his glare warned Anomen to be silent, but Devon pushed past him to stand before Anomen. She stared at him, her eyes glittering dangerously and her hands on her hips.
“Perhaps it is time that he and I had words,” she managed to say in a relatively controlled voice, “I want to get to the bottom of this.” Devon gestured for him to follow her to the sea wall away from the onlookers. He stood stiffly before her, every fibre of his being wanting to scream out his anger and frustration. She tilted her head up to meet his fierce glare. “You've been moody for days. Anomen, tell me what's wrong. How have I abandoned you?”
“You…you ignore my years of training as if they mean nothing to you. When I first met you, you relied upon my skills and military expertise, but now…now that he is here, I am worthless! Am I now a mere healer to bind your wounds while you and Keldorn go off adventuring? Well, since I rank so lowly in your estimation I should simply seek companions elsewhere!”
Chestnut tendrils lashed Devon's face as the wind blew her hair about wildly. She stared at him in disbelief, her lips tight with anger and her body rigid. A storm was rapidly brewing in her sea-dark eyes. “Anomen, don't be ridiculous. Heavens above, you know that you're my friend!”
“Am I?” Anomen took a step closer to her, pressing his advantage. A black elation surged through his body as his rage struck his target with the violence of a storm cloud. “Your callous disregard of my feelings shows that you are no true friend. Well, since you judge me so useless, I will judge you also.” Devon flinched at the venom in his voice. “You never returned last night and you did not bother to tell anyone where you were. At least Keldorn saw fit to send a message to the Coronet saying that he would rest at the Order headquarters! No doubt you were drinking and cavorting in a tavern, gambling away the money that Jaheira gave you. Yes, I saw her give it to you! You say that you are desperate to save your sister, yet the coins disappear and we have nothing to show for it. I thought you were a noble woman, Devon, but it appears that you are nothing but a selfish seductress. By Helm, if it had been Moira who had been captured I would have done anything, anything! to save her!” A shocked gasp was torn from Devon's throat and Anomen watched with satisfaction as her face paled and the bruises under her eyes darkened. She turned away from him but he forged on relentlessly. “I do not know what evil impulses your tainted blood drives you to do, but this I do know. You must try harder Devon, for I see little evidence of your fight against evil! All I see is one with purely self-interest, and that interests me not!”
A strange sensation settled over Anomen as the last of his hateful words struck her. He knew he had gone too far this time. On the one hand, the elation at finally leaching the poison from his soul tingled through his body, yet he was also in a state of agonising suspension, waiting for the inevitable explosion of her temper. He stared at her back. Devon shivered and drew the edges of her cloak tightly around herself, seeming to curl into herself the way a leaf might hide from the rain. Even the wind seemed to aid her, changing direction so that the long strands of her hair hid her face from his view. The icy silence stretched between them. Where was her expected outburst? A dreadful coldness quenched the fire in Anomen's heart. Always, when he had fought with Lord Cor, their malicious words had fanned the flames of fury even brighter. That was all Anomen knew. Devon's hurt silence sobered him in a way that Cor's heated words had not.
Finally she stirred. Drawing in a shuddering breath, Devon pushed away from the stone wall. Refusing to meet his eyes, she returned to Keldorn with her head bowed against the wind. “I…I can't go. You go on ahead.” Her quiet words barely reached Anomen's ears, even carried as they were on the sea breeze.
“Milady, will you be all right? We don't have to do this.” She forced a tremulous smile for the paladin and left. Anomen watched her walking towards the end of a pier with a sinking feeling in his heart. The sound of Keldorn clearing his throat abruptly reminded Anomen of his audience. He tore his eyes away from Devon's receding figure to see the other man studying him intently, frowning. “Come, lad.”
Anomen followed Keldorn as if in a daze, barely registering the shopfronts and fish markets that they passed. Merchants tried to tempt them with their wares, but Keldorn strode grimly towards his destination without slowing. He climbed a set of stairs to reach a second story shop with a chimney issuing black smoke, and opened the door. Anomen paused to glance once more at Devon. The elf had reached the end of the pier and seemed to be staring at the water below her, her arms still wrapped tightly around herself. With a last look, Anomen made himself follow Keldorn into the shop.
The incredible blast of heat hit him first, followed by the acrid smell of smoke and the sound of a hammer hitting an anvil. Looking around the forge, Anomen could see the myriad of tools arranged in neat rows and the assortment of half-finished weapons and armour that hung from the walls. The light from the blazing furnace reached into all but the darkest corners, illuminating the small grubby boy who had given Anomen the message to meet Devon. The boy grinned at him impishly before shovelling more coals into the furnace. The weapon smith wiped his blackened hands upon his apron before greeting Keldorn. “So, ye have returned then, Sir Keldorn. This be the boy, then?” The dwarf studied Anomen critically before nodding in satisfaction. “Aye, ye and the little miss have done well. I do believe it will be a perfect fit.”
