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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
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CHAPTER 25

The heavenly hymn rose up in glory, the sound swelling and echoing through the temple and its high arched ceilings. Platinum Father, look over us, have mercy on us.

Revered Daughter Crysania stood motionless before the crowds, the afternoon sun spilling down on her through the stained glass windows. Most eyes were turned towards her, and Gaspar could not blame them. She was picture perfect, she looked almost too beautiful to be real: her ceremonial dress was sparkling white, casting a halo-like glow around her and highlighting the glossy sheen of her silky black hair which hung loose under the veil. Her hands were clasped before her, one holding the other wrist; her face was expressionless and serene. She seemed lost in the beauty of the choir's voices.

The choir, or something else? If only Gaspar knew what went on behind those blind eyes of hers.

The thought kept returning: just what had she discussed with the mage? Gaspar had put his head against the door, but heard nothing. It had taken a long time before she had come out of the room, appearing stoic and showing no visible emotion; on the way back, she had not spoken a word to him and he hadn't dared address her. And yesterday, in the Gardens, she had told him to stay put, and watching from the end of the path Gaspar had seen them kneeling at the altar, together. He had been too far to make out the words exchanged, but obviously the mage had done most of the talking while the lady had only listened; he had not touched her or appeared threatening in any way, but at one point she had shaken her head at something he said, her hand on her forehead.

Gaspar did not know what to think of it. So many things that gesture could convey.

But he knew that they had stood just a little bit too close to one another for his taste, and he also knew that, after the first meeting he had helped to arrange, the bastard had looked at him with his idea of a smile and said "See you soon" like he was here to stay.

These things were undoubtedly disconcerting, but what bothered Gaspar most about it all was this: the Revered Daughter had wanted to meet Raistlin Majere again. The man who had betrayed her in the cruellest way imaginable. Why, in the name of all that's holy? She had knocked on Gaspar's door after Evensong and required him to escort her to the Gardens tomorrow, while also reminding him of the importance of emulating Paladine's grace and perfect love in all our actions. Again she'd said she appreciated Gaspar's concern, but didn't really sound like she did at all; in fact, she had seemed more irritated than grateful by his worriedness, which Gaspar thought was only wise under the circumstances. But the Revered Daughter did not seem to agree.

He surveyed the woman again, with his head tilted to one side. She had now spoken with Gaspar twice in private - real conversations, not just quick pleasantries, like before - and Gaspar had to ask himself whether, after these strange interactions, his opinion of her might have suffered. He did not know what to think of her. Did he even like her? Disillusionment, maybe that was the word. He couldn't believe he had been so naive as to take her friendly little chats by his desk and her coming to his door at night, unkempt and dishevelled, as demonstrations of trust or an invitation to friendship. What a load of bollocks. She held herself above him, she would always hold herself above Gaspar Cloade and the likes of him, because that's how she had been raised. She never told him to drop the formal address. She stopped to talk to him out of duty and obligation. She had shown herself to him in her nightgown simply because he did not matter.

And, of course, she had wanted to meet the mage again. Once Gaspar might have understood, but twice? God Almighty. He studied the woman's face but could not find any telltale cracks in its snow-like calm. Did her conscience nag at her at all? He knew his did. As far as we're concerned, they'd told him at the beginning of his employment, Araminta and the rest of the handful of people in the know, her past never happened, and like a fool Gaspar had accepted that, promising to take the secret to his grave, removing the knowledge from his mind just like they had removed the record of the lady's Test of Faith from the archives to hide all traces of her unsavoury relations. Gaspar closed his eyes, finally allowing the thought he had been trying to avoid to enter his mind: Was it really wise to make Revered Daughter Crysania the head of the church? Not everyone thought so: Gaspar knew there was a group of people led by Revered Son Zoltan Wargo, whose efforts to undermine the Revered Daughter's authority no one took seriously. The man had presented their case to the vestry on several occasions, heaping up weak arguments based on prejudice and discrimination. If they knew what Gaspar knew... These people, Gaspar thought, looking at the sea of faces around him and feeling more than just a little uncomfortable, these poor, simple, adoring people, do they really see Paladine when they look at the Revered Daughter? He was afraid that what he saw was just a silly, impressionable woman, who, for all her learning and expertise, was dangerously unpredictable and fickle as the wind, and, unlike Revered Son Zoltan, Gaspar could base such conclusions on evidence. Confused and tired, he rubbed his burning eyes with thumb and forefinger. Platinum Father, look over us, indeed.

