Chapter Text
1247
Eilinna remembered the heady smell of her fur-lined coat wrapped tightly around her shoulders as she watched the last of the ice crumble from the underside of Wyrm’s Crossing. It smelled like the mildew of winters passed that bred and accumulated in the dank of the family cellar. The scent meant winter had come, leaving the castle cold and grey in the light of the year’s end. That day, however, the sun had risen over the buildings as midday rapidly approached and the warmth had sweat gathering under her arms and on the peach fuzz of her upper lip. Despite the heat, she remembered the feeling of relief that she would be rid of her coat soon.
As the sun baked the cobblestones below, the crowd closed in, crushed shoulder to shoulder against the railing to watch the ice sink into the waves below. She remembered the sounds of cheering as a hand covered her shoulder.
“Did you see that, Linna? I’m sure it’s floating on top—let’s get closer!” One of her sisters, she couldn’t remember which as they had all been gathered and ushered together at the front of the festival, had said and pushed her closer to the railing until it bit through her thick coat to bruise her ribs. With the pressure against her body, she loomed dangerously over the edge of the railing. She still remembered the way her heartbeat had frightened her into silence.
“If you mean to kill yourself during a festival, at least have the decency to do it somewhere else,” said a man who stood nearby.
Eilinna laughed to herself as the cruel words stifled any she could come up with in return and turned to see a young, male elf with pale blond, almost silver curls gathered at the nape of his neck. He was dressed in the highest form of fashion at the time. His doublet fit him slenderly, in a flattering way, but had she been older, she would have noticed the way he wore it like a costume. As if he were putting on a play for the outside world. To her young eyes, he looked like a prince, if princes clutched wine bottles tightly in their fists and held a brooding outlook. He was dreamy. And when he brought his eyes to meet hers, she found they were a hypnotic blue; he looked like starlight. She couldn’t quite make the words leave her lips under his gaze.
“Don’t be crass, Saer Acunin,” said Orilee, her eldest sister. Orilee had been in Baldur’s Gate social season for two years then, so she knew every person of note there was to know in The Gate. Eilinna looked between them as he scoffed. She also knew the laws of etiquette and what, with all her moral fiber, was crass and what wasn’t. The laugh died on Eilinna’s lips, and she coughed.
“It was a joke, though I guess the art is dead?” He shrugged and downed the last of his bottle of wine.
“If bards are to be judged, jokes are supposed to be funny,” said Orilee.
“Your sister, laughed. Didn’t you, little one?” His gaze was turned on her slowly and his smirk lit her body into flames. Suddenly the warmth of the sun was oppressive, and she was sure she had sweated through the cloth of her dress and soaked the inside of her coat.
“Come, Linna, let’s go home and you can help me get ready for the ball, hmm?” Orilee offered but grabbed Eilinna’s hand to pull her away without an answer.
He locked eyes with her until she was pulled far from his gaze. Despite the heat, the image of those eyes sent a shiver down her spine.
1492
“You saved me from that pod back on the ship, when it would have been easier to walk away. I won’t forget that,” said Shadowheart as she and Eilinna stood on the beach. To the sound of the crashing waves, Eilinna helped the half-elf to her feet.
“Well, I won’t hold it over your head, so feel free to remember it,” said Eilinna as she looked around the wreckage. “For now, we need to find supplies and, if we’re lucky, shelter.”
“Agreed.”
Together, the two women combed the beach and checked the bodies nearby for anything they could get. Eilinna pocketed money and rations as she went and utilized her magic to gently set the bodies aside partially out of respect, but mostly to remove them from the path as Shadowheart stood reading letters and raiding baskets.
By the time the sun was high in the sky and both women were sweating under their armor, they started up the hill to find shelter only to find a swirling, purple portal from which they pulled a wizard.
“Why if it isn’t Waterdeep’s famous spellstudy!” said Eilinna with a smile. A familiar face brought comfort to her.
“Lady Ebonwood, it is lovely to see you,” said Gale.
