Chapter Text
The companions settled in the cottage, helped out of their packs for a temporary reprieve from their weight. Tavriel’s burden was notably lighter, thanks to the enchanted Bag of Holding gifted by their esteemed friend, the Wizard of Waterdeep and Professor of Illusory Arts at Blackstaff Academy. It was a thoughtful gesture, considering the mountain of supplies required for traveling with an infant. Without it, they’d likely be hauling at least two trunks overflowing with diapers, swaddles, and an assortment of baby paraphernalia.
Karlach shuffled excitedly towards Astarion holding Selene, unable to help the silly grin splitting her face. “My little moonflower!” Karlach boomed, her voice a joyous exclamation that echoed through the cottage. She rushed towards Selene, her face alight with affection. "Auntie K is here! And she missed you so much!”
Selene squealed and giggled at her red-skinned, tiefling ‘Auntie’, her little hands instantly reaching up to grasp the singular remaining horn on Karlach’s head.
Astarion, his heart warming at the sound of his daughter’s delighted squeals, couldn’t help but offer a playful caution to the overly excited tiefling. “Careful, Karlach,” Astarion chided lightly. Begrudgingly, he allowed their towering tiefling friend to extricate his daughter from his embrace. “Please no tossing her up in the air or exuberant bouncing.”
“Oh, we’ll be careful, won’t we, my sweet Selene?” Karlach cooed, her single horn a playful point of fascination for the elfling. She indulged in Selene’s innocent curiosity, dancing away with a nonsensical song across the floor.
Astarion, his hands now free, took a moment to orient himself in the unfamiliar space. The scent of woodsmoke tickled his nose, hinting at the crackling fire in the hearth and…was that bread? When he inquired, it was clarified that Wyll had recently developed a passion for baking, causing the curious silver elf to chuckle with amusement.
With his staff extended, he gently tapped the wooden floor, tracing the room’s edges. Touching the edge of the table, he pondered the journey that lay ahead, feeling content as their plans appeared to be falling into place. The companions were assembling, soon to be joined by Lyran and—eventually—the self-proclaimed ‘renowned’ wizard Gale. Tactile explorations then trailed along a bookshelf, the leather-bound spines promising tales of adventure and far-off lands. Or so Astarion imagined.
Soon , he thought, anticipation filling his beating heart, we’ll be making our own stories.
Stopping by an open window, Astarion turned his head as a light breeze passed through the gardens just outside. The gentle—and thankfully subdued—bleating of the goats brought about a small smile, melding with the light conversations happening just behind him. Wyll, in the kitchen, gathered rations and vittles for the journey. He couldn’t help but smile when he heard the unmistakable sound of Gale’s unique mumblings, faintly carried by the wind.
“Ah,” he said, turning to address the room, “it seems our wizard has lost his way.”
Karlach, still swaying with Selene, laughed absently. “Wyll, you should probably fetch him,” she called out, her voice echoing through the open door.
“What’s the hurry?” Astarion quipped, nonchalant. “Let him enjoy the scenic route for a while longer.”
Tavriel rolled her eyes with a fond smile. “Oh, Astarion,” she sighed. “Honestly, must you be so blasé about our lost friend.” She exchanged a look with Wyll as he headed out to fetch the wandering mage.
Astarion grinned, leaning casually against the windowsill, nonchalantly tracing the filigree of his staff’s silver pommel. “Oh, but Gale is so smart,” he drawled playfully. “I’m sure he’ll find his way…eventually.”
It was too easy to find amusement in the wizard’s bumbling, his erudition in contrast to what he remembered was an annoyingly handsome human face. The longing glances he would give Tav during the early adventures were unforgettable, so Astarion allowed himself to enjoy this subtle torment. It was perfectly innocent, after all.
Gale entered the cottage a moment later, slightly out of breath. The moment he saw the heartwarming scene, his face instantly lit up with joy. An unmistakable sense of love and warmth permeated the atmosphere.
Karlach, with her usual exuberance, was waltzing across the floor, Selene giggling in her arms, her tiny hand wrapped around Karlach’s large finger. Tavriel, being diligent and practical, checked their packs thoroughly to ensure they were ready for the journey ahead. Astarion leaned his shoulder casually by the open window, wearing his signature smirk, head bowed as if in thought. Yet Gale knew better—Astarion was always listening, always aware.
