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astarionbraiinrot · 5 months ago

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Last Call

Chapter 3: Awaiting

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An exciting and inspiring future awaits you beyond the noise in your mind, beyond the guilt, doubt, fear, shame, insecurity, and heaviness of the past you carry around.

– Debbie Ford

The plan had been to tell everyone once the Netherbrain was defeated. To find somewhere they could celebrate that they’d all somehow, miraculously, survived, and then liven up the party a little more with the news that they’d soon have a new member joining their little group of weirdos.

But then the tadpoles were gone, and everything had gone to utter shit.

He’d started burning in the setting sun, and had stood there frozen in shock until the sound of everyone screaming at him to run and a shove from Minthara had him fleeing for the shadow of some nearby crates to avoid burning to death. At the same time, Karlach’s engine had finally given out, flames flaring high as she collapsed on the dock, and Tav was convincing Karlach to return to Avernus in Wyll’s company until they could find a solution for her heart. Then Lae’zel was insisting to a newly-Mindflayered Orpheus that he be the one to lead the Githyanki rebellion for now, that she would fight Vlaakith’s armies here in Faerun, and Shadowheart was begging Gale to return the Crown of Karsus to Mystra instead of claiming it for himself because they did not need another damned god to deal with, Gale.

Tav and their friends had found him once everything was over, and he’d been in a sorry state. After so long of being able to walk in the sun unharmed, the combination of the pain from his injuries and the sorrow of his loss had him shivering and mentally distancing himself from his body as he did his best to hide himself in the shadows. Without the tadpole, potions and healing magic no longer worked on him, and while he’d heal and be back to normal with enough blood and a few days’ rest, he’d already been injured from the fight, and the sun’s damage was extensive. The left side of his face had gotten the worst of it, he couldn’t see out of that eye at all, and he was pretty sure most of his ear had burned away. The vision in his right eye was blurry and blacked out in spots, and he could feel where the burns extended down his neck, arms, and torso. Add to that a couple stab wounds and lacerations courtesy of the Netherbrain’s minions, and a rather nasty burn down his back, ribs, and leg from that stupid dragon, and it was clear he wasn’t in any condition to move himself anywhere. So, once the sun had fully set, they’d slowly helped shuffle Astarion back to their suite in the Elfsong, which had miraculously survived nearly unscathed.

Once he was in his bed, what remained of their party went to the sitting area to give him some space while they passed around the last of their potions and those who knew any healing spells used what little magic they had left to get everyone back as close to whole as they could get.

Meanwhile, Halsin, and Jaheira had gotten to work on treating him with mundane medicine which, while less effective than it would be for a mortal, would still help to at least soothe some of the more minor injuries and keep the major ones from worsening until his vampiric healing could kick in. Halsin had quickly become his favorite person, feeding him some concoction of an herbal paste mixed with blood (and, he suspected, a not-insubstantial amount of opium of all things). It had tasted horrible, but it had also left him feeling very little of his body and very much like he was floating somewhere in the Astral Sea, which was when he’d discovered that he was not nearly as resistant to whatever drugs Halsin had just given him as he was to alcohol, because the sigh of relief he’d released was accompanied by a limp and poorly-aimed pat of Halsin’s cheek and a rather earnest promise of undying fealty, which had garnered a laugh from both of the healers and Tav as Halsin had gently caught his hand and started wrapping his burns.

When he’d had use of his hands again, he’d fumbled around a bit before successfully grabbing Jaheira’s wrist and quietly insisted she check on Tav. She’d laid a hand in his hair, calling him “cub” as she assured him that Halsin already had, and both Tav and the baby were as safe and healthy as could be expected, and that he was her patient today. He’d finally relaxed at that, sinking back into the mattress and concluding that maybe things could be okay for a bit while he got some sleep. Actual sleep. He’d earned it. As he felt himself start to drift, he’d whispered to Jaheira that he rather liked when she called him cub, but please not to tell the others, which had made Tav laugh again.

He liked when Tav laughed. He hoped he’d hear it more now that they wouldn’t be fighting for their lives every day.