The hymn ended in a long harmonious note. The Revered Daughter walked solemnly to the front altar, where a burning candle was placed in her hand by one the acolytes - Acolyte Randull, to be exact, Gaspar recognized the thin young man even if all the grey-robed acolytes tended to look the same to him. The young clerics-to-be gathered behind the Revered Daughter, making way for the parents who were bringing their little children to be blessed by her. The faces in the line were serious, everyone was gazing at Lady Crysania in quiet reverence, and a suffocating horror descended upon Gaspar as he looked at them: he felt Paladine's presence all around him, the god was looking straight into his heart, knowing that he, Gaspar, helped to keep all these poor souls in the dark. Bathed in cold sweat, Gaspar loosened his collar with moist fingers. What next? Would she come to him again tomorrow, or maybe even tonight, and ask him to arrange for another secret meeting, then another, and yet another? He had promised to keep quiet, but he had not known that he would be pulled right into the middle of it, to act as a shady go-between, and standing there beneath the heavenly arches of Paladine's holy house, amid the sweet notes of the choir, Gaspar Cloade realized he was having a problem with it. A major problem.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and when he turned, startled, he saw Araminta Averell's brown eyes looking at him with a worried expression.

"Are you all right?" The woman murmured the words under her breath, so as not to disturb the ceremony.

Gaspar gave her a smile, affecting a careless manner. "Never better."

"You sure? You seem a bit shaken."

"I'm fine. I just need some fresh air," Gaspar croaked and started towards the doors. There, away from the crowds, he took out a handkerchief and dabbed at the moisture on his forehead. "This rotten heat," he said to Araminta who had followed him. "Will it never end? Hiddumont's almost here, and still the sun blazes on."

"On the inauguration day it probably will end," Araminta returned with a sardonic expression. "I bet it'll be pouring with rain the minute she steps on that podium."

Gaspar let out a difficult laugh. "Yes. The day draws near, doesn't it?"

She nodded. "Three and a half weeks."

"Has she said anything to you?"

Araminta looked at Gaspar closely. "Like what?"

"Has she been... acting normal? Is she, I don't know, calm and composed?"

Araminta's worried frown broke into a smile. "Oh. Isn't she always? But now that you mention it, she has been a little irritable, yes. But can we blame her? She's got a lot on her mind right now. Now, don't you go telling anyone I said this," she said, lowering her voice, "but even the Revered Daughter gets nervous sometimes." She nodded humorously when she saw Gaspar's strange expression. "I know it's hard to believe."

"So you have been talking to her regularly?"

"Of course I have. Lastly this morning. Look, Gaspar," Araminta added decisively, "maybe you should go and lie down a bit. You really don't look all that well."

"You're right," Gaspar agreed, rubbing his pounding temples. "Maybe I should." Trying to muster a smile, he looked at Araminta. He liked this woman. Talking to her usually lifted his spirits, but not today.

He said he would see her later and started to leave. But after a few steps he turned round. "Araminta."

The woman looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Yes?"

Gaspar waved a hand. "Never mind."

He stumbled his way out into the open and, squinting in the bright sunlight after the hazy gloom of the temple, paced on towards his office, the burden of his secret weighing down on him like a gigantic boulder.

It bothered him for the rest of the day, it woke him up at night, and even after he'd slept on it, it wouldn't leave him be.

In the early morning hours, he seated himself at his desk, his head heavy with unrefreshing sleep. He sat still, pondering, trying to reconcile everything he knew with what he'd seen and heard. Then, with a sigh, he took a sheet of paper, grasped his quill and began to write.
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Evermore: The Gathering