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Previously, on Forsaken by Shadows, from Rismyn’s point of view,
I know I am supposed to be going to bed, but how can I rest without seeing Mazira first? I need to know that she’s okay and settling in well. So, despite the clear orders from our benefactor, I creep across the hall and sneak into her room.
Fortunately, she’s still awake. Unfortunately, she’s been crying. The sight of her tear-swollen eyes breaks my heart, but she insists it’s okay, and not Ti’yana’s fault. I have no choice but to believe her, and though I’m not ready to go, I don’t know what else to do.
I move to leave, and she grabs my shirt and holds me back. Her touch sends lighting through my veins, and I’m on fire. Her hands are gentle, her forehead pressed into my shoulder blades. It’s enough to make me dizzy, dizzier than Ti’yana made me.
And then she starts talking…and her words…what can I say? They’re what I’ve been waiting to hear. She doesn’t hate me. She actually kind of likes me.
No, it’s more than that. She tells me I’m her friend, her rescuer, all the things I haven’t actually been. And when I turn to face her, I almost make a terrible mistake.
I almost kiss her.
And ruin everything.
Fortunately, I have enough good sense to pull back. I try to talk her into a story, and end up telling her a story instead. Or at least, I try. I’m not very good at it, nor am I able to interpret tapestry art well. And this feeling won’t go away, the one that makes me want to wrap my arms around her and never let go, and she keeps touching my face in the gentlest ways…
But I stay strong, and when she asks about my scar again, I know it’s time to tell her the truth: anything that makes me look less like my psychotic brother is welcomed. She doesn’t like that answer, but I can’t bring myself to be depressed anymore. I’ve had enough of that, so I turn things back to jesting and then, in the end, I remember another story to tell her.
I speak to her until she finally falls asleep, and I know I need to leave, to go to my own cold, isolated guest room, but I linger, thinking once more on the story Solaurin told me about his own past, mulling over what it must have been like for him, and how he came to be here…
~19: Father of Three~
In the dream of his memory, Solaurin wandered through cavern after black cavern, weak and exhausted, a bundle of fabric clutched in his arms. The rich violet silk was some of his finest work, but it cradled something infinitely more valuable to him than the threads he had woven.
Everything about him was silk and satin. His clothes, his shoes, his heart. All of it too soft and delicate for the journey he now labored through. Seams had torn, rips had snagged. He’d stumbled and fallen more than once, and blood would forever tarnish the dye he’d paid top coin for.
But he didn’t think about those things anymore. He didn’t think about anything, except the utter silence which swallowed his shuffling steps.
Ti’yana wasn’t crying. She ought to have been crying. At just two tendays old, crying was her only language. When he’d first rushed out into the Dark with her, he’d been horrified at her echoing wails, fearing what it would attract. But now time had become incalculable, and there was nothing in these caves but he and his newborn daughter.
When was the last time she had made a sound? Her bundle was still warm, indicating life still clung to her little body, but she seemed to have grown smaller. How long had he been lost in this maze of misery? How long did he and Ti’yana have left?
He was so hungry. So thirsty. So ready to lie down and sleep and never wake again, but that wasn’t an option. If he stopped moving, something else would come along and gobble him up, and while he might have been able to agree to that, he couldn’t let Ti’yana face such doom.
So he kept walking, dazed and defeated, until a stone caught his foot and he fell, turning just in time to shield Ti’yana from the impact.
Within her bundle of silk and sanctuary, she didn’t even stir.
Solaurin didn’t stand up. He touched her face, reassuring himself she was still breathing, and then huddled against the cave wall, curling around her as his chest heaved with sobs he couldn’t express.
What was he thinking? They were going to die out here. Both of them. Why didn’t he leave her behind in her cradle?
“Ti’yana,” he whispered, tracing her cheek. It had been so round and full when he stole her away.
She didn’t respond.
“Ti’yana, please cry.”
Silence.
“I know I told you not to,”–not that the infant listened–“but now I need to hear you cry.”
Nothing.
Solaurin threw his head back, anguish twisting his chest into snarls. What was wrong him? He was supposed to be a drow. A master of stealth and silence, the most feared killer in the Underdark. A predator at the top of the food chain and yet, here he was.
Lost.
Alone.
Dressed in silk for Lolth’s sake, silk that was coming apart. Not armor. Not even leather. And not a single blade to his name, save for the ceremonial sword he’d once worn purely for aesthetics, left behind in Menzoberranzan. Not that it would have made a difference. If anyone had ever actually challenged him to a duel, he’d have bribed his way out of it.
