Chapter Text
Every year, on the anniversary of the day the Netherbrain fell, Baldur’s Gate holds an event to mark the occasion. The first year was a fairly subdued affair: focused mostly on commemorating the dead and taking stock of the huge rebuilding effort which was still going on. Neither Tav nor any of the other tadpoled adventurers attended the event, even though they had been invited to speak at the address in The High Hall. They had no desire to revel in praise and thanks when others were still suffering. Besides, they had their own, private, reunion to attend.
In following years, as the city has recovered and once more begun to thrive, the celebrations have become less about commemoration, and more about celebration. Ten years have now passed, and preparations are being made for the latest, and biggest celebration of all. Duke Ravengard has ordered that there will be a full day of celebrations, including an afternoon performance of Volo’s much-anticipated play, The Strange Tale of The Absolute: A Play in Five Parts in Bloomridge Park. Twenty actors from the Outer City and Rivington have been selected to play the parts of key characters. Rolan and Tav attended an early rehearsal and they agreed that the sight of Mirkon, dressed as the Wizard of the Tower, holding hands with a young girl dressed in an embellished replica of Tav’s armour was unexpectedly moving, even if it was completely anachronistic to the actual events as they occurred.
After the play (which, at six hours, will test the resolve of even the most passionate audience member), there is to be a concert led by Alfira and her band, as well as students of The Baldur’s Gate Bardic Academy. The finale of this will feature a magical firework display, launched from Ramezith’s Tower and featuring the Arcane Cannon which had saved Tav’s hide several times on the day of the battle. Rolan is co-ordinating the display, which will be visible from the entire city. He has, of course, spent many hours to ensure everything goes to plan.
Since Withers’ reunion, Tav’s fellow adventurers have always been invited to stay for any subsequent celebrations, and tonight, for the first time since that party, Tav and Rolan are expecting all of them to attend. Usually, a soiree will be held for friends and allies in the Ballroom, and this is just one of many differences to be seen in the life of the Tower since Rolan was made Grandmage. The Tower is no longer a sanctuary only for his family - it is alive with inhabitants.
The first three floors contain conference rooms and a grand hall. All are available to hire for magical events - from Sorcery conventions to Tav’s latest passion project: The Great Familiar Show. The latter has proved to be particularly popular, with over a thousand spectators at the last event witnessing prizes for familiars of all kinds awarded in a range of categories. Tav has assembled a team of judges from across Faerun, and even convinced Lae’zel to show her dragon in the forecourt as part of the opening ceremonies, leading to calls for the next show to be moved to an even larger venue.
The Dojo remains a thriving business, although Tav spends only five days a month with each intake of trainees. Whilst still passionate about passing on her knowledge, she has employed Umi and a ranger by the name of Shaun to run most sessions, with occasional appearances from other adventurers. Minsc is particularly popular: his guest visits garner huge waiting lists, despite the fact that he spends most of the days he is in there talking about Boo and ruminating on his own, peculiar, philosophies.
The lower central floors have been converted to a small, private academy of botany, where Cal and Derryth teach gifted young students from all over the City and its environs how to grow and harvest alchemical crops and to make a life for themselves. The students live in the converted apprentices’ quarters, and Rolan has personally made sure that they are comfortable for these new charges.
Above that, there is a study and meeting space for Faerun’s most distinguished mages. One room has been set aside to house portals from eight cities, including Waterdeep. Gale is a frequent visitor, and Tav spends many days and nights refereeing the ardent back and forth discussions between her friend and her husband.
Her husband.
They were married on the balcony of the tower a month after they returned from their travels to the farm. Rolan had planned a grander proposal, but one night as they were travelling home, they lay in their bedroll looking at the stars, and Tav just... asked him. Simple as that. They were married by The Duke, and only Cal, Lia, Shovel, Teak and Wyll were in attendance. There was no need for grand ceremony, or lavish parties. Just a quiet, joyful union and a meal sent over from one of Ravengard’s chefs. They ate on the terrace and drank Lorroakan's expensive wine until the wee hours, and everyone agreed that it was a happy night.
