Forsaken by Shadows 32: Comfort

To my dad, who is always there for me, no matter how tired he gets.

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Previously, on Forsaken by Shadows, from Mazira’s point of view,

Rismyn is taken away by Solaurin, and I am left alone with Ti’yana. My first instinct is to panic, Ti’yana is a female drow. But I take a breath and do my best to think of her differently. I’m trying to believe the best, even though everything in me is screaming about worst-case scenarios. 

It doesn’t go the way I expect. Ti’yana is so unapologetically different than every other drow female I have ever met that it completely disarms me. I try to reassure her everything is fine, but instead, I break down in the most mortifying of meltdowns.

Sometime later, she offers to draw a bath for me, but all I want is to sleep. So she leads me to her room, her own personal room, and tells me it’s mine for the taking. There’s a minor miscommunication, which results in me learning that Ti’yana’s great passion is sewing clothing, and while I am distracted admiring pamphlets brought to her from Waterdeep, I realize she’s doing chores while I am sitting, doing nothing. 

More awkward miscommunications ensue, and in the end, Ti’yana decides she wants to make a dress for me. The only problem is, it requires me to step out of full-cover adamantine armor and into one of her rather revealing night-shifts. 

I don’t want her to see my scars, but I don’t want to disappoint her, either. It’s terribly awkward, and in the end, I yield to her wishes. After she takes my measurements and sings the most beautiful song in a ritual called the Evensong, she gives me a hug and wishes me well. Then she leaves, and I don’t know where she’s going, but I am left, for the first time in a long time, entirely alone…

~17. Comfort~

Ti’yana

By the time her father and Rismyn returned from the balcony, Ti’yana had already settled herself comfortably in his bed. She’d located every spare pillow their house had collected over the years and constructed herself a sort of throne to snuggle into. Before her was spread her favorite weave of their inventory, a lovely turquoise muslin. Her father had added some deeper, shimmery blue patterns into the fabric so that it gave the impression of rippling water in the dim light of the candle by which she stitched the pieces together. 

She looked up from her work as the door to the balcony opened, painting on her customary smile. The expression wasn’t as easy to muster as usual, though. Her threads might be light, but her thoughts were not. Still, she didn’t want to appear as disturbed as she felt before their guest. 

The men were still conversing as they came across the threshold until Solaurin caught sight of her. He fell silent, his eyes trailing from her to the pallet she’d set up for him at the foot of the bed to the fabric spread out before her. 

His brows raised sardonically. “I see you’ve made yourself at home.” He shut the balcony door and made his way into the room. 

Rismyn followed at his side, though he was staring at Ti’yana as though she were a witch who might polymorph him into a grell at any moment. When she met his eyes, they darted away, suddenly engrossed in the mountainscape hanging on the opposite wall. 

Ti’yana’s smile remained fixed, but exasperation threatened it. One day she would meet a man who wasn’t phased by her “divine charms,” as her father called it. That mythical man would be the one she married. 

Oh, well. It wasn’t Rismyn’s fault. He’d get used to her soon enough since he was staying. A thought that lightened her dour mood. She’d always wanted siblings, and no amount of her father insisting he’d never love again dimmed the hope in her. She was happy to adopt Rismyn and Mazira in the meantime. 

“It was your idea,” she said brightly. 

“True,” Solaurin conceded. “I suppose I expected you to ease into your new living arrangements. My mistake. Where under the earth did you find so many cushions?” 

“The guest room.” She shrugged, subconsciously putting a hand to her wrap to make sure it didn’t fall off her shoulders. Poor Rismyn didn’t need any more reasons to blush. “You were right, I found quite a few things in the guest room while making it ready for Rismyn.”

Her father stared at her blankly for the span of three heartbeats, before recognition suddenly registered on his face. “You didn’t move it all by yourself, did you?” 

“Of course I did.” 

“Why didn’t you ask for help?” 

“Because I’m not helpless,” Ti’yana laughed. “And besides, you were busy.” 

“But those crates–”

“It’s fine, Father.” She’d only dropped one box on her toe and it had long since ceased to throb. Besides, she was taller than him by several inches. “Really. I told you I would handle the room preparations and I did. You worry too much.” 

Solaurin tossed up his hands and shook his head. He looked like he wanted to press the issue, but Rismyn’s soft-spoken words got there first.

“Thank you,” he said, shifting nervously. “For caring for Mazira and me. We are deeply indebted to you.” He fidgeted again, then glanced at her sheepishly. “Mazira…Is she…?” He trailed off, wearing the most heart-wrenching expression of misery mixed with hope. 

