5. Temple of Lathander

The group enters the now-familiar Temple of Lathander. With no oversized dragonborn of a Grand Duke throwing a fit, there are many more patrons sitting in the pews and admiring the architecture.

Duke Belt sees the party coming and beckons them to a private room in the back of the temple.

"Hail, friends! May Lathander's light brighten your day. What brings you here today?" He leans close to whisper. "Is it about... the Plan?"

"In a way, friend. It appears that my party may have a similar situation to Aiwë, we wanted to check to see if that was true" Dieter says. His head had started to ached where his crown had come in when they entered the temple. He was certain it was more in remembrance to the pain he had experienced here than anything else.

He looks at the grand architecture and things of his dwarven family.

Aiwë pats Dieter's shoulder encouragingly. "Will you have a look at my friends, and then give my head another try?"

Belt rubs his scaled hands together. "Ah! I was wondering if you'd come by for that. Whose memory shall I check today? I'm afraid it's the type of magic I can only call on only once a day."

Dieter steps aside to let Stella or Aiwë through. He ponders on the past few days as the procedure takes place
You told me a half truth lathander, I will find happiness.

Stella puts a finger to the corner of her lips. "I haven't been able to notice any gaps in my memory, though I was in quite the daze when Viconia spoke with me, so it's possible she left a memory with me. But Aldous was captured and even said Viconia 'did a number' on his head. It might be best to try to see what Aldous might know next," Stella suggests, turning to him.

Aldous shuffles forward, biting his lip. "Oh I hate not knowing if I don't know!"

Belt nods emphatically. "Don't worry, boy. Soon you'll be sure you know what you didn't."

Without further ado, the dragonborn casts the restoration spell...

Aldous blinks and stumbles as the spell takes effect, only held aloft by Belt's strong hands.

"She did! She did do a number on my head! Give me just a second, and I'll tell you what I remember..."

Aldous, bound and gagged, blinks dust from his eyes. He freezes when he hears voices.

"What's going to be done with him?" That would be Ajantis.

"That's none of your concern." A smooth, female voice. Viconia.

"I think it is. He’s my passage up."

The young noble carefully, slowly, tries to slip his hands free of the ropes.

"You have already been paid your due."

"Keep the gold. I want a meeting with the one at the top."

"Rieltar? He’ll never meet with the likes of you."

Rieltar? As in, Rieltar Anchev?

"No, not Rieltar. I want to meet with the other one. I want to meet with Sar-"

"Keep that name off your tongue, fool!"

Who are they talking about? Sar-something?

"Really, drow? Scared of a name?"

"You’ve no idea what I fear. Where did you hear that name?"

"Nashkel. The good mayor let it slip over too many drinks."

"Another fool."

"Now see here, I’m not as foolish as I look. I netted you this lordling. No doubt he’ll make a good bargaining chip with Duke Silvershield. Either that, or you can slit his throat and let the news get to his father, and promise to do the same to Skie. Surely the whole thing’s easier without all four of the Grand Dukes arrayed against you. I just want to skip the line and meet the guy in charge, show him I’ve got more wit and skill than the rest of his henchmen. Excepting yourself, naturally."

"I am not a henchman. I-"

Unable to contain himself, Aldous spits the gag out of his mouth. "You’re not going to lay a finger on Skie, you misbegotten traitor!" He squirms on the floor, trying to slip free of his bonds.

"Well look who woke up. Think he’s heard too much? He’s probably just as useful dead as alive."

"No! I will magically erase his memory, just to be sure."

Aldous feels a cool hand on his face, and he stops struggling...

"You’ve got some scary tricks, drow."

"Pray I don't use them on you..."

Massaging his temples, Aldous relays the overheard conversation as best he can to the group.

"Sar...sar..." Stella flips through what remains of her notes, but shakes her head, eye-stars spinning green. "Doesn't shine a star...And it's not like we have time to go all the way to find Mayor Ghastkill and interrogate him for the full name...Ajantis is likely still around somewhere...Maybe Koveras knows who that might be? It must be an important secret..."