The next morning, a congratulatory card had arrived from Waterdeep, addressed to Tav Dastrak. The sight of those ten simple letters, curled neatly on fine bone-white parchment, had felt to Tav like a beginning. A life which looked forward, and ever upwards.
The highest parts of the tower remain the private quarters for the family, save for the greenhouses, which can now be accessed only from portals on the botany levels. However, these quarters are no longer inhabited solely by the siblings, Tav and Shovel: the voices of children fill their hallways and the kitchen table is finally almost full at meal times. Lia and her Harper, Geraldus, married a year after her brother, and they and their three children have the run of their own floor. All three have tiefling blood running strong in their veins: their horns are strong and their tails expressive. Dayola, the eldest, has an aptitude for music, and will study with Alfira when she comes of age. Ozron, the only boy, wishes to be a chef. Riza, the youngest, shows a nascent aptitude for magic, much to her uncle’s delight. He is often to be found with her on his knee in his study, demonstrating prestidigitation or explaining how he channels the Weave. Despite her only being four years old, he is determined to make a mage of her, and has wasted no time in ensuring that she receives every possible shred of assistance which he himself was denied due to his circ*mstances.
Sometimes, as she watches them wander through the library with Teak at their heels, chatting about this and that, Tav wonders whether they have made the correct decision to forgo children of their own. Rolan has surprised her with his dedication to his nieces and nephew, and a part of her feels a deep sorrow that he may never have that connection with his own child. They spend many nights wondering about the future together, and she supposes that they are not yet so old that they might not change their mind. Of course, these musings are not to suggest that they are not happy. Life is very good, and neither would change anything.
Tav mostly busies herself with a task she would never have believed herself capable of ten years ago. One night, she found herself unable to sleep - a phrase circling her mind like a never-ending mantra, almost demanding to be committed physically to paper. She snuck out of the bed and into Rolan’s study, where she let the words flow down her arm and into the movement of a quill:
“ Everyone had gone, and now I was alone…”
The words came quickly after that: almost feverishly pouring from her in a rush to be told - to be given form and made real. Tav had never dreamt that she would turn her hand to writing, of all things, but she has filled page after page, and as he picks each one up and devours its contents, Rolan makes approving noises and (of course) offers helpful corrections. The entire history of Clarrin Bowstave, later Tav, then The Hero Of Baldur’s Gate, and finally Tav Dastrak is being suddenly laid bare, and on paper, no less. It might have taken a long time to get to this point, but it feels good - like cleansing fire, turning the past to bright embers and releasing them into the wind. Tav wonders if this is the secret to Volo’s eternal youth. The ability to shed one's past and be revived as something wholly new is a revelation to her and she looks forward to the time she spends at the desk Rolan has made for her in his study. They work together often, each consumed by their own projects. Occasionally, one of them will feel their back begin to seize or their neck stiffen, and they will rise to stretch. It is then that the other might be roused from their own undertaking and turn in their chair, and smile, and receive a kiss or three.
Even after all their years together, Tav still finds herself stirred by the beauty of her husband. He has retained his neat figure, despite the lack of hardship in his life now, and the new lines around his eyes make him more handsome because they have been forged by contentment and laughter. His soft hair runs grey at his temples; as each year passes he seems to embody greater authority and it suits his imperious public persona. It is not often that the patriar families of Baldur’s Gate will see him laugh at one of his wife’s bawdy jokes, let alone witness him snoring on his sofa with flowers garlanded around his horns and three children draped across him. Tav loves this dual identity. She does not have to share his true self with anyone other than those that she loves too.
Except the dog. Rolan and Teak are basically inseparable - as soon as Rolan asked Tav to teach him how to talk with animals, she knew he was lost. Perhaps she was doomed forever to be “a poor ranger indeed,” as her father had put it, but she cannot deny that her heart is full whenever she sees them together. Teak has the run of the entire tower, much like Shovel - but he is never far from his master by day. At night, he sleeps with the botany students in a wooden bed made for him by Cal. Teak says that he wishes to be a comfort for the children who miss their homes and their families. He is a good dog, indeed.
And Shovel is a good quasit. She and Cal remain bonded and as he teaches in the greenhouse, she remains his chief pest controller. Cal has never desired another partner - preferring his own company and his work to the life his siblings have chosen. No one questions this. Cal is content, and loved enough.