Ti’yana’s chest tightened. “She’s fine,” she said, a little too quickly. “Probably asleep by now. I left her some time ago. You two have been out there for forever. It’s almost Deep Crimson.”

“So it is,” Solaurin remarked. “Are you going to chastise me for being up past my bedtime, O Matron Daughter of mine?”

This time Ti’yana’s smile was real and genuine. She adopted an air of superiority, lifting her chin. “Perhaps. Those tapestries won’t weave themselves, you know.” 

Her father gave her one of his rare, true smiles. One that wasn’t laced with some form of sarcasm, even as his words dripped with it. “Well, be assured, my heart. We are going to rest now.” He put a hand on Rismyn’s shoulder and steered him towards the door. “Thank you for an evening of good conversation. We’ll talk more when Blue Light comes.” 

Rismyn looked between the two of them uncertainly, but allowed himself to be guided out.  “What else is possibly left for us to discuss?” 

“Oh, child.” Her father opened the door, a sly smile on his face. “Tonight was just the groundwork. You and I will be having many conversations going forward.” 

It was hard to say what Rismyn made of that. His lips twitched in what could either have been a grimace or a smile. “Wonderful,” he said. He glanced at her one last time before addressing her father. “Thank you, again. For everything.” 

“Sleep well,” her father said. “And sleep long. There is nothing we have to do tomorrow that cannot wait until we are all refreshed.” 

When Rismyn was gone, Solaurin shut the door and leaned back against it. His face was drawn and he looked utterly spent. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

Ti’yana would have liked to let him enjoy the peaceful moment, but silence currently had the opposite effect on her. Her mind raced from the cycle’s events and if she wasn’t conversing, she was thinking. She didn’t want to be thinking. 

“How did it go?” she asked, before she could stop herself. 

Solaurin tilted his head to the side and opened one eye. “Well.” He breathed deeply again and straightened, moving into the circle of her candlelight. 

It was an uncharacteristically pithy reply. 

Ti’yana took up her needle and thread, trying not to be concerned. “He seems like a very nice young elf.” 

“Ti.” 

“I was surprised by how polite he was. Usually the new Voices aren’t so kind at first. I wasn’t worried, of course. But I am pleasantly surprised.” 

“Ti-ti.” 

“And Mazira is so sweet. Do you think–” 

“Ti’yana.” 

Ti’yana’s needle stopped moving, and she covered a grimace. “Yes?” 

“Did you cut that fabric from the Skyphire bolt?” 

The answer was obvious. Ti’yana looked back at the muslin in her hands and chose to ignore the accusation in his tone. “Of course I did.”

His expression remained fixed and unamused. “I suppose you know what I’m going to say?” 

“Let’s see…” She tapped her index finger to her lip. “I’m a recalcitrant child who ought to know better than to take inventory without asking, especially when that inventory is top coin?”

“And?” 

“And”–she flashed him her most winsome smile–“even though you’re highly disappointed in my uncharacteristically rebellious behavior, you’re willing to believe I had a good reason and are eagerly awaiting my gallant explanation.”

Solaurin stared at her without wavering for several flickers of the candlelight. Then he rolled his eyes and rubbed his temple. “Well, go on then. Let’s hear it.” 

It was hard not to let her victory show on her face. Ti’yana bounded to her feet with a flourish of fabric and blankets, leaving behind a cascade of collapsing pillows. She held the half-made dress up in front of her. “I’m making a halter-style chiton.” 

“So I can see.”

Ti’yana lowered her hands so she just peered over the top of the fabric. “It’s for Mazira. The poor girl came here with nothing but the adamantine on her back.”

“I’m still waiting to hear how this justifies stealing from our wares.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She dropped her arms completely, letting the dress hang loose. “She needs something to wear.”

“So rather than offer her something from your own extensive garment selection, you’ve cut meters from my premier weave…because…?”

“Because,” Ti’yana huffed. “I feel that after everything she’s been through”–at least, everything Ti’yana imagined she’d been through–“she deserved something of her own. Something that’s designed specifically with her in mind. Something special. Hence”–she shook the blue weave in her hands–“the Skyphire chiton.” 

There, she’d made her case. Now all she could do was stand there and wait for judgment. Of course, she had little doubt she’d won. However disapproving and serious her father might try to be, Ti’yana knew him better than that. She would never have cut from the bolt if she thought she couldn’t get away with it.   

Finally, Solaurin breathed out heavily, his nostrils flaring. He waved a flippant hand and turned away. “Please, just ask first next time.” 

Ti’yana no longer needed to hide her triumphant smile. She flopped back into the bed and began reassembling her cushion throne. “I was going to ask,” she said, as he made his way to the wardrobe. “But you spent so long out there with Rismyn and I didn’t want to interrupt. I promised her the dress by Blue Light and I don’t want to go back on my word.”

