"Are there things you'd like to forget?" Jeremy asked.
Damien paused, caught off guard by the question. "Uhhh, sure."
"Would you, you know, actually do it?"
"Listen, kid. I'm not exactly the best guy to be asking for advice. Isn't your family friends with half the staff? Ask that Percy guy you like so much."
Jeremy shifted. "I know what they would say... Oh, so you know about my family then?" The kid looked uncomfortable, or as uncomfortable as a construct could look.
"Yeah, I may live under a rock but I still read the news occasionally. Especially when the news involves a whole country appearing out of nowhere on the material plane." He went back to writing.
"Well?"
"Well, what?" Damien snapped, a little sharper than intended. He cringed.
"What would you do?"
"Gods, Jeremy, why do you care what I would do? I probably wouldn't, at least right now."
"I don't know..."
Damien sighed and set down his pen. "Listen. I know... I know I talk big... But I've been studying the arcane longer than most of the students here have been alive. And I'm a library assistant. Also, all the staff save maybe Kalil hate my guts, for reasons that are part of the things I'd like to forget. Ask me about magic and history, sure. But life advice?" He gave a mirthless laugh and shook his head. "Your 'familiar' or book there will do better than me."
Jeremy looked like he was about to say something then read from his book for a few moments. "I have a test to study for, so I'll be back for more books later."
When Jeremy left, Damien shook his head. "Stupid kid," he grumbled, but didn't really mean it. He'd have to find something to make it up to him.
❖❖❖
It was finals week. More people than had visited the entire semester combined filled the library. Jeremy clung to his left, skirting the mass of people.
"Psst, over here!" A whispered voice called out. Jeremy turned and saw Damien motioning towards him from a shadowy doorway. He rolled over and found the drow wrapped up in a dark grey hoodie, frantically glancing towards the crowd of people in the front room.
"Gods, it's too early for this shit," he bemoaned.
"But it's 5pm?" Jeremy said with confusion.
"I woke up at three. Anyways, I put all the textbooks for the intro classes on that front table. Pretty clever, right? Now I can stay back here where it's quiet." As he spoke he led them into a special collections room. It was dimly lit and Damien had dragged the few small tables in the room together to form a makeshift desk in the corner. Stacks of paper and books neatly covered the temporary work area.
"Yes, but what if someone needs to check something out? Or help finding a book?" Jeremy asked.
"Bah, if they weren't studying before today they're doomed anyways. They can bother Kalil if they really need something. Besides, I've been peeking out the door every so often for the regulars like you."
"I'm glad... Some of the one's out there are, umm, bullies..." Jeremy looked down slightly embarrassed.
"Bullies?" Damien looked up with a scowl. "Who bullies someone in college? Insolent children here on their parents wealth and prestige..." He kept muttering as he looked back down and searched through the papers on the table. "Ah, here. I have something for you."
"Is it another boring but helpful book?" Jeremy asked.
"What? No. None of the books I recommend are boring." Damien looked offended.
"...Sure."
He huffed then proffered a small stack of papers. "There's a book called Daltim's Tome of Fire. It's very old and has been lost to time, save a few fragments quoted in other works. Well, as far as I am aware, this is a new fragment. It's been lying around the library for years but nobody took the time to translate it. Anyways, I made a second copy for you."
Jeremy looked over the stack of papers. They were filled with a neat script as well as some figures and numbers. Damien seemed... nervous? Odd. The last time he had visited, Damien had been in a bad mood, or at least that's what Charlie had told him.
"What's it about?"
"It's an old treatise on elemental fire magic and psionics. You know the classic schools of magic, yes? Well, in the past some wizards divided spells by their school of effect. Daltim was a wizard from the school of elements, with a focus on fire. I thought you would appreciate it since you've shown an interest in fire based spells... Oh, and you speak deep speech, yes? There is a portion in the psionics section in deep speech. I copied the original and the translation for you. Unfortunately, it's still only a fragment of the book, but it's better than nothing, right?"
Jeremy looked up from reading the first page. "This one actually doesn't seem boring. Thanks!" Tension seemed to drain from the elf. "Umm, can I wait in here for Twelves? We're going to study together later..."
"Of course. I'll point her your way if I see her." Damien picked up a stack of books and left to reshelf them.
Damien laid on his back, trying to at least feign sleep. With a defeated sigh, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. It was no use, he had barely slept all night... Well, morning might be more accurate. The two of them kept odd hours. He glanced back at Jacqueline, glad his restlessness seemed not to have woken her. A quick change of clothes later he was out and heading towards the bakery. If he was going to be up at this hour, he might as well make himself useful.
