Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kestrel MacDuff breathed a sigh of relief, running a hand through her wavy auburn hair. She was bruised, but strong, and had no doubt this would lead somewhere exciting…

No, that wasn’t right.

Kestrel closed her hazel eyes tightly, ignoring the unpleasant squirming behind the right one. Had she truly left home just to become a monster, when she’d craved only romance and adventure? 

Still pretty awful.

If she wrote an honest story about her current circumstances, Kestrel thought, it would have to begin something like: Kestrel MacDuff, aged twenty-nine yet as naive as a child, was trapped on a ruined beach with a worm in her brain and maybe two days left to live. It was entirely her own fault, and there wasn’t much chance she’d get out of this intact.

Accurate, but not encouraging.

The air smelled…unpleasant. Like grease and smoke mixed with rotten fish. It made sense; if that ship-thing had been alive, after a fashion, then of course it would now be decomposing. One could only hope that it would eventually dissolve into the soil and be forgotten completely. For now, it made going for a dip in the river unthinkable, no matter how much Kestrel would have liked to.

Where in the hells was she, anyway? No longer literally in the hells, at least. The climate and vegetation didn’t look too different from where she’d started. If this river was the Chionthar–and she prayed to Selûne it was–then she might only be a few days’ walk from home. Maybe, just maybe, she could make it home before this thing ate her brain, or turned her into a monster, or whatever brain parasites did. Mama Bettina was the best healer for miles, she might know what to do, or perhaps Mama Vickrey had encountered these little worms on her travels.

I’m like a little girl, Kestrel thought, running home to her mothers at the first sign of trouble. If only she hadn’t been snatched up by that ship two days into her journey, she might be in the city by now, gathering stories and soaking up culture. Instead, she was turning tail and heading back to the place she’d been hoping she wouldn’t see for at least a year.

The settlement of Hargrave–it would have been a stretch to even call it a village–had sprung up as a stop along a half-forgotten pilgrimage route. Its only building of any significance was the old temple of Selûne, where travelers received medicine and blessings, children got their schooling, and all town business was handled. 

Kestrel hadn’t been unhappy there. She hadn’t really been anything. For most of her life she’d gone through the motions, assisting her mothers at the temple, looking after her sisters, drifting through her days half-asleep. There was always that embarrassing itch of yearning for something indefinable, but books and songs had kept it at bay long enough.

Ironically, it was the dream that had shocked her awake. A nightmare so vivid she could still recall its every detail, of being trapped inside a glass casket in a burning pit, vines wrapping around her body so tightly she couldn’t even scream. When she’d finally awoken, it had felt like a prophecy, a warning–that her talent and passion were beginning to atrophy in Hargrave, and if she stayed much longer, there would be no getting out.

In retrospect, running down to the breakfast table and screaming “I can’t do this anymore!” at her family had been somewhat overdramatic. They’d been supportive, though, when she’d stumbled through an explanation.

If I want to write about romance and adventure, I’ve got to actually experience those things, and I can’t do that in Hargrave. Because nothing happens here.

Mama Vickrey had said she’d been expecting something like this for years– “we can’t keep a bright young person like you cooped up here forever, it’d be damn immoral.” Mama Bettina had worried, in her own gentle, serene way, but even she had agreed that a dream like that must have some meaning. The twins had, as always, been helpful.

“You’re going to die immediately,” Noretta had said encouragingly. “Probably eaten by a wolf.”

“Or a werewolf,” suggested Velma.

“Or a were bear.”

Looking back, Kestrel was sharply aware of two things. One, that her sisters hadn’t come even close to guessing what would kill her. And two, that her dream had been prophetic.

She’d just misread the prophecy.

–

On the beach, Kestrel paced back and forth on the sand, tortured by indecision. Was it better to set out immediately and look for some sort of civilization, or to stay put and see if any of her fellow prisoners had survived? There was no sign of the golden-skinned, reptilian-looking woman she’d met on the ship, which was a bit disappointing. The githyanki had been terrifying, but she’d been helpful in her own way, and seemed knowledgeable about the whole tadpole situation. And if there was one thing Kestrel needed, other than a surgeon’s knife, it was knowledge.

With a deep sigh she stopped pacing and turned determinedly to her left. Faced with a solid wall of black-and-pink ship-flesh, over which it would have been impossible to climb, she sighed again and turned right, setting off down the beach.

The few travelers and fishermen who’d been out here hadn’t fared nearly as well as Kestrel had. Some had been crushed by alien machinery, others clawed to death by those brain creatures, and a few poor souls seemed to have been melted. It was tragic, and she would pray for them later, but she couldn’t afford distractions. 

She nearly jumped out of her skin when one of the bodies moved.

Someone else had survived.

She rushed over to the figure, boots slipping in the sand. The other survivor was a young woman, pretty, with black hair and unusual spiky armor. With a flood of relief, Kestrel recognized her. The girl from the stuck pod, with the improbable name of Shadowheart. She still appeared to be in one piece, though unconscious–maybe she’d been caught by that invisible net as well. And one slightly-familiar face was far better than none at all. Cautiously, she bent down and tapped the dark-haired woman’s shoulder.

Shadowheart’s eyes snapped open. With surprising agility for someone who’d just been knocked out, she scrambled to her feet and backed away from Kestrel, hand going to the mace at her side. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

Kestrel took a step back, hands raised in peace. “You looked injured. I wanted to make sure you were alive.”

“I’m alive, yes. Thank you for the concern.” Her fierce expression faltered. “Um…I don’t suppose you know how we’re alive, do you?”

Kestrel shrugged. “Search me. The last thing I remember is being caught by something I couldn’t see.” She gestured to the sky. “Maybe someone up there likes us.”

Shadowheart’s lips twitched upwards. “Optimistic. But stranger things have happened, I guess. What’s really important now is getting our bearings, not to mention finding help. Do you know where we are?”

“Not as such, no. But if this is the Chionthar, and I hope it is, we might as well head east. My hometown is near Scornubel, and if we can make it in time, my mother might be able to help us.”

“Your mother?” said Shadowheart incredulously. “What exactly does your mother know about brain parasites?”

“She’s a cleric of Selûne, actually, and a very good healer,” said Kestrel, mildly offended on Mama Bettina’s behalf. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she could think of a cure.”

Was it her imagination, or did Shadowheart’s lip curl just a tad at the mention of the moon goddess? “I’m sure your mother is very clever, but I doubt some provincial healer knows anything about our condition. If you’re right about the river, then we’d do better heading west, toward Baldur’s Gate. Surely they’ll have more resources, and I have…business there, anyway.”

“You’re not going to tell me what kind of business, are you.”

“No, I am not. But I am going to start walking.” She crossed her arms resolutely. “Are you coming or not?”

Kestrel hesitated. Hargrave was home, and felt safe, but Shadowheart’s condescending remark wasn’t entirely wrong. Bettina MacDuff might not know anything about tentacled aliens and cerebral worms. 

And Kestrel had so very much wanted to see the city.

And it wouldn’t count as being disloyal to her family, not if Baldur’s Gate really was closer.

“All right, then,” she said. “West it is. Let’s try not to step in any brains.”

–

It was a warm, slightly humid day, which was decent for traveling and unfortunate for Kestrel’s appearance. She had what Mama Bettina politely called “vivid coloring” and what her sisters less politely called “tomato face.” Heat and emotion both had a tendency to turn her embarrassingly scarlet, not to mention turning her chin-length hair into a wild cloud of frizz. Her new friend seemed to be immune to such effects–Shadowheart’s long black plait stayed sleek and tidy, and her pale cheeks didn’t show a hint of flush. Kestrel suspected that if she touched the girl’s cheek, it would be as cool and smooth as a marble statue.

“What were you doing before you got scooped up by that ship?” she asked spontaneously. “And what does it have to do with that little box?”

Shadowheart’s dark eyebrows drew together suspiciously. “Nosy one, aren’t you? I don’t see how my personal history affects you.”

Kestrel shrugged. “I’m a writer, I like stories. Of any kind, really. You seem like you might have a few good ones.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t,” Shadowheart said shortly. “None that I’m at liberty to tell you, anyway.”

“How unfortunate. But you must be able to talk about something. Like…” Kestrel thought deeply. “You’re half-elven, aren’t you? Like me. Which side of your family was which?”

Shadowheart sighed deeply. “I don’t know, all right? I’m an orphan, I don’t remember my parents. I don’t suppose it matters if it was my mum or dad who was human.”

“I suppose not. I mean, I’ve got two mums–Mama Vickrey is the human one, Mama Bettina is the elf–and my sisters and I are a fairly even mix of both of them.”

“Wood Elf, I’m guessing. You seem sort of…” Shadowheart gestured vaguely at Kestrel. “Woodsy.”

Kestrel pondered whether this was an insult or a compliment, and decided on the latter. “That’s right, actually. And you’re probably half High Elf, right? You seem lofty.”

“That seems a reasonable guess.” Shadowheart looked her up and down, lips pursed. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit odd?”

“Lots of times. Though you’re one to talk, secretive-orphan-named-Shadowheart- and-her-mystery-box.”

“Quite.” Shadowheart’s lips twitched. “Seems we’re two of a kind, then.”

Smiling, Kestrel mentally rewrote the opening of her story yet again.

Kestrel MacDuff had no money, no idea where she was, a worm in her brain, and maybe two days left to live. But, quite astonishingly, she seemed to have acquired a friend.

Chapter Text

The githyanki woman from the ship, it turned out, had a good excuse for not being on the beach. She’d been imprisoned in a makeshift wooden cage, being guarded by two grim-faced tieflings. Upon sighting them, Kestrel gulped and ducked behind a nearby boulder. Obviously rescuing the githyanki was necessary, but she’d rather not get stabbed while doing it.

Beside her, Shadowheart snorted. “So much for the unbeatable githyanki warrior. Let’s go, before she sniffs us out.”

“I’m not leaving the poor woman in a cage, Shadowheart. She saved our lives–or mine, at least–and she’s got the same tadpole thing we do. We owe it to her to get her out.”

“We owe it to ourselves to get out of here. You know what my…my teacher said about Githyanki? She said they view all other races as prey. That they hunt people like us for sport, and publicly torture them for fun.”

“Oh, that’s perfect. Let’s try it.” Before Shadowheart could object, Kestrel had leaped up from behind the rock and waved to the two tieflings. “Yoo-hoo! That’s not a githyanki you’ve captured, is it?”

The male tiefling turned to her, arms folded suspiciously. “You tell me. Does githyanki mean rude ugly froggy wench?”

From the cage came an offended snort, and Kestrel had to force herself not to laugh. “In this case, yes. Hello in there!”

She turned to the githyanki woman, waving cheerfully, and briefly locked eyes with her. The tadpole behind her eye wriggled in excitement, and Kestrel realized with a jolt of horror that another connection was occurring. 

Get me out of here, istik. Get me out, get me out, getmeout getmeout GETMEOUT…

“The trouble is,” Kestrel said, returning to the tieflings, “githyanki come in packs. Like goblins, only far more intelligent and dangerous. This one’s friends should be along soon, and since they see all other races as prey, I don’t think that would turn out well for any of us.”

The tieflings shared an uncertain look. “You sure?” the man asked.

“Sure as can be, unfortunately. I’m getting out of here while I still can, I suggest you do the same.”

“To Avernus with this,” the man said decidedly. “Come on, Nymessa. One of these things was bad enough–I’m not up to dealing with an entire army.”

His friend nodded, with definite relief, and the two hurried off to the west. When they were out of sight Kestrel pulled out her dagger and quickly sawed through the cage’s ropes, until the bottom collapsed and the githyanki landed gracefully on the ground.

“Your approach was clever,” she said, nodding at Kestrel, “though I would have saved time and simply slit their throats.”

“Lovely to see you again too,” said Kestrel. “Remember us, from the ship? Kestrel and Shadowheart? You tried to kill me?”

“Indeed. I am…encouraged to see other survivors.” She flicked a speck of dust off her breastplate and crossed her arms. “Now we must see to our ghaik parasites. My people are the only ones who possess true knowledge of such things. You will help me find a crèche, and we will be purified.”

Shadowheart scowled. “Over my dead…”

“That sounds reasonable,” Kestrel interrupted quickly, though she wasn’t quite sure what a crèche was. “It’s as good a lead as any, at least for now.”

The githyanki gave a half-smile. “You, at least, see reason. Congratulations, you have earned an ally from Crèche K’liir–few know such fortune.” She stuck out one arm stiffly. “Call me Lae’zel.”

Kestrel shook her hand. “Lay-zel. How do you spell that?”

The woman looked briefly disconcerted. “I am…not sure of the way of it, in your blockish writing. Why is the spelling relevant?”

“She’s a writer,” Shadowheart put in, with more than a trace of irony. “If we survive I expect all our names will be turning up in a book somewhere.”

Lae’zel still looked bewildered. “You are…a scribe?”

“Kind of. More of a novelist–an aspiring one, that is.” Lovely, Kestrel. You could have made yourself sound talented and mysterious, and instead you’re just admitting you’ve never accomplished anything.

“Novelist?” Lae’zel considered this. “Ah, I’ve heard of novels. Foolish false tales about sentimental couples and pointless feuds. That is what you are a scribe of?”

“That’s about the size of it,” Kestrel agreed. There didn’t seem to be much point in arguing.

“Chk!” She shook her head. “A useless occupation. Yet you survived the ghaik vessel, somehow. Fate must have some use in mind for you.”

This seemed to be as much of a compliment as Kestrel was likely to get.

Lae’zel, wrote Kestrel in her miraculously-intact journal some time later, believes so strongly in her convictions that if githyanki doctrine declared grass to be purple, but I pointed out it was green, she would probably behead me.

–

The wizard looked her up and down, a slight frown on his face. “You’re not studied in magic, are you?”

Kestrel sighed. She’d wanted to like Gale–he was very well-spoken, and nice-looking to boot–but it was beginning to seem like he was one of those wizards. “My magic comes from Selûne, and yes, I’ve spent plenty of time practicing and studying it. But if you’re asking if I’ve got qualifications from some grand wizard college, the answer is no.”

“A shame.” Gale shook his head sadly. “It would have been nice to have a peer around, at a time like this. Still, needs must.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive. How exactly does one as studied as you get trapped in a transport sigil, anyway?”

“If you must know,” Gale said primly, “I was trying to return home, to see if any of my former colleagues could aid with this…infection. Waterdeep is some distance beyond the usual scope of these portals, of course, but I assumed I could simply tweak its area of effectiveness.”

“And instead,” said Kestrel,” you got stuck.”

He nodded sourly. “It wouldn’t have happened if I was at the height of my powers, I assure you. Recent events seem to have me functioning at a mere fraction of my usual prowess.”

“Oh, likewise,” Kestrel said quickly. “Usually I’m able to speak ten languages and summon deva at the snap of a finger.”

He looked briefly confused, before giving a faint chuckle. “Well, it seems we’re both starting from the bottom here. We’ll have to look out for each other, eh?”

“Even though I’m not studied in magic?” Kestrel asked dryly.

Gale gave her a sheepish smile. “Apologies. I’ve spent enough of my life around self-satisfied academics that I seem to have turned into one of them. I have no doubt that you’re an extraordinarily talented woman. You extracted me from that portal, after all, and haven’t yet decked me, which indicates a deeply compassionate nature.”

Kestrel couldn’t suppress a laugh. “You’re right about that, at least. And I may not be a true wizard colleague, but I’m quite well-read, you know. Perhaps I’ll surprise you.”

 He gave her a chummy pat on the shoulder. “My cleric friend, I have no doubt whatsoever about that.”

Some people are so pedantic, eccentric, and verbose that they loop back around to being completely charming. Gail (am I spelling that right?) is one of those people.

–

It was deeply annoying, though not entirely unexpected, when Kestrel awoke in the middle of the night to find fangs at her neck. Scrambling backwards, she stood and scowled at the latest addition to the camp.

“What in the hells, Astarion? I was sleeping!” 

“I wasn’t going to hurt you!” He shrank back, and for the first time, his elegant facade slipped. He looked like a creature, backlit by the dying fire, and for the briefest of moments Kestrel was afraid. “I just needed…well, blood.”

Kestrel rolled her eyes, shoving aside her blip of fear. “Well, yes, that much is pretty obvious. If you needed blood so badly, why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Because if I had told you, there was a considerable chance that you would drive a stake through my heart, which I was hoping to avoid.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve known all along that you were a vampire, why would I start making a fuss about it now?”

Astarion opened and closed his mouth several times, like a flabbergasted fish. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew. It’s very obvious. I mean, you have red eyes and fangs, and have been making jokes about blood ever since we met–not to mention that boar you snacked on and left in the middle of the road. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.”

“But you…you never said anything. None of you did.”

She shrugged. “Well, we didn’t want to be rude. I figured you would bring it up yourself when you were ready. Lae’zel probably would have said something, but I don’t think she can really tell any of us apart.”

“I don’t believe this.” Astarion ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up in spiky lumps. “You’ve known for three days that you’ve been sharing your camp with a vampire, and you didn’t say anything? Because you wanted to be polite? I could have killed you. Were I a better class of vampire, I could have turned you. You do realize that, yes?”

“Sure,” said Kestrel. “But you didn’t.”

“Watching gods, you’re insane. I thought you were the most dull, sensible person here, but you’re a lunatic.”

Kestrel bobbed a curtsey, just to annoy him. “Thank you.”

“So…” He swallowed hard, thinly concealing his obvious nerves. “You’ll let me, then? I’ll only take a little, I swear. Not a drop more than I need.”

She briefly weighed the pros and cons of the situation–pro, Astarion would be a more useful ally if he had some blood in him, and con, he would probably be insufferably dramatic and seductive about it–and finally nodded. “Fine. But please, for the love of Selûne, don’t be weird about it.”

The process was painful, certainly, but not quite as bad as Kestrel had been expecting. When she felt light-headedness start to set in, it took a few good shoves to actually get him off her–he hadn’t been lying about being hungry, it seemed.

“By the way,” she said, when he’d finally backed off, “that story you told earlier about being a magistrate–was that true?”

“Of course. I’m not one anymore, obviously, but I was.”

“Right. Are you sure? Because you don’t seem the magistrate type to me. Honestly,” said Kestrel, “I would have thought you were an actor.”

His face twisted in existential horror. “Oh, gods. Just stake me next time, why don’t you.”

Astarion, possibly the world’s most obvious vampire, is a cat-like fellow who always gives the impression of being onstage. If he was actually a magistrate, then I’m Lord of Neverwinter.

–

Kestrel had actually heard vague rumors about the Blade of Frontiers, ones that made him sound more like a literary hero than a real person. That he would turn out to be a soft-spoken, handsome man a few years younger than her was a shock, but a pleasant one. That he’d been abducted and tadpoled while chasing a monster through Avernus was a bigger surprise.

“Advocatus Diaboli,” she said, rolling the phrase around in her mouth. “Sounds terrifying. And you’ve been chasing her all this way?”

“Trust me, she’s even more terrifying than she sounds,” said Wyll. “I’ve chased plenty of monsters before, but none of them have led me on a goose-chase quite this wild.”

“I read a book where something like this happened, though it was a bit more lighthearted than your situation,” said Kestrel. “It was about this beautiful monster hunter tracking a werewolf who’d been terrorizing the local villagers, but when they met, it turned out he was very sweet and handsome and was under the control of an evil sorcerer. He and the monster hunter fell in love and teamed up to defeat his master in the end.”

Wyll snapped his fingers, looking delighted. “Steel and Claw! That one’s a classic. I read it when I was fifteen and couldn’t decide if I wanted to be the monster hunter or the werewolf. I didn’t think the sequel was very good, though.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Are there actually people out there attracted to were-walruses? No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.”

He chuckled briefly, then shook his head. “It’s a shame real life isn’t more like novels. I don’t think any tidy resolution is waiting for me, not with the life I’ve picked. And especially not with this damnable worm thing.”

“Maybe a tidy resolution isn’t what we should be looking for anyway,” said Kestrel with a sigh. “I’d settle for just surviving.”

Wyll is rather mysterious, but I’ve been able to glean several very important facts: he’s clearly well-educated, he has excellent taste in literature, and someday there will definitely be a series of children’s adventure stories written about him.

–

“Woof,” said the dog.

“Woof,” Kestrel replied. 

The dog looked at her with distrust, and cast a worried shape at the immobile body at its side. Whoever the person had been, they didn’t seem to be breathing.

“That’s a handsome hound,” Wyll said approvingly. “Kestrel, you can speak to animals, can’t you? See if he’d like to come with us. I’d hate to leave him alone in the wilderness.”

Shadowheart stepped back slightly. “Only if he’s a well-behaved dog, thanks. I don’t want any feral wolves in our camp.”

“Only one way to find out.” Kestrel murmured a spell, and dropped to one knee in front of the dog.

“You’re…” She squinted at its collar. “Scratch, right? Are you hurt? It doesn’t look like your human is well.”

“Master is sleeping,” said the dog, with determined loyalty. “I have to guard him until he wakes. Can’t leave.”

Kestrel looked over at the prone man and gently tugged on one of his feet, earning a worried growl from Scratch. There was no reaction from the body, confirming what she had suspected.

“I’m sorry, Scratch. He’s dead. It’s not your fault, but there’s nothing we can do.” She stood up and extended a hand. “But we can look after you, if you’d like to come with us.”

Scratch made a sad whuffling sound and dropped his head. After a moment, he lifted one eye cautiously.

“Will there be treats?” he asked.

“Lots of treats,” Kestrel promised. “And I can already tell you’ll deserve them.”

I’ve only just met Scratch, but if anything were to happen to him, I would turn into a mind flayer and kill everyone here.

–

When the sarcophagus lid lifted, and a rotting mummified figure arose from it, Kestrel genuinely believed she was about to die. Whether this would be a better or worse death than ceremorphosis, she wasn’t sure.

No claws raked her flesh, though, and no spells boiled her blood. Instead, the strange creature simply looked over the group with detached interest.

“So he has spoken, and so thou standest before me.” He had quite a pleasant voice, like someone’s stern but caring grandfather. “Right as always, it seems.”

“Who is he?” asked Kestrel. “And, more importantly, who are you?”

“I have had many names. None of them are relevant at this moment. If a name is required, thou mayst call me Withers.” 

“Sounds about right,” said Kestrel. “I’m Kestrel, if it matters. Like the bird.”

“Hm,” said Withers, looking her up and down. “I did not realize she was sending birds to me now.” Without elaborating on who she might be, he scanned the assembled group, before returning to Kestrel. “And now, a question. What is the value of a single mortal life?”

“Twelve,” said Kestrel without thinking.

If the undead gentleman had eyebrows, he certainly would have raised them. “Twelve of what?”

“Sorry, I panicked. That’s not my real answer.” Kestrel racked her mind for some useful bit of philosophy, something that wouldn’t provoke this creature to violence. “Each life has the same intrinsic value, doesn’t it? No one’s soul is inherently better or worse; that’s defined by our actions.”

“And so, there is balance.” Withers nodded. “Very well, I am satisfied. We have met, and I know thy faces. We shall see one another again soon, no doubt; until then, go about thy business, and I shall go about mine.”

He turned and began to drift away, toward where the skeletal scribes (his servants?) lay scattered and broken. The thought of him tidying up like a mummified housekeeper was so funny Kestrel almost overlooked the strange scent of divinity that followed in his wake.

“Wait!” she called, at his retreating back. “Are you going to tell us what you really…”

“No.” 

There are so many questions to be asked about Withers that I’m electing to ask none of them, and simply accept his bony presence.

–

“We ought to have a name,” Kestrel said, idly twirling her pen between her fingers. “For our merry little band, I mean.”

Astarion snorted. “No, thank you. I don’t intend to spend enough time with you lot to make a group name necessary.”

“No, no, she’s right,” Wyll put in eagerly. “If we’re going to have grand adventures together, and I’m sure we will, the bards will need a proper name to call us. Something like…” He waved a hand vaguely. “The Shining Swords.”

“How earnest,” said Shadowheart, in mild disgust. “What about ‘The People With a Horrifying Infection?’”

“Lae’zel and Her Mildly Useful Istik Servants.”

“Gale and the Research Assistants.”

“The Tadpole Irregulars,” Kestrel said abruptly, sitting upright as the notion hit her. “I read this book once about a band of spies called the something-irregulars, and I quite liked the name. Suits us, doesn’t it?”

There was a pause. 

“I can live with that,” said Astarion, and yawned. “You’re certainly all irregular, at least.”

Gale lifted his water flask. “To the Tadpole Irregulars! Long may we…not turn into monsters, I suppose. And whatever else we get up to.”

“Tracking down Karlach.”

“Finding a crèche.”

“Avoiding a crèche at all costs.”

“Cheers,” Kestrel interrupted, before an argument could break out. “And if any of you get the urge to spill or drink any blood during the night, do it away from the tents, please. I desperately need a good night’s sleep.”

These people are utterly insane. I like them all so very much.

Chapter Text

It had only been about five days, but Kestrel was already beginning to understand her role in this odd little troupe. “Healer” would have been a fair bet, but that role had primarily fallen to Shadowheart, for reasons of both experience and intimidation. Kestrel was certainly not the resident magic expert (that was Gale), or the most cultured person present (Astarion), or the fiercest warrior (Lae’zel or Wyll, depending on who you asked). 

No, her role had been quite firmly established as the peacekeeper. When the two other women were at each other’s throats over that strange little spiky box, Kestrel made sure the knives were sheathed. When Gale’s strange condition had the camp in an uproar, she gladly offered up the enchanted gloves she’d found in Withers’ ruin. (They were very nice gloves, but she’d grown fond of Gale, so the trade felt fair.) And when Wyll’s infernal nemesis turned out to be a perfectly nice tiefling woman who happened to be slightly on fire, Kestrel cooled things down, literally and figuratively.

So it was no surprise that, when the group returned to the grove and was confronted with a snobbish red-haired druid insistent on arresting a nine-year-old girl, it was Kestrel who was shoved forward to deal with her.

“And who are you, exactly, to criticize the acting First Druid’s decisions?” the woman–Kagha, apparently–asked. Her face was hard as stone, eyes blazing with self-righteousness.

“I, madam, am a well-meaning stranger,” Kestrel replied. “Also, the reason this place isn’t currently Goblin Grove, population: goblins. Surely you can spare me two minutes.”

“Fine.” The woman crossed her arms. “Two minutes, in which you can explain to me why this disrespectful little thief shouldn’t be locked up like the criminal she is.”

“Well, for one thing, she’s a child. And for another, you got the idol back, didn’t you? What good would locking her up do?”

“It would send a message,” Kagha said, slowly and deliberately, like she was speaking to a very small child. “Our devilish guests have grown far too comfortable here. They need a reminder that they do not own this grove.”

Kestrel placed her hands on her hips, trying to channel Mama Vickrey, who’d been a mercenary before she was a schoolteacher. Granted, Vickrey MacDuff was six feet tall and built like a wrestler, with a shock of jet-black hair and a dueling scar, so intimidation came more easily to her.

“Hand the little brat over to me,” she said grimly, “and I’ll make sure she learns her lesson. She won’t dare cross you again.”

“Will she not?” Kagha looked her over, brow furrowed, and finally gave a curt nod. “A riot from these devils over one little thug is the last thing I need. See that the girl is disciplined, and get these people out of my grove.”

“Your grove?” The handsome dark-skinned man at her side shot her an exasperated look. “Come now, Kagha, you know we’re a community. Master Halsin…”

“Is not here. Keep his name out of your mouth.” Kagha looked back at Kestrel, scowling. “The ritual will be complete at sunset after next. Before then, I want the refugees gone. Escort them, bribe them, kill them, I don’t care, just get it done.”

Kestrel couldn’t reply for several seconds. She just stared at the other woman, fiery hatred simmering in her stomach.

“The situation will be dealt with,” she said at last, with as much venom as she could summon. “Come along, child.” She took the girl’s hand–gently, but briskly enough that it didn’t look affectionate–and strode back toward the door. Just before the exit, she paused.

“Pretend I’m shouting at you,” she whispered urgently. “Cry, or something, just to get that woman off your tail.”

Arabella, bless her, was quick on the uptake. She let out a theatrical sob that nearly shook the trees. “I’m sorry, miss!” she wailed. “I’ll never steal anything again, I promise!”

“Well, see that you don’t!” Kestrel returned loudly. “Or it’ll be far worse than snakes that I’ll conjure up to teach you a lesson!” She dared a brief glance in the direction of Kagha, who looked disdainfully approving. Good.

“Please, miss, don’t conjure any monsters,” the little girl begged. It was hard to tell if her tears were real or feigned. “I’ll be good, swear I will. Just let me go back to Mum and Pops.”

“Excellent idea. You’re a good actor,” she said quietly, when they were out of Kagha’s earshot. “I’m not really cross with you, I’d probably have tried something similar when I was your age. But these druids do not have a sense of humor about it.”

“I wish their boss would come back,” Arabella muttered. “Not that snake lady, their real boss.”

“That’s the one who went off with those adventurers, right?” said Kestrel. “Zevlor mentioned him when we visited a few days ago. He didn’t sound like the type to start these horrible rituals.”

“Nah, he was nice. Let me feed that lazy Tuffet once. I don’t think Kagha liked him much,” the girl said knowingly. “Mum says that’s called workplace politics.”

Workplace politics, indeed. Kestrel had always assumed druid groves would be free of that sort of thing, but it seemed people were people, wherever you went.

With Arabella safely returned to her overjoyed parents, Kestrel returned to her companions, all of whom looked ready to leave. She couldn’t exactly blame them, particularly Wyll; people had been giving him odd looks ever since the group’s return. He was looking quite different these days.

“You handled that pretty smoothly,” said Karlach, giving Kestrel a supportive nod. “Couldn’t have been me. The minute that ginger witch started threatening the kid I’d have chopped her head clean off.”

“Eh, we might still need to do that. Keep your axe at the ready.” Of all Kestrel’s new friends, Karlach was probably the biggest surprise. Wyll had described her as a devilish horror, ruthless and bloodthirsty–and she certainly could be those things, under the right circumstances. Under most circumstances, though, she was cheerful, loyal, and frankly a delight.

If Wyll felt any regret over sparing her life and gaining a set of horns in the process, he did remarkably well at hiding it. 

“I’d rather save my axe for those goblins,” said Karlach, with a mildly bloodthirsty grin. “That’s our next step, yeah? Slice through the little bastards, rescue that old druid codger, and get him to heal us up?”

“That’s right,” said Kestrel decidedly. “For the grove’s sake, too. I doubt he’d let this ritual thing continue. You know,” she added, “the more I hear about this Halsin character, the more I like him.”

“Yes, yes, you’re clearly both irritating do-gooders fond of rude children,” Astarion drawled from behind her. He’d been prowling around the grove through most of the Arabella incident, and Kestrel was a touch worried he might try to snack on another boar.  “Don’t lose focus, though. We’re on this fun little quest to find a cure, not meddle in druid politics.”

“I don’t know about you,” Kestrel replied serenely, “but I happen to be a very good multitasker.”

–

“Chicken chasing,” said Kestrel.

“Chicken chasing,” confirmed the goblin, with all the solemnity of a priest reading a rite. He was a bent, scabby little fellow with tattoos like caterpillars on his cheeks, and didn’t smell like he’d ever heard of soap. “Got the gumption for it, True Soul, or are you one o’ them la-di-da types afraid of a little sweat?”

“Not at all. It’s just that…well, that,” said Kestrel, indicating the creature in question, “isn’t precisely a chicken. I’d almost call it a baby owlbear.”

The baby owlbear, sitting slumped in its cage, gave a doleful hoot. Kestrel knew that in a few months it would easily be able to make a meal of her, but for now, it was awfully sweet.

“Got feathers, don’t it?” said the goblin, unfazed. “‘Sides, it ate our last chicken. Gotta chase summat.” He cast the owlbear a smug glance. “Before we eat the beast, anyhow.”

Eat it! Kestrel’s eyes widened in horror. An adult owlbear was nearly as dangerous as a dragon, and could probably feed this entire camp for a month, but a baby? It didn’t bear thinking about.

“I’ll play your game,” she said. “But if I win, I get to keep the chicken.”

“And why exactly would I let you do that, eh? The critter’s good eating. Can’t go giving out our supplies to every hoity-toity gal who shows up.”

Frowning, Kestrel focused all her attention on the faintly glowing symbol around his eye. The tadpole squirmed in her head and it hurt, gods it hurt, but it seemed to be working.

“If I win,” she repeated, slowly and sharply, “I get to keep the damn chicken.”

“Of course, ma’am,” the goblin said quickly, making an awkward bow. “With pleasure. If you’ll stand at the starting line, please…?”

It occurred to Kestrel, as she stood in a half-crouch at the edge of the makeshift labyrinth, that this was more undignified than it had to be. She could easily just have demanded the owlbear’s immediate release instead. Not that she could do anything about it now–a shrill whistle sounded from somewhere behind her, and the feathery beast took off at top speed.

Luckily, she had chased chickens before: Mama Vickrey’s fat little bantams, which lay green eggs and bolted about the garden like mad pixies. The owlbear was larger and stronger, but its youth and bulk made it awkward, slowing it down. It was surprisingly easy to follow in its wake around the stacks of broken crates and barrels (she didn’t want to think about whose blood was on them).

The end of the labyrinth was in sight now, and the feathery beast only a foot or two ahead of her. Kestrel reached out to grab it, but her boot caught on a stray root, sending her flying forward. She landed half-atop the owlbear with a muffled thump.

“Sorry!” she whispered, struggling to her feet. It didn’t appear to be hurt, thank the gods, but the poor thing certainly looked frightened. Slow, sarcastic applause echoed from behind her–no prizes for guessing who that was.

“A’right, then, the True Soul wins! Fair and square!” declared the goblin with the caterpillar tattoos. He bent down and unfastened the owlbear’s collar, slapping it on the rump.

“There you are, ma’am. All yours,” he said deferentially. “Just don’t overcook it, yeah?” Bowing awkwardly, he shuffled backwards out of sight.

The owlbear glanced around at its new owners, golden eyes wide and confused. It–he? Yes, it might well have been a boy–emitted a sad, resigned hoot. Gods, he was so adorable she nearly wanted to gobble him up.

“So we’ve got an owlbear now,” said Karlach. “Brilliant. Very normal. Is he going to come in and kill a few goblins for us?”

“Of course not. He’s just a baby, I’m not bringing him in there.” Kestrel held out one hand, which the owlbear sniffed curiously. “We’re camping not far from here,” she whispered. “Follow my scent when you’re ready. We’ll meet you back there.”

The owlbear hooted–gods, she hoped he’d understood, she’d forgotten to cast the spell–and darted out of sight. Kestrel sent a silent prayer to Selûne that the goblins wouldn’t change their minds and eat the poor creature after all.

“So, our little worms allow us to influence people’s minds, and you’re using it to…adopt stray monsters.” Astarion sniffed. “Gods know why you’re always in front.”

“I wouldn’t go criticizing my habit of adopting stray monsters, Astarion. It’s the only reason I’m friends with you, after all.”

Wyll gave an undignified snort. “She’s got you there, Mister Fangs. Maybe you can be the goblins’ next chicken, eh?”

“So anyway,” said Astarion, pointedly ignoring him, “how did we get to be True Souls, do you think? Is that what they call people with our little…guests? Because if so, maybe we don’t have to be in such a hurry to get rid of them. It’s quite fun, this bossing people around.”

“Do you really want to turn into a mind flayer, Astarion?” Kestrel shot back. “Because that’s the other option. Just think of what it would do to your hair.”

The vampire put a hand up to his meticulously curled hair in horror. “Do not joke about that. My hair is practically all I have left in this wretched world.”

Karlach’s eye roll was almost audible. Privately, Kestrel wondered if the biggest threat to Astarion’s safety was the goblin army, the tadpole, or his supposed friends.

–

Most of the goblins’ camp smelled foul. The worg pens were worse.

“I cannot believe,” Kestrel said under her breath as she and her friends descended into the building’s bowels, “that this was ever a temple to Selûne. My mother would have a fit. I’m nearly having a fit.”

“Selûne’s a big girl, presumably. She can handle herself,” said Shadowheart icily. “I’m a bit more worried about us at the moment. You don’t think maybe that priestess…” She was cut off by a pained, animalistic groan.

“That didn’t sound like a worg,” said Kestrel, and hurried forward.

At the bottom of the stairs, two tiny goblin children were alternately giggling in excitement and slinging rocks through the bars of one of the cells. Their victim, she could now see, was an enormous brown bear that looked less ferocious than utterly dejected.

“Keep yer hand steady, Three,” commanded the third goblin, an older woman who might have been the kids’ mother. (Why were all goblin children named after numbers, anyway? Kestrel made a mental note to ask Volo later, if he made it back alive.) Goblin Mum nodded with approval as the smaller one tossed another rock, making the bear howl with pain.

“What’s going on here?” Kestrel demanded. 

The two children looked at each other hesitantly. “Your chin looks like a bum,” one of them offered.

Kestrel ran a thumb over the dimple in her chin, which she’d always considered one of her better features, and nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Why are you throwing rocks at a bear?”

“Cause it’s a rotten, murderin’ monster, that’s why,” spat Goblin Mum. “Came in with them robbers, killed two of my squad. Boss is thinkin’ of serving it to the worgs, and damn right, I say.” She pointed to the children. “Go on, you little blighters. Keep at it.”

The kids giggled and resumed their cruel game, picking up and tossing rocks like they were being paid for it. The bear’s miserable noises continued, and Kestrel winced in sympathetic agony.

“Stop it, that’s horrible! The poor thing can’t even fight back!” She turned to the older goblin, arms crossed. “Make your kids behave, would you?”

Goblin Mum sneered. “I don’t have to take no orders from you, Miss Priss. Go drink cocktails with Lady Baenre if you’re too grand for a bit of rough-housing.”

Kestrel scowled fiercely and looked her directly in the eye, searching for that fearsome mind-bending power she’d tapped into earlier. The tadpole lazily wriggled behind her eye before falling dormant once again.

Damn it.

“Got something to say, Miss Priss?” the goblin woman asked, her voice considerably more threatening now. “Or are we gonna have a bit o’ trouble between us?”

Kestrel tried to think of something clever to say and, failing, slapped Goblin Mum sharply across the face.

Time seemed to freeze as the goblin stared at her in shock, eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly open. The children began to back away slowly, and Kestrel wondered if she should do the same.

Until the air rang with the sound of clattering metal, and everyone’s heads sharply turned toward the source. A sheepish-looking Astarion shrank back, as the padlock on the gate wobbled and dropped into the mud.

“Astarion!” Kestrel cried furiously. 

“Well, your plan wasn’t working!”

The bear roared–in triumph this time, rather than pain–and slammed against the rusty iron gate. Hard.

“Shit!” Kestrel shrieked, and jumped aside just before the gate wobbled and crashed down on the woman she’d just slapped. A few angry shouts echoed from across the room–it seemed the rest of the goblins had realized something was awry.

This tadpole power seemed very deficient at times.

–

Based on what Aradin and his bruisers had implied, Kestrel had vaguely assumed the missing First Druid would be a kindly old gray-haired chap, someone bent and cheery with a gnarled branch as a walking stick What she had not been expecting was this gorgeous giant of a man, looking down at her with concerned blue-and-brown eyes, his sleek chestnut hair dappled with goblin blood.

“Pardon the viscera,” he said, sounding torn between disgust and laughter. His voice was rough and warm, the way tree bark would sound if it could talk. “One should cherish all of nature’s bounty, especially in my position, but goblin guts are quite far down the list.”

Several questions flashed through Kestrel’s mind–chief among them “Where do brain tadpoles fall on that list?” “Have you been a bear during your entire imprisonment?” and “Will you marry me?”–but she asked only the most pressing.

“Are you all right?” 

“Far better than I would have been, without your help.” He gave a polite half-bow. “Thank you, truly. I am Halsin, of the Emerald Grove.” 

Of course he was. Who else could he possibly be? Rath had said she wouldn’t mistake the First Druid for anyone else, but he hadn’t warned her that she would want to leap into his arms and run her fingers through his hair.

“I’m Kestrel,” she managed. “Like the bird.”

“Hm.” He looked her over appraisingly. “So you are.”

Kestrel wasn’t quite sure how to respond to this, but luckily, it didn’t seem she was expected to.

“That look in your eye… I’ve seen it before,” he said. “I sense you’re not entirely well at the moment. May I?” He whispered something, and an orange glow lit up one of his hands–Kestrel recognized it as a probing spell, one Mama Bettina used to sense broken bones and infections. Before she could say anything, Halsin lifted his hand near the side of her face.

Her immediate reaction was shame. Shame that this kind, honorable man should see something so monstrous in her. She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and turn away, but the orange light froze her in place as it probed her mind.

There was a flash of unmistakable horror in his eyes, which faded quickly to deep pity. “Oak Father preserve you, child,” he said softly. “How long have you been infected?”

He hadn’t run away, Kestrel realized with a relief that almost made her knees give out, nor had he tried to kill them. Which meant he actually might be able to help.

“Longer than I should have been. Without turning, I mean. It’s the same for all of us.” She gestured to her companions. “I wish I could tell you why, but honestly, none of us really know. We were hoping you might.”

“An unusual situation indeed. You’re aware of your infection, and you haven’t lost your identity and will, like the cultists have. You’re no True Soul.”

“Oh, gods, no. I’m a passable-imitation soul at best.”

Astarion sighed deeply from behind her. “Kestrel, dear, could you please stop being witty and find out if he can help us?”

“Right, yes! Um, I’m dreadfully sorry to ask favors of you after the day you’ve had, but your friend Nettie, from the grove, said you might be able to help us. She said you’re the best healer around, and that you’d studied these tadpole things, and…” Oh, she was babbling now. How charming. “We thought you might know how to get them out. That’s all.”

“I see.” The sympathetic look in his eyes made Kestrel’s heart sink. “At the moment, unfortunately, that is not something I can do,” he said. “We’ll need more information before removal becomes possible. I am more than happy to aid your investigation, but there are some matters I must attend to first.”

Kestrel slapped her forehead. “Of course, you have bigger problems! Your deputy’s gone insane and is arresting refugee children! Gods know if we’ll be able to stop her, she and her awful friends might have already moved the grove to the Astral Plane or however that Thorn ritual’s supposed to work.”

Halsin muttered something that sounded very much like “I leave these people alone for five minutes…”

“Thank you for telling me this,” he said to Kestrel. “As soon as I complete my business here, I’ll return to the Grove and ensure the rite is stopped. As for your infection–I may not be able to cure it myself, but I’m certain we can get to the bottom of what is causing it. I’ve discovered the source of the tadpoles.”

“Oh, excellent! What is it? A secret tadpole factory in the depths of the Underdark? A lonely illithid trying to create a new family?”

“Something like that,” Halsin replied, looking faintly amused. “I am more than happy to explain, but first I must address the threat this goblin army poses. If you’re willing to help me, we can save the Grove and make progress toward addressing your…affliction.”

“Blergh,” said Kestrel, and fainted.

Chapter Text

Kestrel, slayer of the three wicked goblin leaders and hero of the Emerald Grove, was on her knees being violently sick in a bush.

“Did you eat that vile roasted dwarf meat?” Lae’zel demanded unsympathetically behind her. “Surely you could tell from its odor that it was unfit to touch.”

“I didn’t eat anything,” Kestrel replied, getting shakily to her feet. “I just…I’ve fought goblins before, when a few raiding parties came by Hargrave, but nothing like that. I don’t much like killing people.”

“People? Hardly,” said Astarion acidly. “Those were goblins, my dear. The drow woman was rather stylish, I’ll grant you, but that’s no reason to mourn.”

Wyll gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “I know how you feel,” he said. “I was just the same when I first started fighting. The trick is to remember why blood had to be shed in the first place. We saved those refugees, and that’s nothing to sneeze at.”

“I suppose you're right.” Kestrel shot him a grateful smile. “I hope we did save the refugees. You don’t see any thorns sprouting up, do you?” 

Karlach squinted at the approaching gates. “Not from here. If that ginger woman went through with that creepy spell, I’ll chop through any brambles and give her a good talking-to.”

At the foot of the gate, Kestrel closed her eyes and twisted the moonstone bracelet on her left wrist for luck. If it didn’t open…if they really were too late…

“Hello down there!” shouted an indigo-skinned tiefling woman, leaning over the top of the wall. “Nice work, you lot! Come on in and tell us everything.”

Relief flooded over Kestrel so forcefully she nearly fainted. Again.

–

The Grove was a hive of activity and gossip, with the Rite officially canceled and the refugees on their way. Kestrel’s friends had either drifted back to camp to set up for the evening, or gone to the peddler to stock up on arrows and healing supplies. Somehow Kestrel had wound up sitting in one of the cozy little caverns with Apikusis, the kindly druid woman who had quietly opposed the Rite of Thorns.

“I overheard Master Halsin’s discussion with Kagha,” Apikusis said, voice carefully neutral. “Demoting her was a respectful choice, and hopefully a wise one.”

“He was nicer to her than I would have been,” said Kestrel. “Personally, I’d have sent her off to one of the cities to work in a charity hospital. See if she can be all snooty about refugees then.”

Apikusis gave a delicate snort. “I have no doubt she would learn quite a bit in such a place. But Master Halsin has always been merciful, perhaps to a fault. We will have to wait and see if his faith in Kagha is justified.”

“Is he married?” Kestrel blurted out.

“No, he is not,” the other woman said, with an indulgent smile. “Nor do I believe he’s devoted to any particular lover, though of course he would be discreet about such things.”

“Well. That’s…” Good would imply that she cared, which she did, but it wasn’t as though she could admit it. In the end she settled for “fine.”

“So it is,” said the other woman serenely. “And are you married, Miss MacDuff?”

“Oh, gods, no. Nary a paramour in sight.”

“That, too, is fine.” 

There was a brief, slightly embarrassed silence.

“Are you coming to the celebration tonight?” Kestrel said at last. “You’d be very welcome.”

“You’re very kind to invite me, but I will have to decline. I doubt the refugees would be pleased to see any druids in their midst, even well-meaning ones.”

“I guess that’s fair,” said Kestrel, disappointed. “I’d better be heading back myself, and see if I can dig up anything nicer to wear. I’ve had these same trousers on for about five days, and they’re smelling very goblin-y.”

Apikusis snapped her fingers. “I may be able to help you there. Pardon me for a moment.” She bent and rifled through a small trunk in the corner of the room, pulling out a bundle of wispy white fabric which she passed to Kestrel. “We’re a similar build, I believe, and it’s been some time since I’ve had occasion to wear this dress.”

“Oh!” Kestrel unfolded the fabric cautiously, taking in the craftsmanship with awe. The fine white linen was covered in swirling vines, embroidered with gold thread, and the emerald-green silk leaves around the collar rustled gently as she ran her fingers over them. No, not silk–they were real, preserved through some clever magic she was unfamiliar with. “Do you really want to lend me this? It looks valuable.”

“Of course. Please, try it on, make sure the fit is comfortable.”

It would have been rude to refuse, and so Kestrel obediently slipped behind the nearby wicker screen to change. The linen felt cool and clean against her grimy skin (gods, she needed a wash), and the skirt swished pleasantly against her legs as she emerged.

“It looks lovely on you,” said Apikusis. “Comfortable, I hope?”

“Very comfortable. I think it’s the nicest thing I’ve ever worn.”

“Then you must keep it,” she said decisively. “A gift of thanks. You saved the Grove–and our guests–from a terrible fate. This is the least I can do.”

Kestrel blinked. “Are you sure? You won’t get invited to some formal druid party next month and say to yourself ‘goodness, I wish I still had that white dress’?”

Apikusis laughed. “I am sure. You deserve it. And thank you, once again. I believe our circle may start to find our way once again.”

–

It seemed as though every tiefling on the Sword Coast had gathered at the campsite, bringing food and wine and general good cheer. Kestrel was almost immediately pulled into a tight hug by Arabella’s mum and dad, who had apparently told everyone else about Kagha and the snake. Bex and Danis shared the bottle of spicy liquor they said they’d been saving for the city, “but who knows if we’ll make it that far?” The only person who didn’t seem to be participating in the revelry was Withers, who watched over the affair like an elder at a village dance.

Some time later, Kestrel was thoroughly tipsy, and at utter peace with the world. She wasn’t sure when she had taken off her shoes, but didn’t particularly care. Scratch would probably come trotting into her tent in the morning carrying them in his mouth. In the meantime, she liked the feeling of the warm, damp ground against her feet. Wandering away from the crowd, she found herself on the eastern side of camp, near a rather sour-looking Astarion.

“If it isn’t my favorite stray monster!” she sang out. “Why the long face? Are you not having fun?”

“Fun?” Astarion sniffed. “You know, I never saw myself being hailed as a hero, and now that I am– it’s quite awful, actually. Amateur music, vinegar for wine, and a gaggle of noisy strangers I couldn’t care less about. Some party.”

Kestrel shrugged. “I don’t know what kind of parties you went to back in the city, but this seems pretty good to me. We have food and drinks, people are happy, and no one’s trying to kill us.”

“Oh, how I envy your low standards.” Astarion gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher. “You know,” he said casually, twirling the wine bottle between his fingers, “we could slip away somewhere private, just the two of us. Make our own fun.”

Kestrel rubbed her ear, making sure she’d heard right. “Are you propositioning me? Is that what’s happening?”

“Would it be so terrible if I was? You’re very… uptight, you know. An evening of depravity might be precisely what you need.”

It was probably the wine, but for a second, Kestrel considered agreeing. She’d grown up in a family of all women, in a village with no romantic prospects in sight, and suddenly there were interesting men everywhere she turned. And Astarion was awfully handsome and charming, no matter how ridiculous he was, and this was a celebration, after all.

Then she caught sight of the look in his eyes, something tired and resigned, and she realized what this actually was.

“Astarion,” she said. “Be honest. You’re not remotely attracted to me.”

“What?” He looked genuinely taken aback. “Why would you say that?”

“Look, I may not be very worldly, but I’m not an idiot. You look like you’re trying to swallow a frog. I don’t know if you’re doing this just because you’re bored, or because you need me as a blood source, or you’re trying to get me on your side, but it’s unnecessary.”

“Fine.” The charming facade abruptly dropped, and he took a fierce swig of wine. “Be like that. I have plenty of other options, you know. Plenty of them. Insipid little mummy’s girls aren’t my type anyway.”

“And arrogant vampires who lie about being magistrates aren’t mine.” Kestrel plucked the bottle from his hands and took a long, defiant drink. “This wine’s good, by the way. You’ve just lost your sense of taste.”

–

One rude vampire, Kestrel decided firmly, was not going to ruin her evening. Not when there was so much joy and gratitude in the air. Karlach, bless her, had somehow talked Wyll out of brooding down by the water, and he was now taking part in the festivities: sipping wine, chatting with a few of the tieflings, modestly accepting praise for his earlier heroics. When Alfira struck up another lively tune, he very graciously let Kestrel drag him into the circle of dancers, and didn’t once step on her toes.

Some minutes later, when the musicians were taking a break, Wyll looked up from the wine he was pouring and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“That’s never Halsin, is it? The druids’ boss? Nice to see him here,” he said lightly. “He didn’t quite seem like the campsite-party type.”

Kestrel whipped her head to the side so fast she pulled a muscle in her neck. Oh gods, it was him, standing quietly by the campfire and observing the revelry with a sort of detached fondness. He’d swapped his armor for simple clothes in green and brown, and Kestrel felt a shiver of longing pass through her at the sight of his thickly muscled arms.

She hadn’t thought he would be here, not after Apikusis’ remark about druid guests. Maybe he’d come to make sure the refugees were all right, or to strategize about the tadpoles…

Or because he likes you, a wicked voice in the back of her mind suggested. That was the wine talking, clearly. If he fancied someone in the camp it would probably be Shadowheart, or Wyll, or even Astarion. But at least she could admire him from a distance. She considered what sort of beast had given him that horrible scar, and the pain it must have caused him, and how much she wished she’d been there to comfort him when it had happened…

Wyll nudged her gently, shocking her out of her reverie. “Go on, talk to him!”

“Oh, no, I can’t.” Kestrel shook her head quickly. “I don’t want to bother him.”

“Come off it, Kestrel,” he said, rolling his eyes. “The poor chap’s been trapped in a goblin prison for days. Talking to a pretty girl will be the highlight of his evening.”

Kestrel’s cheeks burned at the compliment. She fully intended to say something self-deprecating in reply, but before she thought of anything, her disobedient feet had started moving and placed her directly in front of Halsin.

“Ah!” she said. “Good evening!”

He looked down at her with an amused smile. “My valiant friend. Enjoying yourself?”

“Splendiferously. Though I may have had a bit too much to drink, so if I don’t make any sense, bear with me.” She gave an undignified snort. “Ha! That wasn’t even intentional.”

Halsin chuckled, which was very polite of him, considering how often he probably heard that joke. “Well, good. After all your efforts, you deserve to celebrate.”

“Oh, I’ve been celebrating, all right. I danced with everyone, and only fell down twice. Though I did get my dress dirty.” She brushed ineffectively at a spot of grime on her skirt. “Do you like my dress? It has leaves on it.”

“Very pretty.” He couldn’t have said it more neutrally, but it still made Kestrel’s legs tremble. “Apikusis has something similar, does she not?”

“She gave it to me,” Kestrel confessed. “Called it a thank-you present. Wasn’t that kind of her? But I can give it back tomorrow, if you think that would be more polite.” Or we can go somewhere more private, and you can take it off me yourself…

“Apikusis has always been one of the best of us,” said Halsin fondly. “Of course you must keep the dress, she would be heartbroken if you returned her gift. Besides, it suits you.”

If she thought about that statement too long, she would probably faint, and so she decided to change the subject. “You haven’t got a beverage,” she pointed out. “Would you like a glass of wine? I thought we’d run out, but that little tiefling girl sold a few bottles back to me at a decent price. She’s very enterprising, that one.”

“Ah, I expected no less. You’re kind to offer, but truth be told, I rarely imbibe these days.” He gave her a conspiratorial grin. “One wouldn’t think it to look at me, but I’m secretly something of a lightweight. Two drinks in and I’d be bursting into song or declaring love to the person nearest me.”

An embarrassing warmth pooled in Kestrel’s belly at that image. She wondered what sort of circumstances would get him to have a few drinks, and how she could possibly create them. “Fair enough. I suppose you’re also too sober to dance with me?” The question came out far more coquettishly than she’d intended–the slight emphasis she’d put on dance made it sound like she was suggesting something else entirely.

If Halsin was offended, he didn’t show it. “I’m flattered by the invitation. Unfortunately, my dancing is no better than my singing. And I suspect you may be in need of some rest, if you don’t mind me saying so.” 

“No, no, I’m…” Kestrel swayed on her feet slightly, and the campsite swam before her eyes. “You know what? You may be right. I should hit the hay before I make a spool of myself. Fool, I mean.”

“In that case, I hope you rest well. Before you go, though…I want to thank you again for rescuing me. I doubt I would have survived without your aid.”

Kestrel flushed. “Oh, you know. Anyone would have done the same.”

“No one would have done the same,” said Halsin, with surprising force. “No one ever has.”

There was a brief glimmer of pain in his eyes, which Kestrel wanted to remark on, but when she opened her mouth all that came out was an inebriated burp. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m sensing you’ve got a few stories there, but maybe we should discuss them when I’ve had a bit less to drink.”

He smiled indulgently. “But of course. Go, rest if you need to. We’ll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow.”

She turned to go, then snapped her fingers. “Wait. Before I go collapse in my tent in a very dignified manner, would you like to hear a terrible joke I just thought of?”

“I would love to.”

“Right, so. My name’s Kestrel and I’m a cleric, which makes me…a bird of pray.”   She folded her hands in a prayerful fashion, to get the pun across. Much to her surprise, Halsin gave a bellow of genuine laughter.

“I do enjoy a good pun, I must say. Just what I needed after the last few days.”

“You’re such a dad type,” Kestrel teased, reluctantly taking a few backward steps toward her tent. “Bad jokes, feeding animals with the tiefling kids. Not that I have a dad myself, but my point still…” Her left heel hit a tree root, and she wobbled precariously. “You get the idea. Good night.”

Back in the tent, she unbuttoned and tossed aside the white dress, considered pulling on a tunic over her underthings, and collapsed onto her pillow before she could make up her mind. Her last thought, before she fell asleep, was how she had barely seen Shadowheart and Lae’zel all evening, and dearly hoped they weren’t trying to kill each other again.