“Best you get it done, then.”

Ti’yana glanced up at him, a witty remark fresh on her lips, but the breath caught in her throat. Her warm satisfaction withered at once, leaving only the melancholy mood she wasn’t used to. 

Her father had pulled his shirt over his head, exposing the bare skin of his back to her view. Three jagged lines marred his left shoulder, scars from the life he had lived before Ti’yana was born. She remembered asking about them when she was small, her little hands trailing over the gray streaks on his otherwise charcoal skin. 

Her father had never been one to keep secrets from her, even when the truth was hard to swallow. She knew the scars had come from his brothers, remnants of their discipline. But he’d spoken of it to her gently, without any malice or bitterness. She’d never thought more of it until that moment. 

They were just scars, after all. Just another trait he bore, like his red eyes and white hair. And just as common. 

It seemed that everyone in Launa had scars. Everyone but her, who by sheer miracle happened to escape her birthright of misery. Of course, intellectually, she knew that couldn’t be true. She wasn’t the only child raised in the Sanctuary. But at the moment, she was hard pressed to think of anyone else who had it as good as she did.

And it was crushing her. 

Not that Ti’yana didn’t love her life. She absolutely did. She loved her father and her many friends. She loved making clothes and weaving silk. Most of all, she loved Eilistraee and wanted nothing more than to spend her life serving the goddess as a fully realized songblade, proficient in music, dance, and swordplay. A defender of light and goodness. A conqueror of evil. 

It was the least she could do after the Dark Maiden redeemed her and her father’s life. She’d just never realized until now how deluded she had been into believing it would be easy. 

“Father…” she said, as he pulled the tall doors of the wardrobe wide, effectively shielding himself from her view. She bit her lip and glanced around even though she knew they were alone now. “Baba…” 

That got his attention. She seldom called him by her childhood pet name anymore. 

Her father poked his head out from behind the wardrobe, his brow furrowed in concern. All of the disapproval left his voice as he said, “What’s wrong?” 

“I…I know it’s late and you’re tired and it’s been a harrowing cycle but…could I talk to you?” 

Unfortunately, he did a poor job hiding how little he wanted to oblige her request. His face fell and his eyes darted to the deepening red light out the window.  

“It’s alright,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Never mind, it can wait until Blue Light. Sorry. Will the candle bother you? I can move to the sitting room.”

Solaurin merely narrowed his eyes at her and disappeared back behind the wardrobe door. After a moment, he reappeared, having changed into soft, loose cotton more comfortable for resting in. “We are going to talk now.” 

“Really–it’s okay! Honestly, you should probably sleep for the rest of the tenday. You’ve earned it. I’ll be okay.” 

He ignored her protest and walked right past the pallet she had laid for him, dropping onto the bed beside her. “Really, Ti. This mountain of pillows is unnecessary.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Ti’yana said, readjusting her throne as his sudden weight displaced it. She had just gotten it all back where she liked it, too. “This is the seat of luxury. You might never get this room back from me, you know.”

“Mm. We’ll see about that.” And then he was dismantling her creation, tossing pillows aside faster than she could snatch them out of his hand. 

“Hey!” she cried, though she couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer silliness of it all. “I need those! Or my back will be sore and I won’t be able to sit at the loom. Production will falter. Profits will suffer!” 

“We need to do a serious inventory of our belongings,” he said, ignoring her completely. “Honestly, do you know how much gold I must have spent on these cushions? Just since we’ve lived here? Wasteful. Utterly imprudent.” 

“Baba!” she whined, but it was too late. He effectively demolished the wall of pillows that separated them and scooted closer to her. 

Then his arms were around her, pulling her close against his chest. “Now, my heart. What’s troubling you?” 

His familiar scent of incense and pipeweed filled her mind with childish nostalgia. She was no longer twenty-three, but three years old again, trailing her small hands over the scars on his back and asking him why he had tiger stripes. 

Her eyes welled with tears and she clutched at his shirt. “She’s so thin, Baba. I took her measurements and I thought I’d done it wrong but I didn’t. How can she be so thin?” 

Solaurin said nothing, but his arm around her shoulder tightened. 

“And her scars…have you seen her scars? It’s terrible. Absolutely barbaric.” Her stomach roiled as the image of the marred spider drifted back into her mind. She didn’t know what could make skin pebble like that, but she imagined it had to have been slow and painful. 

Worst of all, it had been deliberate. Not like the lashes on her father’s back, struck in a moment of fury when he had done something wrong. Someone had methodically decided Mazira’s skin needed to be destroyed. And then they did it. 