He hoped their child laughed like her.

Jaheira had patted his cheek, and he couldn’t see her face clearly, but it had sounded like she was smiling as she told him to get some rest. He decided that, just this once, he wouldn’t argue, and let himself slip into dreams.

── ･✩*₊˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖₊*✩･ ──

The next month had practically flown by. It had taken him nearly a tenday to heal completely, but eventually he was as whole and hale as an undead person could be. They’d kept their suite in the Elfsong during that time, and he’d mostly slept through the first several days. Everyone else had followed his shining example and also taken a couple days to rest and heal, because they’d already saved the city, it could damned well look after itself for a bit. But, Heroes of Baldur’s Gate that they were, they’d gradually found themselves helping with cleanup and rebuilding efforts around the city, or in Gale’s case, gathering the pieces of the Crown from the Chionthar so he could reforge it and return it to Mystra.

But, as plans were made and supplies gathered, their room got a little emptier each day as one by one they said goodbye to their friends.

Though most of them were going far, several of their friends were still staying nearby. Jaheira’s family was in the city, and she’d promised her children she’d stay close to home for the foreseeable future. Shadowheart had purchased a little cottage in the woods a few days’ travel from Rivington, taking the owlbear cub, Owlfonso, with her. Minsc was presumably around somewhere, patrolling the sewers and irritating Nine-Fingers. Which had left Astarion and Tav as the final occupants of the little suite over the Elfsong that had been their home since they’d arrived in Baldur’s Gate two months ago.

They’d returned the keys to Alan earlier that evening, striking out with their packs and a rented cart to carry the few bags of items they’d acquired over their journey, and eventually found themselves standing at the base of the steps leading up to the front porch of what was, astonishingly, their new home.

It wasn’t grand, by any means, but it was in decent condition, located just on the edge of Rivington with easy access to the nearby forest for hunting and only a stone’s throw from the Lower City. Two stories, yellow-painted wood with white trim, a brown stone base, and a dark-brown shingle roof. The covered front porch was made of sturdy light wood and had a bench swing attached to the ceiling, and the windows all had flower boxes and shutters that were the same dark blue as the front door. There were garden beds out front at the base of the porch, and the backyard held a large oak in one corner. All of this surrounded by a white wooden fence with a little gate, with room enough for Scratch and a little one to play. It was all very twee, and Tav had fallen in love with it the moment she’d seen it. The widow who’d owned it was wanting to move to Neverwinter to live with her son, and had been more than happy to sell it to a “lovely young couple” for a fair price.

Inside was rather more bare. They’d ordered a few pieces of furniture to be delivered, but it wouldn’t arrive until the following day, so other than a couple items the previous owner had left behind, the whole of their worldly possessions currently rested in their backpacks. The front door opened into a little entryway with a small closet that contained several coat hooks and a shoe rack to leave their boots on. Through there was the living room that held a comfortable, if ugly, couch, and a stone fireplace, and nothing else. The entrance to the kitchen was to the left (empty except for the stove and ice box), and that led into the dining room (also empty), which led back into the living room (still empty except for the couch). There was another door that led to the backyard, and stairs that lead to the second floor.

The second floor had a hallway that led past three rooms, one of which would eventually be their child’s bedroom, and a bathroom, and ended at the door to the master bedroom, which didn’t have a single stitch of furniture in it, but did have an ensuite bathroom with a bathtub large enough to fit himself and Tav with room to spare.

They hauled in the few bags of items they had, at least half of which was heavy curtains to block out the sun, and set about making sure Astarion wouldn’t turn to ashes come morning. Once all the curtains were hung, they lit a fire in the living room fireplace, and started making a list of things they’d need to fill their new home, top of the list being a bed and copious blankets, since the weather had started turning cooler with the arrival of fall. Later, as dawn broke outside, with no dishes, no cookware, no table, and no chairs, they ate their first meal in their new home (sheep’s blood for him, a sandwich for her) sat on their bedrolls, which they’d laid out in the living room by the fireplace.