Shovel also enjoys being in the shop with Lia, and local children flock to see her. Tav adores seeing her show off; she wonders if Shovel ever imagined what it would be like to be loved and how it would feel to love back, like she loves her family. Lia’s children dress her in pretty jewels, and in return, she teaches them words which their mother scolds them for using. Tav sometimes recalls the moment she found the tattered old scroll beneath the blighted village and it hurts to think that they might have left it lying there, in its coffin. Even when Gale had asked if Tav would take her before he left, she had been in two minds, but the thought of her not being there now seems unconscionable. She is as much a part of their family as she is.
*****
Tav practically stumbles through the portal into the library with Karlach, laughing heartily at one of her awful jokes. The others follow, and the mood is one of relief that their duties are done for another year.
“...standing on that bloody balcony for six hours…” gripes Shadowheart. “Why the hells do they insist on it every damned year? Surely no one is that desperate to see our faces? Gale, can’t you conjure duplicates for all of us instead of just Astarion?”
Gale tuts and shakes his head. “Maintaining a duplicate for that long is no small task, you know. It requires rather a lot of concentration, and that’s not easy when you have a thousand people staring at you and the world’s most infuriatingly inaccurate adaptation of our adventures being played out, to boot.”
“Besides, darling,” Astarion says with a flourish, “ I have an excuse. It would hardly be right for me to catch a stray sunbeam and explode in front of all those people, would it?”
“They offered you a gazebo, Astarion. You would have been protected. You know full well that you just prefer to lounge about in the back, drinking all the wine.”
The vampire gives her a coy smile. “ Slanderous , Shadowheart. You wound me.”
“She has a point,” adds Lae’zel, “even when I was captured and held in Tu'narath, I did not have to suffer such tortures as those we have endured today.”
Halsin, who has not spoken for sometime, wears a furrowed brow. “I have tried all afternoon, but I really do not recall the scene with my… ah… my bear form.” He sits on one of the ornate chairs which are scattered around the room, and frowns.
“It was all quite fanciful, if you ask me,” says Gale. “I certainly would have never propositioned Tav in such an ungainly manner. Or in fact at all!” He suddenly realises what he has said, and panics. “No offence!”
“None taken,” she smiles, knowing that Volo had actually been rather close to the truth. Gods knew how he’d known.
Astarion drifts over to her and drapes an arm over her shoulder. “Well I think he absolutely caught the essence of my proposal to dear Tav. It's just a terrible shame that she turned me down! And now she’s stuck in this lavish tower with her handsome yet insufferable husband instead of scraping fungus from her boots in the Underdark with a dashing vampire. Life is so unfair, isn’t it darling?” He pinches her nose as he says this, and she laughs.
“We would have killed each other within a month, Astarion. I can’t think of two less compatible people. I love you, but no.”
He pretends to be wounded and releases her.
“Who cares?” cries Karlach, grabbing Shadowheart and Astarion and pulling them into a hug. “We’re all here; we’re all healthy and happy and together , right?”
Even they cannot argue with her logic, although both roll their eyes at the overt positivity.
“Ooh, wine,” say Jaheira, pointing to a long table where an enchanted construct is pouring a glass of Goldenfields White for each of them. There are light bites and some energising potions, too. Cal had insisted that after being forced to sit through Volo’s play, they might need something to replace the energy they had lost trying to maintain their smiles. Tav had never loved him so much.
“Not too much,” Wyll cautions, seeing how they are all making their way enthusiastically to the offerings. “Remember we still have a party to attend.”
“Alright Grandad,” Karlach calls over her shoulder, and he laughs despite himself, unable to chide his lover any more than he already has.
Tav swings her arms and stretches her back. She has spent the last tenday or so bent over a desk with a pen in her hand, and she feels every second of it in her joints. She cannot fathom how scribes and writers cope: she must find a way to balance her new sedentary pastime with the needs of her body.
“None for me, I’m afraid,” she says, to no one in particular. “I need to go up and see how Rolan’s getting on.”