Wyll stepped inside after Gale. “Found him!” The ranger boisterously clapped Gale on the shoulder with a smile. “Welcome, dear wizard. We’re just about to leave for the workshop to fetch the royal chariot.”
“Ah, the wagon, of course.” Gale returned the smile, setting his pack down with the rest by the door. “Whispers of its grandeur have reached me through Lyran’s letters.”
Tavriel stood up from her work, grinning at their new arrival. “We were wondering when you’d make your grand entrance, Gale. I trust you enjoyed the scenic route?” With laughter and mutual affection, Gale and Tav embraced each other.
“More like a self-guided tour through the depths of workshops and stables. But no matter, I’ve arrived safely, if a bit later than planned. Though I must say, the welcoming committee could use a little more… guidance.”
Astarion’s smirk deepened as he turned his head slightly in Gale’s direction. “I thoroughly considered sending a search party, but then I thought, why deprive you of the opportunity to test your navigational skills?”
Gale rolled his eyes, though he had the barest hint of a smile on his lips. “Your faith in my abilities is truly heartwarming, Astarion.”
Astarion tilted his head, an amused glint in his sightless eyes. “Well, it wouldn’t do to underestimate the great Wizard of Waterdeep, would it?”
Gale shook his head with a laugh, finally letting his gaze settle on Selene being rocked and bounced in Karlach’s strong arms, the small elfling’s attention now glued to the human wizard’s inquisitive face.
“And how is our little star today?” he asked, his voice softening as he took a step closer.
Selene cooed in response, reaching out her tiny hand toward Gale, her curiosity piqued by the new arrival.
Karlach leaned in, beaming with pride. “She’s been the life of the party, as usual. Already got us all wrapped around her little finger.”
Gale extended a hand to Selene, allowing her to grasp his finger in her tiny hand. “So I see she’s inherited her father’s charm,” he said, glancing at Astarion with a knowing smile.
Astarion’s smirk softened to an expression of sincere fondness, while he listened to the conversation. “She has, hasn’t she?” he murmured.
Gale’s gaze then fell upon Lúthia seated by the hearth. “And Lúthia graces our presence, I see!”
The fiery-haired elf who had, until this moment, been a quiet but steadfast presence in their lives. He’d known her as the midwife, a gentle hand ushering Selene into the world. But seeing her here, so poised and self-assured, he found himself unexpectedly captivated, a spark of curiosity igniting within him.
“Joining us for the adventure to Candlekeep, then?” Gale asked. “You seem quite spry, of course. I’m sure the journey wouldn’t bother you a jot, would it?”
Lúthia, who had been quietly sipping her chamomile tea by the hearth, looked up with a grin that was as mysterious as it was mischievous.
“Oh, my dear wizard,” she said, her voice smooth and teasing, “I am, indeed, quite spry.” She took another sip of her tea, her green eyes gleaming with amusement as she glanced sideways at Astarion, who was still standing by the window, listening intently to every word.
Astarion, sensing the familiar tone of Lúthia’s voice, spun toward her, his jaw dropping in exaggerated shock. “Lúthia! Are you insinuating something?” he demanded, his voice blending feigned indignation and sincere curiosity. “Would you care to enlighten us?”
Lúthia’s grin widened, and she set her teacup down with deliberate care. “Why, Astarion, I wouldn’t dream of insinuating anything ,” she replied, her tone dripping with innocence. “I’m simply reminding our dear Gale that there’s more to me than just a quiet midwife.”
Gale’s eyebrows raised, intensifying his already heightened curiosity. “Is that so?” he asked, leaning in slightly as if hoping for a revelation. “And what, pray tell, might that be? I confess, you’ve piqued my interest, Lúthia.”
Lúthia gave an evasive shrug, her grin never fading. “Oh, just a few little talents from my past. Nothing too scandalous, I assure you.” She paused, enjoying the way Astarion’s attention remained fixed on her. He had a look that was both frustrated and amused.