Halfway through their dinner, Tav had stopped eating and made a face, eyebrows furrowed and hand dropping to rest over her womb. He’d immediately gone on high alert, worry plain on his face and questions on his tongue. Was she well? Was something wrong? Should he run for a doctor? But she’d merely held up her other hand and quietly shushed him, a look of concentration on her face, seemingly waiting for something. After another minute, whatever she’d been waiting for had apparently happened, because she’d broken out in a nervous grin, her eyes sparkling in delight. I think it’s them, she’d said, hand still laying over where their child rested. It’s like… a flutter. Almost like there’s a little fish moving about.

She’d laughed at him when he pulled a face at her description. Fish, in his opinion, were already gross enough on their own, all slimy scales and flopping about, and he found himself mildly disturbed at the idea of a fish wiggling around inside him. Disgusting.

He reached over, laying his hand atop hers. He couldn’t feel the child’s movements yet, Tav had only just passed her fourth month, the slight swell of her middle barely noticeable, but he could feel his nerves losing the battle to his wonder at the idea that there was an actual little person in there.

They’d spent the rest of their dinner with Tav holding his hand as it lay on her stomach, her moving their hands occasionally to rest over wherever she felt the next little flutter.

It was the best meal he’d ever had.

── ･✩*₊˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖₊*✩･ ──

By the next month, two months post-brain and five months into her pregnancy, what had previously been a “slight swell” to Tav’s middle that was easily hidden under even her more snug tops had, seemingly overnight, become a very pronounced rounding. A theoretical future-person all-to-quickly becoming an undeniable fact. There was no hiding her condition now, considering she looked like she was smuggling a small sunmelon under her shirt. Not that they were trying to hide it, per say. They just… hadn’t gotten around to telling any of their friends yet. At first, with all the upset of Karlach’s and Wyll’s departure to Avernus, his injuries, and helping to clean up the city, there had just never been a good time. Then most of their party had basically scattered to the four winds, and it hadn’t seemed like the sort of news one announces in a letter of all things. And they hadn’t told their local friends because they didn’t think it was fair for only some of them to know. They couldn’t play favorites after all!

Luckily, while letters exchanged with their companions were a frequent occurrence, no one had yet posed the idea of seeing each other in person, presumably because they were all still getting settled into their post-tadpole lives. Also two of them were in Hell.

This had worked out perfectly in their favor, except for the fact that the lack of available local associates who could be cajoled into helping with small tasks was how he’d ended up in his current predicament, covered head to toe and wrapped in an extra thick hooded cloak to ward out the cold, wet, and sun, trudging his way through the sleet and slush of a mid-day autumn storm to what would now be the fourth merchant in the Lower City in search of the specific snacks his darling paramour had requested. Or, rather, according to her when she’d shaken him awake from the depths of his Trance, the specific snacks his (and only his, at the moment) offspring was requesting.

She’d asked for olives. And oranges.

Garlic-stuffed olives.

And blood oranges.

In the middle of the day.

In autumn.

Because either Tav, this child, the Fates, or all three, were gods-be-damned comedians and absolutely fucking with him.

Oh, and he mustn’t forget the Waterdhavian cheese. Because Gale had been so kind as to send them a small wheel of the stuff in a package with his letter last week (gods had it smelled), and Tav had taken one test nibble before practically inhaling the rest.

And he was glad that the persistent nausea that had plagued her the last few months had finally lifted so that she could eat without feeling ill, he really was. But an entire wheel of cheese the size of his hand? In one sitting? Leaving aside how insane that was, it couldn’t possibly be healthy, right?

Really, he couldn’t care less what she was eating as long as she was eating and as long as Jaheira was happy at the end of Tav’s monthly appointments. He didn’t even truly mind braving the elements to fulfill her and their child’s strangest requests. The problem this time was that she had exclusively requested items that had to be imported because they weren’t produced in the area, and at least one of them was out of season. Hence his failed visits to the previous three merchants. At this point, he was considering just skipping the merchant he was on his way to now entirely and going straight to the Upper City. The gods only knew how much he’d have to pay for it, but the stores who served the Patriars there were almost guaranteed to have what he was looking for.