“Ah yes, the big finale!” Wyll has reached the table now, and is waiting patiently for Minsc to discuss which canape to choose with Boo. The sounds of the concert rise up from outside: an enchantment concocted by Rolan and a handful of Ravengard’s mages to ensure everyone in the city can enjoy the festivities.
Gale pushes a small slice of lemon cake around a china plate. “I do wish Rolan might’ve let me assist in the planning. He’s been terribly busy with it all.”
Tav thinks of all the nights she has woken to find their bed empty recently and agrees. Her husband has never lost his desperate perfectionism, despite being proven time and again to be a master of his craft. He had taken on the task of arranging the finale alone, convinced that it was his sole duty as Archmage. Of course, his need to impress was the true driving factor in it all. She did not interfere, confident that he would reap the praise he subconsciously sought. She had long ago learned that trying to coax him down from his anxieties was a sure way to force him into a more frantic state, and so now she simply watches over him from afar, offers tea and neck rubs… and other physical balms, until his fixation has passed and he is once again her Rolan.
Quite how he could be at once so talented and yet so fraught with insecurity was a mystery to her. She knew how it felt to be unsure of her own talents, but that was generally in situations where she had no natural experience, such as state affairs or tailor’s shops. In the woods or the mountains, she was never in doubt of her skill, but then again, she was usually not in charge of a grand plan which could go horribly, publicly wrong and subsequently ruin her reputation. Perhaps the thought of one day publishing her own writings might show her how it felt to be truly anxious. In fact, even the thought now passing idly through her mind sent prickles up her neck and sent her heart into a flutter.
“...Tav?” Gale snaps her out of her reverie and she apologises. “No need,” he replies. “I can imagine it’s been quite stressful around her for the last month or so. Go: help him.”
She says a temporary goodbye, grabs a buttered scone and an elixir, and heads off up the stairs, leaving them to catch up a little more. It is only three flights, but she feels the acid in her calf muscles and vows to spend more time in the dojo. Rolan should be feeling more himself after the show is done, and she can afford to leave him to his own devices once more.
She comes up to the hallway and immediately hears her husband’s irritated shouts. It’s going well, then.
The scene which greets her on the balcony is one of chaos. The controls of the Arcane Cannon are smoking and fizzing, and Krank is in an inert heap next to them. Cal holds an armful of explosive-looking fireworks, and Lia is some distance away holding on to her children protectively. She looks furiously at Rolan, and Tav tries to piece everything together. Rolan is pacing and shaking his head. She weighs up whether to go to him or not.
“Best keep back,” Geraldus has stepped out of the shadow of the tower and takes her arm. “He’s fit to blow.”
“What happened?” she asks in a loud, clear voice. Best to simply get things moving again.
Rolan gestures angrily to where Krank lies in pieces. “This bloody infernal… THING has short-circuited the sodding controls! DAMNATION!” He stops and places his hands on his hips and takes a deep breath. She knows it is because she has arrived. Gods alone know what might have happened had she not.
“Mind your bloody language, will you?” cries Lia, and Dayola laughs at her mistake.
“Let’s all calm down, shall we?” Cal is always the first to mediate: always the voice of reason. He cannot front conflict like the others. He still wishes only for a quiet, calm life.
“I’ll be calm when this blood- this infernal thing is working again,” Rolan huffs. He moves to the controls and raises a tentative finger to it. A spark immediately leaps from the large button at its centre, causing him to jump back. “ Zurgan !”
Tav goes over to where he stands and joins him in looking at the console. Of course, she has no idea what she is looking for. She just wants to be close to him.
“Hello, love,” she says calmly. “What do you need?”
He frowns at her, but a little of this ire has left him now that she is here. She has always managed to temper him.
“A bloody miracle,” he sighs.
“Well, I’m afraid you might need a god for that. Not a ranger.”
He manages a smile. “I’d take a ranger over a god any day. Although right now, an artificer wouldn’t go amiss.”
“I don’t think we have one of those, although the magic springing out of that thing is going to hurt someone soon if we don’t think of a solution.”
“It should be a simple case of opening the thing up and finding the connection which has been broken,” Rolan muses, bending to look at the panel which can be removed to open the pedestal up and reveal its inner workings. “I re-worked the circuits ten years ago, so I think I know where the problem might be. It’s just getting into the blasted thing without dying that might pose a challenge.”