Koveras' frown, which has been largely absent this trip, slips into place. "I don't understand. Rieltar Anchev is the top, the leader of the Iron Throne here. Anybody superior would have to be from Sembia, and I know of none there with anything resembling this name."

He freezes. "Unless..."

The half-orc's face goes slack, and he looks as though he's going to be sick.

Aiwë steps in to steady him. "What is it? What's wrong?"

He reaches out for Aiwe as he swoons, eyes glued on a scene no one else can see. "Why would he do this. How could he know that we would know?" His speech is practically slurred.

Koveras clutches Aiwe's arm and shoulder, as much for comfort as for stability. He looks at her with hollow eyes. "Her name was Sara. My mother's name was Sara. I-I don't know what this means."

Aldous curses and steps in to support Koveras from the other side. He sags under the weight of the heavy half-orc, but manages to help get him to a chair.

"Breathe," she croons in Orcish. "In, out. This isn't an attack. You're safe here." For the benefit of the others Aiwë continues in Common. "There are lots of people with a name that begins that way, I'm sure it's unrelated."

Stella bites her lip and shakes her head. Duke Jannath revealed to them he had superiors in...
She nods.
Stella's bites her lip again and slumps her shoulders. That would be like finding out Halla had been sent the assassins after them. It wasn't exactly the same, but...this was a serious reaction.
Stella steps forward to help, but doesn't see a way to without getting in the way.

Why was this kept so secret? What danger did it hold for Reiltar? What was his relationship with his mother?

Stella steps over hesitantly and kneels down next to the half-orc and looks up at him, eye-stars a mix of teal and violet. "How could he know that we would know what?" she asks gently. "Aiwë's probably right. But what can you tell us about her?"

Aiwë wants to tell Stella to stop, to get Koveras some space and quiet, but then she remembers something.

It didn't matter that Keggruk was resurrected. It mattered that he died.

Rieltar is insane and horrible—and powerful. Why take a wife and half-orc stepson as a charity stunt when there are so many more powerful plays? Unless she was an attractive match. One who appreciated his ruthlessness and violence.

Sara had a half-orc son. How much was she immersed in orcish culture? Did she appreciate Gruumsh? Was that the tie between Bhaalist Rieltar and Kossuth?

It didn't matter that Keggruk was resurrected. It mattered that he died. A follower of Gruumsh would bat no eye at a ritual killing, even if it was themselves. Especially if they were brought back in secret later.

Aiwë feels as though she's crazy for such a trail of thought. There's no way. Right? It can't be. It would kill him.

"I know it's hard, but maybe talking about her will help." Aiwë stands with her hands on Koveras' shoulders and begins humming a lullaby just loud enough for them to hear.

Aiwë casts Calm Emotions.

Koveras releases a relieved breath as he falls under Aiwe's spell.

"My mother was a noblewoman from one of the northern cities on the coast. Luskan, I think. Her house fell on hard times, her people turned on her. They threw her out into the snow. She would have died if not for my father. My true father. Shargam was a long-range scout for an orc tribe. He nursed her back to health. Maybe he thought she would make a good slave. Maybe he was lonely and just wanted someone to talk to."

Koveras leans into Aiwe's hands. "From what I understand, they found love - of a sort. At some point, Winski joined their little family. Eventually they all traveled south looking for a new start. I was born on the ship they took. All I know is that my mother, Winski, and I were the only survivors of that voyage. I'm not sure Shargam ever even saw me, before whatever happened."

The half-orc lays his head on Aiwe's hand. "I was raised by my mother and Winski in Sembia. Eventually things grew desperate for us, and suddenly we were moving in with Rieltar Anchev. As a young boy I chafed under his strict rules, despite the punishments. Until the day I spilled wine on one of his spellbooks." His voice drops to a whisper. "I did it on purpose. That's when he murdered her. 'You did this,' he said. 'You did this.' And I did. It was my fault."