–

She awoke–if that was the right word for it–stone-cold sober in a rock-strewn garden, illuminated by soft violet light. The tranquility of the scene was somewhat spoiled by the enormous skull-shaped structure floating just beyond where she sat, crackling with energy.

This damn place, again.

This wasn’t what she’d wanted to dream about. Who she’d wanted to dream about. It seemed, though, that she had no choice. The approaching figure, glowing like an angel, had summoned her.

No two of the Tadpole Irregulars saw this person, who Kestrel had started calling the Guardian, the same way. Gale saw a beautiful dark-haired woman, while Karlach had described a paladin in golden armor. Kestrel saw a handsome young drow fellow, with white hair, pale silver eyes, and a warm smile. He had probably chosen this face to put her at ease, though it didn’t quite work.

“Hello,” he said softly. “I did say I would be back.”

“Yes, you did.” Kestrel cleared her throat awkwardly. “Er. How are you?”

His lips quirked in a faint smile. “Surviving. As are you, for now. But you haven’t had much luck with your infection, have you? You hoped a druid as powerful as Halsin would be able to remove it with a snap of his fingers.”

“Among other things, yes,” Kestrel said evasively.

“Quite.” He gave her a knowing look. “Yet he couldn’t. Your githyanki friend insists her people will be able to remove the tadpole, but even their technology has no chance against the magic these things are bound in. Your only hope is to find the magic’s source, and destroy it.”

“I can’t, though. Look at me!” The words came out sounding more hysterical than she’d intended. “I’ve barely survived the last few days. Even with help from the others, I don’t stand a chance against whatever power is behind these worms.”

“You do, and you must.” The Guardian folded his arms sternly. “I know you have misgivings about using the power you’ve been granted, but I beg you to put them aside. There are more lives than your own at stake, Kestrel.”

“I’ll consider it,” Kestrel promised, with some reluctance. “Could you send me back now, please? There are other things I’d prefer to be dreaming about.”

The Guardian sighed, nodded, and waved one slender hand. The vision faded, and Kestrel returned to her wine-sodden sleep, unfortunately dreamless.

Chapter Text

Kestrel peeked out of the tent, experienced a flash of blinding pain, and immediately retreated back inside. Maybe Sharrans were right, and creating the sun had been a bad idea on Selûne’s part. All she wanted to do was collapse back into her bedroll and sleep for a year straight.

She couldn’t, though. Not when there were so many plans to be made today. Reluctantly, she pulled on a crumpled shirt and leggings, and forced herself out into the sun.

At first, she thought she was the only one awake. Then a slight movement caught her eye, and with some surprise she saw Halsin, sitting by the remains of the campfire and peacefully peeling an apple.

“You’re up early,” she croaked.

Halsin cast a meaningful glance up at the sun, which was in a decidedly noon-ish position, and nodded. “I had quite a bit of business, back in the Grove. Making arrangements for my departure.”

Kestrel rubbed her throbbing forehead, confused. “Departure? What departure?”

He looked surprised. “To Moonrise Towers, of course. I promised I would help you with your parasite, and I’ve been meaning to revisit the area for some time anyway. That is, if you feel my company would be useful to you.”

Useful? It would be a dream come true. Would you like to kiss me? “We’d love to have your help. But…what about your duties? The Grove? Won’t people be upset?”

“Oh, they were.” He gave a dry chuckle. “I believe Rath’s exact words were: ‘You’re abandoning us to follow around that tadpole girl and her weird friends?’”

Kestrel snorted. “I should be offended, but he’s not wrong.”

“Perhaps not. Still, I have no doubt that this is the right choice. I don’t believe it was simply good luck that we met, Kestrel. Your chance for a cure lies in the same place as my greatest failure. It could be that Silvanus brought us together for a reason.”

He spoke with a serene, quiet confidence, and Kestrel wondered how he could be so sure that leaving his entire life behind was the right thing to do. Then again, the Emerald Grove didn’t seem to have altogether appreciated him. Maybe he had been looking for an excuse to leave all along.

“I hope you’re right,” she said softly. “Out of curiosity, did I say anything…weird to you last night?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Not particularly. You told me about young Mol’s business enterprises, asked very kindly if I’d like to dance, and called yourself a bird of pray. All perfectly innocent.”

Innocent. Right. Kestrel felt her face heat up slightly as bits of the conversation floated back to her. She was spared having to reply, though, as a few other tent flaps opened and her various friends slowly emerged.

At the sight of Astarion, she felt her cheeks heat up, and deliberately avoided looking at him. Gods, she hoped he wouldn’t mention their horrible interaction last night in front of Halsin. Luckily, the vampire seemed as embarrassed as she was. 

“You’re still here, Archdruid?” he drawled. “I would have thought you had animals to talk philosophy with, or some such.”

“A fair assumption,” said Halsin, not noticeably put out. “But I’ve made a commitment to help you track down the source of your tadpoles. I’ve been discussing the matter with Kestrel, and she has kindly agreed to let me come with you to Moonrise.”

“Really?” said Shadowheart, eyebrows raised. There were dark circles under her eyes, and Kestrel wondered again how she’d spent the previous evening. “I was under the impression you had a job. Quite an important one, at that.”

“They will manage without me, I’m sure. I’ve already arranged for my successor’s arrival,” he said. “And truth be told, the Grove had become too comfortable for my liking. Too structured, one might say.”

Kestrel looked at him incredulously. “Well, if you like being uncomfortable, I have good news for you about how we usually travel.”

He chuckled lightly. “I’m sure it will be more than adequate. Now, I expect we'll be on our way to Moonrise Towers once everyone has had a chance to eat and pack.”

“No, we will not,” Lae’zel put in forcefully. “Have you forgotten already? Our first priority is finding a crèche.”

Halsin sighed. “Lae’zel, I have nothing but respect for your people, but believe me when I say not even their healers can remove these tadpoles. The magic that binds them is far too intricate.”

“You know nothing about the genius of githyanki, druid. There is no magic, ghaik or istik, that our healers cannot undo.” She shot Kestrel a significant look. “Tell him, Kestrel.”

Who put me in charge? Kestrel thought irritably. Nonetheless, she nodded.

“It’s not that I disagree with you,” she told Halsin. “All things considered, I’m guessing you’re probably right. But,” she added, as Lae’zel bristled, “I also don’t think it’s a bad idea to investigate all our options. Even if the gith healers can’t remove our tadpoles, it’s possible we might learn some valuable information from them.” She gave Halsin a pleading look, hoping he wouldn’t leave in frustration. “Um, if that makes sense.”

He hesitated, frowning, and nodded. “I owe you my life,” he said resignedly. The way he looked at Kestrel made her truly believe he was talking to her, specifically, and not the entire group. “It’s only fair of me to trust your judgement, at least for now. But I strongly encourage you not to delay too long. I can’t guarantee how long your tadpoles will stay in stasis.”

“Right, then,” Kestrel said decisively, before any other arguments could start. “Sounds like we have our itinerary. We’ll take a quick detour through the mountain pass to see if there are any githyanki about, and if that doesn’t work, we’ll double back through the Underdark and find our way to Moonrise Towers. And then,” she added, “we’ll have a party and probably a ten-year nap. Does that sound all right to everyone?”

There was a general mumble of agreement. Kestrel gave a quiet sigh of relief that the discussion hadn’t turned into a fistfight. It was still early, though; that had plenty of time to change.

Packing was a slow process, considering the group’s collective hangover. This turned out to be a blessing: had they left any sooner, they would have missed the thud of heavy footsteps approaching the camp.

Their guest wasn’t a goblin, or an ogre, or anything of the sort. It was a baby owlbear. The very one Kestrel had worried she’d never see again.

“Oh my gods, it’s back!” Karlach exclaimed in delight. “C’mere, you doll, I was worried you would never show up.”

The owlbear gave her a nervous look, accompanied by a faint whimper. Kestrel quickly murmured a spell and dropped to one knee in front of him.

“Hello again. I’m so glad you found us. Are you all right?”

“Not hurt,” he confirmed. “Just hungry. You have food?”

“Plenty of it. And you can stay with us as long as you like, if you don’t mind traveling,” said Kestrel. “Do you have a name?”

The cub made a noise that sounded like “Verwhoogrrmp.” Kestrel knew immediately that she was never going to be able to say it correctly.

“That’s very pretty, but maybe you’d like a name that we can pronounce as well. What about…” She scanned her memory for any interesting names from books. “Pomfrey! How about that? You look like a Pomfrey to me.”

He gave an enthusiastic hoot, which Kestrel took as approval. “Perfect. Pomfrey it is, then.”

“Ah…Kestrel,” said Gale, raising a worried finger. “You are aware this is an owlbear, yes? The giant creatures that can eat an entire village as a snack?”

“Pomfrey won’t eat us. We saved his life. And if we keep running into monsters and hags and things, he’ll have plenty to snack on. Won’t you, boy?”

“Not bite,” Pomfrey promised. “Won’t eat friends. Even if smell delicious.”

“Hear that? He won’t bite friends,” said Kestrel with satisfaction. “I think some people in this camp could learn a thing or two from Pomfrey.”

–

The mountain pass didn’t immediately seem dangerous, not compared to legends of the Underdark, but Kestrel wasn’t willing to take any chances. The rocky terrain could have hidden any number of monsters and bandits, and she was mindful of Halsin’s warning about the curse of darkness, even if she still didn’t quite understand what that was.

Lurking dangers aside, the vista was beautiful. Kestrel and Shadowheart had volunteered to act as scouts, and so far, all they had seen were blue skies, towering mountains, and a religious-looking building perhaps a league away.

“I think Gale mentioned there used to be a monastery around this area,” said Kestrel. “Maybe that’s it. Pretty, isn’t it?”

“It had better not be Selûnite,” Shadowheart muttered. “Having one around is more than enough.”

Kestrel rolled her eyes. “What is it with you and Selûne, anyway? The way you talk about her, I’d almost think she personally swiped all your memories.”

Shadowheart whirled around, face taut with annoyance and arms folded. “You really want to do this now? Fine, then, let’s have everything out on the table. I serve Shar, the Lady of Loss. Have since I was a child. So maybe, just maybe, you can understand why I get a bit tired of hearing about Selûne and her oh-so-precious light. Does that answer your question?”

“Shar? As in…well, Shar?” Kestrel’s hand automatically went to her moonstone bracelet, a present from Mama Bettina. She’d taken to rubbing it for protection in moments of fear, like a talisman, but she doubted it would do much good here.

“Oh, stop.” Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “If I was going to kill you over this, I’d have done it already. These tadpoles are far more important than any religious differences.”

“I mean, I absolutely agree, but Shar? You seem much too nice to be a Sharran. I thought they went around filleting everyone who opposed them.”

“We’re fierce in defending our beliefs,” replied Shadowheart. “That’s hardly evil. Besides, you Selûnites aren’t any better. You’ve been hunting us down since your moon witch first betrayed her sister.”

“That’s just normal sibling stuff, though, isn’t it?” said Kestrel. “I mean, I have two younger sisters, and I’m fairly sure they’d sell me to Zariel for an extra serving of pudding.”

Shadowheart looked at her incredulously. “Are you trying to be funny? Now?”

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “Look, to be honest, you’re the first Sharran I’ve ever met. A lot of my preconceived notions are disintegrating at the moment.”

“Yes, well.” The other woman gave her a hint of a smile. “You’re not exactly alone there. I mean,  you’re sentimental and self-righteous like all Selûnites, but you’re braver than I would have expected. And you’re not immediately shoving me off this cliff, which is also a nice surprise. Shall we just agree to hold off on any religious debates until we’re cured? Or turned into mind flayers without any gods at all?”

Part of Kestrel wanted to pry further, figure out how exactly someone like Shadowheart wound up serving the goddess of darkness, loss, and cruelty. But she knew better than to ask. If she pried, Shadowheart would clam up in an instant, and she’d never get any answers.

“One of these days we’ll have to sit down and tell each other our full histories, to the extent we remember them,” she said. “But until then, I hope we can be friends. Who don’t fillet each other over our beliefs.”

Much to her relief, Shadowheart smiled, and nodded.

–

If Lae’zel had truly grown up in a place like Crèche Y’llek, it explained quite a few things about her personality. The atmosphere in the githyanki stronghold was so hard and sharp, the air might as well have been made of swords. 

“Very cozy, this place,” Wyll muttered. His hand hadn’t left the hilt of his sword for the past hour. “You do know your way around here, right, Lae? I’d like to find this healer of yours as soon as possible.”

“Of course I do, and you are not permitted to shorten my name,” Lae’zel replied tartly. “If this place is structured like K’liir, the ghustil’s rooms should be…” She glanced around, brow furrowed, and eventually settled on a tall set of double doors just to the right. “Here.”

The room they entered couldn’t have looked less like a healer’s study, and in fact seemed to be a classroom of some sort. A group of beanpole-thin githyanki youth were gathered around the walls, watching as an older man, balding and mustachioed, berated a copper-haired boy.

“K’chakhi!” he snarled. “We are training to fight ghaik, whelp. You think they will cower and hesitate as you do, when the time comes to fight?”

“We’re doing their work for them,” the boy shot back. “It’s…it’s stupid. Orpheus…”

“Silence!” The teacher slammed his staff against the stone floor. “Be very careful what words next leave your lips, boy. Would you rather die with honor, in a duel with your cousins, or by my sword slitting your insolent throat?”

Rather than answering, the boy pointed a shaky finger at where the Tadpole Irregulars stood. “Th…there are outsiders here, Sa’varsh.”

Scowling, the teacher looked in the direction the boy indicated. “Ah,” he said, voice sharp with annoyance. “It seems your foolish prattling is attracting an audience. Speak, istik. Who are you?”

“Kestrel, like the bird,” Kestrel said automatically, though she wasn’t sure how familiar githyanki were with normal birds. “And for what it’s worth, I think your student is right. Dead soldiers can’t fight an illithid army.”

The teacher bristled. “An ignorant istik, claiming to know more than Sa’varsh Kethk? Are you truly so eager for death?”

To Kestrel’s great surprise, Lae’zel stepped forward and gave the man a polite nod. “With respect, Sa’varsh, I believe my friend–that is, my servant–makes a reasonable point. We will need every able-bodied child of Gith to defeat this ghaik scourge.” She cast a disdainful look at the cowering youngster. “Even if they do need toughening up.”

Kethk sniffed. “And who are you, yank, a gith warrior who surrounds herself with barbarian…servants?”

She squared her shoulders. “Lae’zel of Crèche K’liir, Sa’varsh. I came here to see the ghustil.”

“Is that so?” Kethk smiled unpleasantly. Something told Kestrel he knew exactly why they were looking for a healer, and she could guess what he thought of the situation. “Then I suggest you find her, and stop interrupting your betters at their work.” He snapped his fingers at the boy. “To your chambers, Varrl, and compose yourself. You live, for now, thanks to Lae’zel of K’liir. And her friends.”

“Thank you,” Kestrel said quickly, before Lae’zel could give any kind of retort. “Good luck with your, ah, lessons. Shall we, folks?”

“Who is Orpheus?” she asked under her breath once they were out of the stern tutor’s hearing. “That’s what that boy said, wasn’t it?”

“A false promise,” Lae’zel said sharply. “A lie. Put it from your mind, and focus on the task at hand.”

It was almost physically painful for Kestrel to not ask questions, but she forced herself to stay silent. Something about this place had Lae’zel on edge enough already. While she couldn’t be exactly sure of the reason, Kestrel had a theory. Among the Tadpole Irregulars, Lae’zel was a brilliant, fearless representative of the githyanki people. Here, among her own, she was little more than a kid who’d been foolish enough to get tadpoled. 

Maybe they were mere minutes away from being forever cured, though Kestrel had her own quiet doubts about that. She’d never read a book where the plot was wrapped up this quickly.

–

It was a singed, somber, and decidedly still tadpoled group of adventurers that quietly returned to camp that evening. 

To say their time at the crèche had been unproductive would be an understatement. So many lives had been lost, and the zaith’isk machine had been shattered to pieces. They’d come back with only two prizes: an intact Astral Prism, their mysterious friend inside safe and sound, and a pale green egg tucked in Lae’zel’s bag.

Halsin had remained behind to guard the camp (along with Withers, but who knew what the mysterious skeleton got up to all day?), and looked up curiously from his book as the others approached. One glance, and Kestrel could tell he knew how their excursion had gone.

“I take it the githyanki machine didn’t solve your problem,” he said mildly.

“If you say ‘I told you so,’ druid, I will free your head from your shoulders,” Lae’zel snarled. She unbuckled the shield from her back and threw it to one side, startling the dozing dog and owlbear. “I have been mocked and disgraced enough today.”

Halsin looked at her with sympathy. “It was only reasonable of you to try,” he said. “I’m sorry your attempt wasn’t successful. At least now we know our next steps.”

“Hmph.” Lae’zel flopped to the ground in a surprisingly undignified seat. “You have dinner ready, I take it? Or have you been doing nothing but reading while my own people turned against me?”

Dinner was, in fact, ready, and the group ate in tense silence. Kestrel occasionally shot worried glances at Lae’zel, who seemed to be coiled as tightly as a metal spring. Finally, the golden-skinned woman threw down her plate and stood.

“You,” she snarled, pointing one slim golden finger at Shadowheart. “This is all your fault.”

“Lae’zel, please…” Kestrel began, but Shadowheart cut her off.

“No, go on, please. I’d love to hear why it’s my fault that your queen is an evil bitch.”

“If you had not stolen the Astral Prism, I would never have been sent after you, and wouldn’t have been corrupted by this ghaik tadpole. I would be an honored githyanki warrior, on my way to ascension, not this abomination I feel myself becoming.” Her voice cracked, and she sounded nearly about to cry. “I broke the zaith’isk . I will be a pariah, forever.”

“You didn’t break it,” said Shadowheart wearily. “And even if you hadn’t been captured, it wouldn’t have done any good. Little kids would still be dueling each other to death. Your comrades would still be disemboweling random civilians. Vlaakith would still be a cunt.”

Lae’zel’s skin went slightly green, and her eyes narrowed in fury. “You are the most disrespectful, ill-mannered, stupid istik I have ever had the misfortune of…”

“Er, ladies?” Kestrel interrupted, her eyes fixed on a spot just past Lae’zel’s shoulder. “I know how important this conversation is, but it looks like we have company.”

Lae’zel turned and took a small step back, eyes wide and mouth slightly open as she took in the two slightly familiar githyanki visitors.

“Tsk’va,” she said miserably.

Chapter Text

In her tent, Kestrel sat cross-legged on her bedroll, gaze fixed upon the jar in her hand. It was filled with a thick gray-green liquid she couldn’t identify, in which swam a small, slimy, fanged worm. A cousin of the one already lodged in her brain.

She’d stolen it from the Grove some days before, while Nettie’s back was turned, though she still couldn’t exactly say why. It was a horrible, unnatural parasite, and if she had any sense she’d have tossed it in the river long ago. Yet here it still was.

Use it, Kestrel, the Guardian had advised her. More lives than your own are at stake. Selfishly, though, it was her own life she was worried about. Tomorrow they would head into the depths of the Underdark, one of the most dangerous places in existence. Her friends had the skills and experience necessary to make it out the other side, but what did Kestrel have? A vivid imagination, a few healing spells, and a dagger she could sort of use.

The last few battles had made it clear she was the weak link in the chain. A weak link who had, by some twist of fate, become the Tadpole Irregulars’ decision-maker. She couldn’t afford to keep this up any longer.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Kestrel unscrewed the top of the jar, plunged her hand into the chilly liquid, and pulled out the worm.

Selȗne’s tears, it was hideous. Kestrel quashed a wave of nausea as it wriggled between her fingers. Fighting the urge to smash it, she instead lifted it to her infected eye and focused. There was a split second where she thought it wouldn’t work. Then, just as there had been with her friends’ tadpoles, there was a spark of connection. 

It hurt, but not as badly as when she had first used her power. More like she was sitting a bit too close to Karlach during dinner. Swirls of color and memory flooded into her head, and the thing behind her eye writhed in ecstasy.

When she came back to herself, the tadpole in her hand had crumbled to ash. And she was still herself, mostly, without any tentacles or purple skin. Herself, but stronger.

Dizzied and astonished, she stumbled out of her tent, gasping for air. It had to be the wee hours of the morning, and the only person up and about was Gale, who sat by the fire reading. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of her.

“Oh,” she wheezed. “Good evening. I’m fine.”

“You used one of the parasites, didn’t you.” He didn’t sound angry–more curious, and a tad concerned. “How do you feel? No tentacles or cravings for fresh brain?”

“I feel fine, honestly. Not normal, exactly, but what’s normal these days?” She shrugged. “I’m not going to make a habit of this, I’m sure there are side effects, but for now I just feel stronger. More likely to survive.”

Gale nodded. “More likely to survive is good. I certainly won’t judge you for taking a chance on more power–you’re bound to use it for a good cause.”

“Thanks.” She gave him a faint smile. “I’ll keep you updated on any symptoms that arise. For now, though, I’m just hopeful about surviving the Underdark.”

“You’re very tenacious, you know,” said Gale thoughtfully. “Rather like my cat. Tressym, I mean. Her name’s Tara.”

Kestrel blinked, trying to keep up. “Thank you, I think. What’s a tressym?”

“They’re very like cats, but winged, and highly intelligent. A perfect wizard’s familiar. You know, it was Tara who realized enchanted items were the treatment for my condition…” He trailed off, looking embarrassed. “Pardon me. I was trying to pay you a compliment, and now here I am rambling on about my cat. Tressym.”

“I don’t mind.” Kestrel shot him a reassuring smile. “You know me, I like animals.”

“I’m sure Tara would like you too. If we survive all this, you’ll have to come for dinner at my tower in Waterdeep.”

“You know, I just might take you up on that. I’ve always wanted to see Waterdeep,” she said. “You know what, Gale? You’re all right. Not half as snooty as I thought you were at first.”

“Netherese orbs and brain tadpoles have a way of humbling a man,” said Gale ironically. “I’ll take what compliments I can get, though.”

–

“This is what I get for traveling with you people,” griped Astarion. “I get my first chance in two centuries to walk in daylight, and where are we? Only the bloody Underdark.”

“It’s beautiful,” Shadowheart breathed, gesturing expansively at the shadowy, twisted expanse in front of them. “Pure, endless darkness.”

A few annoyed groans sounded from the assembled group. Kestrel couldn’t really blame her friends. She was fond of Shadowheart, and had been working hard at keeping an open mind. Now that the Shar-related secret was out in the open, though, the dark-haired girl just couldn’t shut up about it.

“It’s nicer than Avernus, I’ll give you that,” said Karlach. “Not a high bar to cross, eh, Wyll?”

“I was only in Avernus for a short while, but I’m still inclined to agree with you,” Wyll replied, giving her a wink. “I’ll take mushrooms and shadows over blood lakes and devils any day. Though there still won’t be any shortage of dangerous creatures down here, from what I’ve heard.”

“So many things that live in the Underdark start with D,” said Kestrel. “Duergar, drow, drider…do you know what this implies about ducks?”

“I’m fond of ducks,” Halsin said thoughtfully. “Though I’ve never seen any of them in the Underdark. I suppose, with time, they could adapt to the environment, but I wonder…”

“Now you’ve set him off,” muttered Karlach, though she said it fondly. “If I wanted a lecture on the natural sciences I’d have paid more attention in school.”

“You said the land around Moonrise Towers is under a curse of darkness,” said Gale, after a few moments. His voice sounded rather shaky. “A bit like this, then?”

“Worse,” said Halsin grimly. “The Underdark is natural in its way, despite all the dangers it holds. The curse that blights Moonrise Towers isn’t just the absence of the sun and moon; it is the absence of all light, including that of the spirit.”

“Absence,” Shadowheart repeated softly, and murmured something that sounded like a prayer. Halsin looked momentarily pained.

“The entire region, you say? And this curse has lasted a hundred years?” Gale asked. Kestrel could almost see the wheels spinning in his mind. “That’s unusual, to say the least. What caused it, do you know?”

“That is a long story, and for another time. But it involved a man named Ketheric Thorm.” He cast Shadowheart a significant look, which she ignored. “And a deal with darkness.”

Shadowheart, to her credit, did not make any snide remarks about this. She must have sensed–as Kestrel did–that there was pain here that couldn’t be mocked.

–

Kestrel stood at the bottom of the path, two bowls of vinegar-smelling stew in her hands, and steeled herself. There was no reason that simply dropping off dinner should make her legs wobble and her heart pound, except that it was for him.

Halsin sat just outside his tent, squinting at a book in his lap, the lamplight glinting off his silky hair. It really was unfair that he was both the best-looking and sweetest man she had ever met. How was she supposed to behave sensibly around him? Really, it was a wonder that the others didn’t turn into piles of mush when he was around–not that she had noticed, at least.

Feeling slightly guilty for interrupting him, she cleared her throat.

“I brought you some dinner, if you’re hungry,” she said. “It’s made with dried fish, which I could make a bear-related joke about, but I’m not going to. Low-hanging fruit.”

Halsin looked up in surprise, but he didn’t seem annoyed. “That is very kind of you,” he said, taking the proffered bowl. “And it smells…well, edible. Gale’s doing?”

“He’s a good cook, actually. Though I have to sneak vegetables into things when he’s not looking. Forget magical artifacts, he needs carrots to tamp down that orb.”

He laughed. “Nature does provide the best medicine, I’ve found. And thank you for the meal.”

Kestrel turned to go, paused, and turned back. “Do you mind if I sit with you?” she blurted out. “Lae’zel and Shadowheart are having an argument about whether Vlaakith or Shar would win in a fight, and I’m not in the mood for a theological discussion.”

“Of course not, I would welcome the company.” He gave her a wry smile as she sat. “I assume a discussion of whether Silvanus or Selûne would win in a fight is right out, then.”

“I don’t think they would get into a fight in the first place, do you? I’ve never heard of the moon and trees disagreeing on anything.”

“A fair point.” Halsin sighed. “It is probably for the best that I'm not eating with the others. Much as I like Shadowheart, there is a part of me that feels…uneasy, about having a follower of Shar in our midst.”

“Trust me, I know how you feel. Not to make excuses for her, but based on what I’ve been able to glean, I think she lost her family when she was very young. The Sharrans must have pretty much raised her. No wonder she struggles to see the bad in them.”

“You are…remarkably open-minded.”

“Well, I’ve always sort of had to be,” said Kestrel. “People don’t go on pilgrimages to Hargrave when their lives are going brilliantly. We got people passing through who’d lost their entire families, who were dying of venereal diseases, who were retired assassins or gang bosses–you wouldn’t believe some of the confessions Mama Bettina heard when she was handing out blessings. After a while you stop being shocked, give them what they need, and send them on their way.” 

She chewed her lip thoughtfully. “But you know, hearing all those wild stories…I think that’s why I became a writer. I longed to see the world like our visitors did, but I was too afraid to leave, so I just wrote about the adventures I’d have if I could. And now here I am, having some of them.”

“Not exactly the sort of adventure you had in mind, I suspect.”

“Maybe not. It’s not so bad, though. I mean, I am finally having lots of interesting experiences. I do miss my family, though,” she admitted. “I’ve never been apart from them this long.”

“Tell me about them,” Halsin said. There was a longing, almost hunger in his voice at the question–Kestrel wondered how long it had been since he’d had any family around. Apikusis had confirmed he wasn’t married, and he had never mentioned any parents off living in a tree somewhere.

“They’re nice people,” she began. “Maybe enough that people would find us boring. Mama Vickrey used to be a mercenary, but these days she teaches at the village school when there are children to teach, and raises chickens. Mama Bettina is our cleric of Selûne, and a brilliant healer; I can only dream of being as talented as her.”

“And you mentioned siblings as well, didn’t you?”

“Yes, two. Noretta and Velma. They’re twins, twelve years old, and very intelligent–and exactly as terrifying as that description implies.” Kestrel laughed. “When I told them I was off exploring, they immediately started listing all the ways I might die. Odd that they didn’t predict the tadpole.”

“Strange, isn’t it, how siblings often show their affection through insults. I’m sure your sisters miss you a great deal.”

“Oh, they’re probably glad to be rid of me.” Part of her hoped that was indeed the case. If she was going to die, she couldn’t bear the thought of her sisters mourning. “Do you have siblings? You haven’t talked much about your family.”

He winced slightly, and Kestrel immediately regretted the question. “I…had an elder brother, Kierin,” he said. “He passed away, unfortunately, some two centuries ago.”

“I’m so sorry. Were you close?”

“We were, despite our differences. He was always keen on engineering, inventing, that sort of thing, while I preferred the company of plants and beasts. But we were very dear friends, all the same.”

“What…became of him, if you don’t mind me asking? You don’t need to tell me, if you’d rather not.”

“No, I don’t mind.” He took a deep breath. “As I said, Kierin died nearly two hundred years ago. This wasn’t long after our parents had passed–a story for another time–and perhaps to recover from his grief, he set off on an expedition to the Underdark.”

“Oh.” The air around them suddenly seemed very cold. “It didn’t go well, I take it.”

“You’re quite correct, unfortunately. The gnomes he was traveling with were good people, and I thought the trip would be for the best, but months passed and I still heard no word from any of them. So I went to the Underdark myself, to see if I could find any sign of Kierin.” He paused, as if deciding how much else to reveal. “He had met with a tragic accident, it turned out, and there was nothing I could have done. It was something of a relief to get closure, but painful nonetheless.”

“I’m sorry,” Kestrel said again. It wasn’t enough, not by a long shot, but what else was there to say? “That must have been very hard.”

“It certainly was not easy,” said Halsin dryly. “Though I’ve been fortunate enough to find community in other ways, even with my family gone. The Grove, of course, and now…well, you.”

“Oh!” Kestrel blinked in delighted surprise. “That’s…that’s very sweet of you. We’re so glad to have you here, I hope you know.”

Kiss me! her mind screamed. Kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me…

He gave her shoulder a gentle, friendly pat and stood, stretching. “Thank you for keeping me company,” he said. “I enjoyed our conversation. Unfortunately, I am sorely in need of rest after today’s work, and I’m sure you must be as well.”

“Right. Yes.” Kestrel stood, very reluctantly, and picked up both their bowls. “Good night, and thank you. I hope I didn’t bother you.”

“You, bother me?” Halsin gave her a wide, genuine smile. “Impossible.”

Was that progress? Kestrel wondered, as she wandered back to her tent in an infatuated daze. It felt like progress.

–

There were rough hands wrapped around her waist, and warm lips drifting over her throat. She whimpered with pleasure and dug her fingernails into his broad back, enjoying the hiss he gave. 

“My dearest love,” his voice rumbled in her ear, “you smell like sunshine and desire…”

The image faded along with sleep, and Kestrel found herself alone in her tent, blankets tangled around her legs. With a regretful sigh, she wiped the perspiration off her forehead and tried to compose herself. The poor man had spent the previous evening telling her his tragic history, and all she could think about was how much she wanted him to fuck her.

It was hard to keep from blushing like a tomato when she joined the group for breakfast (did it count as breakfast, if day and night no longer existed?), and encountered Halsin himself, who looked grim but well-rested. She hoped he wouldn’t somehow be able to tell what she’d dreamed about him the previous night. It didn’t seem that he could, because after giving her a polite nod, he sat down and picked up a slice of bread.

The meal continued in slightly awkward silence. Kestrel got the feeling that the others still felt somewhat intimidated about having a non-tadpoled Archdruid in their midst, rather like a group of students traveling with a respected teacher. It really was a bit of a shame–from what she’d learned last night, it sounded like Halsin could really use some friends.

Perhaps he was thinking the same thing, because after a few minutes, he cleared his throat. “This may be a sensitive question,” he said, “but what exactly is Withers?”

“We don’t know!” Kestrel exclaimed. “And he won’t tell us, either! We accidentally woke him up in a ruined temple, he started talking about philosophy, and now he’s just here.”

“I don’t have a clue what he is, but I can guess why he sticks around,” Karlach put in. “We’re his entertainment, like a play. When you’re a thousand-year-old skeleton lad, our nonsense must be better than a puppet show.”

“What do you think, Oh Wise Bag of Bones?” Astarion called in Withers’ direction. “Are we your hilarious puppet show, then?”

A very dry sigh was the only response.

“See what we mean? Inscrutable,” said Kestrel. “Maybe he’s the god of being inscrutable.

“You’ve said the word inscrutable so many times,” said Wyll, “that it’s lost all meaning.”

“So, speaking of words that don’t make sense anymore. What do we think the Nightsong is, anyway?” asked Karlach. “These artifact names, they’re always all poetic. Not proper descriptions.”

“Could be anything, I suppose,” said Kestrel. “Why don’t we make a contest of it? Everyone guess, and then whoever gets the closest wins a prize. Whatever enchanted knick-knack we pick up next.”

“You seem to play a lot of games in this camp,” Halsin remarked quietly to Gale. 

“Yes, well.” The wizard shrugged. “One’s got to stave off the madness somehow.”

Here are all of our guesses for what the Nightsong might be:

Me: Some sort of violin you can only play when it’s dark out.

Shadowheart: A great weapon hallowed by Lady Shar (Lae’zel was making gagging noises the entire time S.H. was saying this)

Gale: A powerful crystal. “It’s always some sort of crystal,” in his words.

Karlach: An axe. That seems to be her guess for everything.

Wyll: A demon, or possibly devil.

Astarion: “Something sexy.” I asked him to clarify and he said “we’ll know when we get there.” I don’t think that counts.

Lae’zel: A living sword, which is actually a pretty creative answer.

Halsin: A bird. When asked what kind, he said “probably quite a good one.”

Chapter Text

The mushroom king asked me in song format to kill a group of slavers and bring him someone’s head was not a sentence Kestrel had ever been expecting to write in her journal, yet here she was. Now the group sat gathered in a small clearing near the myconid settlement, having given up on finding wood dry enough to light a fire, and planned.

““Cleansing the Rot’ must sound pretty good to you, Lae’zel,” said Shadowheart archly. “That’s practically a hobby for githyanki, isn’t it?”

Lae’zel’s only reply was an irritated huff. Ever since the unexpected visit from Voss, she had been unusually quiet and withdrawn. Kestrel hadn’t thought she would ever miss the old, prickly Lae’zel, but it was obvious the poor woman was struggling. Even Shadowheart’s continued needling barely got a reaction from her.

“I know that mushroom’s demands seem harsh, but you shouldn’t feel guilty,” said Wyll, giving Kestrel a reassuring smile. “It’s not only honorable but necessary to do battle with slavers. You saw what they did to that poor gnome woman.”

“I’m not feeling guilty,” said Kestrel, and was surprised by how much she meant it. Maybe it was the tadpole’s influence, or she was just growing tougher. “More worried about our survival. There are, what, seven of us? Against how many Duergar?”

Shadowheart glanced pointedly at Lae’zel, who sighed.

“I could kill seven Duergar with a flick of my wrist,” she said dully, and returned to staring at her feet.

“Well,” said Wyll, with stubborn cheer. “That’s good, then.”

It didn’t seem that anyone really wanted to linger on the subject of slavers and True Souls, for the conversation soon turned to other matters. The shadowy landscape made the perfect backdrop for macabre stories, and Kestrel found herself coaxed into telling one of her own.

“Don’t touch the walls, Anya’s mother had said, but she couldn’t resist the urge. She reached out and slid one finger carefully down the paneled wood in front of her, and shivered in disgust. It didn’t feel like wood. It was slimy, like a frog’s skin…or the inside of a mouth.” Kestrel paused for effect. “It was then that Anya realized that this grand old house was not actually a house at all.”

Karlach smacked a fist on the ground in excitement. “It was a fucking mimic!”

“It was a fucking mimic!” Kestrel confirmed. “As soon as she realized it, Anya snatched up the bottle of elixir and fled quicker than a rabbit. She leapt out of the mimic-house’s front door just in time to escape the giant tongue that shot out after her.”

The story finished up happily, with Anya returning home and using the strange elixir to cure her father’s illness. Gratifyingly, there was a smattering of applause from Kestrel’s friends at the end.

“Quite a story,” said Karlach. “Did you make that up? Just out of your head?”

Kestrel felt her cheeks heat up. “Well, yes. I mean, parts of it were inspired by older stories, but all the rest was mine. I’m both blessed and cursed–blursed, if you will–with a vivid imagination.” At the odd looks from her friends, she explained: “Part of the blurse is making up words.”

“Damn.” Karlach shook her head. “That’s a pretty good talent. So is that what you’re always scribbling in that notebook of yours? Stories?”

“Stories, memories, that sort of thing. Who knows, our adventures might make for a pretty good book one day.”

“Oh, fun,” said Astarion. It was difficult to tell if he was being sarcastic. “If you do write a book about our adventures, I assume you’ll share the profits with all of us? I want to buy a brothel that I can run as a joke.”

“Just for that, you’re not getting a single copper,” Kestrel replied. “All profits will be going straight to Pomfrey and Scratch.”

–

One by one, the others drifted back to their tents, leaving Kestrel and Gale alone in the darkness once again.

“I sensed a bit of hidden meaning in your story,” he said, after a few minutes of silence. “It would be nice, wouldn’t it, if we could snatch up some magic elixir in a mimic-house?”

“It would be a dream come true,” Kestrel agreed. “I’m not feeling very optimistic about a cure at the moment, to be honest. Everyone insists the answers will be at Moonrise, but what if they’re not? What if it’s just another dead end?” To her horror, she felt tears beginning to well up in her eyes. “I don’t want to be here, not like this. Every morning I wake up hoping this has all been a dream, and then I feel that horrible, disgusting thing wriggling in my head, and I remember that I’m dying. I don’t want to die, Gale. I don’t want to be a mind flayer.”

“No,” Gale said quietly. “Nor do I.” Tentatively, he reached over and put an arm around her, one hand barely touching her shoulder. He only tightened his grip after she leaned against him, glad of the warmth.

“Have you written to your family at all?” he said. “Told them about our situation?”

“Have you?”

He laughed bitterly. “I believe I’ve already given my poor mother enough to worry about. Though in the grand scheme of things, growing a few tentacles may be my least offensive option.”

“Does your mother also know about the whole exploding-orb thing?” Kestrel asked. “That seems like a hard thing to hide from family.”

“She has a…rough idea, I believe. I told her I had been stricken with an arcane illness, though I avoided giving her most of the details. It’s quite possible Tara told her the rest.” He smiled thinly. “Mother has been surprisingly supportive, if mainly through deliveries of food.”

“It would be nice to have her here. Some good Waterdeep home cooking might not cure us, but I’d still appreciate it.”

Gale looked at her for a second, as though trying to decide something. Soon he stood, and reached down to her.

“Come with me. I’d like to show you something.”

Kestrel hesitated, before taking his outstretched hand. “It’s not something bad, is it?”

“Not at all. I think it might cheer you up.”

“Well,” she said. “I could certainly use some of that.”

The place he led her to was a ridge overlooking the nearby stream, its indigo waters reflecting faint hints of blue from the glowing mushrooms. Kestrel supposed it was as picturesque a spot as one was likely to get down here.

“Are we having a picnic?” she asked.

“Not quite. There’s a distinct lack of good bread and cheese in the Underdark. No, I thought you might enjoy a small academic exercise. As your magic comes from your goddess, I assume you’ve never channeled the Weave?”

“Not the way you do, I expect,” said Kestrel tentatively. “I thought it was something only wizards could do.”

Gale spread his arms grandly. “Well, here’s a wizard–and a damn good one at that–to humbly serve as your guide and conduit. Would you like to try?”

He looked so excited that Kestrel couldn’t bear to say no. Gale, she thought, would make an excellent schoolteacher, rather like Mama Vickrey.

“All right, then, Professor,” she said. “Let’s give it a try. What do I need to do?”

“Wonderful! It’s simple enough–simple, but not easy, mind you. Repeat after me, and don’t worry if it takes more than one try.” He made a complex gesture with his hands, so passionately Kestrel was worried he’d fall into the stream, and solemnly recited a spell. Spurred on by some competitive urge, Kestrel copied him exactly.

At first, nothing happened at all. Then…

“Oh!” Kestrel exclaimed. The air around her seemed to have shifted. She was no longer standing with Gale on a ridge in the Underdark, but wrapped in a cloud of purple light, almost floating outside her own body. Gale looked down at her with surprise and delight.

“Do you feel it?” he said softly. “This is the Weave. Inside us and all around us. You draw your power from Selûne’s grace, but for me…this is my temple.”

She could feel it, Kestrel realized. It felt–sparkly, and warm, and soothing. Different from how it felt when she channeled Selûne’s magic, but no less powerful. And when she looked into Gale’s eyes, there was a sudden and fierce connection, whether through magic or simple emotion.

When he leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against hers, it seemed like a perfectly natural conclusion to the lesson.

There was a moment, however brief, of pure bliss. It had been such a long time since she had felt desired by someone, and Gale’s arms and mouth were warm and inviting. If she didn’t open her eyes, she could imagine he was…

No.

She pulled away sharply, stumbling backwards. “I’m sorry, I just…I can’t do this.”

Gale looked horrified. “Gods, I’m so sorry. I was caught up in the moment, thought I felt a certain frisson between the two of us. I would never dream of taking advantage…”

“No, it’s not your fault. You’re lovely, and it was a very nice kiss, but if I let this go any further I would be leading you on.”

Gale sighed. “This is about Halsin, isn’t it.”

Heat flooded Kestrel’s cheeks, and she managed a tiny nod. She was well aware of how ridiculous the situation was–turning down a very sweet, attractive man due to uncontrollable desire for someone she’d just met–but there it was.

“Well, I suppose I can’t blame you,” he said, giving her a strained smile. “Seems a good chap all round. Very…solid. For his sake, I hope he returns your feelings. People like you don’t show up every day.”

Kestrel chuckled awkwardly. “And thank goodness for that, right?”

“Not in the slightest. You’re a unique soul, Kestrel MacDuff, and whatever else happens between us, I am genuinely grateful we’re friends.” He ran a hand through his hair awkwardly. “And now, if you’ll pardon me, I believe I need to go have a cup of tea and overthink the myriad ways in which I just embarrassed myself.”

He retreated hastily, and until he had vanished from her sight, Kestrel wondered if she had just made a terrible mistake.

–

First Astarion, now Gale: two people with whom Kestrel could no longer make eye contact. At least with Astarion she’d felt no regret over rejecting him–it was quite obvious nothing about his proposition had been genuine. But Gale? Gale was sweet, and sincere, and constantly under threat of explosion. She didn’t want to disappoint him.

But she had.

She deliberately overslept that morning, and when she emerged from her tent, most of the group had already breakfasted and dispersed. There was no sign of Gale, but she did spot Halsin, who sat with his back to her. He was reading something quite intensely, and Kestrel’s heart sank as she recognized the book. Or, rather, notebook.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Kestrel carefully shuffled forward and peeked over his shoulder. A few words stood out to her, and she gulped audibly. She’d been idly drafting a new story, starring a shy aristocratic lady and her kind, handsome gardener (who was, naturally, a knight in disguise). It had potential, she thought, but maybe she’d projected a few too many of her own dreams and desires onto the protagonists. And it was that story that Halsin had so casually turned to.

“Is that my notebook?” she asked shrilly.

He looked up, startled. “Is it?” A quick glance at the purple-dyed leather, and he looked abashed. “Yes, it seems that it is. Forgive me, I truly didn’t realize. I started reading and assumed it was one of Wyll’s novels.”

“I hope that’s a compliment.”

“Oh, certainly. As you thoroughly proved last night, you’re a talented storyteller.” He nodded at the passage he’d been reading. “I quite like the heroine. She has a good heart, and sharp wits. Rather like you.”

Kestrel blushed so violently she could feel her toes turning red. “I suppose every author puts a bit of herself into her work.”

“Just as it should be. This suitor, the gardener, he seems a nice fellow as well. A bit unsure of himself, perhaps.”

“It’s not finished yet,” Kestrel choked out. “Not even close. I mean, it’s probably quite terrible at the moment, it’s just been a diversion to keep my mind off things…”

“I understand completely. And once again, I apologize–I won’t invade your privacy again. My only excuse is that it was an engrossing story, even at this stage.” He passed the notebook back to her, the brush of his fingers against hers sending sparks through her veins. “I look forward to reading more, when it’s finished.”

He turned and headed back to his own tent, soon disappearing into the shadows. Kestrel remained in place, trying to catch her breath and not panic. What exactly had just happened, and should she perhaps go ask Sovereign Spaw to just turn her into a mushroom?

“That was embarrassing for you,” observed Lae’zel dryly. She was sitting by the remains of the fire with Pomfrey leaning against her leg, her fingers absently threading through his feathers.

Kestrel sighed deeply. “Yes, thank you, I noticed.”

“I can’t understand why the two of you do not simply copulate and have done with it. My people take our pleasure as we like, without all this pining and whining.”

“Well, I’m sorry we can’t all be as practical as your people!” Kestrel retorted. “I can’t just seduce someone, not when I’ve never…” She trailed off. “Never mind.”

An unpleasant smile spread across Lae’zel’s face. “You’re joking,” she said. “You plan to be a great writer of romances, and yet you’ve never bedded anyone?”

“It’s not my fault!” Kestrel cried. “There were barely any men in our settlement, and most of them were old, or married, or both. We got pilgrims and traders passing through, but I never wanted any of them.”

There had been one exception, almost, when she was eighteen. A boy traveling with his sick mother, with floppy black hair and freckles. He’d kissed her one night, and she’d enjoyed it, but when his hands had strayed toward her breasts she’d panicked and pushed him away. Sometimes she still wondered what might have happened if she’d been braver.

“Surely you had women in your settlement as well.”

“Well, yes, but most of them were married too. And I’ve never really felt much romantic interest in women.”

“Chk!” Lae’zel shook her head disapprovingly. “You’re more of a time bomb than the wizard. I would offer to bed you myself, just to keep you from exploding, but I seem to be the wrong gender. Besides, I dislike the taste of sentimentality.”

“What a relief that you’re back to your usual rude self. I was worried our little chat with Voss had broken your spirit forever.”

Lae’zel’s face fell, and she unconsciously shifted closer to Pomfrey. “I was disturbed by the kith’rak’s words, certainly,” she admitted. “The idea that my queen, who I have worshipped and served my entire life, could be so false–even considering it seemed a sin.” Pomfrey gave her an encouraging hoot, and she patted him firmly. “But if Voss’ warning proves correct, then I have committed no sin against Vlaakith. She has sinned against me.”

Kestrel looked at her with a surprised smile, all annoyance fading. “You know what, Lae’zel? I think you’re a much more complicated character than we’ve been giving you credit for.”

The githyanki sniffed. “Of course I am. In Creche K’liir I was considered to be the most interesting youth of my generation. And I never spent months mulling over my desires rather than acting on them.”

Maybe I should’ve slept with Gale, Kestrel thought irritably. Then I might be the most interesting youth of my generation.

–

The hobgoblin Blurg and his colleague (friend? husband?) Omeluum had gathered a remarkable array of alchemical ingredients in their travels. With the battle against the Duergar slavers approaching, Kestrel gladly took the opportunity to stock up. There was no doubt they’d need plenty of healing potions, and brewing them would give her a chance to avoid her friends for a few hours. Maybe they were avoiding her as well–she hadn’t seen Halsin all day, which was probably for the best. If anything else happened to embarrass her, she would probably undergo ceremorphosis just to stop having emotions.

Outside the entrance to her tent, upon her return, lay a folded piece of parchment and a small bundle of fabric. Slipping inside, she opened the note and read:

Kestrel,

I can’t help but still feel embarrassed at my behavior this morning; I assure you, it was never my intent to snoop. Hopefully this small gift will serve as a proper apology.

Kestrel unwrapped the fabric and gave a small gasp of delight. The “small gift” was a carved wooden duck about the length of her palm, its tiny feathers shaped with remarkable detail. That must have been why she hadn’t seen him around this afternoon–he’d been working on this. For her.

Realization hit her like a headbutt from a rothé. It was quite glaringly obvious what she felt for him wasn’t simple infatuation–was, in fact, deep and undeniable love.

So that was good to know.

–

Hours had passed, and sleep still eluded her. Kestrel found herself tossing and turning in her bedroll, covers thrown aside. She was sticky with perspiration and arousal and love, fierce as a blade through the heart. If she wasn’t such a damned coward she would run to Halsin’s tent, fall to her knees, and beg him to fuck her senseless. As it was, she would have to rely on her own fingers.

Kestrel slid the hem of her sleeping tunic up her thighs and slipped one hand into her underthings. She was embarrassingly damp already, and only grew more so as she gently stroked herself, making careful circles around her sex.

No. It wasn’t enough. With a growl of frustration she rolled over and reached for her pack, rummaging around until she pulled out a smooth, slender, unused candle. 

Not as thick as she imagined he would be, nor as warm, but it would have to do. She flopped back on her bedroll and, biting her lip to keep from crying out, slid the candle’s tip into her wet, aching channel. There was a twinge of discomfort at the intrusion, but she was so delirious with desire that any pain soon faded. Her hand moved slowly back and forth, sliding the candle deeper inside her, filling her not quite enough. Enough, though, that an involuntary moan escaped her mouth.

What would Halsin do, if he caught her like this? Probably be horrified, but this was her fantasy, after all. He would realize how much she wanted him and take pity on her, pulling out the candle and replacing it with his own hard flesh, ready and eager for her. And oh, gods, she would let him do anything, no matter how rough or wild, as long as she could feel him inside her. He would fill her up so beautifully.

These thoughts, combined with the gentle motion of the candle and the pressure of her own fingers, were enough to send her over the edge. She climaxed with a series of shuddering gasps that she desperately hoped no one had heard. 

When sanity finally returned, she carefully withdrew the candle and wiped it off as best she could, tucking it back into her pack. It had offered a bit of relief, true, but now there were three people in camp who she could never make eye contact with again.

Chapter Text

Garden, clouds, skull.

The dreamscape was as beautiful as ever, but it seemed different from her first visit. The colors were less bright, the air colder. All that remained the same was the skull-shaped island in the distance, craggy and brutal.

Maybe, Kestrel thought, it was the only part of this place that was real.

“I see you’ve been taking my advice,” remarked a calm voice. Kestrel looked to her left and saw the Guardian, clad in a short violet robe. He was leaning against one of the garden’s pillars in a manner that was less casual, more exhausted.

“About the tadpoles?” said Kestrel. “I don’t plan to make a habit of it, if that’s what you’re getting at. Having one of these things in my head is bad enough.”

“You’ll have to trust your own judgement on that,” he replied. “But I’m glad you were open to the idea. It will certainly help you survive what lies ahead.”

“I know what you think of me,” she said abruptly. “What everyone thinks of me, even if they’re too polite to say it. I’m the weak one, and if I wasn’t protected by you and surrounded by more powerful friends, I would have died a long time ago.”

“That is not what I would say.” He gave her a half-smile. “You’re intelligent and diplomatic, and those are useful skills. I will, however, still encourage you to take every advantage you have. We’ll need it.”

He froze, suddenly, and a fierce shudder seemed to overtake his body. With a deep sigh, he half-collapsed into a seat beside Kestrel.

“You don’t quite seem yourself,” she observed. “What’s wrong?”

“You and your friends are not the only ones fighting a difficult battle,” he replied wearily. “The power behind the Absolute is sending endless waves of telepathic energy, demanding that you transform. I will not allow that to happen, no matter what it does to me.”

“It seems like you’re sacrificing a lot to keep a bunch of strangers safe.”

“Ah, but we all need allies, do we not? And I flatter myself that I have remarkably good taste.”

Impulsively, Kestrel reached over and embraced him. She wondered if her arms would just slide through him, like a ghost, but he felt real enough. Cold, but real.

“I don’t know who or what you are,” she said, “and I have no idea what your intentions are for all of us, but I’m grateful to you anyway. Thanks for protecting us.” A thought occurred to her, and she pulled back slightly. “Are the others having this same dream right now?”

The Guardian shot her a sly smile. “No, in fact. They’re not.”

He could very well have been lying. For some reason, Kestrel believed him anyway.

–

The creaky lift that rose from the depths of Grymforge discharged the Tadpole Irregulars just inside a drafty cavern on the surface. At first, Kestrel thought they had arrived in the small hours of the morning, sometime between the moon setting and the sunrise. As they drew closer to the cavern’s mouth, though, the truth became apparent. There was neither moon nor sun here.

They had found the curse, and Halsin had not exaggerated.

The air was cold, but not the honest cold of a northern winter. It was a damp, exhausting cold, the kind that could soak through layers of clothing and chill one’s very bones. The darkness, too, was different from a cloudy night in Hargrave or the subterranean gloom of the Underdark. This darkness was alive, hungry, hateful.  

Every step forward felt like slogging through thick mud. A quick glance around at Kestrel’s companions showed they were suffering just as much–except one. Shadowheart remained fully upright, her eyes bright.

“It doesn’t affect me,” she said wonderingly. “I feel normal. Well, almost normal.”

That’s not saying very much, thought Kestrel. Aloud she said: “Why’s that, do you think?”

“Lady Shar loves me.” Shadowheart seemed to almost glow with certainty. “This is a reward for my loyalty, it has to be. I’m the only one who can appreciate the perfect darkness she’s spread across this land.”

Lae’zel rolled her eyes. “I doubt you truly believe more than half of what you say, Shadowheart. What exactly is admirable in this destruction?”

“Ex cuse me?” Shadowheart rounded on her furiously. “You’re criticizing my goddess for being destructive? I thought you were trained since birth to slaughter entire cities in Vlaakith’s name.”

“First, cleric, I no longer follow the Lich Queen blindly. Second, even under her reign, our warfare had purpose. Discipline. What purpose is there in making some insignificant village completely unusable?”

“Ohh, you are such a hypocrite.” Shadowheart gave her a mocking smile. “You know what I think, Lae’zel? You’re jealous. My goddess loves me, and yours just wants to use your soul as fuel, and you can’t stand it.”

“Will you two shut up?”

The entire group froze and turned to look at Halsin, who had barked out the words like a thunderclap. He cleared his throat and looked guiltily down at his feet. “I apologize,” he said, far more quietly. “It seems that returning here is affecting me more than I expected.”

In the surprised silence that followed, Kestrel looked down at her feet, trying to hide the blush she could feel staining her cheeks. She’d almost never seen Halsin angry before, and while the sight was intimidating, it was also oddly arousing. 

Not that aroused was an uncommon emotion for her these days. Working on the story in her notebook was enough to make her tense and flushed, and actually talking to Halsin was pure torture. She’d had to resort to her own fingers (though not, thankfully, the candle) at least once per night to stay sane.

Were these normal symptoms of being in love? The novels she’d read seemed to think so, but Kestrel wasn’t sure what people in the real world went through. Maybe she was just particularly debauched.

The group made camp that night under what might have previously been a willow tree. Its thin, stringy branches were bare, and wobbled in the faint breeze like a corpse’s fingers.

In this charming scenery, Kestrel went in search of Halsin.

He’d been eating with the rest of them every night lately, but tonight he had retreated near his own tent, sitting on a half-rotten log and gazing up at the empty sky. A pang of sympathy lanced her heart at the sight. It was her fault he was back in this place, when he could have been in the peaceful Grove where sunlight still existed.

“Are you all right?” Kestrel asked softly.

Halsin looked up in surprise. “Oh, Kestrel. Yes, yes, I’m quite all right. A bit shaken, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry about those two,” she said. “I don’t think they’ll be happy until they’ve needled each other to death, and brought the rest of us along with them. Do you want me to give them a talking-to?”

Halsin shook his head. “You’re kind, but Lae’zel and Shadowheart’s arguing is not what worries me. In all honesty, I’m disappointed in myself–I lost my temper, something I put great effort into avoiding. It isn’t seemly for an Archdruid to shout at people, especially with my…” He trailed off, looking embarrassed.

“Your…oh, because you’re tall, is that it? And you don’t want people to be intimidated?” Kestrel nodded. “Mama Vickrey gets that all the time. She’s nice as can be, but some of our neighbors were terrified of her, just because she could probably toss them in the river.”

“That’s precisely it.” Halsin visibly relaxed. “When I was younger and started growing like a weed, Mother always said I should try to remain self-controlled, or I might unintentionally harm someone. I do try, but I am still cursed with the same emotions as everyone else.”

“For what it’s worth, which may not be much, I think you’ve got as much right to be angry as anyone else,” said Kestrel. “Especially here, of all places. And if anyone is horrified that you got a little sharp with them, they can damn well remember that you’re usually the sweetest, most polite person in camp.”

He looked, in a word, surprised. “You’re very kind. Still, I don’t intend to lose my temper again. The last thing I want to do is cause tension.”

