~*-{/=EPILOGUE=\}-*~

"I heard she killed all the guards what took her prisoner, blasted a hole right through the compound."

"They couldn't even find anything left of Sarevok's body, once she was done with him."

She'd seen those looks before. Suspicious, wary. Their eyes crawled across her, even with the hood flipped up on her cloak;

The days were shorter, now, but they trickled by.

One word lived on everyone's tongues, spoken in fear, as a curse; the whole city was abuzz with it, as gossip flew. Oghma did not tolerate such things, and each rumor was a burden she carried, heavy as little rocks in her belly, they piled up; she could not correct them all.

They were all heroes, now. But, Sajantha? Her name had been tied so tight to Sarevok's that they spoke as if she were like him, too. Bhaalspawn.

Oghma had no answers. If only she could seek out a rare-enough book with which to return to Candlekeep! A tenday, 'twould only be good for a tenday, and they'd turn her out; how could she bear leaving it behind, again? How could she face Ulraunt—how could she face any of them—after what had nearly happened? After what had happened? How many even still lived?

How many didn't, because of Sarevok—because of her?

But, she should go back. Go back, and see how far the doppelgangers had gone—what damage they'd left—if there was aught she could help fix.

Go back, to help Miirym.

Each night, she stared at the page Edwin had left her, but it offered nothing new. She needed to connect the lines herself with what he'd given her, but it was surely beyond her; she'd copied it countless times, but any markings she added only underlined the staggering distance between their pools of knowledge. Even her handwriting looked childish next to his.

She wrote til her cramping hand hurt enough to distract from the ache in her chest.

"Why don't you work on that song for her?" Imoen looked towards the harp, where it lay stowed in the corner.

"A song isn't going to help her any."

"I don't know about that. But," Imoen pursed her lips, "I think it might help you."

"I don't have time." How much time did Miirym have? Hundreds more years, at least. If not thousands. But, Sajantha would have to make do with her own short lifespan.

I do not fear death. Do you?

She crumpled the page, ink still wet; it coated her fingers, glistening dark on her hand. Blood is not a stain that can be wiped away. The truth is not clean.

"Damn it." Her whisper was hoarse. "Gods damn it."

Time to think. Too much time to think. Too much thinking. No. She needed doing, needed movement to keep the thoughts from stagnating in her head.

Outside, streetlights cut through the white fog—not long past High Braze, but the sun stayed hidden behind a veil of clouds, making the gray day even colder. Her footsteps wavered, directionless, drawing her to the very edges of the city.

Wind-whipped waves crested white foam, but here were no rocks for them to crash upon; by the time they reached the harbor, little was left of their momentum. Sajantha hugged her legs to her chest, perched upon the dock where the ocean spray hardly reached her.

The soft steps of robes rustled behind her, and sea-salted air stung her eyes.

"Some wouldst have thou believe all that art needed to knoweth a man may be found in his desires. I say, the truth may be found in his fears." Dynaheir knelt at her side. "What dost thou fear?"

Sajantha straightened. "Why? What would that prove?"

"Is there aught thou needs to prove?"

"I—I don't know! You tell me. You're always looking at me as if you're waiting for something."

The witch gazed out to the horizon with her. "Thou stares at the sea as if an answer might therein be found. What is thy question?"

Sajantha rubbed her forehead, her eyes. "I don't even know." The wind bit her ears; she hunched her shoulders up.

Dynaheir waited, letting her quiet press in with the steady inevitability of the tide. What answers might she have? The woman knew so much more than what she'd shared.

"Lost." Sajantha's voice cracked. "I'm afraid of being lost."

"Of losing others? Or, of losing thy way—thy self?"

"I don't know." She covered her face, shaking her head. "I don't know. I don't know."

As they sat, the other woman silent beside her, the question crystallized between them: What is it that you fear, Dynaheir?

And Sajantha's breath caught as from the cold wind, unable to voice it.

"Your birthday's coming up." For once, Imoen hadn't even spoke of it, nor even put together a list. The glass clinked against the table as Sajantha set it down, a sharp note standing out against the soft murmured voices in the common room. "Anything special you want to plan?"

"Well, uh, actually," Imoen glanced towards the Harpers across the table. "We were thinking of traveling to the Friendly Arm. Catch up with some friends, right?"

"Gellana?" Not as though they knew so very many people outside of the keep.

"Yeah. You know," Imoen cleared her throat, "might be she knew your mother, too."

Sajantha pushed the food around on her plate, leaving trails that managed to look even less appetizing. "I suppose."

"What are you so worried about? You haven't gone back to talk to Haspur, either. Wouldn't you rather find out more?"

Her fork clattered to the table. Was this more of the Bhaalspawn talk? Sajantha shook her head, stomach tight. "You can't still be thinking about that. Not... not you."

"Come on." Imoen spread her hands. "Sajantha..."

"I th-think the trip would do you well," Khalid said softly.

She pushed back her chair, tightening her cloak as the tension in her chest spread to her limbs. "I'm going for a walk. I need some air."

Hood flipped up, she walked, invisible, through the foggy streets.

Incense thickened the air, bitter on her tongue. Even the brazier but barely kept the coming of winter's claw away; Sajantha shivered as she faced Haspur inside the diviner's tent.

Eyes shrouded in dark circles, he stared back, wary.

"I don't know what to do." She leaned forward. "What am I supposed to do, next?" Was that even question enough for him to answer? Too vague, too open-ended–

"There is a shadow over you," he answered, frowning. "It grows larger. I–" His eyes went blank—empty, bottomless, she could see through, to–

The cold bloomed inward as his shaking hand gripped her arm, fingers digging in like claws. "Run," he whispered. "Run."

[Author's Note]: I just want to thank everyone for sticking with me on the journey! I have learned quite a lot about writing that I hope will serve me well for my next undertaking (already have a decent amount written for BGII + ToB- though a lot of that is incredibly rough).

If you have any writing advice or criticisms or suggestions or anything at all, please please don't hesitate; the comments have really helped me... it's kind of hard to express how much that means to me... if you enjoyed reading it, I would love to hear; just knowing there are people who actually care if I get this finished will help keep me going. ^^

So, thank you all SO MUCH for reading, and I hope you will continue along in the next installments... which could very well take awhile, as I intend to write a complete draft first and then go back and edit, but I *am* working on it! I'm sure I'll end up posting images on dA to tide us all over, if you want to check some progress. ;)