Ivan and his father step into the Weary Wanderer, quiet in the early morning, where Lorys' petite figure mans the bar.

Her golden eyes carry a cloying sympathy in them as they flick toward Ivan, then his father. "Morning. Wish I could say it was a good one. Khaliss is waiting for you downstairs."

Ivan nods along with his father, who takes the lead, heading for the door to the cellar, which remains ajar. They descend to the cellar together, the old wooden planks of the stairs screeching and whining under their weight so much that all eyes are on them by the time they step onto the cool stone floor.

And there are more eyes here than Ivan anticipated. Besides Khaliss, he expected Alfie and Old Joe, but instead of her father, Annabel is here, and with...

"Rosie?"

The girl frowns, just as confused. "Ivan?"

"What are you doing here?"

Before she can answer, the sound of creaking steps echoes in the cellar, and all heads turn to see the mountainous frame of Old Joe descending from the tavern floor. As he reaches the stony floor, he glares at Ivan's father, who glares back.

"Looks like that's all of us," Alfie says, "Take a seat, everyone."

Old Joe circles the round table with a slow, plodding cadence, his eyes lingering on Ivan's father for a beat too long before he wrenches his gaze away, dragging out a chair beside Rosie. She shrinks from him, instinctively inching closer to her older sister, and he scoffs, dragging the chair a little farther away. He isolates himself like an island from the rest of the council on the opposite side of the table to Khaliss. Ivan's father sits next to the drow, if only to create distance between him and his rival, and Ivan sits next to his father, opposite Alfie, Annabel, and Rosie. 

The tension in the room is palpable.

"Welcome," Khaliss says, "Some of you will know why I seek an audience so early in the morning, but for those who do not... this meeting pertains to matters of village security. Yesterday, I set Sylfir a task to be completed in the woods, one that would see the land purified and perhaps weaken the beast, if not its hold on this region. She is overdue to return.

"I must think of my next steps, but I would not do so in a vacuum. This is your village—you deserve to know how I plan to proceed and what that might mean for you. I will act, but not without your permission."

"Sounds like you already have a plan in mind," Alfie says.

Khaliss nods. "I do, but it involves leaving the village without active defence."

"You're going to leave, then." Annabel sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. "I had a feeling this might happen. Not to sound ungrateful, but I fear the wards won't be enough to protect us, and we've got nowhere to keep the children should the beast return to the village. The other mothers I know are losing sleep over it."

"The priests also tell me the church is running out of resources," Rosie says, "If there are more injured from an attack, we'll need the help of a cleric."

"I spent the entirety of last night strengthening the wards, and should I venture into the forest, I do not expect to spend more than a day there," Khaliss says.

"I'm sure that's what the elf thought afore she left, too." Old Joe shakes his head. "Ye don't even know what yer risking life an' limb fer. She's dead fer all we know."

"She's not dead," Ivan growls.

Old Joe looks at him sidelong, his brow furrowing a little, then softening. A spark of realisation flashes across his eyes.

"You don't have to be so cold-hearted," Alfie says, "Besides, Sylf's no slouch. The High Forest is her home—she'll know how to keep herself alive, at least for a day, and probably more."

"Then she can make her own way back alone," Old Joe snaps, "We ain't sendin' out the one woman who can fight an' heal into the woods with that beast. She's too valuable."

Ivan's father scoffs. "You speak like she's a commodity, but we're talking about godsdamned people. But since you want to talk about value so much, let me remind you that the lass has allies on their way here. If she's not here to greet them, then what?"

Old Joe scowls. "We've got mouths to talk, ain't we? Might take a bit of persuadin', but we'd give them the coin what was meant to go to the girl, an' we'd still have Khaliss besides."

Ivan feels the air leave his lungs like a punch to the gut, and his hands ball into fists underneath the table. "You just couldn't find it in yourself to care. This whole village could throw themselves at the beast and you'd be satisfied if it meant it never troubled you again."

The words spill from his lips, carried on a voice quiet with restraint, but it might as well be as loud as a skyborne hawk's call for all the attention it earns. Only in its silent wake does he realise that he's just broken the carefully constructed illusion of the tenuous, good-natured relationship he shared with Old Joe.

