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Evermore: The Gathering	By : RosaTenebrum Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 9663 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the Dragonlance series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 14
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CHAPTER 14

"Just a minute, please!"

Dazed from sleep, Gaspar scrambled to his feet as fast as he could and pulled on his cloak. A number of possible horror scenarios played through his brain as he hurried towards the door: The temple on fire? A murdered man at the main door? It was clearly an emergency, for why else would anyone come to him in the middle of the night?

Ready for whatever disaster would turn up, Gaspar swung the door open and for a split second could not even comprehend what he saw in front or him.

"Revered Daughter!" he cried then, surprise making his voice louder than he had intended. Instinctively, he began to straighten his cloak and smooth his sleep-tousled hair, but soon remembered there really was no point doing that. Embarrassed, he took a closer look at the lady instead and became even more flushed, the impression was so intimate. Her long black hair hung loose on her shoulders, and over her nightgown she only wore a robe of pale silk tied softly around her narrow waist with a sash. Gaspar had never seen her like that before, so unpolished and so casual, which caused him to worry. Had her illness got worse? He studied the lady's face and decided she did look a bit feverish. Her eyes were bright and intent, and she seemed agitated.

"Revered Daughter, we've been terribly worried," Gaspar said quietly. "You are not still unwell, are you?"

"I'm fine," she answered brusquely. "I'm preparing for the morning prayers."

"Such good news," said Gaspar, relieved but not less confused. "Please, tell me, how can I be of service?" He tried, but he could not think of a single thing the lady might need from him at this early hour.

"It is but a little matter. You see..." She broke off and gave a tiny sigh. "The thing is, I've been informed there was a... a certain... It has come to my knowledge that there was a request for an audience some days ago." She paused for a moment and then added, rather sharply, "A request that wasn't brought to my attention."

Gaspar could feel the blood leaving his face. That was it, of course; he should have guessed right away. Now it all made sense - the two days she had claimed to have fallen ill of food poisoning, cancelling duties, not allowing anyone to enter even with medicine... Gaspar looked at the Revered Daughter and his heart sank with pity. What she must have gone through: the shock, the pain, the old wounds opening. Anger seized him. Who? Who had managed to leaf through the register behind his back? And who could be so bloody insensitive as to blurt it out to her like a damned kender in heat? But with the next breath, Gaspar ordered himself to calm down. It was possible, and even the most likely explanation, that Platinum Father himself had informed her of the mage's visit, in a dream or a vision, or however it was that the clerics and their gods communicated.

Gaspar could see his silence told the Revered Daughter everything she needed to know. To affirm this, she mustered a stiffly polite smile and said, "Surely you must know what I mean."

He looked at her warily. There was something in her tone of voice that he had not heard before, something different, something that the aristocracy seemed to receive in the milk: it was neither angry nor unfriendly, not as such, but it was distant and self-important. A tone that suggested that he, Gaspar, had done wrong, and her ladyship was not amused. Alright, this is it, Gaspar thought desperately, she's going to sack me, right here, right now, at four o'clock in the morning.

"My lady, I..." He bowed his head in shame, feeling like a little boy caught with his hand in a jar of biscuits. "I apologize for not letting you know. I did not want to upset you. I... I guess I was a bit upset myself."

"That was very considerate. But in the future make certain that I will be duly informed at all times of everything that concerns me, directly or indirectly. Especially requests for audience. This is Paladine's temple, Master Cloade. I would not have those in need think that the head of the church would not receive them. It simply will not do."

Gaspar glanced up at the lady's face. In the future? So he was allowed to continue? He was tremendously relieved, if also a little bemused. Couldn't all that have waited until the morning? "Certainly, my lady," he said meekly. "Once again, I'm sorry, my lady."

She did not smile nor say she accepted the apology, and a sense of desolation came over Gaspar. He might be allowed to stay in her service, yes, but the pay rise he had been vaguely hoping for seemed to have slipped out of his reach for good.