Cal steps forward, still holding his armfuls of fireworks. “The lightning, it’s magical, right?”
“Of course it is,” Rolan replies impatiently. “Why are those fireworks not in place yet?”
Cal narrows his eyes. He has always been particularly prone to being on the receiving end of Rolan’s moods but no longer takes his vexatious comments on the chin.
“I’m trying to help, you arse,” he states flatly. “Would you like a solution, or not?”
Rolan looks up from the base of the pedestal and has the decency to seem contrite.
“Sorry, Cal. What are you thinking?”
“You need to stop the flow of magic? Cut off the source?”
“Yes.”
“I have a little sussur essence stowed away. Would that help?
Rolan looks thoughtful for a moment, but then his face changes and he nods with enthusiasm.
“By Mystra, it might! Good work, Cal!”
His brother smiles and makes a little bow. “You may lavish me with praise later. Here - you can finish setting these fireworks up while I get the vial. I know how you love manual work.”
Rolan looks as though he is about to protest, but thinks better of it when he sees Tav’s warning look. “Fine,” he concedes. “Let me know when you are ready for me to fix it.”
“Cal pats his brother’s arm. “It’ll take no time at all, and then you can get back to fussing.” He turns and looks around. “Shovel!”
She emerges from a dark corner behind a large statue and tentatively pads across to them.
“Has the blue fire gone? Shovel does not want lightnings up her hole, for sure.”
“It’s under control,” Rolan assures her.
“Come on,” says Cal. “We’re on a mission to save the day.”
The quasit shrugs. “If you say so, Mister Cal. Shovel is very used to doing that, even if she is never invited to stand on balconies with the real heroes.” Her words drip with sarcasm and Tav can’t help but agree with her.
They dash off down the stairs, leaving the others to look awkwardly around.
“Sorry for swearing,” Rolan says to Lia across the way.
“Oh, it’s fine,” she replies, releasing the children with a warning not to go anywhere near the live podium. They disappear around the corner to continue whatever game they had been playing.
“Shall I take a look at poor Krank?” Geraldus offers. He is no artificer, but he can fix things around the house.
Rolan agrees. “I think he’ll need to be reset, but I would appreciate you looking for any kinks in his metal.”
That just leaves Lia, and it only takes a second for her to leave them to it; unwilling as she is to clamber about on the tower ramparts attaching whatever mad, last minute additions her brother is insisting on.
Tav takes a couple of the larger fireworks from his arms. She also takes the opportunity to plant a swift kiss on his taut lips, causing them to relax a little. “Shall we?”
He sighs, and nods. He looks tired: purple shadows ring his eyes and his golden irises lack their usual fire. She hopes that the night passes swiftly and successfully, so that they may rest a while over the next few days. She has missed him; missed his body, and the conversations they have after they make love in the mornings. It has only been a tenday, and yet she can feel herself yearning for him. Even after ten years, she still needs his love. They might be less experimental than in their first wild months together, but they remain as compatible as ever. They know every inch on one another’s bodies, every knot, every ticklish spot, every locus of pleasure which causes the other to sigh or moan. They are utterly, limitlessly, compatible. And she wants him back in her bed.
“Come on then.” His voice is resigned. “It’ll be worth it in the end, I promise.”
She sees the ladder hanging over the side of the rampart and realises why Cal seemed so eager to be rid of his task. “It had better be,” she says resignedly. “I’ll need my climbing boots.”
*****
Once the cannon is once again in working order, they hurry to their suite to change their clothes. The party guests have begun to arrive and will watch the display from the ballroom’s grand balcony. Tav and Rolan will join them afterwards.
Rolan’s usually nimble fingers fumble at his buttons, and Tav abandons her attempts to tame her hair in order to assist him. His shirt is made of the finest ivory-coloured silk, and even Tav struggles to prevent it slipping over her hands.
“Hells, Rolan, could you not have just worn robes?”
His nostrils flare and his words are dry. “I wanted something special to mark the occasion. Apologies .”
She raises her eyes to his and without saying a word, dares him to continue griping.