“Don’t worry about that,” she replied. “You can’t cause any more tension than we’ve already got. It’s you I’m worried about. I can’t imagine the memories that must be coming back to you.”

“Returning here is painful, but I cannot imagine better people with whom to do so,” he said. “I still very much appreciate how welcome you’ve made me feel, despite not sharing your affliction.”

“Well, you’re a useful chap to have around. Most of us can’t carry half of what you can,” Kestrel said without thinking. She’d meant it as a joke, but regretted it instantly when Halsin’s face fell. After the conversation they’d just had, she couldn’t have made a more tactless remark.

“Gods, I’m sorry, that was such a mean joke. I think I’ve been spending too much time with Astarion.” She spread her arms invitingly. “Go on, have your revenge. Make a rude joke about me.”

He smiled and shook his head. “You meant no harm. I’m not upset, I assure you.”

“No, no, I insist. We all poke fun at each other around here, it’s how we show affection. Go on.”

Halsin looked down at her, brow furrowed. “Nothing comes to mind.”

“Really? But I have so many foibles! Yesterday I panicked because I couldn’t find my moonstone bracelet, and I had it on. I thought Gale’s name was spelled G-A-I-L for ages before he finally corrected me. I still don’t know the difference between a witch and a warlock and I’m too embarrassed to ask Wyll. That’s loads of material to work with.”

“Well, if you truly insist…I suppose you are on the small side. What’s the weather like down there?”

Kestrel gave a snort of laughter. “That’s a little weak, but we can work on it.”

–

The legendary Jaheira, High Harper of Baldur’s Gate, looked over the Tadpole Irregulars with fierce suspicion. A ringing endorsement from young Mol had softened her a bit, but she still seemed far from trusting. Probably reasonable, for a spy.

No one spoke as her gaze raked over them. She regarded Astarion with slight surprise, and Lae’zel with undisguised interest, but it wasn’t until she looked up at Halsin that her eyebrows actually rose in surprise.

“You,” she said. “I know who you are.”

Halsin glanced around in confusion, as though there was anyone else she could have been talking to. “You know who I am?”

“I have a personal interest in those of us who survived the last battle against Ketheric,” said Jaheira, with a faint smile. “You think I wouldn’t be able to pick out the Halsin? I may have been on the opposite side of the battlefield, but I still heard the stories. The apprentice druid whose master fell to the shadows, and became Archdruid while guiding his people to safety. Impressive would be an understatement.”

“That is very flattering,” Halsin replied. “More than I deserve, truthfully. Your name is familiar as well, of course. It’s rare I meet someone else who has some understanding of this curse.”

“More than I would like. I should warn you, though, my focus here is not the curse. It’s the cult.” She looked at Kestrel. “And if you are both tadpoled and self-aware, you may be the miracle I’ve been waiting for.”

“So…you’re not going to kill us?” Kestrel asked.

“I am not going to kill you. Not yet, anyway. For now, you are welcome to our hospitality,” she said. “You’ll find space to camp within the shield just to the east. I wish I could offer you rooms, but with the Fists and Harpers both here, we’re short on space as it is. By the end of this quest I imagine half of them will have killed each other and the other half will be in love.” She chuckled quietly. “Branthos will show you where to set up your tents. You, Kestrel–join me for a moment, would you?”

Kestrel shot her companions a worried look, but didn’t try to follow them as the other Harper led them away. Briskly, Jaheira picked up a bottle of wine from the table beside her and splashed it into two goblets.

“To your very good health,” she said coolly.

Unsure why they were drinking, but far too intimidated to say no, Kestrel raised her glass and took a drink. It wasn’t very nice, sour and somewhat bitter, but at least it warmed her a bit.

Jaheira crossed her arms. “So. Tell me the truth.”

“I’m afraid of crabs,” said Kestrel, the words leaving her mouth of their own volition. “Every time I have gas at home I blame it on my sisters. I spend half of every night fantasizing about…”

Jaheira wrinkled her nose and held up a hand. “That’s quite enough, thank you. I wanted you to tell the truth about your tadpole, and whether it is changing you. Don’t bother lying–I’m sure you’ve guessed by now that you’ve drunk Klauthgrass.”

“I should have known that, but I wasn’t paying attention, because I’m afraid of you,” said Kestrel. “And yes, I absorbed power from more tadpoles, because I’m not very good at fighting and I thought it would help. I imagine it has changed me a little, but probably for the better, and I don’t feel more illithid than I usually do.”

Jaheira’s brows drew together.  “How old are you, girl?”

“Twenty-nine,” said Kestrel. With some irony, she added: “I imagine you thought I was older. Because I’m so powerful and authoritative.”

“Ha! I suppose you are,” Jaheira replied. She looked Kestrel up and down appraisingly. “Hm. Twenty-nine, half-elven–we really are the best of both worlds, aren’t we–and a surprising lack of scars. Let me guess: you always felt out of place in whatever village you’re from, so you decided to set out and seek your fortune, and it went straight to hell in five minutes. Am I close?”

Kestrel stared at her, eyes wide. “You didn’t cast some kind of mind-reading spell on me, did you?”

“No, I’ve just been in this line of work for a long time. Harpers learn to read people, or they don’t stay Harpers very long.” She sighed. “Look, kid. I won’t mince words–this is no place for the innocent. If you weren’t infected, I would suggest you turn around and head straight home. As it is, my only advice is to keep your wits sharp and your blade sharper.”

Kestrel looked ruefully down at the blade in her belt, a gift from Mama Vickrey. It was useful enough, lightweight and enchanted to improve hand-eye coordination, but…

“I don’t think this is going to do me much good against an unkillable general and his army of shadows,” she said. 

“Perhaps not,” said Jaheira, with a sympathetic smile. “See the quartermaster, out in the yard. She’ll fix you up with something more effective.” She raised her goblet once again. “To your continued survival.”

–

The source of Last Light’s–well, last light, turned out to be a woman. An incredibly beautiful silver-haired woman, perhaps Shadowheart’s age or a little older, who wove moonlight into an endless half-globe above and around the inn.

“This,” Shadowheart muttered, “is the worst inn I’ve ever been to.”

The woman, who Jaheira had called Isobel, dropped her spell abruptly and turned to look at them. “Oh,” she said, faintly irritated. “I didn’t realize I had an audience.”

“I am so, so sorry,” said Kestrel, with an involuntary bow. “Jaheira sent us up to talk to you about protection from the curse.”

Isobel regarded her through narrowed eyes. Then, to Kestrel’s surprise, she smiled.

“I know a fellow cleric of the Moonmaiden when I see one,” she said. “Welcome, sister. It’s good to have a colleague here.”

Kestrel ducked her head bashfully. “It’s my mother who’s the real cleric. I’m only her apprentice.”

“Apprentice or not, more of Selȗne’s light in this place is never a bad thing.” Isobel folded her arms and regarded Kestrel with interest. “Even up here, I’ve heard Jaheira and the soldiers talking about you. The band of rogue True Souls who are going to save us all, traveling in the company of one of Jaheira’s only surviving peers. It sounds almost too good to be true.”

“I don’t know if we can save you all,” said Kestrel honestly. “We’ll try, though, I can promise you that.”

“That’s all any of us can ask,” Isobel replied. “And for my part, I have two gifts that might help you. The first is this.” She murmured a few words, and the air glowed with silvery light that permeated Kestrel’s skin, dissolving the lingering weariness left by the unnatural shadows.

“Selȗnite magic,” Shadowheart muttered under her breath, looking daggers at Isobel. “Lady Shar forgive me.”

“Well, someone’s got a good nose,” said Isobel, voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Your Dark Lady has laid claim to this entire region for a hundred years, so I’m told. I think it’s only fair that her sister should have a small pocket of light.” Before Shadowheart could reply, she turned back to Kestrel. 

“My second gift,” she said, “is something you’ll need to face the shadows in this place. I had originally brought it with me when I arrived here, but I have other weapons, and I believe you’ll make good use of it.” Strolling to a nearby cupboard, she opened it and pulled out a long, slender spear, glowing faintly with enchantment. “You know how to use one of these, I hope?”

“I…yes, but…” Kestrel felt a bit faint. “This is a holy weapon, it must be. You don’t want to give something like this to me.”

“I do, actually,” Isobel countered. “Although I don’t want to sound pessimistic, I have a feeling you are very much going to need it.”

The spear felt awkward in Kestrel’s hands, far longer and bulkier than what she was used to. Still, there was something about it that felt right. As though it was sympathetic, a teammate rather than a tool.

–

Inside the forge, the tiefling smith Dammon was hammering away at a casing for an infernal engine. Outside, Karlach was pacing back and forth and enthusiastically making plans.

“I’m going to get a hug, that’s first,” she said decisively. “Then I’ll go hop in a pond without making it boil, and then wear some proper clothes, not this infernal leather bollocks that chafes all day.” She turned to Kestrel and Wyll, hands on hips and smiling widely. “I’d look damn good in a silk suit, wouldn’t I? Or even a frock, if I’m in a really posh mood.”

“If we make it to the city, I guarantee we’ll have a grand shopping trip,” Kestrel promised. She grinned at Wyll. “I’m sure Wyll here knows all the finest tailors."

“What? Oh…yes.” Wyll looked slightly flustered, for reasons Kestrel couldn’t quite place. “Though I doubt any of the finest tailors will know me.”

“Karlach?” It was Dammon, poking his head out of the forge with a complex metal shape in one hand. He looked tired and sooty, but hopeful as well.

Karlach leaped to her feet, eyes wide. “You did it?”

“This isn’t one of my usual projects, but I think it turned out decently. We’ll just have to cross our fingers.” He looked down, suddenly awkward. “Er…I’m afraid you’ll have to install it yourself again. I wish I could help, but they don’t make gloves that thick outside Avernus.”

“It’s all right.” Karlach squared her shoulders. “I’ve done it before. Cheers, mate.” Dammon hopped aside as she plucked the metal from his hands and strode into the forge. 

Kestrel tried not to think about what was happening inside, for Karlach’s privacy as much as anything else. Still, it was hard to shut out the sulphuric stench of infernal metal and her friend’s low groans of agony. She could barely imagine the horror of having to perform surgery on your own heart, without the benefit of any numbing ointments. A glance at Wyll showed that he, too, looked wan and miserable.

“She shouldn’t have to do this alone,” he said. “I should be in there, helping her.”

“I wish we could help her too, but she’s got to do this part by herself. All we can do is be here to support her when she’s done.”

Silence fell a few minutes later, and Kestrel held her breath in anticipation. She almost collapsed with relief when the door swung open and a battered-looking, but perfectly alive, Karlach emerged.

“Not much fun, that,” Karlach said hoarsely, with a forced smile. “If I’m going to have to be a surgeon, I wish I could make a surgeon’s wages.”

“How are you feeling?” Kestrel asked. “Less on-fire?”

“Only one way to find out.” Karlach turned to Wyll, holding out one hopeful hand. “What do you say, soldier? Should we finally have a proper, peacemaking handshake?”

A brief look of anxiety passed across Wyll’s face, but he gave a determined smile, and clasped Karlach’s hand firmly. When he didn’t immediately burst into flames, his smile widened into a grin, and he pulled her into a tight, fierce hug.

The tadpole behind Kestrel’s eye wriggled, latching onto a sudden connection, but no actual words arose in her mind. All she felt, radiating from her friends, was warmth, joy, and affection. A bond of genuine friendship, and maybe–if her imagination wasn’t deceiving her–something more.

It’s Steel and Claw! she thought excitedly. The mistaken monster hunter and their sweet ex-prey!  

“Ah, Karlach,” interrupted Dammon apologetically. “There is one more thing I think I should mention.”

Reluctantly, Karlach pulled back from the hug. “What’s that?”

Slowly, and in sorrowful tones, Dammon told her.

Karlach was quiet for some time, after the situation had been explained, with damp eyes. Then she straightened her spine and clapped her hands together loudly. 

“I don’t care,” she said resolutely. “I don’t! We could turn into squiddies any second, so what does it matter if I’ll go up in flames eventually? At least I’ll spend the rest of my life as a person, not some devil automaton that can’t touch anything.”

“You don’t have to go up in flames, Karlach,” Wyll said, almost as a plea. “If you go back to Avernus just temporarily…”

“ No. Wyll, you’ve seen what it’s like down there. You know what I’d be up against. I’d rather die free than get press-ganged back into Zariel’s army.” She slung an arm around his shoulder, and the other around Kestrel. “We’re alive, mates. Thanks to Dammon here, I’m more alive than I’ve been in ten years. We should be celebrating, not thinking about the future!”

She sounded so cheerful that Kestrel almost agreed with her. Almost.

Chapter Text

The quartermaster, a pale and nervous-looking woman named Talli, seemed to have assembled most of her stock from things other people had thrown out. She did have a padded surcoat in Kestrel’s size, cut in the same style as Isobel’s, though rather than peaceful silver, it had been dyed an eye-watering crimson and white. 

Kestrel bought it anyway. The coat of mail she’d bought back at the Grove was too big and heavy for her to move comfortably in, and in this gloomy land, any color she could get felt like a small blessing. 

Despite the gravity of the situation, there was a bit of a thrill in exploring the old inn. It was the kind of grand, ramshackle old place that, in books, was home to endless mysteries and parties and intrigue. While the rest of the group rested and strategized, Kestrel roped Karlach and Wyll into a scouting mission in the inn’s depths (that devolved, more than once, into a game of hide-and-seek). 

Upon returning to the campsite, Kestrel was amused to see Astarion gazing into a tarnished silver mirror, angling it back and forth to reflect the light.

“At the mirror again, eh?” she said. “You never know, maybe one of these days it’ll work.”

Astarion turned and shot her an irritated scowl. “Our fearless leader,” he drawled. “Just what have you been up to all day?”

“Exploring,” Kestrel replied brightly. “You wouldn’t believe how big this place is. Fighting those meenlocks in the cellar was pretty exhausting, though, so we decided to come back for a quick napportunity.”

“You know how I feel about your made-up words.” Astarion gestured to her head. “ And what is that?”

Kestrel patted the soft green velvet of her new hat, and regretted it when the ancient feather stuck in the brim sent a shower of flakes down her hand. “Oh, this old thing? I found it in an old wardrobe in the inn. Quite stylish, isn’t it?”

“It resembles nothing more than a moldy pancake someone dropped on your head. Please burn it before it starts affecting your tadpole.”

“Absolutely not, this is my hat! I think it’s lucky, actually,” she mused. “I haven’t run into a single shadow monster while I’ve had it on.”

“Kestrel.” Astarion growled in frustration. “You haven’t run into any shadow monsters because you have a pixie’s blessing. Your idiotic hat has nothing to do with it.”

Kestrel sniffed. “You can’t prove that. The hat stays.” She turned to Halsin, who was sitting by the fire with that gloomy expression he always seemed to have these days. “Halsin, you like my hat, don’t you? It’s green!”

He looked up and gave her a half-smile. “Always good to see a bit of green in this place,” he said quietly. “Even if it is a hat, rather than anything growing. I would give a great deal to see a living tree in these lands again.”

“You know, you’ve been awfully coy about the last time you were here,” said Astarion. “It’s really too bad of you. Give us the full story, would you? Rather gloomy entertainment, I realize, but you never know what we might learn from it.”

Halsin hesitated, looking conflicted, but finally nodded. “Forgive me for not telling you all the details earlier. I find it painful to remember, but that is no excuse for withholding information that could be useful.” As the others sat, he cleared his throat and began.

“This started, as you know, a little over a century ago. At first, I had no idea what was happening–I was a mere apprentice druid, studying an outbreak of illness in nearby trees. Interesting research, but I’ll spare you the details. Needless to say, I was shocked when the Archdruid at the time, Master Marovin, informed me the trees’ sickness was a symptom of a much larger problem.

“We’d had little enough trouble from Moonrise and Reithwin before, other than the usual minor squabbles about appropriate locations for agriculture, but it seemed there had been a troubling shift in the balance. There had been rumors in the countryside about new laws and new priests, and now, as Marovin explained, General Thorm was on a mission of conquest. If we did not act, his army’s march would be devastating for both the nearby communities and nature itself. I had something of a personal stake in the matter, myself, as the spirit of the lands near Reithwin had been my closest childhood friend, and–”

“Hold on a tick,” Gale interrupted. “What was that last part?”

“Right. Another long story, though I’ll do my best to sum it up,” said Halsin. “The spirit of these lands, for reasons known only to himself, appears to mortal eyes as a young fey boy named Thaniel. When I was growing up not far from here, we became friends–in fact, one could say he’s the reason I became a druid. You can understand why I was so concerned about him.”

“You’re saying,” said Astarion, “that your earliest and closest confidante is some sort of forest spirit trapped in an eternal childhood?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Halsin looked amused. “Do you have any objections?”

“None at all. Exactly what I would have guessed.” He waved a hand. “Carry on.”

“Yes, well, you know most of what happened next. We allied ourselves with a group of local Harpers, Jaheira among them, and made our stand against Ketheric. Fighting was fierce, and many on both sides were lost, but eventually we were successful in killing the General. Or so we thought.” He looked down at his hands, which were clenched tightly. This was undoubtedly the most painful part of the story.

“The Harpers gave him a respectful burial,” he went on, “down in the Thorm family mausoleum. They locked the doors behind them and thought that was the end of it, though of course it was only the beginning. 

“The curse must have started spreading as soon as Ketheric was laid to rest, but it took some time for the Grove’s forces to realize anything was amiss. Master Marovin had ordered a swift retreat, and it wasn’t until we had reached the very edge of Reithwin that we noticed how unnaturally dark the skies had become. Before we could even react, the curse had swallowed us.”

Kestrel gave an involuntary squeak of nerves, despite already knowing how the story ended. Halsin gave her a reassuring smile.

“Luckily, I had the presence of mind to conjure a light,” he said. “Most of my colleagues were accounted for, but I’d lost sight of Master Marovin. When he finally stepped back into view, he was…” A barely-suppressed shiver ran through him. “He had been stricken by the shadows, like that poor Harper we encountered on the road. Parts of him were simply missing, eaten away by darkness. I tried every healing spell I could think of to save him, but it soon became clear nothing could be done.” He sighed. “Killing him was the most difficult thing I have ever had to do. Not to mention an inauspicious beginning to my career as Archdruid.”

He never wanted to run the Emerald Grove, Kestrel thought with a pang of sympathy. No wonder he ran off with us the first chance he got.

“And your friend, the spirit?” asked Lae’zel, her voice far softer than usual. “What became of the child?”

“That is a question I have not yet been able to answer,” Halsin replied heavily. “Though I’m inclined to think it holds the key to undoing Ketheric Thorm’s misdeeds.”

–

If Moonrise Towers held answers, it wasn’t going to yield them easily. 

The place had been beautiful once, Kestrel knew that. There were faint sparkles of Selȗne’s light still remaining, buried under decades of darkness and cultist fervor. Now, though, it was a grim fortress preparing for a war she still didn’t really understand.

And General Thorm…

General Thorm was, in a word, impossible.

Kestrel shook her head, trying to shut out the image branded into her mind: the dignified, elderly general, his head nearly severed by a goblin’s thrown axe, casually pulling the weapon out of his neck like a simple thorn. If she hadn’t seen the way his flesh rapidly knitted itself back together, more thoroughly than any healing spell could manage, she never would have believed it.

They had a lead, Kestrel kept reminding herself. That Z’rell woman, thoroughly falling for Kestrel’s “Passable-imitation Soul” act, had been all too glad to send the group along on some relic hunt. Although Z’rell had been annoyingly vague, she’d spoken with a level of urgency that was telling. If the relic was truly so important, it could be the key to the general’s immortality, and therefore playing along was the best bet.

Not that Kestrel had any illusions about being welcomed back to Moonrise after what she’d done on her way out. It probably wouldn’t be too hard for the guards to figure out who’d slipped the gnomes a vial of smokepowder.

“I’m sure you’re very busy thinking up more ghost stories and made-up words,” commented a voice from behind her, “but I’d love to have a little chat, if you don’t mind terribly.”

Kestrel rolled her eyes and turned to Astarion. “Is this about my hat again? I can’t understand why you’re so fussy about clothes, of all things.”

“No.” Astarion looked at her, mouth twisted nervously, as though he wasn’t sure where to begin.

“Look,” he said abruptly. “This is something I’m only going to say once, so you may want to write it down.” He took a bracing breath. “Thank you. For not making me drink that mad alchemist’s blood.”

She paused. “Is that all?”

He thought for a moment, and nodded. “Yes, I believe that’s it.”

“All right, then, you’re welcome. That woman was a creep, and I wouldn’t have made you bite her even if her blood had been normal.” Kestrel frowned. “You’re not going to try to get me into bed again over this, are you? Because I think we’ve established how pointless that is.”

Astarion sighed dramatically. “I promise, my dear girl, that my days of flirting with you are over. It’s obvious that neither of us are the other’s type. Speaking of which, have you fucked Halsin yet?”

“Astarion!” Kestrel cried. “What kind of question is that?”

“No, I didn’t think you had. I expect we all would have heard it, anyway. Let me know if you ever manage it, I’m curious about how all that would work.”

“You’re a disgusting lecher,” she said, and held out a hand. “Friends?”

He considered this, and took her hand, giving it a brisk shake. “Colleagues.”

“Eh,” said Kestrel. “I’ll take it.”

–

Dinner that night was a quiet and solemn affair, after what the group had been through. Kestrel assumed most of her friends were thinking the same gloomy thoughts she was: that their mission, complicated and difficult already, was bordering on the unthinkable.

After several minutes of quiet chewing, Shadowheart softly cleared her throat. “Look,” she said. “I’ve been working on a theory.”

“That Withers is some minor god of death? I’ve been thinking about that too,” said Kestrel. “I suppose there’s no way to know for sure, though, not unless he suddenly decides to tell us his entire history.”

“Will you stop talking so much about Withers?” Shadowheart said with a scowl. “No, it’s about why the curse doesn’t affect me. I think there’s a reason Lady Shar guided me here. All this Sharran armor, the military records, the secret in the crypt that Z’rell mentioned…There must have been some great temple near here. A proving ground, even. Which means I might be one step closer to becoming a Dark Justiciar.” 

Kestrel looked at her in disbelief. “After all this, that’s still something you want to be?”

“It’s my dream, Kestrel,” Shadowheart said pleadingly. “Like being a writer is yours. I have to at least try, don’t I? If I fail–well, then I fail, and that’s that. But I can’t give up now. You’ll help me, won’t you?”

Kestrel opened her mouth to say no. No, your goddess is evil and you’ve been manipulated since your childhood, and if you become a Justiciar it’ll only make this darkness worse.

But then she looked at her friend, saw the faith and determination shining in her eyes. Shadowheart was still far too deep in the Sharrans’ clutches to listen to reason. They’d trained her that every question was an attack on their faith, and if Kestrel refused to help, she’d just be proving them right. 

I’m sorry, Lady Selûne. I need to play along, just for now.

“”Fine,” she said, and tried not to wince at the sharp inhales of surprise from some of her friends. “I’ll do what I can to help you, though I have my limits.”

Shadowheart seized her hand so tightly it hurt. “Promise me.”

Kestrel swallowed and nodded. “I…I promise. I’ll help you.”

“Good.” Shadowheart released her hand, beaming. “Excellent! We had better get some rest, then. Lots of planning to do.”

Lots, indeed. Kestrel was now faced with two impossible tasks, she realized: killing an immortal general, and manipulating Shadowheart out of darkness.

Hard to say which was worse.

–

When Halsin approached her later that night, he did not resemble his usual calm self. In fact, he looked remarkably upset.

“I expected better of you,” he said, without preamble.

“Um,” said Kestrel. “Good evening?”

Halsin folded his arms sternly. “Good evening. I expected better of you.”

“You’ll really have to be more specific.” The flippant tone took quite a lot of effort, considering her insides were churning with anxiety. “What have I done this time?”

“Don’t feign ignorance. Shadowheart announces her ambition to be a Dark Justiciar, one of the people who served Ketheric Thorm and slaughtered Reithwin–and you promised to help her. You, of all people. Why?”

She hadn’t thought of how the situation might affect him, and realization of the fact sent a sharp, acidic spike of guilt up her throat. “If I refused, she would have gone ahead and chased her dream anyway, and probably died in the process,” she said. “This way I can keep an eye on her, maybe even talk her out of the worst parts.”

“And if she refuses to listen? Kestrel, you are a cleric of Selûne. Sharrans are trained from birth to see you as an enemy. What will you do when Shadowheart turns against you, offers you up as a sacrifice?”

“That’s not going to happen,” said Kestrel, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. “I know she’s been groomed by Shar’s church, but she’s a good person, with a kind soul. If it comes to that, we can talk her back from the edge.”

“You have faith in your friends, which is admirable, but you’ve seen little of the world. You don’t realize just how easily people can fall prey to their worst instincts…”

“Do not patronize me,” Kestrel interrupted coldly. “I’m not a child, and I do not make decisions lightly. Besides, you’re one to talk about having too much faith in people. Rite. Of. Thorns.”

“I am well aware that my trust in Kagha was a mistake. Now I’m trying to stop you from making the same one.”

“You can’t,” she said bluntly. She knew full well she was spoiling her chances with him, that there was no way he’d fall in love with her now, but she refused to back down. “If I’m wrong, then I’m wrong, and I’ll deal with that when it comes. For now…well, it seems you’ll just have to trust me.”

There was a long, agonizing silence. Finally, he nodded.

“I do trust you,” he said resignedly. “Perhaps against my better judgement sometimes. Do what you must when it comes to Shadowheart, but know that I won’t stand idly by if she decides to harm one of us.”

Without another word, he turned and walked briskly back to his tent. Kestrel watched him go, paralyzed with anxiety and regret. When her limbs finally unfroze, she practically collapsed into a seat and pulled her knees up to her chest, trying not to cry.

In the end, she didn’t have the power to save any of them, no matter how hard she tried. She had no control over Shadowheart’s devotion to darkness, Wyll’s horns, or Karlach’s engine. There was no way she could cure Astarion’s vampirism or the bomb in Gale’s chest, let alone the parasites lurking in their heads. 

Unbidden, a memory arose in her mind of helping Mama Bettina at the temple in her fourteenth summer. Their visitor that day had been an elderly woman, a retired Scornubel guard captain, who’d kept glancing at Kestrel with something like suspicion.

“She’s a bit of an odd duck, your girl,” the old woman had said at last, when she thought Kestrel was out of earshot. “Never seems entirely here, so to speak. Think she’ll be up to dressing wounds and setting wards when you and the missus retire?”

Vickrey might have been offended by the question, but Bettina was decidedly not. It wasn’t a feeling she had much time for. “You might be surprised,” she’d said. “Kestrel’s a dreamer, but she’s always had a knack for seeing things as they should be, not just as they are. That’s hardly a setback in our line of work.”

At the time, Kestrel had considered this high praise. Surely it was a good thing for a cleric of Selȗne, not to mention an aspiring writer, to see things the way they should be. Here she was, though, stuck in a land where the only things she could see were twisted and miserable, and it was getting harder and harder to remember why faith was a virtue.

Chapter Text

“Tell me a story.”

Kestrel gulped and scooted back slightly on the rough barstool. “Actually, I’d much rather hear your story. Surely you can…”

“No.” The monstrous bartender, his blue-gray skin straining at the seams, slammed his giant tankard onto the bar, sending foul-smelling liquid sloshing over the side. “You tell a story, a saga, a fable. We imbibe, the finest nectar. Then, then the asking of questions.”

Whoever or whatever this creature was, Kestrel had to admit he was well-spoken. Considering his size and, well, fullness, she also didn’t feel she could really refuse him.

“All right, then,” she said. “I’ve got one. Not so very long ago, I set out from my village to seek my fortune in the city of Baldur’s Gate.”

“Fortune,” the bartender repeated solemnly. “Gerringothe has always sought one.”

Kestrel recalled the molten-gold features of the toll collector, and her army of flying skulls, and suppressed a shudder. “Quite. I was well on my way when the skies unexpectedly grew dark. When I looked up, I saw something more monstrous than I had ever dreamed of: a flying ship, shaped like an enormous shell, propelled by tentacles as long as a river. I turned to flee, but it spotted me and swooped down with astonishing speed. Instead of killing me outright, as I’d expected, one of the tentacles tapped me. One touch, and I was dissolved into a thousand tiny pieces. When I reassembled, I was in the depths of the shell-ship itself, sealed in a pod as we raced through Hell.”

“And then?” the bartender demanded. Behind the hood, his eyes were wide and alert. “What happened next? Tell me what transpired.”

Kestrel shook her head. “My voice is tired,” she said, and feigned a cough. “Let’s have a drink, and you can tell me about yourself. Then I’ll tell you what happened next.” 

The bartender raised his tankard. “Drink, then. Make it drank, be drunk.” He lifted the drink to his mouth and began guzzling it down, rivulets of liquor trickling down his thick neck. Kestrel swallowed hard and took the faintest sip from her own mug.

Gods, it was foul. The stuff burned its way down her throat like lava, to the point where it barely had a taste other than pain. She fought to keep from being sick, and won.

“Such a small sip you take,” the bartender said disapprovingly. “Never mind, you will soon quaff as I do.”

An ogre dying of thirst wouldn’t quaff like you do, Kestrel thought snidely. “Maybe. Now, your story. Who are you? Or were you?”

He closed his eyes. “Once,” he said, “once I was called Thisobald. Thisobald Thorm.”

Kestrel shot a horrified glance at her friends, who looked equally astonished. Was it possible that this creature had once been related to the immortal General? A brother, cousin, son?

“It’s…nice to meet you, Thisobald,” she said carefully. “Maybe you can help us. We’re looking for a young boy named Thaniel. Have you heard of him?”

Thisobald’s enormous head swung back and forth in denial. “No one here of that name. No children, no life, never neither. All swallowed up by the dark.”

Swallowed up by the dark. That was what one of the Flaming Fists had said about the unconscious Art Cullagh. Swallowed up by the dark, he was, and can you imagine being trapped in Lady Shar’s garden for a century?

Thaniel wasn’t just missing, it seemed. He was Somewhere Else.

Kestrel took a deep breath, weighing her next words carefully. “Thisobald, where do people go when the dark swallows them?”

“No more questions,” Thisobald boomed. “More of the story. Speak of the ship, the Hells.”

There was no getting out of this pattern, it seemed. So she would give him a story. It was the one place she excelled, after all.

“We were flying through Avernus when my pod popped open,” she said. “I was making my way along the side of the ship, terrified I would fall to a fiery death below, when a githyanki woman pointed a sword at my heart…”

–

Shadowheart looked down at the viscera on the floor, and back up at Kestrel.

“Was there a point to all that,” she asked, nose wrinkling, “or was it just disgusting for no reason?”

“I’d say we learned a fair bit,” said Kestrel. “He gave us a hint about Thaniel, and basically confirmed our theory about the mausoleum. Not to mention the potion ingredients.”

“And do you really think saving Thaniel will help us defeat Thorm,” Shadowheart said quietly, “or are you just doing this for Halsin?”

This was a perfectly valid question, and not one Kestrel readily had an answer for. If Thaniel truly was the spirit of these lands, rescuing him certainly wouldn’t help Ketheric, but there was no small part of her that simply wanted to earn Halsin’s respect back. She couldn’t bear (ha) the way he’d hardly been able to meet her eyes recently. And she thought they’d been making such progress.

“Yes,” she said.

Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “Lovely. Do let us know when you sort it out, won’t you? I’d hate to get murdered by undead for no reason.”

Their next stop was, according to Art Cullagh’s orders, a building called the House of Healing. The exterior was forbidding, but any expeditions to the interior would have to be delayed slightly. There was being efficient, Kestrel thought, and there was leaving small tiefling girls alone in graveyards, and she wasn’t going to choose the latter.

As they re-entered the camp, Halsin sat up sharply. “Did you learn anything about Art’s condition?”

“Well, we were close to the House of Healing, but we had to turn back, because…” Kestrel indicated Arabella. “Our young friend here needed a guide back to camp.”

Arabella waved shyly. “Um. Hello, Mister Archdruid.”

“Arabella!” Halsin dropped to one knee, eyes wide with astonishment. “Thank Silvanus you’re alive. Where are your parents?”

The girl winced. “Missing,” she said hoarsely. “I was trying to escape, and lost them.”

“We’ll be heading back to the House of Healing soon, to investigate Art’s mission and look for her family,” Kestrel explained. “But even with her new powers, I wouldn’t feel right bringing Arabella along. She needs to rest and recover, and I thought you would be the right person to look after her.”

“It would be my honor.” He looked at Arabella, eyebrows raised. “What new power is this, then?”

Arabella shuffled her feet awkwardly. “Promise you won’t be cross?”

Halsin gave her a fatherly smile. “I promise. I have already used up all my crossness traveling through this place.” He couldn’t have said it more calmly, but Kestrel still winced with guilt. 

“Right, so,” said Arabella. “When I um…borrowed that statue from your grove, it changed me somehow. I can do things now. Like this.” She made a sweeping gesture, and without warning, a tangle of vines rose up in front of her. Scratch, who had been dozing nearby, leaped up and skittered away with a whimper.

“Intriguing,” remarked a dry, dusty voice. Withers glided into view from his usual lurking corner, and Kestrel cringed, preparing herself for Arabella’s imminent screams of terror. To her surprise, none came.

“Skeletons aren’t supposed to talk,” the girl said, hands on hips.

“No,” Withers agreed. “Nor are small children meant to conjure vines and strangle shadows. It seems we are both unusual.”

“Irregular, even,” muttered Kestrel.

“Indeed.” Withers nodded in her direction. “Continue with thy investigation, in whatever manner thou must. The child will be safe in our care. Though,” he added, with what could very well have been a twinkle in his eyes, “it remains to be seen whether we shall be safe from her.”

–

Art Cullagh, prompted by some subpar lute playing on Kestrel’s part, had delivered what information he could before falling back into a deep sleep. It now fell to the Tadpole Irregulars to do the rest–or to one of them, at least.

“When I go through the portal, I will need to be quick.” Halsin’s voice trembled slightly, but his face was calm. “I should be able to find Thaniel, but I’ll need assistance keeping the portal open if I’m to return.”

Kestrel shook her head. “It’s suicide, going in there by yourself. Let me come with you…”

“No!” He must have seen how taken aback she was, because his eyes softened. “The magic this involves is dangerous and volatile. With my years of training, I have a chance of returning in one piece, but I will not risk your life. Not with so much else at stake.”

“But I want to help you.” Gods, she hated how whiny and immature that sounded, and especially hated how her voice cracked like she was about to cry. She just couldn’t bear the thought of Halsin heading into that hellish void alone, with the very real possibility that he might never return. Not before she’d apologized for their earlier argument.

Not before she’d said she loved him.

She felt the pressure of a large, warm hand on her shoulder, and looked up, blinking back tears.

“You will,” Halsin said, his voice low and sincere. “Keep the portal open. Buy me what time you can.” He squeezed her shoulder gently. “Be the light that guides me home.”

Before she could say anything else, he let go of her shoulder and turned to the portal, shoulders squared. Kestrel thought she could hear him murmuring a prayer, and added a silent one of her own.

Then he took a step, and was gone.

Silence, heavy and pained, hung in the air for a long while.

“Well, this is shit,” announced Shadowheart. “Everyone pick out a good position before things start coming at us.”

The others followed orders and dispersed. Soon, the only one left at Kestrel’s side was Astarion, looking at her with his lip curled slightly. 

“Gods,” he said quietly. “You really do love him, don’t you.”

“Yeah,” Kestrel said wearily. “Do you have something to say about that?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head.

“I suppose we need to guard the damn portal, then,” he said. “But your true love had better be efficient.”

They just. Kept. Coming.

The curse must have known, somehow, what they were trying to do. It kept spitting out dark, ghostly figures and shambling corpses, their flesh half rotted away by pure darkness. Kestrel tried not to think about how impossible her task was, or what was going on in the depths of the portal behind her–she kept her mind focused on sending blasts of moonlight and flame into the surrounding enemies.

Thank Selȗne for her friends. She’d told them they could sit this one out if they wished, yet everyone was there, sending fire and daggers blazing through the dark. Even Shadowheart had volunteered, without a single complaint about offending Lady Shar. Still, even with their combined strength, the endless waves of enemies would surely overcome them soon.

Until the world around her seemed to freeze, and several rotting crows fluttering near her face dropped to the ground like stones. She could feel hints of sunlight and breeze, and could smell…

Lavender.

“I have him,” a voice rasped from behind her. Kestrel whirled around and nearly fainted with relief at the sight of Halsin stumbling through the rapidly closing portal. He was very pale, and clearly rattled, but looked physically unhurt. Still, Kestrel’s automatic reaction was to cast a rapid healing spell at him and the limp bundle in his arms.

Halsin gave a deep sigh and slumped to his knees, gently setting down the body he held. The boy was about the size of an eight-year-old, and had shaggy dark hair and greenish-gold skin. In fact, he bore a surprising resemblance to Noretta and Velma, which made Kestrel’s heart twist.

He was also completely still.

“He’s not…”

“He’s still alive, thank Silvanus. But…” Halsin looked over the boy with panic in his eyes. “Something is wrong, terribly wrong. He will not respond to anything I say or do. It’s as though his mind is still trapped there.”

“Art was the same, remember?” Kestrel said, trying to keep her voice reassuring. “And we woke him up. We can help Thaniel recover, too.”

Halsin gave her a grateful smile. “I truly hope you’re right. I’ll bring him back to camp immediately–surely I can discover something about what is affecting him this way.”

“Go ahead. We’ll deal with our wounds and meet you back there.” She hesitated. “I hope I helped.”

“You did,” he said softly, standing and once again lifting the boy into his arms. “Believe me, you truly did.”

When he was gone, Kestrel glanced around at the quiet battlefield, taking in her surroundings. Part of her had hoped that the darkness would start to dissipate as soon as Thaniel returned. It hadn’t done so. 

Around her feet, though, where the portal had stood, the ground had sprouted a few sprigs of grass and lavender.

–

Kestrel, a spark of moonlight flickering through her fingers, swept aside the moth-eaten curtain in what had probably once been a very nice house. Behind it, a pale-haired boy with acidic green eyes stood, folding his arms crossly.

“Found you,” she said.

“You cheated,” snapped the boy. He’d introduced himself as Oliver, but it wasn’t a name that truly belonged to him. “I’m not giving you a prize for that.”

“I don’t need a prize. What I need is for you to listen to us.” She gestured to Halsin. “You might not recognize him, but this is an old friend of yours, and he needs your help.”

Halsin dropped to one knee and held out a cautious hand in greeting, like someone trying to befriend a stray cat. “I know who you truly are, Oliver. Let us help you get home.”

Oliver’s scowl grew more pronounced, and he shrank backwards. Shadows danced under his skin like fish in a murky sea.  “This is my home. You can’t take me away, you’re not my parents.”

Halsin sighed heavily. “I know. But I am your friend, whether or not you recognize me. If you can trust us, just a little…”

“Shut up.” Oliver pushed his way past the curtain and made a complex gesture. In front of him, a circular gate opened in the air. He looked over his shoulder, blew a raspberry at Kestrel, and hopped through into oblivion.

“Creepy hole time?” asked Karlach with resignation.

“Creepy hole time,” Kestrel confirmed, and followed the child.

The battle by the fountain was fierce, but far quicker than the one at the lake, with only a few shadow monsters to disperse. What made this time worse was the way Oliver wailed in horror every time one of his shadowy companions was struck down. He’d created a mother and father and pets out of pure darkness and imagination. No wonder he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

When the last shadow had collapsed, Oliver turned to Halsin, tears streaming down his face.

“You killed them,” he said, in a voice sharp with grief. “You killed my family.”

Misery flashed across Halsin’s face. It was obvious he truly did regret killing those things, not for their own sake, but because Oliver had loved them. “I’m sorry, Oliver, but they were not your family. They were shadows, nothing more.”

“You don’t know anything!” the boy shouted. “You left, and Thaniel left, and I had to do everything by myself. There was no one around to help me, not anyone, so I had to make my own family.”  He turned suddenly to Kestrel, fixing her with that acid-green gaze. “You understand, bird lady. You did it too, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” said Kestrel quietly, not bothering to wonder how he knew. “I do know what that’s like. You’ve been very brave, Oliver, and we’re all proud of you.”

“But you don’t want me. No one wants me. You just want me to disappear and be Thaniel again, and I don’t want to. I’m too different from him now.”

She should step back and let Halsin take over. After all, this was his childhood friend, sort of. But there was a tenuous thread of connection here, between her and this strange little boy, and if she stepped back she risked it snapping.

“You know,” she said, “I have two younger sisters at home. They’re twins, a bit like you and Thaniel.”

“Kestrel,” Gale began, “is this really…”

To Kestrel’s surprise, Halsin shushed him. “Wait, Gale,” he said under his breath. “Let her finish.”

Oliver didn’t seem to have heard them. “Twins? So they’re exactly alike?”

“They certainly were, back when they were very small. Looked just the same and liked all the same things. As they grew older, though, they became more and more different. Noretta likes wearing her hair long, and Velma likes hers short. Velma loves being outside and gardening, and Noretta prefers reading and cooking. They’re not the same anymore, but they’re still twins, and they still love each other more than anything.”

“But…but Thaniel’s been away for a long time,” said Oliver, his upper lip wobbling. “He won’t love me anymore. He won’t even remember me.”

“Yes, he will, and he’ll be so happy to see you.” A lump had grown in her throat, and she swallowed hard to dispel it. “Just like I’ll be happy to see my sisters again when all this is done. I just need you to believe in him, and yourself. Can you do that for me, Oliver?”

The boy hesitated, glancing back and forth anxiously between Kestrel and Halsin. Finally, he squared his shoulders and nodded.

“Fine,” he said, as though still trying to convince himself. “I’ll do it. I want to do it. Unless…it won’t hurt, will it?”

“No,” Halsin assured him. “I don’t believe it will.” He looked down at Kestrel, and she saw that his eyes were glistening with tears. “Well done.”

Oliver snorted with laughter. “Are you crying? You’re a bit big to be crying, don’t you think? I’m only joking,” he added quickly, when Kestrel shot him a look. “And thanks, by the way. For playing with me.”

She gave a tearful chuckle. “You were right, you know. I cheated.”

To Kestrel’s astonishment, the boy threw his arms around her shoulders, and soon she was hugging him back. There was a rush of warmth and green light, so bright she had to briefly close her eyes.

When she opened them again, she was hugging nothing at all.

–

It had taken a significant amount of coaxing to get Halsin to leave Thaniel’s side, so concerned was he for the poor child’s health. When Kestrel pointed out, though, that she could hear his stomach growling from the other side of camp, he reluctantly agreed to take a few minutes for dinner.

Kestrel didn’t mind a bit of babysitting in his absence, though babysitting obviously wasn’t the right word for the situation. It was all just rather disconcerting. She kept glancing around, wondering if Oliver would manifest at all, but there had been no sign of him. Just the Thaniel who had been unconscious by the lake.

At first glance, he might have passed for a young elf or human child, but there were a few things off about him. The small antlers on his head, for one thing, were far more like those of a small deer than the average tiefling. In a few places, his green-gold skin gave way to rough tree bark. And his eyes…they weren’t just green. Looking into them felt like peering in a tiny window and catching a view of the forest.

What is he, really? Kestrel wondered, and told herself: he’s a child who’s been ill. Don’t worry about anything else for now.

“Hello,” she said, making Thaniel look up. He looked surprised, but not frightened.

“You’re Kestrel,” he said quietly. “Like the bird.”

“Precisely. And you’re Thaniel, of course, it’s nice to properly meet you. Are you feeling better?”

“There can be no true healing, not until Ketheric Thorm is dead, but thanks to you, the land and I are recovering.” He tilted his head. “Halsin explained what you did to save me–and about your infection. Will ending the curse help destroy your parasite?”

“I think so,” said Kestrel, “but even if not, I don’t regret helping you. It was the right thing to do.”

There was a pause, and Kestrel bit her lip awkwardly. What did one say, exactly, to an eight-year-old boy who was also an immortal nature spirit?

“If I was a plant,” she said impulsively, “what kind of plant would I be?”

Thaniel looked her over solemnly, not noticeably surprised by the question. “A birch tree,” he replied. “In autumn.”

“You know, I have always thought that about myself,” Kestrel replied with a smile. “What about the others? Obviously Halsin is an oak tree, but I’d love to hear what, say, Lae’zel is.”

“The lady with the small nose?” Thaniel considered this. “She’s a barbed bulrush.”

“You’ve hit the nail right on the head there. I suppose we’d better say Shadowheart is a night orchid, as they’re her favorite. And I suspect Astarion is some sort of particularly thorny rose.”

The boy smiled and nodded. “Your wizard friend, then, must be weavemoss. You have a very diverse garden.”

A low chuckle sounded from behind Kestrel, and she turned to see Halsin, regarding them with a smile.

“Ah, my two good friends conspiring,” he said. “And what might the pair of you be discussing?”

“We’re talking about embarrassing things you did as a child.” Kestrel grinned and patted Thaniel’s shoulder. “Only joking. Though I hope you do have a few of those stories for later.”

“A rabbit once bit Halsin so hard he nearly lost a fingernail,” Thaniel said fondly. “He was trying to feed it.”

Halsin folded his arms sternly, but his smile hadn’t faded. “I believe you’re misremembering things, my friend. Perhaps some more rest is in order.”

Thaniel grinned mischievously, before yawning. “You’re right. I am–we are–very, very tired.” He stretched and curled up on the mat, looking for all the world like a completely ordinary little boy. Before long Kestrel could see his breathing had slowed, and he was fast asleep.

“He’s resting well,” said Halsin. There was no mistaking the deep relief in his voice. “Now that he and Oliver are reunited, I have high hopes for his recovery.”

“He’s a great kid,” said Kestrel. “Which I know is a strange thing to say about your immortal childhood best friend, but it’s true. I’m so glad he’s recovering.”

Halsin looked at her for one second, two, three, before wrapping her in a hug so tight her feet lifted off the ground.

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “Everything you’ve done…you can have no idea how much it means to me. You have accomplished more in the last month than I had in a hundred years. And,” he added, “do not say that anyone would have done the same, for we both know that’s untrue.”

Kestrel valiantly resisted the urge to wrap her legs around his waist and bury her face in his neck. “It was my pleasure. And a group effort, to be fair. Gale’s cloud-of-daggers spell is very useful.”

“A group effort that you led.” He set her down gently, much to Kestrel’s regret, but the look of affection in his eyes almost made up for it. “Every time I ask for help, every time I lose my way, you rush to my aid without a second thought. I have no idea what I did to earn such loyal friendship, but I’m deeply grateful.”

“Well, I…” Love you and want to be with you forever and have ten children together. “Care about you,” she finished lamely. “Besides, you’d do the same for me–hells, you have done the same for me. For all of us. So it’s only fair.”

“Fair?” Halsin laughed softly and shook his head. “It would take centuries to repay everything you’ve done for me. I will try, though, you can be sure of that. When you face off against Ketheric Thorm, I promise you will have my help.”

“That’s all I could ask of you. More than I should ask of you.” She swallowed. “Listen, Halsin, about Shadowheart…”

He held up a hand. “There’s no need to discuss that now,” he said gently. “We still have no idea what awaits us in the Thorm mausoleum, and until we know more, arguing about it will do us no good. Besides, we have far more to celebrate at the moment.”

It wasn’t an apology, and so Kestrel didn’t give him one in return. There would be time for that later, after they knew where Shadowheart’s intentions truly lay.

Still, she allowed a small flicker of hope amid all her worry. A sprig of lavender in the Shadowlands.

Chapter Text

No matter how much Astarion complained about having another “strange little brat” in camp, there was no denying Thaniel’s arrival in their camp had some good effects. Small, fragile flowers had popped up overnight in front of Halsin’s tent. Scratch and Pomfrey were irresistibly drawn to the boy, and seemed healthier in his presence than they had in days. And he was certainly good company for Arabella, who was still deep in mourning for her parents. 

At the moment, the two children had settled down on a fallen log near Kestrel’s tent, with Pomfrey and Scratch cuddled up near them. Arabella–and Kestrel, who stood nearby keeping watch– observed in fascination as Thaniel waved a hand over the ground, summoning up a tiny, gnarled sapling that almost immediately withered. The boy sighed deeply.

“Nature is still failing here,” he said. “We can only hope Ketheric Thorm will soon be gone, along with his wicked curse.”

“You look like a kid, but you don’t talk like one,” said Arabella bluntly. “How old are you?”

“As old as the land itself,” Thaniel replied vaguely. “While it lives, I live, and the other way around.”

Arabella’s eyes narrowed. “So why do you look like you’re my age?”

He shrugged. “It’s more fun that way. Besides, when Halsin started growing up, his voice kept cracking and none of his clothes fit properly and he was hungry all the time, and I would rather avoid that.”

“Wish I could,” Arabella muttered. “Do you think Bone Man could turn into a kid if he wanted to, or is he just stuck as an old skeleton?”

“I expect Withers was born old,” said Thaniel, “and that he’ll remain old until the sun goes dark.”

“Is that true?” Kestrel whispered to Withers, who had glided up to her side, hands folded behind his back. When they had first met, his half-rotted face always made her flinch with fear, and now she barely noticed it. He just seemed a kindly old gentleman who happened to have no skin.

“I rather intend to outlive the sun,” he replied. Kestrel couldn’t quite tell if he was joking. “The child is recovering well, I see. She has a strong spirit.”

“No child should have to go through what she has,” Kestrel said. “And there’s no guarantee her troubles will end here. We can look after her until we get to the city, at least, and then…”

“Arabella will not remain here, once the curse is lifted,” Withers interrupted. “Her path lies elsewhere.”

Kestrel shook her head. “I don’t understand. You mean she’ll travel with the other tieflings?”

“I mean that she shall travel alone. It is the price of her new power. Worry not, I have no doubt the Weave will intertwine thy paths again, soon enough.”

“Have you lost your mind? You can’t allow a nine-year-old girl to go wandering around the wilderness on her own.”

“I do what I must,” said Withers impassively. “Fate has spoken, and is not ours to question.”

“Well, I’m questioning it! Who in the hells are you, Withers? You hop out of a coffin and just start following us around, offering cryptic advice and no answers. And you’ve never once explained what you’re doing, or why we should listen to you.” She scowled at him, hands on hips. “So tell me, you old bag of bones. Make me understand why I should let you send Arabella away on her own.”

Withers’ eyes narrowed, and Kestrel briefly regretted her words. Much as she’d come to think of him as a wise, grandfatherly sort, he was still something impossibly ancient, and perhaps divine. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t smite her where she stood.

Then, to her great relief, his gaze softened.

“It is a fair question, to ask why I follow thee,” he said. “My mistakes are on too grand and ancient a scale for a mortal’s mind to fully grasp, as are the plans set in motion to correct them. As for the child–thy concern for her is understandable, but her magic is too new, too wild. She must learn to master it, away from the myriad powers and energies of thy…Tadpole Irregulars.” He gave what might very well have been a smile. “Rest assured, she is under my protection. And not mine alone.”

Kestrel sighed. “I can’t say I like this, especially if we’re relying on Mystra’s generosity, but I’ll trust your judgement. This time. But we are not sending her away until the curse is lifted, and we’re giving her all the supplies we can spare.”

“Some might call thy generosity foolish,” said Withers, detached as ever. “Others might call it deeply wise.”

“Well, I call it a necessity.” She turned away from him slightly and looked back at the kids, who were deep in conversation. Withers could say what he liked about fate and magic, but it didn’t put her any more at ease about letting a little girl who’d just lost her parents wander off alone.

“Thou walkest alone, I notice,” said Withers, apropos of nothing. “On all these long nights, thou hast sought no company.”

She blinked, thrown by the change in subject. “Excuse me? Are you having a go at me for not having a lover?”

“Love is no domain of mine,” he replied. “But it is often cited as the purpose of mortal life. Wherefore turnst thou from it?”

“Well, maybe I’m not turning from it,” she said sharply. “Maybe love is turning from me. Maybe the person I love sees me as naive at best and a foolish child at worst. Has that ever occurred to you, Granddad?”

“Foolishness has never been a barrier to love, in my experience,” said Withers. “I believe it is often the catalyst.”

“If you want to play matchmaker, go bother Karlach and Wyll. Now that’s something that would cheer me up.”

Withers made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, and drifted back to his usual corner of the camp, probably thinking up more ways to be unhelpful.

–

Shar’s temple was beautiful, Kestrel wasn’t too narrow-minded to admit it. Everything, from the black marble walls to the dim violet lanterns to the statue taller than ten men, was designed to elicit awe and fear from everyone who wandered its halls.

Well, awe on Shadowheart’s part. Kestrel had wound up with all the fear. 

The darkness in this place was different from the gloom of the Shadowlands. It was sharper, colder, more intelligent. The Shadow Curse devoured and spat out victims at random–the Gauntlet of Shar culled the weak.

Kestrel wasn’t sure if it was a hallucination or the Lady of Loss herself when a low voice spoke into her mind. Another one of my sister’s bright-eyed lackeys. Do you think Selȗne has a grand purpose for you, girl? That your life means anything at all in her eyes?

“Shut up,” Kestrel snarled under her breath. 

“Excuse me?” Shadowheart turned sharply to look at her. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Kestrel said quickly. Shadowheart’s mood had been odd ever since they’d entered the temple–she had been vacillating between awed, confident, and prickly with remarkable speed. Maybe all aspiring Dark Justiciars went through this, but then again, maybe not. “So you’ve read about this place, I assume. What exactly do you need to do in here?”

“There are trials, I know that much. Tests of bravery, cunning, and subtlety, that only one truly devoted to the Dark Lady can pass.” Shadowheart sounded very much like a schoolgirl practicing for a test. “I doubt I’ll have much trouble with those. Then, at the heart of this place, one more challenge.” The look she gave Kestrel was almost apologetic. “I’ll need to sacrifice a Selȗnite.”

“Sacrifice a Selȗnite?” Kestrel’s heartbeat sped up, and she took a step back. Oh, gods if Halsin had been right all along… “I know I promised to help, but I never promised you could kill me.”

“Oh, I’m not going to sacrifice you,” Shadowheart said irritably. “You’re only an apprentice cleric, what use would Lady Shar have for your life?”

Relief and offense struck Kestrel in equal measures. “If I’m not the Selȗnite you need to kill, who is?”

Shadowheart waved a hand dismissively. “Some kind of monster, I’m sure. A moon-spirit conjured for testing reasons. We go in, kill it, and destroy this relic. Couldn’t be simpler.”

This seemed optimistic, to put it mildly, but Kestrel held her tongue. The situation was precarious enough as it was.

–

Dame Aylin stood amid the ruins of Balthazar’s army, magnificent and beautiful despite her ragged clothes and tired eyes. She was perfectly still, not resisting the ghostly green hands that held her, looking at Shadowheart without blinking.

“Well?” she said. “You came here to kill me, little warrior. Do it. Learn nothing about your past, and dedicate yourself to a future of nothing.”

“Very well, then.” Shadowheart forced her face into a determined scowl and lifted the Dark Lady’s spear. “Kestrel, watch my back.”

If this had been a lesser spirit, or a monster, Kestrel might have stood back and kept her word, no matter how much it pained her. The Nightsong, though, was a living, breathing divine. Selȗne’s own daughter. 

Kestrel knew she had probably become a disgrace to her family over the course of her adventure. A Sharran-befriending, tadpole-absorbing, blood-spilling disgrace. But a Selȗnite cleric–even a disgraceful apprentice one–could not let this happen.

“Moonmaiden guide me,” she mumbled. Before she could lose her nerve, she took a stride forward and seized the haft of the spear.

“Kestrel?” Shadowheart turned, looking bewildered. “What in the…”

“Shadowheart, I’m sorry, I can’t let you kill her,” Kestrel said. She released the spear, but kept a hand to the knife at her belt. “I trust you to do the right thing, but if for some reason you decide not to, I have to stop you.”

Shadowheart’s pale green eyes widened. “But you promised,” she said. “You said you were going to help me.”

“I am helping you,” said Kestrel. “Helping you choose the right path. Sorry, but devils aren’t the only ones that can find loopholes.”

“I’m on the right path. One step away from becoming a Dark Justiciar, and you’re trying to stop me? I thought we were friends.”

“Friends don’t let friends turn away from all light and goodness. We’ve spent days seeing every detail of what Shar’s followers did to this region–is that really what you want to do with your life? Because I don’t think it is.”

Shadowheart shook her head. “It’s my dream. My purpose. I…I have to do this.”

