Summary: This is for the “Grieve” prompt from the write November 2024 prompt list
Enver finds out his durge is “dead”.
After a week of hearing nothing from Feravel, it was Orin of all people had turned up in Enver’s office to inform him: she now spoke for the temple of Bhaal.
Enver clenched his fists tightly behind his back with such force that the claws of his gauntlets pricked his palms. The pain of it grounded him -kept him from lashing out and he so wanted to. He should’ve known something was wrong when he hadn’t heard from her for so long, but Enver was always loath to check in on Feravel. The last time he had she’d threatened him in no uncertain terms and disappeared without word for a month. That had been years ago though, before she regularly started staying in his lower city home.
“And what of Feravel?” Enver questioned careful to keep his tone in check.
A wicked smile twisted Orin’s lips.
“My blood kin has been returned to our father.”
Her expression of manic pleasure as she spoke nearly drove him over the edge.
What he wouldn’t do to take the skinny mad bitch by her throat and squeeze, but there was an agreement. One which had been made under a different chosen, but he had no choice but to abide by it nonetheless. All acolytes of Bane were bound to this alliance with the damned temple of Bhaal. Enver could not lay a finger on Orin’s insane head -at least for now. Who bore the title of Bhaal’s chosen was not his business to meddle in.
Despite how much it enraged him to see the smugness in Orin’s eyes. There was no doubt in Enver’s mind Orin had killed Feravel. Now she’d come to gloat.
“Well, I thank you for informing me promptly then of the change.”
Suddenly Orin lunged for him drawing Bloodthirst swiftly from her belt and pressing the flat of the blade to his cheek. Its curved edge was sharp enough that it would only take a twist of her wrist to cut a slash across his face.
“We’ll be working together from now on Banite. But my blade is thirsty . How it longs to hear you scream!”
Enver scowled sharply jerking her from him by the wrist. He would not accept threats from the likes of Orin. She laughed.
“You’re forgetting yourself.” He snapped. “I am Bane’s chosen and we are allies.”
“Allies! Yes, yes, thanks to mine foolish slaughter kin!”
Orin cackled before changing her appearance and disappearing from his office.
Alone, Enver stood stock still for a few moments until he was certain she’d truly gone before crossing the room to his desk and sinking into his chair. Another few seconds passed before the weight of it sank in. His shoulders slumped and he leaned forward to press the heels of his hands over his eyes.
In his mind’s eye he could picture Feravel as he’d last seen her: tucked against his side, tangled up in the black satin sheets of his bed, messy hair, and half asleep. They’d been up late discussing their most recent trip to Moonrise after an evening spent reveling in each other. She’d fallen asleep before him, but he’d still had to be up early for a meeting. He had hoped that she’d be at his home in the lower city that evening. They’d made no such plans, but usually, they didn’t outside of their formal partnership. Things between them just fell into place -they had just fallen into place in truth. Still, his expectation was warranted as it had become Feravel’s habit to return to the lower city house. So he’d been disappointed, but not concerned when Blinky informed him Feravel had not been to the house at all since their return. That had been almost a week ago. And now, she was dead.
What had happened between then and now? He wondered. How long has she been dead?
Enver tasted bile on his tongue.
Feravel was utilitarian and artful when it came to dealing death. She enjoyed it as it was in her nature, but she was not a rabid animal like Orin. Orin who had killed her. Horribly no doubt. Enver pressed the heels of his hands so hard against his eyes that he saw stars.
He slammed his hands onto the desk. No . Feravel couldn’t be dead. She just couldn’t. Any moment, he thought, she’d come like a whirlwind into his office teasing him for believing a pitiable creature like Orin could best her. He glanced toward the door, the windows, and even the ceiling. But she wasn’t there. Deep down Enver probably knew she wouldn’t be, but still, he’d had to look. Keeping an eye out for her appearance was second nature.
But Orin had had her ancestral dagger. Feravel would’ve never let Orin get her hands on it -not while she lived. How could she have let this happen? They were partners! More than partners. Anger raced through him elevating his pulse. Enver stood and strode across the room unthinking no destination in mind just feeling compelled to move . How could he be idle now?
Then as he came to a halt in front of his bookshelf, her voice came to him from a memory.
“Promise me.” Feravel whispered. “If one of us dies, the other will see this through to fruition. No matter what happens, you will remain focused on our goals.”