“I’m glad to see we’re all familiar,” said Shadowheart with an edge to her voice.
“He is a famous Archmage in Waterdeep,” Eilinna explained, “and I ran into him when he was a boy. He’s grown quite a bit since then.”
Eilinna thought back on her time in Waterdeep, the beauty of the city and the smell of parchment that spilled out from the libraries. She remembered the brown-eyed prodigy that ran about with his tressym familiar, awe-inspiring the masses and infuriating instructors that were already below his level. Once Elminster came to him, the boy seemed to all but disappear from the city’s gaze.
“Time is a cruel mistress,” Gale mused, “though speaking of cruel, I saw you both on that ship. How much do you know of ceremorphoses?”
“Enough to know that it will be unpleasant if we don’t find a healer soon enough,” said Eilinna, “Come, travel with us. There is safety in numbers, Archmage.”
“Very wise counsel, Lady Ebonwood, you took the words from my mouth. I would be delighted to join you both on this adventure,” said Gale as he finally dusted himself off.
“Shall we be off, then?” asked Shadowheart in her usual lilt and once Eilinna was sure they were all ready, the three set out to continue their search.
This portion of The Sword Coast was craggy with hills jutting out in every direction. Some were topped with verdant moss, while others had sections of white where the sea foam and salt had dried down. In the midday sun, everything looked beautiful. The thought was quickly ruined by the feeling of something squirming behind her eyes. Her stomach unsettled the same way it did when she first learned of her own skeletal system. The knowledge that something was happening inside her body without her controlling it made the underside of her tongue water like she was going to be sick. Somewhere a bird sang in a tree and the issue was forgotten.
Gale offered his hand when the group encountered a slope greater than the others. Eilinna took the hand gratefully and Shadowheart ignored it completely to climb down herself with a dainty grunt of effort.
“Do you think that we should find a place to make camp? The sun is beginning to go down and-,” A cry interrupted Gale.
Shadowheart and Eilinna looked at one another and then to the wizard. Past them, through the underbrush and the tree line, the person cried again. The voice sounded familiar, though maybe she’d heard too many cries for help lately.
“It might be a trap,” said Shadowheart.
The cry stopped, but so did all noise in the forest. Or, by the act of focusing too intently, she had shut out all other noises. Through her straining, she could hear a stressed grunting followed by another, softer cry for help. In her mind’s eye, she could see the pathway, and before she could stop, her feet began the trek.
“It’s this way,” Eilinna said under her breath.
When she parted the trees and stepped into the light, she stopped. There was a silver-haired male elf. His hair curled around his ears and at the nape of his neck perfectly, just as they always had and his voice…it was the voice that gave him away.
A wave of nausea swept over her like an impatient tide crashing against the shore. Suddenly everything seemed too bright, too loud, too open. She shivered. Seeing him standing there stripped her of hundreds of years’ worth of armor that had hardened around her heart. Perhaps hardness begets brittleness as every crack grew tenfold as the sight of him took chisel and hammer to mold her once again.
“You look pale,” said Shadowheart, “do you think it is dangerous?”
“I believe in the strength of women more than most, believe me, but perhaps I should take the lead on this one?” said Gale.
“No,” Eilinna said. Her voice was so quiet she couldn’t be sure she had said anything at all. The sweat froze on her body as she moved closer. Gale stepped forward, but Eilinna held a hand up to stop him.
“Help, I’ve got one of those things over here, it’s injured!” the male elf yelled.
Eilinna wondered if his voice had always been so syrupy. Anger rose in her, and she found herself trying not to rage at him with her body and toss him from where he stood. Hearing his thick skull bounce off the rocks would have appeased her fury. But she didn’t. She felt too young all of a sudden, seeing him against a cliffside. With adult eyes, she could see the costume now, see the charlatan in a noble’s dress.
“Hello, Saer Magistrate,” Eilinna spoke before she could stop herself.
His eyes went wide as he finally saw his would-be prey. Their eyes met and he faltered.
“It’s you…”