“Squire Anomen, this is Master Cromwell, the greatest weapon smith in Athkatla.” Anomen nodded politely and tried to collect his stunned thoughts. He had heard of Cromwell, in fact, there probably wasn't an adventurer who had not. Tales abounded of the magical weapons the dwarf could create, for a price. A feeling of dread grew in him. The memory of Jaheira handing Devon the purse of gold suddenly made sense.
When Cromwell brought out the magnificent suit of armour, Anomen felt as if he had been hit in the stomach. Devon's gift was…wondrous. The red dragon scales shone in the light of the forge as if aflame, each overlapping plate gleaming metallically. Gold offset the brilliance of the ruby scales, and amazed, Anomen reached out a finger to lightly trace the runes that had been etched into the armour. It was warm to the touch, seemingly almost alive. Anomen turned his face away in shame. He had sorely misjudged Devon.
Keldorn assisted him in donning the light armour, as Anomen's fingers were suddenly clumsy. He fumbled with the straps and buckles as Cromwell chatted about the magical properties of the armour and how he had made it. “It has to be prefect, she kept saying, fit for a knight. Fit for a man who had slain a dragon. Well, I hope she be satisfied!”
The paladin looked at Anomen knowingly as he checked the fit of the breastplate, his eyes suddenly kind. “She was here all night, helping to work the forge and assist in the measurements. It is a token of her esteem for you. We never intended to exclude you, lad. Prelate Wessalen summoned me to meet him while we were discussing how to forge the dragon scales, and the High Watcher also requested to see me when he realised that I had returned. I say this because I do not wish to see Devon being unfairly blamed.”
“I…I thank you for the kind words, Sir Keldorn. I have behaved foolishly.” Anomen had never felt so unworthy.
Keldorn studied him for a moment, his fingers pausing in tightening a buckle. “Lad, perhaps you should be saying that to the lady.”
“Aye.”
She was still standing forlornly at the end of the pier when Anomen left Keldorn in Cromwell's smith. His heart thundered in his ears as he came up to stand behind her. Devon stared blindly at the water lapping against the wooden hulls of the ships that drifted in the harbour, still clasping her cloak closely to her with one hand. The wind playfully tugged at its woollen hem, swirling it about her ankles and causing it to brush against his shining armour. “My lady, I am truly sorry.” She remained silent. Panic rose swiftly within him and he fought to keep it down. By Helm, what if she never forgave him? Anomen swallowed painfully and tried again. “Devon, I…I was a fool. I let my rage consume me and I took it out on you. I sincerely apologise for my outburst, I did not mean the things I said, I swear it. And I thank you for this magnificent gift. I have not owned anything so fine since I left my father's house.” Devon stirred and shifted towards him as if listening, but she still held her face away from him. How could he make her understand the depth of his pain and anger at himself? Instinctively, Anomen reached out to cover her hand where she rested it on the rails of the pier with his own. He waited, ready to snatch his hand away if she became offended at his familiarity. She drew in a quick breath and her cold fingers tensed under his own, but she never drew away.
He stood there with her for what seemed like hours, waiting for her response. Her skin began to warm under his touch. “You were right,” she said finally. “I do need to try harder. I realised that the night we freed the slaves.” She turned to face him, pulling her hand out from under his, and he saw the spark of temper igniting in her eyes. “But you were wrong about Imoen. All I ever think about is how to rescue her, and I keep worrying about how she is. Never, ever tell me that I don't care about her! The only reason why I am not collapsing with fear is that I think I would know if she had…died.” She stumbled over the last word but her eyes still glittered.
“I know, my lady. I am truly sorry for my harsh words. They were cruel and unfair.”
The fire went out of Devon's eyes at that and she sighed. “Anomen, I accept your apology. And I'm sorry for making you feel as if you weren't needed. Nothing could be further from the truth. You…are going to stay, aren't you?”
“Aye, my lady, if you will have a foolish squire like myself.” She smiled at him then and it was as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud. He felt his spirits lifting.
“A selfish seductress?” Anomen coloured but Devon's words were said lightly.
“Ah, I was referring to Garren's child. I saw the way he looked at you.”
Devon laughed and gave him an appraising look. “I see. Anomen, I'm only teasing.” A strange expression flitted across her face as she studied him in his new armour. “You look handsome, Anomen, like a true knight. Scarlet and gold suits you.”
Anomen could feel himself blushing at the compliment. He tried to still his racing heart long enough to be able to come up with an intelligent reply, but the sound of someone running up behind him interrupted his thoughts. Devon frowned and he turned to see a man slowing, breathing hard. “Anomen Delryn, son of Cor, I bring dire news. Your sister, she has been murdered!”
“Moira?” He was staring at the messenger in disbelief, unable to believe that his beautiful sister could be dead. His chest was constricting and it was hard to breathe. The light dragon scale armour suddenly felt as if it were crushing him beneath its weight. The wooden slats of the pier were swimming in his vision and there was a roaring in his ears. Devon was grasping his arm in worry, trying to draw him away. “Moira…”