Astarion, who was rarely at a loss for words, found himself scrambling for a retort. “Lúthia,” he said slowly, as if piecing together a puzzle, “I’ve endured your cryptic remarks for far too long. Perhaps it’s time for you to share with the class?”
Lúthia simply laughed, the sound light and musical. “Ah, but where’s the fun in that, my dear Astarion?” she teased, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Some things are best kept a mystery, don’t you think?”
Astarion threw his hands up in mock exasperation, turning to Gale with a dramatic sigh. “You see what I have to deal with? A never-ending enigma wrapped in a Sunite cleric.”
“A cleric!” As usual, Gale’s interest veered straight from levity and into intrigue. “Well, that would be quite the boon to have on this journey. Considering Shadowheart is currently in absentia… ”
“Yes, where is Shadowheart exactly?” asked Astarion with a mildly annoyed frown.
“Oh, of course. Well, you see, Astarion, ‘in absentia’ means—”
“I know what it means, you infernal mage!”
“Yes, Astarion, like your modesty, in absentia means absent. I know about as much as any of you.”
Astarion rolled his eyes. “Yes, Gale,” he said with a sigh, “we’re all acutely aware that Shadowheart is absent . The question remains: where has she vanished to?”
Gale let out a soft laugh, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Alas, even my vast intellect has its limitations…”
Astarion made a mocking gasp. “Perish the thought.”
Ignoring him, Gale continued with a smirk, “Shadowheart, as always, remains a riddle, her movements shrouded in secrecy.” There was a brief pause as he pondered, his face reflecting his thoughts. “Though I suspect,” he added, his voice lowering conspiratorially, “that she is on a journey of her own, seeking answers to questions that even the hallowed halls of Candlekeep may not hold.”
Raising a brow, Astarion’s blind eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity. “Intriguing,” he murmured. “Perhaps our paths will cross once more, and she can enlighten us on…well…whatever she ends up discovering.”
Tavriel, who had been observing the exchange with a fond smile, cleared her throat gently. “As fascinating as this speculation may be,” she interjected, “we really should be on our way. We have a long journey ahead of us.”
Astarion nodded in agreement, his expression shifting to a more serious one. “You’re right, my love,” he said. His focus shifted to their tall tiefling companion humming that familiar, jaunty tune and the sound of Selene cooing happily away. “Karlach, darling, I kindly request that you stop monopolizing my daughter’s affections and allow me to have her back.”
“Oh, of course, my lord ,” answered Karlach with a playful bow. “Wouldn’t want his lordship deprived of his little princess, would we?”
“Ba!” chirped Selene, bright as a skylark and twice as giggly.
Karlach nearly matched the elfling’s squeal, her mouth hanging open. “Are you talking now?! Is she starting to talk?! Oh my gods, how in the realms are you so utterly adorable !?” Her towering frame twirled the little silver-haired babe, eliciting more squeals and laughter from Selene.
Hearing nothing but his daughter’s delighted squeals, Astarion’s nerves kicked in, despite his intuition telling him she was simply having fun. He gripped his staff as he stepped forward, a nervous hand floating through the air. “Karlach, you’re going to make her ill with all that twirling.”
The tiefling stopped, bouncing the child. “How could you tell we were?” Karlach asked curiously.
“He has some new tricks,” Tavriel explained cheerfully, handing Astarion his pack with a light touch on his arm.
Shouldering on the pack, Astarion added, “New? Hardly. Just a matter of listening really well. It’s amazing what one can pick up when you’re not distracted by, you know, seeing things.”
Karlach barked a laugh. “Astarion? A good listener? Now I’ve heard everything.”
Astarion turned to Karlach, raised an eyebrow, and let out a dramatic sigh. “Yes, well, when you’re deprived of the pleasure of gazing upon your own reflection, you tend to pick up a few other skills. Now, my daughter, if you please? Before you spin her right into orbit?”
Karlach’s grin widened as she carefully passed Selene back to Astarion. The little elfling, still giggling uncontrollably, instantly turned towards her father as she settled into his arms. She stiffened slightly, her tiny body alert as if she were about to discover something new. Astarion could feel the curious energy in her posture, the way she leaned toward him, her little hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt sleeve.
Then a wave of recognition washed over Selene.
