Chapter 22 - In the Warmth of Conversation
The table had long since quieted from the initial clatter of cutlery and passing of dishes. Plates were mostly cleared now, save for a few bites left for Sir Pounceforth to claim should he feel inclined. The soft clink of Neia’s spoon against her bowl was the only sound for a moment, but the hush was not an awkward one. It was the sort of stillness that accompanied comfort, the kind that settled over two people who no longer needed to fill every space with words.
Neia was the first to speak, her voice gentle. “How are you feeling now? Truly.”
Gideon looked up, the corners of his mouth tugging into a thoughtful smile. “A bit sore still. Stiff when I turn too quickly. But I’ll live.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”
He gave a small, sheepish chuckle. “Well, seeing you safe and sound makes it worth it.”
Neia blinked, surprised. Before she could reply, Gideon cleared his throat and added, “I mean, uhh, that’s what we do in the Guild. Protect people. Yea, it’s a Sentinel’s duty.”
“Mm.” She gave a little nod, stirring the last of her drink. “And is that what made you want to become a bodyguard?”
Gideon leaned back slightly, folding his arms as he considered her question. “Partly. It’s tradition in my family, I suppose. My father served the House for decades, long before the war ended. He’s retired now, but there’s a portrait of him in his old uniform in our front room. Caelan followed right after him. He trained as a fighter and went straight into the Defenders Guild as soon as he was able. I guess I never really thought of doing anything else.”
“And yet you’re a paladin,” Neia said, tilting her head slightly. “That’s not just following a career path. That’s a vow.”
Gideon nodded. “I took after my father in that. He was a paladin too. Oath of Devotion. Loyal, steadfast, everything the House stood for.”
“And you?” she asked gently. “You chose differently.”
“I did,” he said. “I chose the Oath of Redemption.” He paused, the words carrying a quiet weight. “I suppose I’ve always believed that keeping people safe isn’t just about shields and swords. Sometimes it’s about giving them a second chance. Making peace. Holding a line that doesn’t cut down but calms. I wanted to believe that restraint could be a strength too.”
A small smile rose on Neia’s lips. “You really are the first Redemption paladin I’ve ever met.”
“Am I?” he asked, a little surprised.
“Mmhmm,” she said. “I’ve crossed paths with paladins before. In fact, when I was new to adventuring, I once joined a party that travelled along the southern coast of Faerûn. One of our companions was a paladin named Gladius. He was so new to the order that he couldn’t even afford plate armour yet. Fought in chainmail with pride anyway. Always polished it till it gleamed.”
Gideon chuckled softly at the image. “Sounds like a good man.”
“He was,” she said warmly. “A bit loud, and very dramatic, but his heart was always in the right place. That was also the first time I met Iris.”
“The cleric?” Gideon asked, recalling the name from earlier.
Neia nodded. “We were both very green back then. She was running away from a life she didn’t want. I was chasing something I couldn’t name. But we found good people. For a little while, at least.”
“At first, there were four of us,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Two men who fancied themselves brave, and then Iris and I, fresh-faced and eager, but in truth, not terribly invested in glory.” Her lips curled into a laugh. “One day, the men went off to explore some dungeon nearby. Dangerous business, I suppose. But Iris and I? We decided we’d rather help this old wizard gather rare feathers from a field of dusk-hens just outside the village.”
“Feathers…?” Gideon echoed, blinking.
“For one of his spells,” she said with a bright grin. “Iris and I spent nearly the whole day in that field, just the two of us. It was warm, the breeze was gentle, and the feathers were surprisingly easy to find.”
Gideon blinked. “Oh?”
“Mhm,” she said with a laugh. “They practically everywhere on the fields. We took our time gathering them, talking about everything and nothing.” Her smile softened. “It was one of those rare days. Peaceful. A little golden, like something out of a story.”
He listened, quietly smiling.
“And when we finally returned, arms full of feathers and feeling rather pleased with ourselves,” she went on, “the wizard looked up from his scrolls, blinked at us, and said, ‘You do know your friends are in a bit of trouble, yes?’”
Gideon laughed, the sound warm and surprised.
“We had no idea,” Neia said, eyes twinkling. “Not even a little. Iris and I just looked at each other and ran.”
Her eyes drifted down to her cup. The memory passed over her face like a quiet cloud, soft but weighty. Gideon said nothing, simply watched her with that same steady expression he always wore when listening intently.
Neia looked up again. “But yes. You’re the first of your kind that I’ve met. A paladin who believes that mercy has a place in battle.”
“I’m not always perfect at it,” he admitted.
“None of us are.” She smiled, sincere and kind. “But the fact that you try… that matters.”
Gideon glanced away, as though caught off guard by the earnestness in her tone. He reached for his glass and drank to buy himself a moment. Then, quieter, he said, “Thank you.”
Neia studied him for a beat longer, then returned to her plate, the warmth in her chest settling like embers under her skin.
Neia smiled to herself as she stirred her cup absentmindedly. “I spent most of my life in the grove,” she said. “It’s not a large community, but we were comfortable. My father believed that even in places far from cities, children should have access to proper learning. So, he brought tutors from Waterdeep to teach us. Most of us grew up together, studied together, misbehaved together.”
She let out a soft laugh at the memory. “We used to race barefoot between the trees, even when the ground was muddy. We’d get scolded for tracking footprints into the learning tent. There was one summer when we tried to build a raft from fallen branches and nearly lost it down the river. We were always outdoors. Our classrooms changed with the weather. Sometimes we learned under the sun, sometimes under the stars.”
Her expression turned thoughtful. “It wasn’t perfect, of course, but it was… kind. The grove had its own rhythm, and we all moved with it.”
She tilted her head slightly, a soft giggle escaping before her voice turned fond. “Even my first boyfriend was from the grove. A half-elf land druid named Finlay. We were both fifteen and completely convinced it was true love.”
Gideon blinked, then gave a small, polite nod, but the quick glance he cast toward the table betrayed him. It wasn’t jealousy exactly, but something close. Curiosity, maybe. Or quiet irritation at fifteen-year-old Finlay. “Do you still keep in touch?” he asked, trying for nonchalance, though the sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth softened the attempt.
Neia turned her eyes to him and caught that flicker of curiosity in his gaze. Her smile turned teasing, but warm. “No. He left the grove in his early twenties to travel and study nature elsewhere. I haven’t seen him since, but… I do hope he’s well.”
Gideon gave a small nod and looked down at his plate, as though the edge of it had suddenly become fascinating.
“I was very lucky,” she said after a moment, quietly. “To grow up surrounded by so much care.”
A thoughtful silence settled between them. Then Gideon looked over, eyes steady and voice kind. “What made you leave it behind?”
His words weren’t demanding. They held no judgment. Only curiosity, softened by something quieter. Something that understood what it meant to love a place and still have to part from it.
Gideon caught the subtle change in her face, something gentle, something quietly sad. Neia looked down for a moment, as if sorting through memories she had not spoken aloud in years. Then, with a slow breath, she lifted her gaze to him and said, almost softly, “Well… it started with my father.”