“You don’t, though.” Kestrel put a cautious hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

The other woman looked at her almost desperately. “I’m a Sharran,” she said, in a small, pained voice. “I’m supposed to be a Dark Justiciar. If I’m not either of those things, then who the hells am I?”

“You’re my friend,” said Kestrel.  “You’re my brave, brilliant friend Shadowheart who can tame wild beasts and turn shadow monsters inside out. Shar didn’t make you that way. You made yourself. And Shar can’t un make you, no matter how hard she tries.”

Shadowheart squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the haft of her spear even harder. Kestrel could hear her own heart pounding, and she clenched her hands into fists, praying silently that Selȗne would see fit to intervene.

Finally, with a wrenching sob, Shadowheart drew her arm back and threw the spear with immense force. It sailed through the air in an arc and, in the blink of an eye, disappeared into the abyss below.

It would fall forever, Kestrel thought, and good riddance to the foul thing.

Shadowheart stepped back from the cliff’s edge, shaking her head. “I…I can’t believe I just did that. I defied my goddess in her own realm. She is going to destroy me.”

“No, she will not,” said Lae’zel. To Kestrel’s surprise, she was smiling, her eyes shining with something like pride. “If your spiteful goddess seeks revenge, she will have to go through Lae’zel of Creche K’liir, and she will fail.”

“Well spoken, child of Gith.” The aasimar’s voice sounded stronger, less raspy, and a wide smile curved her golden lips. “Now you have freedom, Not-Quite-Sharran, something you’ve never had before. Take my hand in friendship, and let me fight the battle I have been awaiting for a century. Then…” Her grin broadened. “Oh, then we shall have much to discuss.”

–

There was an odd atmosphere in the camp that night–not entirely bad or good, just odd. Shadowheart seemed to be half in a trance, pacing outside of her tent and occasionally glancing up at a sky that was no longer empty.. Faint streaks of moonlight hovered in the atmosphere, left behind by the angel they’d freed.

It had been a triumph, but Kestrel knew better than to relax. With Balthazar dead and Dame Aylin freed, the immortal Ketheric Thorm was now very much mortal.

And tomorrow, they would kill him.

Or he would kill them. Even with Aylin’s help, the odds didn’t seem very favorable.

A flicker of violet light caught her eye as she walked by Gale’s tent. At her approach, the energies swirled and solidified, becoming a translucent copy of the wizard himself.

“Good evening,” the illusion said pleasantly. “I am here on behalf of Gale of Waterdeep. He wishes to invite you to a private conversation in a more suitable locale.”

Kestrel frowned. “He’s not going to try and propose to me or something, is he?”

“I was given no specifics on the matter, but I don’t believe that was his intention. He seemed to be in some distress when putting together this spell.”

A distressed wizard was certainly not ideal, particularly one with Gale’s condition. “I had better find him, then,” she said. “But while you’re here, I’ve always wondered. Does Gale enchant his underwear? That time we kissed, it felt like there was some sort of energy zapping around under his clothes, though that could have been my imagination.”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” illusion-Gale replied primly. “If you wish to know, you must ask the gentleman himself.” He gracefully indicated a narrow, brushy path to Kestrel’s left. 

Slipping through the prickly dead bushes, Kestrel found herself on a small grassy knoll overlooking the river. Gale sat on one side of a ragged quilt, gazing up at a sky that wasn’t actually there–not the blank darkness they’d grown used to, but one alive with stars and color.

“Nice view,” she said. “Your work?”

“Naturally. I thought, under the circumstances, we deserved some pleasant scenery.” He gestured to a spot on the blanket beside him. “Have a seat, if you like.”

Kestrel did so. “I like your magical duplicate,” she said. “Though he was not very forthcoming on the subject of enchanted underwear.”

Gale winked and tapped the side of his nose. “I’ve trained him to be very discreet. Thank you for joining me, by the way. I wasn’t sure you would care to.”

“I like you, Gale. Nothing could change that. Besides, if you went so far as to conjure a double, I imagined it had to be urgent.”

“You could say that.” He took a breath and exhaled slowly. “Tomorrow we head into the fray against the General himself, and if we manage to survive, I have no doubt our path will lead us to the Heart of the Absolute.”

“Oh.” She’d tried to put Mystra’s impossible command out of her mind, believing she could find another way, but no strokes of genius had come to her yet. Now, the realization that her friend might actually blow himself up hit her like a punch to the gut. It couldn’t happen, could it? No one as proud and opinionated and brilliant as Gale could actually just stop existing.

“You can’t do it,” she blurted. “I mean, you can, but you shouldn’t.”

“I can hardly say no to Mystra. You heard what Elminster said.”

“Fuck Mystra,” said Kestrel, with a force that surprised even her.

“I already did,” Gale said mournfully. “It didn’t do me much good.”

He caught Kestrel’s eye, and the two of them dissolved into laughter, made all the fiercer by the horror of the situation.

“Really, though,” said Kestrel, when they had both collected themselves. “Maybe Mystra thinks she’s being practical and merciful, telling you to blow yourself up, but what she’s really being is unfair. Don’t do it, Gale. You deserve better.”

“Do I, though?” He sighed. “I got myself into this mess, with my own damnable hubris. Perhaps the world would be better off without me in it.”

“Or perhaps we’d all be worse off without your incredible brains,” she countered. “Look, I know things between us didn’t work out the way you hoped…”

Gale grimaced. “Please, we needn’t go over all that again.”

“All I was going to say is, even if we’re only friends, you’re a good friend, Gale. You–and all these other lunatics–you’re like my family by now. And I don’t want to lose my family, not if I can avoid it.” She patted his shoulder. “We’ll find another way, I know we will. Mystra can just join Shar in the ‘Society of Gods We’ve Annoyed Who Can Just Sulk About It.’”

“That society should have quite a few members by now.” He gave her a slight smile. “I’ll think about it, that’s all I can promise. Though I still intend to do everything I can to stop the Absolute, family is a decent reason to keep on living.”

Chapter Text

The floor squished unpleasantly under Kestrel’s shoes as she hurried down the hall to catch up with her friends. It had been foolish to slip into that last room by herself, but she thought she’d heard a familiar voice…and, well, it turned out she had.

Astarion, who was bringing up the rear, looked back with an eyebrow raised. “Oh, there you are. I thought you’d been absorbed into the walls, or something. Where were you?”

“Scouting out the room back there,” Kestrel said, indicating one of the fleshy doors. “It wasn’t extremely interesting, just some half-dead bugbear, and…this.” She reached into her pack and gently withdrew a small bundle wrapped in leather, which she unfolded, revealing a fist-sized blob of wrinkled gray muck.

Astarion wrinkled his nose. “What is that?”

“It’s…well, it’s an intellect devourer,” said Kestrel, feeling rather foolish. “A tame one, though. Shrunk itself down so it could travel with us.”

Wyll looked at the lump skeptically. “They make tame intellect devourers now? And it just decided to tag along with you?”

“The thing is, I actually know this one. We’ve met before, back on the ship. Seems it remembered me.”

“Fascinating!” Gale leaned forward, eyes alight. “Your previous encounter with the creature must have had some indelible effect on it. Indulge me for a moment–what did happen during that first meeting?”

Reluctantly, Kestrel cast her mind back to the humid, foul-smelling depths of the Nautiloid. “I had just escaped my pod,” she began. “Trying to find an exit without being noticed. I turned the corner into some laboratory type of room, with a few bodies strapped to machines, and I heard this voice calling for help.” And nearly pissed myself. “At first I thought it was another prisoner, someone who’d survived a horrible experiment, but no. It was the experiment. An Intellect Devourer.”

“Ah, naturally.” Gale pulled one of his ubiquitous notebooks from a pocket and began scribbling. “Bred from the corpses of prisoners, very practical. What did it say?”

“It was frightened,” she replied. “Trapped. It begged me to set it free before it rotted in that man’s skull. Part of me wanted to ignore it, or even kill it, but…I couldn’t.”

“Something for which you have never given me a logical explanation,” Lae’zel put in sourly.

Kestrel gave a small noise of frustration. “Look, I don’t know. I don’t, all right? Maybe there isn’t a logical explanation. I just felt sorry for it. It was alone, and helpless, and scared.” She shrugged. “Like me.”

“And so,” said Gale, “you freed it.”

“I freed it. Not sure what I thought would happen, honestly. I’m lucky it didn’t immediately attack.”

Gale made a few more hasty notes, and frowned. “I believe I have a theory. Thanks to your little…cerebral guest, you and this Intellect Devourer developed an instinctive psychic connection. It perhaps saw you as one of its illithid masters, and was ready to serve you, but you had no orders or strategy in mind. Your only thought was of mercy. So when you touched it…” He paused, head tilted. 

“You touched it,” he repeated quietly, “and you changed its nature.”

There was a weighty silence, and Kestrel looked down at the sticky lump of brain once again, something new stirring inside her. The tadpole’s power had gotten her out of a few sticky situations already, but it wasn’t until just now that it felt like anything other than a curse.

Maybe a blurse.

–

The Netherstone lay heavily in her hands, slightly warm and pulsing as though alive. Something about it felt wrong– her very bones were itchy just from holding it. The power it contained was the inverse of what she’d experienced in the Underdark with Gale.

“‘Netherstone’ sounds like it could be a bit dirty,” she said. “I’ve got him by the Netherstones, that sort of thing.”

Karlach barked a laugh. “I’ll have Gortash by the Netherstones soon enough. Gods, I can’t wait to cut that scumbag’s head off.”

Kestrel made a sympathetic noise, wishing she was capable of saying more at the moment. Karlach’s old boss works for the Dead Three was yet another piece of information tossed into the maelstrom swirling around her head, along with:

The Absolute isn’t a god, it’s a giant brain in a magic hat

and

Gale didn’t blow himself up, so Mystra won’t be too pleased

and

Ketheric Thorm is Isobel’s father and he turned into a giant skeleton RIGHT IN FRONT OF US.

Gingerly, Kestrel got to her feet, using the spear Isobel had given her–she’d started calling it Moonslinger–as a crutch. Ketheric/Myrkul’s giant scythe had dealt her a nasty cut across the right thigh, but it didn’t feel right to complain. It was nothing short of a miracle that she had survived at all.

“We’ll kill Gortash,” she promised Karlach wearily. “And that weird woman with the braid. And the giant brain.”

The rest of the thought hardly needed to be said: We have to kill them, or that’ll be it for us.

There were many benefits to working alongside an aasimar, one of them being that Aylin could summon up a portal back to the surface rather than everyone having to make the long climb back to camp. The small circle of tents outside Last Light Inn had never looked so homey and welcoming.

If Kestrel had been planning to relax, though, her wound had other ideas. Raw, jagged pain shot through her thigh, and she practically fell into her tent, stifling a shriek of agony. She bit her lip hard, holding back tears. Her friends had injuries of their own, and they weren’t sobbing like babies about it.

“Kestrel?”

She looked up and shrank back with embarrassment. Halsin was kneeling at the entrance to her tent, holding up the flap with worry in his eyes. 

“Is something wrong? You don’t look well.”

“I’m all right,” she said. “Just one of my heroic battle wounds acting up. Don’t worry, I healed the worst of it earlier.”

“I beg leave to doubt that,” he replied. “You sound as though you’re in serious pain. Perhaps I can offer a second opinion?”

Kestrel tried to shrug casually, and winced. “That might not be a bad idea.”

Halsin awkwardly scooted forward, ducking further into her tent and filling nearly every inch of empty space, and regarded her leg intently. “This is a serious injury. Were you planning to simply ignore it?”

“It’s not so bad,” said Kestrel, though her point was undermined by a stab of pain that made her eyes well up. “I made it back here, didn’t I?”

“Be that as it may, you will not make it much farther with a necrotic gash this severe.” He gestured to the wound on her thigh, and for the first time since the battle, Kestrel forced herself to properly look at it.

The sight made her stomach turn. Her earlier healing spell had closed up the deepest part of the wound, but blood continued to leak out at the surface, dark and sick-looking. Around the edges of the cut, her skin had gone a gray-green color that would not have looked out of place on a zombie.

“Shit,” she said.

“Shit,” Halsin agreed, and the sound of him swearing was so unexpected that Kestrel actually laughed.

“Give me a moment,” he went on. “I have supplies that may be able to help.”

It felt like an eternity, but was probably only a minute or two, before he returned with a leather satchel slung over one shoulder. Kneeling at Kestrel’s side, he set down the bag and extracted a few small bottles that smelled of herbs and strong alcohol.

He looked at her leg hesitantly. “I’m afraid l will need to widen the rip in your trousers to treat your wound,” he said. “Though I am happy to repair it later.”

“It’s all right, I can make Astarion fix it. Or he’ll just throw them out, he hates all my clothes.” Kestrel giggled, with an edge of hysteria. “Maybe I should learn to wildshape like you, then I won’t need clothes at all.”

There was a flash of something she couldn’t quite decipher in Halsin’s eyes, and he cleared his throat. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to her leg.

“Help yourself.” That hadn’t been quite the phrase she was looking for, but Halsin didn’t look put out. He simply nodded, took the fabric of her ripped trousers between two fingers, and gently tugged until the gap doubled in size.

Not exactly the circumstances I’d been hoping he would undress me in, thought Kestrel, but I’ll take what I can get.

“Now, first things first. Drink this.” He uncorked and handed over a blue glass bottle full of syrupy liquid. “To dull your senses, mildly. This type of wound is often painful to treat.”

Obediently, Kestrel took the potion and downed it in one swig. It took a few moments, but she soon felt her mind beginning to cloud, and her body felt pleasantly light.

“This is nice,” she said, waving a hand lazily through the air. “All floaty, like when Gale taught me about the Weave. Less purple, though.”

Halsin smiled. “Good. This next part may sting, but it will clean the wound, and leach any magical residue. No more green where it shouldn’t be.” Dipping his fingers into a pot of white salve, he leaned forward and began to gently daub it over her wound.

His hands were warm and calloused, and as he leaned closer, the scent of moss and herbal soap flooded her senses. When he pressed down slightly harder on her inner thigh, a faint, involuntary moan escaped her lips.

Halsin looked up in concern. “Too hard?”

Gods, how could he just say things like that to her while his hands were on her leg? Surely he could tell the effect he was having on her. That heavy ache was building up once more inside her, and if she wasn’t careful, she would end up making an even bigger fool of herself.

“No,” she breathed. “I’m all right.”

“You’re doing very well.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “I wish half my patients were as agreeable as you.”

It would be nice if he was saying these things to her under different circumstances–for example, if they were lying naked in a meadow while he gently eased his cock into her–though this was still quite enjoyable.

“Last step.” With deft hands, he bandaged the wound with a strip of linen, careful to touch as little of her skin as possible. “How do you feel?”

“Wonderful.”

Halsin raised his eyebrows, but he looked pleased. “That’s very gratifying. Your wound should mend quickly now, but I would still recommend staying off your feet for a day or so, and getting plenty of sleep. Despite all our success, we still have plenty of trouble awaiting us, I’ll wager.”

“Us? You mean you’re coming to Baldur’s Gate too?” Kestrel shook her head. “I can’t ask you to do that, you’re not even infected. You should stay here and help Thaniel recover.”

“You don’t need to ask me. My place is with you– all of you,” he added quickly. “Thaniel is recovering well, and his realm will be far safer once the Absolute is defeated.”

“And you like us,” Kestrel suggested boldly. 

He smiled and nodded. “That goes without saying. Rest, now, and look after yourself.”

When he pulled back, Kestrel could have sworn she felt something brush against her leg, something…hard. Was he…

No, her drugged mind was playing tricks on her. Halsin was a mature and self-controlled person, as well as an experienced healer. There was no chance he would get excited over a simple healing procedure.

Though it did give her something nice to imagine as she drifted off to sleep.

–

In keeping with Halsin’s instructions, Kestrel stayed put in her tent for most of the next day. Frankly, she was glad of the excuse. Though her wound was on the mend, the pain in her leg still flared up sharply when she moved it, and the pain-dulling potion was still making her loopy. She slept on and off, and during the moments she was awake, the entire world seemed fuzzy.

Luckily, her friends were kind enough to visit. Wyll and Karlach dropped by first, both of them looking relatively unharmed and cheerful.

“Poor thing,” said Karlach sympathetically. “The last time I got a gash like that, a hezrou–they’re the fuckers who look like toads on two legs–practically sliced my knee in two with an axe. Zariel’s a piece of shit, but I was thanking all the gods for her field medics that day…”

“I don’t think Kestrel needs to hear that story right now, Karlach,” Wyll interrupted, with an indulgent smile that was warm as sunlight. “But look, Kestrel, we’ve found a new book. A present from Isobel.” He waved a slender tome whose cover was embossed with two long-haired women in a tight embrace. “It’s about these two witches from rival covens, and how they fall in love despite their conflict.”

“That one’s a corker,” Karlach affirmed. “Wyll read a few scenes aloud to me and I was almost blushing. It’ll get you feeling better in no time.”

–

Despite being on the older side, Jaheira was a remarkably resilient woman. Apart from a few scratches on her face, she seemed to be in the pink of health.

This did not make Kestrel feel any better about her current invalid status. “I suppose you think I’m pretty weak, being out of commission all day from a little cut on the leg.”

“You leapt into battle against a giant skeleton-god wielding an axe larger than two of you,” Jaheira said dryly. “There are plenty of adjectives I could use for you–such as ‘foolhardy’ and ‘insane’–but weak is not one of them.” 

“It could be the heavy medication, but I think that was just about a compliment,” said Kestrel. “Are you coming with us to the city? We can take down the cult together, you can tell us stories about your Harper days, I can become your most celebrated biographer…”

“The first one, certainly. As for the second two–we’ll see.”

Kestrel yawned, feeling herself slipping back into sleep. “Thanks, Mum. Good night.”

There was no response but a faint chuckle.

–

It was a bit surprising when Astarion ducked into her tent, and even more so that he’d brought her bread, cheese, and a mug of cider from supper. 

“If you want my blood, I’m afraid I can’t spare any at the moment,” she joked weakly, gesturing to her bandaged leg. 

He waved a hand dismissively. “I dined quite nicely on Thorm’s lackeys, thank you. What’s truly important is, I think we can say beyond the shadow of a doubt that I won the Nightsong contest,” he said. “Oh, Lae’zel and Shadowheart weren’t terribly far off, but our dear Aylin is, above all else, sexy.”

She shrugged. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

“Smashing. Don’t worry about deciding on a prize, I already awarded myself that clever little teleportation ring from your bag.” When she didn’t respond, he frowned. “Are you quite all right? I was expecting one of those nice hour-long lectures of yours.”

“Myrkul sliced my leg open with a bone scythe, as you may know, so I’m not quite up to lecturing you. Just imagine what I would say and lecture yourself.”

Astarion laughed dryly. “You’re much more fun when you’re severely injured.”

–

The celebration the next night was smaller than the one near the Grove had been, but no less merry. A motley collection of Fists, Harpers, and refugees had gathered in the Last Light and were busy draining its reserves of food and drink, while Alfira played lively tunes and Scratch chased the inn’s hairless cat around the kitchen.

Kestrel was still a bit wobbly on her feet, but joy far outweighed pain as she made her way through the party, exchanging hugs and good wishes with all and sundry. It was still astonishing to think that these people considered her a hero, rather than just stumbling through this adventure, but she was hardly going to refuse the compliments.

 In the northwestern corner, Isobel and Dame Aylin stood hand in hand, gazing deeply into each other’s eyes. Several emotions arose in Kestrel at once: awe, admiration, perhaps a bit of envy at this perfect, divine love. Not that she exactly wanted to be in Isobel’s place–Aylin was beautiful and heroic, certainly, but also very loud. It was the two women’s certainty that affected her so strongly. They knew exactly where they stood with one another, no confusing half-flirting or awkward touches.

Hearing Kestrel’s footsteps, Aylin looked up from her beloved and grinned broadly. “Dearest of allies, finest of friends!” she bellowed. “Come, speak to us. I have told my love here all the details of our adventures.”

“Dame Aylin,” Kestrel said, and bowed. “I wanted to ask you a favor. Not for me, you’ve helped me more than enough, but for one of my mothers. Bettina. She’s the cleric of Selȗne back in Hargrave.”

Aylin snapped her fingers triumphantly. “Ah, I could sense my mother’s light in you from our first meeting! A family of faith, just like my darling Isobel and her mother.”

Kestrel suppressed a delighted giggle at being compared to Isobel, and pulled out her journal. “Would you write a note to Mama Bettina, maybe? Just a short one? Of course you don’t need to, but I know how much it would mean to her”

“But of course, my friend! After all your help, it would be the very least I could do.” Aylin plucked the journal and pen from Kestrel’s hands and set about writing, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration. When she handed it back, the page was covered in large, blocky writing.

TO BETTINA MACDUFF, CLERIC OF HARGRAVE:

DAME AYLIN, DAUGHTER OF THE MOONMAIDEN, GREETS YOU AND YOUR FAMILY WARMLY AND WITH THE GREATEST RESPECT. I HAVE FOR THE LAST SHORT WHILE BEEN FORTUNATE ENOUGH TO FIGHT ALONGSIDE YOUR VALIANT DAUGHTER KESTREL, WHO HAS PROVEN HERSELF AS FIERCE AND CLEVER AS HER NAMESAKE. HER GREAT DEEDS ARE MANY, INCLUDING THE SLAYING OF THE LICH KETHERIC THORM AND HIS FOUL NECROMANCER ADVISOR. PERHAPS HER GREATEST ACCOMPLISHMENT, THOUGH, IS THIS: WITH NO WEAPONS BUT KINDNESS AND FAITH, SHE TURNED A LOST YOUNG SOUL FROM THE PATH OF SHAR’S DARKNESS, AND IN DOING SO, FREED ME FROM A CENTURY OF IMPRISONMENT.

I HAVE NO DOUBT THAT MY DIVINE MOTHER SHALL BLESS YOUR FAMILY FOR SUCH DEVOTION, AND FOR MY PART, YOUR DAUGHTER WILL HAVE MY AID WHENEVER NEEDED.

WITH GREAT FONDNESS,

DAME AYLIN

“That’s the loudest letter I’ve ever read,” said Kestrel. Her smile was so wide her cheeks were beginning to hurt. Dame Aylin, the beautiful and immortal daughter of the goddess the MacDuffs served so faithfully, liked her. They were friends. “Thank you so, so much.”

“You are very welcome.” With a brisk nod, Aylin returned to gazing into Isobel’s eyes, which Kestrel took as a sign to leave them alone. She turned, and all but slammed into a broad expanse of leather-clad chest.

“Well!” said Halsin. “Good evening.”

“Good evening.” Kestrel tried, and failed, not to think about their last interaction. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Very much so. Another land saved,” he said, “and another well-deserved celebration.”

“I very much hope this is the last time we have to save the same group of refugees,” said Kestrel. “Not that I don’t adore them, but it really feels as though we’re tempting fate. It might not go so well the next time.”

“With you in the lead, our odds seem far better.” He paused and looked down at her, brow creased. “I think I owe you an apology. Several, in fact. When we were discussing Shadowheart earlier, I spoke harshly to you, and I am truly sorry.”

Kestrel waved a hand. “It’s perfectly all right.”

“It was not. You were taking a risk to support your friend, as you do for all of us, and I was condescending and rude. My only excuse is that I was concerned for your safety.” He smiled wryly. “You may have noticed by now that I can be something of an overprotective mother hen. Now, of course I realize how foolish I was. You saved Thaniel, you turned Shadowheart away from darkness, you killed Ketheric Thorm–I’m beginning to think there is nothing you cannot do.”

As usual, Kestrel felt her cheeks burn. “You saved Thaniel, I just helped. As for Ketheric Thorm…well, we did have an angel on our team.”

“Yes.” Halsin looked into her eyes, still smiling slightly. “We always have, I think.” 

All fell silent, and for a second, Kestrel genuinely thought he might kiss her. Instinctively, she rose slightly on her toes and leaned forward, hoping he would get the message…

…and then a hard crimson elbow struck her ribs.

“Oi, you two, enough flirting! This is a party!” Karlach exclaimed. “Kestrel, didn’t you say you had some big contest planned?”

“Right! Yes!” Kestrel cleared her throat and composed herself, to the extent that she could. She hurried to the small stage upon which Alfira had been performing, and clapped loudly enough to turn all heads her way.

“Ladies, gentlemen, dogs, owlbears, Withers–I think that covers most of you–welcome to the First Annual Tadpole Irregular Doppelganger Championships!” she declared. “The rules are simple: perform your finest impersonation of one of our companions, and we as a group will vote on the best one. The winner will receive someone else carrying your pack for an entire day of traveling, while second prize will be this lovely pixie bell that doesn’t actually do anything, now that the curse is broken. Any questions?”

Astarion raised a hand. “Isn’t First Annual a bit optimistic?”

“First and last annual, maybe. We can worry about that later. For now, let the challenge begin! To break the ice, I’ll go first, if no one objects.”

There were a few encouraging hoots and whistles, and Kestrel nodded with satisfaction.

“Very well, then. This is what I think Astarion was like as a magistrate.” She cleared her throat. “So, darling, you’re accused of…driving a wagon through the marketplace, smashing several merchants’ stalls to bits, and breaking more than a few bystander bones?” She gave a lilting, affected laugh. “Oh, that is hilarious. I can’t send you to prison for a crime that funny. Yes, yes, I know there were witnesses, I only regret I wasn’t one of them. Case closed! Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m starring in a musical comedy tonight and I must go put on my stage makeup.”

Amid gales of laughter, Kestrel bowed gracefully and returned to her seat. Astarion rolled his eyes and stood.

“Well, if that’s how it’s going to be,” he said. “I present to you: Kestrel confronting Ketheric Thorm.” He dropped his shoulders and clasped his hands in a pleading gesture. 

“Oh, please, Mister Thorm,” he said in a shrill falsetto, “won’t you mend your wicked ways and end this curse? Surely you’d be much happier if you saw the sun for once.” Astarion cocked his head, listening to an imaginary reply. “What’s that? I’m a useless insect you’re going to crush beneath your boot? Well, if that’s the case, then I’m afraid I’ll have to incinerate you. Hold still.”

The loudest laugh, this time, came from Thaniel, who practically squealed and applauded wildly. It really was bizarre how half the time he was a solemn and mysterious nature spirit, and the other half he was just–well, a kid.

There followed several other highly amusing impressions, including Isobel’s rendition of “Aylin ordering soup at a restaurant,” Karlach’s portrayal of “Withers at a dinner party,” and Wyll’s “Karlach as Grand Duchess of Baldur’s Gate” (Kestrel hoped he had an ulterior motive there). Finally, Lae’zel stood.

“I,” she declared, “shall be impersonating Gale.”

“You will?” asked Kestrel in shock. “Really?”

Lae’zel’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You think me incapable?”

“No, no, not at all. Please, proceed.”

“Gladly.” She stalked to the center of the circle and folded her arms stiffly, in a manner that was not really reminiscent of Gale, or anyone but herself.

“I have experienced a minor inconvenience,” she said flatly, “and shall now be exploding myself and everyone in the vicinity.”

There was a moment of astonished silence, which quickly gave way to thunderous applause and laughter.

–

Karlach didn’t complain for a moment about carrying Lae’zel’s pack the next day. She, like Kestrel, seemed to think the whole thing was worth it.

Chapter Text

By Kestrel’s last day in the Shadowlands, they hardly seemed worthy of the name anymore. The skies above weren’t bright and blue yet, but they weren’t pitch-black either–more the golden-gray that followed a thunderstorm. Here and there, flickers of sunlight danced over soil from which blades of grass tentatively poked out.

It was almost painful to think of leaving. Part of Kestrel longed to stay here and help nature repair itself. But her duties lay elsewhere, and anyway, she would be leaving nature in good hands.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?” she asked, for what felt like the millionth time. “I know you have some company, but Oliver is so young, and Art really isn’t well at all. Should I try to convince Halsin to stay behind after all?”

“I will be fine,” Thaniel assured her, looking amused. “I am the spirit of these lands, if you’ll recall, and I hardly need adult supervision. As for Halsin, I believe he’ll be far happier in your company, despite the dangers. He needs proper friends, not simply druid colleagues. Or spirits.” 

“I’ll look after him,” Kestrel vowed. “Make sure he survives, so he can come back to visit. For what it’s worth, Thaniel, I am so, so glad we were able to help you.”

“Not as glad as I am,” the boy replied, smiling. “Nature moves at its own pace, but give it time. A reward will come to you, when you need it most.”

“There’s only one reward I want.” The words left Kestrel’s mouth before she could even think about them. Something about speaking to this child (spirit? god?) made her incapable of hiding the truth, even more than one of Jaheira’s clever potions.

Thaniel gave her an understanding look. “I know,” he said. “Some wishes are beyond my power to grant, but that does not mean you don’t deserve them. Or that they won’t come true. Keep your hopes high.”

–

There was no shortage of important topics to discuss around the campfire, on the group’s first night out of the Shadowlands. Astarion’s scars and the ritual that had brought them about, Shadowheart’s missing parents, Wyll’s possibly-broken pact, the army of the Absolute…

So, naturally, they ignored all of that and discussed Shadowheart’s hair.

“It’s a good look for you,” Kestrel told her encouragingly. “Very bright and cheery.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” said Wyll. “Trying to emulate Dame Aylin, were you? There’s nothing more attractive than someone strong and righteous.”

Shadowheart’s cheeks went faintly pink. “It’s nothing to do with Aylin or Isobel.”

“Of course not,” said Jaheira, nose in the air. “The girl was clearly trying to look like me. Always nice to see a young person respect their elders.”

“I have enough trouble telling istiks apart,” Lae’zel grumbled. “Now there are four white-haired women in this camp. I will have to make you all wear tir’su name badges.”

Kestrel, caught up in the discussion, almost jumped out of her skin when someone slid onto the log beside her. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was–that scent of moss and herbs could belong to no one else.

“Halsin. Did you need something?”

“I did have a request, in fact. Would you meet me by that small pond to the south, when the others have retired?” he asked quietly. His breath was warm against her skin, and she suppressed a shiver. 

“Why?” she asked, forcing out a breathy laugh. “You’re not planning to murder me, are you?”

“Only if I wanted to doom the world.” It wasn’t clear if he was joking. “No, I simply wanted to discuss something with you. It’s rather important.”

Her stomach clenched with anxiety. “Well, I can hardly say no to that, can I? I’ll be there.”

“Much appreciated.” He shot her a quick smile and returned to his previous seat, listening with amusement to their friends’ debate. As though he hadn’t just dropped a smokepowder bomb on her.

After dinner Kestrel lay on top of her bedroll, worries spiralling through her mind. There were any number of things Halsin might want to discuss with her, and it was far easier to picture all the bad ones.

I cannot, in good conscience, set foot in a city without a single deer in it.

I’ve begun to find you clingy and over-affectionate, and so I should leave before you start getting any silly ideas about us.

Withers told me a story about you and a candle, and frankly, I find you disgusting.

None of these options were any good, though the first one seemed most likely. Yes, he had promised to accompany her to the city and fight the Absolute, but it would be perfectly fair of him to change his mind. If she had been un-tadpoled, she wouldn’t want to be here either.

Kestrel bit the inside of her lip, mentally debating, before hastily stripping out of her clothes and underwear and slipping on Apikusis’ white dress. If he was planning to leave, she would do anything in her power to convince him otherwise. Anything. And if he wasn’t, and there was something else he wanted to talk to her about…

Well, the dress was probably a good choice in any scenario.

Thank the Moonmaiden, most of the Tadpole Irregulars went to bed early that night. Perhaps they sensed these were the last few nights of quiet they would have before arriving in the city. By the time the moon was at its highest, no one but Withers was up to observe Kestrel as she ducked out of her tent and made her way to the pond.

Halsin was already there, leaning against a tree and gazing thoughtfully out over the dark water. Kestrel’s heart contracted with longing at the way the moonlight glinted in his hair, highlighting a few silver strands by his ears. It was unfair that he was so beautiful, not only because of his pretty eyes and wide shoulders and smile, but because he was so truly, genuinely good.

And she might be about to lose him.

That was the really unfair part.

She cleared her throat, and Halsin looked up, eyes brightening.

“You came!” he said, sounding relieved. He looked her up and down with raised eyebrows. “Since you wore that dress, I suspect you know what I wanted to discuss.”

This was not how she’d expected he would start the conversation. “Well, my first theory was that you were going to tell me you were leaving,” said Kestrel. “So I thought if I made myself presentable, I might be able to talk you out of it.”

“And your second theory?”

“My second theory was that…” Kestrel shuffled her feet, suddenly embarrassed. “Well, I thought you might have something nice to say to me.”

“Nice.” Halsin smiled wryly. “You may find it nice–indeed, I hope you do–but that remains to be seen. I’ve been trying to find the words to say this for some time now.” He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, before looking at her again. “You must understand, Kestrel, that before we met, I was going through my life in something of a fog. One I barely noticed while I was in it. My parents and brother were long gone, my predecessor–who had been a second father to me–was lost to the shadows, and I had been forced into a position of leadership that I never truly wanted. I thought I might spend the rest of my life burdened by politics and regret. And then…” He paused, as though trying to find the right words.

“And then?” Kestrel repeated breathlessly.

“Then,” he said, “I met a beautiful girl in a goblin camp, who saved my life and made me part of her family, and the fog lifted.”

She gulped. “Halsin, what exactly are you saying?”

He looked into her eyes, unblinking. “Your friendship is important to me, Kestrel, and I have no desire to ruin it, but I must speak my mind. I love you. Not only as a very dear friend, but as someone I…well, that I desire.”

He 

WHAT?

Surreptitiously, Kestrel pinched the inside of her wrist to ensure she was awake. She had to be dreaming, because things like this didn’t happen outside of dreams and novels. Kind, beautiful, powerful men didn’t fall for anxiety-plagued trainee clerics with brain infections.

Unless, by some miracle, they did.

‘You love me?” she asked, her voice oddly high and squeaky. “You mean to say you…you…”

“I understand completely if you cannot return my feelings, of course.” He barely seemed to have heard her, still in the middle of some rehearsed speech. “We are of very different ages and backgrounds, despite our shared values, and you may think of me only as an advisor and healer, which would still be an honor, though I must—”

Halsin sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair. “Look,” he said. “Lately I’ve begun to hope you might feel the same. The care you’ve shown for me has been humbling, to say the least. But tell me I’m wrong, and the matter can rest. I have no desire to upset you.”

“You’re not upsetting me,” Kestrel choked out, when she was finally able to speak. “Haven’t I been horribly obvious? I was certain I had been horribly obvious.”

He looked down at her, eyes wide and face frozen, for a long moment. “We… may have different definitions of obvious,” he said, voice shaking slightly. “Then am I to believe I was right, Kestrel? You do have feelings for me?”

“Feelings for you!” Kestrel laughed incredulously. “Halsin, I love you so much I’m almost concerned for my sanity. I was utterly infatuated with you, practically since the moment we met, though I didn’t realize I truly loved you until you accidentally read my journal and gave me a duck. Honestly, I think I fell a little in love with you before we even met. Hearing everyone at the Grove talk about you, reading your notes about the animals, seeing everything you’d been studying…I knew we’d get along, right away.”

“You wonderful woman.” Halsin’s eyes gleamed in the same way they had after she’d saved Oliver. “I realized my feelings when I opened the portal to the Shadowfell, and you begged to come with me. I could tell how frightened you were, but you were still willing to enter that horrible place, only for my sake. I would have taken you in my arms and told you I loved you there and then, but the timing was wrong, and the curse hadn’t yet been broken.” He shook his head. “I’m making excuses. Perhaps I should have told you immediately, but I must admit, I was nervous.”

Strangely, Kestrel felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. He’d been nervous over her, of all people? He, who was so handsome and clever and desired by everyone? It was overwhelming to think of.

Halsin gave her a worried look. “Am I upsetting you?”

“No, gods no! It’s just that…I can’t understand why you like me,” she said desperately. “I’m no great mage or warrior. I can’t turn into a tiger or lead an army. I’m a moderately pretty, passably-skilled writer and healer who spends most of her time worrying and making up words. I’m not…I’m not good enough for you.”

Halsin looked torn between wanting to laugh and cry. “I’m not sure where to begin correcting that statement,” he said. “To start with the obvious: at no point did I declare that I like you. We are not children conducting some schoolyard flirtation. What I said was that I love you, that I desire you, nothing less. As for my reasons for doing so…” He shook his head. “There is nothing simply passable about you, Kestrel. Not your looks, not your skills, certainly not your heart. Our friend Gale put it best, when theorizing about the Intellect Devourer: you touched it with mercy, and you changed its nature. That is what you do to the world around you. Your kindness, your faith, your passion have brought change in ways I never believed possible.” 

He reached out and gently ran one thumb over her cheekbone, right below her infected eye.

“You shine so brightly,” he said softly, “I’m amazed that thing doesn’t burn to ash in your head.”

Kestrel tried to say something profound and romantic, but when she opened her mouth, all that came out was: “Kiss me.”

In the blink of an eye, she was in his arms, held so tightly she was almost paralyzed. His fingers trembled against her skin as his mouth covered hers, and despite her limited experience, she could tell from the hard pressure against her abdomen that he was aroused. She hadn’t been imagining it before, when he was helping with her leg. He had wanted her, and still did, if she wasn’t mistaken.

“I need to ask you something,” she whispered, in between kisses. “That night at the camp, when I was injured and you were healing me. If I hadn’t been heavily medicated and you had been less preoccupied, would something have happened?”

“A question I’ve considered far more often than I should have, on nights when I had to substitute my own hand for your lovely self. Had you been willing, I would have dragged you off into the woods and ravished you senseless.”

The idea that he had fantasised about her almost made her knees buckle. “And is there any reason we can’t do that right now?”

A look of astonished joy lit up his face, as though he was the one whose dream was coming true. “That depends. Were you planning to get any sleep tonight?”

She shook her head. “Sleep I can live without. It’s you I need.”

“Far be it from me to deny you.”He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply. “Your scent has been driving me mad, you know. I can barely be around you without wanting to utterly devour you.”

“I don’t have a problem with being devoured.”

“Oh? Know that from experience, do you?”

Right. She should probably clear that up now, before things went any further. There was always the chance he’d back away in horror, but it was a risk she had to take.

“I’ve never done this before,” she admitted. “Made love with someone, I mean. It’s a bit ridiculous, I know, and I understand if you lose all interest in me immediately. There was just never anyone I truly wanted before.”

There was a spark of something like excitement in his eyes, though she might have imagined it. “There is nothing ridiculous about waiting for the right time, and the right person. Though I should ask–do you still want to do this? I understand if this is moving too fast.”

“Halsin,” Kestrel said seriously. “If you don’t make love to me within the next three minutes I am probably going to die. Do you want that on your conscience?”

“When you put it that way, how can I refuse?” He smiled and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “I’m honored by your trust, you know. And I will be gentle–as much as I can.”

“I believe you,” said Kestrel, and meant it with every bone in her body. “I imagine we get undressed now, yes? That’s the usual order of things?”

“Usually, yes,” said Halsin, sounding amused. “Perhaps you would feel more comfortable if I went first?”

Comfortable wasn’t quite the word for how she felt seeing Halsin naked. He was magnificent, all rippling muscle and tanned skin, with a few faded scars standing out across his incredible chest and shoulders. And oh, gods, he definitely wanted her, and it was hard to imagine how she would accommodate him.

Somehow, her shaking fingers managed to undo the small buttons on her bodice. She took a deep breath and tried to feign confidence as her dress dropped to the ground, revealing her body. Skinny shoulders, small breasts and waist, comparatively round hips and thighs. Nothing to write home about, perhaps, but all hers.

Halsin chose this moment to wildshape, which was something of a shock, to say the least.

He stammered an apology once his usual form had returned, but in truth, she was hardly paying attention. After the initial flash of fear, all she could feel was sheer excitement. The most self-controlled man she knew wanted her so much that he had lost control completely, and the thought was so arousing it made her legs shake, though Halsin seemed to mistake this for a tremble of fear.

“I’ve frightened you,” he said miserably. “Forgive me. If you would rather return to camp…”

“You could never frighten me,” Kestrel assured him. “I’m just astonished that I could have that effect on you, when you’ve been with so many beautiful, interesting people.”

His relief was palpable. “True,” he said with a smile. “I’ve had plenty of lovers in my long life. The trouble, my sweet, beautiful bird, is that none of them were you.”

He seized her waist and pulled her back against him for another fierce, hungry kiss. After a moment he retreated, eyebrows raised. “I could change back, if you like…?” 

“I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet,” Kestrel replied. “That’s not a permanent no, by the way, but I’m new to all this. Maybe we keep it simple for now.”

“Simple will do nicely.” He returned to kissing her, with such force it was as though he was trying to steal her breath.

Kestrel winced as the tree bark scraped roughly against her naked back. Halsin noticed immediately, because of course he did, and frowned. “This won’t do,” he said decisively. “Ideally I would lay you on a bed of rose petals, but under the circumstances, we can still be comfortable.”  He lifted her in his arms and carefully set her down on a patch of soft, faintly damp moss. “How is that?”

“Snug as a bug in a rug.” This wasn’t quite the right expression for the situation, but her vocabulary was lacking at the moment.

Halsin resumed kissing her, his lips straying past her mouth and over her neck, shoulders, and breasts. When he took one nipple in his mouth, her hips spasmed, and she gave an involuntary whine. 

“You are beautifully responsive. I knew you would be.” He traced a finger down her collarbone, making her shudder. “If it’s ever too much, tell me, and I’ll back off.”

Boldly, Kestrel seized a handful of his hair and pulled his face back against her chest. “Nothing is too much. Didn’t you promise you would devour me?”

“So I did,” he agreed, and picked up precisely where he had left off. When he reached her hip bone, a sudden memory struck her, and she giggled aloud.

Halsin looked up, one eyebrow raised. “What was that for?”

“When I left Hargrave, one of my sisters joked I’d be eaten by a werebear,” Kestrel replied, snickering. “Gods bless the poor thing, she had no idea how right she was.”

“Another clever theory?” Halsin chuckled. “We’ll have to discuss that. Later. For now, lie back and let me take care of you.” He slipped one thick finger into her sex, rotating it gently and making her moan. “Wet already. Have you been as desperate for this as I have?”

Her yes came out as more of a throaty whimper, but it seemed to get the point across. He grinned and buried his face between her thighs, torturing her with his tongue and fingers. She was making much more noise now, deep and throaty moans that hardly sounded like her voice, and in only a short while she came so hard her vision blurred.

It might have been minutes or hours before he finally pulled back, wiping her juices from his mouth and chin. Kestrel stared down at him in awe, too overcome even to speak.

Oh, but he knew. She could tell from the wicked gleam in his eyes that he knew exactly how talented his tongue was. Smiling, he ran one giant hand along the curve of her hip.

“More?” he asked huskily. “I believe you’re wet enough to take me by now.”

“Yes,” she breathed. She flopped back onto the grass and spread her legs shamelessly. “More. Everything.”

“Just as you say.” He pulled himself up again and lifted her thighs, positioning the broad head of his cock at her entrance. Before she could even react, he shifted forward and thrust into her.

There was a twinge of pain, though he’d prepared her so well that it passed in half a second. When she nodded at him to continue, he smiled and pushed in an inch or two more. For a moment she panicked and struggled, digging her nails into his massive shoulders. Surely he was going to kill her, split her in half–and gods, what a good way to die. If a bit embarrassing to write an obituary for.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” Halsin murmured, bending to kiss her forehead. “Relax, and open yourself to me.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath and forced her taut muscles to soften. Astonishingly, he slid in even further, until he was pushing against the entrance to her womb.

“There, now. Perfect.” He looked down at her with concern. “Am I hurting you?”

Kestrel shook her head mutely. With the initial shock over, all she felt was full, to the point where she couldn’t bring herself to move for fear of setting off an explosion. “It’s good,” she managed at last. “Lovely. Does this, ah… feel all right for you? Should I do anything different?”

“Different!” He gave a huff of laughter. “You feel heavenly. I want so much to make this good for you, not brief and unsatisfying, but I’m finding self-control very difficult at the moment.”

“You’ve already made it good for me,” Kestrel promised. “I’ll be satisfied no matter how brief this is.”

Halsin lightly tapped her nose in reproach. “None of that, please. I realize your nature is to be selfless, but this is a special night for you, and I want it to last. As for me…” He gave a deep, shuddering moan, making Kestrel pulse with desire. “Trust me, I will enjoy myself.”

He began to thrust into her in a steady rhythm, warm and solid and gentle. Kestrel almost wanted to close her eyes and block out all senses except touch, but then she would have missed the pure, melting love in his gaze that was even more exciting than his body.

“Do you know why I waited so long for this?” he said roughly. “If I had tasted your body earlier I would have been able to do nothing else. The curse could have spread over the entire continent and I would still be in camp fucking you day and night.”

Kestrel whimpered as another climax rippled through her, though she wasn’t sure if it was from his cock or his words. “We do still have an Elder Brain to kill,” she pointed out breathlessly. 

“So we do. But I’ve grown sick of denying myself. If we have only a short time left to live, then I want to spend it with you, holding nothing back.”

“If I know anything about you, it’s that holding back is not in your nature.” Kestrel wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer. “Don’t start now.”

It was like swimming in the Hargrave lake during a storm. Kestrel gave up on trying to do anything in particular, and simply lay back and let waves of pleasure pummel her. She probably wouldn’t be able to walk the next day, which she had no problem with.

Halsin’s movements had grown faster and more jerky, and he seemed almost on the brink himself. “Tell me you love me,” he ground out, almost pleading.

“I love you,” Kestrel panted. “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

He gave a groan that was nearly a roar and grasped her hard around the hips. She felt a gush of heat inside her as he climaxed, bringing her to one final, shuddering peak herself. When he’d finally finished, Halsin rolled off her and lay at her side, pulling her against him so she could feel the still-frantic beating of his heart.

For several minutes there was quiet, broken only by their exhausted breathing and the faint chatter of insects.

I could turn into an illithid, right now, and still die happy, Kestrel thought. She’d never felt so utterly satisfied. Her skin was sticky with their combined sweat, and she could feel the remnants of his seed dripping down her thighs. She was tempted to never bathe again, just so she could keep the scent of this night on her forever.

Beside her, Halsin rolled onto his side and looked down at her adoringly. “Was that a pleasant experience?”

“Twice as wonderful as I thought it would be,” Kestrel said. “Ten times better, actually. And here I thought I had a vivid imagination. How about me? Did I do a good job?” She laughed awkwardly. “I should have phrased that less like a student after an exam, but…did I?”

“Full marks, my love. Everything I dreamed of and more…and I had dreamed of quite a lot. Are you sure you haven’t been practicing with one of our friends? I did wonder if there was something between you and Gale.”

“We kissed once,” said Kestrel. “Just once, and I didn’t let it go any further. Which was entirely your fault, by the way. The moment I laid eyes on you, I was blind to everyone else.”

“That is very flattering. I wouldn’t ask blindness of you, though.” His eyes were suddenly solemn. “I believe love is meant to be shared, not restricted. If you want to explore with others, I will not be jealous.”

She blinked in confusion. “Are you encouraging me to be unfaithful?”

“I am encouraging you to enjoy yourself, before committing to any one person too soon. You are young, beautiful, full of life. You deserve to have every experience you desire, with or without me.”

Kestrel shook her head. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

He smiled and kissed her forehead. “You may change your mind. Or you may not, but whatever you decide, it will change nothing about my feelings for you.”

He loves me, Kestrel thought, but doesn’t want to own me. The idea was oddly thrilling. She shivered in anticipation at all the scandalous adventures they might have together. 

“Let’s revisit that topic another time,” she said, grinning. With some effort, she pulled herself upright and straddled his hips. “For now, I couldn’t possibly want anyone more than you. Can we go another round?”

–

It was at least mid-morning by the time Kestrel awoke, every part of her sore and limp and sated. Halsin was sitting up against the tree beside her–he’d put his trousers back on, which was rude of him, but at least he hadn’t donned a shirt.

She wasn’t sure how the night had ended; the last thing she remembered was being crouched on all fours while he drove mercilessly into her from behind.

“Did I fall asleep halfway through?” she asked groggily. “If so, I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

Halsin gave her a sheepish smile. “Ah…it seems you fainted. I should be the one apologizing, I was rather more forceful toward the end than I’d intended.”

“Don’t apologize, I loved it. Every second of it.” She giggled. “So that’s the second time you’ve made me faint, then.”

His eyebrows went up. “Second? What was the first?”

“When we met, remember? You diagnosed me with brainworm and asked for my help against the goblins, and I passed out at your feet.”

“Ah, yes. Though I’d assumed you fainted because of your injuries.”

“Well, I had lost a lot of blood, but I was also extremely attracted to you. You were ten times as gorgeous as I was expecting.”

“You flatter me. Do you know what I thought, when I first saw you?”

“Was it ‘my, this girl is inappropriately dressed for a goblin camp’?”

“I thought you were an angel.” He bent to kiss her again, leaving her gasping for breath by the time he pulled back. “I’d like nothing more than to have you again here and now, but I imagine you’re sore, and in need of breakfast. Or lunch, as the case may be.”

Kestrel tried to protest, but was interrupted by a loudly grumbling stomach. “Stop being so right about everything, it’s very annoying. I don’t plan to be sore this evening, though,” she continued, roughly pulling her dress back on.

Halsin grinned. “If you aren’t, I would be more than happy to pick up where we left off. I recommend getting your sleep now, in case tonight is less than restful.”

“Gods, you’re insatiable,” Kestrel sighed happily. “It’s a good thing I am too.”

A few of the others were up and about back at camp, drinking tea and toasting bits of bread over a small fire. Lae’zel sat close beside Shadowheart, turning the pale green egg from Creche Y’llek over in her hands and explaining something. At the sound of footsteps, all of them looked up with expressions of faint surprise, which turned quickly into sly smiles.

“So!” Shadowheart said. “Have fun last night? It certainly sounded like you did.”

Kestrel clapped a hand over her mouth in horror. “You…heard us?”

“Of course we heard you,” said Lae’zel caustically. “You made more noise than a pack of mating hyenas. I cannot decide if this is better or worse than when you were mooning over each other like fools.”

“Gale thought you were being murdered,” Shadowheart put in. “You should have seen his face when he realized the truth.”

If interactions more awkward than this were possible, Kestrel couldn’t imagine them. And it did not help that she could feel Halsin chuckling under his breath behind her. “Oh, gods, I’m so sorry. We meant to be discreet, but…one thing led to another.”

“Well, personally,” said Astarion, “I’m just delighted that our sweet, maidenly Kestrel is now officially as debauched as the rest of us. Perhaps now you’ll stop looking horrified at every joke I make.”

“Can we please stop talking about this now?” Kestrel asked shrilly. “Forever, maybe?”

Halsin bent down and kissed the top of her head. “Let them joke,” he murmured. “There is no shame in nature, my beautiful bird.”

“Says you,” Kestrel groused, though she felt the worst of her annoyance draining away. If Halsin was impossible to embarrass, maybe that was a skill she could learn as well. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to actually eat something, before I faint dead away. Again.”

She scarfed down some bread and cheese rapidly, pointedly ignoring the thousand unspoken questions in her friends’ eyes ( especially Shadowheart, blast her!). When the last bite was gone, she hurried to her tent and stripped out of her stained white dress. 

Out of curiosity, she picked up the silver mirror she’d swiped from Astarion and inspected herself. The sight wasn’t a dignified one. Her hair was snarled and frizzy, there were bruises on her neck, wrists, and breasts, and the dark circles under her eyes were more prominent than ever.

She looked like a woman who’d had an adventure.

Smiling, Kestrel collapsed into her bedroll for a deep, pleasantly dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

Karlach dropped into a seat on the ground next to Kestrel, who was making a valiant attempt to wash the grass stains out of her white dress.

“So!” she said cheerily. “You and Halsin, eh? Not to brag, but I saw that coming leagues off. You two always seemed about three seconds away from snogging.”

Kestrel laughed, embarrassed. “That obvious, was I?”

“Oh, don’t get all blushy. You’re sweet together. If we survive all this I’m sure you’ll have a whole pack of cute little cubs in a few years.”

“I hope you’re right. But enough about me–what’s going on between you and Wyll?”

Now it was Karlach’s turn to duck her head bashfully. “Nothing! We’re mates, that’s all. Best mates, practically, but nothing else.”

“Sure, sure. Best mates who look at each other like they hung the sun. You know, I used to think Halsin and I were just mates, until I realized he had an entirely different kind of mating in mind…”

“Stop!” Karlach elbowed her, and sighed. “Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong. I mean…I do like Wyll. A lot.”

“What’s not to like? He’s sweet, funny, handsome, damn good at courtly dancing…”

“Exactly. But that’s the trouble. Apart from everything else he’s, y’know. Posh. Even if we ditch the tadpoles and fix my heart, dear old Duke Dad will probably set him up with some toff who knows the minuet. Can’t see Ulder Ravengard approving of a daughter-in-law who stinks of Hell.”

“First off, Karlach, practically everyone who’s ever met you loves you to bits. And second, you think Wyll is going to let his father dictate his love life? Wyll, who gave up his entire life and sold his soul to save the city? Who broke his contract and grew horns to save you? If he has feelings for you, and I think he does, Zariel herself couldn’t keep you two apart.” She shrugged. “That’s what I think, anyway.”

“Damn, soldier.” Karlach shook her head. “You are a romance writer. But thanks, anyway.”

If you still owe me anything in exchange for saving Aylin, dear Selûne, Kestrel thought, let Karlach and Dammon be wrong. Baldur’s Gate could use a Grand Duchess Karlach.

–

It was still rare to see Lae’zel and Shadowheart collaborate on anything, and so Kestrel was both impressed and intimidated when they cornered her next to her tent.

“Look,” said Shadowheart. “We don’t want to pry…”

“Yes we do,” Lae’zel interrupted, arms crossed.

Shadowheart sighed. “Fine, I suppose we do want to pry, a little. Tell us about your night with Halsin. All about it.”

Kestrel valiantly tried to keep her cheeks from heating up, not that she could control it. “Why should I? I thought you already overheard all of it.”

“Hardly the same as hearing all the details, is it? You can’t just not tell us things like this. We’re your friends, we have rights.”

“From his general size, I would guess that your druid is remarkably well-endowed,” said Lae’zel, in the tone of someone predicting it might rain later. “You’ve been limping lately, as well, which supports my theory. Though, naturally, skill is far more important than size.”

Kestrel buried her face in her hands. “Please don’t make me talk about this. Just use your imaginations.”

Shadowheart tutted disapprovingly. “Is it a Selûnite thing, being this bashful? Say what you want about the Sharrans, but they were never prudish.”

Kestrel felt an irrational sense of annoyance at the last word. Easily embarrassed she might have been, but after everything she’d experienced over the last few months, she refused to still be thought of as–what had Astarion called her?–an insipid little mummy’s girl.

“Fine,” she said. “You want details? You can have them. Gods forbid Shadowheart turns back to Shar just because she thinks Selûne’s servants are prudish.”

She hadn’t been previously aware that githyanki could blush. Making Lae’zel do just that, by the end of Kestrel’s tale, was more satisfying than any tadpole power.

–

Gale cleared his throat awkwardly, making Kestrel look up from the healing salve she was mixing (it never hurt to be prepared). 

“I hear,” he said, “that congratulations are in order.”

“Right.” Kestrel gave him a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry again for any awkward noise. Feel free to cast a silencing spell on us next time.”

“After how much you’ve listened to me babble on about Mystra, I think it’s only fair of me to not make a fuss.” He let out a pained chuckle. “I am happy for you, truly. You deserve someone kind, who’ll look after you. Halsin seems to be that someone.”

“Oh, I should think I’ll look after him just as much,” Kestrel replied. “He’s simply too nice for his own good sometimes. But thank you, anyway. And for what it’s worth, I firmly believe you deserve some happiness of your own. Once you’ve got the orb cured…”

Gale grimaced and held up a hand. “These days, I’m preferring to not speculate on my future. One step at a time, that’s my new philosophy. Still, it does my heart good to see you enjoying yourself.”

Left unsaid, presumably: but less good to hear you doing so every night.

–

“I see thou hast now a bosom companion,” Withers remarked.

“That’s quite a turn of phrase,” Kestrel said, trying not to squirm with discomfort. She could talk to Gale and the girls about this sort of thing, but not her honorary undead grandfather. “Is that good?”

“It is not my place to weigh in,” he replied. “I would only caution against being distracted by… pleasures of the flesh.”