Despite her spell, Aiwe feels warm tears on her hand.

"Only an evil man would do such a thing and blame it on a child." Aiwë looks at the party with a helpless frown.

Shargam was likely named for Shargaas, the orcish god of shadows and assassins. How much had he and Sara appreciated the name?

"If Sara is a lead, it's probably best to talk to Winski. Koveras said he's still in the Iron Throne compound. Until then, I think we better focus on other 'Sar' names." She pats Koveras' head with the hand he isn't leaning on. "They're far more likely."

She turns to Duke Belt. "Thank you for your help, my lord. I believe that's all we need today." To her friends she continues. "I need to spend some time at Torm's temple. While I'm there I'll see if any of his servants can help with my memories. Does anyone want to come with me?"

Koveras gets to his feet. "I've never been inside a temple of Torm."

Aiwë watches Koveras carefully from the corner of her eye. It's hard to tell if his emotions are unstable or if he has a great deal of control over his display of them. The two scenarios would need very different handling.

"Hello," Aiwë smiles, beginning to feel at home. "I'm having some issues with my memory I was hoping one of Torm's servants could help me with. Otherwise, I came to worship."

"That's alright, I really appreciate your help. I'll just spend some time on my own now, if it pleases Torm."

Koveras moves close to Aiwe. "How does one worship Torm?" he asks quietly. "I'm afraid I don't know much about him. Other than that he killed Gruumsh, I suppose."

Aiwë looks at him in surprise. "Really? Keggruk is a paladin of Torm, he didn't talk about him in his book?"

Koveras shrugs. "He talked a lot about paladin tenets. But less about the day-to-day worship. Besides, I'd like to hear it from you."

"Alright then." Aiwë closes her eyes and recites the tenets of Torm with emotion.

"Be the champion of the weak and the defenseless.
Be stern, unyielding and unswerving in your battles with evil.
Obey your masters with alert judgment and anticipation.
Serve the common good and the rule of law established by honorable rulers.
Seek prowess and skill in all endeavors.
Stand ever alert against corruption.
Be ever mindful, and enact justice swiftly."

She opens them again. "A paladin will swear to uphold them in a specific way, like my mother's oath to uplift the orcish people. A cleric will swear to uphold them with a mind toward support and teaching, like my father. Many more are simply dedicated to Torm, and make a commitment to follow his tenets throughout our normal lives. For those of us who are sworn to Torm, any act in line with his tenets is worship. It can be that way for others, too, if they think of him in their actions."

Koveras nods attentively to each tenet. "Many of these sound like the opposite of Rieltar. The opposite of my childhood."

He rubs a hand along his jaw. "But how do you know what is 'evil'? Well enough to be stern, unyielding, unswerving in your battles with it, I mean?"

"Intent is important, but most of the tenets can be flipped to give you a good idea." Aiwë lists off examples on her fingers. "To take advantage of the weak and defenseless, to serve only yourself, to break the law, to allow corruption or partake in it." She sits on a bench and leans back to take in the artful carving on the ceiling.

"When in doubt it helps me to think: is my intent to help others, or help myself? Will this action help or hinder the whole?"

He drops his hands into his lap. "Just thinking of Rieltar. He's definitely evil. But if I go and kill him without 'evidence', am I not breaking the law? What if my intent isn't even revenge, but to remove his stain from the world?"

Aiwë nods. "Yes, you would be. It's not in your authority to deal judgement to him. We need to bring evidence of his crimes to the Dukes, so they can act as is lawful."

"But isn't it better for me to act sooner rather than later, to prevent his victims from suffering? What if the evidence is never found? What if there isn't any?"

Koveras folds his arms. "Speaking as one of his victims, I would have preferred someone break the law than let me suffer as I did. Wouldn't that 'enact justice swiftly', as Torm decrees?"