And it shows on the old man's face. His eyes grow dark, and the creases of his brow deepen as it furrows. Ivan can see the grinding of his jaw as he clenches his teeth. He almost believes they'll shatter.

"Don't worry—there'll be plenty of pretty lasses comin' through town once the beast is gone. Maybe one o' them'll be a redhead."

Annabel gasps. "Father!"

Ivan's too shocked to be embarrassed. It's only when he chances to look at Rosie and sees the hurt on her face that he feels a surge of shame. He looks away.

"I did not call this meeting to suffer your pettiness," Khaliss says, her tone scathing. "And I care little for your reductive comments. Be grateful that Sylfir thought to risk life and limb for one so unworthy as yourself. Say something useful, or say nothing at all."

The look of quiet shock on Old Joe's face, while on the brink of satisfying, does little to soothe Ivan.

"Now, if no one has anything else to say, then I would have this council make a decision. If I am to act, then I must do it sooner rather than later," Khaliss says.

"You're not giving us much time to think..." The grimace on Alfie's face ages him by years as he rubs his temple. He can't quite meet Khaliss' eye, and it makes Ivan's heart drop. He looks at his father, but the frown on his face reveals the same uncertainty.

"Barring the... unnecessary comments, my father is right. If we let you leave, we risk losing you, too," Annabel says.

Ivan shakes his head, but his words fail him.

"The wards aren't there for nothing," his father says, "And you've made them stronger now, haven't you?"

Khaliss nods. "I have. I don't have a measure of the beast's strength, but Eilistraee's gift is potent. She does not usually give so freely."

Old Joe scoffs, throwing his hands up. "You admit it yerself, then. Ye don't know if the wards'll hold. The decision is obvious."

Alfie sighs. "Like I said, Sylf knows how to survive these woods. I say we give her more time. She might come back herself."

Ivan grits his teeth. "What, you're just going to leave her there? I can't believe you!"

"Look, lad, I've got little ones to think about. A livelihood. I can't afford that beast rampaging through my land again," Alfie says, "It's not the first time Sylf's spent longer in the woods than expected. Have a little faith."

"Faith?" Ivan flicks his gaze from Alfie to Annabel, then Rosie, but none of them can meet his eye. His father doesn't have such trouble, but the silent message he carries in his gaze is no comfort to him. He turns to Khaliss.

"I know you want to go out there."

Her stoic façade almost cracks, but she maintains her composure. "I do... but I am not the one with the power here."

Ivan slams his open palms into the table, and the sound of skin smacking into polished wood mingles with hissing gasps. By Lathander's light does the impact sting, but it's better than feeling the despair that wells within his heart. "Damn you." The force of his anger almost steals the strength from his voice. "None of you are going to do anything."

His father shakes his head. "Now wait just a damn minute—"

"No." Ivan hears the wind leave his father's lungs, but he doesn't care. He pushes himself off the table.

"Where are you going?" Annabel says.

"To get my bow."

But as Ivan turns toward the stairs, his father grabs his arm.

"No, you're not."

"What the hells do ye think yer doin', lad?" Old Joe says.

Ivan whips back around, shaking loose of his father and baring his teeth as he glares at Old Joe. "What the hells do you think?"

Old Joe sneers, but his harsh gaze turns to Rosie, and she seems to wilt like a dying flower. Her pleading, pale blue eyes flick toward Ivan, and she shakes her head. "Please. It's too dangerous."

Her voice is wafer-thin, barely above a whisper. She's never made a more compelling sight as a damsel in distress. For a moment, Ivan falters, but just as quickly, he regains his resolve... and his anger, though he doesn't direct it at her. He turns to Old Joe. "You've always been a coward, and you've never been half as smart as you'd like to believe."

Old Joe flinches. He's stunned for a moment, but then he rises to his feet, slow and steady as his face turns redder and redder. He has the look of a volcano that's about to erupt.

"That's the eldest son of half the village's employer. Don't be doing anything stupid, now," Alfie says.

Old Joe presses thin lips into an even thinner line. "And he better be glad that he is."