Arriving at his destination, Damien pushed in the squeaky door causing the little bell above it to chime.
"Ah, Mr. Simmyns, it's always a treat to see you here before noon. The usual?" The baker was a large man with a ruddy complexion and red nose.
"Yeah," Damien responded flatly. He realized looking at the baker's wide smile that his own face was drawn into a lazy frown. He tried to look more pleasant. Why did it bother him that the baker knew his schedule and what he liked to order? He came here often enough, and the order was almost always the same. Routines.
He paid and returned with the box of pastries. This was also becoming an all too regular routine: Damien entered the sitting room, placed the box on a low wooden coffee table, and sank down into the sofa facing the fireplace.
Then he fell into a trance.
Trancing was like the moments before sleep, or maybe the half-sleep moments before waking. His eyes were open, yes, but he wasn't really looking. Similarly, he could hear, but it was far from listening. Senses were operational but not being used. And his mind? Well, his thoughts were mostly a static blur.
He thought he saw movement from the corner of his eye. Then a whistling sound? After a time, a shadow passed in front of him and he felt someone sit on the couch beside him. Jacqueline.
Reality crashed back in as Damien inhaled sharply and sat up. After a moment, Jacqueline placed a hand on his thigh and slid a cup of coffee towards him.
"I appreciate the pastries, but this is the third time you didn't sleep this week," Jacqueline said.
"Hmm." Damien stretched and picked up the coffee. He was still exhausted.
"Dear, as much as I'd like you next to me all night, why don't you try trancing for a few nights instead? It might be easier for you." Jacqueline picked up her own cup too.
"Trancing is... Different... For drow. It feels empty, though sometimes we do get memories." He shook his head. "I've never found it particularly restful."
"Sleep isn't particularly restful for you recently either," Jacqueline said. Damien gave a defeated huff in reply. "I knew drow sleep more than other elves, but I was still surprised that you rarely choose the reverie. Even once my visions began to fade, it still felt more peaceful than sleep. Like I was a part of something. That was probably the cultural, meditative aspect of reverie, though. Still, I must admit that I am a bit jealous, even if for you it is an empty reverie. I still remember right after I was turned... lying down for hours, holding my eyes open in hopes that I could still enter a trance." She sighed. "I've learned to appreciate sleep, too. I just wish I could feel rested after four hours still." Jacqueline chuckled a little.
Damien took another sip of coffee then clasped Jacqueline's hand, giving it a slight squeeze. What was he supposed to say to that? "Sleeping gives more of a break. You can't see. You can't hear. And the reverie has a tendency to pick rather emotional memories when it's not empty, as I'm sure you remember... But you're right. I could at least try next time."
The evening was dark. Somewhere up on the surface, the moon was just beginning to crest the trees. When most were heading to bed, Damien and Jacqueline were just starting to relax. Or at least Jacqueline was.
The kettle whistled, snapping Damien's attention back to reality. He took a breath and removed the kettle from the heat, pouring it slowly into a teapot nearby. The water rippled and gleamed around tea leaves in the dim light. He had been so tired lately. Almost as tired as he had been... Well, not that long ago, frankly. Funny how distinctly different his life felt since coming to Kas, despite the fact that it had only been a few months.
Jacqueline wrapped her hands around him from behind. He could hear the subtle sound of her breathing as he put the lid on the teapot and set the kettle back down. They had spoken briefly on the way home. Pleasantries about their day, or in Damien's case, grumbling about Khalil’s absurd expectations. Most of the evening had been quiet, though.
Quiet was not unusual for them. They often moved about their day in a shared peace. Being together was its own language that didn't always require further spoken elaboration.
Tonight was not that kind of quiet. Instead of a shared peace it was a thick wall. It wasn't a fight or malintent on either of their parts... No, it was just his own foul mood.
“What’s bothering you, dear? I doubt Khalil really treated you that poorly today,” she said.
Damien recognized that tone of voice. It was that of Jacqueline the advisor. Jacqueline the counselor. It somehow both annoyed and comforted him to hear. He sighed.
“I don't know,” he admitted. “Probably just the accumulation of stress from... Everything...”
“Since Dr. Edwards arrived, I've noticed you've been more... Melancholy... I think your friends are starting to notice too.” He could tell she was picking her words deliberately. Softly. A sharp knife hurt less than a dull one.
He curled his hands into a ball and leaned against the counter, causing Jacqueline to release him. “Yeah? Maybe... Maybe this is just how I am, and less melancholy days were the odd ones.” His voice lacked conviction, spite drained from earlier confrontation. He bowed his head, feeling a familiar dark weight settle around him.