Two hours later, he found himself stepping out of what had started as a drizzle and quickly become a downpour and through the doors of Harkon’s General Goods, which was now the eighth shop he’d visited today. Surveying the items available, he decided that he wasn’t going to waste time searching for what he needed and would just ask the damned shopkeep if they had what he was looking for, and if they didn’t, then hopefully the grey slush his boots had dragged in and the puddle he was currently dripping all over the annoyingly-pristine hardwood floor would suffice as a suitable punishment for whoever was in charge of ordering their stock. Which… probably wasn’t the same person as whoever was in charge of mopping the floor, come to think of it, but oh well. He’d already committed to this particular act of pettiness. Too late to go back now.

As luck would have it, they did have garlic stuffed olives, much to his relief. And as bad luck would have it, they had seven different kinds, and Tav hadn’t been specific about exactly what kind of garlic-stuffed olive she wanted. But he’d be damned if he was going to come home with the wrong ones after all this, so he grabbed one jar of each, paused, then grabbed a second jar of each just to be on the safe side. Thankfully, they only had one kind of blood orange, so he got a half dozen of those for good measure and prayed that there was not a secret second kind he was unaware of.

When he brought his items up to the counter, the shopkeeper, presumably the aforementioned Harkon, took a long, silent look at him, cloak soaked through, wet hair hanging limply over his forehead, tired eyes staring blankly, and asked First baby? And when Astarion could only give a weary nod, he put six more oranges in the bag. No charge for the extra, he’d said, adding up the rest of Astarion’s purchase, I’ve got three little ones myself, I know a man on a mission when I see one. With my second, my Missus once sent me out, middle of the night in the dead of winter, to find pineapple of all things. But I figured, hey, she was doing the hard part, so least I could do was find the only winter pineapple in Baldur’s Gate, eh? Astarion nodded along quietly as he counted out coin for the purchase. He had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to find himself back in this shop with an exhausting level of frequency. If I can make a suggestion, mate? Something to keep you on her good side? He made a vague noise of assent that might have sounded something like “please,” genuinely grateful for any first-hand advice he could get, but too cold and tired at this point to be particularly enthusiastic about it.

Which was how he’d ended up arriving home with a bag containing fourteen jars of garlic-stuffed olives, a dozen blood oranges, a small tin of some sort of balm, and what looked to be something like a floppy pillow filled with dried rice and lavender, which had been explained to him as something one could heat up and use to soothe muscle aches and swelling.

After discarding his boots in the entryway and hanging his cloak by the fireplace to dry, he set his bag on the counter and made his way upstairs to change out of his wet clothes, where, upon entering the bedroom, he found Tav in the bed curled up on her side, fast asleep. He watched her for a moment, a fond smile on his face. She’d been doing that more lately, sleeping instead of Trancing. He’d found it concerning at first, still did really, but Jaheira had said it was normal, that the increased demand on Tav’s body meant she’d need deeper rest more frequently, and that by the final month she’d probably be forgoing Trancing entirely in favor of sleeping.

Well, he certainly wasn’t going to wake her. Let sleeping pregnant women lie, or whatever the saying was. Her snacks would keep until she woke.

Instead, he changed back into his sleep clothes and crawled under the blanket to join her in the little pocket of warmth she’d made, shuffling up behind her and wrapping his arms around her, one hand resting on her belly over where he could pinpoint the sound of their child’s heartbeat. It wasn’t often he had something to be thankful for when it came to his vampirism, but this was certainly one thing he was glad it gave him. He could track that sound from across a room now, had memorized it as thoroughly as he had Tav’s. It was faster than hers, quieter, almost fragile, like a little sparrow comfortable in its nest. Something wholly unique to them. There was some variation in the speed of the beats throughout the day, and he thought maybe, with time, he might be able to tell when they were awake and when they were sleeping based on how fast that tiny heart was beating.