“I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I’ll be better once this is over. I'm looking forward to a drink and a long rest.”
“I know… There.” She steps back to admire her handiwork. “ Well, I am looking forward to ripping these buttons off later tonight.”
He slides his hands around her waist, suddenly paying attention to the fact that she is not yet wearing her gown. “I also look forward to that,” he says with a teasing grin. “Tell me, what exactly do I need to do to make up for my absence this past tenday?”
She leans in and whispers the answer directly into his ear.
“ Make me cry your name.”
A shudder seems to run through him and she hears his breath deepen. He pulls her closer to him, and she feels the effects of her words against her.
“That’s exactly what I needed to hear, my love,” he murmurs against her cheek. “An excellent incentive to get on with the job at hand.”
She explores the feeling of his ridges through the silk shirt, and resolves not to be so hasty to remove it later. There is something deeply sensual about it and she finds herself imagining its feel against her naked breasts.
She clears her throat and steps away from him, knowing that they have only a short window in which to get ready, and they do not have time to become inflamed to the point of acting upon their needs. Her hair is not behaving and the dress she has chosen requires more than a little effort to lace up, not to mention the fact that she has no idea at all where her stupid party shoes are…
Rolan advances on her and when she protests, he simply smiles. His hand creeps over her bra; his fingers exploring the edge of its cups, ready to pull them down at her signal.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers - his lips hovering dangerously close to hers. “Tell me not to throw you on the bed and have my way with you before we go out there.”
Tav cannot resist the way his fingers tease at the lace of her underwear. Cannot deny him what he wants. Not when his breath mingles with hers and his lashes fan over his cheekbones. Not when he strokes her so prettily and tells her how beautiful she is.
She kisses him, and he allows her entry to his mouth with a hungry moan. His co*ck is very much ready for her now, and she can feel her body’s own alacrity as he reaches down into her briefs, knowing where to touch to get his own way - knowing how to disarm her completely.
“Five minutes,” she warns, and he instantly sweeps her up. Before she can object, he has practically thrown her on the bed, and he is on her: caging her body with his and wearing a triumphant expression.
“Smug arsehole,” she says with a smile, and he preens.
“I am. Because I am a lucky bastard. Now please, my love, remove your clothes and allow me to f*ck you before I change my mind.”
This makes her laugh inelegantly, but she does as he says. “I hardly think you’re in any fit state to change your mind, are you?” she teases, sliding her pants down her thighs. When they reach her feet, she raises her legs and he moves so that she can free them. She barely has time to get to work on her bra before his mouth is upon her thighs, working his way up to its target.
“No time!” She cries, and when her bra is finally off, she grabs him by the horns and tugs him up to her level. He wastes no seconds in devouring her mouth instead, and then he has freed his erection and is sliding into her like a desperate man. He kisses her as though she is water in the desert, and his thrusts are disordered. The anarchic rhythm sends crazed bolts of lightning through her: streams of pleasure which begin at the place where they join and end somewhere at the top of her head. The feeling of that damned silk shirt beneath her fingers and as it rubs against her nipples takes her breath from her. How she has missed him…
There is a fervour in the way he ruts into her that she has not felt for some time. It is almost feral, as though he were in heat. And then, just as she begins to lose herself in the sheer joy of it, he whispers words that she did not know she needed to hear. A simple sentence with clear intent. A promise.
And it is enough to send her over the edge, his name on her lips, as requested.
*****
She’s not wearing the bloody gown she bought and he isn't wearing the rest of his suit, either. Instead, he is clad only in his shirt, a pair of dark blue velvet trousers which are sinfully tight, and a pair of fine black leather boots. The soft bow at his neck makes him look poetic and heroic, and she admires him making his final checks from her perch on the balustrade. Her job is to fire the final firework into the night sky, and although Rolan has not told her what it will do, she feels very keenly the weight of this responsibility.
Her attire is little more than a flowing silk tunic dyed sage green and clasped with gold at the shoulders. She had found it in one of the lower floor closets, and despite falling in love with it, had never dared wear it. Tonight seemed like a good opportunity to change that, and it even compliments her most elegant boots, which feature gold embroidery in much the same style as the clasps.