Aiwë frowns with sympathy. "What if your haste to end him causes his underlings to escape their justice? They will in turn cause more suffering. If this is handled improperly it could cause people to lose faith in their Dukes, and the disruption could cause them to be less able to protect others. What if someone, so eager to end Rieltar's cruelty, saw you as an evil accomplice rather than a victim, because they did not take the time to look?"

She sits up and looks at him. "'Swiftly' does not always mean the shortest number of hours. Sometimes it means exercising active intent and effort. We are doing everything we can to take him down."

Aiwë meets his eyes. "Torm is a god of mercy, too. There is grace in him for the difficult calls like there would have been if someone had seen you under Rieltar's abuse. But you aren't there anymore. You're here now."

Koveras thinks on this for a long time. Eventually he shrugs. "I see where you're coming from, and it's given me a lot to think about."

He puts an arm around her shoulders, resting on the back of the pew. "I can't argue against the fact that I'm glad I'm here now."

"Its the milk I was raised on, so I can understand that it doesn't seem as clear to you. I would ask the clerics if you have more questions. They have more practice answering them." Aiwë looks at him as he settles into the pew. It's still strange to see him do anything other than sit stiffly.

"It's been... a wild day already. And what is it, noon? How are you holding up?" She scrutinizes him. "I can't read that merchant prince face."

The half-orc chuckles lightly. "Merchant prince! Yes, that's a face I've been trained well to wear."

His hand lightly brushes her shoulder. "The day's had its ups and downs, yes. I-"

Koveras keeps speaking, but its as though Aiwe has suddenly gone deaf. She has just a moment to recognize the feeling of a returning memory before she's fully caught up in it.

"...his lineage is old, and he's proud of it. He believes it is his sacred calling to resurrect his fallen god, by the means of a ritual fueled with the blood of thousands. This is why he's working so hard to start a war. He will take credit for every casualty, and offer them up as murders in his god's name. If enough violence is brought to bear, he believes he will become the vessel of his god's rebirth." Viconia's eyes are wide enough that Aiwe can clearly see the whites surrounding her irises. The drow is truly afraid.

"There are no lengths he will not go to in order to see this brought to pass, no lines he will not cross..."

Aiwe comes to cradled in Koveras' arms, with dozens of faces in the Temple of Torm turned her way. The cleric from earlier approaches with concern on his face and healing light in his hands.

"Aiwe! Shelur!" Koveras calls. The half-orc stands from the pew and goes to meet the cleric halfway. "I-I don't know what happened. She just passed out!"

Aiwë blinks blearily as she takes in her surroundings.

"It's alright." She shifts in Koveras' arms—he's carrying her like she's nothing!—and pats his chest to get his attention. "I'm okay, Koveras, it's alright. You can put me down now."

Koveras sets her down, but stays close - just in case.

"Are you sure you're alright? What happened?"

"Yes, I'm okay." She sits heavily on the nearest bench. "Sorry, I forgot to tell you that might happen. I was hoping it wouldn't. Another of the memories Viconia hid came back." A horrifying one. Of all their theories, she hoped that one would not be true. She puts her head in her hands.

"Rieltar is trying to become an avatar of Bhaal resurrected," she whispers in Orcish. "Viconia believes he can do it, too." She takes her hands from her face and clasps them in prayer instead.

"My Lord Torm," she prays aloud, in Orcish only loud enough for Koveras to hear. "An evil man seeks to bring an evil god back into the world through the suffering of thousands. It cannot be allowed," she snarls through grit teeth. "You should have a great paladin here, or a mighty cleric, but... for now you only have me. Please send another, or give us strength to fight this evil." She pauses, breathing slowly. She had never personally felt anything from Torm besides the day she was dedicated, but that has never mattered to her. She knows the stories, and all he has done. Now, she might need to be the person doing things in his name. She feels wholly inadequate. "Please."