With a soft, contented sigh — “Ah…” — she melted into his embrace, burying her face against his shoulder. The comforting scent of her father, the steady beat of his heart against her cheek; it all clicked into place. The room fell into a gentle silence as everyone watched the small but heart-melting gesture.
Astarion, for all his usual composure, stood frozen for a moment, a faraway look softening his eyes, his lips twitching as if caught between a smile and disbelief. The tension in his body eased, his shoulders dropping slightly as he cradled his daughter closer. He couldn’t help it—his heart, so often guarded, was now in Selene’s tiny hands.
Tavriel, seeing the look on his face, couldn’t help but smile. “And there it is,” she whispered softly, her voice filled with affection. “The Astarion puddle.”
Karlach let out a soft, bemused chuckle. “Aye, it’s a sight to behold.”
Gale, watching with a fond smile, leaned over to Wyll and murmured, “And here we thought cured vampires couldn’t melt in the sun.”
Wyll’s grin widened as he whispered back, “Turns out all it takes is a little sunshine wrapped in a bundle of elfling.”
Keeping a firm hold on Selene, Astarion turned his head towards them, a wry smile now appearing on his face. “Oh, do feel free to continue your witty commentary. But if you must know, I’m perfectly fine. Completely composed.”
But the way he held Selene just a little tighter, and how his expression softened as she nestled against him, told a different story. And everyone in the room knew it.
The companions packed their belongings, feeling the invigorating coolness of the morning air, all in preparation for their adventure. Wyll’s fresh-baked bread, still warm from the oven, was wrapped carefully and tucked into Tavriel’s enchanted Bag of Holding alongside the rest of their supplies. Karlach hummed a cheerful tune as she double-checked her gear, leather armor cinched tight and her battle axe at her belt. Gale muttered something about making sure they had enough scrolls for any magical mishaps that might arise along the way.
Selene nestled against Astarion’s chest, her tiny hands occasionally patting his shoulder in a gesture of innocent reassurance. He didn’t need the reminder; the warmth of her small body, the soft rhythm of her breath against his skin, was a constant source of comfort and joy. A smile graced his lips as he reveled in the simple pleasure of holding her, reflecting the happiness that had blossomed in his heart since the day she entered his life.
Striding ahead, Wyll made his way to the nearby Garynmor Stables to arrange for his horse. The morning sun glinted off his horns, casting an imposing, almost demonic silhouette. Yet, those who knew the Blade of Frontiers well recognized the warmth beneath his devilish facade, a kindness that belied his formidable presence.
The rest of the group left the cozy cottage, stepping onto the winding lanes of Blackgate. Traversing beyond the quietude of the back end of the district, the rhythm of industry grew louder, where the clatter of blacksmiths and the scent of leather and metal filled the air. Workshops lined the streets, their open doors offering glimpses of artisans bent over their tasks. Tavriel walked at Astarion’s side, her keen eyes scanning the bustling scene. Even in this seemingly peaceful district, the shadows of their past adventures kept her senses sharp, ever vigilant.
After a short while, she glanced at Astarion, noticing his occasional course correction with Selene in his arms. “Would you like me to carry her for a while?” she offered.
Astarion tightened his grip on Selene and turned his body slightly, as if shielding her from the very suggestion. “No,” he said, his voice firm, “This one is mine.”
Tavriel laughed softly, her fingers brushing against his arm. “You selfish rogue. Keeping all the treasure for yourself.”
“Precisely, darling,” Astarion replied. Pride danced in his distant green eyes, a mischievous smile on his lips, but the tenderness in his voice gave him away. “She’s the most precious gem in all of Faerûn, and I intend to keep her close.”
Torin Bronzehammer wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand as he oversaw the final preparations on the wagon. His keen eyes took in every detail—the sturdy ironwood chassis, the iron-banded wheels, and the intricate carvings along the wagon’s sides. He felt a swell of pride in his chest. The craftsmanship was solid, his team having worked tirelessly to meet the specifications set by the Ancunín family. No expense had been spared, and it showed in every detail.