Oh, gods, skinless old men should not be allowed to say pleasures of the flesh. “First you were looking down your nonexistent nose at me for being unattached,” said Kestrel. “Now that I’ve got someone, you’re still picking on me. Make up your mind, would you?”

“Thy heart is thine own concern,” Withers said serenely. “I am merely acting in the interest of balance.”

“You say that,” she said, “and yet I still think you just like interfering in our lives. Do you not have important cosmic duties somewhere in the universe? A grand mistake to make up for?”

Withers nodded. “I do,” he said. “Thus, here I am.”

Kestrel gave up. “Well, enjoy yourself. And don’t you dare ask me for any dirty details. I’ve had quite enough of that today.”

–

Halsin’s scouting mission along the road had been a short one, but this didn’t seem to have occurred to him. The moment he arrived back in camp, he swept Kestrel into his arms and kissed her so ferociously she felt dizzy.

“My beautiful bird. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

“We were apart for an hour,” she said with a giggle, “and you’re behaving like you’ve been at war for six years.”

“It took over three hundred years for me to finally meet you. I have a great deal of time to make up for.” He kissed her again with a low groan. “I can only imagine how my life might have changed if we’d met two centuries ago.”

Kestrel sighed wistfully. “Part of me wishes I had known you back in your younger days. Then again, without extenuating circumstances bringing us together, you probably wouldn’t have looked twice at me back then.”

Halsin looked mildly offended. “Are you accusing my past self of having poor taste? Believe me, I would have noticed you. And considering that I had much less self-control in my youth, before the Shadow Curse, I expect I would have dragged you to bed within ten minutes and kept you there for a week.”

Her knees trembled, and she had to force herself to stay upright. “Halsin, you can’t just say things like that to me in public.” She glanced around furtively. “I think the others have enough ammunition already.”

“Ah.” Halsin smiled at her knowingly. “I take it our friends have been inquisitive today?”

“They most certainly have. You’d think they would have better things to talk about than what we get up to at night.”

“I expect our budding romance is the least frightening thing our friends currently have to discuss,” Halsin mused. “And yes, I’ve had a few amusing conversations today. Astarion asked me for details, of which I gave him very few. Jaheira accused me of ‘robbing the cradle’ and asked what Thaniel would think of his new mother. I do think she was joking,” he added, “but her sense of humor is very dry. And I had quite an interesting talk with Shadowheart.”

Kestrel tried to tamp down a hint of irritation at her friend. She knew Halsin’s philosophy was that love was meant to be shared, but surely Shadowheart could wait a little longer to try and get involved. “Did you? That doesn’t surprise me, she’s an interesting person.”

“Indeed she is, but this conversation was about you, in fact.” He laughed softly. “She said that if I told anyone this, she would deny it, but she considers you her best friend, and said if I hurt you in any way she would kill a family of ducks in front of me.”

“Oh!” The image was slightly horrifying, but still made warmth spread through Kestrel’s belly. Best friends. She wondered when that had happened, though she suspected Dame Aylin’s rescue was a large part of it. “That’s so sweet, I almost don’t want to tease her about it.”

“But you will anyway, of course.”

“There are some things nature dictates,” said Kestrel. “Wolves howl, birds lay eggs, and the Tadpole Irregulars tease each other mercilessly.”

Chapter Text

In the few days of travel between the ex-Shadowlands and Baldur’s Gate, Kestrel learned several things about Halsin, all of which served to confirm what a good choice she had made in him.

1. After they made love, he liked to talk in great detail about what she had enjoyed and what could be improved. Kestrel was still finding it hard to have these discussions without dissolving into giggles, but she certainly appreciated his forthrightness.
2. It had obviously been a long time since he’d received any loving touch. Even as they went about their day, he almost always had a hand on her somewhere, wrapped around her waist or tangled in her hair. And at night, she always fell asleep wrapped tightly in his arms.
3. He was shocked by absolutely nothing. When she nervously confessed the incident with the candle, he found the thought so exciting that he mounted her before she’d even finished talking. Afterwards, he’d even begged for her to demonstrate.

With all this going on, it was easy to forget the danger that awaited around every corner. Until they made camp one night in an old farmhouse outside Rivington, and a portal opened, revealing exactly who had been haunting their dreams.

–

Kestrel stumbled through the campsite, faintly sick with the knowledge of what had just been revealed in the Astral Plane. She’d trusted that thing. Gods, she’d liked him–it. And now this “Emperor” was trying to change her very being, turn her into something like him.

She would rather die.

Hushed voices drifted over to her from near Lae’zel’s tent, and she paused, trying to make out what they were saying.

“The Prince of the Comet lives.” Lae’zel’s voice was fierce and passionate. “This is a sign from Mother Gith, it must be. I will free Orpheus, and follow him as he flies to kill the Lich Queen.”

There was a sigh. “You stopped blindly following Vlaakith about five minutes ago, Lae’zel,” said Shadowheart. “Maybe you should take a break before you start blindly following this Orpheus.”

“Of course an istik would not understand,” Lae’zel retorted. “You know nothing of the loyalty instilled in my people since we first hatch. Vlaakith was undeserving of my faith, but I have finally found a worthy leader.”

“You’re describing brainwashing, Lae’zel.” Shadowheart’s voice was regretful. “Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”

“If my brain is so thoroughly washed,” Lae’zel said loftily, “then it must be very clean.”

“Oh, of course it is. You know everything. What about that little chap in the egg, when it hatches? How will you feel when they grow up and jump onto the front lines of a war?”

There was a tense silence, and Kestrel held her breath. 

“You will leave me now, Shadowheart,” Lae’zel said finally. “There is no point to this discussion.”

“Lae’zel, I’m just trying to…”

“ Leave.”

A small sound of frustration, and then all Kestrel could hear were reluctant footsteps through the crunchy leaves, coming her way. She tried to slink back into the darkness, but Shadowheart spotted her at once.

“Eavesdropping, are we?” she inquired coolly.

“Maybe a bit,” Kestrel admitted. “I’m sorry. Lae’zel can be difficult, but you did your best.”

“Difficult? She’s impossible. I’d been starting to think the Mother Superior had lied about githyanki, that they weren’t all stubborn as bulettes, but maybe she had a point. Lae’zel can go right ahead and die in another pointless battle, for all I care.”

Irritated as Shadowheart sounded, Kestrel was surprised by the note of deep caring in her voice. Just a few months earlier, she would have gladly sent Lae’zel into war without a second thought.

The opposite of love isn’t hate, Mama Bettina had once said. It’s indifference.

“Shadowheart,” Kestrel said, “is there something going on between…”

Shadowheart sniffed. “Absolutely not. The only thing going on here is that I am trying to be the voice of reason, and my efforts are going nowhere.”

She stomped off, back to her tent, leaving Kestrel deep in thought and mildly suspicious.

–

Rivington was a pleasant-sounding name for one of the most unpleasant places Kestrel had ever set foot in. Instead of a lively, bustling town,  it looked more like the remnants of a battlefield. Thin, exhausted people in dusty clothes clogged narrow streets, and the smells of sweat, illness, and misery hovered in the air.

“Refugees,” Shadowheart said grimly. “Our enemies must have been laying waste to every settlement on the coast. They certainly didn’t waste any time.”

“This is terrible,” said Kestrel. Everywhere she looked, a new horror struck her eyes: a man who’d lost both his legs, a child whose face was covered in red sores, a woman collapsed in the middle of the street with no one paying her any mind. “I’ve never seen anything this terrible in my life.”

She felt Halsin’s hand squeeze her waist, and knew instinctively that he understood how she felt.

“I wouldn’t have thought poverty would be so new to you,” Astarion drawled. “Didn’t you grow up in some country hovel?”

“In a way, but…” Kestrel trailed off, struggling to explain. By city standards, she supposed, the MacDuffs had been poor. There had never been any elaborate parties, silk dresses, or fine jewelry. Despite all that, though, she had never felt poor. Her family had what they needed, nothing more, nothing less. 

The refugees here didn’t have what they needed. They didn’t have anything.

But if she gave in to despair now, she wouldn’t be doing these people any good. Some of them might survive hunger and homelessness, but none of them would survive the Dead Three and an Elder Brain. 

“It’s just a bit of a shock,” she said, as casually as she could manage. “When I first set out for Baldur’s Gate, I was imagining something more fun. Lots of culture, diversity and elegance.”

“That part’s called the upper city,” Astarion said dryly. “This is Rivington. I thought one of your books would have clarified the distinction for you.”

Karlach rolled her eyes. “Look, it’s not always this bad,” she told Kestrel. “It was no paradise when I was growing up, sure, but this situation with the Absolute is bringing out the worst in everyone. Once we’ve won, I’m sure things will go back to the fun kind of hectic.”

“I hope so.” Kestrel gave her a wan smile. “It’s funny, I had a whole list of things that I wanted to do here, but I suppose we won’t have time now.”

“What was on the list?” Wyll asked. There was a gleam of determination in his eye. “Come on, let’s see. I know almost every inch of this city, I’m sure we can check a few things off.”

Surprised, Kestrel flipped through her journal until she found the right page, and handed it over to Wyll. She very much hoped he didn’t turn any pages in it, as the story about the lady and her gardener had grown considerably longer and more detailed lately.

“Oh, these are easy,” said Wyll. “ Eat dinner at the Elfsong Tavern– I’d be more worried if we didn’t, it’s the cleanest place to eat in the lower city. Seeing a play, that should be doable, though I can’t promise we’ll see a good one. Buy an expensive outfit–either of the Pennygood siblings can manage that. What’s this one?” 

He turned the book to face Kestrel, tapping a sentence that had turned into a smudged scribble halfway through.

“Oh, right, I was snatched up by the Nautiloid while writing that line. I’m still quite impressed the journal got teleported with me.” Kestrel squinted at the page. “I think it says something along the lines of ‘have a pa…’” She stopped abruptly, remembering what exactly she had written there. “You know what, I’m not sure. It can’t have been very important.”

With a shrug, Wyll handed the journal back to her. “Point is, just because the world might be ending doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves a little.”

As the others walked ahead, Halsin put an arm around her and gave her a knowing smile. “Was your final goal to have a passionate love affair, by any chance?”

“Maybe,” said Kestrel. “Or maybe it was to be utterly debauched by a randy old druid. Either way, I can check that one off my list.”

In one of the trampled and scorched fields near the town, a few food vendors had set up shop, their owners finding a steady if not extravagant stream of business. Wyll, after sniffing the air, briskly led the group to a stall run by a bearded halfling. A few coins changed hands, and in a short time, Kestrel and her friends sat on a circle of wobbly stools with bowls of steaming broth on the table in front of them. There were sliced green onions in it, along with tiny fingernail-sized shrimp, and a few other things that were hard to identify. It was thin and rather sandy-tasting, but at least it was flavorful. Kestrel ate slowly, suspecting that food would be harder to come by from now on, when they were competing with so many other people.

Astarion, who had inexplicably ordered a bowl of soup (perhaps to keep up appearances), gestured to Kestrel’s green velvet cap. “Are you sure you want to wear that thing? It hardly seems like the appropriate look for my triumphant return to the Gate.”

Kestrel opened her mouth to reply, and shut it again, his remark reminding her of something. The closer they were to the city, the closer they were to Astarion’s old enslaver–and the ritual he’d arranged. While Cazador was certainly an evil bastard who deserved to die, Kestrel retained a bit of skepticism about the ascension itself.

“I know that look,” said Astarion. “What is it?”

“I’m probably just being paranoid,” she said quickly. “But…how much do you really know about this ritual, Astarion? Something about it worries me.”

“I know what I need to know. Kill Cazador, steal his power, be free.” He shot Kestrel a frown. “Don’t tell me you’re feeling sorry for the rest of my so-called family. Believe me, they’d sacrifice me in a heartbeat, if they still had heartbeats.”

“Fair enough. I suppose blood sacrifice doesn’t sit quite right with me, no matter the circumstances. Especially with Mephistopheles all tangled up in this magic. Surely if he’s anything like Raphael, there’ll be a nasty surprise or two…”

Astarion cut her off. “I’m sure you’ve got a nice lecture planned, but there’s some sort of urchin staring at us. Give her a copper and send her away, would you?”

Kestrel looked where he was indicating, and felt her heart lurch at the sight of a scrawny ginger-haired girl, staring at their bowls of soup with undisguised longing. At her side was a scruffy cat whose fur was almost the same color as his owner’s hair.

“Are you all right, sweetheart?” Kestrel asked, drawing a huff of annoyance from Astarion.

The girl gave her a forced smile. “Fine, miss! I just…can’t find my mum. And I already used the money she left me, so I haven’t eaten in a while. Neither has Grub. So maybe if you had any leftovers, I could clean them up for you?”

Halsin’s brow furrowed. “How long has your mother been missing?”

“Not long!” The girl’s smile wavered, and she looked at her feet. “...a few days. She was sick, so she went to go find medicine. I don’t know how long that takes.”

A somber silence fell over the group. Kestrel knew they were all thinking the same thing: that a sick woman who’d disappeared days ago wasn’t likely to return.

“You’ve been very brave, waiting for her and looking after your cat this long,” Halsin said gently. “What’s your name, child?”

The girl looked at him gratefully. It was interesting, Kestrel thought, that while adults often found Halsin intimidating, children never seemed to. They could obviously tell what a kind soul he was.

“I’m Yenna,” the girl said. “And my cat is Grub. He’s shy, but I’m not!”

“Well, Yenna, you and Grub are very welcome to join us.” Halsin rose from his stool and sat cross-legged beside it. “Have my seat, and whatever is left in my bowl. That soup was much too filling for me.”

This soup’s not filling enough for anyone, Kestrel thought. Yenna, though, looked overjoyed as she dropped onto Halsin’s stool, and set about devouring his leftovers. Her cat curled up protectively at her feet.

“Are you refugees too?” she asked in between slurps, once introductions had been made. “Mum and I used to live in a village called Greenfort, but then those Absolute people started burning down the farms, and Mum thought they might burn down our house too. So we came here.”

Karlach gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Actually, we’re not running from the cult, we’re running after them. Can’t talk too much about it in public, but we’re trying to take the bas…I mean, those people down.”

“Lucky you,” Yenna said ruefully. “I wanted to fight them too, but I’m only ten, and I don’t know how to use any weapons. Except for cutting vegetables.”

Lae’zel shook her head. “In Crèche K’liir, a child of your age would already be trained in the shortsword and bow.”

“That sounds fun.” Yenna took another hearty bite of soup and slowly chewed a mouthful of shrimp, her eyes wandering over to Astarion. He noticed, and sighed.

“Is there a reason you’re staring at me, small child?”

“Sorry, I was just wondering,” she said. “If you’re a vampire, how come you can go outside during the day?”

It took every ounce of self-control Kestrel had not to burst into laughter at the flabbergasted look on Astarion’s face. “If I’m a…” he sputtered. “Gods, why would you think I’m a vampire, of all things? Ridiculous.”

“But your eyes are red, and you have sharp teeth,” Yenna pointed out. “And you’re not eating any soup, even though it’s really good.”

“For the love of…” Astarion rolled his eyes and tossed down the spoon he’d been fiddling with. “Does everyone know as soon as they meet me? I always considered myself to be quite subtle.”

“Subtle in the dark, maybe.” Shadowheart snickered. “In the daylight, you’re as subtle as a red flag.”

“He is a vampire, actually, but it’s nothing to worry about,” Kestrel told the girl. “Astarion’s quite nice when you get to know him.”

“I don’t care for children’s blood, anyway,” said Astarion, with a wink in Yenna’s direction. “Not enough flavor. Everyone knows monsters and villains have the best-tasting blood.”

Yenna nodded solemnly. “So does that mean I can have your soup too?”

With a huff of annoyance, Astarion pushed his bowl in her direction. “Just eat it with some dignity, darling, we’re not animals. Most of us, that is.”

“So, listen,” Yenna said, after a few more minutes of eating. “I’m not sure my mum is coming back. Not soon, anyway.” Sorrow flickered across her face, replaced quickly by determination. “I’m a really good cook, though, and I’m good at chores. Maybe I could stay with you for a little while? Adventurers need apprentices, or squires, right?”

“Yes!” Kestrel and Halsin exclaimed simultaneously, drawing sharp looks from some of the others.

“That is,” Kestrel amended, “we would love to have you stay with us, but we should probably talk about if we have enough room for you to be comfortable. Why don’t you go get a sweet from the baker’s stall?”

Yenna looked dejected, but her eyes widened gleefully when Kestrel pressed a few silver coins into her hands, and scurried off obediently. As soon as she was out of sight, the Tadpole Irregulars leaned in to confer.

“You want to bring a child to stay with us? When you and Halsin are…” Astarion glanced around furtively. “You-know-ing all night?”

“We’ll find somewhere else to do that. She’s just a little girl, she needs protection!”

“Oh, let the child stay with us,” hissed Lae’zel, to Kestrel’s surprise. “Once we’re within the city, we can drop her off at a human crèche and be done with her.”

Jaheira, who had been surprisingly quiet until now, sighed. “I may know of somewhere in the city she can stay, though gods know how long even that will stay safe.”

Kestrel frowned. “Not some dusty Harper bolthole, I hope.”

“No,” said Jaheira, and did not elaborate.

“Excellent, then it’s settled. She’ll come with us. And…ah, she can have my tent.” Kestrel’s cheeks heated up faintly. “I’m not using it much these days.”

“You’re not?” Yenna had returned from the baker’s stall, a half-eaten sticky bun in one hand, and was looking at Kestrel with delight. “Does that mean you have room for me?”

Kestrel glanced around at her friends, who looked either pleased or resigned, and nodded.

“Welcome to the Tadpole Irregulars, Yenna,” she said. “Don’t worry about the name–it’s a long story.”

–

Kestrel, in the process of changing into her nightshirt, overheard hushed voices from nearby, and peeked out to discover the source. Just on the other side of the campfire, Halsin knelt at the entrance to her old tent, obviously making sure Yenna was comfortable in her new lodgings.

“This blanket smells nice,” said Yenna. “If there are wild animals around, you’ll tell them to be friendly, right?”

“Of course,” Halsin said soothingly. “Sleep well, little one.”

He joined Kestrel back in his tent a moment later, and as usual, pulled her into his lap as soon as he’d changed into sleeping clothes. “Yenna drifted off as soon as she closed her eyes,” he said. “She must be exhausted, the poor lass.”

“Thank you for agreeing to take her in. She’s a sweet girl.”

“She has a strong spirit,” Halsin said, with a fond smile. “Stronger than most would be, in her situation. I only hope we can keep her safe.”

“You’re so good with children. You don’t secretly have any of your own somewhere out there, do you?”

“If only,” he said wistfully. “I have always loved the idea of starting a family, especially after my own closest relatives passed away, but I was never afforded the opportunity to do so. Too many duties.”

“Maybe it’s not too late,” said Kestrel “You’re barely middle-aged for an elf, you’ve got loads of time to have kids.”

“An encouraging thought.” He hesitated. “You have a way with children as well, I’ve noticed. Would you like to have some of your own one day?”

Loads of them, especially if they turn out exactly like you. “Oh, I expect so,” she said, keeping her voice deliberately light. “I’m so much older than my sisters, I may as well be their third mum already. And Yenna will be good practice.”

“True.” Halsin smiled fondly. “No matter how long she stays with us, she deserves the kindness and security I was lucky enough to have with my parents.”

“You never talk about them,” Kestrel said softly. “But they must have been nice, to have raised you.”

Halsin sighed and pulled her closer to him, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply before he spoke. “After more than two hundred years, I should find it easier to speak about those I’ve lost, but the wounds still feel fresh.”

“We don’t need to go into it, if it hurts too much.”

“No, I would like to tell you about them. It has been a very long time since I was close enough with someone to tell them these stories, and it seems only fair. After all, you’ve told me everything about your family.”

Kestrel made a face. “My family’s fairly dull.”

“Your family is wonderful. As were mine, all those years ago. It wasn’t a battle or curse that took them–it was a foul sickness that passed through the air like poison, at a time when I was too young and inexperienced to cure it.” He shook his head. “I still wonder if Thaniel was the only reason my brother and I survived.”

“I’m glad you did.” Kestrel leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Though I am very, very sorry about your mum and dad.”

He gave her a watery smile. “Enough about death. I prefer to remember my parents as they were in life, as good, loving people who cared for all creatures. My father was a wonderful cook–I still have his recipe for apple tarts–and my mother knew the songs of every bird in the forest. They used to read stories to me at night, and would put on different voices for all the characters…” His voice cracked. “I loved them, very much. And I miss them.”

Kestrel wanted nothing more than to promise him that he’d have a family again soon, the sort he’d always dreamed of, and she would give him all the children he wanted. She couldn’t make that vow, though, not while this tadpole still squirmed in her brain. All she could do was hold him, and hope he could tell how she felt.

Chapter Text

It was unclear why a traveling circus had chosen this particular moment to visit Rivington, but the moment Karlach and Yenna spotted their brightly colored sign in the postmaster’s window, the subject was not up for discussion. The Tadpole Irregulars would be attending the circus, even if it killed them.

Which, considering the variety of odd creatures wandering about, it might well do.

“Dribbles the Clown isn’t coming onstage for another two hours,” Kestrel told Yenna, reading from the schedule at the entrance. “But they’ve got jugglers, and an animal exhibit, and a djinni running games. What do you want to see first?”

“Can we go over there?” Yenna pointed to a collection of food stalls, from which clashing scents of honey and spices arose. “I bet they’ve got all sorts of weird food here. Magic food.”

Halsin laughed and ruffled the girl’s hair. “You have such a hearty appetite, I’d almost think you were preparing to hibernate.”

“I’m a growing girl,” she said practically. “And if I want to be a cook when I grow up, like Mum, I need to try all sorts of different things.”

“She’s not wrong,” said Kestrel. “In fact, I could be doing with a bite to eat myself. Are you hungry, Halsin?”

“Not particularly. Nor am I very fond of being in the middle of a crowd.” Halsin cast an anxious look at the hive of activity around him. “You two go on, and I will find somewhere less…bustling to wait for you.”

“Poor thing.” Kestrel stretched up to kiss his cheek. “You can’t help being so big and gorgeous. At least it makes you very easy for me to find.”

“Yuck,” said Yenna fondly.

The most intriguing food option, at least to Yenna, was a bakery stall run by a middle-aged human woman with frizzy dark hair. Both Kestrel and Yenna watched with fascination as she deftly twisted dough into elaborate swirls topped with crushed nuts. The results were delicious, and Yenna devoured hers before Kestrel had even paid.

“I’m going to find the other grown-ups and go visit the djinni,” she said brightly. “I’ll be careful, promise. Bye!”

“No gambling!” Kestrel shouted after her as she raced away.

“Your daughter is a darling,” commented the merchant. “And so polite!”

“She is, isn’t she? Unfortunately, she’s not actually mine,” said Kestrel. “I’m sort of her temporary guardian.”

“Oh?” The merchant raised her eyebrows. “I never would have guessed, she looks just like you. It’s sweet of you to look after the poor mite, anyway. With times as hard as they are, not many people have time to be charitable.”

Kestrel flushed and ducked her head. “Just trying to be helpful, that’s all.”

“Would you kill her, to save your lover?”

She looked up in shock, certain she’d misheard. “Would I what?”

“Times are hard.” The merchant’s face split in a devilish smile, revealing teeth that seemed far too sharp for a human. “Would you be willing to kill that poor child, to save the man you love? Or would you sacrifice your darling lover to protect the girl?” She leaned forward and slammed her hands down on the counter. “Think carefully, little cleric. Your choice may be coming, sooner than you think.”

Kestrel took a horrified step backward, the blood draining from her face. “You are not,” she said, “a pastry merchant.”

The woman cackled, and as she did so, her entire form rippled and changed. Tan skin blanched and turned fish-belly white, with streaks of gray swirling just under the surface. The color faded from her eyes and hair, and her blue dress shifted into glittering blood-red armor.

She was the one from the illithid colony. The person Gortash had called “Orin,” with both disgust and admiration on his face.

“You can’t win this, little cleric,” Orin hissed. “If the lordling and his metal slaves don’t burn you to ash, I will sacrifice you to my father Bhaal. Oh, but you will struggle anyway, won’t you. And there will be so much blood.” She gave a dreamy sigh that was twice as disturbing as anything else she’d said. “It’s going to be beautiful.”

Before Kestrel could formulate a response, Orin twisted a ring on her left hand, and dissolved into thin air. A few moments later, the very merchant she’d been impersonating returned to the stall, none the wiser.

“Sorry I wasn’t here to take your order, nature called.” Her smile faded as she took in Kestrel’s appearance. “You all right, love?”

Kestrel couldn’t reply. She was shaking uncontrollably, like the air had suddenly turned to ice, and she could feel tears stinging at her eyes. What the fuck had just happened? What kind of creature was Orin?

She might have passed out on the spot had she not been distracted from her terror by the sound of familiar voices.

“I understand the basic appeal,” Halsin was saying, “but why would people willingly be swindled by a creature they know is a trickster, rather than spend their money elsewhere? Surely only one or two have ever won this ‘grand prize.’”

There came a deep sigh. “Kestrel, my friend,” Gale called, “please come explain gambling to your sweetheart. I can’t manage it myself.”

Kestrel turned, still trembling. Yenna had found Gale, who looked exasperated, and Halsin, who just looked bewildered. She was clinging to Halsin’s hand and practically skipping along, happier than any child in her situation had a right to be. 

The sight of her made tears well up Kestrel’s eyes again. If Orin tried to lay a finger on that poor girl, she would…she would…

“Kestrel?” Yenna asked, her eyes wide with concern. “You’re crying.”

Gale gave Kestrel a sympathetic glance. “Yenna, my dear, why don’t we go visit that face-painting mummy?” he said brightly. “I’m rather in the mood to be a clown. More so than usual, that is.”

“Ooh! Maybe she can make me a fox!” Yenna gave Kestrel an energetic wave and dashed off with Gale back into the crowd. When they were out of earshot, Halsin guided Kestrel to a quiet spot by the fence and took her hands.

“Now, tell me,” he said, voice low and soothing. “What happened to upset you?”

Gulping, Kestrel summarized her encounter with Orin, half worried he wouldn’t believe her. Even now, she could still smell that woman’s foul breath and hear her laugh.

“And I’m sorry I can’t stop crying,” she finished, “but I like Yenna, and if Orin tries to do something to her, or you, I can’t imagine what I’ll do.”

“Kestrel, look at me.” He gently tilted her chin up with one finger. “Orin is only doing this because she fears you.”

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “Fears me? She’s a shapeshifter with a Netherstone.”

“And you, along with our other friends, killed her former ally Ketheric. He was meant to be immortal, but you destroyed him. Orin knows she is more vulnerable than ever, and she is desperate to weaken us.” He cupped her face in his hands and met her gaze determinedly. “But we are not going to allow her to do that. Yes?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“There’s a good lass.” Halsin leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Come with me, now. I believe I’ve discovered the only thing worth visiting in this circus.”

–

Kestrel wasn’t sure if it was possible to get good marks in “dryad love test,” but if it were, she rather felt she was succeeding. If the way Halsin was looking at her with such adoration in his eyes was anything to go by.

“And now we turn to Kestrel,” Zethino said. “The cleric, the poet, the romantic with wildfire in her heart. Tell me, Archdruid: what legacy does she hope to leave?”

“I believe…” Halsin tilted his head thoughtfully. “Not as a great hero, perhaps, though she will almost certainly be remembered as such. I think she would most like to be remembered as a gifted storyteller, who brought joy and laughter to people of all sorts.”

“Yes,” said Kestrel firmly. “That’s exactly right.”

“Alas, not all can be joy and laughter,” said Zethino. “There is no escaping fear, no matter how far we run. What is Kestrel’s greatest fear?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Failing the people she loves,” he said, “even after everything she’s done to aid them.”

“Also, crabs,” said Kestrel. “I don’t like the way they move.”

Zethino smiled. “One more somber question, and I shall return you to the light. Tell me, what is Kestrel’s greatest flaw?”

Kestrel internally cringed. She could think of about a hundred flaws straight away: cowardly, absentminded, naive, incoherent…

“Kestrel has such astonishing faith in her friends,” Halsin said gently, “but very little in herself. I have no doubt that she just thought of a hundred different cruel words for herself, most of which are utterly untrue.”

She felt her eyes grow a bit damp again, but in joy rather than terror. “Some of them are probably true.”

“Not many.” Halsin looked to the dryad with a smile. “Well, good spirit, how did we do?”

The dryad pressed her hands together and sighed, her face the very picture of bliss. “Your bond is beautiful, seedlings,” she said. “Few others that I’ve met have a love so strong. I pray you will cherish it.”

Kestrel forced herself not to squeal. “I bet you say that to everyone who does this test.”

Zethino looked at her solemnly. “I do not,” she said softly. “Believe me, child, I do not.”

As they walked away, Halsin wrapped an arm around her waist and gazed down at her lovingly. “I had high hopes, but as usual, you’ve surpassed them,” he said. “You understand me as well as my late mother did, if not more.”

Kestrel looked at her feet bashfully. “I could say the same to you. And we’ve only known each other for a few months. Have you truly been paying such close attention to me?”

“Of course I have. You’ve always been my favorite, from the very beginning. I have enjoyed every word you’ve said–including blurse and napportunity.”

“Or snackquisition,” said Kestrel. “That’s acquisition of a snack.”

“I rather think a snackquisition would be just the thing right now, don’t you? I could use something to eat, before we go to that performance Wyll was so eager to see.”

“As long as there aren’t any more evil shapeshifters lurking about, that sounds perfect.”

Halsin kissed the top of her head. “I think you have tolerated more than enough shapeshifting for one day, my love.”

–

“So the clown was a damn doppelganger, too,” Karlach said glumly. “Gods forbid we have a normal day out for once.”

“Disappointing, indeed,” said Lae’zel. “I would have far preferred to kill a real clown.”

“None of you have seen that Ferg character here, have you?” Shadowheart’s eyes darted back and forth worriedly, the firelight flickering in her white hair. “I don’t want him anywhere near me. The hells have nothing on a Sharran with a grudge.”

“I don’t think he’ll hang around you longer than he has to,” Karlach reassured her. “He probably ran off right away and told the temple you were back. Which we’ll probably have to deal with later, but for now, you’ll be all right.”

Shadowheart smirked and elbowed Lae’zel. “Hey, Lae. Before you liberate the githyanki people, want to help liberate me from my creepy ex-colleagues?”

“Glady,” said Lae’zel. The edges of her mouth twitched. “If we plan to defeat the ghaik, you will need to be sharp as a blade, not muddled and distracted by these personal concerns.”

“Oh,” Wyll muttered to Kestrel, smiling. “So Shadowheart can shorten Lae’zel’s name, can she?”

“That’s what I was thinking!” Kestrel replied under her breath. “But don’t say anything to them. It’ll just cause more fighting.”

There was a pained squeak from the other side of the fire, followed by an annoyed huff.

“Sit still, or you’ll mess the whole thing up,” said Astarion. “This is detailed work, you know.”

“You pulled my hair,” Yenna complained. “It hurt.”

“Beauty is pain, darling. Do you want Jaheira’s hairstyle or not?” When Yenna looked at him piteously, he sighed. “I’ll be careful. Now hold still.”

Jaheira. Of course. Out of all the Tadpole Irregulars, the High Harper was the only one who might be able to offer any insight on the Orin situation. With a whispered apology to Wyll, Kestrel got to her feet and sought out Jaheira’s tent.

“Jaheira?” she asked. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Of course, cub,” said Jaheira, glancing up from the shirt she was mending. “What’s on your mind?”

“I wanted to ask you about Bhaalspawn.” She sat next to the other woman and twisted her hands together. “I barely know anything about them, but you’ve encountered them before, haven’t you?”

“I have,” Jaheira replied. “They’re dangerous people, I can tell you that much, often causing trouble wherever they go. Though, in their defense, occasionally it’s the good kind of trouble.” She gave Kestrel a thoughtful look. “When we first met, I’ll admit I suspected you were one of them.”

“You thought I was a Bhaalspawn? Why?” Kestrel, horrified, thought back to her first meeting with Jaheira. She didn’t remember saying anything particularly murderous.

“Don’t worry, you didn’t seem like a bloodthirsty killer. It was more the way your companions deferred to you.”

Kestrel snorted. “My friends don’t defer to me. Trying to get them to do anything is like herding cats. Heavily armed cats, who can occasionally read one another’s minds.”

“Trust me, I know exactly how you feel,” Jaheira said dryly. “But when I was deciding whether or not to let you into Last Light, your friends stood back and let you do the talking. They trusted you. And in the past, when I’ve encountered a motley group of adventurers following an unassuming but subtly powerful leader, that leader has more than once turned out to be a Bhaalspawn.”

“Is that why you were subtly asking about my background after feeding me klauthgrass? Because you thought I might have grown up in a Bhaalist cult somewhere?”

“Yes,” said Jaheira, without a hint of shame. “If you were one of his, I needed to know as soon as possible. Luckily, you turned out to be exactly what you seemed: a nice young woman who was in over her head. I figured I had an obligation to keep you afloat. Not that you ended up needing much help,” she added. “It turns out you’re quite a strong swimmer.”

Kestrel lifted her chin. “Then I’ll keep trying to be.”

“Good. Now, why all the worry about Bhaalspawn? Is this about that flamboyant young woman working with Gortash?” Jaheira snorted. “No subtlety with that one. She would never make it as a Harper, that’s certain.”

In spite of herself, Kestrel giggled.. “That’s her, all right. She cornered me at the circus and started making threats.”

“Trying to get inside your head, no doubt. But you didn’t let her.” She wagged a finger. “Because you are strong. Yes?”

Based on her earlier breakdown, Kestrel wasn’t sure about this, but she nodded anyway. “Strong enough, I hope.”

“Good,” said Jaheira, and yawned. “Now go read that poor young girl a bedtime story. She could probably use some distraction, after seeing that clown turn into a monster.”

Yenna didn’t seem overly distressed, when Kestrel arrived at her tent, which was probably due to Karlach sitting at her side. The little girl looked rather eccentric, with her Jaheira-esque braids and the traces of clown makeup sticking to her face, but Kestrel figured that only made her fit in more with the rest of the camp. A patched, scruffy toy bear was clasped tightly in her arms.

“...was scary, I know, but there’s no need to worry,” Karlach was telling her. “We don’t allow any villains in this camp. And you’ve got Clive right there if you need any extra protection in the night.”

“He’s a lovely bear,” said Yenna. “Will you be lonely without him?”

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” said Karlach. “Clive’s a very sociable teddy bear, anyway, and he’ll get bored just staying with me all the time.”

“Why are they called teddy bears, anyway? What’s a teddy?”

Karlach snapped her fingers. “Ooh, I know this one! Back in the olden days, there was this famous ranger named Teodor Russfeld, except everyone called him Teddy, and he had this bear companion who used to follow him around. Teddy became a duke later on, and they started making toy versions of his bear and calling them ‘teddy bears.’ Practically the only interesting thing I learned in school.”

“I like you, Miss Karlach,” said Yenna decisively. “You should be a teacher, or something.”

Karlach gave her a wistful smile. “I don’t think that’s a likely job for me, but thanks, sweetheart. Good night.”

“How are you feeling?” Kestrel asked, once Yenna was tucked in and dozing off. “Any different, now that we’re back in the city?”

“Hot,” said Karlach bluntly. “Not just because I’m gorgeous, even though I am, but my heart’s been heating up more lately. I think it knows we don’t have much time left.”

Hearing her speak so casually about her demise made Kestrel wince. “You know it doesn’t have to be like this, Karlach. You have so much to live for.”

“I have three things to live for,” said Karlach. “Killing Gortash, blowing up the Elder Brain, and…” She paused. “Our little family, let’s say. If I can stay around long enough to deal with the first two, then I can die happy.”

“But Avernus is still an option…”

“I’d prefer you didn’t bring up Avernus again,” Karlach said evenly. “Kestrel, you’re a sweet girl from a nice family. Trust me when I say you can’t imagine how horrible the Blood War is. When I say I’d rather be ash than have Zariel control me again, I mean it.”

As much as Kestrel wanted to argue, all she said was: “You’re sure?”

Karlach hesitated, then nodded. “Pretty sure.”

“All right, then.” Kestrel spread her arms. “Want a hug?”

A genuine smile spread across Karlach’s face. “Sure do, soldier. Sure do.”

As Karlach pulled her into a tight embrace, Kestrel could feel the thrum of the infernal engine through her clothes. Warm, but still holding steady.

For the moment.

Chapter Text

“Bigots harassing refugees, the printed word sowing discontent, and now these horrific murders.” Halsin shook his head, looking mildly disgusted. “I can’t help but wonder if the Shadow Druids had a fair point about the dangers of civilization.”

The bartender at the Elfsong sighed. “I’m sure you’re right, mate, but this is a tavern, not a philosophy class. Do you want the rooms, or not?”

“We’ll take them,” Kestrel put in quickly. “All the ones that haven’t been murder sites, that is. How much do I owe you?”

Alan named his price, and she forked over the money with a bit of reluctance. Everything in the city was so expensive, and her coin purse was much lighter lately.

“I understand why you’re upset,” she said quietly to Halsin, as the group trudged upstairs, “but we can’t fall into the trap of agreeing with the Shadow Druids. They were pretty hostile toward the refugees as well, and if we hadn’t stepped in, there might have been a few murders.”

“You’re very wise, as always.” Halsin sighed with resignation. “There may well be good in this city, hidden under the surface, but there is no guarantee we’ll live long enough to discover it.”

“Oh, stop being a wet blanket,” Karlach ordered. She threw the upstairs doors open and laughed delightedly. “Do you know what I’d have given for a setup like this when I was a kid? Look at this place!”

The second floor of the Elfsong was, indeed, a considerable step up from the campsite. There was a small common room in the center, with a fireplace and several faded red armchairs, circled by six doors that led to small, tidy bedrooms. Excitement replaced some of Kestrel’s anxiety–sure, there were about a dozen threats to her life going on at all times, but she was still here. She’d made it to the city, and she was staying at the Elfsong Tavern, like a real Baldurian.

“It’s nice,” she said. “Very homey. Wyll, when does the ghost start singing?”

“At sunset, usually, and then through most of the night.” Wyll chuckled. “Hope you can sleep through it. It doesn’t help that she only seems to know three songs.”  He frowned at the sound of boots clattering on the wooden stairs. “Are we being invaded?”

Their invader, luckily, was not a cultist or bandit. It was a very exhausted-looking Jaheira, sweat soaking through the green fabric of her tunic.

“Jaheira, there you are!” said Kestrel. “I’ve barely seen you at all today. Important Harper business?”

“Something like that,” Jaheira panted, holding onto the door frame for dear life. “Come with me, quickly, all of you. I’ve heard word of my old friend Minsc.”

–

Hargrave had been far too small and remote for sewers, so Kestrel had nothing with which to compare the ones in Baldur’s Gate. The walls covered in slimy algae, rivers of waste, and piles of refuse around each corner defied comparison, anyway. If one was a mad Rashemaar gang boss committing crimes for a cult, there were certainly worse places to hide.

“Bears,” said Halsin through gritted teeth, “have an exceptionally good sense of smell. It is very unfortunate that I retain that quality outside of wildshape.”

“You’re not disproving my werebear theory,” said Kestrel. The words came out rather garbled, as she was holding her nose. “I don’t suppose you can smell Minsc and Not-Jaheira, can you? This place is bigger than I was expecting.”

“A marvel of engineering, the Baldurian sewers,” said Gale. His voice was equally distorted, as he’d stuck a few bits of linen up his nose. “I’ve read that they were sculpted out of the ruins of the old city. Practically their own metropolis.”

“That’s interesting, but not very helpful.” She closed her eyes and focused, trying to attune her ears to every echo and whisper of the place. Even the slightest footstep or creak would be a better clue than nothing.

The next sound she heard was not a cultist’s shout or spell. It was a high-pitched, childish scream.

“That came from the west,” said Kestrel, dropping her hand from her nose. “Minsc or no Minsc, if there’s a child down here in trouble, we have to do something.”

The narrow western passage opened out into a swampy chamber littered with broken crates. In the center stood a little girl with auburn hair and blue-gray skin stood over the corpses of two grown men. She was breathing heavily, but didn’t look seriously injured.

“Arabella!” Kestrel cried, her heart contracting in shock. “Sweetheart, we’ve been so worried about you. Are you hurt?”

“No.” Arabella shot a disdainful glance at the bodies by her feet. “They tried to rob me, but they had no idea who they were dealing with.”

There was a hard edge to her voice that Kestrel hadn’t heard before, and it was disturbing. She barely sounded like a little girl anymore. What had happened to her, in the few days since Withers had sent her on her way?

“I’m glad you’re safe, anyway,” said Kestrel. “You’ll come and stay with us, won’t you? We’re looking after another girl  as well, and I’m sure she’d like to have you as company.”

Arabella shook her head. “I wish I could, but Bone Man was right. It’s not safe for me to be around people until I’ve got more control over my powers. When I get too emotional, things start building up inside me, and…” She winced and threw her arms up. Streams of nettle leaves flew from the palms of her hands and attached themselves to the cracked stone walls.

“And that’s one of the less dangerous ones,” she grumbled. “But you don’t have to worry about me, you know. I can take care of myself.”

“We know,” said Halsin quietly. “Though that does not mean you should have to.”

There was a twinge of sorrow in Arabella’s eyes. “I’ll find you when the time comes, I promise,” she said. “Bone Man and I talked about the giant brain. He said you’ll need my help to kill it, and after everything you’ve done for me, it’s only fair.”

“It’s not fair that you’re being told to fight this battle with us,” Kestrel insisted. “You’re still just a child, no matter what powers you have, and you shouldn’t…”

“Kestrel,” Gale interrupted. “I know you’re worried about our young friend–we all are–but Withers has a point. Arabella has a strong, unique connection to the Weave, rather like I did as a child. If we try to coddle her, rather than helping her embrace her power, the consequences could be dire.”

“But,” said Kestrel, and stopped herself. She’d seen for herself what Arabella was capable of, and the girl was clearly caught up in some grand destiny no one (except Withers) fully understood. 

It was not in Kestrel’s nature to abandon a small child to the whims of destiny. Though, as she’d said to Halsin, sometimes one had to defy nature.

“I don’t like this,” she said, “but it doesn’t seem I have a right to argue. I’ll just say this: Arabella, if you insist on helping us in the final battle, you’re staying in the back. Got it?”

Arabella saluted sharply. “Yes, ma’am!”

“That’s settled, then. I’m sure Arabella will be a formidable ally,” said Jaheira. “Now, onto more pressing matters. Little girl, have you seen a very large bald man with a purple tattoo, probably following an uglier version of me?”

Arabella snorted and nodded. “Sure have. He had a funny accent and smelled like wet dog. The old lady dragged him off somewhere down that way, past the big pipes. She wasn’t ugly, though,” the girl went on, inspecting Jaheira’s face. “She was really beautiful, just like you.”

Two faint spots of pink appeared on the Harper’s cheeks. “Nonsense,” she said gruffly. “Thank you, though. We’ll deal with that lot–you stay safe.”

Kestrel lingered behind the others, and squeezed Arabella’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t want things to be like this, you know I don’t.”

She smiled. “I know, but it’s not your fault. I stole the idol from the Grove, and here I am now. What’s important is, you saved me. Twice. Now I want a turn to do some saving.”

–

“Look,” said Kestrel, to the small creature chewing at her hair. “I don’t know what space hamsters usually eat, but I know it’s not me. Don’t you want…I don’t know, carrots or something?”

Boo chittered happily and stayed where he was. Even casting “Speak With Animals” hadn’t helped her communicate with the little beast, which seemed like good evidence of his extraterrestrial origins.

“There you are!” declared a loud, guttural voice. “None can hide from Minsc, no matter how small.”

Without meaning to, Kestrel flinched. It hadn’t been Minsc’s fault that he had been corrupted by the cult, but it was hard to be entirely at ease around him.

Perhaps Minsc realized this, because the smile he gave her was encouraging. “All is well,” he said. “Here I was, afraid Boo had gotten lost in the walls, but he is safely perched on your head.”

“Yes, he is,” said Kestrel. “And he’s nibbling my hair.”

Minsc laughed heartily. “Ah! Boo has mistaken your orange hair for delicious dry grass. Never fear, he will soon realize the flavor is wrong.”

“Hopefully before he eats it all off my head.” She couldn’t help smiling, though. “I should take it as a compliment that someone as discerning as Boo likes my hair.”

“Boo is a hamster of excellent taste. Just like Minsc, he can sense the good hearts. He would never nibble the hair of a villain.”

“Well, then I’m very honored.” Kestrel winced when the hamster pulled out a few strands of hair. “Mostly.”

He snapped his fingers. “Come now, Boo. Leave our moon-wychlaran’s hair alone, it has none of the nutrients your tiny stomach needs.”

“Moon-wychlaran! Now that’s a title I like,” she said as Boo hopped back onto Minsc’s shoulder. “Rashemen sounds like such an interesting country, honestly. Is it true that you’ve got ancient towers guarded by living spells?”

A broad grin spread across Minsc’s face. “Ah, you are a well-educated young woman! Not many foreign people know of the Ring of Blue Fire. That, of course, is not the only wonder of my homeland. I will tell you all, and when it is time to take a holiday from stamping out evil, Minsc himself will be your tour guide to the lands of the Rashemi. Your druid friend may also come, but perhaps he will like to remain as a bear during the trip. The winters are very cold.”

Some minutes later, Kestrel had filled up at least ten pages of her journal with notes about Rashemen, and Minsc showed no sign of running out of stories. He was an excellent storyteller, despite occasionally getting distracted by one-sided discussions with Boo.

“You ought to write a book,” she said, when he finally paused for a drink of water. “An Adventurer’s Guide to Rashemen. I would buy a dozen copies.”

He gave her a kind smile. “Ah, Minsc has no gift for the writing. I will leave such things to clever thinkers like yourself. If you write a book of our adventurings, though, I hope you will have it illustrated. Boo enjoys looking at the pictures.”

Jaheira, wandering over to join them, gave a dry laugh. “Why am I not surprised the two of you are bonding?” she said. “I suppose my friend is filling your head with his ridiculous tall tales. Sometimes I wonder if even he believes them.”

“Jaheira!” Minsc bellowed. “When are we paying a visit to your home? Surely your children will wish to know their old friends Minsc and Boo are still living.”

Jaheira froze, her brows drawing together, as every eye turned her way. “Minsc,” she said, “you utter fool.”

“Jaheira,” said Wyll, who looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Do you secretly have a house? And children?”

The Harper sighed deeply. “I would say it is none of your business, but knowing all of you, I can see that would be pointless. Very well, follow me. I think it’s time you finally meet the family.”

–

An hour later, the sitting room in Jaheira’s surprisingly nice home was abuzz with activity. Halsin was deep in conversation with young Jord about caring for houseplants, Rion and Minsc were staging a mock fistfight in one corner, and Yenna had roped the youngest girls into some complicated clapping game. 

Kestrel, still in a state of pleased shock, made her way over to Jaheira. The High Harper was leaning against one of the walls, watching the activity with affectionate concern.

“So when you said you knew a place where Yenna might be safe,” Kestrel said, “you meant here.”

Jaheira nodded reluctantly. “I tell very few people about my family. Don’t take it personally that I concealed them from you–it’s a matter of protecting them. Or that is what I tell myself, anyway.”

“I can understand that. They’re nice kids.” Kestrel looked around at the children fondly. “So they’re all adopted?” 

“That’s correct. When my husband Khalid was young,” Jaheira said, “he apparently contracted an illness that made him unable to father children. He still wanted a family, though, and I didn’t mind a bit that he wanted to adopt. There were already enough people in the world, I figured, so why not look after some children who’d already been born?”

“That’s very good of you,” said Kestrel. 

Jaheira gave a soft snort. “I certainly wanted to be good, but my children might not think I succeeded. I’ve fostered quite a few youngsters over the years, but I spend more of my time being a High Harper than a decent mother. Your parents would probably see me as a disgrace.”

Impulsively, Kestrel put an arm around Jaheira’s shoulder. The other woman was stiff as a board, but she didn’t pull away.

“My mums wouldn’t see you as a disgrace. They’d be impressed by your commitment. And even if your children are upset with you, it’s not too late to patch things up. Though, you might want to hurry,” she added. “Considering the whole Elder Brain situation.”

“You may have a point,” Jaheira agreed. “Though even if I do apologize, I’m sure I’ll do something else to aggravate them before we all become illithid. Such is the way of parents and children.”

Kestrel sighed. “It’s sad to imagine my future children being aggravated by me. Hopefully there’d be enough nice moments to balance it all out.”

“There are,” said Jaheira, with a faint smile. “Why all this worry about parenting, cub? Don’t tell me you’re expecting, this wouldn’t be an ideal time for it.”

“Goodness, no. The benefits of a relationship between two healers–together we know a fair bit about family planning. Someday, though…maybe.”

“You’ll do fine,” said Jaheira confidently. “I’ve seen how well you and Halsin look after little Yenna. If we survive all this nonsense–which, mind you, we may not–I look forward to meeting the family you two will raise.”

Just as she finished speaking, the ground outside shuddered and heaved–ripples made by an Elder Brain desperate to cast off its bonds. A nice little reminder that the end of the world was still hovering nearby.

–

Back at the Elfsong, the ghost had taken up one of her lullabies again, and Kestrel could feel her eyelids drooping as she walked back toward her room. She was not, however, too tired to be distracted by a soft green glow from within a pile of blankets.

There it was, the egg from Crèche Y’llek, miraculously still in one piece. Kestrel was surprised by its warmth when she traced a finger down its side. A little snub-nosed githyanki was floating in there, without a care in the world, unaware of the chaos around it. She almost envied the poor little thing. The wise thing to do was probably just stay unhatched for now, until the world sorted itself out again.

Someone cleared their throat, and Kestrel looked up to see a frowning La’ezel.

“I hope you’re not making any plans for that egg,” she said. “It is my responsibility.”

Kestrel held up her hands innocently. “No scheming here. I was just admiring our little egg friend. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Lae’zel gave the green orb a fond look. “Githyanki offspring should be in the care of a varsh, not a warrior, but I will admit I feel a fondness for this one.”

“What will you do when it hatches?”

“I am…unsure.” Her smile faltered. “Were things as they should be, I would deliver the infant to a crèche, so they could be trained properly in our ways. Under my current circumstances, though, I would not want any youth in my care to be controlled by Vlaakith.”

“Well, perhaps you can raise them yourself,” Kestrel suggested. “Or drop them off with Jaheira’s family. I’m sure they’d be happy to help.”

“A child of Gith, raised by istiks? You sound like that mad Society of Brilliance woman,” said Lae’zel. “Though Jaheira and her family would be better than most. Her children are at least trained in the sword.”

Kestrel tried to imagine what sort of person the githyanki might be if she had been raised by Jaheira. Considering what Rion and Fig were like, Lae’zel probably would have still turned out exactly the same. If, perhaps, with a different array of swear words.

Chapter Text

Murder mysteries were perhaps Kestrel’s third-favorite genre of book, behind romance and adventure. They were not, however, her favorite genre to be living in.

“And Mister Rainforest?” Inspector Devella asked briskly, making a note on her clipboard. Despite only coming up to Kestrel’s waist, she had a remarkably commanding presence, like a pint-sized Jaheira. “Were you able to warn him?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Kestrel with a grimace. “Dolor got to him long before we could. At least the rat under his stairs was happy.”

“I don’t think I need to know the end of that story.” Devella tucked her clipboard back in her bag and shook Kestrel’s hand. “Thanks, though, to all of you. You’ve done the Lower City an immense favor.”

“Someone’s got to,” muttered Karlach. Devella gave her a look.

“You’re right, of course, Miss Karlach. Believe me, if I had more influence over the Fist, things would look very different down here. Unfortunately, while Gortash is in charge, it isn’t likely to change–so I’ll have to rely on the good hearts of people like you.” She sighed and slipped off her gloves. “Right. I’m off to the Singing Lute to try and forget the last tenday ever happened. Best of luck, all of you.”

As soon as the door had closed behind her, the gathered Tadpole Irregulars let out a simultaneous sigh of relief, and practically everyone slumped into a chair. Two straight days of tracking down that horrible killer, with shapeshifters around every corner, had been exhausting in every way imaginable. 

“I’m glad the Singing Lute is still around,” Wyll said fondly, sprawled out on one of the chaises like a prince. “When I was a lad I used to sneak out after dark to have a dance and a drink there. They had this excellent group of musicians come in every few days, and I swear, they could make a statue’s toes start tapping.”

“I used to go there every so often myself, though I guess it was before your time,” said Karlach. “Can’t say I was much for dancing, but they had some damn good ales.”

“Why don’t you both go back for a visit tonight?” Kestrel said lightly, surreptitiously crossing her fingers. “Halsin promised he’d go with me to the Blushing Mermaid, so you won’t be leaving us out, and you can see if the Singing Lute is just like you remember. After the last few days, we all deserve some fun.”

Wyll looked flustered, but turned to Karlach with his face set determinedly. “She’s right. Karlach, how would you like to have a night on the town and visit some old haunts? All my treat, of course.”

Karlach’s face lit up with a wide smile. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more. Maybe you can cure my two left feet. But you know, we really ought to get some new togs first. If I’m out on the town with a duke’s son, I want to be suitably dressed.”

“Shopping it is, then. Kestrel, you had something on your Baldur’s Gate list about new clothes as well, didn’t you?” Wyll grinned. “Because I happen to know just the tailor who owes us a favor.”

–

Kestrel smoothed down the turquoise brocade of her jacket, admiring herself in the mirror. The suit had only needed a few minor alterations to fit, and its sleek lines and complex embroidery made her look like someone else entirely. A sophisticated lady who belonged in Baldur’s Gate, rather than just stumbling through it.

“I’m a genius,” Figaro said smugly behind her. “See how the color brings out the green in  your eyes and brightens your hair? You have such pretty coloring when you’re not covered in blood, my dear. You really should emphasize it.”

Kestrel was tempted to roll her eyes, but didn’t. He was right, after all. “Figaro, you are a genius. I’ll take it. How much do I owe you?”

“Well, considering your preferred-customer discount…” Figaro mulled it over. “Ten gold pieces.”

“Ten?” Kestrel gaped at him. “Surely that doesn’t even cover the materials.”

“My dear girl.” Figaro laced his fingers together and regarded her sternly. “First of all, you saved my life from that nasty little assassin gentleman. Second, every time I’ve seen you, you’re somehow dressed like a clown and a monk at the same time. I consider it my moral duty to clothe you properly.” He smirked. “Just don’t let that big brute of a man you’re with rip it to shreds, eh?”

Kestrel flushed. “Halsin would never. He’s a gentleman, I assure you.”

“Oh?” He gave her a wink. “Perhaps usually, but when he sees you in this…”

There was an embarrassed cough from behind them. “What do you two think of this frock?” Karlach asked, with an edge of anxiety in her voice. “I like the color, and it’s comfortable enough, but I’m not quite sure it’s me.”

Kestrel, Figaro, and Wyll–who was looking very nice, in a new burgundy doublet and trousers–all turned as one in Karlach’s direction, and all of them stared at her in awe. The dress she was wearing was made of ankle-length green velvet, cut low enough to show a hint of her glowing heart, and she made the golden beads sewn around the neckline and hems look like tiny sparks of firelight. 

Wyll was the first to say what they were all thinking. “Karlach,” he choked out, “you look beautiful.”

The faint flames that flickered in Karlach’s hair burned brighter for a moment. “I do?” She hurried to the mirror and gazed at her reflection in what looked like awe. “Shit, I do. You know, I’m used to looking strong and heroic and intimidating, but I haven’t had nearly enough chances to look beautiful.”

“You always look beautiful,” Kestrel said loyally. “But I’m glad you have this opportunity to feel beautiful as well.”

“Now, the important part. Can I dance in it?” She hitched up her skirt a few inches and did something that might have been a jig. “Watching gods, I can! You’ve got yourself a sale, little man.”

“Madam, you are as radiant as the sunrise,” Figaro declared. “Would you like to change into your other clothes before you leave?” He wrinkled his nose as he pointed at the garments in question, a pile of rough leather and linen stained with doppelganger blood.

“Nah,” said Karlach. “Burn ‘em. I wore some of that shit in hell–it’s long past time that I get rid of it.”

Figaro looked at Kestrel, eyebrows raised. “Is she being metaphorical?”

“She is not,” Kestrel replied. “How much do we owe you?”