He gently rubbed his hand over the space where his child slept, a new habit of his every time he and Tav rested. He couldn’t exactly communicate with them, so he hoped it would convey that, even if he was still more than a little scared out of his mind and wasn’t quite sure he loved them yet, he did care very much about them, and wanted–

Bump. The faintest nudge against his palm.

Startled, he’d retracted his hand. He’d think it was just Tav shifting in her sleep, but he’d have noticed any movement on her part, pressed along her back as he was, and she was out like a light, besides. He laid his hand back to rest on Tav’s middle, holding his breath in anticipation and hoping it wasn’t just his imagination.

A moment, and then another little bump to his hand, eliciting a soft gasp from him.

He quickly slides down, careful not to disturb Tav as he rests his head on the side of her belly, ear pressed to her so he could better hear that strong little thump-thump thump-thump that had become his favorite sound in the last few tendays. Oh, hello there, he whispered, fascination coloring his voice. Is that you, little thing? He received a slightly harder thump to where his cheek was resting in response. Now that’s a cheap shot, darling. Good job, though, never fight fair. “Honorable combat” is for idealists and Wyll, he teased.

He spends the next little while whispering to the child. He tells them bits of their adventure defeating the Absolute (Come to think of it, you’re probably the youngest person to ever fight a Netherbrain, you know), of their strange little family that he hopes he’ll get to introduce them to soon (You’ll adore Karlach, everyone does), how anxious he’s been about their impending arrival (It’s just that… you’ll be so very small, you see… completely helpless… and I’ve never had to be responsible for someone before... I haven’t even been fully responsible for myself an entire year yet…). He occasionally receives more of those tiny nudges, as if they were interjecting their own thoughts into the conversation. Each one made him feel just a little bit lighter, a little bit more like maybe, just maybe, things could possibly work out okay.

Eventually, the frequency of the little thumps tapers off, as if the tiny creature had tired itself out with all that activity. He hears Tav let out a sleepy hum, moving her hand to rest in his hair before quickly falling back into sleep. He pulls her hand to his mouth to press a kiss to her palm and whispers a soft rest well, darling, before laying their clasped hands over where their child rested and whispering an even softer goodnight, little love, feeling himself relax as his eyes closed and he drew closer to re-entering his own rest.

He was just on the edge of Reverie when his eyes flew open as a realization hit him.

He’d forgotten the damned cheese.

── ･✩*₊˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖₊*✩･ ──

A couple months later, he was sitting on the front porch swing, watching the night sky, and definitely not brooding or pouting about having been banished there by Tav for the third time in as many days for the apparently heinous��crime of being an attentive partner, or as Tav had put it, “mother-henning her within an inch of her sanity.” She was now only a tenday out from her due date, and a couple days prior Jaheira had given them a Sending Stone and a list of symptoms to watch out for, saying that most ended up going a little overdue with the first child, but technically, the baby could come at any time now, so Tav should stay close to home and start taking it easy.

Which meant she may as well have hung a giant sign around Tav’s neck that read BABY IMMINENT!!! for how it had put Astarion on High Alert.

Whether by nature, or as a result of his years under Cazador’s tyranny, or some combination of the two, Astarion was an anxious man at heart. He hid it well most of the time, the last two hundred years had made him a master of masking his emotions, but those who knew him best could see right through him as though he were made of glass. And lately, he’d been especially transparent, whether he meant to be or not. If Tav so much as made a concerning noise (and she made a lot of noises these days), he was immediately by her side, asking if she was alright, if the baby was okay, if he should send for Jaheira, or go find a midwife or a healer or a cleric? At first, she had found it endearing, sweet, reassuring even, that he was so concerned. But it had quickly started to wear on her nerves when she couldn’t so much as grunt while heaving herself from a chair without him getting himself worked up over it. So she’d taken to sending him out onto the porch because “maybe some fresh air will calm you down.”

(I know you know I don’t need to breathe, he’d said this time, trying to get her to stop sweeping and go sit down. Go. Outside. Before I sweep you out the door with the rest of the dust, she’d replied through gritted teeth, shaking the broom at him threateningly.)