Beneath her closed eyes Aiwë revisits the stories of Torm and the blessings he gave her mother and uncle, and many others in her tribe. A paladin's godly smite is something she has seen many times, and described in celebrated detail many more. These moments come to her mind sharp, clear, and unbidden. Then she knows the blessing she has received.

"Thank you," she whispers. Aiwë sits up with a smile.

"He hears," she tells Koveras. "I wish my parents and Auntie Halla and Uncle Zen were here, but Torm hears and sees us. It will be alright."

Koveras actually looks astonished. "First you receive a sort of memory about someone reviving a dead god, and now you're confident everything will be alright. All that change, from a single prayer?"

Aiwë laughs. "Koveras, Torm killed a god for us." She leans in. "For you. He'll help us with this. More likely, we're only helping him with it." She leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees, staring up at the likeness of Torm in the stained glass of the temple.

"It... will still be hard. But it will be okay."

Koveras looks up at the artwork with new appreciation.

After a few minutes, he nudges Aiwe with his shoulder. "Hungry? I know a sausage vendor who sets up just outside the District. She knows well the hunger pangs that strike the pious."

"Starved!" Aiwë stands. "Breakfast feels like last week." She pauses with a baffled expression. "I don't actually think I ate any, in the end..."

True to his word, Koveras leads Aiwe out of the Temple District and to a food stall set up just across the street. There's a moderate line, but Koveras assures her it's worth the wait. And judging by the smell, he's right.

"So!" The half-orc turns to her with a tusked smile. "What was like life in your home? Did your mother cook? Your father? A servant?"

Aiwë looks up at him with a bemused smile in return. His face keeps doing that. "My father usually cooks and does a lot of the household things. He needs the least rest, and he says being able to do that while we all sleep makes him feel useful and happy. My siblings and I help out, but my mother is usually too busy. If Ada's tribal responsibilities get heavy too, then someone in the tribe will feed us or show up to take the washing and things to help us out."

She runs one of her braids through her fingers. "I want to ask you questions like that too, but I don't want to turn your mind to things that are upsetting. You'll have to let me know what's too much."

"Your community really helps take care of your family. Do all members of the tribe receive such help, or just yours?"

He shuffles along as the line grows shorter. "Things are better, talking with you. What questions do you have?"

"The tribe is especially attentive to us," Aiwë admits. "They revere my mother more than she feels they should. But the tribe takes care of each other. A lot of things like hunting, firewood, and childcare are communal. It was like that under Gruumsh, but now instead of fighting for our portion, it's shared freely and equally."

Aiwë stands on tiptoes to see where the front of the line is. "I'm glad you're feeling more comfortable. Did you spend much time with Rieltar, day to day?"

"Not until I was older. Most of my time was spent with various tutors, or with Winski. Rieltar never seemed to care much about me beyond... Well. Punishments, when he was frustrated with various business dealings. He'd racked up quite a bit of debt before we moved to here some five years past, and I have the scars to prove it."

The line soon shortens, and the smells grow even stronger. The pair soon reaches the vendor herself, a tabaxi of grey fur and golden eyes. She's a blur, cooking the sausages, handing them out on skewers or in buns, taking money, giving back change. When she sees Koveras she gives a friendly smile, somehow keeping her eyes on him while attending to every other task.

"Good day, Big K! What can Ote get for you and this lovely lady?" She grins with some very impressive feline teeth.

"Ote, this is Aiwe. She's from out of town, and I told her she must try your exquisite food while here." He doesn't need to look at the menu board set up over the stall. "One regular, one rare. With bread, please."

"Right away, Big K! On the way, Aiwe!"

While she gets the food ready, she cranes her neck to fix those golden eyes on Aiwe. "You come visit more often, neh? I like it when Big K smiles."

Aiwë is pulled from her anger at Koveras' story by Ote's lovely smile. She grins widely at the tabaxi woman. "Do you see him smile often? I think today's my first time."