–

Back at the Elfsong, once the others had all headed out on their evening adventures, Halsin looked Kestrel up and down admiringly. “Formal clothes hold little appeal for me, but you look radiant. I could happily sit and look at you for hours.”

“Saer Pennygood warned me you would try to rip this suit right off me,” she teased. “Is that something I should be worried about?”

“I admit, it’s tempting. But I’ll restrain myself, considering you just bought this. You’ll guide me, I assume, if we lose our way in the streets?”

“You have great faith in my sense of direction. Probably more than I deserve. Not to worry, though–if we get lost, we’re bound to have an adventure.”

As the Blushing Mermaid was only a few streets away, it was easy enough to find without incident. Kestrel couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at walking into the pub with such a handsome man on her arm. To think, if she’d never been tadpoled, she would be exploring this place completely on her own. There were good sides to everything, it seemed.

“Isn’t this place fun?” she exclaimed, once they’d found a booth by the window to squeeze into. “I wonder if it was built from a real pirate ship. You had a bit of a fling with a pirate once, didn’t you?”

Halsin, who had been looking rather tense and overwhelmed, relaxed and gave her a smile. “I did, though that is probably a story better told in privacy. Perhaps it will inspire one of your novels.”

The food came surprisingly quickly–cheese and pickles on dark bread for Kestrel, some sort of potato soup for Halsin–and they both dug in.

“Have you ever met a mermaid?” Kestrel asked, in between bites. “It seems like you’ve encountered practically everything else.”

“I regret that I have not. They certainly are an interesting people, if rather dangerous.”

“Now that I think about it, kuo-toa are sort of the opposite of mermaids,” she mused. “Fish on top, legs on bottom. I told you about that clan of them we met in the Underdark, right? The ones who’d been tricked into worshipping that redcap?”

“Booal. I remember.”

“That’s the one. It’s a shame you weren’t with us for that little adventure, those fish lads would have liked you. They’d have called you Baheen, or something.”

Halsin didn’t laugh. “I should have been at your side more as we traveled through the Underdark,” he said. “I do hope you can forgive me. That place unsettles me, after spending so long there before.”

“Your brother, of course. It must have been terrifying, searching down there for so long with no idea what had happened to him.”

“It was.” He sighed. “I must have spent at least a month trying to track him down in that sunless place. When I finally did find his trail, it led to nothing more than the remnants of a rockslide, and a few crushed bones.”

Kestrel put a hand to her mouth. “You knew it was him?”

Halsin nodded. “His pack was nearby. I found a few keepsakes from our family, and one of his sketchbooks. Closure, you might say, but there’s a small part of me that wishes I had never found him, so I could still believe he was alive somewhere.”

“I’m so sorry.” She blinked back the beginnings of tears. “We just keep taking you places you find upsetting. The Underdark, the Shadowlands, the city…I really am sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ve lived a long time, my flower, and I have both painful and happy memories in many different places. Though Baldur’s Gate does not hold memories so much as unfortunate first impressions.”

“Wait.” Kestrel frowned. “Have you never been here before? It’s the nearest big city to the Emerald Grove, I assumed you would have visited at some point.”

To her surprise, Halsin looked embarrassed. “It’s a fair assumption, but the truth is, I made it a point to avoid Baldur’s Gate. My small experience with cities before this one was…enough for a lifetime, let’s say. So, here I am, as much a newcomer as you are.”

“You told me once there was no shame in waiting for the right time,” said Kestrel. “Which does still apply to this situation, because this probably is the right time to be in Baldur’s Gate. Even if things aren’t very nice right now, I think we should still try to make the best of it.”

“This place may not be for me, but in your company, even Avernus would be enjoyable.” He kissed the top of her hand and released it, looking down at his bowl of stew. “And I admit, this food is decent, for city food. How is yours?”

“Delicious,” said Kestrel, through a mouthful of sandwich. “Can’t go wrong with pickles. Did you see they have apple pie here? We need to get some, even if it isn’t as good as Mama Bettina’s.”

A skinny, balding man with a few teeth missing stumbled past their table and paused, eyes widening as he took in Halsin’s sheer size. Kestrel was expecting him to start flirting, which would simply have been funny, but instead his face twisted into a sneer.

“Watching gods, you’re a big mean-looking bastard, aren’t ya?” he slurred. “Bet I could still take you in a fight, though. I would’ve joined the Flaming Fist, if I hadn’t been too much of a firecracker for ‘em.”

Halsin looked stricken, and moved backwards slightly on his seat. “I promise, my friend, I have no quarrel with you.”

“Ah, now, don’t tell me yer a coward.” The man shook his head mockingly. “That’s no fun. You druid types can’t even be bothered to defend yer honor, is that it?”

“Oh, for Selȗne’s sake.” Kestrel, scowling, shoved her plate away and stood. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish here? Even if my darling companion wasn’t far too sweet and kind to fight you for no reason, you surely can’t think you stand a chance against him.”

The man looked down at her with eyebrows raised, as though he’d just realized she was there. “Easy there, lassie. I’d hate to have to teach you a lesson.”

“I’ll be doing the teaching, thanks,” she said, folding her arms. “I killed an immortal undead general last tenday. You’re a drunk idiot who can’t even walk straight. Go home and sober up, or in a few minutes, you won’t be able to walk at all.”

He took a stumbling step backwards. “You’re a damn loony,” he said, shaking his head. “Tyr’s sake, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Just having a laugh.”

“Ha-ha,” said Kestrel flatly. “Goodbye.”

The man clumsily hurried away, and Kestrel returned to her seat with a sigh of relief. “I’m not sure he believed me about General Thorm,” she remarked. “The point is, he thinks I’m insane now, and won’t try to start any more barguments with us–that’s a bar argument.”

Halsin was staring at her, mouth slightly ajar. “You protected me,” he said.

“Sorry if I embarrassed you. I’m sure you could have beaten him, but you didn’t look like you wanted to, and we were having such a nice dinner.”

“Perhaps I’m not making myself clear.” Halsin took her hand. “As a rule, people look at me and assume I have no need of protection. I can look after myself, of course, but the fact that you would think to stand up for me–I can barely put it into words.”

“Oh.” Kestrel felt herself flush. “It was nothing.”

“The others are all out for the evening, aren’t they?” he said lightly, though the heat in his eyes betrayed his intentions.

“Yenna and Minsc are visiting Jaheira’s family,” she replied, her heartbeat speeding up. “Wyll and Karlach are out dancing, Astarion said he needed a year-long bath, I think Shadowheart is investigating the local Sharrans…”

“Good.” He stood and held out a hand. “We are going back to the Elfsong, at once, and I am going to show you exactly how grateful I am for your protection.”

–

Kestrel was slightly concerned about her suit’s well-being, when they made it back to their room and Halsin took her in his arms, but she needn’t have been. He unbuttoned and unlaced her clothes with the care of someone unwrapping a gift. When they were both undressed, he knelt and gently ran a finger over the scar left by Myrkul’s scythe. It was still a livid red line across her thigh, but the green necrotic rot was gone, thank Selȗne. “This seems to be healing well.”

“It still hurts sometimes after a long day of walking, but I don’t notice it very much.” She smiled. “I had a good healer. Though I still say I would have recovered more quickly if you’d stayed in my tent that night.”

Halsin shook his head ruefully. “You were hurt, and half out of your mind with pain-dulling potion. I couldn’t take advantage of you.” He rose and captured her lips with his. “That is not to say, however, that I didn’t spend the rest of that night imagining what I wished I could have done with you.”

“Oh?” Kestrel stepped back and arranged herself seductively on the bed as best she could. “Feel free to tell me all about your fantasies, and what you did about them.”

He grinned and climbed on top of her, careful not to crush her beneath his weight, and began to gently stroke her damp, eager sex. “I spent hours pleasuring myself that night, over and over, imagining you lying beneath me just like this,” he murmured. “I wanted to tear off your clothes and pound into you until you forgot all about your injury, make you scream so loudly all our companions would envy me.”

She whimpered and tangled her fingers in his hair. “You can still do that now, you know. In fact I insist on it.”

“I live to serve, my love.” He lifted her hips and slipped into her easily, making her sigh in delight. At times like this, it was so easy to forget about all the horrors waiting for them outside. Nothing existed but themselves, love, and pleasure.

There was a faint sound from the room next door, and Kestrel froze, trying to make out what it was. “Shhh!” she hissed. “Listen!”

He stopped moving inside her, and they both lay still, ears straining. From behind one of the doors came a breathy feminine sigh, followed by a low growl. It took Kestrel a moment to pinpoint the voices.

“Is that Shadowheart?” she whispered, trying not to giggle. “With Lae’zel?”

“Sounds like it.” Halsin sounded halfway between amused and aroused. “I would guess they had the same idea we did for how to spend the evening.”

“Do you think they heard us?”

“Oh, undoubtedly. And I am sure they’re enjoying it as much as we are.” He rolled his hips against hers temptingly. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint them, would we?”

He resumed his urgent thrusting, and Kestrel wrapped her arms around his shoulders, writhing with pleasure beneath him. Every faint noise from next door was like a drop of oil on a hot skillet, fiery and shocking. If her friends were going to be shameless, Kestrel decided, so would she. Neither she nor Halsin made any attempt to muffle their moans or cries, which seemed to spur the other women on even more. Maybe it was the tadpole, or simply imagination, but Kestrel swore she could almost feel every wave and peak of pleasure that the others felt.

She let out an agonized wail as an orgasm struck her like a bolt of lightning, vaguely aware that Shadowheart and Lae’zel were making similar noises on the other side of the wall. Halsin held on a bit longer, but soon he too was groaning deeply as his seed poured into her.

There followed a minute or two of embarrassed silence.

“Should we go talk to them,” Kestrel whispered, “or just pretend we’re not here and this never happened?”

Halsin chuckled quietly. “We will have to face them eventually, love. Better to do so now, in relative privacy, than after everyone else returns.”

“True.” She wriggled out from beneath him and grabbed his shirt off the floor, tugging it over her head. “But put some trousers on, just for propriety’s sake.” Once he’d done so, she went to the door of Shadowheart and Lae’zel’s room, and knocked.

It creaked open slowly, and both women stepped out with reluctance. They’d clearly gotten dressed in a hurry as well. Shadowheart had pulled on the dark-blue tunic she usually slept in, while Lae’zel was still in her serviceable black underthings looking unfazed. Kestrel gave them a polite nod.

“So,” she said. “The Sharran investigation ended early, did it?”

Shadowheart scowled at her. “Shut up.”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. I’m just surprised to see–or hear–you two together. Exactly how long has this been going on?”

“There isn’t any this,” said Shadowheart quickly. “We’re not a couple, not like you two.”

“Indeed not,” said Lae’zel. She didn’t look embarrassed, but it was a bit hard to tell with her. “This is nothing more than a…release of tension.”

Kestrel rolled her eyes. “Fine. How long have you two been releasing tension together?”

The two women exchanged sheepish glances. “Well, the first time was after our party with the refugees,” Shadowheart admitted. “Emotions were running high that night, you could say. And then there was that time in the Underdark, when we found that little alcove in Grymforge…”

“I particularly enjoyed our night together after your chat with Dame Aylin,” Lae’zel added. A small, smug smile played about her lips. “You were furious. It was delightful.”

“Right, well.” Kestrel was beginning to realize that this was not a conversation she needed to participate in. “Congratulations, I suppose. Let’s never speak of this again.”

“Unless, of course, you’d like to make this a group activity,” said Halsin casually. She couldn’t quite tell if he was being serious. Shadowheart certainly looked intrigued, but Lae’zel rolled her eyes. 

“Not all of us are as debauched as you, druid,” she said. “Come along, Shadowheart, and get dressed. I wish to go downstairs and try some of this fish pie you istik are always talking about.”

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Kestrel collapsed on the bed and burst into hysterical giggles that she tried to smother with her hand. “I knew it,” she gasped. “I knew it! Ever since those two tried to kill each other, I’ve been certain that there’s something going on between them. This is the funniest possible way to have it confirmed.”

Halsin laughed fondly. “Lae’zel may claim otherwise, but I sense genuine affection between them. It’s good to see love blossoming among our friends, even in times like these.”

“Best times of my life,” said Kestrel, and meant it.

–

Kestrel saw Shadowheart again early the next day, when she was finishing her morning prayers and the other woman was bringing Scratch back from his walk. At the sight of each other, both women turned red and lowered their eyes.

“Shadowheart,” Kestrel began, “do you want to talk about…”

“No,” Shadowheart interrupted, shaking her head firmly. “No, I do not.”

“But I told you all about…”

“ No.”

“Gods’ sakes,” Kestrel muttered. “You’re as bad as Withers.” There was a pause, before she said: “I hope you know none of us are going to judge you, or Lae’zel. I don’t know exactly what emotions are involved here, but you deserve to have fun. And–relieve some tension.”

“I appreciate that, I suppose.” Shadowheart sighed. “I just wish I knew what she…” She trailed off and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. But thank you for your discretion.”

Implied, but not stated: If you tell Astarion about this I will murder you.

Chapter Text

The trip to Sharess’ Caress was supposed to be a quick, simple, we-solved-your-employee’s-murder type of visit, nothing more. Kestrel certainly hadn’t planned to take Amira up on her offered reward. But then Nym had been so sweet and flirtatious and kept touching her arm, and Sorn had called her an “autumn flower,” and Halsin had given her that twinkly-eyed “you know you want to” look, and…

It hadn’t been all debauchery, to be fair. In the early hours of the morning, when they were all utterly spent, Kestrel had struck up a nice chat with Nym. She’d departed with some very interesting Underdark stories and the address of the drow girl’s hairdresser. And if she focused on those things, along with the SC’s surprisingly good breakfast, she could push aside the embarrassing memories of everything she’d taken part in the night before.

“You look deep in thought, my love,” Halsin remarked, and took a sip of tea. “Is something the matter?”

“I am trying,” she said, “very hard not to think about what we did last night.”

He looked concerned. “Did you not enjoy it? I would have called the whole thing to a halt if I’d known you were in any pain.”

“Oh, no, I liked it. Too much.”

There was a pause.

“I shouldn’t have,” she clarified.

“I see no reason why not. All were willing, you clearly enjoyed yourself, and it was a well-earned reward for solving the murder of that poor woman. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“On one level I know that, but I’m me. I’m meant to be sighing and longing from a distance, not having exciting flings with drow courtesans.” She sighed. “It’s a bit hard to keep up with how much I’ve changed lately, that’s all. And I’m not sure how much to blame on myself, as opposed to the tadpole.”

“I never knew you before this infection, more’s the pity,” said Halsin. “But I highly doubt your parasite is affecting your desires–illithids are not creatures of passion. Perhaps it’s just being away from your home and family that’s helped you discover your true nature.”

Kestrel felt some of the tension leave her shoulders, and she smiled. “And my true nature is to be some kind of lustful creature of the night? You know, I don’t think I entirely mind that, as long as my mothers don’t find out.”

“If I am ever fortunate enough to meet your mothers, I promise not to mention any of this.”

After a few more bites of egg, Kestrel looked up at Halsin again. “I hope you don’t mind me asking,” she said, “but why exactly did Sorn call you ‘famous'?’ We’ve only been in the city for about five minutes, and I didn’t think we’d been that indiscreet.”

“Ah.” To her surprise, Halsin looked slightly embarrassed. “I believe he may have been referring to Menzoberranzan.”

“Menzoberranzan? As in, the city in the Underdark?” asked Kestrel. At his nod, she raised her eyebrows. “Did you end up there while you were looking for your brother? I always knew you had quite the appetite, but I never pictured you socializing in one of Lolth’s cities.”

“Socializing is…not quite the word for it,” he replied, not meeting her eyes. “The circumstances were rather more complicated.”

She frowned. “Complicated in what way?”

Halsin swallowed hard, and told her.

There followed a minute or so of fraught silence, in which Kestrel fought the urge to both scream and be sick.

“So that’s why you were so tense in the Underdark, not only because of your brother,” she said at last. “And why you avoided visiting Baldur’s Gate. That past experience in cities that you mentioned–that was in Menzoberranzan.”

“Perhaps I should have explained myself at dinner that night,” Halsin admitted. “Only we were having an enjoyable evening, and I didn’t want to further dampen the mood. Discussing my brother’s death was enough, without bringing up my time as a guest of House Auvryndar.”

“Guest?” Kestrel exclaimed. “Dear, what you’re describing is called slavery . And it’s bad. Quite notoriously bad.”

“I do realize that, but please, don’t concern yourself.” He gently ran a thumb over her chin. “It was a long time ago. Please, forget I mentioned it.”

“No, I will not! I’m not going to let you gloss over three years of torment just because it was a long time ago! ” She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. “I don’t understand why you’re not furious about this. It’s horrific.”

“You make a good point,” Halsin said quietly. “Perhaps the worries of recent years have made my time in the Underdark seem pleasant by comparison. But I am not sure how you think shouting at me will help.”

Kestrel’s ire melted in an instant, and she looked down at the table, abashed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not you I’m angry with–it’s the whole situation. You should never have had to go through that. Three years trapped down there, being treated like a thing…”   She reached across the table and seized one of his hands. “If I had been around then, I'd have rescued you in a heartbeat, I hope you know that.”

“You know, I truly believe you might have.” His face relaxed into a smile. “I still find it strange how protective you are of me. It’s more often the other way round.”

“Well, exactly. Someone’s got to look after you, or you’ll be off getting bullied and captured by all sorts of things. Not that I mind saving you, actually,” she added thoughtfully. “It’s quite romantic.”

“Oh?” Halsin gave her a knowing smile. “Perhaps I should arrange to be kidnapped by the Zhentarim, so you can have the fun of rescuing me.”

“Ooh, yes please. They’d have you all tied up on a chair, and I’d toss them the ransom money when I came in, and then climb into your lap and give them a damn good show…” Realizing she was getting carried away, Kestrel flushed. “There’s my true nature coming out again. We should probably get back, before we’re tempted to misbehave again.”

The atmosphere on the second floor of the Elfsong was more somber than it had been over the past few days, though nothing was obviously amiss. Karlach and Wyll stood close together, not quite touching but with an unmistakeable intimacy in their posture. They’d been like this ever since their night out dancing, and Kestrel found herself wondering if they had kissed yet, or more. How would that even work, though, with Karlach’s tendency to burst into flames when she was excited…

There was that “lustful creature of the night” part of her coming out again, Kestrel thought. Hopefully no one had been using their tadpoles to read her mind just then.

“You’re back!” Yenna squealed, breaking the silence. “We missed you! Last night we played ‘Twenty Questions’ and no one guessed that I was thinking of a manticore.”

“Hello, little one!” Halsin held out his arms, and Yenna leaped into them so he could settle her on his hip. “Did you have any adventures while we were away?”

Kestrel felt her insides melting with love. Earlier this morning, he’d been the legendary lover who’d given her an astonishing night, and in a snap of the fingers he’d transformed into a gentle, caring father. It made her want to give him a dozen children, right away.

“This fancy fellow came up to visit us this morning,” said Yenna. “All got up in this yellow-and-black uniform that made him look like a bee. He asked after you, Miss Kestrel, and when we said you weren’t in, he gave a letter to Miss Karlach.”

Kestrel looked abruptly at the tiefling. “What’s this letter?”

Karlach gloomily handed her a thin envelope made of heavy, expensive-feeling paper. “Take a look at the seal.”

She did so, though it meant nothing to her at first. The black wax had been smudged, but she could make out the shape of something that looked like a closed fist.

The Edict of Bane.

“Gortash,” she said. “I’m surprised you didn’t open it, Karlach.”

Karlach huffed. “I’m polite, aren’t I? It was your letter. Hurry up, tell us what’s in it.”

Obediently, Kestrel opened the envelope with a fingernail and unfolded the letter. The handwriting was crisp and neat, like that of a seasoned scribe, though she had no doubt that Gortash had written this himself.

Miss MacDuff,

I was terribly disappointed that you and your friends chose not to pay me a visit on your way through Wyrm’s Rock. After all, we have a great deal to discuss, particularly after your eventful encounter with my former colleague the General. In certain circles, you have caused quite a stir.

You are undoubtedly aware that my coronation as Archduke will be taking place tomorrow, and that it promises to be a historical event. I would be honored if you and your friends would agree to attend, particularly Miss Cliffgate. Though you may think the worst of me, I am at heart a man of business, and I have a proposition you will surely be interested to hear.

I have enclosed an invitation applicable to you and any companions you choose to bring along. Though the dress code is formal, I do completely understand if that is not something you can manage.

Yours sincerely,

Enver Gortash

Tucked into the envelope was a heavy card with gold-embossed writing, granting coronation admission to Miss Kestrel MacDuff and Associates. To her own shame, Kestrel was briefly flattered. She’d never received an invitation from nobility before, even if said nobility was unfathomably evil.

“Bastard,” growled Karlach, who’d been reading over her shoulder. “Slimy. Fucking. Bastard. Let’s go to this coronation, just so I can tear him limb from limb in front of an audience.”

Wyll put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Easy, Karlach. I want him dead just as much as you, but he’s got an army of mechanical giants at his beck and call. We need to be strategic about this.”

“Strategic. Right.” Karlach scratched the side of her head. “I’ve never been brilliant at that, to be honest.”

“You don’t need to be,” Gale said cheerfully. “That’s what you’ve got us for.”

–

Though the invitation ostensibly applied to all the Tadpole Irregulars, only five in total attended the coronation. Yenna had wanted to come along, to see all the patriars and their fine clothes, but Kestrel had forbidden it. She didn’t want that kid anywhere near Gortash and his Netherstone. Halsin, Jaheira, and Minsc had all agreed that a coronation at Wyrm’s Rock was their worst nightmare, and preferred to stay behind and stand guard. Shadowheart and Lae’zel claimed to have plans, though they refused to specify what these were.

It was therefore Kestrel, Karlach, Gale, Wyll, and Astarion who strode into Wyrm’s Rock Fortress on the evening of the coronation. Each had dressed in their finest clothes, left their larger weapons at the tavern, and prepared for the absolute (ha) worst.

The guard at the main fortress gate inspected their invitation slowly and carefully, obviously suspecting it to be a forgery. When she was satisfied with its authenticity, she nodded at Kestrel. “You’re the Miss MacDuff on this, then? And these are the associates?”

Kestrel confirmed this, and the guard studiously wrote down the names of each other guest. When it came to Wyll, she looked a bit startled. Kestrel had grown so used to her friend’s new appearance that she forgot how it must look to others: a handsome, well-dressed young man somewhere between human and tiefling, with one stone eye and one of burning crimson.

“And you, sir?” the guard asked.

“Wyll…” He trailed off. Kestrel realized with a jolt that using his true name here would cause a stir at best, and put him in danger at worst.

“MacDuff,” she cut in quickly. “Wyll MacDuff. He’s my brother–well, half-brother. My stepdad’s a tiefling, it’s a long story.”

“I care so much,” drawled the guard. She handed back Kestrel’s invitation and gestured lazily to the staircase behind her. “Go on up, they’re just getting started. Good luck finding seats.”

Wyll gave her a wink as they climbed the stairs. “Your brother, am I?”

“Why not? I’m always saying we’re all family! I’ll admit, though, part of it is selfish,” said Kestrel. “It’s such an honor to have the Blade of Frontiers as my brother.”

The grand ceremonial hall upstairs was crowded, as the guard had predicted, but there was still a bit of space available on one of the benches close to the stairs. More than a few other guests gave the Tadpole Irregulars odd looks as they squeezed in, particularly Wyll. Perhaps a few of them had known him in his younger, hornless days, and could still see the resemblance.

After a tense few minutes of waiting, the doors swung open once again, and the man of the hour strode through, walking down the aisle like a bride at a wedding.

Kestrel had previously only seen Enver Gortash from a distance, or through blurry tadpole-induced visions. In the flesh, he wasn’t quite as tall as she’d expected, and his hairstyle was a questionable decision at best; still, he was undoubtedly handsome, and his presence was commanding. Everything about him, from the wide collar of his black jacket to the click of his high boots on the floor, screamed power.

As he passed by their bench, Kestrel wasn’t sure if she wanted him to notice her, or ignore her presence entirely. It wasn’t her that he noticed, though.

“Well, well, well,” he said, loud enough that the other guests all looked in their direction. “My goodness. That’s never my old friend Karlach, is it?”

Heat flared from Karlach’s skin, enough to singe the embroidery on Kestrel’s sleeve. The tiefling leaped to her feet with a snarl. “Gortash, you slimy fuck. You’ve got the nerve to call me old friend, after everything you did to me?”

There was a ripple of shocked murmurs through the crowd. Gortash, damn his hide, just smiled. “I realize we have much to catch up on, Karlach, but as you can see, I am in the middle of my coronation.” He leaned toward Kestrel, who flexed her fingers, wishing that she had Moonslinger in her hand. “You’re Miss MacDuff, the ringleader, I presume. Come find me in my office after the ceremony, and we can discuss my proposition.”

Kestrel couldn’t bring herself to speak, overwhelmed as she was by fear and hatred. All she managed was a stiff nod.

“Excellent. And we must find some better seats for you, as our honored guests.” His smile grew wider, and all the more malicious. “I would hate for you to miss a moment of this historic occasion.”

–

Gortash’s office, located in the penthouse above the ceremonial hall, was impeccably tidy. Every surface was ornately decorated in the black-and-gold palette he clearly favored, with sculptures and paintings of–who else?–himself tucked in every corner.

“Classic new money,” Astarion whispered in Kestrel’s ear, making her snort with laughter.

“Isn’t this a treat,” Gortash said, in the tone of someone who would very much like a fist to the jaw. “My former bodyguard, and all her new friends.” He turned to Kestrel. “You’re in charge, so I hear. Though, meeting you, one has to wonder…why.”

It was a fair question, but Kestrel refused to give him the satisfaction of agreeing. “Yes, I generally speak for our team–our family,” she said. “Lady Selȗne has blessed me with the gift of diplomacy. Even I have my limits, though.”

“You’re a woman of honor,” said Gortash. “A woman of faith. Perhaps you, then, will be reasonable enough to hear me out. You may not believe me, but I assure you, I have your best interests at heart.”

He laid out his points concisely, logically, with the skill of a solicitor. Orin was too erratic to be trusted with any of the Netherstones. She sought only to destroy, while he sought to build. And of course he was on Kestrel’s side, even with all the trouble she had caused! Only a true ally would be so careful to warn her about the imposter in their midst.

Much as she hated to admit it, Kestrel was beginning to see how he’d risen to power so quickly. Even though, she reminded herself, she was definitely still going to kill him. 

“You’ve given me a lot to think about, I’ll say that,” she said. “And I don’t like the sound of that imposter, if you are telling the truth.”

“Kestrel, for fuck’s sake!” Karlach exploded. “You can’t actually be considering this, can you? This man is pure bloody evil.”

Gortash looked at her in annoyance and sighed. “You just cannot keep your mouth shut, can you. Very well, Karlach, let’s have this out,” he said. “In many ways, you know, we are very alike. We are both Baldurians, born and raised. We both had to struggle for everything in life. The primary difference between us, my dear girl, is that I had the intelligence and ambition to rise to my current station, while you are little more than a thick-skulled overgrown child.”

“How dare you, you stupid, greasy, fuck-wit…”

“There, you see? Curses and insults, like a street urchin. Do you want to know why I traded you to Zariel, Karlach?” He gave her a smug smile. “Because I no longer had any use for you. I was on my way up–I needed subordinates with intelligence, a sense of strategy. Zariel needed a slab of muscle for her front lines. You were perfect.”

White-hot flames flared up around Karlach’s skin, and Kestrel prepared herself to have to stop a fight. But the other woman didn’t move.

“I’m not going to kill you now,” she said, voice low and flat, “because I know your Steel Watchers will lay me flat before my blow lands. But mark my words, Archduke: the minute my way to you is clear, I will destroy you. If my fate is to go up in flames, you’re coming with me. See that? Strategy.”

Gortash smirked. “Whatever you say, my dear. Miss MacDuff, you will consider my offer, won’t you? Hopefully before the impostor in your midst tears your family to pieces.”

“I’ll consider it, yes. But that’s all I can promise,” said Kestrel. “In the meantime, Archduke, enjoy your new status. However long it lasts.”

  As they walked away, Karlach looked down at Kestrel with fury in her eyes. “Please,” she said, “tell me we’re going to kill that fucker as soon as possible.”

“Oh, we’re going to kill him,” Kestrel promised. “I just want him to be surprised by it.”

–

Mizora, Wyll’s infernal patron and constant tormenter, was the very last person any of the Tadpole Irregulars would have invited to dinner. It was therefore a deeply unpleasant surprise when she manifested in the common room that evening, accompanied by two other devilish women.

She was technically beautiful, Kestrel supposed, but it was hard to think of her that way. Under her fine bone structure and smooth blue skin lurked pure hatred and greed.

“Well, pet,” Mizora said languidly, inspecting her razor-sharp nails. “Here we are again. I suppose you can guess what this is about?”

Wyll sighed. “My father, I can only assume. Out with it, then. What do you want?”

“Oh, it’s not about what I want, dearie. This is about what you want–well, you and your dear papa. The handsome and valiant Grand Duke has been taken into Lord Gortash’s custody, you see. The poor man’s a liability.” 

“Stuffed in a cage,” hissed one of Mizora’s devilish attendants, with a gleeful smile. 

“Whipped and chained and ready for slaughter,” her sister agreed.

“Father? No,” Wyll whispered in horror. “Gortash was only just crowned.” He looked up at Mizora grimly. “Let me guess. You know where he is, and you’re willing to tell me–for a price.”

“Ding ding ding! Got it in one,” Mizora replied. Her grin was nausea-inducing. “That’s why I brought my sisters along, as witnesses. You have two options, Wyll. One, I break your pact as promised, and Father Dear breathes his last. Or two, I tell you exactly where he is, and even help you free him–and in return, you sign your soul to Zariel and me in a pact eternal.”

Wyll stumbled backwards, eyes wide in horror, as a glowing roll of parchment materialized in front of him. At his side, Kestrel felt as though she’d been punched in the stomach. Everything Wyll had done, the horrors he’d suffered and the hoops he’d jumped through to be free, were all for nothing. He was about to be pulled right back into the clutches of Avernus.

“You can’t do it, Wyll,” Karlach blurted. “Don’t sign that pact.”

He shook his head. “He’s my father. Half the reason I exist. It would be unthinkable to just abandon him.”

“All right, then, I’ll be the arsehole.” Karlach crossed her arms. “Wyll, you’ve been sacrificing yourself over and over again to protect other people–the city, the refugees, me– and you’ve never gotten what you deserve in return. Now here you are, so close to being free of this dickhead and her contracts, and you’re about to be roped back in. That’s not right.”

“What am I supposed to do, Karlach?” Wyll asked miserably. “They’ve got my father. He’ll die if I break the pact.”

“Look, you love your dad, and I’ll bet he still loves you too. No matter how much of an idiot he’s been,” she said. “But if he was here right now, and he knew the whole story, I don’t think he’d want you to give up your soul. He’d know that you deserve so much better.”

“Maybe, but I…I still can’t sacrifice my father’s life for my own sake. I can’t bring myself to be that selfish.”

“I know,” Karlach said quietly. “You’re the least selfish person I know–so, I’ll be selfish for you. If you sell your soul to that devil it’ll smash my heart into a million pieces, Wyll. Please don’t do it.”

Wyll stood for a long moment, head bowed and lips slightly moving. Perhaps, Kestrel thought, he was praying.

Finally, he looked back up at Mizora, face grim. 

“I love my father,” he said. “Saying goodbye to him seven years ago was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I’ve spent far too long with a devil dogging my steps. No more, Mizora. Your power over my family ends here.” He folded his arms. “Break the pact.”

Mizora looked shocked, which she quickly hid with a condescending pout. “Oh, but are you sure, pet? Think how heartbroken Daddy will be if he finds out his only son betrayed him. And without our pact, I’ll have to take away your powers, and won’t that be sad.”

“Enough, Mizora,” Wyll ground out. “Enough of your manipulation, your bargains, your lies. I’ve made my choice, and I’ll live with it. And you–you’re going to fuck off back to Avernus, and admit to Zariel that you’ve got one fewer warlock to push around.”

“Yeah, and give her one more message from me.” Karlach put an arm around Wyll’s shoulders and looked down at Mizora defiantly. “If you or your boss cause my friend here any more grief, I’ll explode right in your face and burn you to ash. Don’t piss off a woman who’s got nothing left to lose.”

Mizora smirked. “Nothing left to lose, you say? Oh, sweet girl, I almost think you believe that. But never mind–I’m a lady, and I won’t hang around where I’m not wanted.” She snapped her long fingers at her two companions. “Come along, girls. We have other things to see to.”

When she had vanished, Wyll collapsed to his knees on the ground and buried his face in his hands, faint sobs emanating from between his fingers. For a moment everyone stood awkwardly, unsure what to say. 

What could anyone say? “Hey, mate, sorry you saved your own soul but sent your father to his death?”

After what felt like about a year, Karlach strode forward and guided Wyll upright. “On your feet, soldier,” she said, briskly but not unkindly. “There’ll be time for mourning once the Elder Brain blows up. Just know that I’m sorry about your dad, and I’m also so, so proud of you. We all are. Aren’t we, gang?”

Everyone nodded rapidly, grateful for something to agree with. Wyll managed a very faint smile, which quickly faded. 

“I need to be alone for a while,” he said. “Excuse me, if you don’t mind.” Without waiting for a response, he trudged in the direction of his tent.

The others watched him go, still silent, and Kestrel assumed they were thinking exactly what she was. 

Technically, they’d won this battle. But the war seemed to be going very, very poorly.

Chapter Text

She might have known this trip to the Astral Prism was coming. The cellar at the Elfsong had contained rats, an improbable number of githyanki–and the remnants of the man who’d once been the Emperor.

She did not, however, have a solid explanation for why he–she couldn’t quite think of this creature as it, no matter its species–was half-undressed.

“If this is about the Astral Tadpole,” she said, “the answer is still no. I haven’t used it, and I don’t plan to.”

“You brought it up,” said the Emperor, “not me. I’ll admit, I am surprised you’re still so resolute. You’ve felt no draw to it?”

“None at all.” It was a lie–she had felt it calling to her sometimes, from within the trunk where it was buried under her druid dress. When she’d absorbed the powers from those prior two tadpoles, she’d been relieved at the lack of side effects, yet it seemed the side effects were catching up at last.

She was lying, and the Emperor knew it, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he stretched languidly, and set down one clawed hand very close to hers.

“I believe you understand me more, now, than anyone else has since I became illithid,” he said. “More than even Stelmane, perhaps. Our alliance was unexpected, certainly, but what is even more unexpected is how much I’ve enjoyed it.”

“Really?” Kestrel cracked a smile. “Rooting around in my mind hasn’t made you hate me?”

“Quite the opposite. You proved far more interesting than I had expected. Complex and full of contradictions.” He tilted his head, making his tentacles sway unpleasantly. “Sometimes, it almost felt as though we were approaching something deeper than mere collaboration.”

“What?” She scooted away, her gut twisting. Why are you talking to me like that?”

The Emperor’s facial expression didn’t change, but his tone was surprised. “You were attentive to me. Sympathetic. I thought the connection we had was obvious.”

An image flashed into Kestrel’s head of Halsin standing under that moonlit tree, gazing down at her with adoration. “The care you’ve shown for me has been humbling, to say the least…”

“Whatever you thought you sensed between us, you’ve misunderstood,” she told the Emperor flatly. “I’m grateful for the help you’ve given me, and I realize how important our alliance is, but that’s all it will ever be.”

“I understand.” The illithid nodded briefly. “You’ve had eyes for no one but Halsin ever since you met him. I remember all too well the thoughts flying around in your head the night of your celebration with the tieflings…”

She cringed and shook her head. “Thank you for that wonderful reminder of why anything romantic between us would be disgusting. You’ve been in my head, even more than the others. Let’s keep this businesslike, shall we?”

“As you wish.” He stood abruptly and waved a hand, his upper clothes appearing out of thin air. “I will not bring up the topic again. I do hope, though, that you will reconsider using the tadpole.”

In the waking world, Kestrel felt a twinge of regret at turning down the Emperor’s flirting, though this quickly faded. Halsin might say that love was meant to be shared, but even he would probably draw the line at a damn mind flayer.

–

Kestrel’s writing time the next evening was interrupted by an unrepentant Shadowheart, who dropped into the seat next to her with great urgency.

“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” she said abruptly.

“Really? I thought you’d done that a long time ago.”

Shadowheart huffed. “Kestrel, I am actually trying to ask for your advice right now. Can we skip the jokes?”

Surprised, Kestrel dropped her notebook. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

“Here’s the thing.” Shadowheart’s hands twisted together anxiously. “Sharran novices are encouraged to have short-term flings with each other. It’s just something you do, to relieve stress and all that. The thing we weren’t encouraged to do was form long-term attachments.”

“That’s the ‘absence’ part, I suppose,” Kestrel said dryly.

“Exactly. And because of all that, I’m realizing now that…I don’t know how.”

She couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across her face. “How to form long-term attachments?”

“Gods, stop enjoying this so much,” Shadowheart groaned. “I’m already embarrassed enough.”

“Sorry. I’m not making fun, I promise.” Kestrel forced her face back into neutrality. “Is that something you want, though? With Lae’zel?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? At first I thought that what we had was just physical. A release of tension, like she said. Every time we slept together I told myself that I hated her and it would never happen again, and then it kept happening. It was like an addiction. She’s…really good in bed.” Shadowheart flushed. “You don’t want to hear about that, I’m sure. I thought it was just sex, but one night she got to talking about Crèche K’liir, and we had an actual, proper conversation. She’s interesting, it turns out. And now I look forward to the talking just as much as all the other things.”

This was possibly the most personal information Shadowheart had divulged in one sitting, and Kestrel couldn’t help but gape. “Look, I’m not an expert on love,” she said, when she had recovered the ability to speak. “All my knowledge is from books and Halsin. That said, if you feel like this about Lae’zel, have you considered talking to her about it?”

Shadowheart’s emerald eyes widened. “Talk to her? Are you mad? She’ll bolt back to K’liir in the blink of an eye if I start talking to her about feelings. Githyanki aren’t any better about romance than Sharrans.”

“All right, so don’t start with feelings. Just chat with her, about–I don’t know. Animals and swords and things. Take her out for a meal and let her complain about how bland non-gith food is. She’ll eventually figure out that you actually like her.”

“Maybe.” Shadowheart didn’t look entirely convinced, but neither did she argue. She tapped Kestrel’s notebook with one long fingernail. “How’s the book coming along? Can I be in it?”

Kestrel grinned. “Sure you can. We’ll have to think of a different name for you, though. How about Ebony?”

Shadowheart wrinkled her nose. “Ebony? That’s a bit on the nose, isn’t it?”

“Oh, and Shadowheart isn’t? No, my mind is made up. Your fictional self is going to be named Ebony Raven.”

Shadowheart might have had more thoughts on the subject, but she didn’t have the opportunity to voice them. Loud barks sounded from the hall, and Scratch dashed in, his fur muddied. He looked at Shadowheart, whimpered, and threw himself under her bed.

“What’s gotten into that dog?” Shadowheart asked, frowning. “Did one of the kitchen cats take a swipe at him, or something?”

“Maybe–” Kestrel began doubtfully, but stopped and leaped to her feet at the sight of Yenna hurrying in after the dog. She was in no better shape than Scratch, her face streaked with tears and her hair awry. “Yenna! Did you have an accident?”

Yenna shook her head furiously. “He tried to kill me,” she gasped. “He said I was Orin in disguise, but I’m not, I promise.”

Kestrel’s breath caught in her throat as she noticed, for the first time, the bloodied paring knife in Yenna’s hand. “Who, Yenna? Who tried to kill you?”

Footsteps pounded on the stairs, and Yenna pointed a shaking hand toward the noise. “Him.”

Kestrel wouldn’t have been surprised to see Lord Gortash or one of his lackies, another Bhaal cultist, even Astarion if he had been too long without blood and had lost his reason. She could never, in a thousand years, have guessed that Yenna would be pointing at Halsin. Halsin, clutching a gash in his side that was bleeding over his shirt.

No no no no no no…

“Halsin?” she said carefully, taking the smallest step backwards. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” He looked at her desperately. “Yenna and I were in the courtyard throwing Scratch’s ball for him, and she attacked me for no reason. Please, Kestrel, you must believe me–I would never hurt an innocent child. Something else is going on here.”

“He’s lying,” Yenna cried. “Don’t believe him, Kestrel. Please don’t let him hurt me.”

Though she hated herself for it, Kestrel hesitated. The Halsin she knew would never harm Yenna, but Orin disguised as Halsin…Pain lanced through her as the realization hit. This was what Orin had been hinting at, back at the circus. She was going to have to choose between two people she dearly loved, and if she made the wrong choice, she would lose both of them. 

Halsin and Yenna were still in front of her, standing frozen. Gathering up her courage, Kestrel did the only thing she could think of.

“Halsin,” she said. “When we first met, while you were still in bear form, what was the first thing the goblin children said to me?”

“It doesn’t matter what he says.” Yenna’s face was white with fear. “Orin knows everything about us, you know she does. She can just dig up a memory.”

“Quiet, Yenna,” said Kestrel. She winced internally at how hard her voice sounded. “Go on, Halsin. What did the goblin child say?”

For a second, though it felt like a century, Halsin hesitated. Finally, he managed a faint smile. “He said your chin looked like a bum. It does, by the way, and it’s beautiful.”

Relief hit Kestrel so hard she nearly collapsed. Orin wouldn’t have stolen that memory–it was far too stupid to steal. “It’s you. I’m sorry I doubted you, but I had to be certain.”

“No!” Yenna stamped the floor, the picture of fury, except that her face hadn’t turned red, but even paler. “He’s lying, you need to stop him, you need to…”

She was interrupted by a loud feline hiss. Grub, the usually timid ginger cat, was standing on one of the couches with his hair on end, tail lashing back and forth violently. This was the last proof Kestrel needed.

“You’re not Yenna,” she said. “I don’t know what you are, but you’re not her.”

Yenna-who-was-not-Yenna pouted. “How disappointing,” she whined, her limbs lengthening and features changing as she spoke. “I was hoping for a good show. It would be so lovely to watch you turn against your lover, watch you stab his heart out until you were covered in his blood, rather than his seed–but you had to be clever, didn’t you?”

“Keep your fucking distance, you monster.” Kestrel could hear her voice shaking with fury and fear. “Where’s Yenna? What in the hells have you done with her?”

“Oh, don’t worry. The little brat is still very much alive, being tended to by my followers in Father’s house. She is not the sacrifice I need,” said Orin. She pointed one long, scarlet-tipped finger at Kestrel’s nose. “You killed the bone-lord’s thrall. You made the tyrant cower behind his machines. Father will relish your death like the finest wine.”

“She didn’t do those things alone.” Shadowheart moved to stand beside Kestrel, arms folded defensively. “Why is Kestrel your sacrifice? Too afraid to take on all of us?”

Orin shot her a dismissive glance. “Silence. I know who speaks for your ever-so-precious family, and it is not you.” 

Kestrel held up a trembling hand. “It’s all right, Shadowheart. I’ll talk to her.” She glowered at Orin. “Out with it. What do you want?”

“I want Gortash’s head!” Orin shrieked, the gray swirls under her skin writhing furiously. “He never trusted me, the greedy grinning disgrace. Wanted to work with my perfect brother, until I scaled the beast like a fish. The death-stones belong to Father, to me.”

“So kill him yourself. What’s stopping you?”

“Little tyrant doesn’t trust me. Bound my blade, forced an oath upon me. I can’t kill him.” She pointed one sharp, blood-red nail in Kestrel’s face again. “Lucky, useful worm. You can.”

“If I kill Gortash, you’ll set Yenna free,” said Kestrel, forcing her voice not to shake. It didn’t seem like an unreasonable bargain. If Orin had named the price of Yenna’s life as Mephistopheles himself, Kestrel would still have agreed. “That’s what you want?”

“Exactly. In fact, little cleric, I’m feeling generous. I’ll give you a nice, easy deadline.” She licked the edge of her knife. “Three tendays, how does that sound? Thirty entire days for you to kill the Archduke, before I get bored and offer up your little orphan girl to Father. That’s more than enough time, surely.”

Thirty days. The Elder Brain could break free within thirty days. The entire world could be illithid within thirty days.

Which just meant they would have to work quicker.

“I swear by the Moonmaiden,” said Kestrel, “that Enver Gortash will be dead within thirty days.”

Orin giggled horribly. “Yes, yes! Then we will slice and shred each other, with pain and humiliation and blood drip-drip-dripping into the gutter. The stones to the victor, and the remains of the loser will be Bhaal’s.” Her smile dropped abruptly into a ferocious snarl. “But write this down, girl. If you or any of your friends set foot in my domain before Gortash is dead, that little girl will die. Slowly. And she will know it was your fault.”

Her point made, she twisted the ring on her left hand, and dissolved into the ether. Dead silence hung in the air for far too long.

Kestrel broke it, not by giving any kind of stirring speech, but by running to the nearest chamber pot and retching painfully. There wasn’t much in her stomach anyway, but some instinctive, animal part of her body was desperate to purge all the corruption and terror Orin had brought. An agonized scream tore from her already burning throat.

Was this how Halsin had felt when Thaniel was swallowed by the Shadowfell? But Thaniel, despite his appearance, was a powerful and ancient spirit. Yenna was a ten-year-old human girl, with all the fragility that implied. Even if Orin didn’t personally kill her in thirty days, there was no telling what kind of torments she might suffer.

A large, warm hand was on her back, guiding her back to her feet and to the nearest couch. As she collapsed into Halsin’s lap, scalding tears began to pour out of her eyes.

“It’s our fault,” she sobbed. “I thought we were protecting her, but I should have known better. We’re evil, cursed people, and everyone who gets close to us is cursed as well.”

There was a faint dampness against her forehead, and she realized that he, too, was crying.

“We will save her,” he said hoarsely. “Even if I have to drag Gortash to the bottom of the sea myself.”

Another arm flopped around Kestrel’s shoulders, its heat radiating through her spine. “Count me in,” said Karlach, with aggressive good cheer. “That lunatic doesn’t know who she’s dealing with. All she wants is Gortash dead? Hells, we were on our way to that anyway. We’ll be playing one-a-cup with Yenna again before you know it.”

“Karlach is right.” Minsc dropped onto the couch next to Karlach, making it creak from the weight. “There are none living who know more about Bhaalspawn than Jaheira and Minsc. Orin may take any shape she likes, but Boo will help us rip each and every one to shreds.”

The others gathered around, adding their arms and supportive murmurs, until the entire group was one large, tangled hug. It helped, but only a little.

–

Despite her mental exhaustion, sleep refused to come to Kestrel that night. Every time she closed her eyes, horrifying visions of Orin and Yenna flashed through her mind, and dreams would only bring more of the same. At last, she gave up.

“I’m going to get some fresh air,” she whispered to Halsin. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.”

“There is no fresh air in this city,” he replied wearily, before giving her a concerned look. “Please do not do anything rash while you’re out.”

“Like trying to kill Orin and Gortash on my own? Trust me, I’m not arrogant enough to try. I just need to be alone.” 

Halsin said nothing, but squeezed her hand understandingly. He returned to staring miserably at the ceiling as Kestrel slipped out into the cool night air.

Despite the late hour, the streets were still bustling: guards, thieves, ladies of the night, a few drunken sailors. On any other day Kestrel might have found it exciting, but tonight, it made her long for the peaceful silence of Hargrave. What she wouldn’t give to have Mama Vickrey’s strength on her side, or Mama Bettina’s guidance and prayers…

She stopped short in front of the one open building that wasn’t a tavern or brothel. Soft light glowed from the windows of Stormshore Tabernacle, and the faint smell of incense floated through its open doors. Kestrel hurried inside, narrowly dodging a group of rowdy young men singing an off-key sea shanty, and dropped onto one of the benches in front of Selȗne’s shrine.

“Maiden of silver, cast your light on me,” she whispered, the traditional prayer coming out of her mouth instinctively. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was back at the Hargrave temple, safe and sheltered. “Let your moon be my light, and I will be your sword. Help me to burn away the darkness.”

Maybe it was her own anger and despair at work, or the tadpole, or–worst of all–Selȗne had just given up on her. Whatever the cause, for the first time in her life, she sat in front of a statue of her family’s goddess and felt nothing at all.

A throat cleared politely behind her, and Kestrel looked up through tear-filled eyes to see the temple’s keeper looking at her worriedly. He was a balding gnome, with fair hair and kind eyes, and his name was…Humbletoes, that was it. A charming name, but she wasn’t in the mood to smile at it.

“Forgive the interruption, daughter, but you seem troubled,” he said. “Can I offer any assistance?”

Kestrel sniffled and wiped her eyes. “Probably not, but you’re kind to offer. This problem is pretty daunting.”

The vicar sat and gestured encouragingly at her. “You’re welcome to tell me of it, if that would help in any way.”

She should keep her mouth shut, she knew, but the words came pouring out anyway. “A child I know, an orphan, is in trouble,” she said. “She’s in the…keeping of a dangerous woman who could do her serious harm, and I don’t know how I can save her.”

Vicar Humbletoes nodded at her, his face pensive. “That is troubling. There are far too many orphans in these dark days, and the law often fails them. Have you spoken to a family solicitor, perhaps, to challenge this dangerous woman’s custody?”

“I don’t think a solicitor could do much.” She laughed weakly, but decided not to correct his assumptions. “I’m not related to the poor kid. Actually, I’ve only been looking after her for a few days, but…” A fresh burst of tears welled in her eyes. “She really did feel like a daughter to me. I even thought I might adopt her. Now she’s just gone, and I feel so helpless.” The last word came out as a sob, and she buried her face in her hands to keep from screaming. Vicar Humbletoes gave her a comforting pat on the back.

“Your pain comes from a place of love, daughter. Lady Selȗne sees and celebrates your kindness, I’m sure.”

Kestrel sighed. “That should make me feel better, but all I can think is that she should do more. She owes me that much, doesn’t she? I saved her daughter. I helped break her sister’s curse.”

The vicar’s eyes went wide, and Kestrel realized too late that she’d given far too much backstory. “Don’t worry about it,” she said tiredly. “It’s a whole saga. My point is, for a while recently, I’d started to hope that I was one of Selȗne’s favorite servants. Maybe even one of her Chosen. Now I’m starting to wonder if she’s abandoned me.”

It was to Vicar Humbletoes’ credit that he didn’t immediately comfort or contradict her. Instead, he just tilted his head thoughtfully. “Do you still have your magic?”

“What? I…” Kestrel looked down at her fingers and flexed them experimentally. “Fiat lux,” she whispered. A globe of pale yellow light burst from her hand and bobbed peacefully above her head, looking like a miniature moon.

“There you are.” The vicar nodded with satisfaction. “If the Moonmaiden had abandoned you, you would not be able to summon her light. Which means there is still hope.” He reached out and gave her hand a cautious pat. “I wish, as much as you do, that the gods could reach down and fix your troubles in an instant. Unfortunately, that’s not the nature of divinity–instead, they provide us with strength to fight for ourselves. Be assured, daughter, that even if your faith in Selȗne is shaky, she still has plenty of faith in you.”

Chapter Text

Over the next day and a half, Kestrel and Halsin played the same deeply unenjoyable game over and over, called “If Only…”

“If only,” Kestrel might say miserably, looking at the small pile of clothes and books she’d bought for Yenna, “we had agreed to Gortash’s bargain right away. Then he might have sent some of his guards to keep Orin out.”

“If only,” Halsin would reply, his wide shoulders slumping, “we had asked Yenna the right questions over the last few days, we might have been able to tell she was an impostor.”

“If only we’d begged Isobel and Aylin to stay here and keep an eye on things, instead of scoping out the Selȗnite resistance…”

“If only Withers permitted himself to intervene, rather than just observe…”

“If only we hadn’t let her out of our sight for one minute…”

It was Jaheira, eventually, who grew tired of this game. Two afternoons after Yenna's kidnapping, she stomped into Kestrel and Halsin's room and threw open the patched velvet curtain, making sunlight stream in through the narrow window.

“Enough,” she said briskly. “Moping won’t get that little girl back, and you know it.”

Kestrel groaned and covered her face with her hands. "This isn't moping, Jaheira. Don't we have the right to grieve?"

“Of course you do, but be practical. Thirty days, Orin said. We’re down to twenty-eight now. The more time we spend cooped up here, the less time we’ll have to take down Gortash and find Orin’s lair.” She looked at Halsin, mouth set grimly. “You, even more than me, spent the last century tortured by guilt over the Shadow Curse. I doubt you want to spend another century tortured by guilt over Yenna.”

Halsin sighed deeply and nodded. "You make a good point," he said. "The trouble is knowing where to begin."

"Exactly," said Kestrel. "To get Yenna back we need to kill Gortash, and to kill Gortash we need to disable the Steel Watch, and to disable the Steel Watch we have to get into the foundry, and…well, I don't have the slightest idea how to do that."

"You're in luck," Jaheira replied. "Astarion returned from his morning walk just a minute ago, and he seems to have learned a few things." She stood back and held the door open for them. "Join us, and maybe your next step will become clear."

In the common room, with everyone's eyes upon him, Astarion coughed politely. “I spent this morning doing a reasonable amount of snooping by the docks,” he said. “Even talked my way into the Steel Watch Foundry, by pretending I was one of those ghastly Baneite guards. It was an enlightening trip.”

Kestrel sat up straighter, intrigued in spite of herself. “What did you learn?”

“Well, it seems our good friend Barcus was right. The Gondians are, in fact, laboring against their will–Gortash has their families held prisoner somewhere offshore.” He shook his head, looking disappointed. “I’m hardly a gnome enthusiast, but under the circumstances, blowing those people to bits with Wulbren’s bomb seems distasteful.”

“My, my,” said Gale archly, from where he sat by the fireplace. “Is that the barest hint of compassion we’re seeing from our vampire chum?”

Astarion sniffed. “Don’t get used to it. I must say, though, I’m proud of my detective work. Those lunatic women at the temple of Umberlee set me on the trail of a beast in the harbor that bleeds oil, which I can only assume is actually a ship of some kind.” He looked around at the others in triumph, which faded to irritation when no one replied. “Oh, really. Think about it. Who do we know that made their fortune with complicated machines?”

Karlach snapped her fingers. “Gortash!”

“Quite right, darling. And which old fortress was sunk beneath the waves about a hundred years ago after Sarevok Anchev used it for his dastardly deeds? Wyll, I’m expecting you to know this one, or your dukely education wasn’t worth the money.”

Wyll thought briefly, before his left eye lit up. “Gods,” he said. “You’re talking about the Iron Throne.”

“Precisely. So, putting it all together: Gortash takes over this Iron Throne and uses it as a prison, and builds a fleet of underwater ships to bring people to and fro. Now, who do we think he’s keeping in there?”

“The Gondians!” Kestrel exclaimed, at the same time Wyll said: “My father!”

Astarion crossed his arms and smiled triumphantly. "I really would have made a fine spy, wouldn't I?" he said. "Free the prisoners, get the foundry workers on our side, blow the Steel Watch to smithereens. Well, let's get to it. No time to lose."

—

Astarion had been right, Kestrel thought; he would make a good spy. His intel had been exactly right. Just across the harbor from the foundry, there had been a warehouse, and under that warehouse, there was a hidden dock containing something that resembled a metal kraken.

It struck Kestrel as unfortunate that her first experience with the Sea of Swords should take place in one of Gortash's machines, sailing silently toward an underwater prison. She'd always loved the water—on hot days it had been impossible to pull her away from the Hargrave lake—but this murky harbor reminded her more of the Shadowlands waterfront than a nice swimming spot. Maybe the Last Light Inn's docks would be nice now, though, with Thaniel's intervention. Maybe she would survive long enough to find out.

There was a crackle of energy on the small screen by the ship's steering wheel, and Kestrel was greeted by the very unwelcome sight of Enver Gortash.

"Of all the people I expected to see piloting my submersible," he said, "you were not my first guess. I was under the impression we had a bargain, Miss MacDuff."

"I didn't make you any promises. This isn't about you, anyway—it's about Yenna."

"Who in the hells is Yenna? Unless…she's not that little urchin girl my Watchers saw you with, is she?" He gave a forced-sounding laugh. "Dear gods, she is. She's the one Orin took. And you need to knock me off my high horse in order to rescue the brat, is that it? I'm afraid you're wasting your time, along with the lives of everyone in the Iron Throne. Orin won't uphold any bargain with you. Her wits are soaked in blood."