Looking at the Revered Daughter though, Gaspar suddenly knew why she was there and felt terribly ashamed of himself, even as he was overcome with emotion: she'd had a terrible shock, and he was only thinking of his own problems. She had come to him without pomp and circumstance, vulnerable and in need of help, not quite knowing what to say to get it: was she not, in fact, reaching out to him in tentative friendship?

"Revered Daughter," Gaspar said gently to save her the embarrassment of having to ask, "you may sleep in peace. I make a solemn vow here and now that the mage won't get anywhere near you. Myself and Morzol will keep an eye out at all times. A guard could be posted at your door, if you like. Furthermore, I think his whereabouts are known. He will no doubt be arrested in only a few..."

Gaspar was so carried away with his litany of consolation that it took him a while to realize that the Revered Daughter had spoken, or more like inserted a short, appalled exhalation between his pouring words: no. No? Gaspar blinked in confusion; he could not have heard right. "Lady?"

"There will be no guards at my door, and no one will be put under arrest," the Revered Daughter said firmly. "I do not want this to leak out. The matter must stay strictly between you and me."

There was no hesitation in her voice; the vulnerability Gaspar thought he had seen was gone. "Of course. Right. I understand." But he didn't. Not at all. The arrest would be clean and easy, it would be carried out with discretion by perfectly trustworthy church officials, and a guard or two at the door of the most important person of the theological institute would not raise any eyebrows, either. These were the things Gaspar would have expected her to demand. He had already imagined how they would try the mage privately, how the lady would testify, and how he would be thrown in jail to rot for crimes against humanity. That's how Gaspar saw it, but then again he was only a secretary. He supposed clerics had their own notions of justice.

"I was wondering..." she trailed off and frowned.

"Yes, my lady?" Gaspar encouraged, seeing her hesitation.

"I wonder what his intentions were. Did he state his business?"

"Revered Daughter, I assure you there is no cause for unrest. Like I said, we won't allow him anywhere near you."

"Yes, but I need to know."

Again that lordly tone masked in friendliness: I did not ask you, Gaspar, I ordered you. Gaspar heaved an inward sigh in search of an answer. Who could divine the intentions of a madman? Had he been looking for a chance to apologize, perhaps? No, it was a backward thought: a man of such overbearing attitude did not say he was sorry. Suddenly an unpleasant thought crept into Gaspar's head, just a moment's impression, but all the more strong for it: were not the lady and the mage somehow alike?

He pushed the thought away and said wearily, "I'm sorry, my lady. I cannot say for certain what it was that he wanted."

"But you spoke to him, face to face," she insisted. "What did he say, exactly?"

Exactly? A growing unease had started to build up in Gaspar's gut, and the expression on the Revered Daughter's face did not much help it: she seemed like a child about to be handed a present. "Well, let me see," he muttered uncomfortably. "He was seeking an audience with you..."

"Yes?"

"...and I told him no."

She frowned. "Without hearing him out first?"

"Quite so, because I thought... Well, on account of what I've been told, I did not think an audience should be granted him." He hoped there was no condescending note in his tone that the lady would catch. "I believed I knew what your answer would be, and independently acted upon that assumption. Because I did not want to upset you over nothing."

"As I said, I appreciate your concern. But in the future - and especially then, after my inauguration - you must never again presume to know my judgement."

"I overreached myself. I'm sorry." Gaspar lowered his head, making a mental note to himself: never presume to know the Revered Daughter's judgement. But always trust it?

"So who else knows?" she asked, rather impatiently.

"No one besides Morzol. I didn't tell anyone." He added, a little caustically, "I didn't think it was a matter worth discussing."

She gave a little nod. "Good. Now then, you must write him a little note for me."

"What?" said Gaspar bluntly, forgetting decorum in his astonishment.

One of the lady's arched eyebrows rose in displeasure, and then she was already pushing past Gaspar into his small chamber, without a comment on his muttered apology. Throwing his hands up in the air, Gaspar quickly backed out of her way and flattened himself against the doorframe: no one except her personal assistant was allowed to touch the soon-to-be head of the church, although Gaspar did not think she would have minded or even noticed a brief collision in her fevered state.

