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Stockholm Syndrome	By : BlueSchmoo Category: +A through F > Baldur's Gate Views: 5857 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Baldurs Gate, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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BGII

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belto Bto BioWare Corp, Black Isle, and/or Interplay Entertainment Copr.. I am just borrowing them for my own amusement for a little while, heh heh heh...

Setting: Beginning of BGII, in Jon Irenicus�s dungeons, beneath the city of Amn. Jon has kept Imoen captive, and has been �demonstrating� his experiments in an effort to �teach� her and show her her true potential. Jaheira, Minsc and Damien (main Bhaalspawn RPC) are still caged, and are unaware of Imoen�s presence in the dungeon.

Category: Romance/Angst

Plot summary: Under the continual influence of Irenicus, Imoen slowly starts to understand what he wants from her, and that she is the key to unlocking the power he craves. She goes along with him at first just so that she can just stay alive in the hopes that the others will eventually rescue her. Slowly, as Jon reveals the real reasons behind his obsessive quest for power, she realizes there is meaning behind his madness, and she begins to develop romantic feelings for him. Torn between the disgust she feels at his Necromantic experiments, and her budding feelings of love, Imoen must make the most difficult decision of her life. Could she ever admit these feelings to herself, let alone to Jon? When help does arrive, will she flee with her friends, or stand and defend her captor?

A/N. I realize this is an unusual pairing, but I always wondered what Imoen and Jon were up to before the rest of the group escaped from the dungeons�

Chapter 1.
Jon Irenicus. How she hated him with every fibre in her being. Even now, she could barely look at him in the face before turning away, nauseous in her disgust. From his tall, muscular frame and broad shoulders, to the elegant bone structure of his face she could tell that at one point in time, he had been a very handsome man.
But no longer. She knew that the skin that covered his face was not actually his own flesh. It was harvested from a corpse, stretched smoothly over the muscle tissues of his own face, stitched into his existing skin, then animated by complex necromantic spells to adhere to his facial bone. She shuddered to think what it must be like going through life wearing somebody elses� skin. Only a True Necromancer or perhaps a Pale Master could live such an existence.
She had been sitting on the stone floor of the cell where she was kept, her back resting against the wall. Cramped, she stood to stretch, trying to think of something else, someone else, other then Jon Irenicus. With nothing better to do, she walked over to inspect the lock on her cell door. For the hundredth time she used all of her skills as a thief to pick the lock, but it was useless. Jon had somehow warded it such that he was the only one who could open it. Discouraged, she gave up, and walked back to her narrow bunk, sitting down and resting her head against the back of the damp, stone walls. To occupy herself, she mentally reviewed some of the spells she had memorized during her brief tutelage as a mage�s apprentice. She placed her hands together, thumbs touching and fingers splayed, and mentally projected the pattern images commanding the Burning Hands spell. Although she formed the patterns, she did not put emotion and need behind the spell, and therefore it never materialised. Soon, she lost herself in her memorisations, as she mentally reviewed the patterns again and again.
With silent footsteps, Jon approached Imoen�s cell. He was carrying her lunch on a tray, and carefully, he set it down on the small table just outside of her cell. Quietly, he straightened and turned to observe her. She was still quite unaware of his presence, and he watched as her long and tapered fingers performed the hand motions for the Burning Hands spell.
His voice shattered the silence. "Are you aware, Imoen, that if you close your fingers, but still keep your thumbs touching and palms out, you can focus and direct that spell further? However, there is a downside in that you will lose much of your radius of exposure."
At the sound of his voice, Imoen�s eyes flew open, and she turned her head to look at the powerful mage standing in front of her cell. Once again, his piercing stare paralysed her with fear. She could feel her heart beating erratically, and her chest felt tight, as if she could not breathe. He scared the shit out of her, no matter how much she tried to deny it.
"I can demonstrate, and you can practice later, if you wish. At the moment, it is your lunch time," he said, moving to open the cell door. She was so transparent at times, he thought, amused. She obviously feared him, and that was a good thing, in this case. It meant he had yet another advantage over her, one he would not hesitate to use if necessary.
Jon unlocked and pushed the cell door inwards, then moved forwards such that he stood halfway in the opening, blocking her exit. His position would force her to either press herself flat against the metal frame of the door to get around him as she exited the room, or brush by him, and physically touch his body. His cold, unblinking gaze watched her intensely as she rose gracefully from the bunk. Purposefully avoiding his stare, she flattened her back against the steel doorframe so that she would not have to touch him at all. His head followed her, tracking her every move. Sometimes he wondered why he enjoyed playing these little power games with her. She had made a valiant effort not to visibly show her disgust towards him, so in some way, that was a small victory for her, he conceded. He would have to up the stakes next time, he decided.
Imoen walked over and sat herself at the small table. Jon walked around and sat down across from her, watching her select bits of bread, meat and cheese from the tray. Silently she ate, and wordlessly he regarded her. He allowed the tension between them mount until it was almost a tangible entity between them.
She could not stand it any longer. She had to say something to break the suffocating silence of the room.
"Why don�t you ever eat when I do?" she asked him, briefly bringing her eyes up to meet his unblinking stare. Mentally, she cursed herself. What a stupid question to ask, she thought.
He surprised her by actually answering her question. "I eat when it is convenient for me to do so, and at the moment, it is not convenient. I will eat when I am hungry, not when the clock tells me to do so."
She nodded her head in acknowledgement of his statement. "Well, I appreciate knowing when I will be fed. For me, eating by the clock is a good thing. Yup. A very good thing." She brought up her eyes again to meet his, and blushing, she quickly looked away again. She knew she was rambling on, speaking for the sake of not listening to the silence around her. She tried hard not to stare at the stitches along his scalp.
She surprised him with her next question. "So what are you planning for this afternoon?" she asked hesitantly, almost frightened of the answer. They had spent the past few days in pretty much the same routine. Mornings he may or may not come for her. But the afternoons � always.
"You know the answer to that already, Imoen. My purpose is to guide you so that you will awaken, and accept, the power that lies dormant within your very being." He paused, a ghost of a smile touching the corner of his lips. "But that is not what you want to her, is it?" He cocked his head to the side, and the smile turned into a smirk. "Today, I want to show you something. If you are to continue your studies to become a mage, it is important that you understand the reasons behind the spells you cast. You will neither understand nor appreciate this at the moment, but there will come a time when you will have to cast spells for which you are unsure of. If you fully comprehend the ideas and principles behind why you are casting the spell, it will be easier for you to project your intent when casting, and a greater chance of that spell working. This is especially important if you are to wield the immense powers I believe are locked deep inside of you. Think of it as furthering your education." Imoen looked up at him with disbelief at these words, but she could not hold his stare. She looked away again. He noticed the brief flash of defiance, and secretly approved. He detested passive humans.