Ote puts on a mock frown, which looks doubly odd on her cat-like face. "Muh-muh-muh. Big K no smile." In a flash her grin is back and she winks one of her golden eyes. "It's a good change, neh? Handsome."

She holds out her furred hands, each one holding a sausage wrapped in a bun. "Regular is regular for Big K! So, rare is for the rare lady!"

Indeed, Koveras takes the less-cooked one and hands it to Aiwe, then leaves a generous amount of coin on the counter. "Keep the change, Ote. Thank you."

He glances at Aiwe's sausage. "I hope you don't mind I ordered for you... It just occurred to me you probably wanted to pick something yourself. Ordering food on a date is not something Keggruk or Winski covered."

"It is a nice change. Thank you, Ote!" Aiwë takes the sausage gratefully and sinks her teeth into it as they walk away from the stand.

"It's good!" she exclaims when she swallows. "And you did good. You wanted to share with me what you liked so ordering for me made sense, and you remembered how I like my meat." She takes another bite before raising her eyebrows at him.

"I'll take that to mean you've never courted before either, Big K?"

Ote gives a quick wave goodbye while tending to the next customers.

Koveras, halfway through his own, nearly bites his tongue. "Courted Ote? No, she gives all her special customers nicknames. Unless you meant... Oh." He shrugs. "I've never courted anyone I chose. Twice Rieltar arranged for me to have dinner with a woman, but... I made a mess of it. For her safety, as much as anything else. I was certain Rieltar just wanted me to care about... anything really, so he could use it against me. Or maybe he was simply trying to sweeten a business deal." He sighs. "I never played along."

He takes another bite and swallows, then offers Aiwe the last of his sausage. "You should try the regular, too. I think they're both good, in their different ways."

Aiwë takes the sausage from him and offers her own. "Mm! It is good. You lose a lot of the subtleties of the meat but the seasonings are much more developed." She wipes her hands on a handkerchief retrieved from her pocket.

"Are arranged marriages common here? Or in Sembia? I would expect so among the nobility, but what about merchant princes?"

"Probably not in the official sense. But it seems a lot of powerful people believe marriage is best used as a bargaining chip. It was for my mother, when she married Rieltar. I don't see how he would have taken in me or Winski otherwise."

He cheerfully accepts Aiwe's considerably rarer sausage. "It's good! Slides down easier, too."

Koveras nods in the direction of the Silvershield estate. "Shall we be heading back, or is there anything else you wanted to do?"

Aiwë shakes her head. "Let's head back. I should check on Stella, I've got a memory to share, and we have more planning to do."

She continues talking as they walk. "What did Rieltar see in your mother that was worth the bargain? She can't have been a powerful match, so far from her family's original estates. And from Luskan!" She winces. "It's no wonder she went South. With two and a half orcs in her family, she'd never be allowed home. That awful city makes everything so much harder for the Cagebreakers."

Koveras expression darkens slightly. "Sometimes it's easy to think that everything Rieltar has done is just to cause me misery. But I know that doesn't make sense. The truth is that I really don't know why he did it. She knew how to accomplish much with little, and she enjoyed archery and the outdoors - probably more than any true 'lady' should." He shrugs. "Maybe it really was just a publicity stunt. Or maybe nobody else would marry him. Maybe he just wanted people to terrorize."

He clears his throat. "I know you and your family have dedicated your lives to improving the lives of orcs, individually and collectively. Better quality of life, better religion, better relations with their neighbors... What would you say your success rate is? Out of one hundred orcs, say, how many make these changes in their lives?"

Aiwë frowns as she thinks. "I don't know. We don't really think about it like that. In that way, we're focused on individuals. Every life saved, orc or not, is a victory. It's not the majority, not yet, but despite Luthic's opposition, more leave the her and her pantheon every year." She fingers the scarification tattoos on her upper arm as she takes in the sights of the large city.

"So, you like sausage. What else do you like? Do you have hobbies?"

"And if they don't agree to live by your rules, you... execute them? Or turn them loose to fight another day?"