He drew the door closed and directed the Revered Daughter to a chair, rather clumsily, with spoken instructions - on your left, my lady, quite high, no arms. It was terribly awkward; he had no idea what she needed to know to manage. That was Araminta's job.

When the lady was safely seated, Gaspar took out his quill and laid it on the table on top of a sheet of paper: fine, bone-white paper, official church paper with Paladine's silver triangle, on which he figured he would very soon write a note of invitation to a cold-blooded, black-robed criminal. He noticed he was feeling utterly nervous all of a sudden; he had thought he was used to the Revered Daughter by now, but never before had he been alone with her like this. He rummaged in the drawer for some ink, all the while taking glances at the woman out of the corner of his eye. She was sitting quietly with her hands folded in her lap. The soft glow of the candles illuminated her pale face; her eyes looked dark and lifeless.

Gaspar seated himself behind his desk and cleared his throat to signal his readiness. It occurred to him that the lady could have used Araminta as her scribe, like she always did, so why hadn't she? He had gathered there was some sort of friendship between the two women, or at least Araminta was closer to the lady than anyone else could claim to be. So why him? Perhaps, Gaspar thought worriedly, because a friend would have the guts to tell her that sending a note to the mage is a completely mad idea.

"Revered Daughter, forgive me, but I must ask," he said quietly. "Are you absolutely certain that you wish to contact him, really? He... He did terrible things to you, and the world."

Her face tightened. "I'm alive, and the world moves on."

Neither of them spoke for a while. Then her expression softened. "Master Cloade, you must know that in Paladine's eyes all god's creatures deserve a second chance. 'Behold the man first, then his actions.' We must open our hearts to that message and allow the Platinum Father to shape us according to the mystery of his love. For in the end that is what makes us human, Gaspar, and separates us from the animals. We do not attack blindly out of instinct; we study the circumstances, we see the larger whole."

Gaspar listened to the Revered Daughter, trying to suppress the irritation he suddenly felt towards her. Did her words make sense even to herself? He was not accomplished in theology, but he did not need theology to know that a man was his actions. If the man was rotten, then his actions were rotten as well, and no second view would change that.

The Revered Daughter kept on explaining that nobody was beyond redemption, and Gaspar could only sit and hear her out. Well, he thought, crossing his hands on his lap, it's not every day you get a private sermon from the head of the church. The lady's voice was soft and bright, completely at odds with her fervent message; she talked to him as one would to a child, like he was the one with the problem for daring to question the mage's actions. Her idea had been to convert the mage - at least that's what they'd told Gaspar. Had she given these lectures to Raistlin Majere as well on the mystery of Paladine's love, in addition to her own? Gaspar tried to picture the two of them together, but it was a blurry image, and he started at a thought that suddenly occurred to him. What if she had been... carnal with the mage? What if she had lied that she hadn't and everyone simply believed her? Or what if everyone else knew the truth except himself? It was slightly immoral the way it was, but it could be even worse. Much, much worse. And wouldn't that change everything; wouldn't it have affected Revered Father Elistan's choice?

Leaning back in his chair, Gaspar studied the lady's features as she spoke. One by one, he took back his rushed conclusions. There was no doubt in his mind that the Revered Daughter was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but that was all; she was about as alluring as a lamp post. She gave the impression that there was not a passionate bone in her body, and Gaspar simply could not imagine her throwing herself at a man - least of all a black-robed wizard. Seduction was as far from this woman as Lunitari from Krynn; flushed cheeks and holding hands seemed completely beneath her, let alone the more sweaty acts of love.

Gaspar suddenly realized the lady had stopped talking and was gazing questioningly in his direction. He apologized to her for at least the fifth time, silently wondering how many more times he would do so before morning broke.

"Write now, as I dictate," she simply said.

It was absurd. After everything they had done to help her to forget - tiptoeing around the issue, sweeping it under the carpet - it was the Revered Daughter herself who was now shoveling the past up with fury. "Certainly, my lady," Gaspar said, discouraged and helpless to gainsay her.

"And Gaspar..."

"Yes, my lady?"

"This stays between us."

"I would never betray your trust, my lady."

To this she only gave a brief one-sided smile.
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Evermore: The Gathering