The Nekromancer - 98. Chapter 98

Seventy gold for the Eternal Maiden, a tithe to Shelyn. Amnor Sen let the last of the coins fall into the offering plate, kneeling before the goddess’ altar. It made him feel better, as though he had helped, clearing his conscience just a bit.

The paladin rose to his feet after a moment of reflection, a simple white robe falling down to his ankles. He had traded his armour two days ago, storing it for a time. The elf had no place in the gear, no spot in the heroic tales of the heroes of old. He was just a simple smith, who had the conviction to serve, but not the wisdom to know where to serve best.

Bowing his head before the statue of Shelyn, Amnor Sen backed out of the sanctuary, bare feet shuffling through the halls of the temple. Art was all around him, petitioners painting or writing beautiful works of calligraphy. Their art hung around the halls, even the most simple tree a thing of beauty in the eyes of their goddess. Any other day, Amnor Sen would stop to admire the works, to create his own attempt at art. But today, the elf was meant to go elsewhere.

Life in the temple was a simple rhythm. Though he was a paladin, Amnor Sen was treated no differently than any of the priests, the clerics who offered aid to supplicants in the form of a kind word or a gesture of aid. He lacked their divine connection, their ability to harness Shelyn’s blessed magics, and yet in the past few days of work, Amnor Sen felt closer to his god than he had ever been before.

He passed through a courtyard, pausing briefly to watch a pair of clerics crossing practice glaives. Their forms were precise, their stances focused. As he looked on, they clashed, wood clacking loudly as each tried for the upper hand. Even Shelyn’s clergy learned to defend themselves, using a pale imitation of the goddess’ own weapon, taken from her demonic half brother in the hopes of restoring him to the light. Shelyn gave endless chances for good, never believing any to be beyond saving, and that gutted Amnor Sen further as he realised he had failed his goddess utterly. Who was he to say Jakun was beyond saving, or Jeremy’s drinking was an irredeemable feature?

Soon he was in a workroom, dirty brushes sitting on tables and splotches of paint staining the floors. Creativity had no place for cleanliness. It was his job to see to it the museum was kept clean, his penance for leaving the man he had loved. Dipping the paintbrushes in fresh water, Amnor Sen took up his own brush, kneeling to scrub at the floors. It was cathartic, and more than a little humbling, working at each little spot until they were gone, cleaning the messes to spite the fact that he had been unable to clean his own stained heart. How could he let the cleric go? They were so different, yet they had truly loved each other. He would have gone to the Nine Hells for Jeremy, or so he kept telling himself. And yet, when the human needed him, he had given up, had walked away. And for what purpose? To avoid the pain of losing his love? It hadn’t worked, he felt more pain than he could have imagined. Freezing to death had nothing on the agony inside him now.

That too was his punishment, his burden. For nearly ten years they had lived together, loved together, fought together. And he had thrown it all away. The cleric had helped him feel young again at a time when all his friends were dying. Had he gone into the relationship for all the wrong reasons? Amnor Sen was starting to doubt there had been a single right one. Given time, nearly anyone could grow to love another, and he had grown to love a penniless drunk who had been there when they needed each other. He had tried to show Jeremy Shelyn’s light, her blessings, but the man had been set in his ways, much as the paladin had been. Years in a monastery with little variation made Jeremy’s erratic ways exciting, providing a sense of danger to the elf.

Even early on they had their struggles, Amnor Sen having to pull Jeremy from brothels, reminding him he was spoken for now, that he didn’t need to visit dens of the flesh if he wished carnal relations. The cleric eventually bent to Amnor Sen’s ways, but that was bad in itself. The elf knew he should have encouraged Jeremy to grow, and stifling him instead… maybe that was what had set him on this path.

Even Shelyn was unselfish in her love. He had seen the paintings of the goddess sitting with Desna and Sarenrae, the three deities sharing a moment of blissful romance amid their duties. It was not unheard of for her clerics to share the same openness to love and marriage, and yet Amnor Sen couldn’t let himself accept that he might not be enough for Jaremy. It was almost an insult, that the cleric needed more than him, that he couldn’t satisfy Jeremy.

And yet, it was Jeremy who had come to him that day, Jeremy who had proposed they spend the rest of their lives together. And even then he knew it wouldn’t last, that one day he would lose the man. But Amnor Sen had never expected it would be this soon.

He… he needed Jeremy back. He didn’t care what it took, the elf would beg, grovel, for the cleric to take him back. A life without Jeremy by his side was no life at all. But the cleric was gone, off on a suicidal quest, and Amnor Sen knew in his heart that he had lost Jeremy forever.

It broke him down, and the paladin curled up against a table, weeping openly as he felt the loss of the man ever more deeply.