“I have seen the one scar,” her father said, slowly. “Rismyn told me of the other. I’m sorry, I should have better prepared you. I wasn’t thinking.” 

A sudden, terrible thought crossed Ti’yana’s mind then. She jerked her head back and stared up into his eyes. “Wait–the scars–Rismyn. He, he didn’t…”

“No,” Solaurin said. There was no hesitation in his voice. “It was not him.” 

It only made Ti’yana feel marginally better. She laid her head back against his chest and sniffed as fresh tears spilled from her eyes. “I don’t understand how anyone can be so cruel. She was so scared of me, Baba. I only wanted to help her, but I didn’t know how.” 

Again, he said nothing, which was probably for the best. Nothing he could say would ease her heart, and they both knew it. 

She wished she had his wisdom in these matters. Her father had always been good with people. It had made him a successful merchant twice over and pillar among the clerics of Eilistraee. There was always someone coming to call on him for counsel or comfort. 

Of course, being the only male priest in a mostly-male society made him popular as well. Many of the young men were still intimidated by females. And some of the older men, as well. Ti’yana never quite understood why. Mother Lara was the gentlest woman she’d ever met. Her songblade sisters were caring and kind. 

Then again, most of them had scars, too. 

Ti’yana took a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. This shouldn’t upset me. I mean, this is Launa–the Sanctuary. Helping the hurting is what we do. It’s not like I’ve never met anyone who’s been through something awful before.” 

“True. But that doesn’t mean we grow cold to the sorrows of others.” 

Though he had intended it to be comforting, the statement stung. She was starting to think she’d been cold towards sorrow her whole life. Perhaps growing up surrounded by horror stories had made her forget how horrible the stories really were. 

Trembling, Ti’yana wiped a tear from her cheek. “How am I supposed to help her through her suffering when I’ve never suffered before?”

Solaurin remained silent for so long Ti’yana thought he wasn’t going to answer. He did that sometimes, when he felt she had the answer within her grasp and needed to work it out for herself.  But then, he gently pushed her back so that their eyes locked. 

“You have everything you need to help Mazira during these fragile times, Ti. Just be yourself. Do not pretend to understand her pain, but be there for her in her pain. She may take a long time to reciprocate your friendship, but that doesn’t mean you cease to offer it.” 

Ti’yana smiled weakly. Some part of her knew he was right, but she was mostly disappointed. She wanted something more to do than ‘be herself.’ 

But it was late, and he was tired, and she had asked too much of him already. “Thank you, Baba,” she said, then added, “Father. Sorry.” 

“You know I’ve never cared what you call me so long as it’s polite,” he said, brushing his knuckle against her cheek. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you more. In truth, I feel I am just as incapable and underqualified for this task as you. But I believe Eilistraee meant us to have it, or she would have given the vision to someone else.” 

Strangely, that did make her feel better. She dried her face on the end of her wrap and sat back, pushing her last remaining cushions aside. “Well, I can’t argue with that. I guess we’ll just have to muddle through together.”

“Like we always do.”

She could see the last of his strength fading as the light outside turned to Deep Crimson. Ti’yana gathered up her sewing and went to the other side of the bed. 

“Where are you going? I thought you’d claim this bed as your own. Pillow dynasty and all.” 

“I think you’ve earned one more Red Light in your own bed,” she teased. “You know, slaying dragon turtles and reviving Belnir and all. I’ll finish this out in the sitting room and then take the pallet.” 

“Mm. I suppose you’re right. I am a hero now, after all.” He wasted no time snatching up the covers she had strewn about and disappearing underneath them. 

Ti’yana couldn’t help but smile. He did relish his luxuries, even if he knew taking the humbler arrangement was the ‘right’ thing to do. She started for the door when he spoke again. 

 “I never knew singing a soul back from Kelemvor would take so much strength. I hope I never have to experience it again. And I hope you don’t, either.” 

“Wait.” Ti’yana froze. She turned back to her father, a surge of panic rising inside of her. “That wasn’t made up?”

“Don’t stay up all Red Light, Ti-Ti,” Solaurin said. With a wave of his hand, the candlelight snuffed out, plunging the room into almost total darkness, save for the red glow of the street and his infravision. “And don’t wake me when you come to bed. I can’t promise I’ll be civilized if you do.” 

Ti’yana huffed and tossed the chiton over her shoulder, marching to the door. She’d wasted all her opportunity for conversation on her own miseries. 

Well, fine. She’d just have to wait until Blue Light. In the meantime, she had a dress to finish. 

Disclaimer: Forsaken by Shadows is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.