#charasaad

"Mum!" he cried joyfully. "You're back!"

"So I am," she replied with a laugh before kissing the top of his steely-haired head. This was much harder than it used to be, she noted. He was getting taller. Had her older children been this tall when they were 12? Goodness, how quickly time seemed to pass. "I hope everyone's been behaving themselves."

"Of course! I've been reading a book about famous swashbucklers, and Zaheir and I have been trying to reenact a story about Jarlaxle Baenre."

"Your father and I met Jarlaxle once, you know."

"What!? Really!?" A look of awe and astonishment had come across Anaz's face, and he seemed just about ready to start vibrating with excitement. Syrin turned him around and started walking with him to the house.

"Tell you what. If you make me a flower crown of moon phlox and blue heather, I will tell you the story after supper."

"On it!" Without another word, Anaz went tearing off across the field, looking for the right flowers. Syrin estimated that it would take him enough time that he'd be occupied for about an hour, and she knew quite well how much her youngest son needed something to do at all times. His twin, Zaheir, was older by about two minutes, but acted as though he was two years older, and he couldn't have a more different personality. This was perfectly illustrated by the fact that Zaheir patiently waited by the garden wall for her to come to him, a much more reserved smile on his young face. He carefully leaned his stick up against the stones before embracing her when she approached.

"How are your lessons going?" she asked him after kissing the top of his head.

"Very well. Father taught us how to block a punch the other day. It was very exciting." The boy's tone did not sound especially excited, but Syrin knew that if he said he was, then he was.

"Welcome home, Mum," she heard a deeper voice say, and she looked over to see that her eldest had risen from his place in the grass. He was 16 and already as tall as his father, so he had to bend to kiss her cheek when he came over to her. He also ruffled Zaheir's short hair, and the younger boy made an annoyed face at him in return.

"It's good to be back. I missed you all so much." Syrin hugged both boys tightly as she said this, eliciting the groans of being squeezed. "Speaking of, where are your sisters?"

"Dynaheir is trying out Dad's lentil soup recipe and Narizel is resting. She, er, had a busy day."

"Dynaheir kicked Khalid out of the kitchen because he cut the carrots wrong," Zaheir chimed in, earning him instant rage from his elder brother.

"Snitches get stitches!" Khalid snapped and grabbed at Zaheir, who immediately started booking it in the direction Anaz had gone earlier, perhaps thinking he could get backup from his twin. Khalid made to go after him, but Syrin held him back.

"Khalid. Calm yourself."

"But he-"

"I will speak to him and to Dynaheir later. But right now, I need you to remember that you are bigger and stronger than him and retaliating against him will not change his behaviour and will only make him fear you. If he fears you, he will not trust you." Syrin had been telling him variations of this for as long as he'd had siblings, and she would keep reminding him until he learned to master himself. His capacity for vengeful anger was something he'd inherited from both sides of his bloodline, but thankfully, he had the benefit of both his parents' hard-won wisdom on the matter.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry." Khalid took a few deep breaths, and Syrin offered him a reassuring smile.

"If you go chop some firewood until supper, I will show you a new sword stance tomorrow," she offered, and he perked up.

"Sounds good!" Giving her one last little hug, he eagerly strode off around the back of the house. She watched him go and stood with her hands on her hips for a moment, quite satisfied with herself at her ability to keep so many sons in order. Of course, it helped a great deal that they were all sweet-natured at their core and just needed a little bit of direction. Her eldest daughter was much the same.

She found Dynaheir, as promised, in the kitchen. Her long steely hair was tied up in a bun as she flitted about, preparing soup and looking rather stressed. She was only 15 and already she was trying to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"Need help with anything, dear?" Syrin asked, and the girl almost dropped the celery stick she was holding in surprise as she looked up.

"Oh! Hello! I didn't realize you were back. I, er, I've got things under control, thanks. It's just soup."

"I hear you kicked Khalid out of the kitchen for cutting the carrots wrong."

"Who cuts carrots into strips for soup!? And besides, he was getting in the way." It was clear now that she wasn't just stressed, she was moody, but that wasn't an excuse for snapping at her brother.

"So Khalid isn't the best cook, but a few sub-optimally shaped carrots isn't a reason to blow up at someone. You know how much he tries to be useful, and I think you hurt his feelings."

"I...I know, it's just...I'm close to my cycle, and Narizel had a bit of a day, and I wanted her to have her favourite soup, so I really need it to not be rubbish and...and..." Dynaheir started gesturing emotively as she spoke and Syrin put a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"Okay, okay, take a deep breath. Everything will be alright. You're doing a great job. The house smells absolutely lovely. When I find your father, I'll send him in here to help lighten the load, alright?" Syrin told Dynaheir soothingly, and the girl nodded, trying to blink the moisture from her eyes.

"Sure. Thanks, Mum."

"Of course, dear." Syrin affectionately brushed a loose lock of hair behind her daughter's ear before making her way to her youngest child's room. There, she found the little girl sitting in bed, giggling as Rasaad sat on the edge, animatedly telling her a story.

"-and your mother ran up onto the dragon's back, and it burst through the vines, carrying them both high into the sky!"

"How did she get back down?"

"I made the dragon crash," Syrin chimed in, and Narizel's eyes became as big as saucers, lighting up with excitement.

"Mum!" she cried with a little squeak of delight. Syrin wasted no further time in coming over to pull the girl into a gentle hug.

"How are you, my little bluejay? I've been told you had a busy day."

"I had a walk about the garden on my own two feet!"

"That's wonderful!"

"My scar flared a bit and killed some of the strawberry patch, but Dad said you'd be able to fix it when you got home." At this, Syrin's heart broke for Narizel. She'd been making such progress, taking little walks about more an more often, but she loved strawberries and it had undoubtedly been very upsetting for her to see her spellscar destroy them.

