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Today was the day of his hanging.
Aribeth could not sleep that night before - all she could think of was her dearest Fenthick. She tried to pray to Tyr, but no sound would come out of her mouth. What could she say to Tyr, anyway? That he make the witless masses realise Fenthick's devotion to him? To realise that Fenthick made a mistake?
No. The citizens of Neverwinter demanded blood, and Fenthick was the perfect scapegoat. Even if Lord Nasher declared that Fenthick was innocent - which he was - then the mob would find him, and sentence him to a far bloodier death than a hanging. Besides, the law declared that he was negligent.
But what if the law was wrong? What if Tyr did not listen to her silent prayers, and ensure Fenthick's execution? Would that mean Tyr was wrong, as well?
No, Tyr could never be wrong... could he?
She held her head in her hands, thinking of her visit to Fenthick's prison the night before. They did not say a word, but both of them knew exactly what was meant to be said by each other. One look at Fenthick's face told her everything - he was ready to accept this fate.
But Aribeth couldn't.
After all his service, his aid, his devotion to their god, he was to be hanged for trusting somebody by accident?
That was not justice.
She quickly put on her armour and left her rooms without a word to anyone. She passed Lord Nasher on his throne, but she could not look at him in the eyes, and she doubted he could either.
She could hear the mob outside, jeering and laughing. Shaking on the inside, but keeping a blank mask on for the masses, she left Castle Never and went to the big tree nearby. It was a cloudless, sunny day - unfitting for what was about to happen.
There, at the big tree, where she usually saw the Druid meditating peacefully or selling goods, she could see Fenthick in chains, stepping up onto the footstool. The mob's jeers reached a cresendo as the rope placed upon his neck. Aribeth watched in horror as Fenthick looked not at the executioner, not at the crowds, but at her, with the same look as before. He accepted his fate, not because he knew there was no way out of it, but because he truly thought that he was guilty of the crime that he did not mean to commit.
Aribeth couldn't keep her mask on anymore. She couldn't accept this. She wouldn't. She started shaking and tears started to fall from her eyes.
The rope was tight around his neck now. Fenthick's eyes were still on her as the executioner kicked the footstool from under his feet. In mere seconds, Fenthick's eyes became wide and glassy. The crowd cheered and laughed, their "traitor" dead. Aribeth covered her face so they wouldn't see her tears.
Then, suddenly, she felt a strong hand on her shoulder, grasping it tightly. She looked up - expecting somebody like Nasher to guide her back to the castle - and saw Anaril Peine instead, the elven ranger she recruited to assist them to find the creatures for the plague, staring at Fenthick with a look of sorrow. The crowd hadn't noticed his sadness, but she did. Right there, they had felt an odd sort of unity, seperate from the baying crowd. His dire wolf companion sat on the ground next to Anaril, his head bent, almost as if he was mourning Fenthick's death as well.
She was glad for his company. At least somebody stood by her as this injustice was committed in front of her. At least somebody kenw this wasn't right. That this was not justice...
But then why did Tyr not help his devoted servant against the injustice? Did he truly think that Lord Nasher was right to let Fenthick be hanged? That this was justice?
She didn't know anymore.
All that remained for her to do now was to find that cult that started this attack against Neverwinter. They had started this all, so it was only fitting that they would pay for Fenthick's death.
Aribeth took Anaril's hand off from her shoulder and returned to Castle Never. She had to find justice for Fenthick... somehow, and Anaril could not give her it. She had to find it on her own.