At Rolan’s signal (he blows her a kiss, the romantic fool) she stands and checks her bow. The night air embraces her, taking hold of the long draped fabric and her hair which has been left wild and untouched, apart from her gold circlet. She feels suddenly - weirdly - majestic… like a statue of some ancient hunter goddess, and an old power surges through her. She has never courted the role of a hero, always feeling it to be somehow distasteful in light of her past. But tonight, ten years on from the moment which changed her life forever, she finally feels content with who she has become. They do good work in the tower. She laughs frequently and freely with her family. There are still hard times, arguments and sadness, but they are far outweighed by the happiness which lies behind it all. Time has passed quickly, but it has passed well, and she could not wish for anything other than that which she has… and that which she may be about to receive.
The fireworks begin, and they are every bit as wondrous as she had hoped. There are vast blossoms of red and gold, cascades of violet with sparkling blue whirlpools, and massive golden rosettes which shoot across the sky like comets. Even from her position far above the crowd, she fancies that she can hear the cheers and the gasps: everyone in Baldur’s Gate is out tonight, lining the streets and gazing upwards in awe at the artistry of her husband. Pride fills her eyes with tears. There are displays rising from a hundred rooftops, all synchronised perfectly so that the entire night sky has become a lattice of light and colour, with every pop and bang timed perfectly so that they form a music all of their own. She will never know how he has done this - it is surely his finest achievement to date.
As the display reaches its crescendo, she looks down at him and he nods back to her. She cannot read his expression, but she wishes she was by his side. Not long now. One more task.
She has no idea what is coming, only that she must fire the arrow with the firework attached a second or two after he activates the cannon. She prays that she can shoot far enough - the firework causes the arrow to sit heavy on her bow. It is not large, but it is enough to potentially put her aim off. She has never fired anything like it before.
The show seems to end with the last glittering stars fading into the night. And now she really can hear the crowds: their cries are carried up to her on the breeze which unfurls around her and the sound of their joy is infectious.
Rolan winks at her as he presses the final button on the console, and she laughs at his cheek. After months of planning and a tenday of anxiety, he has some audacity to be co*cky now. As soon as his finger leaves the button, however, her attention is drawn elsewhere.
The Arcane Cannon, which sits at the apex of the pointed roof atop Ramezith’s tower, famously fires bolts of arcane energy upon a single area, and with devastating effect. It has been ten years since anyone has witnessed the cannon in action, but everyone who did recalls red fire raining down in a straight line from its source.
Not so tonight.
Tonight, six bright beams of solid white stretch out horizontally from Rolan’s modified device: each about the width of a cart, but getting wider as they travel further from their source. The result is an incomprehensibly huge star streaming across the sky of Baldur’s Gate, and surely visible for two hundred miles in each direction. It is achingly impressive, and Tav can hear their guests whooping and hollering from the balcony. Gale’s voice in particular reaches her, crying, “Yes! Rolan! Ha ha !”
She is so caught up in its beauty, that she almost forgets her own role, and Rolan has to shout up to her.
She swears and raises her bow, aiming as high and as far as she can. It only takes a second before the arrow and its cargo are flying away from her, and she chides herself inwardly for almost missing her cue. However, as the arrow disappears, she feels him alight behind her, place his arms around her waist, and suddenly, everything is awash in a flash of sapphire blue. She leans back against Rolan’s chest, watching as tendrils of lightning burst from the space in the sky where Rolan casts the spell to activate her firework. They pulse and twist, crackling and rumbling like a true storm, and then folding in on themselves to form a shape - first a long body with short clawed legs, and then drawing out to form a massive head, vast wings, and a long tail which switches like a cat’s. She recognises the image at once - she hears Shovel scream with ecstatic delight from below - and now she understands why she has recently needed to rewrite a misplaced section of her memoir. She had assumed that she had accidentally tossed it out with a bundle of scrap, but now she knows for sure where it went.
“Did I do him justice?” Rolan asks as the dragon twists and roars. Tav cannot be remotely annoyed when this is the result of his theft. “I am sorry that I took your work. I wanted to get him right and for it to be a surprise: you always said he was a true hero of Baldur’s Gate.”
