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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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Chapter 3.
An hour later Imoen was sitting down at the table eating her cold stew, when she heard the door to the hall open. She set her spoon down and tightened the towel she still wore around her. She watched as Jon approached. He was holding something in his hands.
He strode towards her and was surprised to see her huddled at the table wearing nothing but a bath towel. Unbidden, his gaze travelled up her from hands and over her thin arms to see just a hint of cleavage above where the towel was tucked in. He raised his eyes further to see a furious blush across her cheeks, and he could not help the smile that came to his lips.
"May I inquire as to your choice of evening wear?" he asked sarcastically. Her anger at letting herself be caught in such a compromising position made her bold.
"If I HAD a change of clothing, I can assure you I would be wearing that, instead of a towel," she glared up at him. "I am just glad there was a bath towel there, and not just a washcloth," she grumbled, making the best out of the situation.
A genuine smile creased Jon�s face at the mental image of Imoen sitting there trying to hide her modesty behind a washcloth. To his surprise, he felt a slight stirring in his loins at such an image. He dismissed the image immediately.
"My tunic and leggings were filthy from� from� this afternoon�s lesson, so I washed them in the tub," she said by way of explanation. He considered this comment a moment.
"Well god-child, I cannot have you wearing wet clothing now, can I? You may catch a chill. We shall see if we can find you a second set of clothes. But first, this�" he said as he set a heavy tomb down on the table and slid it towards her with his hand, "� is for you to read."
"What is it?" she asked, curious, rotating the book around so she could read the title.
"A book of Necromancy. There are spells in there you will find useful. I suggest you look through it. It may help explain some of what we have, and what we will be doing."
She looked up at him to find him staring down at her with his unblinking, reptilian gaze. It was moments like this that confused her. Here he was holding her captive, being forced to witness vivisections and partake in necromantic healing, all under the direction of the man in front of her. And yet, he made sure she was well fed, bathed, and apparently now, clothed. He was also providing her with an education, if you could call it that. He had never physically harmed her, or for that matter even touched her, before today. And, if she was being honest with herself, she realized that while there was still a strong possibility that Jon Irenicus was as insane as Xzar, it seemed there was purpose behind what he was doing. Was it possible there were things she just did not know about that could explain his obsession towards her �hidden potential�, and the reason he was teaching her about necromancy? She did not know how to deal with all of these emotions jumbled up inside of her.
"Thank you for the book," she said, breaking his gaze and running her hand over the cover of the book lightly.
"And now, if you will follow me, I believe I can find some clothes that may fit you." He stood back and indicated that she proceed him down the hall.
"Uh� wearing this?" she asked incredulously, looking down at the brief towel she wore around her middle.
Jon paused and once more he looked her over from head to foot and back. Again, he felt a stirring inside of him that he could not easily ignore.
"You are welcome to leave that here, you know," he suggested with raised eyebrows and a smirk. He was rewarded with a furious glare from Imoen, before she proudly raised her head and keeping her arms and towel tight against her body, she marched out of the room. At the end of the hall she paused, not too sure which way to go.
"This way," Jon said, not breaking his stride and passing her. "Oh and Imoen. Don�t even think of trying to escape. There are creatures that live down here that would enjoy nothing more than to sink their teeth into you, and I can guarantee you would require more healing than what you briefly learned today."
She did not doubt his words, and as a shudder of fear washed over her, she hurried to stay a bit closer to the mage.
After what seemed like aeons, they finally entered what seemed to be a bedroom and formal sitting room, combined, with a fireplace on the far wall crackling merrily away. Jon stopped, and she almost ran into him. Without turning around, he addressed her.
"Do not stray from my path. Do not touch anything, and do nothing before asking me first. Do you understand?" he asked seriously.
Imoen looked around and with her thief�s eyes, she could see that the majority of the room was booby-trapped. A shudder went through her to think of the poor soul who would try to steal anything belonging to Jon Irenicus. She knew the types of traps he could set were lethal.
"I understand," she sighed.
They walked forward, and the room widened to reveal one large chamber dominated by several mature, beautiful trees. Imoen was looking around in awe at the beauty of the room, and thought that even Jaheira would feel comfortable here. As Jon started to walk forward, she quickly followed. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed something moving. Several somethings. They were ethereal, ephemeral. She heard whispers that sounded like the wind rustling gently through the leaves of the trees, but she knew that there was no breeze in the dungeon.
"What is this place?" she asked of him.
"It belongs to the Dryads," he replied matter of factly.
"Dryads! Here?" she exclaimed, excited. "But how? Why?" She would love to meet them. They were reputed to be one of the most beautiful of all creatures that roamed the forests.