Nearby, his young apprentice, barely out of dwarven adolescence, double-checked the hitches on the draft horses. “Make sure they’re secure, lad,” Torin called out in his deep, gravelly voice. “No sense in lettin’ the whole thing fall apart the moment it hits a bump in the road. And check those lanterns, inside and out, one more time.”
“Aye, Master Bronzehammer,” the apprentice replied, tightening the final straps under Torin’s watchful gaze.
Within the wagon, Lyran was effervescent in his excitement, checking the storage spaces, setting the bedding in the crib, testing latches. Armed with a notebook and an enchanted quill, he meticulously reviewed a checklist, ticking off every item.
The half-elf poked his head out of the back door, sensing the approach of their adventuring party with an uncanny bit of timing. A wide grin lit up Lyran’s face when he saw them.
“It’s ready, my lord!” he called out, his voice brimming with pride. “I’ve inspected it myself. Every detail is perfect.”
Torin turned to scan the workshop’s wide yard. That’s when he saw them—Lord Ancunín and his companions making their way down the lane. The sight of them caused him to pause, leaning on the haft of his hammer as he watched.
Even from a distance, Astarion was a striking figure. Tall, graceful, with silver hair catching the morning sun like a halo of moonlight. But it wasn’t just the elf lord’s regal bearing that held Torin’s attention—it was the child cradled in his arm. A rare sight, indeed. An elfling babe with hair as pale as her father’s, her small head resting against his shoulder as he moved forward, his staff sweeping ahead of his unseen path.
Blind, he realized, just as Lyran had said. Yet there was no hesitation in his steps, no faltering in his movements. Torin’s sharp eyes caught the subtle shifts Astarion made—the way his grip on the staff adjusted with each step, the way his head tilted slightly, as if listening for cues.
Skipping down the steps of the wagon, Lyran met up with his mentor and companions. The little notebook snapped shut, tucked into his belt. “It’s all ready, Astarion. I think you’ll appreciate the details above the main bed, as well.”
“Oh?” Astarion hummed, straightening his staff and giving Selene a playful little bounce. Lyran’s eyes lit up when meeting Selene’s bright-eyed gaze and happy smile, his hand outstretched to wiggle his fingers at his favorite not-quite-little-sister. “It all sounds very extravagant. How much did this royal chariot cost us, exactly?”
Lyran hesitated, coughing into his fist. “Two thousand…”
“Gold!?”
“You said to spare no expense!”
“Yes, well, I didn’t think it would be quite that much expense!”
Before Astarion could work himself up further, he felt the placating touch of Tavriel’s hand on his arm. “Astarion, love, we have plenty in the vaults to last us a lifetime and beyond. I’m sure this won’t bankrupt us in the least.”
At the sight of the impeccably made wagon, Karlach’s eyes widened, and she eagerly rushed towards it, gripping her pack straps tightly and emitting a joyful squeal. Towering well over six feet, fiery red skin and the single curved horn protruding from her wild hair—and yet her childlike excitement belied her otherwise imposing nature.
“Oh, Tav! Astarion! By the gods, this is magnificent! I get to drive this?” Once again, Karlach squealed with joy as she rushed towards the horses, the lofted seat empty and the reins fastened to a post, waiting for the expert control of a driver.
Astarion leaned towards Tavriel to murmur, “Hopefully not recklessly.”
Tav giggled. “I’m sure we’ll be in good hands.”
The dwarven craftsman set aside his hammer and lumbered up to the gathered adventurers. “Lord Ancunín,” called Torin, meeting the party outside the gate.
Tavriel directed her smile towards the puzzled dwarf. “Greetings, saer. You must be Master Bronzehammer.”
The dwarf bowed deeply, his gray copper-woven beard nearly sweeping the ground. “Aye, lady, that’d be me. And this here,” he gestured grandly to the wagon, “is the finest piece of craftsmanship ye’ll find north of Baldur’s Gate, if I say so meself. We’ve spared no effort to meet your family’s needs.”
“And no expense,” said Astarion with a raised brow, “it would seem.” Still absorbing the cost and the unexpected extravagance of the vehicle, he turned his head slightly towards the sound of the dwarf’s voice. “I must admit, it sounds as though you’ve outdone yourself. Though I’ll have to take your word on the visuals, I’m certain it’s quite the sight to behold.”