“More than I can say,” she replies. “Although he was less… alive when we encountered him.”
She gasps as the lightning-Ansur sets off across the sky, dancing through the cannon’s beams and diving dangerously close to the crowds who can be heard screaming with the thrill of it all. They watch as the enchantment circles the Upper and Lower Cities, finally heading to the Chionthar to let loose a deafening roar of triumph over the place where the Netherbrain has lain rotting in its depths these past ten years. Tav cannot help but think of her own fall that day, but Rolan’s arms are around her, and she is safe. Alive .
The lightning-Ansur’s final act is to wind its way back to the tower, and Tav laughs in sheer disbelief as it comes to rest on its roof. Its luminous, sparking tail hovers above them and she wants nothing more than to reach out to it and experience the glowing threads of Weave with her fingers. Rolan must feel the desire in her, because he takes her hand in his and guides it up. Weave leaps from its surface into her skin before she even has a chance to touch it, and it is cool and hot all at once; familiar and yet bizarre… the scent of Rolan all over it. She feels it zap through her veins and she stumbles a little, but Rolan holds her firmly, reassuring her that she is safe, and that he has her, and his words allow her to relax into the sensation and savour it.
It feels sensuous, and in another life she can imagine herself wrapped in its embrace. She wonders if this is the astral energy which Gale describes when he speaks of his time with Mystra, and she wonders if perhaps other wizards might explore its possibilities. Rolan will need a new project once this is over, and from the way he is breathing against her cheek and pressing against her hips, she suspects he might be interested in such a challenge.
She wishes that they could remain here forever, caught in one another’s embrace with fronds of azure light caressing their bodies. It is intensely intimate, and even though she knows every eye in Baldur’s Gate is looking this way, she doesn't care. Even if they could make them out on the top of the tallest building in the city, she would invite each and every one of them to behold how they love one another without hesitation.
Rolan’s hands move across her dress, cupping her breasts and then finding their way to the expanse of her belly which lies between her hip bones. She feels him somehow draw the flow of Weave into her, filling her with light and practically lifting her off her feet. She feels what he is gifting her: she feels it take root inside of her and pulse with life and magic and love.
She knows that life will never be the same, and that somehow she has been irrevocably changed, but even though the path ahead is unknowable - even terrifying - every nerve and cell within her welcomes it.
The magic ebbs, and the dragon fades. Neither of them truly know what they have made happen here, but she turns in his arms and they kiss as the light leaves them. They do not care how much time passes - it could be minutes, hours or days, but eventually, they part, and look deep into one another’s eyes.
“What did you do?” she asks as her hand traces the contours of the face she knows so well.
To her surprise, he looks as confused as she does. His eyes are full of wonder and he raises his hand to place over hers.
“I… I have absolutely no idea…” he half laughs, half gasps. “I think… I think something wanted me to…”
“Mystra?” Tav feels cold water run through her veins. She feels violated at the mere idea of it.
He ponders, but shakes his head. “I felt her in the Weave, but I don’t think so. I think we have someone else looking out for us. Someone even more powerful.”
Tav can’t help but laugh. It seems that the gods are not yet done with her after all.
She raises her head to the sky and points a finger. “Don’t make me come up there!” she warns the night. “I’m married to an Archmage, I’m friends with plenty of powerful heroes, and I have an extremely violent quasit who’d love nothing more than the opportunity to find out whether gods have holes. Consider this a warning!”
The night remains silent around them, and she supposes that is a good sign.
Finally, Rolan sighs and pats her behind. “Come on, you. We'll worry about it later. We have a party to get to.” He waves his hand and they step off the balustrade, floating back down to the terrace.
“Ugh,” says, suddenly remembering something.
“Tav?”
“I found a bottle of Jasmarim Shadow tucked away in the back of the wine cellar. I was saving it for us to drink after the party.” She shrugs. “That’s annoying.”
Rolan grins and gives her one of his smug looks. “I’ll let you know what I think of it.”
“Prick.”
“I know. Now get a bloody move on. We have adoring applause to endure.”
She catches up to him and takes his hand. They head back into the brightly lit tower, where their family and friends await them.