Before Kestrel could argue, Karlach had pushed in front of her. "Bye, fuckwit," she said flatly, and smashed one fist down on the screen.

The Iron Throne rumbled violently in front of them.

Inside, the group divided into three. Astarion and Gale went down the hall straight ahead, to find and free Omeluum. Shadowheart and Lae'zel led a group to the right, where most of the Gondians were being held captive. Which left Kestrel, Wyll, and Karlach to head left, in order to find Duke Ravengard, or whatever was left of him.

The man in the cell didn't look exactly like Wyll—his nose was wider, and his head was shaven—but the resemblance was obvious. The two men had the same high cheekbones, the same build, and the same determined eyes.

"Wyll?" he said hoarsely.

"Father," Wyll said, sounding as astonished as Kestrel felt. "You're…"

Time froze, quite literally. The clanking of metal and puffing of steam valves halted completely, and in a burst of oil and flame, Mizora stepped through the walls between the planes with her usual smirk in full force.

"What a nice little reunion this is," she said. "It's a shame that it's going to end in tragedy."

"You." Ulder's eyes narrowed. "I know you. You were with my son, the last time I saw him."

"You remember me? Why, Your Grace, I'm flattered. And you're quite right, we have met before. " Mizora bowed with a flourish. "I am Mizora, your son's erstwhile patron, and it is my great honor to be the one who kills you."

"No." Wyll's face went ashen. "We made it all the way here, he's free, you can't just…"

"A bargain is a bargain, pup. You chose this." She turned to Ulder, smile broadening. “Know this, Ulder Ravengard,” she said. “Your son could have saved your life. All it would have taken was a simple little agreement with yours truly. Instead, he decided he wanted his soul back more than his father alive. Tragic, isn’t it?”

Ulder looked past her to his son, eyes wide. “She trapped you in some infernal contract?”

"I wanted to tell you, Father, but I couldn't," Wyll choked out. "Literally, I couldn't. She bound my tongue when I made our pact. I never wanted anything to do with her, but Tiamat's followers were going to destroy the city, and I didn't feel I had a choice."

“So when you had the chance, you took your soul back.”

Wyll, his face contorted with misery, nodded. He said nothing, made no excuses.

Ulder lifted his chin determinedly. “Good,” he said. “Better to die an honorable death than live with the knowledge that I’d damned my son.” His eyes softened. “Seven years ago, I made a mistake that drove us apart. Let me make up for it now.”

There was a moment in which Wyll seemed about to argue, perhaps threaten to give up his soul again. Eventually, though, he gave one more nod.

"Thank you, Father," he said. "I love you."

The Grand Duke smiled. "I love you too, son. Forgive me for ever giving you cause to doubt it."

Mizora, clearly tired of not being the center of attention, sighed dramatically. "How adorable," she drawled. "Goodbye, Ulder dear."

A flick of her fingers, a sudden burst of flame—and Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard was a pile of ash, slowly dissolving into the murky water lapping the floor.

—

There was cause for celebration that night, as the Gondians were freed and the Steel Watch's destruction was imminent. Back at the Elfsong Tavern, though, the Tadpole Irregulars gathered not for a party but for a funeral.

Wyll, standing at the front of the room with a glass of wine, cleared his throat.

"You know I didn't always see eye to eye with my father," he said. "He could be strict, and was stubborn as a rothé, but that isn't what I want to talk about tonight.

"People always used to say how sorry they were for me, growing up without a mum, but I never felt like I was missing too much. I wasn't lacking for attention or care, that's certain. Father used to take me everywhere with him—meetings, the sparring ring, the forge—and I don't think any lad in the city had a better education than me. I learned what it meant to be a leader, how to truly understand people and serve them. Probably learned a few things kids shouldn't know, as well." He chuckled quietly. "Can't think why I was allowed to deliver letters to Sharess' Caress."

There were a few weak laughs, and Wyll went on. "So that's the Ulder Ravengard I want to remember tonight, the one I had seventeen years with. He was a brave soldier and a good diplomat, but most importantly, he was my dad. And he loved me enough to give up his life for me, even after all I'd done to disappoint him." His voice cracked on the last word, prompting Karlach to reach over and squeeze his arm. "Cheers, everyone. To my father."

Silently and solemnly, everyone raised their glasses and drank. On one of the couches, Kestrel sighed and wriggled closer to Halsin.

"Is this what it's going to be like now?" she murmured. "Just constant, never-ending loss?"

"No," he said. For the first time since Yenna had been taken, there was hope in his voice. "Loss is inevitable, but so is gain. Wyll took his soul back, the Gondians will soon be reunited with their families, and you and I still found each other. My worry for Yenna made me forget that, for a while."

"I did too, but I won't let myself do that again. That's Shar trying to interfere with us." She hesitated. "Halsin, once we get Yenna back…I just want you to know, I won't be upset if you don't stay here. You haven't got a tadpole, this isn't your fight…"

"It is my fight," he interrupted gently. "As much as the Shadow Curse was yours."

Kestrel half-smiled. "So, not much at all, then?"

"We love each other. Therefore, your fights are mine, and the other way around." He squeezed her shoulder. "We can discuss this more later. For now, I think Wyll deserves our attention."

He was right, of course. Kestrel closed her eyes and sent up prayers, to any gods who would listen, for the duke she'd barely known and the son he'd saved.

—

Shadowheart was missing from camp for much of the next morning, and even Lae'zel seemed to have no idea where she had gone. Just as Kestrel was beginning to genuinely worry, the lady in question burst into the common room, her hair in disarray and her face paler than usual.

"I know you're strategizing, and defeating Gortash is the most important thing in the world right now," she said. "I'm not trying to delay us, I swear, but we've made so much progress already, and…"

"Go on, Shadowheart," Lae'zel interrupted, not unkindly.

Shadowheart's throat bobbed. "I found the House of Grief," she whispered. "Which means I've found my parents."

Chapter Text

The House of Grief, an unsassuming building tucked away on a side street, looked more like an apothecary's shop than a den of wickedness. But to Kestrel, raised with Selûnite sensitivities, it felt like a black hole of torment. Underneath the genteel facade, she could sense layers upon layers of painful memories stored away, taken from people who'd come seeking comfort.

If Kestrel had sought a sign that Selûne hadn't abandoned her, the subterranean battle was decent enough proof. Her magic seemed stronger than ever, despite the barrage of darkness from all sides. Even more impressive, though, was Shadowheart. Earlier, she'd tacitly acknowledged that her magic now came from the Moonmaiden. Today she embraced it, and the sight was glorious. In what must have been hours, but felt like the blink of an eye, the cloister was vanquished, and the Mother Superior lay with the blade of a spear at her throat.

Viconia, even as her lifeblood was ebbing away, showed no signs of repentance.

"All the effort I put in to making you powerful, devout, a weapon— and this is what I get," she rasped. "There's gratitude for you."

Shadowheart hesitated, and kept hesitating. It was obvious that she wanted to say something, make some cutting remark that would leave Viconia speechless, but nothing came out.

Even if it was presumptuous of her, Kestrel felt she had to step in.

"There's something you might want to know," she told Viconia. "You didn't think Shadowheart could ever become a Dark Justiciar, but she passed every single one of the Gauntlet's tests without breaking a sweat. I don't doubt she could have killed Dame Aylin easily enough, but when I begged her not to, she listened to me."

Viconia spat on the floor, blood dripping from her lips. "I know. Because she is a weak, foolish girl."

"No, actually," said Kestrel. "Because she realized that even without you and Shar and your whole foul church, she was strong."

"Ha." Viconia gave a hoarse laugh. "All right, then, Miss Strong Shadowheart. I imagine you'll be killing me now, for some kind of theatrical revenge."

Shadowheart shook her head. "I don't think you deserve that honor," she said, finally finding her voice. "I'll tell you what, though. Kestrel has served Selûne all her life, and never once slapped me when I was spouting the nonsense you taught me. I think she should be the one to kill you."

Kestrel looked at her in surprise. "Are you sure?"

"Completely sure." Shadowheart waggled her fingers at Viconia in a condescending wave. "Goodbye, Mother. Enjoy Shar's embrace."

Any Selûnite cleric would consider it noble and righteous to kill a high-level Sharran like Viconia DeVir. That said, Kestrel still couldn't quite bring herself to enjoy it.

—

Viconia was dead, the prison door had been unlocked, and Shar had taken her last parting shot. Shadowheart was now left, with her friends at her side, to choose the fate of her parents.

She was, understandably, reluctant to do this.

"I've just found you again," she said. "I can't lose you."

Emmeline Hallowleaf—delicate, silver-haired, with Shadowheart's cheekbones—gave a reassuring smile. "No matter what you do, dear, you won't lose us. We'll always be watching over you."

Arnell, who was slim and handsome with his daughter's coloring, nodded. "Jenevelle, my sweet girl, you must think about your own future," he said. "Your mother and I are old, broken. Let us go, and live your life free of pain."

Shadowheart took one step forward, faltered, and stepped back.

"I don't know," she said in a small voice. "I don't know what to do."

Gale cleared his throat softly. “The choice is yours and your parents’, Shadowheart, of course. I will say, however, that if I was in a situation like this, I would find physical pain much more tolerable than losing my mother or Tara.”

“So would I,” Kestrel put in. She'd been trying not to share her own opinions, but if Gale was speaking up, she might as well. “If my mums and sisters had been stolen from me, I’d try to keep them alive, no matter the cost.”

Shadowheart looked at Lae’zel desperately. “What about you, Lae? What would you do if you were in my position?”

“In a way, I am in your position,” Lae’zel replied. “Someone important to me has also been locked away for a very long time, and I risk pain and death as long as I defy Vlaakith.”

“That’s different, though. Orpheus has the power to destroy the Elder Brain, and I…I'm just some stupid kid who misses her parents.”

“I have no parents or siblings,” said Lae’zel. “Perhaps I can’t truly understand your dilemma, but–” She closed her eyes, seeming to struggle, and opened them again. “If you were in this prison, and I faced the choice you have now, I would endure any agony in my hand to free you. And if it ever became too much for me, I would cut. It. Off.”

Stunned silence blanketed the room. If Kestrel hadn't heard it with her own ears, she would never have believed it: Lae'zel of K'liir, who scoffed at the very idea of romance, had just made a public declaration of love.

Eyes wide and glistening with tears, Shadowheart nodded.

"You're right," she whispered. "I would too." Turning back to her parents, she lifted her chin.

"I'm done letting Shar make my decisions for me," she told them. "We're getting out of here, as a family. And don't you dare tell me that it's not worth the pain."

"Jenevelle, dear…" Arnell began, but his wife shushed him.

"You heard our daughter," she said. "Jen wants her family, so Jen shall have her family. Go on, dear." She smiled triumphantly. "We're ready."
—

Alan the innkeeper didn't make much of a fuss over two extra guests on the second floor, though he did request an additional twenty silver pieces as a courtesy fee. Shadowheart paid this herself, with bloodstained coins from Viconia's pockets, which seemed quite fitting.

Upstairs, Kestrel was a bit surprised when Shadowheart—when Jenevelle Hallowleaf, the lost Selûnite—sat next to her, rather than going straight to her parents. Emmeline and Arnell were huddled in one corner of the common room, occasionally whispering to each other, but obviously still in shock.

"Hello, Shadowheart…or should I call you Jenevelle now?"

"I'm sticking with the first one," Shadowheart said firmly. "At least for the time being. I don't really know who Jenevelle is."

Kestrel nodded. "That's fair. I can't imagine what a difficult experience this must have been, but if there's anything I can do for you, all you need to do is ask."

Shadowheart looked down at her feet, sighed, and looked back up. “Tell me about the night of your wayfinding ritual,” she said. “I want to know how it went for you.”

“Shadowheart, I don’t think this is going to help…”

“Just tell me.” A note of pleading had crept into her voice. “I need to know.”

An argument was the last thing Shadowheart needed, and so Kestrel nodded. “It was uneventful,” she said, almost apologetically. “Mama Vickrey dropped me off in the woods, and I was frightened at first, but I could smell the lakewater and found my way to the shore pretty quickly. I took off my clothes and went swimming, played with some frogs I found, told myself stories, and then found the trail and made it home for breakfast.”

Just as she’d feared, Shadowheart buried her face in her hands and gave a faint sob. “That could have been me,” she choked out. “If Viconia hadn’t targeted me, I could have made it home for breakfast with my parents. I wouldn’t have spent forty years living a lie.”

“It’s not too late, though. Your parents are alive, and you’ll have plenty of chances to make up for lost time.”

“But I missed so much,” said Shadowheart. “Half my childhood, holidays, birthdays, lessons–all the things parents are supposed to be there for. Now we don't even know each other, and Mum's sick, and I don't know what to do."

Kestrel gently laid a hand on her back. "You defeat the Absolute with us," she said. "Selûne willing, you survive. And then you spend as much time as you possibly can getting to know your parents, and making new memories." She winced. "Sorry. That was extremely soppy of me."

"It was, but you're right." She gave a reluctant smile. "You know, I meant what I said to Halsin a while back. You are my closest friend. Which I wouldn't have expected, since you're a Selûnite."

"You're a Selûnite now too, technically," Kestrel reminded her.

She expected a sharp reply from the other woman, but Shadowheart just tilted her head thoughtfully. "Huh," she said. "I suppose I am."

Without waiting for Kestrel to reply, she hopped to her feet, strode over to where Lae'zel sat, and tugged her over to Emmeline and Arnell.

“Mum, Dad, this is my…” She glanced over at the githyanki and hesitated. “This is Lae’zel.”

It was undoubtable that Emmeline and Arnell had plenty of questions. Instead of asking them, however, both simply smiled.

"Lae'zel," Emmeline repeated. "Goodness, what a pretty name. It's so nice to meet Jen's friends."

Lae'zel gave a deep, respectful nod. "Parents of Shadowheart, greetings. I can see now how your daughter came by her courage. Even a githyanki would find it difficult to endure the imprisonment you faced."

Kestrel, feeling a giggle coming on, buried her face in her sleeve. There were many reasons she was glad the Hallowleaves had survived, and while it hadn't been the most important, seeing Lae'zel being a daughter-in-law was definitely on the list.

—

After breakfast the next morning, Wyll briefly disappeared, without the slightest hint of where he was off to. Much to everyone's relief, he returned less than an hour later, clutching a rough envelope with LCADS written on the side.

"Right," he said. "We're seeing a play this afternoon."

Kestrel looked up at him in surprise. "We are?"

"Of course. It was on your list, wasn't it? After all we've been through lately, we need something to take our minds off it." He nodded respectfully at the Hallowleaves. "I got tickets for you as well, Mr. and Mrs. Hallowleaf, but I'll understand if you don't feel up to it."

"I've spent forty years with very little in the way of culture," said Arnell dryly. "It would be our pleasure to accompany you to the theater. "As long as you're feeling well enough, dear?"

"The theater!" Emmeline's eyes lit up. "Oh, it's been so long since we've gone! We saw The Tragedy of Hendor last year, didn't we? Such a sad tale that was."

There was a brief flash of sorrow in Arnell's eyes, but he smiled anyway. "A little longer ago than that, but it was certainly a good show. Shall we accompany our daughter and her friends?"

Emmeline looped an arm around her husband's with glee. "A family outing. I couldn't think of anything nicer."

In good weather, the Lower City Amateur Dramatic Society performed in a small outdoor amphitheater close to Bloomridge Park. The seats were nearly full by the time Kestrel and company arrived—perhaps everyone else felt the same need for escapism.

"I hope we can see the action from up here," Karlach said, as the group shuffled into their seats. They'd chosen the very back row, for Halsin, Karlach, and Minsc's sake. "What's this play called again, Wyll?"

"The Army of Light. The fellow at the ticket counter said it was both inspirational and funny, which I think is just what we need these days." Wyll sighed happily. "I hope there are a few good songs in it."

"Can you teach them to the Elfsong ghost?" Gale asked. "Her limited musical repertoire is becoming very irritating."

As he spoke, the curtain drew open, and a hush fell over the audience. On the stage, in front of a badly painted wooden forest, stood a red-haired gnome in a blue robe. This in itself was not unusual; what was unusual was the gnome woman's green velvet cap.

"Dear gods," muttered Astarion. "It's contagious."

"Shhhh," Kestrel hissed.

The gnome was followed onstage by a tall, thin elven woman, her sleek dark hair in an absurdly long plait. She was dressed in a tight black bodice with even tighter trousers, and at the sight of her, Shadowheart inhaled sharply.

"That's not…" she said under her breath. "No. This play couldn't be about…"

"Oh, goodness!" the gnome exclaimed, throwing her arms out joyfully. "Isn't this a positively splendiferous day, Midnight?"

The dark-haired woman crossed her arms and sniffed. "It's disgustingly sunny, and I hate it. Almost as much as I hate you, Falcon."

And that was the end of any doubt.

Falcon the gnome had been written as a cleric of Lathander and aspiring poet, who frequently spoke in rhyme and made all her friends groan. Midnight was a Shadar-kai from the Shadowfell who spoke rapturously about darkness and misery. The third actor to enter the scene was a short, snub-nosed human woman whose skin had been painted emerald green.

"My name is Mi'Shell," she declared. "Proud monk of the githzerai. You will come with me, sisters—my people are masters of mind and body, and we shall not defeat this cult without their wisdom."

From Kestrel's side came the sound of a half-suppressed shriek. "Shka'keth," Lae'zel hissed, clenching her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white. "They dare to portray me as a githzerai? Those hshar'lak are too cowardly to even set foot on this plane."

"Much as I'd love to watch you kill an actor, darling, I don't think we want to draw any attention to ourselves at the moment," Astarion drawled. "I'm just dreading how wrong they will inevitably get my hair."

The rest of the cast was no more accurate than the first three had been. Army of Light Astarion was still a vampire, but inexplicably a drow named Minaros (whose hair was boringly straight). "Count Willard Rook's" actor was charming and dapper, but couldn't have been more than seventeen. The tiefling Carrick was both flame-free and undeniably male. Kestrel's personal favorite was the play's version of Halsin, who was a barrel-chested dwarf with a long, bushy beard.

"At least they got your tattoo right," she whispered to the real Halsin, who was shaking with suppressed laughter. "Otherwise I'd walk right out of this theater."

As The Army of Light went on, the Tadpole Irregulars watched as though it were a particularly fascinating shipwreck. Nothing in the plot was entirely true to life, yet it mirrored reality so closely the effect was disturbing. "Falcon" and "Minaros" bickered, "Midnight" and "Mi'Shell" flirted and fought in equal measure, and the wizard "Tempest" threatened to blow himself up every fifteen minutes. Perhaps some of it was just guesswork, but Kestrel wondered if the playwright might be an acquaintance of theirs.

The play ended on a hopeful note, with the so-called Army of Light tracking down the Absolute—portrayed by a towering half-orc chap in a swirling black cloak—and soundly flattening him. Perhaps it was this plot point, moreso than the show's actual quality, that brought the audience together in a standing ovation.

—

They went out to dinner afterwards, at a shabby little cafe where Shadowheart insisted on buying several bottles of wine and a serving of practically everything on the menu. She seemed to be almost aggressively cheerful—perhaps taking Kestrel's advice on making up for lost time.

Astarion, sipping morosely from a glass of red wine, was the first to ask the question on everyone's minds. "All right, out with it. Which of you wrote that monstrosity of a play?" He frowned at Kestrel. "It couldn't have been our resident writer, could it?"

Kestrel held up her hands in denial. "Wasn't me. I value my life too much to make Lae'zel a githzerai. No, I'm inclined to suspect Volo."

"Then we know who to kill." Lae'zel's hand went to her sword. "The gall of that man, humiliating us in public after we saved his sorry hide."

"Easy, Lae," said Wyll with a laugh. "I quite liked it, actually. At least they portrayed us all as heroes, albeit slightly silly ones."

"Whoever wrote it, they seem to think we can defeat the Absolute," said Kestrel. "Maybe they got that part right, hmm?"

"It would be the only thing they did get right," Astarion grumbled.

"I guess there's one benefit to all this," said Shadowheart. She was grinning ear to ear, as she had been for most of the last few hours. "Mum and Dad now have a rough idea of what I've been doing for the last few months."

Emmeline glanced up at her husband in concern. "Have we got any Shadar-kai in the family, Arnell? I didn't think we did."

"We don't, as far as I know," said Shadowheart. "But Kestrel and I did meet a Shadar-kai once. It's quite a funny story, actually…"

As she launched into the story, Kestrel turned to Halsin with a teasing smile. "And what did you think of the play?"

"Not quite true to life, I suppose," he said. "Still, I thought the actress who played Falcon was very good."

"She was good," Kestrel agreed. "About twice my natural charm packed into half the size, and far better at poetry than I'll ever be."

She expected Halsin to laugh, and was surprised when his brows drew together critically. "What's that look for?"

"I wish you wouldn't insult yourself like that," he replied, with genuine sorrow in his eyes. "You are so quick to downplay your good qualities, and even if you intend it as a joke, I worry you may start to believe it yourself. It upsets me."

"Oh." Kestrel felt a flash of shame. "I'm sorry. I hadn't thought of it like that."

"There's no need to apologize." He squeezed her hand affectionately. "But I hope you'll believe me when I say that you are lovely, and kind, and immensely talented."

"I'll try to remember that." She gave him a wink. "But, you know, sometimes I might need reminding."

Halsin smiled knowingly. "I assure you, my beautiful bird, I am happy to give you all the reminders you need."

"I do like these affectionate young couples," Emmeline remarked from the other side of the table. "I wonder how many weddings there will be, after all this fuss is over."

—

Sometime around midnight, venturing out of her bed for a glass of water, Kestrel encountered Gale by the fireplace. He was reading, as usual, a thick dark tome spread open in his lap. Kestrel knew, without even looking at the cover, that it was the Annals of Karsus.

She hated even being in the same room as that book. Like Ketheric's Netherstone, it radiated an energy of corruption that made her bones itch. That said, she was more than willing to tolerate it for Gale's sake. Any time he spent in research was time spent not planning to blow himself up.

"Interesting reading?" she asked.

Gale jolted in shock and looked up from the book, his eyes slightly dazed. "Ah. Good evening," he said. "Or is it morning?"

"Still evening. You should try and get some rest tonight, we're planning to infiltrate Wyrm's Rock tomorrow." She hesitated, and looked down at the book once again. "I suppose that thing is telling you all about how to wield the Crown of Karsus?"

"Quite so, and it's fascinating, truly. The sheer power in that crown outmatches that of a thousand mortal sages."

"That's actually a good segue into my next thought. I'm sorry to ask so bluntly, but—Gale, when you get the crown, what are you going to do with it?"

"Hm." Gale closed the book, his face pensive. "Funny you should ask that. I've been mulling over the matter a great deal lately, and somehow my mind keeps returning to my family."

He gestured for Kestrel to sit, and she did so. "I know you're close with your mum," she said. "Have you got a dad, as well? You haven't told us many details."

"I did, but there's not much to tell. He passed away when I was only four, and I’m afraid my memories of him are blurry,” he said. “I do know he was an orphan with no family to speak of, which explains why he was so willing to take the Dekarios name. After he died, my mother brought me back to her parents’ home, and I grew up surrounded by family.” He chuckled. “The Dekarios clan are kind, educated, well-meaning people, though they struggle with the concept of privacy. It was a relief to finally move into my own tower with Tara."

"So if you become a god, you won't have to put up with their meddling anymore? Is that your line of thinking?"

"I can't say I haven't considered that. Really, though, what's most on my mind is how much good I could do for them. If I were a god, they need never face illness or hunger, never worry about falling on hard times. But at the same time…" He sighed. "It wouldn't be the same, would it."

"No," said Kestrel quietly. "I suppose it wouldn't. Gods have so much else to worry about." She tilted her head. "Does it help to know that, if you became a god and moved to Elysium, I would miss you?"

"Help? Not quite," said Gale. "You know, Kestrel, you have a knack for making my difficult decisions even harder. I could have blown myself up and made Mystra very happy, but I couldn't bring myself to blow you up in the process, or any of the others. I could become a god, and show Mystra just how wrong she was about me, but I can admit it would put up a wall between myself and the mortal world I've grown fond of. I wish…"

But what Gale wished for was not evident, as he simply trailed off and shut the book. With a polite nod in Kestrel's direction, he stood and departed for his room.

Kestrel found herself wondering if the infamous Karsus himself had ever had a conversation of this type with his friends. If so, it didn't seem to have done him any good.

Chapter Text

One would think the gods would have shown a little mercy, the night after Enver Gortash died. The people who had seen to his demise were bleeding from dozens of wounds and exhausted from grief—not for the Archduke himself, but for the friend he'd condemned to death with his greed.

But the gods had no mercy to spare, being occupied with various cosmic threats, and it was that very evening that the Szarr family paid the Tadpole Irregulars a visit.

When the last one had vanished into the ether, Astarion rounded on Kestrel furiously. "Why in the hells did you tell them?"

There was no need to ask what he meant. "If I was going to be sacrificed for a devil's ritual," Kestrel replied, with a hint of sarcasm, "I'd like to know about it in advance."

"You and your gods-damned bleeding heart." Astarion ran a hand through his hair, leaving bloody streaks in the white curls. "You can't honestly feel any sympathy for my siblings. They spent decades seducing poor, innocent people on Cazador's behalf—the kind of people I thought you cared about."

"You did the exact same thing," Kestrel pointed out. "They didn't have any more choice in the matter than you did. Why shouldn't I care about them, just like I care about you?"

"Because I am your friend!" he shouted. "At least, I thought I was! It wasn't Dalyria or Petras who helped you take down the goblins. They didn't defend Halsin's portal out of the goodness of their hearts. I did those things, because I thought we had an alliance. Are you saying, after all that, you don't trust me with this power more than you trust my siblings? Or Cazador?"

"I…" Kestrel started to argue, but forced her mouth shut. Fighting wouldn't help matters, and would probably just make Astarion even more set in his course.

"Look, I'm sorry," she said. "I do trust you, and I shouldn't have just blurted out that they were going to die in the ritual. Let's focus on taking down Cazador first, all right? We'll know more about the ritual by then, I'm sure."

His mouth still twisted suspiciously, Astarion nodded. "Aurelia said he's starting tomorrow night," he said. "I suppose that means Cazador is ready to kick off his infernal party, and needs to get me back one way or another. We'll be walking into a trap if we go to him tomorrow, but I doubt I have a choice."

"And it really has to be tomorrow? With Gortash dead, I thought we could finally track down Yenna…"

Astarion sighed. "There's no time to spare, Kestrel. I hardly want the little brat to die, but surely Gortash's death buys us some time. I want to walk into Cazador's house of my own free will, rather than being abducted."

On the "to do" list in her journal, Kestrel reluctantly drew another box above "Rescue Yenna", and wrote next to it: Kill Cazador Szarr.

Only a few months ago, that would have been an impossible task to imagine, something that belonged in the realm of ballads and novels. Funny how these days, it was just another chore.

—

ARCHDUKE GORTASH FOUND BRUTALLY MURDERED! screamed the headline of the Gazette the next morning. CULTISTS, CRIMINALS, OR BOTH?

“We’re in the paper!” Kestrel announced, waving it over her head as she entered the common room. “Well, not us, thank the Moonmaiden. They said the Fist doesn’t have any solid leads yet, but they talked about what we did. And they mention you, Karlach!”

“They do?” Karlach glanced up, a faint spark of interest in her eyes. It was the most good cheer Kestrel had seen in her since Gortash’s corpse had hit the floor. She’d spent most of her time in her room alone, or talking quietly with Wyll, and had only ventured out for food.

“Sort of. It doesn’t say your name, but listen to this.” Kestrel cleared her throat and read. “‘Some investigators have speculated the assassination was the act of foul Absolute cultists. Others, however, are inclined to blame a bitter ex-employee.’ Bitter ex-employee, that’s you!”

"Huh." Karlach looked slightly gratified. "I guess it's nice to be acknowledged, even if it doesn't do me much good in the long run."

"I'll put it in a scrapbook for you," Astarion grumbled. He hadn't been able to keep still all morning, walking back and forth across the room and muttering to himself. "I don't suppose there's anything in the Gazette about a reclusive vampire nobleman hosting the party of the century, is there?"

"Oh, look, there is. Right here." Kestrel pointed to a random headline, which actually said Grain Prices Increase 3 %. "And it says, 'If any of Lord Szarr's family members wish to pay their respects, they had better stop twitching and pacing around in the Elfsong, or they'll trip over something and break a wrist before the battle even starts.' Goodness, I wouldn't have expected to see such good advice in this paper."

"Ha-ha," Astarion said flatly, but he did stop pacing. "Perhaps I'd better rest for a moment, just to be on the safe side. Promise me, though, that we'll go soon."

"I'm sorry," Kestrel said quietly to Karlach, when he had left the room. "I wish we could give you the time you need to grieve, instead of constantly rushing from one thing to another, but we are on a tight schedule."

"It's for the best," Karlach declared. "Sitting around here moping won't do me the slightest bit of good. What I need is to slice up some mean bastard who's hurt one of my friends."

"There are plenty of those around," said Wyll, with a hint of a smile. "I can't lie, I've been wanting to teach Cazador a few lessons myself. He doesn't deserve any mercy for torturing a nice chap like Astarion."

Was nice chap, Kestrel wondered, the right phrase to describe Astarion? Not all the time, certainly, and he himself would probably scoff at it. But in the end, "nice" wasn't what mattered here.

"Nice or not, Astarion's our friend," she said firmly. "So we'll protect him. Let's just try to make sure there are some of us left alive to fight the Absolute."

The rest of the daylight hours were spent in a whirl of preparation for the latest in a long line of terrifying battles. Halsin stayed at Kestrel's side throughout, helping her mix healing potions and sort through scrolls. He hadn't voiced a single word of complaint or caution, despite the danger they were obviously walking into.

He shouldn't be here, whispered some guilty little part of her mind, a part that had been speaking up frequently of late. He should be with Thaniel, or helping to protect the Grove. The only reason he's following you on these suicide missions is your own selfishness.

"Kestrel?" Halsin's brows drew together in worry. "Is something the matter?"

"No," she lied. "Just a bit worried about facing Cazador, that's all. Promise me you'll look after yourself in battle."

"I always do." He smiled. "But I'm far more concerned with protecting you."

I know, she thought. That's the problem.

—

Astarion, splattered with the nearly-black blood of a vampire lord, stood over the slumped and battered form of his ex-master. Despite his triumphant posture, there was no joy or relief in his eyes, only grim determination.

"It's time," he said. "Kestrel, I'll need your help. Connect your tadpole to mine, so I can carve the runes on his back." When she hesitated, his voice turned pleading. "The Absolute won't stand a chance against us if I have this power—no villain will. I can protect this city, and us, for the rest of eternity. Surely you can't object to that."

It was tempting, Kestrel couldn't deny. She'd seen firsthand how powerful Cazador had been—having someone like that at her back for the final battle would be useful, to put it mildly. But would it be worth the price?

The pale, anguished faces of the Gur children swam through her mind, mixed with memories of Gandrel and Ulma's pleading voices. The sacrifices this ritual demanded were upsetting enough when there had only been seven, but with what she knew now…

Slowly, she shook her head.

“Seven thousand souls, Astarion,” she said. “Seven thousand. Do you really want to kill that many people?”

“They’re already dead,” he snapped. “Cazador killed them long before I ever got the chance to. What’s the point in giving a damn about them?”

“‘Dead’ and ‘undead’ aren’t exactly the same, and you know it. Dead means those seven thousand souls are trapped in the deepest Hells for an eternity of torment. Undead means they still have a chance at–well, life.”

Astarion shook his head. “They’re vampire spawn, trapped in a pit for two centuries and tormented by hunger. Setting them free will cause a literal bloodbath. They’ll kill every living thing in their path.”

“You didn’t,” Kestrel said softly.

He froze, eyes wide and pained. She could almost see the wheels spinning in his mind, and prayed desperately that she was getting through to him, even a little.

"This isn't your decision to make," he said quietly. "It's mine. It's all that's mine."

That's not fair, Kestrel thought. I can't risk seven thousand lives for the sake of your feelings. It was a cruel thought, and she shoved it away firmly before it could escape her mouth. Astarion had spent so long utterly deprived of power, even over his own body. If she denied him this choice now, what would that make her?

She was a cleric, Kestrel reminded herself. She had faith. Not only in the Moonmaiden, but in the people she cared about.

“You’re right,” she said. “It’s your choice, so I won’t try to make it for you. I can tell you that this doesn’t sit quite right with me, and that any power drawn from Mephistopheles is likely to have some significant downsides, but that’s my opinion and mine alone. Ascend, or don’t. Spare the other spawn, or kill them. You’ll still be my friend, and I’ll never stop caring about you. But…” She took a deep breath. “If there’s anything I can do–anything–to convince you to spare the Gur kids, I’ll do it. Anything, I swear.”

Astarion stared back at her, for so long that she genuinely thought time might have stopped. At last, he gave a heavy sigh.

“Fine,” he said abruptly. “For fuck’s sake, fine.”

Kestrel blinked. Wait, did I hear him right? Did he just say…

“I might have known you would listen to this sentimental creature,” Cazador coughed, with a bloodstained grin. “You were always weak, boy. Always thought you were so far above this family."

“We were never a family,” Astarion spat. “I have a family, and they happen to be quite good people.” He smiled grimly. “I’m not so good, though, that I can’t enjoy this.”

It was not easy to watch Astarion's knife flash through the air repeatedly, and hear Cazador's animalistic screams of anguish. But Kestrel wasn't too holy to admit that it was deeply, deeply satisfying.

When it was over at last, and the last sob had left Astarion's throat, he stood and met Kestrel's eyes. His face was utterly, terrifyingly blank. “Anything, you said. Don’t think you’ll get out of your promise.”

Kestrel closed her eyes and braced herself for his request, which was bound to be something illegal at best and monstrous at worst. Robbing the Counting House, assassinating an ex-lover, becoming his blood source for life–none of them were good possibilities, but she was prepared for any of them, because she’d given her word.

She was not prepared to be pulled into a sudden hug so tight it nearly bruised her ribs. 

“Kestrel,” said Astarion, his voice cracking with emotion, “please get rid of that stupid fucking green hat.”

Relief slammed into her like a fist to the gut. “Nooo!” she half-laughed, half-sobbed. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me!”

“It's the biggest, most important favor I could possibly ask of you. Dump the hat, or I swear, I'll start the ritual right over again."

Kestrel grinned and squeezed him tighter. "Rest in peace, hat."

"Smashing. With that settled…" He released her, and picked up the crimson-and-black staff at his feet. It shuddered in his hands like a living thing. "Open the cell doors," he told it. "Let the prisoners out."

From somewhere far away in the vast temple, Kestrel could make out the sound of grinding gears and creaking metal, and nearly cried from sheer gratitude. Later she would allow herself to worry about the consequences, but for now, she had saved a dozen children from the halls of Mephistopheles.

"What are they going to do now, though?" Petras asked shakily. He and the other spawn were standing about uncertainly, like statues who had been abruptly brought to life. "There are so many of them, and they won't have anywhere to go. We don't have anywhere to go."

Astarion turned to him with irritation written across his face. He seemed on the edge of hurling an insult, but to Kestrel's surprise, his face softened.

"Congratulations, Petras," he said. "You've got a new purpose in life. Lead the other spawn to the Underdark—they'll at least be safe from the sun down there. What happens next is up to them."

“We have friends in the Underdark, just east of here,” Kestrel added. “Look for the myconid colony led by Sovereign Spaw. You might also run across a couple of Society of Brilliance folks we know–a hobgoblin named Blurg and a mind flayer named Omeluum.”

Petras’ eyes widened. “A mind flayer?”

“Long story. They’re trustworthy, don’t worry. Just tell them Kestrel sent you.” She pressed the dagger from Cazador’s belt into his hand. “Best of luck.”

As they walked back up towards the lift, leaving the vampires behind, Astarion glanced wistfully over his shoulder. "I wonder how many of them will make it," he said. "And how many will choose Mephistopheles, rather than being a spawn."

"I guess there's no way to know for sure," said Kestrel. "The main thing is, we gave them the choice. Kind of nice to have those, isn't it?"

For the first time since they'd entered the Szarr house, Astarion's lips curved slightly into a smile.

—

Kestrel had hoped to have a proper chat with Astarion once they'd returned to the inn, but he disappeared up the ladder to the roof as soon before she could get a single word out.

"Does Astarion not wish to celebrate?" Minsc asked, in good-natured confusion. "He has killed the wicked vampire, and saved those pale angry children. Why, he has shown the courage of a very skinny berserker."

"He's a little overwhelmed, I expect," she replied. "Maybe he needs to be alone for a while."

"I believe," said Minsc sternly, "that our vampire friend has been alone for far too long. He may not wish for a party, but a kind word from a friend is good for the soul, yes?"

"Huh." Kestrel tilted her head. "You know, Minsc, I think you're much wiser than people usually give you credit for."

Minsc tapped his forehead with a knowing smile. "All my wisdom, it comes from Boo. Before I met him, Minsc was nothing but a thick-skulled fool, if you can believe such a thing!"

"I can't," she replied, deadpan. "Thanks, Minsc."

The night air in the rooftop garden was cool and refreshing, and it was easy enough to spot Astarion's pale hair standing out against the gloom. He was leaning against one of the pillars, still elegant despite his obvious exhaustion. In another world, Kestrel reflected, it would have been very easy for her to fall in love with him, rather than Halsin. As it was, she liked their current bond—whatever one could call it—much better than any romance.

"Difficult day at the office, Magistrate?" she asked cheerfully.

Astarion flinched, but when he looked over his shoulder at her, he didn't seem upset. Nor did he complain when she walked up and stood beside him.

"Just thinking," he said. "It's been an eventful day, to say the least."

"That's one way to put it. I'm pretty shaken up myself, I can only imagine how you must be feeling."

"It's funny." He blew out a long breath. "I haven't seen my reflection in two centuries, but if I'd ascended and looked in a mirror today, I doubt I would have recognized myself."

"I couldn't quite recognize you myself, for a moment," Kestrel admitted. "You're better than Cazador by a thousand leagues, Ascension or not, but I'm still glad you didn't go through with it."

"I am too…I think." His lips quirked. "Ask me again in the morning. At the very least, I received a fairly good prize from it."

She snorted. “Did you really turn back from the ritual just so I would get rid of my green hat?”

“Yes, obviously,” Astarion said without hesitation. “I detested that hat.”

Kestrel crossed her arms and regarded him suspiciously, making him sigh. “Fine,” he said. “I suppose it’s vaguely possible that we had a brief moment of tadpole-connection, revealing your suspicions that I would ask you to do something horrible. And perhaps there’s a tiny chance that if my most well-behaved friend sacrificed her own happiness to save my soul–well, maybe it meant I still had one. A soul worth saving, that is.” His eyes softened into something like tenderness, for the briefest moment, before snapping back to their usual mischief. “But mostly, I hated your ridiculous hat.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course. Good night, Astarion.”

“Good night, darling. Love you.”

Kestrel paused, surprised by his tone. It wasn’t a sarcastic love you, or a theatrically seductive one. One could even call it…sincere. Familial.

“Love you too, darling,” she replied. “Get some rest.”

—
The weather at the docks was appropriately rainy and glum, when the Tadpole Irregulars gathered the next day. Everyone had dressed in their most somber clothes, and Kestrel felt a wrench of genuine emotion as she pulled out the green velvet hat, wrapped around a small glass bottle.

“Dear friends,” she said. “We are gathered here to mourn the passing of my beautiful green hat…”

“Your hideous green hat,” Astarion muttered.

“My beautiful green hat, who nobly sacrificed herself to save seven thousand undead lives and prevent Astarion from becoming more insufferable than he already is. I’m sure she now goes to her grave proud of everything she accomplished.” Kestrel gave the green bundle a squeeze. “Farewell, old friend. Say hello to Umberlee for us.”

She tossed it over the railing, and it hit the water’s surface with a splash, bobbing pathetically before sinking into the depths. There was a moment where her tadpole shrieked and squirmed behind her eye, but she forced it down with all the willpower she possessed.

"All right, then," she said. "Back to the inn with us, so we can have a drink to celebrate my poor hat's life. And yes, Astarion, you can have some of my blood tonight. But don't be weird about it."

Astarion sniffed. "Since when have I ever been weird about it?"

"Well, the first time you bit me, I thought you were going to propose marriage afterwards. You made some very enthusiastic noises."

"That was only because you were the first person I'd ever drunk from. If it had been Wyll, I probably would have proposed to him."

As Wyll sputtered in the background, Halsin wrapped an arm around Kestrel's shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “You know, sometimes I think it’s impossible to love you more,” he said, voice warm with admiration. “And then you do something like this.”

“Host a funeral for a hat?”

He laughed. “It was a stirring tribute. But I was referring to what you’ve done for Astarion. Underneath all the theatrics, he has a good heart, and I think you have finally given it a chance to grow.”

“He’d better,” Kestrel grumbled. “Otherwise I sacrificed my favorite hat for no reason.”

"I'll be glad to buy you a new one, when the opportunity arises." Halsin gave her an inquisitive look. “I wouldn’t have expected your cap to sink so well. What did you weigh it down with?”

“Nothing important,” she said with a smile. “Just something I didn’t need.”

–

She might have known she wouldn’t escape without consequences.

Sleep returned her to the violet-lit interior of the Astral Prism. No illusory gardens or guardians this time, just the crackling magic sphere, the trapped githyanki, and the Emperor. He glowered down at her, arms folded.

“I know what you did.”

“Helped my friend defeat his evil master and find happiness?” said Kestrel lightly.

“Don’t be facetious. Did you think I wouldn’t know what was inside that hat when you threw it away?” The Emperor’s tentacles writhed furiously. “That astral tadpole was your chance at survival. At victory. Your chances of defeating the Elder Brain were certainly not improved by you tossing it in the sea.”

“My chances of defeating the Elder Brain are questionable anyway,” she returned. “I followed your advice the first time. I absorbed some of the ordinary tadpoles, and that’s more than enough for me. If I die, I want to die as myself, with all my thoughts and emotions intact.”

The Emperor sighed. “I forget, sometimes, how sentimental your kind are. Strange to think I was like that myself once. You’ve made your choice, and there’s no going back from it now, but I would prefer you consult me before doing anything of the sort again. The resources I’ve offered you are all for your own benefit.”

“Don’t think I’m not grateful, but in the end, it really is my choice whether or not I use your ‘resources.’ I’m not an illithid, and if I have any say in the matter, I never will be.”

His tentacles gave one more resigned wiggle. “You are a frustrating creature, Kestrel MacDuff. I have watched you take enormous risks to ensure your survival, and that of your friends, yet you refuse to take a risk that could save you. Rest assured, though, I will no longer bother you on the subject. It seems to be a lost cause."

"Sure is," said Kestrel. "Good night."

The rest of her sleep was filled with neither illithids nor githyanki princes. Rather, her dreams were of young vampires in the Underdark, making their way toward freedom.

Chapter Text

Cities within cities within cities.

Deep beneath the prison where Councillor Florrick had almost met her death lurked a crumbling labyrinth, designed to be a tested ground for heroes. They would earn the dragon's aid once they had proven their mettle, and not before.

Wyll was in his element here. All the education he'd received in his privileged childhood, coupled with the wisdom he'd acquired while scouring the frontiers, saw him through Balduran's tests easy as pie. Throughout it all, Kestrel tried to ignore the feeling tickling the back of her mind that something was wrong here. If an ancient dragon, the Heart of the Gate, was truly lurking in these halls, surely it could be felt somehow. The powerful beings she had met so far had always made their presence known in some way, but all she could feel in these ruins was emptiness.

The reason for this became very, very clear when the statue of Balduran admitted them to the final chamber. There was no glowing bronze dragon awaiting them with heroic promises, only an enormous pile of bones, a few dried-out scales still clinging to them.

"He's dead," said Wyll hollowly. "This was all for nothing. The Heart of the Gate is dead."

And he was, except…

"Holy shit," said Karlach. "Is its wing twitching?"

The next few minutes were a blur of psychic battering, and information that was so absurd it could only be the truth. It tangled up in Kestrel's mind like a ball of twine: Balduran-Emperor-Ansur, Balduran-Emperor-Ansur, BalduranEmperorAnsur…

“You,” said Wyll, “have got to be fucking joking.”

Every head turned to look at him in surprise. The Emperor and Ansur, in particular, seemed to have forgotten that anyone else was in the room.

“This is between Ansur and myself,” the Emperor boomed into their minds. “Do not interfere, and all your questions will be answered in time.”

“Like hells they will.” Wyll’s hands were shaking in rage, his limbs so tense he resembled a coiled spring. “My father went to his death believing that I would find the Heart of the Gate. That I could convince Ansur to fight by our side against the greatest threat this city has ever faced. And what do I get instead? A damn lover’s quarrel between a squid and a dragon.”

Ansur lowered his skeletal head in what might have been embarrassment. "That is not what this is."

"Oh, isn't it?" Wyll snapped. "Well, I don't care what you were to each other in the past, and neither does the Absolute. What's important is the situation we're in now."

"Hear, hear!" called Karlach, and looked slightly abashed when everyone turned to look at her. Wyll shot her a brief, grateful smile.

“So, here is what we’re going to do," he said, turning back to the skeletal dragon. "You two are going to set aside this idiotic feud until the Absolute is gone for good. Ansur, you are going to fight at our side, because you made a promise, and I have faith in your honor. Emperor–” he spat the name like it was a curse–“you are going to keep helping us just as you have been, and if you don’t, I am going to march into Sharess’ Caress and give the Astral Prism to Raphael.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Wyll folded his arms defiantly. “Try me.”

A painfully tense silence hung in the air, and Kestrel found herself crossing her fingers in her pocket. Wyll was absolutely in the right, but they were facing off against two very powerful beings, and she didn’t like to imagine how this battle would turn out.

At long last, Ansur gave a sigh with the force of a gust of wind. “Much as it pains me to say, the lad has a point. Our own history pales in comparison to this illithid threat.” It was impossible to miss the venom he put into the word illithid. “I propose a temporary truce, until the Absolute is defeated. Once that task is done, we can resume our dispute.”

The Emperor didn't immediately reply, but when Ansur's eye sockets narrowed, the mind flayer made a conciliatory noise. "Very well. I will agree to a temporary truce, if it means the Absolute's destruction."

"How generous of you." Ansur swung his vast skeletal head over and down to look directly at Wyll.

"Young man," he said. "You showed great courage, making your way through the ancient trials to find me. It is not your fault that what you found at the end was less than desirable."

Wyll's fury visibly faded, and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "It's all right. I know I can't expect plans from ancient manuscripts to work out perfectly."

"Nevertheless, you deserve some reward for your determination. I will fight at your side, just as I have promised, but beyond that, I suggest you take Balduran's old helm." The dragon flicked his skeleton tail to indicate the helm itself, perched on an altar behind him. "I doubt he has any use for it now."

"Quite so," the Emperor agred, a hit of amusement in his voice. "For one thing, it would no longer fit."

Ansur ignored him. "You, and your friends, will leave now," he intoned. "There are preparations to be made. Farewell, and fight bravely, Heart of the Gate."

"Wait." Wyll shook his head. "Did you call me…"

"It is a noble title," said Ansur. "It should belong to one whose heart is still beating."

In the passage behind the altar, Wyll turned the helmet over in his hands, inspecting every inch of it.

"I'll have to get it altered," he said, voice strained with what could have been laughter or tears. "Otherwise it won't go over my horns."

"Dammon'll manage it," Karlach said confidently. "There's no one more deserving of that fancy hat than you, Wyll. Hells, who knows? Maybe once all the rubble gets cleared, the patriars will appoint you Grand Duke in your father's place. You've got Balduran's blessing, sort of."

"Grand Duke Wyll. Huh." Wyll rotated the helmet in his hands again. Kestrel didn't need to use the tadpole (and wouldn't have, anyway) to know that part of him was drawn to the idea of power. Not for its own sake, but what could be done with it, for the sake of others.

Eventually, he tucked the helm under his arm, having reached a decision. "I wouldn't be much of a Duke," he said. "Not yet, anyway. Maybe in a decade or so, when I've had a bit more life experience. For now, though…I think I know where my path lies." He lifted an arm in an almost mocking Blade salute. "The Blade of Avernus, at your service. Devils and their servants have been busy lately, and I think it's high time I turn my attention to them, both within the Hells and out."

Within the Hells… Kestrel glanced at Karlach, certain she'd have some reaction to this announcement. Surely Wyll meant something significant by this choice. All the tiefling did, though, was smile.

"The Blade of Avernus," Karlach said, and nodded. "I love it. Mizora's first, I'm betting."

"Nah, she's second." Wyll gave her a wink. "First is a celebratory dinner. Think Gale will mind if I take over cooking duties for one night?"

Gale, bless him, did not object at all.

—

Orin the Red lay dead in a pile of gore, as was right and proper for a daughter of Bhaal, and her servants stood in silent shock. The glowing red dagger she'd treated like a lover was free for the taking, as was the Netherstone inside it, but Kestrel's focus was on the empty, unlocked altar.

"Where's Yenna?" she demanded of no one in particular. "I swear to Selûne, if something happened to her during the battle, I'm going to turn into an illithid and eat everyone here."

"Kestrel, the Netherstone…" Shadowheart began.

"I don't give a shit about the stone," she barked, her voice echoing around the vast chamber. "Where is Yenna?"

"She ran off and hid as soon as I got the chains undone," said Astarion, and gestured to the narrow set of descending stairs to his left. "Probably hunkered down in the other room there, if she has any sense."

Before he'd even finished speaking, Kestrel had turned on her heels and started racing down the stairs, boots slipping dangerously in the spilled blood and gore.

Orin's bedroom was a reflection of its resident, which was to say, messy and deeply disturbing. It was no place for a child, and Kestrel cursed herself for the thousandth time that Yenna had been brought here in the first place.

"Yenna?" she called softly, dropping to one knee. "Are you in here? The fighting's all over, I promise."

There was no immediate reply. Perhaps the girl suspected another shapeshifter's trick.

"Yenna," Kestrel tried again, "do you remember when we first met? We shared our lunch with you, and you knew Astarion was a vampire right away because he wasn't eating any soup, and Lae'zel promised she'd teach you how to shoot a bow. We've all missed you so much, and I am so, so sorry we couldn't protect you from Orin. It'll never happen again, I promise."

A faint sniff echoed from behind one of the thick gray pillars, and a small ginger head peeked out cautiously. She waited for one second, then two, before finally dashing across the room and throwing herself into Kestrel's waiting arms.

"Mummy," she sobbed. "Mummy, mummy."

Kestrel wasn't sure if Yenna meant her, or the girl's late mother. Neither did she care. All she could feel was pure, blissful relief.

She hadn't failed. Selûne hadn't abandoned her.

"It's all right, sweetheart," she promised. "Orin's gone, she won't ever lay a hand on you again. I swear we're going to keep you safe."

Yenna didn't, and perhaps couldn't, reply. She simply held on tight and soaked Kestrel's shoulder with her tears, tears that were very well-earned.

—

Three Netherstones, for three gods of death. Dynasties had fallen and oceans of blood had been spilled for the three chunks of glowing crystal on the common room table.

"Well, I'm going to say it, if no one else will," Shadowheart declared. "Those things are hideously ugly."

She wasn't wrong. They were large and roughly-cut, their surfaces darkened by age and wear, and the glow of magic inside them was almost sickly. Together, their unsettling aura was amplified tenfold. The itchy-bone effect was so strong Kestrel wanted to turn herself inside out.

"At least we have them," said Gale. He was hovering close to the table, staring at the stones with a mixture of longing and repulsion. "Now, at last, we stand the slightest chance of defeating the Elder Brain, even if I don't…" He gestured at his chest with a grimace.

"You're not doing that," said Shadowheart. "For one thing, I don't want you to blow the rest of us up along with you." When Gale frowned at her, she rolled her eyes. "And you're our friend, yes, obviously. Don't make me get all soppy."

A faint noise from one of the bedrooms caught Kestrel's attention, and she went to investigate, glad to put some distance between herself and the stones. Yenna was sitting up in her bed with Grub curled up by her side. She was looking pale but, thank the gods, healthy.

"Am I here?" she asked groggily. "Or is this another dream?"

"You're here, sweetheart. Safe and sound." Kestrel smoothed back an errant curl from Yenna's forehead. "How are you feeling? No injuries?"

Yenna shook her head. "I'm okay, I think, just tired. I'm pretty tough, you know."

There was a fond chuckle from the doorway, and Kestrel looked up to see Halsin standing behind her. "You most certainly are," he said. "Quite the young warrior. But as a healer and one of your guardians, I must insist you avoid any major adventures for the near future. Give yourself time to recover."

"I will, promise. So…you're not going to kick me out for being too much trouble?" Yenna looked at both of them anxiously. "I didn't mean to get kidnapped, I promise. I won't do it again."

"Of course you won't, and we would never kick you out," said Kestrel. "I'm afraid we'll have to go off on another quest soon, but when that time comes, Jaheira's promised you can stay with her family. You'll like that, won't you? Remember how much fun you had with her girls?"

"Yes, but…are you sure I can't come with you? I'm your squire, remember?"

"I know, and you're a wonderful squire, but this is one adventure you'll need to sit out. I think your mother would want you to be as safe as you can be, under the circumstances. And Grub will need someone to look after him, won't he?"

"I guess you're right." Yenna yawned and closed her eyes. "Good night, Kestrel and Halsin. I love you."

"I love you too, Yenna. Sleep well." Kestrel patted the girl on the head and pulled up her blanket, hoping her rest would remain untroubled. It had, to put things mildly, been a very long day.

When sleep took her to the Astral Plane, she assumed it was yet another summons from the Emperor, and prepared herself for yet another exasperating debate over Orpheus or Ansur. Gods willing, he would keep his damn shirt on this time.

But there was no sign of the Emperor in this landscape, nor of the captive Gith prince. The skull still floated above the rocky islands, but it was cracked and rotting, infested with the same blighted vines and pustules as the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Other than Kestrel herself, there was no living thing within sight.

What had happened here? Had the Absolute finally broken free of its chains and triumphed? Surely she would have felt something that significant, back on the material plane. Cautiously, Kestrel took a few steps forward, feeling her steps bounce in the low astral gravity. If this was a dream, perhaps it was a good omen, of a time when the Astral Prism would no longer be a prison.

Her foot hit something unfamiliar, and when she looked down, what she saw made her head swim and her blood freeze.

It was Halsin, and he was quite obviously dead. Blood pooled under his head, shed from a gaping wound that could only be from an illithid's horrid mouth. Those eyes that had looked at her with affection and longing were utterly blank.

"No," she whispered, stomach twisting with horror. "No, Halsin, you can't leave me like this. I'll heal you, I'll bring you back, I…"

The ground rumbled beneath her feet, and blinding agony ripped through her head. When sight returned, her vision was filled with slimy pink flesh, pulsing nauseatingly. The Elder Brain had no face to speak of, but Kestrel could sense a triumphant smile within its miasma of psychic energy.

"Are you proud of yourself, True Soul?" it boomed into her mind. "You seduced him. You brought him to me, and I have feasted. Now you face the consequences."

She woke, a scream caught in her throat and sweat dripping from her forehead. A large, warm shape shifted next to her, and she almost sobbed at the knowledge that it had been just a dream, that she hadn't killed him. Not yet, anyway.

"Kestrel?" Halsin asked, his eyes wide with concern. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I…" she choked out. "I had a nightmare."

"Yes," said Halsin, with a sympathetic smile. "I gathered that. Would you like to talk about it?"

The image of his face, pallid and dead-eyed, flashed through her mind, and she shuddered. "I dreamed about the Absolute," she said evasively. "It had defeated us, and I was the only one left alive, and it spoke to me. Gods, it was so mocking, Halsin. And I don't know if it really was just a dream, or if the Elder Brain was actually sending me a message."

"Oh, my poor bird." He pulled her into his arms, so she could feel the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat against her cheek. "You have been under such strain lately, it's hardly a surprise your sleep is troubled. But you are safe here, and the Absolute has not defeated us, not yet. Even if that foul thing is speaking to you, it is lying."

Kestrel hoped he was right. It was certainly more appealing than the other possibility: that the Elder Brain was telling the truth, and she was lying to herself.

—

Kestrel would have been perfectly happy avoiding the House of Hope for her entire life. Every single interaction she'd had with Raphael had left her feeling as though she needed a year-long bath, and she could only imagine how uncomfortable his own house would be. Lae'zel, though, had insisted.