Enver did not meet her eyes. He was busy considering her words as he trailed a finger along her jaw. “Of course, my dear.”
“Promise.” Her tone was colder than he could recall it being in some time . For a moment it caused him a flare of concern. “Swear on the Black Hand of your Lord.”
He frowned. “What’s this about?”
Enver looked down at her with an arched w was eyebrow. “Insurance against what?”
“You?” A playful grin flitted onto her lips.
“Yes, you going soft without me around. Mortals can get so tied up in their feelings after all.” Her tone was only half joking.
Enver furrowed his brow. Feravel sighed and reached up to card her fingers through his hair in a placating manner. He didn’t buy it. There was more to this.
“Just promise me. Should something happen, you will stay focused.”
He sighed and leaned in to kiss her. “I will.”
Enver frowned, but he knew she wouldn’t let it go unless he conceded.
“I swear. I will carry out our plan with or without you.”
She smiled in a more relaxed manner than before and leaned in to kiss him.
“Good. And should it come to that, don’t futz around trying to bring me back like Ketheric with his daughter. Alright?”
He’d laughed in the moment, but now Enver couldn’t help wondering if Feravel had known things with Orin had been about to come to a head. Nothing had seemed off though before or since that conversation. It had been months ago. Despite being odd, he’d eventually let it go when nothing came of it.
They had spoken about Orin’s ambitions on occasion, but those too Feravel had been dismissive of the issue. She had it in hand, she’d said.
“Orin is a dog. So long as I keep her close I can control her. Allow her to wander and who knows what she’ll get up to.” Feravel paused, thoughtful. “I keep her leash short.”
“Keep your friends close. Keep your enemies closer.” Enver tucked a strand of hair behind her pointed ear.
“Yes. That is the idea. Except in this particular case, I think I’ll make an exception concerning my friends . I’d prefer to keep you closer.” She stifled a giggle. “It would be rather awkward don’t you think.”
Enver choked slightly on his laugh. “Yes, I think I’d prefer it remain just the two of us.”
She nuzzled his cheek. “For these sorts of meetings at least.”
His chest felt tight. He’s seen the signs. Orin was a problem. She had been for a while, but any time he’d tried to broach the topic he’s been rebuffed. It was business within the temple of Bhaal. She did not tell him how to order about his Banites. But would she be here still if he’d neglected to heed her wishes? Her anger might’ve been worth it were she at least alive to be angry. The ‘what if’ felt like a knife in his chest.
Feravel was capable. Whatever had occurred…Orin must’ve been planning longer than they’d known. But Orin didn’t have the capacity for plotting on that sort of scale. Had it come down to chance?
But Feravel was Bhaal’s chosen.
Unbidden, Enver let out a roar of frustration and hurled a brass bookend across the room. The heavy thwack of it hitting the wood paneling did nothing to quell the storm of emotions building inside him. If anything, he felt compelled to throw something heavier or harder, perhaps even punch the wall. What he really wanted though was to kill Orin.
He’d have to plan it carefully. Even from a practical perspective, she was a liability. Where Feravel was reasonable and thoughtful Orin was simply a bloodthirsty lunatic who’d usurped her. It would not be good for their plans to allow Orin to lead the cult of Bhaal.
He could have his revenge for Feravel and still keep his promise to her. Removing Orin before she caused too much damage would be a necessity. Feravel would agree. And if she would’ve turned her nose up at the idea of him involving himself with Bhaalist temple affairs…well she ought to have handled it herself.
Perhaps once he dealt with Orin and Bauldur’s Gate was securely under his rule…
Then he could find her body. Surely Orin had taken it to the temple if that wasn’t where the murder occurred. The thought made him wrinkle his nose with disgust at the idea of what depraved things Orin might do with Feravel’s body. Well if it wasn’t horribly mutilated then perhaps at that time he could contact a wizard. It wouldn’t be wasting time.
Enver tried to ignore the single tear that rolled down his cheek. Feravel being gone didn’t feel real, but the anger was beginning to wane and he could feel a weight settling on his heart. A heart he’d once thought too damaged to know love, but that had piece by piece begun to love her.
He should mourn her. Let her go. It would be the smart thing to do. He’d always have their memories, but not having her would leave him no weaknesses for an enemy to exploit. Even with that in mind, the thought of never seeing her face -her smile- again was like a physical blow.
And he’d never even told her.
“I love you,” Enver murmured to the empty room.