But that was his problem, wasn’t it? He thought gold could solve all his problems. But Lolth didn’t want gold. She wanted blood. And when the goddess came to collect, he’d given her blood. Just not his own.
“Korinna,” he groaned, curling himself around the only piece of her he had left. “Korinna, I’m so sorry.”
But it was too late. She was gone. He’d killed her.
It had been an accident, but it had happened. He’d only wanted her to wait, only wanted her to think for a moment, to scheme with him one last time over how to cheat the Spider Queen at her game. She had lunged at him, and they struggled, and somehow, though he was smaller and weaker than she, he managed to fight her off. And when her head flung back, it cracked into the corner of their beautiful, wonderful, very expensive stone hearth.
That stupid hearth. They shouldn’t have even had one. Fire was a dangerous tool in the Underdark. Too much of it could cause cave-ins or suck up valuable breathable air. It wasn’t wise to decorate with it. But Korinna had wanted a grand mantelpiece, like the kings and queens of the World above, and like everything else Korinna wanted, Solaurin had been all too happy to oblige her.
It cracked her skull and she crumpled to the floor, dead before Solaurin could even draw breath to scream.
She had laid there like she was sleeping, her red, red blood pooling around her crystalline hair. Solaurin had scooped her up, wept over her body, and begged and begged and begged Lolth to give her back, to take his life in place of hers.
But the Spider didn’t answer prayers. Everyone knew that. Korinna had failed her test, so she would get no reward from Lolth. No second chances. No special favors. She was dead, and he was alone and absolutely worthless.
There was nothing left. His position of power came only from Korinna’s love. The Weapons Master and House Wizard would have been more than happy to relieve him of his status as Patron, to raise his daughter as a puppet priestess while they controlled her from the shadows.
If one of the female soldiers didn’t skewer the infant first, claiming the title of matron by conquest.
No, not his daughter. His precious, beautiful daughter, only just born. He’d barely even seen her. Merely the occasional glance when she lay at Korinna’s breast, and while a secret part of him wanted desperately to hold her and study her and get to know the child he’d helped create, he knew better than to voice the hopes out loud. A father merely provided seed. It was a woman’s job to raise the tree.
He would have to fight for her, now. He’d have to protect her, to make sure no one groomed her to weakness or manipulated her position, or killed her before she had a chance to blossom.
It was the only thought that stirred him to move, to set down his beloved Korinna and drift to the nursery, where his little girl lay awake in her crib.
Ti’yana’s rosy eyes focused on him when he stood over her. She had been swaddled in the violet wrappings he had woven just for her, his gift to the future matron of their fledgling House. She was too small to control her features, too small to know how to operate her legs and arms, even if she could move them.
She didn’t recognize him, her father, the giver of half her blood. So she cried.
There was no one else to comfort her but himself. In a panic, her scooped her up, wondering why under the earth he had he given her a swaddle made of silk. It was so slippery she was in danger of gliding right out of his hands.
He didn’t know what to do, so he hugged her close and bounced her carefully, shushing her with gentle tones. It felt ridiculous, but it worked. Ti’yana quieted, and before long she felt like she belonged in his arms.
She was perfection. Absolute perfection. He’d always thought infants were alien and misshapen, and far more prone to mess-making than a weaver of fine textiles could tolerate.
But not his baby. Not his little girl. She must be the most beautiful child in all of Menzoberranzan, without flaw or blemish.
And she was in so much danger. It was all his fault, and he wasn’t strong enough or clever enough to defeat those who would seek to take her birthright. Ti’yana was destined to be a matron, a powerful priestess like her mother–
Her mother. Who lay dead in the room beyond, a priestess who had failed her calling.
Was that all Ti’yana had to look forward to? A throne in a House, the target of every other Matron in the city? Would she grow up to look like Korinna? Would she inherit her mother’s ill favor with Lolth? Would she one day fall in love with a man unworthy off it and then be forced to kill him or be killed in his stead?
Was this the glorious future all little girls in Menzoberranzan aspired to?
No, no, no!
He didn’t want that for her. He didn’t want any of that for her. She couldn’t stay here, she couldn’t grow up to this life of cold cruelty and servitude to a goddess who didn’t care about her.
He had to go. He had to take her and run.
Solaurin didn’t think. He didn’t plan and he didn’t prepare. He just spun on his heels and fled.