"If there is the faintest possibility we can free the Prince of the Comet, then honor demands we make the attempt," she'd said, her folded arms and lifted chin making it clear that arguments would not be accepted. "I have no doubt we can stand against that arrogant fool of a devil."

Kestrel doubted this, very much. She doubted it in the Archives, in the boudoir with an uncooperative incubus, in the basement prison guarded by Spectators. She doubted it, in fact, up until the very moment she and her friends stood over Raphael's scorched body, the Orphic Hammer clutched triumphantly in Lae'zel's hands.

"Shame," said Astarion, and yawned. "I rather liked him."

"No, you didn't," said Karlach. "He was a smarmy bastard, and more importantly, a devil. The universe is a better place without him in it."

"You're probably right," said Kestrel. "He had a flair for the dramatic, though, I'll give him that." She looked down at the small ginger-haired woman in front of her, with a sympathetic smile. "Are you all right, Hope? You got a bit singed back there."

"I'm fine," Hope said wonderingly. "No, I'm more than fine, I'm…alive. We all are, unless we're ghosts, but I don't think we're ghosts. Are we?"

"No, we're not." Kestrel couldn't keep from grinning. To think that she, of all people, had defeated a devil in his own home. "We're alive, and you're free, and he is never coming back."

"You, Karlach." Hope reached out and grabbed the tiefling's wrist. "I know that what's inside you will burn hotter than the Master's fury when you get back up there. Won't you stay in the house with me? Down here there's Hope, you know, and you won't have any out there."

Karlach smiled sadly, and lowered down onto one knee. "You're kind to offer, love," she said. "If things were just a bit different, I'd be glad to keep you company. But with Wyll out of their clutches, Zariel and Mizora will turn their attention right back to me, and I wouldn't want to put you in danger."

"Perhaps they wouldn't notice you, if you stayed inside and very quiet."

"'Inside' and 'very quiet' are two things I wasn't built to be, I'm afraid. And anyway, I need to help my friends defeat the Absolute." Karlach patted Hope's shoulder and straightened up. "I'll never forget that you offered, though. Thanks, Hope. You're a real gem."

Wyll opened his mouth as if to say something, and closed it again. Kestrel couldn't be sure, but she thought she might know what was on his mind, and the idea gave her…

Well, hope.

—

Kestrel sat on her bed, flipping through her journal. Here was the list she'd made at the very beginning of her journey, detailing all the things she wanted to do in the big city; there were her humorous little character sketches of the people who'd become her family. The story about the lady and her gardener took up a significant amount of the middle, but she hadn't worked on it in a few tendays.

The last quarter of the book was taken up almost entirely by her never-ending to-do list, and her records of completing each item. Kill Cazador. Kill Gortash. Kill Orin. Rescue Yenna. Steal the Orphic Hammer. They'd all been checked off, except the very last one, written in giant letters and underlined thrice.

DEFEAT THE ABSOLUTE.

Before she attempted that, there was one more thing she had to do—something she hadn't even written down, hoping to avoid it altogether. There was no dodging it anymore, though. Her own dreams had made that clear.

The door creaked open, and Halsin entered, looking down at her with an adoring smile. "I love how focused you are when reading," he said softly. "Quite the most beautiful scholar in Faerûn. Yenna continues to recover well, by the way—we've just returned from a visit to Bloomridge Park, to take some fresh air."

"You're just who I wanted to see," she said, and stood, hoping he wouldn't be able to hear the anxious pounding of her heart. "I want you to do me a favor."

"Anything. You need only ask."

She swallowed and sent up a silent prayer to the Moonmaiden. "Go home."

Halsin laughed. When Kestrel didn't join in, his brow furrowed in conclusion. "Forgive me, I'm not quite sure that I follow."

"I want you to go home. This isn't your fight, it never was." If she talked fast enough, maybe she could keep herself from crying. "You followed me to a city you hate to fight a war that could kill you, out of gratitude and loyalty…"

"Out of love. I came here because my place is at your side, and I have never regretted it."

"But I have!" she cried. "Halsin, I have to fight the Absolute. I am one of eight people alive with a brain tadpole that doesn't control me, and you are not one of those people. Please, for the love of all the gods, I don't want you to die in this fight. I would never forgive myself."

"And so you want me to abandon you?" Halsin shook his head firmly. "Kestrel, you cannot ask this of me. Not after all we've been through."

"I saved you from the goblins," she said. "I kept Kagha from carrying out the Rite of Thorns, and I helped rescue Thaniel from the Shadowfell. You owe me, Halsin, and now I'm collecting my debt. Go back to the Emerald Grove, go to Reithwin and help Thaniel and Oliver fix nature—just get as far away from this city as you can. If we fail, then at least you'll have a head start."

"Even if I do, what about you, Kestrel? I swore I wouldn't let you face this evil alone."

"I won't be alone," she assured him. "I have our friends. They'll look after me, and you and Thaniel can look after each other, and…and maybe we'll come back to each other in the end."

Some famous philosopher had once said that grief wore five faces. All of them, from denial to resignation, seemed to flash across his face in seconds. "Is there nothing I can say to make you change your mind?"

Kestrel shook her head. “Nothing at all. If I survive, I’ll come find you, I swear. And if I don’t…” She smiled weakly. “Well, bears don’t mate for life anyway.”

“Perhaps not. But I believe kestrels do.” He reached out to stroke her cheek, his shoulders slumping. "If you truly insist, then…I will do what you ask, much as the thought pains me."

"Thank you." She took a step forward and wrapped her arms around him, and after a moment, he embraced her back.

"One more night together?" he asked quietly.

She nodded. "One more."

"All right, then." His grip on her waist tightened. "Then we'll make it count."

—

For the first time in over a month, Kestrel woke alone.

There was still a Halsin-sized indent in the mattress next to her, but the sheets were cool, implying he'd left several hours earlier. All that remained was a small note left on his pillow.

Kestrel,

I hope you will forgive me for leaving before sunrise. If I allowed myself to stay behind and bid you a proper goodbye, I know in my heart that I would never leave, debt or no debt.

I cannot put into words what our time together has meant to me, but I hope you know that being with you has brought me more joy that I have experienced in over a century. When you defeat the Absolute—and I have utmost faith that you will—I hope that we will find each other again. Until then, I shall pray to Silvanus every day and night for your safety, and that of our dear friends.

Yours,

Halsin

The words went blurry, and Kestrel tossed the note aside before she started crying and smudging the ink. She'd have to store it safely in her pack somewhere, so she could read it again before the final battle.

She shouldn't be crying, not after she'd begged him to leave her. His absence should be a relief. And it was, but gods, did it hurt.

Broken her heart might have been, but her stomach still growled unpoetically. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee—which she'd never tried before this journey, but was developing a taste for—floated from the common room, and she forced herself to stand and join her friends.

Astarion stepped out of his room at the same time, and gave Kestrel a weary nod.

"Well, I couldn't rest a bit," he declared. "Those damn Netherstones aren't good for a fellow's mind. Where's that druid of yours, Kestrel? Off harvesting mushrooms in the park?"

Kestrel braced herself. "Halsin is gone," she said quietly.

"I'm sorry, he's what?" asked Astarion. When Kestrel repeated her sentence, and explained what she'd done, he looked horrified. "You do realize how much harder it's going to be to defeat the Absolute now, don't you? It was hard enough with a highly skilled Archdruid on our side, and now that you've sent him off, we'll…"

"Enough, Astarion." Lae'zel strode forward and took Kestrel's arm, leading her firmly into one of the small adjoining rooms. She half-pushed Kestrel onto the bed and shut the door.

“What you did was noble,” she said, sitting at Kestrel's side. “The act of a leader. Without your lover to worry over in battle, you’ll be far more effective.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Kestrel wiped her damp eyes ineffectively. “Though I’m still not happy about it.”

“That is because you have a soft heart. I have been doing my best to train it out of you, but I doubt I’ll ever fully succeed.”

“I’m just trying to tell myself we’ll see each other again if we survive, so I’ll have to do my best not to die.” She sighed. “Tell me something, Lae. Do you honestly think we have any hope of winning?”

Any of the others would probably have said Well, it’s unlikely, but I still have hope…or something of that sort. Lae’zel bristled, eyes narrowing.

“I should slit your throat for even suggesting failure is a possibility,” she hissed. “Nine of the greatest warriors of a generation, against a bloated ghaik? We will triumph within minutes. You and your druid will have many more occasions to keep the rest of us awake at night.”

Impulsively, Kestrel wrapped her arms around Lae'zel's shoulders. She expected the githyanki to push her away, but instead, she felt a bony hand awkwardly pat her head.

"There…there," Lae'zel said. "Is that the correct phrase? I believe I've heard Shadowheart's parents say that to her."

This was so unexpectedly sweet that Kestrel felt her eyes well up again. "Thanks, Lae. I love you, you know."

The githyanki sighed. "May your enemies know agony."

Chapter Text

All the preparations had been made. Yenna and Scratch had been deposited with Jaheira's family, accompanied by plenty of hugs and tears. Pomfrey was delivered to Dammon, who had promised to make the owlbear battle-ready—Kestrel had objected strongly to this, but Pomfrey himself had insisted. Arnell and Emmeline had joined the volunteers tending wounded refugees at the temple of Lathander. Withers…honestly, no one really knew what Withers was doing. He'd promised that he would "see them when the time came," and vanished. Kestrel hoped he hadn't meant that he would escort them to their graves.

Now, as she forced one last healing potion into her overstuffed pack, Kestrel glanced around the Elfsong room and wondered if she would ever return here. This tavern hadn't been the bastion of culture and excitement she'd once imagined, but it was a good old place nonetheless. Gods, she hoped it would survive an illithid attack (perhaps the ghost could be armed?).

Downstairs, she purchased a few small packets of biscuits, dried fruit, and salted meat from Alan, who gave her a genial wink. "What's the excursion today?"

"We're off to kill a giant brain and end the cult of the Absolute," Kestrel informed him.

Alan chuckled. "Oh, yeah? Give it a few whacks for me then, mate."

"What'll you give us if we win?" said Karlach, grinning. "A round of free drinks?"

"Watching gods, you weren't joking?" Alan's eyes widened. "Lady, if you actually defeat the Absolute, I'll give you free drinks for a tenday." He wagged a finger. "But no more, mind. I'm running a business here, not a charity."

"Yeah, yeah. You leave the charity to us." Karlach gave him a wink. "See you on the other side."

—

It was strange how empty Bhaal's temple felt, now that his Chosen had been eliminated. True, some of his faithful still lurked in the darkness, but they were no longer the Tadpole Irregulars' concern. Kestrel and her friends were entirely focused on following a swarm of glowing rats down a long, dimly lit stone passage, to the place where the Elder Brain lay.

Their whole journey would make for a pretty good book, though she might not be alive to write it. If she died on this last quest, maybe Volo would write about her. She could come back as a ghost and haunt him to make sure he got all the details right. Even so, he wouldn't be able to properly convey what it had felt like to be part of this family.

"Remember the doppelganger competition, at Last Light?" she asked suddenly. "I still think about Lae's Gale impersonation at least once a day."

Lae'zel gave a huff of laughter. "Surely you can't be surprised I won. I excel at all things."

"You sure do," said Wyll, with a fond grin. "But I think my favorite memory was our celebration with Zevlor and his people. Remember, Karlach, I was moping down by the water, and you came to find me? You said that if I refuse to come to the party, you'd bring the party to me. I didn't know quite what you meant, but I was much too intimidated to find out."

"That was the night I tried to seduce Kestrel," Astarion put in. "Not out of any genuine romantic feeling—I had no idea what good friends we would become, my dear—but I thought that having her on my side would guarantee my safety."

"It wouldn't have," said Gale dryly. "We would all have assumed you were manipulating her, I imagine."

"Well!" Astarion sniffed. "I suppose it's a good thing, then, that she was already drooling over Halsin and had no time for me."

An awkward silence fell over the group. Everyone knew, by this point, what had transpired between their leader and the Archdruid, but they seemed to have agreed not to bring it up. Perhaps they thought Kestrel would break down in tears and be useless in battle if she was reminded of the whole situation.

Sweet of them, but a bit pointless. Kestrel hadn't stopped thinking about Halsin for one minute since she'd sent him on his way. Being glad he wasn't following them to their possible doom didn't stop her from longing to feel his arms around her, or imagining she could hear his footsteps on the stairs…

Wait.

Were those imaginary footsteps?

Kestrel spun around on her heel and squinted into the gloom behind them. She reached for Moonslinger, ready for a last-minute surge of cultists, but stopped short.

She was insane, surely. The tadpole was making her hallucinate. And if that was the case, she wouldn't mind being infected forever. Except…except that her friends were turning to stare as well, and all of them looked as stunned as she was.

"Oh, look," said Jaheira, as the possible hallucination caught up with them. "Halsin is back. You know, when Khalid was alive, he wouldn't have dared defy an order like this."

"Somehow I doubt that, Jaheira," Halsin replied, sounding rather out of breath. "I must say, though, I believe I am getting too old for all this sprinting."

Kestrel stared at him, mouth hanging open. He was here, not a dream, and her plan had failed utterly.

She couldn't remember when she'd last been so happy.

“You idiot,” she said thickly, trying to suppress a smile even as tears gathered in her eyes. “You utter buffoon. I told you to go home.”

“So you did,” Halsin agreed, and took two long strides forward. Before Kestrel could react, he’d lifted her up bodily, settling her arms around his neck and legs around his waist.

“You told me to go home,” he said, “so here I am.”

Kestrel, torn between crying and laughing–and what was the difference, at a time like this?–didn’t bother to reply. She simply tilted her head up and let herself be kissed. 

"Right, that's very sweet," drawled Astarion, after a few seconds. "Is there much more of this, or can we go disintegrate the Elder Brain now?"

Halsin set Kestrel down with obvious reluctance, both of them laughing self-consciously. "You are quite right, Astarion," Halsin said. "Fear not, I didn't return only for romance. I am here to assist you in this battle, in any way I can."

"Well!" said Astarion, and shot Kestrel a grin. "That's all right, then."

As they continued down the path, Kestrel leaned happily against Halsin's side. "How did you find me, all the way down here?"

"I believe I've mentioned that bears have exceptional senses of smell," Halsin said, still smiling. "What is it that Pomfrey is always saying? 'You smell very delicious.' It was easy enough to follow my nose."

"I think," said Kestrel, "that I can go to my death happily now."

"As could I," he replied. "Though I still have faith that won't be necessary."

—

The Netherstones were not only ugly, unnatural, and deeply unsettling. They also didn't work. Three times Kestrel had tried, with every ounce of her strength, to focus their energy and dominate the colossal Elder Brain. Three times, she had completely and utterly failed.

The Emperor's frustration, as the group leaped through the last-minute portal he opened, was palpable. "I might have known," he boomed. "The Crown of Karsus has caused the Elder Brain to evolve beyond what even the Netherstones can control."

Kestrel took deep, steadying breaths, forcing herself not to panic. "So, it's evolved. What do we do now?"

"There is no easy answer. If a certain someone had not thrown her astral tadpole off a pier…" The Emperor looked at her significantly, earning him a glare. "Fortunately, we have options."

"Which are?"

The Emperor, coldly and detachedly, explained. And as he did so, Kestrel felt her blood run cold.

There were no good options here. Not a single one. They could sacrifice Orpheus, or destroy their relationship with the Emperor. One of them could become illithid, but lose their soul in the process. Not for the first time, Kestrel cursed the day she had unintentionally become the decision-maker for this group.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I can't make this choice."

"What do you mean, you can't make this choice?" Lae'zel snarled. "We have the Orphic Hammer. The Prince of the Comet is within reach. Now we free him, and fly to victory!"

"It's not that simple, Lae'zel," said Shadowheart. "In Orpheus' eyes, we're already illithid. There is no guarantee that if we free him, he won't just rip us to shreds. Can't you feel how much he hates us? I still don't trust this one—" she indicated the Emperor—"but at least we've got the same goal. Orpheus is a wild card, and a dangerous one."

"You would trust a lying ghaik over my own prince? Over me?"

“Shut up!” Shadowheart cried. “Just shut up! Gods, you drive me mad, you know that? Everything you’ve done for your people, all the lives you’ve saved, and you still tie yourself in knots over stupid gith royals who don’t give two shits about you. When are you going to stop?”

Lae’zel’s eyes narrowed. “How dare you. Do not speak of me as some mindless puppet. Orpheus will be our liberator…”

“Will he? Or will he just be another tyrant demanding subservience and forcing little kids to duel to the death?” She shook her head. “When I served Shar I thought our church was the pinnacle of society, that everyone else was soft and weak and foolish. It took this–” she gestured at her eye– “to wake me up. Don’t tell me you can’t relate.”

“What precisely is your point?”

“My point is that by now, you’ve seen the outside world. You’ve actually befriended us stupid big-nosed barbarians. You can see the good and bad in your people, and of all of them, you’re the one who’s most able to bring change.” She stepped forward and put a hand firmly on the Lae'zel’s shoulder. “You’re the liberator, Lae’zel. You’re the comet.”

Lae'zel said nothing for several seconds, staring at Shadowheart with her eyes wide and glistening. Finally, she gave a wrenching sob and practically collapsed into Shadowheart's arms.

“I hate you,” she said roughly. “You irritating, disrespectful istik.”

“I know,” Shadowheart murmured against the other woman’s hair. “I love you too.”

No one spoke or moved as the two stayed locked in their embrace. Finally, Lae'zel lifted her head, and looked at the Emperor with resignation.

"Do what you must," she said. "You will excuse me if I don't watch."

She stalked away, sitting down with a thump at the edge of the floating rock. Shadowheart shot the others an apologetic look.

"I'll go look after her," she said. "Emperor, if you have any humanity left at all, just…make it quick, all right?"

When Shadowheart had hurried after Lae'zel, the Emperor turned to Kestrel. Odd that he still respected her authority, or pretended to.

"Shall I?" he asked.

Kestrel swallowed and nodded. It was a foul choice to make, but in the end, Raphael had been right about one thing. The devil you knew was better than the devil you didn't. "Do it."

Lae'zel would not watch, but Kestrel forced herself to. She did not turn her head away, or even blink, while the Emperor dug into Orpheus' head like a glutton at a buffet. And when it was all over, she neither threw up nor cried, as much as she wanted to do both.

She did, however, say a silent prayer for forgiveness.

—

Voss was waiting for them on the other side of the portal, because of course he was. If there was ever an inconvenient time and place for the githyanki knight to show up, then that was precisely where he'd be. Even worse, he was accompanied by several gith soliders, all of them armed to the teeth. Lae'zel had just enough time to shoot Kestrel an "I-told-you-so" look before Voss stomped forward.

"Where is Orpheus?" he asked sharply.

"Um," said Kestrel, and glanced at the Emperor.

Voss' eyes widened in horror. "Tell me you did not sacrifice the Prince of the Comet to this…this thing you call an ally," he said. "For if you did, I would have to strike you down here and now."

His anger and misery were almost palpable, and Kestrel winced. "I truly am sorry, Kith'rak Voss. We were in a difficult situation, and I can explain in more detail later, but the Absolute…"

"The Absolute seems to have devoured your wits already!" he barked. "All our work, all the aid I have given you, has been for nothing." One hand went to the silver sword at his belt. "Hshar'lak. Make peace with your gods."

"Kith'rak," Lae'zel cut in. Her eyes were still dark with pain, but she spoke with the force of a general. "A word in private, if I may."

Voss, though he still scowled murderously, nodded. He accompanied Lae'zel to the other side of the room, where they carried out a hushed conversation in rapid githyanki. Kestrel gripped Moonslinger tightly, ready for the inevitable flash of a silver sword being drawn…but none came. And when the kith'rak rejoined the group, he looked more resigned than furious.

"What you have done is unthinkable," he said, "but I will respect my prince's sacrifice and aid you in defeating this ghaik abomination. I, at least, have some honor." He snapped his fingers at the other githyanki. "Soldiers, to me. Battle awaits."

He barked a spell and opened a portal, effortlessly as buttoning a shirt. The gith soldiers hopped through it, swiftly and silently, but Voss paused for a moment before entering. He turned to Lae'zel and raised one hand in a salute.

"What did you tell him?" Kestrel asked quietly, when Lae'zel had returned to the group.

Lae'zel hung her head. “I did what you would do,” she said. “I told him a story about a noble prince sacrificing his own life for his people. Luckily, Voss believed it. Perhaps one day, I will as well.”

She sighed with relief. "Thank you, Lae'zel."

"I did not do this for you." The githyanki cast a quick glance at Shadowheart and half-smiled. "I will need Voss' help to bring about a new dawn for my people. First, though, we have work to do." She jerked her head toward the High Hall's doors. "Go on. I suspect we have a few allies waiting for us."

She was only half right. There were indeed allies awaiting them in the High Hall, but not a few. The entire room was crammed from wall to wall with people—some Kestrel knew, some she didn't—wearing a dizzying array of armor and uniforms. There was the unflappable Councillor Florrick, good old Rolan from the Grove, Isobel and Aylin, practically glowing with divinity, and gods, even Pomfrey, much larger now and clad in shining armor. Kestrel felt her eyes well up from sheer gratitude.

There was a shout of delight from within the crowed, and Arabella darted out from between two soldier's legs. She raced to Kestrel and gave her an eager hug.

"Told you I'd be back, miss," she said cheerfully. "Me and my vines are here to help."

Kestrel desperately wanted to tell the girl to run far, far away from this entire mess, but didn't. Firstly, she highly doubted the girl would listen. Secondly, where was there left to run to?

"Promise me you'll stay in the back," she said. "And stick close to Isobel."

Arabella rolled her eyes. "Fine, mum. But you won't be able to keep me away from all the action when I'm grown up."

"If I keep you away from the action now, you have a better chance of surviving 'til you're grown up." She turned to Withers, hands on hips. "So. Everyone's here. What next?"

"Speech," called Astarion from behind her. Kestrel assumed he was joking, but Gale repeated the demand, and soon half the room was chanting.

"Speech, speech, speech…"

"All right!" said Kestrel loudly, her voice cracking. "I'm better at writing than talking, but I'll do my best." She paused, gathering up her thoughts. "First of all, thank you. None of you had to be here today—you could have fled, and I certainly wouldn't have judged you—but here you are anyway. Because you're heroes."

"Damn right!" shouted one of the Flaming Fist, making a few others laugh.

"Damn right indeed. I'd never been to Baldur's Gate before all this, though I had always wanted to come here, and I have to say…your city has a lot of problems." There were some more laughs at this, as well as a couple of groans. "That's all right, though. Problems aren't so bad if there are people around who are willing to solve them. So we're going to save Baldur's Gate today, because as all of you have proven, it's worth saving. Who's with me?"

Cheers exploded around the room, and even Withers gave her a smile, which Kestrel returned.

Maybe Halsin was right. With all these brave souls backing them up, maybe they weren't going to die.

—

Then again, maybe they were.

The Netherbrain—larger than a castle, more furious than a dozen Karlachs, powerful as a god—was not particularly nice to stand on, as it hovered maliciously above the city. Nor was it very nice to be psychically connected with.

It was strange, Kestrel thought. She had spent so long under this being's thumb, straining to resist its influence, bearing witness to the destruction it had caused, and all she felt now was utter disgust. If only she'd been the right size, she would have crushed the damn thing like a bug.

"And so, here we are," the brain said. "The brave, noble Tadpole Irregulars, come to end the Absolute. Such a dazzling array of power and talent. The High Harper, the Beloved Ranger, the Heart of the Gate…"

Kestrel sighed. "Are you just going to list everyone's nicknames, or are we going to finally settle this?"

Even though she was standing on top of it, she could feel the Absolute turn its attention to her, its psychic energy almost annoyed.

“Kestrel MacDuff, the leader herself. You have wondered, all along, why you were seemingly placed at the heart of this drama. If you have some special quality that sets you apart even from your illustrious friends. Perhaps you even considered yourself a god’s Chosen. Here, at the end, let me give you the answers you seek.” It paused, the silence almost smug. “You are not special. Nothing sets you apart. You became entangled in this plot through mere chance, and when you die, it will mean nothing. I hope this comforts you.”

Kestrel froze. She wanted to shake her head in protest, deny everything this abomination was saying, but she couldn't.

Because it was right.

How long had she suspected, known, this very thing? She had no grand story tying her to the Astral Prism or the Crown of Karsus. She was no aristocrat or vampire spawn. Kestrel MacDuff was nothing more than a foolish, naive young woman, who'd been tadpoled because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Was it wrong, though? some small part of her mind insisted. You were in the right place to help Shadowheart escape, and rescue Lae'zel from those hunters. You showed up at the right time to save Arabella's life, meet Halsin, fall in love.

Maybe you're not Selûne's chosen. Maybe you're just lucky.

So what?

“All right, then,” she said. “I’m not special. Except in one way.”

“Oh?" the brain asked, with syrupy condescension. "Is that so?"

“That’s right.” Kestrel grinned. “I’m the one who’s going to kill you.”

—

For the second time since she'd left home, she was tumbling through the sky, so far above the ground that it was hard to believe she would ever reach it. If she was lucky, she would land on the surface of the water and break half her bones, and if she was unlucky…

A large purple shape swept into her vision: Gale, his robes fluttering and a broad smile on his face. "I cast Feather Fall," he called. "So our bones should stay mostly intact."

There was a loud whoop from above them, and Lae'zel floated into view. She, too, was grinning from ear to ear. "Praise Mother Gith!" she shouted, and turned a somersault in midair. "We will never be ghaik, never!" A torrent of spiky githyanki vocabulary followed, which could have been either exulting or swearing but was probably both.

Several more seconds, though they felt like hours, went by. They seemed to be heading in the direction of the water, which was a relief. Even Feather Fall might not protect them against landing on a temple spire. Twisting her head back to look up, she was delighted to see Halsin only a few feet above her.

"Oh, hello," she said. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Lovely afternoon, isn't it?" Halsin replied, smiling. "I believe this is my favorite place in all of Baldur's Gate."

"The sky above it?" Kestrel laughed. "Yes, that sounds about right for you."

He chuckled, and angled his body slightly so that his fall brought him down to her side. When she was within reach, he stretched out and took her hand.

"I know you love swimming," he said. "Even if we're not dressed for it."

The sea was very close now, churning from the impact of the Netherbrain's fall. Kestrel closed her eyes tightly, and prepared herself for…

Splash.

Chapter Text

The Tadpole Irregulars were exhausted, shaken, and uncomfortably damp as they stood on the rickety pier, watching fallen Nautiloids bobbing in the water. Exhausted and damp, but utterly, miraculously alive.

When Kestrel had made her bold proclamation to the Netherbrain—I'm the one who's going to kill you—she had only half-believed it herself. It wasn't until she'd given the Emperor his last orders, and felt a sharp burning sensation behind her eye, that she realized she'd kept her word. Now, back on the ground, she barely noticed her wet clothes and myriad bruises.

There were so many people she had to thank. Ansur, who'd swooped in at the last possible minute and briskly taken out the Absolute's mind-bent dragon; Arabella, who had stayed in the back and tangled up an impressive amount of cultists while doing so; Barcus Wroot and his bombardiers. Not to mention…

Beside her, Gale gave a satisfied sigh. “The Crown is out there,” he murmured. “It will be a matter of hours to dredge it up, and from there, I can reforge it.”

“What do you plan to do with it?” Kestrel asked cautiously.

He shrugged. “I must admit, I still haven’t quite decided. Being redeemed in Mystra’s eyes and eternally cured has its appeal, but on the other hand, it would be awfully interesting to be a god.”

“For the first couple of millennia, maybe. But then just think how tired you would get of answering prayers, dealing with the other gods and their petty feuds, all that endless pressure…you’d hate it, Gale, you know you would.”

Gale gave her a wink. “Admit it, you just want to keep me around on the mortal plane because you’d miss me too much.”

“Well, obviously. I have big plans for us to form a long-distance book club after this, and it wouldn’t be any fun without you.” 

"Say no more!" he declared. "The orb cured, Mystra back on my side, and the finest book club in all the realms. Who could ask for anything better?"

"Sounds like a good excuse to celebrate." Kestrel pointed to each of her friends in turn, grinning. "Party at the Elfsong? Party at the Elfsong?"

"I suppose, if it's still standing. Though for once, I wish we could go somewhere…" Astarion inhaled sharply and stared at his right hand. "Shit."

Shit was right. His skin—not only on his hands, but his face as well—was beginning to turn gray and dry in the afternoon sun, bits of it already flaking off.

"I…I have to go," he said hurriedly. "Before I burn to a crisp. See you when, ah…" There was a sizzling sound, and he winced. "Goodbye." Without waiting for a reply, he turned sharply and sprinted in the direction of the nearest shadowed alley.

"Elfsong Tavern after sunset!" Kestrel called after him. "We'll be there!"

Unsurprisingly, Astarion didn't respond. Her gaze followed him wistfully until he disappeared out of sight, probably heading for a sewer entrance.

"I'm not sure if he heard me," she said ruefully. "Or if he'll be too upset to celebrate with us."

Halsin put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Astarion may need time to himself, now that the sun has been taken from him again. But even if he stays away for a while, I'm sure he appreciates your support."

There was a cough from behind them. "So, um," Karlach said hoarsely. "He might not be the only one burning up."

"Oh, no, Karlach," Kestrel gasped. The tiefling woman's skin and hair had started to glow brightly, as much as they had before Damon had tinkered with her heart, and large drops of sweat were rolling down her face.

"'Fraid so. I'm just glad old rusty held out this long." Karlach gave a pained smile and tapped her chest. "I'm just glad it lasted long enough so I could save the world."

"Karlach, no. It's not too late." Kestrel could feel tears gathering in her eyes. It couldn't end like this, not when they'd accomplished so much. "Are you sure, absolutely sure, that you won't go back to Avernus? Just for a little while? You know Hope would be happy to look after you."

“I can’t,” Karlach said thickly. “You don’t understand, Kestrel. Even if I can keep Zariel off my tail, which is a big if, the loneliness will kill me before long. I was on my own, without a single true friend, for ten straight years. I can’t do that again.”

“You don’t have to.” Wyll stepped forward, steely determination in his eyes, and seized Karlach’s hand. Flame flared around him, and he was clearly in pain, but he didn’t let go. “I’m coming with you, Karlach, and we’ll face Avernus together.”

“No, Wyll. You can’t…”

“Yes, I can, and I will.” He lifted his other hand to her cheek. “What kind of Blade of Avernus would I be if I didn’t face devils on their home territory? I’m going to take down Mizora. You’re going to help me. And we're not going to let anything tear us apart, because we love each other. Don't we?"

A tear fell down Karlach's cheek, and immediately evaporated into steam. "You'd do that for me?"

"I would do anything for you, Karlach. Go to Avernus, kill Zariel herself, let you step on my toes every time we dance. Besides," he said, with a half-smile, "we do have a Hope in Hell, these days."

Heedless of the heat, he leaned up and kissed her.

Karlach pulled back a second later, probably to avoid burning him. Tiny clouds of steam still puffed up around her eyes. "Gods, Wyll. I didn't even let myself hope…" She cleared her throat. "If you're enough of a fool to love me, then fuck it, I'll go with you. But we need to go now, Wyll. Helsik should still be in the city—we'll track her down and get her to open us a portal."

"Karlach," said Kestrel, joy and sadness welling up in her simultaneously. "If there's anything at all we can do…"

"There is, soldier." She smiled. "Have a good time tonight for me, would you? Drink too much and sing bawdy songs, maybe start a brawl or two. Then, if Wyll and I make it back, we'll do it all again."

"We love you all so much," said Wyll. He looked more like a man going to the altar than one about to enter Hell. "And we'll see you soon. Promise."

Amid a cacophony of goodbyes and well-wishes, they too departed.

"That's a brave young couple, there," said Jaheira. Her voice sounded oddly choked. "If there's any justice, we'll be reuniting for their wedding in a year or two."

"Indeed," said Minsc solemnly. "And Boo shall carry the rings in his nice round cheeks."

"What about you, Lae'zel?" Shadowheart asked, wide-eyed with worry. "You don't need to head off to the Astral Plane right away, do you?"

"Voss did request that we leave soon, but time passes slowly in the Astral," Lae'zel said decisively. "He cannot stop me from staying in Fay-run for one more night. Tomorrow, though, we will depart for the skies and slay Vlaakith in Orpheus' name." She shot a fierce look at the creature hovering a little way down the pier. "You are lucky, ghaik, that I have allowed you to live."

The Emperor wriggled his tentacles almost apologetically, and Kestrel looked at him for a long moment. She'd spent half a year with him living in her mind, and she still felt she hardly understood him at all. Yet she owed him her life.

She would never know if allowing him to assimilate Orpheus had been the right thing to do, and that was not an easy thing to live with. At least she could live with it, though, being…well, alive.

"I imagine you're off now," she said.

"Indeed," the Emperor confirmed. "There is much to be done, particularly a long-overdue discussion with Ansur."

"I know you'll probably ignore me, but maybe consider not killing him immediately," said Kestrel. "Who knows? Maybe you two can patch things up." She tilted her head. “Before you go, I need to ask you something.”

He nodded. “Ask away. I owe you that much.”

“The Netherbrain made it very clear that I’m no one special, and I know it was right,” she said. “It was, at most, a bit of guidance from Selȗne that landed me on the Nautiloid. But you saved me anyway. You bonded with me. Why?”

The Emperor looked at her pensively for a long moment. 

“There is a certain adhesive,” he said at last, “distilled from the essence of a gelatinous cube. Very costly, and highly prized among craftspeople, as even the smallest amount can bind things together permanently–wood and metal, fabric and stone, paper and leather. Almost a dangerous power.”

“Right,” said Kestrel. “Where are we going with this?”

“When I looked into your mind for the first time, I saw that same force in you. The same…binding.” He cast a significant glance at the others. “And someone with that power–well, I knew she would make a formidable ally indeed.”

“So I’m the gelatinous-cube glue?”

“You are the gelatinous-cube glue.” Mind flayers couldn’t smile, but there was a smile in his voice nonetheless. “It is a trait I highly recommend you retain.”

—

The Elfsong Tavern, thank Selûne, was still standing. It wasn't in the best of condition, as a heavy chunk of nautiloid tentacle had landed squarely on the roof, but in true Baldur's Gate fashion, the bar was still open.

"Tenday of free drinks," Kestrel reminded Alan, trying to keep her face stern, even though she could have kissed him for just being alive.

"I should charge you double for a tenday," Alan grumbled. "Look at the state of this neighborhood. You heroes couldn't have prevented any of the mess?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Shadowheart said acidly. "Were we not tidy enough, when saving you and all your customers from being turned into tentacle monsters? We'll be much more careful then."

"All right, all right. I was only joking, love." Alan climbed onto a stool and seized a bottle of something green off the top shelf. "Drink up. There's plenty to celebrate."

The next few hours passed in a blur of wine and exuberance as the rest of the neighborhood, overhearing the commotion, hurried in to join them. The Highberrys brought in several bottles of their finest wine, ignoring Alan's protests, and Alfira pulled Kestrel and Shadowheart onto the bar to sing a lively ballad while Minsc attempted a jig. Kestrel didn't even realize how much of the night had passed until the front door swung open yet again, revealing—to her shock—Astarion. His skin looked ashy, but largely intact, and the smile on his face was almost nervous.

“Hello,” he said hesitantly. “Turns out, there’s not much company down in the sewers, apart from a few rude mud mephits. So I rather hoped that I might still be invited to your little party.”

Kestrel crossed her arms and frowned in mock hesitance. “That depends. Can I trust you to behave yourself?”

“Oh, gods, no, darling. Now that I’m consigned to the darkness, I’m going to need all the debauchery I can get.”

“Correct answer.” Kestrel hopped forward and, before he could protest, wrapped him in a rib-bruising hug. “You know damn well it isn’t a party without you, Fangs. Now get in here and tell us how the wine is shit and we all look hideous.”

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything, but did you even bother to wash up before coming to this? And a white shirt with black trousers, really? You know very well that's my look."

She rolled her eyes. "All right, that's enough for now. Go have a drink. Not Alan's blood."

"Oh, fine. But first…" Astarion leaned down and stage-whispered: "You're my sister, you know. That's why I'm allowed to tease you so much." When she opened her mouth delightedly, he pulled back, nose wrinkling. "If you tell anyone I said that, I'll call you a liar. Now, drinks!"

He sauntered away into the crowd, and was replaced almost immediately at her side by Lae'zel. She took Kestrel’s face in her hands, and almost seemed about to kiss her. “Kestrel,” she rasped. “T’lak’ma Ghir.”

She’d heard that saying before, from Kith’rak Voss of all people, and she knew what it meant. Hearing Lae’zel call her sister in freedom was somehow more meaningful than an hour’s worth of flowery compliments.

“T’lak’ma Ghir," she repeated. "Promise you won't forget about us when it comes time to leave this plane."

"Forget you? Never," Lae'zel vowed. "There will be a place for you in Tu'narath, once Voss and I bring down Vlaakith."

"I look forward to it. Will you be ruling alongside Queen Shadowheart, in the beautiful new gith society?"

Lae'zel grinned wolfishly. "Queen Shadowheart. I like the sound of that." Turning on her heel, she strode back to where Shadowheart sat and pulled her into a passionate kiss.

Kestrel sighed happily as a familiar, musty-smelling figure glided up next to her. "Aren't they sweet, Withers? I'm so glad they're not trying to kill each other anymore."

"It is encouraging to see the strength of thy bonds," Withers said serenely. “Much has changed, after such a long journey. Upon our first meeting, I asked a question, if thou wilt recall.”

“Oh, I remember,” said Kestrel, with a dry laugh. “You asked me the worth of a single mortal life, and my first answer was ‘twelve.’ I’m surprised you didn’t incinerate me.”

“An unexpected answer,” Withers agreed. “Yet look now at thy closest friends and allies, and consider their number.”

Kestrel scanned the room, mentally counting up her nearest and dearest, the people she’d camped with for nights on end and faced the end of the world alongside. There were the ten Tadpole Irregulars, of course, and the Emperor, wherever he was now, and Withers himself, which added up to…

“Twelve,” she said, struck by sudden awe. “There’s twelve.”

“There are indeed,” said Withers, with great satisfaction. “A fortuitous number, is it not?”

“It is," said Kestrel. “But I have one more question for you, Withers.”

He nodded. “You may ask.”

“Are you secretly Jergal, the retired god of death? And you’ve been following us around because you feel responsible for the Dead Three situation, so you needed to help us take them down?”

In the time she’d known Withers, Kestrel had seen him look amused, annoyed, and worried, but never once before tonight had she seen him utterly flabbergasted.

"I…" Withers shook his head. "I do not believe I am permitted to answer such questions."

"That's all right," said Kestrel, and gave him a knowing wink. "You just did. Don't worry, I won't tell the general public."

"Hmph," said Withers, and drifted away.

"I believe you spooked him," commented a deep voice from behind her, and a thick arm was wrapped around her shoulders. "Which is impressive, considering his nature."

She laughed and leaned against his side. "Hello, you. Alfira hasn't convinced you to sing yet?"

“Believe me, she is being merciful. But that is not what I wanted to talk to you about." His hand slipped lower, caressing the top of her hip. "I think you deserve a little reward, for saving the world,” he murmured.

Kestrel giggled. “Little? I think I deserve a large reward. Pun very much intended.”

"Then you'll have it." He swept her up into his arms, ignoring the whistles and cheers from their friends. "No more waiting."

—

By the time they reached the second floor, her shirt was halfway unbuttoned, and his was gone altogether. Some other guest would probably find it lying in the hall.

Halsin slammed the door shut behind them, making the walls shake, and turned to Kestrel. "Tell me what you want," he said breathlessly. "I am yours to command."

"That's funny," said Kestrel, "because I was thinking just the opposite."

His eyebrows went up, and his lips lifted in an intrigued smile. "Go on."

"I think you're deserving of a little vengeance." There was something strange sparking up inside her, something she didn't quite understand but had no desire to tamp down. "I was awful to you earlier, wasn't I? Sending you away like some rich snob dismissing a servant. You must be furious with me."

"My love, of course I'm not furious with you. You were only trying to look after me, as you always do. How could I hold that against you?"

Kestrel sighed. "Oh, I know you're not truly upset. You're far too much of a gentleman for that. But…" She leaned back against the bed and slowly, deliberately, undid the last few buttons of her shirt. "Maybe we can pretend?"

Understanding lit Halsin's face, and his smile widened. "I see," he said. "In that case, perhaps I was too quick to forgive you. It was very cruel of you to insist I leave, and I believe you need to be taught a lesson."

"I most certainly do," she replied, her heartbeat quickening even further. "Am I to get a spanking, then? I'll say viscera if it's ever too much." The code word had begun as a joke, but had quickly become a cornerstone of their relationship.

"See that you do." Halsin pulled off her shirt and bent her over the bed, so quickly her head spun. She felt his hands fiddling with the laces of her trousers before they, too, were gone.

Utterly exposed and helpless, Kestrel tensed with eager nervousness, waiting for the first blow to land. When it did, it was light—he was obviously holding back—but still sharp enough to make her gasp.

"Viscera?" he asked hoarsely.

"Not viscera." The initial sting had given way to pleasant warmth, and she squirmed in anticipation of more.

A deep chuckle sounded from over her shoulder, and another blow fell, this one a touch harder than before. "You are a wanton, shameless creature," he hissed in her ear, so close she could feel the vibrations of his voice on her skin. "And to think, you seemed so innocent when we first met."

"Oh, I was always wanton and shameless, deep down. You just gave me an excuse to act on it." She thrust back against him like a cat in heat. "More. Harder."

He obliged—not excessively, but enough that her skin burned and her eyes watered with each slap. After the psychic torture from the Absolute and its minions, all the lies and illusions she'd been subjected to for months, this was real and raw, and she almost screamed from the pleasure of it.

After another minute or two, Halsin pulled back, panting. "Right," he said. "By this point, I am punishing myself more than you. Are you ready for me to fuck you?"

"Yes," Kestrel moaned. She loved this version of him, such a contrast to his usual well-spoken, polite demeanor. "Yes, fuck me. Please."

"Gladly. Now, an important decision." He slid one finger into her already-dripping sex. "Should I have you here…" The finger moved up and back, gently circling the entrance to her bottom. "Or here?"

Kestrel hesitated. He'd only taken her arse a few times before, and it was always a challenge to fit his giant shaft inside her. But this was a night to celebrate boldly, was it not?"

"Option two, please," she said, as nonchalantly as she could manage under the circumstances. "Don't be gentle."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely. Sure as…" She searched for a simile, but her lust-addled mind came up short. "Something."

Another quiet laugh. "Well said. Now, I need to fetch something." She felt him step away, and heard a rustling as he presumably dug through his pack. This was followed by the sound of a bottle uncorking, and the sensation of warm oil against her back entrance.

"You asked me not to be gentle," Halsin murmured, rubbing more of the liquid into her skin, "but I would rather not injure you."

"How considerate of you." When he still held back, she growled and wriggled her hips. "Now stop being considerate, and take me, damn it."

He shifted behind her, and she felt the thick head of his cock nudging against her arse. She braced herself and dug her fingers into the bed as he worked his shaft into her passage. He'd prepared her well, but it still burned like the heat of Avernus, and she loved it.

"Good?" he whispered fervently.

"Good. Don't stop."

He didn't. What he did do was grasp her hips tightly and start slamming into her, so forcefully the bed shook beneath them. Pain and pleasure became so mixed up in Kestrel's mind that she utterly gave up on trying to distinguish between them. As he continued in the same punishing rhythm, she wriggled a hand between her legs and shoved two fingers into her dripping cunt, deep enough that she could feel the rippling motions of him using her. Usually this would be Halsin's job, but he seemed utterly focused on his own pleasure. Just as he deserved—he'd been so brave during their battle against the Netherbrain, and more importantly, he'd come back for her.

She clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream as ecstasy tore through her. Halsin seized her wrist, and gently but firmly pulled her arm down.

"Did I say you could be quiet?" he demanded playfully.

"But…" she protested weakly. "The others might hear."

"I have no doubt they will, but why should they object? You saved the world today, they should be glad to hear you being so thoroughly pleasured." He gave a deep, hard thrust into her, making her whimper. "Be loud for me, my beautiful bird. Show me how well I'm doing."

It was easy enough to obey. The fullness brought about by her fingers and his cock, not to mention his desperate panting and grunting in her ear, was exciting enough to bring her to a second climax within minutes. This time, she didn't hold back at all, but cried out at the top of her lungs. A few minutes later it happened again, and then again, until her knees were shaking and her vision was blurry.

At long last, Halsin groaned loudly and desperately, and she could feel the hot rush of his seed pouring into her. When he was finally done, he collapsed onto the bed and pulled her to his side. Much to her own embarrassment, she burst into noisy tears.

He gathered her in his arms, looking devastated. "Kestrel, my poor sweet girl. Was I too rough with you? Do you need healing?"

"No," Kestrel sobbed, through a smile she couldn't control. "I'm not hurt. Gods, Halsin, I'm so happy. I'm so happy I think it might actually kill me. Am I completely insane?"

He gave a relieved laugh and kissed her forehead. "No, my heart, you are not insane. You are alive."
—

She woke up with a sense of loss so vast, so profound, that she wanted to tear herself to pieces. Some part of her was missing, some vital force, and it was too quiet in here, why was it so damn quiet?

It took a moment for the truth to hit her, hard as a slap. 

Once upon a time, a woman named Kestrel woke on a ruined beach with a worm in her brain.

And on another morning, she awoke with it gone.

Halsin stirred beside her and yawned loudly, his eyes slowly opening. Elves didn't usually need to sleep, but she was glad he'd chosen to last night. After all their victories, both in and out of the bedroom, he deserved the rest.

"Good morning, love," he said sleepily. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right, I think." She rubbed her right eye. “Do I look different to you?”

Halsin looked her over carefully, a half-smile on his face. “As lovely as always. Perhaps a touch melancholy, which is hardly surprising, considering what you’ve been through.”

“My parasite’s gone,” she choked out. “There’s nothing left in my mind but…my mind. That’s a good thing, I know it is, so why am I so sad?”

“Endings are always sad, in my experience. Even the end of a bad situation.” He sighed, and Kestrel knew he was thinking of Menzoberranzan, and the captivity he’d once almost missed. "But this mourning will pass, my love. You have your freedom, and an entire new life ahead."

And where will you be, in this new life? Kestrel wondered. She was tempted to ask it aloud, but chose not to. There was plenty of time to talk about the future, now that they actually would have one, and she was certain he would bring it up when the time was right.

—

He didn't bring it up.

Five days passed in a flurry of activity—tending to the wounded, helping with repairs, reuniting families who had been separated—and not once did Halsin bring up the future. Kestrel knew she should face the problem head on and just ask him about his plans, but every time she tried to, the words stuck in her throat.

Because once she asked, she would get an answer, and it might very well not be one that she wanted to hear.

The morning of the sixth day found her at Stormshore Tabernacle, dropping off a basket of donated healing supplies with Vicar Humbletoes. The kindly gnome was even busier than she was these days, and he accepted the basket with a grateful smile.

"I see the Moonmaiden's grace has stayed with you," he said. "As I always expected it would."

"Vicar, you're the only person in this city who can get away with saying 'I told you so,'" Kestrel said with a laugh. "I'll be back once I've whipped up some more healing potions. Take care."

On the way out, she was stopped by a willowy human woman with unruly red hair and threadbare clothes. It took Kestrel a moment to place her. Lora, that was it, the woman whose poor little daugher had been kidnapped by Auntie Ethel. The mission had been an exciting one, but she'd almost forgotten about it amid all the other drama.

"Morning, miss," Lora said brightly. "Where's your man?"

Kestrel shrugged. "Search me. I can barely keep track of him these days, there's so much going on."

"Aye, I don't doubt it. Well, when you do see him, let him know that Vanra and I are interested in joining."

"I…beg your pardon?" Kestrel asked. "Interested in joining what?"

"Oh, you know. That new little town he's planning on building up in old Reithwin. I don't know that I'm suited for country life, but the fresh air will be good for Vanra. Not asking for charity, mind—I'm decent at cooking and building, whatever you need." Lora frowned, looking Kestrel up and done. "You all right, miss? You're looking a bit pale."

Kestrel was feeling a bit pale. Pale, cold, and shaky with confusion and fury. She still had some dignity, though, and had no desire to fall to pieces in public. "Quite all right, thank you, Lora," she said briskly. "I'll pass along your message to Halsin as soon as I see him."

Lora thanked her, and headed back down the street, whistling brightly. When she was out of sight, Kestrel turned on her heel and dashed back to the Elfsong, almost bowling over several people in her path. She needed answers, and she would get them, even if her heart broke in the process. Which seemed increasingly likely.

Halsin was there, luckily, sitting in one of the booths and frowning over a notebook. He looked up when she slid into the seat across from him, and smiled as though nothing was wrong at all.

"Halsin," she said. "I had a chat with Lora this morning. You remember Lora, don't you? Red hair, former pirate, has a little daughter who was almost hag food?"

"Oh? What did Lora have to say for herself?"

"She told me," Kestrel said quietly, "that she's heard of the new community you plan to build in Reithwin, and asked if she could come along. I couldn't give her an answer, of course." Try as she might, she couldn't keep the hurt out of her voice. "Because I didn't know what she was talking about."

Part of her had still hoped that she'd misunderstood, or that her imagination was playing tricks on her. That part shriveled and died when she saw the intense guilt on Halsin's face.

"So it's true," she said. "You are leaving."

"I have been…putting together plans," Halsin admitted. "Gauging interest. There are so many people in this city in need of a fresh start, and where better to find it than in Thaniel's realm?" When Kestrel said nothing, just continued to stare at him, he sighed. "You are right, of course. I should have told you."

"Yes, you should have." Kestrel folded her arms. "So why didn't you? I thought we made plans together these days, unless…" Her voice broke on the last word. "Do you not want us to be together anymore? I know you always say love shouldn't be restricted, but I thought we had a special bond. When I tried to send you away, you came back to me. And now you're trying to get rid of me?"

Halsin closed his eyes and ran a hand over his hair. "I have no excuses," he said. "I swear, though, that my foolish decision not to tell you had nothing to do with a desire to be rid of you. In fact, I convinced myself that by leaving you out of my plans, I was sparing you any awkwardness or pressure."

"You failed," she said bluntly. "Honestly, Halsin, why would you think that talking to me about your grand scheme would make things more awkward, or put pressure on me? I can't understand your logic at all."

"I will do my best to explain, though I cannot guarantee any actual logic," he said. "You told me once, Kestrel, that you left your home to seek out adventure, stories, new experiences. With your tadpole gone, you are finally free to seek those things out on your own terms, rather than being forced into a quest as you were before. You are a hero, and there will be so much waiting for you, here and all across the lands.” He shook his head. “It would be wrong of me to ask you to give all that up for a quiet life with me, not when you deserve it so much. Much as I would love to have you by my side, I cannot be selfish.”

“What I find extraordinary,” said Kestrel, trying to keep her voice even, “is that you’ve been making all these plans and having all this internal conflict, and yet you didn’t once think to ask what I wanted. You’re allowed to, you know. My answer might well surprise you.”

“I…yes, of course. You’re right, as usual. I let my insecurities override my good sense once again.” He took a deep breath. “Would you like to come with me to Reithwin, Kestrel? I can’t promise glamor, excitement, or an easy transition. There will be plenty of petty squabbles and complicated problems to solve. All I can promise is my love, gratitude, and support for your independence, no matter what you ultimately decide.”

Kestrel knew her answer, of course. She’d known since before he even asked. There was that same sense of rightness here that she’d felt upon first leaving Hargrave.

But she pretended to hesitate, just as revenge.

“All right, then,” she said at last. “I’ve looked over my schedule, and it turns out I don’t have any social commitments for the next couple of centuries. So I think I will come with you to fix up Reithwin, if it’s all the same to you. We’re bringing Yenna, right?”

Halsin's eyes lit up with such overwhelming joy, he almost seemed to glow. "Of course we'll bring Yenna," he said. "Of course we will. And there are plenty of other orphans in this city in need of a good home—Thaniel and Oliver will never lack playmates." He reached across the table and took her right hand in both of his. "Thank you, my love. I can't promise you will never regret this, but I will do everything in my power to make you happy."

"And I," she replied, "will do exactly the same for you."

As he leaned forward to kiss her, Kestrel flipped over a new page in her mental notebook.

Kestrel MacDuff, having saved the world in about five different ways, was heading off with her one true love to start a new life in a potential paradise.

That seemed like a fairly good ending.

Chapter Text

The following is excerpted with permission from “The Tadpole Irregulars: A True Story of Adventure, Love, and Deadly Brain Parasites,” available at all good bookshops.

We–the erstwhile Tadpole Irregulars, the heroes of Baldur’s Gate–have gone down quite divergent paths since our grand adventure. However, we still haven’t learned to stay out of each other’s business for more than a month at a time.

No one was surprised when Wyll and Karlach became betrothed after six months in Avernus together. Apparently Wyll proposed on a beach next to something called “Blood Clot Lake,” which Karlach describes as “unbelievably fucking romantic.” They’ve got some scheme going to find a more permanent solution to her heart condition, and we’re all very much looking forward to one Hell of a wedding. (Karlach’s been after me to officiate. Not sure I have the necessary qualifications, but it’s still a lovely thought.)

Gale seems to have settled well into his new life, judging from the amount of letters I’ve received railing against “this useless younger generation of scholars.” Being an academic seems to provide all the godlike prestige and power he’d dreamed of, with somewhat less of the responsibility. In his free time, he’s been working on developing a one-person darkness spell that might someday allow Astarion to venture out in daylight, as well as helping Elminster tutor Arabella in managing her new powers. As much as I still worry about that girl, school in Waterdeep seems a reasonably safe environment for her.

Astarion remains as difficult to pin down as ever, no surprise there. He writes sporadically, giving minimal details about his activities, but I’ve gotten pretty good at reading between the lines. Part of his time is spent in the Underdark, keeping an eye on the spawn we released—not all of them have survived, but the ones that did seem to be doing all right. For the sake of privacy, I won't go into detail about what else Astarion has been up to, but it seems he's been seeing quite a bit of Jaheira and Minsc. I'm sure Baldur's Gate is much safer under their protection.

Lae'zel and Shadowheart have gone in quite opposite directions since our great triumph, but from what I can gather, their bond remains as strong as ever. While Lae'zel makes alliances with githzerai and trains alongside Voss, Shadowheart manages her small farm and gets reacquainted with her parents, and they see one another as often as they can. Shadowheart writes to me frequently about the joys of rural life—and the progress of the githyanki egg, which is in fact no longer an egg but a lovely little baby named Xan. "My mum dotes on him," Shadowheart informed me in one letter. "Who knows? We may actually prove that mad Lady Esther right."

Back in the city, things seem to be going reasonably well. Councillor Florrick is now Duke Florrick, and one of her very first acts was to create a chivalric order for those who fought the Absolute, called the Order of the Wyrm. The name was my suggestion, as you might guess. It works on so many levels. Apparently there's also been a significant reduction in crime, partially due to the city coming together for rebuilding efforts, but I give a lot of the credit to Minsc.

As for Halsin and I…what’s to tell? Just as we’d hoped, the town that used to be Reithwin is growing into an entirely new community under our care. Though actually, it’s not Reithwin anymore–the name came with a few too many bad memories. “Newgarden” has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? A lovely name for what I daresay is one of the loveliest villages in Faerûn.

The loveliest part of all, though, is the children. I admit, I was a tad intimidated when Halsin said we had about fifty orphans tagging along on our journey, but they're the nicest bunch of kids you could imagine. There are plenty of other adults around the place, like Zevlor and Lora, to keep an eye on them, but I hope it's not bragging to say Halsin and I are their favorites. They call us "Mum" and "Dad, and beg for hours of stories every night. So far, their favorites are “The Time We Blew Up the Fireworks Factory,” “How Auntie Shadowheart Rescued her Parents,” and “Robbing the House of Hope.” I do have to clean that last one up a little, but they still enjoy it. 

We don't spend too much time worrying about the future these days—there's far too much going on in the present—but we've still got some plans in mind. Halsin says if I’m not bored of him in ten years, we’ll have an old-fashioned druid handfasting party and invite everyone. I’ve been trying to talk him down to five, considering everything that could have befallen our friends in that timespan. In the meantime, we're having plenty of fun, and thinking about when we might add a few new cubs to the family line. Though that is none of your business.

This has been the tale of a girl who went in search of a grand story of adventure and romance, and wound up living one.

And this is where it ends.

For now.