It was three years to the day that the Spellplague had begun and Narizel had fallen ill. They had known very early that she had an innate magic about her, creating sparks at as early as two years old, so when the Spellplague had hit the Realms, she'd felt it profoundly. No five year old should ever have to go through that pain, and three years on, it still lingered. She had been marked by this disaster, and it had left her so physically weak that a turn about the garden was a great accomplishment. Syrin found it remarkable that the girl could still be full of so much cheer after being struck with such an affliction.

"Yes, I'll fix it right up, don't you worry," she assured Narizel before pulling back and looking to Rasaad. "Speaking of, I think Dynaheir needs a calming hand in the kitchen."

"Ah, then I shall finish the story later, little one," he promised Narizel, who seemed slightly crestfallen that he had to go, and he reached out to squeeze her little hand before turning to Syrin. "Welcome home, mazha khurruzur." He gave her a quick kiss and departed, leaving Syrin to field Narizel's complaints.

"Aw, just when he was getting to the really exciting part."

"Ah, but the cliffhanger will make it all the more exciting when he tells you the rest."

"I guess. I don't have anything to help me stay awake for supper now, though."

"That tuckered out, are you? That must have been quite the flare with your spellscar." Narizel was already so weak most of the time; it pained Syrin to see her affliction take even more out of her and to watch her try so hard just to do normal things, but it couldn't be helped.

"Yeah, but I think if I sleep for most of tomorrow, I'll be strong enough to play some of the games at the Greengrass festival." Narizel smiled hopefully, and Syrin echoed her.

"I'm sure you will be." Her daughter's green eyes brightened at this reassurance, filling her heart with joy.

"My friend, I believe your hamster is demonstrating that swiftness on Imoen's vegetables," Rasaad informed Minsc, and Boo gave him a dirty look as if to call him a snitch. Minsc gave a small start and retrieved his furry companion for a gentle scolding.

"Thank you, Boo, but friend Imoen needs her vegetables."

"But Minsc, what if they were evil? What if Boo was saving me?" Imoen suggested dramatically, and a look of genuine revelation started to form on his face, but Jaheira was quick to nip this all in the bud before it got out of hand.

"I think not. Eat your vegetables, Imoen." With a resigned sigh, Imoen obeyed this directive, though she still attempted several times to sneak Boo food without Jaheira noticing.

The evening soon devolved from there. Minsc and Anomen decided to have a drinking contest, which they roped Korgan and strangely also Nalia into. Korgan drank them all under the table and proclaimed that they were weak as newborn kittens. Imoen and Aerie got a bit tipsy on their own and started playing Real or Fake with various objects around the bar, which entailed one of them creating an illusory double of an object and the other had to guess which one was fake without touching it. Naturally, this got wilder the more tipsy they became. Syrin brought out her decrepit Talis deck and played a few rounds of Old Wizard with Jaheira and Rasaad until Jaheira was forced to go make sure their friends didn't get themselves into too much trouble with their drunken shenanigans.

"I think that's my cue to seek a quieter environment," Syrin commented, starting to get up. Rasaad nodded in agreement.

"If you don't mind, I will join you." She felt a small jolt of excitement at that and carefully stepped over Anomen's passed out form before slipping her hand into Rasaad's and leading up up the stairs to their rented room.

"That's better," Syrin sighed after plopping herself down on the beat up old bed. It was far from blessed silence, considering they were still in a tavern, but it was much quieter, and more importantly, more private. She and Rasaad hadn't been able to be entirely alone together for what seemed like far too long. "It's just you and me tonight. We can do whatever we want." She reached out to him invitingly, and he took her hand, pressing her palm to his lips for a moment before replying.

"And what is it that you want?"

With a smirk, Syrin let herself fall back on the bed and pulled Rasaad down with her.

95. ‘I didn’t know you could sing.’

The Elfsong Tavern in Baldur's Gate was nothing like the tavern back home in Candlekeep, but it was nice enough, as far as Syrin was concerned. She and her friends could be oddballs here without having to suffer too much grime in their ale, and today she felt all kinds of out of sorts. For the past several nights, she'd been plagued by particularly horrifying dreams, and between the sleep deprivation and raw trauma, she was pretty eager to get some alcohol in her system tonight.

Usually alcohol made her quiet and absentminded or sad, but the base emotion it enhanced in her this night was altogether different. She became careless and brazen and was getting on top of their table to lead the whole tavern in a number of songs. Imoen excitedly joined in. Jaheira sat with her face in her palm. Khalid fretted over her potentially losing her footing and injuring herself, though she seemed to save herself every time she got close. Neera watched the chaos with delight but didn't fully join in, since she didn't know the words to half of the songs. Rasaad simply gazed in astonishment at Syrin and neither sang nor said anything.

When she'd finally tired herself out and clambered back down to slump in her chair, all of the "I don't care anymore" that she'd put into her singing was gone, and she'd become a drowsy, melancholic lump. She had no idea how much time had passed before she realized that she'd been leaning heavily on Rasaad's shoulder, although he didn't appear to mind.

"I did not know you could sing," he told her quietly as she hummed one of the earlier tunes halfheartedly against his collar.

"Of course I can sing. I grew up in a monastery."

"I suppose that's fair, but I suppose I assumed Candlekeep might be different from the Monastery of the Moon where I grew up, but evidently it's not."

"I knew you'd get it." Syrin punctuated this with a somewhat limp but comradely pat on his chest. "We should...we should go visit sometime. You'd like it there. You could meet Winthrop and I could show you my favourite hiding spot and..." she trailed off into a solemn silence as she started to think about all the wonderful things she'd been ripped away from when she'd left Candlekeep with Gorion.

"Wherever you wish to go, I am happy to go there with you," Rasaad told her gently.