Standing behind the Ancuníns, Lúthia and Gale exchanged smiles. Tavriel squeezed Astarion’s arm, glancing back at their companions.
“It’s remarkable, isn’t it?”
“A finer conveyance I never did see,” admitted Gale cheerfully. Though he turned slightly to Lúthia to add, “Though I don’t think it quite surpasses a swift teleportation.”
Lúthia smirked, chiding him. “Master Dekarios, although you possess great wizarding skill, magic, as you know, has its limitations.”
“Oh, come now, Gale!” Astarion called out with a grin. “Where’s your sense of adventure? Or did you leave it behind in your tower back in Waterdeep with your cat?”
“Tara,” Gale pointedly corrected, “is a tressym, not just a cat.”
“A glorified cat with wings and an attitude, to be clear. Now. My love,” Astarion turned to his wife with a grin. “Lead me to this expensive contraption. I think it’s time my daughter and I take a closer look.”
Tavriel nudged him with her elbow. “ Our daughter.”
Groaning, Astarion dramatically rolled his head. “Ugh, if I must share.”
Astarion’s playful reply elicited a soft laugh from Tavriel as she gently guided him toward the wagon. “Alas, you must,” she emphasized with a smile, squeezing his arm affectionately. “And I believe she’s just as eager as you are to explore our new home on wheels.”
As they approached the doors of the wagon, Torin Bronzehammer stood back with a proud grin, watching the family inspect his handiwork. The sunlight gleamed off the polished ironwood, and the intricate silver leaf carvings seemed to catch the light just so, giving the wagon a radiant and mesmerizing appearance.
Tav carefully guided her husband up the steps, the end of his staff grazing the edges until it reached the level floor at the threshold.
Astarion, still holding Selene, felt his staff gingerly tugged out of his grasp, freeing his hand so that Tav could guide his touch to the back doors. Running his fingers over the cool metal latch, he could appreciate the expert craftsmanship behind its sturdy design. A thrill of excitement coursed through him, and he instinctively hugged Selene closer, her soft weight a reassuring presence in the unfamiliar space.
“Feel that, my little star?” he murmured, his voice a rumble of shared delight. “Our very own adventure awaits!”
“Shall we?” Tavriel laughed, anticipation lacing her voice as she opened the wide double doors, allowing them to step inside. “Your staff fastens securely on the wall to the left, love.” Taking his hand, she positioned the staff in a leather holder on the floor and assisted him in finding the straps along the wall. “You won’t need it while we’re inside the wagon, I imagine.”
Astarion, his fingers lingering on the leather straps that would securely hold his staff, nodded slightly. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips as he allowed Tavriel to guide his hand away from the staff and further into the wagon. “Though it’s always a bit unnerving to be without it. I’ll have to rely on you to keep me from bumping into things.”
The beautiful song of Tavriel’s laughter, soft and delicate, filled the wagon and warmed Astarion’s heart. “Don’t worry, my love,” she assured him, her hand finding his once more. “I’ll be your eyes, as always.”
She guided him further into the wagon, using her voice to vividly describe the interior that he couldn’t see. “The walls are lined with smooth, polished wood, with carvings of leafy vines and moons in different phases,” she said, her fingers tracing the intricate carvings that adorned the panels. “There’s a comfortable bench on each side, which can be converted into beds for the night. And at the back, there’s our own private haven, a spacious bed with plenty of room for all three of us.”
Astarion nodded, his senses absorbing the information. He could feel the warmth of the wood against his skin, the subtle textures of the carvings beneath his fingertips. The air was filled with the scent of fresh timber and leather, a comforting blend that hinted at the adventures to come.
His touch lingered on the carved Ancunín crest at the headboard wall of their bed. “A haven, indeed. A little piece of home.”
A soft coo from Selene broke the silence of the moment, as she reached out with her tiny hand, seemingly wanting to touch the crest herself. Astarion laughed softly, guiding her little fingers over the shape of the crescent moon, tracing along the edges of the curled petals of the rose in its curved cradle.
“This is our family’s mark,” he whispered to his daughter, his voice full of love. “A symbol of where we come from, and the future we’re building together.”