And so here he sat, staring at the stars, trying to remember the names of the constellations that Halsin had taught them all over the campfire and trying very hard not to think about the fact that, in the very near future, he was going to be a father. That, any day now, he would be responsible for the very existence of another being, and by extension, their happiness, health, and safety. A being so small and fragile that the slightest thing going wrong could spell disaster.

Him.

A vampire.

Hells, six months ago the party wouldn’t even trust him to go shopping alone, lest they come back to see he’d returned with more gold than he left with, a new knife, a warrant for his arrest, and none of the actual items he was meant to purchase. And now, very soon, he was going to be handed an entire infant with nothing more than a “You’re in charge of this, good luck”?? Who came up with this system?? Shouldn’t there be a test, or – or some sort of licensing exam, or something? Before you’re just left in charge of a whole person?

He'd never even held a baby before.

He lets out a sigh as he leans back on the swing, closing his eyes and doing the stupid breathing exercises that Halsin had taught him when they’d been wandering the stupid Underdark and he’d felt like the stupid cavern walls were closing in on him because being surrounded by millions of pounds of stupid rocks hanging over his head had felt far too similar to that stupid tomb he’d been locked in for a year.

He does not think about that nosy old woman from the other day who’d overheard him thanking Harkon for selling them their old crib and had taken it upon herself to oh-so-helpfully impart all her parenting wisdom upon him, such as how he must be careful holding the baby because babies couldn’t hold their own head up and if their head wasn’t supported just right it would injure their spine, and you couldn’t walk away from them ever because if you left them alone for even three seconds they’d roll over and suffocate themselves, and if you ever took them outside in anything less than two layers of clothing, socks, a hat, and a blanket, they’d immediately catch ill, and if they accidentally bumped the soft spot on their head they’d be permanently brain-damaged and it would be all his fault.

(This was also, incidentally, how he’d learned that babies were born with their skulls only partially closed, which was really fucking horrifying actually, and he had only barely stopped himself from letting out a shocked what the FUCK in the woman’s face.)

Horrible old crone. If nothing else, though, the encounter had served to show him just how very unprepared he still was about the entire situation. Oh sure, they had all the things a baby needed. A cot to put next to the bed while they were still new, a crib in the newly-finished nursery for when they were a bit bigger. Exceptionally tiny clothes and blankets, some made, others purchased, had been laundered, and put away. An impressive number of diaper cloths sat folded and stacked on the changing table, ready for duty. He’d even sewn a stuffed toy for them, a little bat made of a soft white material he’d had leftover, because he’d enjoyed the irony of it.

But he didn’t actually know anything about what to do with the baby once it was here. How was he supposed to know if they were crying because they were hungry or because something was wrong? Tav would be doing all the feeding until they could eat real food (and when would that happen?), so he’d be in charge of whatever came out the other end, but he didn’t have the foggiest idea how one changed a diaper. How did you give a baby a bath if you needed both hands to hold them so they didn’t drown? He wasn’t even confident he knew how to hold them correctly in order to avoid injuring their apparently exceedingly-fragile necks. What the hells was he even doing?

A sudden weight next to him on the swing lets him know that Tav has joined him, presumably having tired of her sweeping, sitting sideways to face him as she rests her feet in his lap. Without thinking, or even opening his eyes, he starts massaging some of the swelling from her ankles.

You’re letting your brain spin again, she tells him, humming as he digs a thumb into the arch of her foot. It’s going to be fine. People do this every day, and we killed a Netherbrain, so I’m sure we can handle one infant. He lets out a deep sigh. They’d had this conversation several times over the last few tendays, whenever he started thinking about what life would be like once the baby was here and his mind would decide to show some initiative and helpfully compile a little list of all the ways he was going to royally fuck this up.