"Enough posturing," Khaliss says, the cut of her tone biting. "Ivan, these woods are not the same as the ones you would have known only a tenday earlier. By Sylfir's account, they are twisted and dying. Even she struggled to navigate them, and she has the benefit of wildshape."

He turns to the drow with unwavering conviction. "Two minds are better than one. Come with me."

"I will not go against the council."

"Then we have nothing more to say to each other." Ivan turns his back on the table and heads for the steps.

"Hold on, boy!"

It's hard for Ivan to deny the commanding tone of his father. His foot rests on the first step, and he doesn't move any farther, but he doesn't turn back either, save for the slight tilt of his head, lending an ear to what the man might say.

"I'm not letting you go out there alone. Khaliss is going with you."

"Hold on, now," Alfie says, "That's not the majority vote."

Ivan's father growls. "Damn you and the majority vote! We've got shovels and pitchforks and strong men to wield them, never mind Old Joe's lads—they could make weapons out of anything. Bring the children to the brewery, there's space enough to hide them somewhere in there, and it's far enough away that the beast won't come knocking if it visits the village again."

"The brewery?" Old Joe says, "But—"

"Don't tell me you don't have space in your heart to give shelter to the little ones for a damn day! What, not even your grandsons? By Ilmater's tears, if you're not a cold-hearted bastard!"

Ivan steps away from the stairs to watch his father cow his old rival. He's having a sobering effect on more than just the old man, though, judging by the stunned looks on everyone's faces.

His father turns to him. "Listen here, boy. You have until nightfall to return to the village. I'm not having you spend the night in the woods."

Ivan nods, but his eyes go to Khaliss. She turns to Alfie, who seems to buckle under the pressure of her insistent gaze.

Alfie hangs his head low and sighs. When he looks at Ivan, his gaze is deathly serious. "...Until nightfall and not a moment after the sun dips below the horizon. Don't do anything stupid. Please."

"It is decided, then." Khaliss rises from her seat with renewed vigour. "Ivan and I will search for Sylfir. The rest of you will see to the village's defence in our absence." She heads for the steps, and as she passes Ivan, she rests her hand on his shoulder. "Meet me on the Moore farm approaching the river."

Ivan nods, watching her ascend to the tavern floor above.

"Get moving," his father snaps, moving past him, and he follows in his wake, chastened by his harsh tone. They climb the stairs quickly, emerging onto the tavern floor and weaving between its tables, and Ivan can barely give an acknowledging look at Lorys before they burst through the ramshackle door onto the beaten village streets again.

Ivan almost struggles to keep up with his father as they weave through the ruins of the village. Any faster, and they'll be running. It doesn't take long before they're clear of the outskirts, kicking up dust as they travel the main road back home.

"Gods! The things you make me do," his father growls, "You've got more heart than sense, just like your mother."

"I don't know—you seemed eager enough to side with me," Ivan says.

"Only because I know you're really so daft as to take up your bow and throw yourself at that beast. Like I said, more heart than sense." His father scoffs. "You're going to send me to an early grave."

"You know it was the right thing to do."

His father stops dead in his tracks, his ocean-blue eyes like a roiling tempest, and he grabs the fabric of Ivan's sleeve, yanking hard. It makes him feel like a boy again, being scolded for misbehaving.

"Maybe it's that simple for you, but not for me. If I had to choose between you and Sylf, I'd choose you every time. You're not making me bury a son."

Ivan is winded by his father's words, and when he looks into his eyes, he sees that the roiling tempest within is heavy with rain. It tempers any mote of defiance he might have... and steals away his earlier conviction. "...You won't have to."

His father glares at him, and Ivan holds his gaze, but the urge to turn away is strong enough that he almost falters. It's enough for him to know his father sees through the half-truth. Ivan is making a promise both of them know he might not keep. The anger bleeds from his father's frame, giving way to bitter resignation as he turns toward their house again, taking a slower pace.

"Just do whatever Khaliss says. Don't play the hero."

Ivan follows his father in silence. He won't make another promise he can't keep.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

A little bit of trivia: Ilmater, or "The Crying God", is the lawful good god of endurance, martyrdom, perseverance, and suffering. He is seen as the incarnation of compassion, hence exclamations like "Ilmater's tears."