And now he was here. The worst drow in all of elven history. Incapable of finding his way to any civilization, lost before he even realized he had gone too far from the city. Starving. Dying. A failure.
If he had left Ti’yana, she might have had a chance to live. But once more, in his cowardice, he had condemned the ones he loved to die.
She hadn’t cried in so long.
She was so thin.
“Please,” Solaurin whispered, his soul bereft. “I’ll do anything. Just don’t let my baby die.”
He should have gone back to Ssschindylyrn. It was the obvious thing to do, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly. True, he’d collapsed his tunnels in Ssschindylyrn, metaphorically speaking, but he still had a home there. His brother, Esarin, had stolen back the silk empire Solaurin had taken from him after Rio’lorin was killed. Solaurin had been too busy playing House with Korinna to notice or care.
But Esarin wasn’t vindictive. If Solaurin showed up on his doorstep, he’d at least be given a job farming the silkworms. He could use his wages to hire a mother for Ti’yana, he could raise her to be a weaver and a business woman and teach her to take care of herself, the way his brothers had taught him. He’d survived without a mother. Why couldn’t Ti’yana?
Oh, right. Because they were lost in the wilderness, starving to death.
“Please,” he choked again. “She doesn’t deserve this. Someone. Anyone. Take my life, give it to her. She’s only a child.”
He closed his eyes, unable to cry, though he very much wished he could. There wasn’t enough water left in his body. He’d always thought he was so smart; how could he have done something so stupid?
A breeze drifted through the cavern, and it was a measure of how dazed he was that he didn’t react at first. But air seldom moved in the caverns without something to move it, and when that thought finally meandered to the surface of his mind, he looked up, ready to face his impending doom.
But it wasn’t a monster who stood before him.
It was a woman. A drow woman. A very naked drow woman.
Solaurin just stared at her, blinking slowly, barely able to register what he was seeing. She was the loveliest woman he had ever beheld, her skin the color of pure darkness, her hair the length of her body. Rather than eyes of crimson blood, her irises shone silver.
She must not be real. She was too beautiful to be real. He was hallucinating her, as death came nearer to claim him.
The woman reached out for Ti’yana, and without thinking, Solaurin placed the child in her arms. She smiled the most radiant smile, quite literally, as a soft glow emanated from her person. She took Ti’yana and rocked her in her arms, and from her mouth came a sound Solaurin had never heard before.
It was…music, he thought. Like the chants given to Lolth, only smoother, lilting. He didn’t know the language, but he didn’t need to know it. The sound washed over him like a warm bath, soothing all his aches and pains away.
The woman swayed, and he was mesmerized by her motions. She was singing to his child, and after a moment, he heard a sound that was sweeter to his ears than even the woman’s voice.
Ti’yana was crying.
The stranger’s smile broadened, and she sat back against a stone, raising Ti’yana to her breast. Within seconds, the baby latched and began to nurse.
Solaurin still wasn’t convinced he wasn’t hallucinating. The woman continued to sing, Ti’yana continued to nurse. He just sat in wonder, dazed and confused and incapable of understanding. He couldn’t say how long this lasted, only that all at once, the music stopped, and the woman was handing Ti’yana back to him.
Then she raised her hand and touched his forehead, and the song returned. Not in the cavern, but in his own mind, echoing to the rhythm of his heartbeats.
A life for a life, said the woman in his mind. Her voice was incomprehensible. Rich as gold, strong as mithril, soft as silk. You will serve me all your days, for I have cleansed your heart. I know you will do well. Rise, take your daughter, and walk. I will guide you and protect you.
And then she was gone. Simply vanished, as if she had never been.
But her song still echoed in his mind.
With strength renewed and hunger mysteriously abated, Solaurin did as he was instructed. No longer did he wander aimless, but he chose his steps with purpose. He knew where to go, even without knowing how he knew.
Ti’yana slept peacefully in his arms, all her vigor restored. She did not wake again for the rest of the journey, but Solaurin felt no anxiety for it. Somewhere, deep in his heart, he understood that she was being preserved.
It wasn’t until he reached the Gates of the mysterious city that she finally awoke, her cry alerting the very confused guards to their presences. No one was supposed to be able to simply walk up to the Gates. There were security measures in place for that.
So they brought him into the city.
They questioned him relentlessly.
They believed him, when his magic manifested to prove his claims, and gave him a place to stay.
But most importantly, they let him keep his daughter, who now had silver eyes, and taught him how to raise her.