He cracks an eye open and looks at her, leaned back on one of the throw pillows they keep on the swing, eyes closed, one hand tucked behind her head, the other resting on her middle. She looks relaxed right now, which is good. He knows she’s been increasingly uncomfortable the last month or so, mostly due to the fact that she looks as though she may burst if she so much as breathed too deeply. He hadn’t really ever paid attention to expectant mothers before, so he didn’t have much of a reference, but he was pretty sure Tav must be setting some sort of record at this point.

The little one had shown itself to be quite the acrobat as of late, and apparently terribly irritated at their shrinking accommodations. Poor Tav has been dealing with endless variations of positions from the little beast in her belly. Tiny feet pressing up into her lungs. Hard punches to her ribs. A head pressed into her bladder. Nightly tap-dancing sessions that kept her from resting.

She reaches for him, and he takes her hand in his, placing a soft kiss on the back. You’re going to be fine, she says, we’re going to be fine. It’s just a baby. They don’t even do anything for the first couple months. Whatever we don’t know, we’ll learn together. And besides, unlike that egg of Lae’zel’s, at least ours won’t come out with teeth. …Probably.

He can’t help but smile at that, and it does make him feel a little better to know she’s going into this just as blind as he is. At least they’ll be floundering together. He stands, taking her other hand as well and helping her up so they can head inside. The early spring chill is still a bit too cold at night to be comfortable for long. Once they’re in the living room, he pulls her into an embrace, arms wrapped tightly around her and face tucked into the crook of her neck. She holds him back just as tightly, until the little one starts up its evening calisthenics, and he has to back away with a laugh after a particularly vicious kick hits his front, knocking a small oof out of Tav.

It's only then that his eyes land on an envelope sat atop the fireplace mantle. Curious, he walks over to retrieve it. It’s nice, the envelope made of quality parchment in a cream color, his and Tav’s names written across the front in a fine, looping script. What’s that? And how did it get there? Tav asks, and he shrugs as he hands it to her.

Tav breaks the seal on the envelope, pulling out a short letter written on a sheet of the same heavy parchment. Her brow furrows in concentration as she reads, until her eyes light up and she breaks out into a wide grin.

It seems we’ve been invited to a party, my love.

── ･✩*₊˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖₊*✩･ ──

The argument had been going, off and on, for almost a tenday now.

We’re going, Tav would say.

Absolutely not, He’d respond.

We haven’t seen them in six months! She’d argue.

You are due to have a baby in less than six days! He’d counter.

It’s not even that far, we’ll take a teleportation circle! She’d bargain, packing their travel bags.

Jaheira said to stay close to home! He’d remind her, unpacking those same bags.

The same script, every time, with little variation.

Until this morning, when she’d crossed her arms, the gleam of victory in her eyes as she’d delivered a death blow to his protests with Jaheira’s going too.

Because, well, he didn’t really have an argument against that, now did he?

So now he was stood, just after sunset, sandwiched between Tav, Scratch, and Jaheira in the teleportation circle that would take them to their old camp site near the Nautiloid crash, with what even he would admit was likely a very sour look on his face.

Jaheira loops her arm through his, leaning in conspiratorially. Cheer up, cub, she whispers to him, patting his elbow mockingly. You gave it a valiant attempt, I am sure.

── ･✩*₊˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖₊*✩･ ──

He had braced himself for a number of potential reactions from their friends upon their arrival. Fond greetings, certainly. Hugging, possibly. Maybe even tears.

What he had not expected was the deafening silence as every eye in the clearing landed on them, punctuated only by a quiet What the fuck? courtesy of, surprisingly, Wyll, as their friends all became aware of the very unsubtle extra passenger in their arrival party.

He was also not prepared for the noise that followed, coming from every direction, as nine people and an owlbear started shrieking at an obscene volume.

(Gods, he’d missed these weirdos)

Tav, for her part, had merely turned to him with wide eyes and whispered a surprised Oh, right. I forgot they didn’t know. Which was just absurd enough that he couldn’t help but laugh as he took her hand and led her towards the group.