He stopped and turned to face her. He wanted to see her reaction to his next words.
"They are my concubines," he replied softly, suggestively. As the meaning behind those words sunk in, Imoen was somehow a bit hurt and disappointed. She had no idea why these feelings came up, but there they were.
"They?" she said flatly. "Oh." They meant more than one. It was the only thing she could think of to say in such an awkward situation.
He watched as comprehension dawned on her, and he was sure she understood. "Yes Imoen. Even I have � certain needs- that must be satisfied. Contrary to common belief, I am not yet dead, myself."
Once more, Jon walked forward to the far end of the room. He stood before a doorway and began to motion with his hands and chant a spell she had never heard before. She heard small clicks and pings from within the room, but she could not see what was happening around his large frame.
He waited for some silent signal that the room was prepared to accept him, before entering. Imoen followed, shocked at what she saw. It was very elegant, and tastefully furnished. There was a feminine beauty to the room that suggested a woman either lived there, or was given free reign to decorate it. It was so out of place from the rest of the creepy dungeon, she was confused.
Jon walked straight towards the back of the room and opened a closet door. Inside hung several robes and gowns. Jon carefully caressed each of them as he went through the selection. Imoen sat down on a couch, and remained silent. She somehow felt that she should not be in here, as if the person who did would come back in at any moment. Without being told, she knew that this room held special meaning to Jon.
She looked back to where he was still standing in front of the closet. It was as if he had forgotten she was there. She watch, astonished, as he paused before one of the dresses and carefully gathering it up in his fist, he buried his face into it, as if breathing deeply of whatever trace scent was left on the material. He stayed that way for some time, lost in his own thoughts.
"Jon? Are you OK?" she asked, concerned. At the reminder that he was not alone, he quickly let the dress fall from his hands, and returned to riffle through the remainder of the items. Once he reached the end, he went back and chose two of the longer robes. There were simple and functional, but appeared to be made of high quality materials. One was a deep navy blue, while the other was a multitude of brown earthy shades. Both were clearly of better quality than anything she had ever owned in her whole life.
"Here Imoen, try these on. If they fit you, you may wear them." He voice sounded strained, as if just touching the apparel was difficult for him to do.
"Won�t� won�t whoever owns them want to know I have them," she asked hesitantly.
Jon turned back to face her, and she was shocked to see grief in his eyes. He was always so strong, so in control of every situation and every move he made. To see him in any way other than that was unnerving.
"No, no she won�t. She is not coming back. Ever again." With those words, he walked past her and dumped the clothing into her lap.
"Try them on to make sure they fit. I will wait outside for you."
She watched as he strode from the room, and out of sight.
Quickly, she undid the towel and slipped the dark blue shift over her head. It was a bit tight across the chest when laced up, but it fit everywhere else. She held the brown robe up to her frame, and knew it too would fit, since it was a slightly bigger cut. She kept the blue dress on and draped the brown one over her arm, and was about to leave the room before she spotted the dresser, and curiosity overcame her. She used her trained eye to look for any obvious traps. Seeing none, she went over and opened it. She quickly went through the contents, and found some small clothes. They looked new, as if stitched, but never worn. Feeling a bit guilty she tucked these items beneath the brown dress, so at least she would have a change of underclothing. Silently, she slid the drawer shut, and left the room.
As she exited, she saw Jon standing beside one of the trees. She thought she saw something slip behind the tree as she neared, but she could not be sure. Jon turned as she approached.
He stopped and just stared at her, his features completely under control. He did not say a word, which made her feel uncomfortable. Imoen looked up at him and saw that he was assessing her carefully.
"The fit is acceptable to you?" he asked formally.
"Yes. Thank you," she replied.
"Good. Then it is time for you to return to your cell."
He did not smile as he turned and swiftly walked away.
She hurried to catch up, knowing that they would have to pass through the room filed with traps. She did not want to loose sight of him as he navigated his way through the room quickly.
Neither spoke on the journey back to her cell.

**~**
Jon escorted Imoen back to her cell. He made sure they took the long way around so that there was less chance of her overhearing the sound of her friends� voices in the connecting chambers. Without a word, he opened the door to her cell, ushered her in, and closed it immediately locking and warding it. Jon spun around and started walking. He had no specific destination in mind, he just wanted to move and think.