"You are lucky, Imoen. Many apprentices have wished to study under me, but I do not have the patience for them. For you, I do."
Once again, he alluded towards some special power that she was supposed to have, locked deep within her. She did not believe him. It was Damien who was the Bhaalspawn, not her. It seemed like Jon was making her his pet project, and she did not like it. She went along with him out of fear for her safety, and followed his instructions if only to buy some time. During the walk out of her holding cell, she always kept her eyes open for some sort of escape route, but she never found one. She knew Damien, Minsc, Kalid and Jaheira would not desert her, and would come to rescue her. She just knew it. She just had to be patient, and wait for the right opportunity.
She finished the last of the grapes and cheese from her plate and pushed it away from in front of her. She wondered if now was a good time to bring this up.
"Jon," she started hesitantly, gathering her courage and looking up to met his gaze. "Can I ask you a question? About magic? About your� kind of magic?"
A slow smile spread across his face. Well, she finally found a spine did she, he thought. Good. Once more he was reminded how much he hated passive women, and mages � any mage � should have knowledge as well as confidence in order to further develop their skills. He wanted to encourage her to ask questions � especially ones that she was not sure she wanted the answers to.
"You may," he answered softly.
"Why did you choose to become a� a necromancer?" Again, that brief blush crossed her cheeks, and he noted this silently. "I mean, I decided later on in life to study magic, so I will never be able to specialize in a particular school of magic the way you did. But for you, it was different. How did you know you could do it? I mean, it is the most restrictive of all the schools, and� well� it deals with dead things�" she trailed off uncomfortably, but still held his gaze.
This conversation was turning out to be a pleasant surprise for him, he realized. So, she was curious about him. Well. He thought about it, but realized he should tell her the truth. If they are to learn to trust each other, and eventually he would have to trust her with his life, then that trust should be built on the truth. Not all of the truth at once, of course, but some of it.
Jon leaned back in his chair, thinking how to word his response.
"Imoen, as you know, there are eight schools of magic from which a wizard can specialize. Each of these schools has their strengths and weaknesses. However, six of these schools basically allow a mage to change the environment around them. This is achieved by protecting them, creating an illusion to fool others, charming or enchanting someone, or else conjuring someone or something to do your dirty work for you. The seventh school allows one to Divine the future, although this, of course, can change in an instant, and it is more of an art than a science. While these are all admirable traits, none of these schools actually have the ability to directly cause death to someone, then allow you to resurrect them such that they are totally, completely, under your control. Alternatively, you can give someone the gift of the One True Death. To kill someone in such as way that the soul is trapped forever on the Plane of Death, never to be brought back or resurrected again, is total, absolute power."
Jon leaned forward in his chair and brought his face in close to Imoen�s before continuing. "This, of course, is what the eighth school of wizardry � necromancy � is all about. First, you die. The rest is pure power."
Jon leaned back in his chair, and saw the relief expressed in Imoen�s body language. "This is the one stream where a well placed spell can actually kill or maim with just a word, a glance, or a touch." On this last word, he quickly reached out and caressed his finger along the back of her hand. She jumped and pulled back her hand, as if expecting to feel the first tingling sensations of Abi-Dalzim�s Horrid Wilting come over her. Jon sat back and laughed at her reaction. He loved to watch the emotions play across her face at his words.
"It is all about power to you, isn�t it?" she asked accusingly. She was still rubbing the back of her hand where he had placed his finger, although no magic had been made.
"The dead are not so bad really� once you get to know them," he said, a hint of humour laced through his mocking tone.
"But� but� that�s disgusting! You�re disgusting!" she said, distaste clearly written across her features at what he did; what he was. A necromancer. And this made him very, very angry.
"Disgusting, is it? Do you really think so, Imoen?" Jon narrowed his eye slightly as he appraised the young woman in front of him. "The next time you die and someone attempts to resurrect you, or raise you from the dead, will you still think it disgusting knowing that these healing spells are the other side of the necromancy coin? How do you think mages first learned to heal � they killed, then healed � that�s how. They did not wait patiently while some fool adventurer who wounded himself in battle walked up and asked to be healed!" He rose from his chair, fingers grasping the edge of the table in front of him. Anger rose within him at her lack of insight. She saw a vein stand out along his neck, and knew he was furious with her.
"You cannot have life without death, Imoen. It is that simple. To understand how something lives you must first kill it, and then maybe, possibly, you will understand where that fine line between life and death lies. This is the lesson I need to teach you. This is why I brought you are here. To learn about life, death, survival, and immortality."
She had become increasing frightened by the growing coldness in his tone, and when he approached her, reached for her, she shrunk away from his touch.
He grabbed her firmly by the upper arm, and pulled her to her feet.
"No! Where are you taking me?" she asked, the fear heavy in her voice, and evident across her features.
With perverse pleasure, Jon enjoyed watching her mounting fear. Once more, it emphasized his power over her. "It is time for your lessons, my dear. Time for more... experiments."
He strode out of the room, the woman held tightly in his grip. He would enjoy teaching her, he realized. What she needed was more exposure to the art and science of necromancy. Once you viewed again and again the true nature of this school of magic, you became numb to the blood and gore, and began to appreciate the beauty of the magic. It was an unfortunate way to learn, but a necessity.
Oh yes, he was looking forward to teaching her all about his school of magic�
**~**

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Stockholm Syndrome