Selene babbled in response, her bright eyes wide with wonder. Unable to help himself, Astarion peppered her downy head with playful kisses, eliciting peals of laughter that swelled his heart.
With a contented sigh, he turned back to Tav. “And what about Selene?” he asked in a gentle murmur. “Where is her little nest?”
Tavriel guided his hand towards the foot of their bed, where a cleverly concealed drawer slid open with a smooth click. “Right here, my love,” she said, her voice filled with pride. “A cozy little crib, just for her.”
Astarion’s fingers traced the soft lining of the crib and the downy mattress, grateful for Lyran’s impeccable attention to detail. He could almost imagine Selene nestled within, her tiny form surrounded by warmth and comfort.
Selene, who had been quietly observing everything around her, suddenly chirped in agreement, her tiny hand reaching out to touch the edge of the crib as well. “Ba!” she exclaimed, her voice full of curiosity.
“Ba?” echoed Astarion with a mirthful laugh. “So close, my sweet one. Maybe try ‘pa’? Can you say ‘pa’? ‘Papa’?”
Tav smirked at the hint of hope her husband’s tone held, desperate and innocent. “She’ll get there soon, love.”
Once an unbeating thing, Astarion’s heart practically danced with the rhythm of life, palpitating endlessly in the joy of listening to Selene’s soft babbling. It was almost enough to forget he had been an entirely different creature not four years before. He wouldn’t trade it for anything, and would protect the preciousness of it all with his last breath. Pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, he breathed in the delicate lavender of her wispy hair.
“And when she does,” he whispered with a smile, “I promise I will never tire of hearing it.”
The wagon creaked with the arrival of new occupants, the first announcing themselves boisterously, causing both Tav and Astarion to straighten in surprise.
“Well, this is indeed quite grand, my lord,” said Lúthia, helping herself to one of the convertible benches and immediately launching into an inspection of her own to find a suitable spot for her pack.
“It’s quite exciting, isn’t it? Traveling in a wagon as large as this,” said Gale, stepping inside after her. “Oh, look, there’s a sink under this cutting board. How clever. I might try my hand at some rustic culinary experiments while we’re at it. Might as well make the most of what promises to be quite the journey.”
Tavriel chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’m sure you’ll create masterpieces, Gale,” she teased. “Though I do hope they’re edible this time.”
Gale feigned offense, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “I’ll have you know that I have a collection of cook books back in my tower with an exhaustive breadth of variety in cuisine. My culinary skills are not to be underestimated,” he retorted, a playful glint in his eyes. “Remember the delicious stew I conjured in the Underdark? A true test to my resourcefulness and ingenuity.”
Astarion scoffed, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “A test you failed, if I recall. Resourceful, perhaps,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But let’s not get carried away with the ‘delicious’ part.”
“You’ve never even tried my cooking, Astarion. Not since you’ve regained a mortal’s palate, anyway.”
“Oh, I await with bated breath.”
Through the wagon’s open windows, the sound of another horse’s canter could be heard from outside. Wyll’s voice drifted in with the morning breeze.
“Everyone settled in? Best we get moving to make camp before nightfall.”
Karlach bounded up to the driver’s seat, settling her pack and axe beneath her feet. “I’m ready! Let’s get this show on the road.” She reached her hand down to Lyran, pulling the half-elf up to sit beside her. “Your first real adventure, Lyran. No Underdark or Zhentarim this time.”
“And to Candlekeep, no less,” answered Lyran, settling into the seat, situated above the heads of the horses before them. Their precipice gave them a great, lofty view of the road ahead, and Lyran couldn’t contain his grin. “I’ve always dreamed of this. Traveling with a real adventuring party, just like in the stories! The forests, the stars…and the greatest library in all the realms!”
“Well, let’s hope we don’t get waylaid on the way there, eh?”
“By what?”
With a masterful display of horsemanship, Wyll halted his horse and glanced up at them, his head cocked to the side. “By anything, young Lyran.”
Lyran’s eyes widened. “Anything?”
Karlach and Wyll responded firmly together. “Anything.”
The half-elf instinctively felt for the hilt of his dagger at his belt, turning his head away as his mind reeled through the potential threats they might encounter on the road. Karlach noticed his consternation, adjusting the reins to one hand in order to clap him on the shoulder with the other.