Koveras nods. "I enjoy watching theatre. Something about the sets and costumes, the personas people wear, it's like glimpsing another world. Another life that I can experience, other than my own. I also enjoy reading. Part of the reason I visited Candlekeep was an excuse to bury my nose in some books."

"They... are usually executed," Aiwë admits sadly. "It's not a matter of them not liking our rules or a conflict over finer points. Those that follow Luthic see us as blasphemers, responsible for Gruumsh's death. They seek retribution, revenge, and blood. If we allow them to live they will come for us again, or worse, the others in the Dale. They are given a second chance, but not a third."

She grins brightly. "I love the theatre. I've been trying to get performances going at home but it hasn't quite caught on. Costumes and sets don't quite land with the tribe. They enjoy ballads in parts better with regalia for the performers, similar but different."

Koveras muses over that, his frown showing he's maybe not convinced the matter's so simple.

He's happy to move on to the next subject. "There are some troupes that travel up and down the Sword Coast, visiting each of the major cities. My favorite is one entirely made up of tieflings. It's said they collect the best stories from across the planes, but I've detected recurring themes in each of their performances. Still, it makes for a good show."

The half-orc lights up. "If we have a free night sometime, perhaps we can attend a performance together! Would you like that?"

Aiwë laughs at his sudden change in expression. "I would like like that." She examines him, taking in his change in attitude. His emotions can be fluid, when he isnt putting a face over them, it seems.

"So, you want to make the world a better place?" she asks, referencing their eventful conversation that morning. "How do you want to do that?"

"I do want to make the world a better place," Koveras says. "But mostly, firstly, I want to make my world a better place. I feel like happiness and I are strangers. I've seen it. I want to know it."

He takes a few steps in silence, eyes on the cobblestones. "Is that selfish of me? To want to focus on myself first?" He shakes his head. "I don't want anyone to go through what I did, and I'll act to prevent that from happening. But is it bad to... want to live a little myself?"

"I don't think so at all," Aiwë assures him. "You need to take care of yourself before you can take care of others. I only ask because you mentioned it, before."

Koveras looks relieved. "Oh good. Your opinion means a lot to me, Aiwe."

"So what's it like to have siblings? Are any of them as musically inclined as you are?"

"Why?" Aiwë asks curiously. "Why does my opinion mean so much to you?"

Koveras nearly misses a step. He takes Aiwe's elbow to stop her in the street, looking into her eyes. "How could it not? You mean so much to me. I fancy you quite a lot if you haven't noticed."

"Actually, save your graveside proclamation and this morning in the reading room, it was pretty hard to tell." She tucks her hands behind her back and adopts a formal stance as Koveras often does, then gives him a polite nod with a distracted frown on her face. Then she laughs. "You're a different person today. It's alright! I'm just... adjusting."

Koveras grins. "Well I think you're being a great sport so far. It's not every day one accidentally agrees to court a grumpy half-orc."

He cocks his head. "Why did you go along with it? After you realized, I mean."

Aiwë winces. "Embarrassment, for one. I thoroughly botched our conversation. And you seemed so happy, it felt cruel to dash it immediately. And then..." She shrugs. "Why not?" She frowns up at him. "Is that a terribly disappointing answer?"

Koveras answers her shrug with one of his own. "I'm happy to have you as long as you'll have me. I'm enjoying getting to know you better. Besides, it makes for a good story - maybe almost as good as your mother nearly killing your father on their first date!"

He touches her arm. "But in all seriousness... please do what's best for you. If you hate the idea of... well, us, I'd hate to subject you to it."

"It is a good story," she laughs, "but I'm starting to understand why my mother always winces when I recount hers."

Aiwë smiles at Koveras. "That's considerate, thank you. I'll admit I'm worried about you, and it makes me wonder if this is a good idea, but..." She spreads her hands. "We can take it as it comes."

"That's all I ask," he says with a bow.

"Alright! Shall we see what the others are up to?"