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Duncan's knees almost give out when he sees Esmerelle. He had hoped and prayed that she, at least, had made it out, had escaped into the swamp and found herself somewhere safe or at least defensible, but gods.
All that blood… and those two tiny figures clutched to her bosom… She gave her life for them, and it still wasn't enough. War never cares who it takes as collateral.
But—no, it was not in vain. One of those tiny figures stirs, squirming helplessly against their mother curled protectively around them, more cage now than shield. Duncan rushes to the baby's aid, nearly stumbling as he does. As he gently frees her and scoops her up into his arms, he catches sight of the bloodied hole in the chest of her brother's gown and forces himself to choke back his tears. Not now. He still needs to check this one over for injury, and he can't exactly do that if he can't see.
"Hey. Hey, you're all right, aren't you?" he whispers. She's settled down a little now that he's picked her up, and she doesn't seem in pain, even gurgles happily at the sound of his voice, familiar to her apparently even around the lump in his throat. None of the blood staining her clothes and skin seems to be her own, thank the gods, unlike… unlike…
A whimper sounds at his feet, and then another, the kind that babies make when they're working their way up to a big cry. Heart leaping in his chest, Duncan cradles the girl close and drops to his knees beside her twin brother, who indeed has stirred from what Duncan thought for certain was death. "Daeghun!" he calls urgently, scooping the boy up into his other arm. The gash over his heart… an adult would be lucky to survive such a wound, but a babe? "Daeghun, Adrian's alive!"
Daeghun rises from where he's knelt beside a large patch of scorched grass and earth and makes his way over almost woodenly. Of course—Shayla didn't make it. No one who stayed behind did, except somehow, miraculously, these infant twins. They found her body earlier, near the Llir house, and Duncan left him alone with her to grieve. He may not be the most social or outwardly emotional, especially not compared to Duncan, but he isn't heartless.
Duncan pushes carefully to his feet as well, bouncing his arm slightly and making little shushing noises in a way he hopes is soothing, though he knows desperately that there's little he can do in the face of how much pain the poor boy must be in. If only they had a healer, but he's one of the ones who stayed behind.
Gods, he's so young; the only comfort is that he's too young to ever remember this.
"I don't know how," he tells Daeghun, angling the boy toward him as much as he can without letting him overbalance and tumble out of his arm. "It's clear that whatever killed Esmerelle injured him as well, and by rights, there shouldn't be any way he survived that, small as he is, but somehow he did." He chokes off, feeling as though someone has cast Bigby's grasping hand on him, those giant fingers closing in a vice grip around his chest and throat, and some of those tears fall now, as he watches his brother lean over the fussy infant and stroke his chubby cheek with one finger, serious as he's ever seen him. "I'm keeping him," he says suddenly. He doesn't know where it comes from, he's never so much as entertained the thought of kids before—except, he does. He does know. He loves these kids. There's no way he can just leave them. "I'm keeping both of them."
"No, I'll take him," Daeghun says quietly. He slips his arm along Duncan's and carefully lifts the boy up, cradling him awkwardly to his chest with one hand. His other holds something that Duncan has yet to catch a clear glimpse of, too concerned with the twins, and with giving him the privacy he needs. The babe's crying worsens anew, and a frown pulls helplessly down at the corners of Daeghun's mouth as he attempts to soothe him. "I'll… take Adrian," he says again, almost as though he's trying to convince himself.
"What? I'll—"
His brother arches an eyebrow. "What experience do you have raising a child? Much less two. No, we'll each take one—and we'll each take one of these," he tells him matter-of-factly, at last showing him what it is he holds in his other hand.
Gingerly Duncan picks up one of the objects and studies it in the dim light. It's a thin shard of some silvery-white metal, a few inches wide and about twice that long. He has just enough magic to tell that something powerfully arcane clings to it, if he concentrates, but that's as far as he gets. The shard still resting atop Daeghun's palm is a little longer, but otherwise, it looks virtually identical.
"What are they?"
"I don't know. I found them in the grass, one on the edge of the burnt patch, the other a few yards out. I think we should take them to Sand, see what he can glean of them."