Karlach had been the first to break ranks, wrapping Tav in as tight a hug as she dared, before grabbing her by the shoulders with an exuberant Holy shit, soldier! When did this happen? Tav at least had the good grace to look a little contrite when she replied About nine months ago? That had kicked off a round of increasingly loud questions and some shouting as those gathered started doing the math and realized what that meant.

He noticed a smirking Shadowheart hold out a hand to Gale, palm up, getting an eyeroll and five gold in response, before she moved to the table to pour herself a glass of wine. Catching Tav’s eye, he received a nearly-imperceptible nod from her, before kissing her on the cheek and extricating himself from the tangle of people surrounding them and making his way over to join the cleric.

So tell me, little brother, what have you been up to these past few months? Anything exciting? She asked, an eyebrow raised, taking a sip from her wine as she offered him a glass of his own.

Oh, dear sister, nothing much. Hiding from the sun, petty crime, draining the occasional criminal. The usual, he replied cooly, accepting the drink.

They stared at each other for a very impressive thirty seconds, before both broke down in laughter and met in a fond hug.

He and Shadowheart had grown quite close to each other over the course of their journey. Early on, they’d bonded over a mutual love of spending evenings lounging on the pillows outside his tent with a bottle of wine and gossiping about their other companions. Later, they’d found solace in having someone who could understand being stolen away at a young age from a life they could no longer remember, and being subjected to years of torment for forever failing to meet the impossible standards they’d been held to. He had, jokingly at first, started referring to her as “sister” after he’d spent an entire night helping her change her hair to its current platinum white. She’d merely rolled her eyes at him every time, until she’d found out that he’d only been thirty-nine when he was turned and started mockingly referring to him as “little brother” in return.

(He’d been the one to hold her while she broke down in guilt and grief over her parents’ deaths after she’d freed herself from Shar. She’d been the one to wash the blood from his hands and face while Tav took care of his hair when he’d been near-catatonic in the hours after killing Cazador.)

You should’ve said something, she says, giving him a light swat to the shoulder as they make their way to rejoin the others. His response that they’d meant to, but it had sort of… gotten away from them, just earns him a snort and an elbow to the ribs.

── ･✩*₊˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖₊*✩･ ──

The rest of the evening is spent doing his best to stick as close to Tav as he can in order to keep an eye on her (for her sake, and definitely not to quell his own nerves), while also avoiding being accused of doing exactly that. Mostly he accomplishes this by periodically bringing her plates of food or cups of water as an excuse to check on her. Several times throughout the night he looks over and catches her, Jaheira, Shadowheart, and even Halsin at one point, seemingly deep in whispered conversation. Once, Shadowheart gives him a smirk when he approaches them that he knows for a fact means she knows something he doesn’t, accompanied by a wink that makes him feel an awful lot like it’s something he’d very much like to know.

Everything seems fine, though. Tav keeps accepting the plates and drinks he brings her. There’s a few times where her face twists into a grimace, or she sucks in a quick inhale through her teeth, but she just tells him it’s nothing but a twinge in her back, or the baby giving a harder kick than usual, then shoos him away after a minute or so, telling him there’s no need to spend the whole night watching over her, and oh, has he talked to Tara yet, because he’d so enjoy meeting her. He is, rightfully so in his opinion, deeply suspicious that something is being hidden from him. But his attempts to glean some sort of clue about just what exactly that may be all fail completely, her look of wide-eyed sincerity giving nothing away.

(And, very much to his annoyance, she’s right. Tara is an utter delight and he spends almost an hour speaking with her.)

Once the evening starts winding down, he makes his way back to Tav in order to ask her if she has any preference on where their tent goes. He finds her on the very edge of the campsite, hunched over and groaning, one hand being used to brace herself against Halsin, the other holding Shadowheart’s in a white-knuckled death grip, with Jaheira encouraging her to breathe.

He breaks into a sprint with a shout, immediately peppering the three healers with questions once he reaches them. Jaheira holds up a hand to silence him, then for the second time, manages to make his lungs stop working with nothing more than the power of a single sentence.

She is fine, cub. It is just going to be a long night. It seems someone has decided to invite themself to Withers’ little party.

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