–
It was well past Blue Light and into White by the time Solaurin emerged from his unconscious state. But though he knew how late it was and the exact sum in gold his hours of resting had cost him, he remained still, staring at the ceiling.
He had guessed what his dreams would be after speaking in such detail about his past to Rismyn, but though he had known, he still wasn’t prepared for the reliving of the memories. The details had been so vivid, the reminder had been so clear.
What a gift his life had become. Twenty-three years was not so long of a time when you had already lived for three centuries, but it felt like an eternity. It was hard to believe how different things had become in such a short span. A true miracle.
With a groan, he rolled over, knocking aside one of Ti’yana’s extraneous pillows. How could he have slept so long, and still be so tired? He might not be as young as he used to be, but he still wasn’t old. Not yet, with over half his lifespan left to him, so long as he didn’t make his ‘reckless displays of heroism’ a habit.
Really. Heroism? Mother Lara was just fishing for reasons to be cross with him.
He sighed again, willing himself to do more than roll over. One thing was for certain, young or not, he was far too old for this adventuring nonsense. With stiff shoulders and an aching back, he pushed himself up and swept his hair back, glaring at the window as if it was the light’s fault he felt so miserable.
He certainly didn’t feel young.
Ti’yana, dear child that she was, had left a plate of danishes and a cup of herb infused water for him on the side table. A gesture far more poignant after his night of miserable reminiscing.
He didn’t deserve her, and he didn’t like to imagine what their relationship would have been had he not madly run off with her. Even if things had been different, and Korinna had never come for his life, he would never have known how brilliant she was. He would have always kept his distance, and she would have been taught to scorn him, even if her mother did love him. It was just the way things were.
Solaurin shook the thoughts away and made a mental note to remind his daughter of just how wonderful she was. Then he went about the business of making himself presentable for the day.
His head throbbed and every step pained him as he carried the tray and empty cup to kitchen. The room was unoccupied, but the murmur of voices downstairs told him where Ti’yana was. He set the dishes by the wash basin and paused, noting that there was only evidence of one person dining before him. Their guests must not be awake yet.
Solaurin hesitated, debating his next move. He needed to go downstairs to check on his apprentices’ work and give Ti’yana a much-needed accounting of his recent travels. But so far as he was concerned, he had three children now, and two of them were unaccounted for.
The priest crept back up the hall, stopping outside of Rismyn’s door first. He knew what he would find even before he cracked it open.
Empty.
Of course it was empty. The boy probably never set foot inside. He moved to Ti’yana’s–no, Mazira’s–door, and cracked it open.
And there were his rebellious charges. Together, against his express instruction.
Mazira was curled up beneath the covers in a ball around the pillow, her forehead almost pressed into the wall. He noted, with a twist in his gut, the scar on her back, the one Rismyn and Ti’yana had told him was there, but he had failed to imagine just how ghastly it was.
No wonder Ti’yana had been so shaken. The poor girl.
In contrast, Rismyn sprawled on his back beside her, above the blankets, utterly oblivious to his wrongdoing. It was easy to guess what happened. He’d known it would the moment he saw Rismyn’s expression harden when he forbade them from sharing a room. The boy had gone to check on the girl and conveniently forgot to leave.
It would have been adorable, if their attachment to one another wasn’t a powder keg of self-destruction just waiting to ignite. Mutual affection was one thing, but from what he had gathered in just the few hours he’d known them, their bond reached deeper. It was co-dependency, their literal identity. Neither knew who they were without the other and unfortunately, that didn’t make for healthy relationships, friendship or otherwise.
But that was a knot he’d try to untangle later. For now, he would let them rest. There was no need to petrify Mazira and as for Rismyn, well, now he knew what subject they’d be addressing in their next Red Light chat.
Solaurin shut the door and turned back to the kitchen. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even disappointed. In fact, he would have been outright shocked if Rismyn had actually obeyed him.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t annoyed. Sometimes he wished he was right less often. With a sigh, he went to the stairs to check on his apprentices. At least they listened when he talked, once they got past their infatuation with his daughter. Silver eyes wasn’t the only trait Ti’yana had inherited from the goddess who saved her life. The charm went deeper than appearance, it was its own brand of magic. It would be interesting to see how long the spell lasted on Rismyn.
Mercy, what if it never faded? How would that effect Mazira’s healing process? Or his?
Gracious, his head hurt. He was most certainly not ready for this responsibility.
But it was going to be worth it. The children were safe now, and they were his. They may not know it yet, but they had finally come home.
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.
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