“Cheer up, Master Lyran! You’ve seen some action now, and we’ve got an expert team on our side. Ain’t nothin’ that’ll beat us on the Sword Coast roads.”
Lyran offered a weak smile, but his apprehension lingered. He turned to glance back at the wagon, through the horizontal window situated just behind the driver’s seat.
Astarion, hearing Lyran’s unease through the glass, raised his voice. “Don’t fret, Lyran,” he called out, his tone a mix of reassurance and playful mockery. “I’m sure even the fiercest of beasts will tremble at the sight of your… formidable dagger.”
“Say,” said Karlach, her orange eyes glancing curiously at the silver dagger on Lyran’s belt. “I think know that dagger. Fancy filigree on that weapon.”
“Oh, yes,” said Lyran, pulling out the dagger, showing it proudly so that the silver glinted brightly along the curling lines of the hilt, wrapped around a line of light blue gems that seemed to glow in the sun. “A gift from Astarion. He said it was a Sussur Dagger.”
For a moment, Karlach seemed to balk, but quickly schooled her expression into a silent grin. Lyran caught the look, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. “What?”
Karlach said nothing, continuing to grin. Wyll, who had been listening from a polite distance, grinned as well, a hand casually propped on his thigh, reigns held in the other, as he led his horse ahead of the caravan, laughing in his retreat.
Lyran, still holding the dagger aloft, frowned at their reactions. “What’s so funny?” he asked, a note of genuine confusion in his voice.
“Oh, nothing, lad,” Karlach said, her grin widening. “Just memories. That dagger has a bit of a…history, wouldn’t you say, Astarion?” she called out.
From inside the wagon, Astarion’s voice drifted through the open window. “Indeed it does,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. “A rather…memorable history.”
Lyran’s curiosity was piqued. “What happened?” he asked, eager to learn more about the weapon’s past.
Karlach let out a soft laugh, her eyes gleaming mischievously. “Let’s just say,” she began, “that dagger has a way of silencing those who underestimate it.” She winked at Lyran. “Just like its owner,” she added, her voice filled with a playful admiration for Astarion.
A blush spread across Lyran’s face, even as he felt a surge of pride. He had always felt a bit out of place, a young half-elf thrust into a world of experienced adventurers. But now, with this dagger in his hand, he felt a surge of confidence, a belief that he, too, could make a difference.
He carefully sheathed the dagger, its silver hilt gleaming in the sunlight. He had a lot to live up to, but he was determined to prove himself worthy of the trust Astarion had placed in him. Making a promise to himself, he vowed to be more than just a tag-along; he would be a valuable member of the team, a force to be reckoned with.
The wagon, now filled with the warmth of companionship and the anticipation of the unknown, creaked and swayed as everyone settled their belongings and took their seats.
Karlach took the reins. The two powerful draft horses, their muscles rippling beneath their glossy coats, snorted and stamped their hooves, eager to embark on their journey. With a flick of the reins and a hearty “Hyah!”, she urged the horses forward. The wagon lurched into motion, its wheels carving a new path through the dirt road that led south towards Candlekeep.
Inside the wagon, Astarion settled onto the bed with Tavriel beside him, pulling Selene close to nestle comfortably between them. “What do you think, starlight?” he asked, his voice a low rumble of fondness. “Ready for an adventure?”
Selene, her eyes focused on her father’s face, reached out a tiny hand, her fingers brushing against his cheek. “Pa!” she exclaimed, followed by a delighted gurgle.
Astarion’s breath caught in his throat, surprise and with a surge of joy flooding through him.
“Did you hear that?” he whispered, his voice trembling through an airy, nervous laugh. “She said it!”
“Oh, my clever little sprite!” Tavriel beamed, leaning down and making Selene giggle with a barrage of her mother’s kisses. “You did it!”
The elven parents celebrated the joy of their daughter’s rapid growth and learning together, as Gale and Lúthia exchanged amused smiles, watching from their seats along the wagon’s benches.
The wagon rolled on, carrying them towards Candlekeep along the Coast Way Road, with the echoes of Selene’s first word lingering sweetly in the air.