“Maybe,” Jacqueline said, falling into a more familiar tone, “but that doesn't make me any less concerned.”
It took a moment for him to respond. He fought down the urge to lash out, to say he couldn't be the man people kept expecting him to be. He wanted to run away, but he had promised he wouldn't run, even if this retreat was purely mental. So he stayed himself.
“Why can't I just be happy?” He murmured.
“I don't know,” Jacques said softly, putting a hand over his.
“It’s as if my mind refuses to let me be happy, or at least content. Like tonight, I should be enjoying your company, and instead...” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to find works to articulate how he felt. “It's like there's this weight on my mind. And when it subsides it just lets me worry about the million little ways it'll return.” He took a breath. “I never feel like I'm fully present, Jacky. There's some part of me either weighed down or worrying. And I can't stop it.”
“Damien,” she said softly, “maybe it's time you consider talking to someone. Professionally, I mean. Perhaps a cleric if you're uncomfortable talking to a physician or therapist?”
He scoffed. “If talking could fix this, then I'd already be cured right now.”
“You know as well as I do that's not how that works. And don't you think you're worth giving it a try, at least?”
Another pause. “I don't know how to answer that truthfully. What I know and what I feel are fundamentally opposed.”
“Then trust what you know and what I feel.” She squeezed his hand.
“...Fine. If we survive this, I'll try talking to someone.” He frowned, wondering what the probability of that was. At least the odds had to be a little higher than he previously thought, given that they apparently had a navy on their side.
“When we survive, you mean. We'll get through this. I know we will.” She leaned over and kissed him, then she started to pour the tea into their cups.
Vieran leaned against the outer wall of his house, puffing on a newly lit pipe. Round sunglasses hid his worried eyes. Damien leaned against the railing of the porch, taking in a small flower garden that extended out from its base.
“Imrae convinced me to take up gardening shortly after you left. Said it would be good for my health.”
“You planted all of this?” Damien asked, turning back towards his father. He gave a slow nod and grinned, pipe between teeth. Impressed, Damien turned to look back out.
“Father... I’m sorry, I... I don't know what to say. When I was expelled, it felt like I was drowning. And once I left, it’s like I was lost. I was lost until my friends, more than those that are here, brought me back. That’s not a good explanation... Gods, I was so nervous coming back home.”
“Nervous?” Vieran chuckled. “Word gets around at the college. I heard pieces of what happened after one of the talks I gave. It’s not everyday a graduate level student is expelled. Given Alex’s discretion, I didn’t pry into or divulge the rumoured information... But, son, you said you didn’t know if there was prejudice... Was your expulsion due to any ethical concerns?”
Damien hung his head and sighed. “Technically, I suppose. I took a minor artifact I found in the stacks. No one was using it, and it took them nearly two years to discover its disappearance. That combined with my grades and a few choice words with the staff was cause enough for my removal. They were not pleased that I took my research with me, as well.”
Vierdan contemplated this, puffing meditatively on the pipe.
“Have you returned the artifact?”
Damien hesitated. There was no condemnation in his father’s tone, but it still stung. “No, no I still have it.”
“And what is the status of the research you took?” This time his tone was more inquisitive. While he was an author and often visited with professors, he was solidly outside the academic system.
“I don’t know why I even bothered. It belongs to the university. Taking it has only gotten me more legal trouble and made my work completely unpublishable.” He smiled a bit. “I have no idea how I got to where I am now, father. I have nothing to my name, academically speaking. My best works were sabotaged by either myself or my advisor, and now I barely have time to rest, let alone continue with my research.”
“Perseverance, it seems.” Vieran also smiled. “Though your mother perhaps would call it ‘rock-headed stubbornness.’”
A peaceful quiet lingered between them. Eventually, his father broke the silence again.
“Do you intend to go to the Underdark?”
“Yes, if I can help Kieran find his father.” Damien stood up from the rail and sat on the swinging bench hung next to where his father stood. He suddenly felt very tired.
Vieran was quiet again, though Damien could sense his anxiety from the quickened way he puffed on his pipe.
“Father... I won’t deny that I’m scared. Maybe worried is a better word. But I’ve grown much stronger in the time since I left. My fears are more that I will say or do the wrong things. That I won’t be of any use, or worse, make it harder for Kieran to find his father. And I won’t deny that part of my fear is that I will descend only to find that I know nothing of my own heritage.”
“You don’t,” Vieran said bluntly. “You don’t really understand until you experience it first hand.” He fell quiet again.
“This will be good for you,” his father said, nodding to himself. “I will help you however I can.” He snuffed out his pipe and went back inside, leaving Damien to his thoughts.