He usually spent a few mornings a week with Damien, testing the Bhaalspawn, probing and seeking the depths of his powers. Jon knew that for whatever reason there was much greater divine power in Damien than in Imoen. There was a depth of passion, of life force, within him that was waiting to be tapped. Jon also knew, however, that with great passion also came great risks. To try and focus the divine force within Damien and channel it into himself would be risky at best, or, in the worst case, mean death. No, he recognized that while the life force was less intense in Imoen, it was still present � evidence of Bhaal�s legacy. If he had enough patience and she followed the course of action he had planned, then eventually, he would be able to tap into her. He was sure of it.
However, first, he must get her to accept her legacy, and only then can she awaken the latent powers that lay dormant within her.
Jon sighed. It was tiring him � spending the mornings testing Damien, and then teaching Imoen in the afternoon and evenings. It took away from his personal research, which he resented. However, he must make sacrifices if he was to achieve the power and control he craved. Although Imoen�s lessons were repetitive, he knew they were necessary. Not just for her to learn them, but so that they could spend time together, and that she would learn to become comfortable in his presence, and trust him.
He recognized the fact that the more time they spent together, the greater her tolerance of his presence became. He was fully aware of just how repulsive he was to her � both mentally and physically. His choice of schools of magic � necromancy � disgusted most students of the arts, and she was no exception. As well, he never failed to notice the way she flinched away from touching him, and avoided him at all costs. However � he had to give her credit. In the time span of just over a week, she had come along way in overcoming her fear of him. She no longer avoided looking directly at him, and when she did, she did not stare at the stitches along his scalp where his flesh ended, and the Others was attached. He smiled at the fact that she did not pull away from him when he placed his hands over hers and guided her during the start of the lesson earlier on today. It was almost as if she was starting to accept him as a person, and not her captor. He snorted to himself in disbelief. Wishful thinking there Jon. If you keep this up you will start to imagine that she has developed romantic feelings towards you, he thought bitterly.
Unbidden, images of just a hint of firm cleavage peaking out above a towel flashed before his mind. Jon fantasised what it would be like to touch Imoen the way a man touches a woman. To caress her breasts, to taste her skin and kiss her lips. To have her come to him � filled with desire and wanting. To ultimately give up his total control to her � just a slip of a girl. Jon shook his head to clear the fantasy. He knew that would never happen.
Ever since the accident had irreversibly damaged his face, leaving him no choice but to accept another�s skin as his own, he had never forced another to kiss him. Even the Dryads avoided his gaze during sex, preferring that he service them from behind so that they would not have to see his face. It saddened him, their response to his appearance, but he did not blame them. To imagine that Imoen would ever let him touch her body, let alone her lips, was pure fantasy. Jon sadly let the brief hope of such an occurrence fade away.
He found himself retracing his steps back to Her old sitting room, beside the Dryads cavern. He enjoyed it there, as it reminded him of the times they would sit together, either reading or just simply talking and enjoying each others company as husband and wife. He missed her terribly, even ten years after the accident. Every time he looked at himself in the mirror and saw someone else� face staring back at him, he was reminded of her. That it was his fault she was dead. His fault he could never raise her from the dead. His fault that he was here, alone.
He knew the traps in this room by heart, and had no trouble passing them. He entered the room and sat himself down on the couch, gazing into the fire. The trip into Her room earlier had affected him more than he would like to admit, and it put him in a melancholy mood. Seeing Imoen standing there wearing her dress had caused a ripple of longing to travel up his spine, he recalled. It was almost like seeing Her again after all these years. Almost.
Jon sighed in the empty room. How he missed his wife. Even now, her image in his mind had blurred. When he had happened to come by her favourite dress hanging beside the others in the closet, he could not help but lift it up, smelling it to see if her scent still clung to it. He was pathetic, he knew. Keeping her clothing and room, exactly the way she heft eft it the day she died. Here he was, pining away for someone he never fully appreciated until she was taken away from him. He should let Her go and move on, he knew. Self-pity overwhelmed him, and he welcomed the feelings. Rarely did he allow himself to indulge in such petty emotions.
Jon laughed out loud in the sitting room. What use was it in moving on? Who would ever care for him in the state he was in now? Ever since he accepted the corpse�s flesh onto his own, he realized that his life as he knew it had end there. What woman would ever accept him, the way he was now? Who in their right mind would ever concede to kissing him � feeling the dead flesh of another against their cheek? He knew how repulsive his appearance was. Jon felt both angry and ashamed of what he had become since the death of his wife. No matter, it was time to stop looking back at the past, as he had a very new future just ahead of him with Imoen, albeit business, not pleasure.
On a quest to rid himself of the foul mood he was in, Jon stood and strode into the Dryad�s cavern in search of the elusive beings. He knew it would be a long night, and most likely he would end up servicing all three of them before the evening was over, as he had rid himself of the demons that haunted him...
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Stockholm Syndrome