Duncan's heart flutters and his gut twists at the mention of the hedge wizard's name, an odd mix of nerves and anticipation. Adventuring with him was… an experience. More pleasant for him than for Sand, he suspects. He's not so sure how happy Sand would be to see him again, though he knows he wants to see Sand—and more than that, too.
Their adventuring party broke apart in bits and pieces over the years. Sand wasn't the first, but he left a few years ago to set up a magic and potions shop in Neverwinter. He hasn't seen or heard from him since, although he supposes he's just as guilty—beyond letting him know that he, his brother, and Esmerelle had settled in West Harbour, he never sent any word either.
Well, he can always leave the talking to Daeghun, if Sand seems unduly displeased to see him there.
"All right."
"Good," Daeghun says with a decisive nod. "We should leave tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow? And what are we to do with the babes? Especially with Adrian's injury. Daeghun."
Daeghun's lips thin, his brother clearly unhappy with the prospect of delaying their trip. But what is so urgent about a couple of worthless shards? Especially when weighed against the life of a babe.
"Fine. We'll wait until Adrian has healed, and then we'll go."
"We should leave them here," Duncan presses. "They're too young for regular food yet, and Neverwinter and back is awfully far to be travelling with even one infant for no reason. We can leave them in someone's care until we're back—maybe Retta's. She just had a baby a couple months ago, she's breastfeeding, and she isn't expecting again already like the Mossfelds."
His brother's expression turns stony. "I am offended that you would even suggest her."
Duncan resists the urge to sigh and only barely remembers not to pinch the bridge of his nose with the shard still in his hand, pressing the back of his wrist to the space between his brows instead. He really does not understand what problem his brother has with the Starlings. They're a perfectly pleasant family—and perfectly capable as parents, as well. Retta and her husband might have had Lorne awful young—and he knows it's not just his being an elf messing with his perception—but he's one of the sweetest, most polite kids in the village, even heading into his teenage years.
"I will leave him here," Daeghun cedes with a small sigh. Duncan drops his hand to stare at him. "But you've been wanting to run your own tavern, have you not? You can hardly do that here. You should take her, raise her in Neverwinter, use this opportunity to start a business there," he continues. His eyes fall to the shard in his hand, brow furrowing slightly. "Whatever these shards are, I have the feeling they should be separated—and hidden."
Duncan studies his profile for a few moments. Can Daeghun tell something about the shards that he cannot, or is he simply being cautious—or overly so? His brother isn't exactly the type to be given to paranoia, but with the attack…
He turns his gaze to the little girl now sleeping soundly in the cradle of his arm even while her brother continues to whimper, one tiny hand clutching at his shirt, and when had she done that? He thinks about being a father, and an innkeeper, and he thinks about Sand. About how comfortable the antagonism between them was, like a familiar dance, even when it wasn't exactly toothless. How Sand almost certainly has a shop in the city centre or maybe even Blacklake, and how unlikely he is to be able to afford a pub there, with or without an inn.
Maybe the only time he'll get to see Sand is bringing him the shards, but his dream never hinged on that anyway, and he really can't find a reason why he shouldn't get started on it now, infant and all.
He looks back up at his brother. "Yeah," he answers softly.
One corner of Daeghun's lips quirks upward ever so slightly, triumphant. Duncan's heart is still too full to even get ticked off as he always does when his brother gets like this. "Let's…" Daeghun starts, and his expression grows stricken as he casts his gaze toward the Llir house.
Shayla.
Duncan slips the shard out of Daeghun's hand and presses his daughter into his confused arms. "I'll get their things," he tells him, giving him a gentle push between the shoulder blades down the road in the opposite direction. "You should go tend to Adrian's wound—you're better at first aid than I am, anyway."
If it's true, it's only slightly so—as an adventurer, you learn to get good at tending wounds quick if you aren't already, because you can't always depend on having a healer—but Daeghun accepts it for the out he intends it as. He ducks his head with a murmured thanks and heads toward home.
He lets his gaze fall back down to Esmerelle's crumpled form, his throat closing up all over again to see her like that, both the grief of her passing and the gratefulness that she was able to save her children overwhelming. "We'll take good care of them," he promises her wetly—wherever her spirit is, if she's listening. They'll make sure her kids grow into adults she can be proud of.