Chapter Text
A year had passed since the dramatic wedding of the tower’s two inhabitants, and spring had finally descended upon Waterdeep. The afternoon sun burst through the open door from the balcony, lighting up the large room, the white and blue flowers on the oak table swaying lazily with the sea breeze that had accompanied it.
Gale pushed open the heavy door of the library that greeted him. His wife sat crossed legged in the middle of the floor, books scattered around her in disarray, her pale changeling form a stark contrast to the dull tones of brown and red that decorated the walls and floors. It had not been since nights in cosy tents that he seen the chaos she could bring when something caught her attention, and he hoped this time would pass quickly before any harm could come to the books he cherished. “Nana, my love. Found something of interest? Possibly some Tanil?”
She lifted her head from the large tome that she grasped in her hands. Around her sat other books of various weights and sizes, some closed, others open to random pages as she had jumped between topics. Pushing aside a tuft of white hair that had fallen over her eyes was met with frowning as it fell immediately back to its desired place. “No poetry today. History.” She grinned proudly, holding up the book for him to see.
Her life as a recluse had made her curious, too curious at times Gale had discovered as she’d delved into his library, reading all she could find over the months since she’d moved in. Anything from poetry to ancient civilisations became fascinating, though how much of it she truly understood he never knew. He wandered over to her, placing himself on the floor next to her, taking the book from her tentatively. The pages are fine, thank the gods… Glancing over the title and skimming the page, he found she had been reading about the history of Cormyr, specifically about the war with Sembia in 1484 DR. “An intriguing subject you’ve come across. Any particular reason this has caught your attention?”
“No, no reason.” Nana’s ability to lie had always been a mixed bag. She could perfectly hide in a crowd, her changeling abilities making deception an art form. The masks worn in defence of her past had been near on impossible to take off until the truth had been revealed so long ago: one of Thomas, murders, and a fight for control. When it, however, came to white lies, though, she couldn’t seem to do it. This was one of those moments as the corners of her mouth became an awkward smile and she looked away at anything but Gale, who sat beside her. “Just felt like something different. Missing Astarion and his stabbing or something.”
“His stabbing? Something I should be concerned about?”
“Don’t you ever get a bit stabby?”
“No. No, my love. I do not.” Gale flicked through the pages, running the pad of his index finger down a long list of registered named of soldiers from Arabel. S. Rallyhorn… H. Risingbroke… T. Rosewood. “Hm. Curious.” Rosewood, I know that name.
She felt the hairs on the back of neck stand, knowing exactly what it was he had found. A little more time was all she had wanted to search through the books, piece together the life of the man she had once loved and hated: Thomas Rosewood. Nana watched as Gale peered around at the other books, all open to different moments of Cormyrean history: a great battle with a soldier who led them, an assassination plot on a king, a fire which burnt what little of a Shadovar army had remained after the war. It was as if she had all the pieces of a puzzle before her, a last chance to understand all that had happened. All she needed to do was put them together and see the finished picture.
He was hesitant to speak. Neither had spoken of Thomas since the events of the Bhaal temple so long ago, since death had taken both Nana and the chosen which had inhabited her form without remorse. There had been moments where she’d clearly been taken back to those days, a glazed look in her eyes as she came across a red-headed dancer in the streets of Waterdeep, but at no point had she wanted to discuss that side of her past. All had been said during their travels, all secrets shared through her battered journal. Questions remained, and yet she kept quiet with the answers, holding them to her chest as if revealing them would take everything she held dear away from her.
“Nana…” He placed the book down to focus his attention on her.
“No, no. It’s fine, really. Just a little light reading.”
“Regarding a certain Bhaalspawn that you may or may not have been infatuated with.”
Nana bobbed her head from side to side, deliberating his words. “Well…maybe…yeah.”
“And do you wish to discuss it?”
Before he even had time to prepare himself for an answer, she had broken out in a quick-fire lecture of everything she had found, how interesting it was, the pieces that made little sense to her with details missing. “So, seems he came from Arabel, was a soldier there. I’ve never been there before, but it sounds interesting. Lots of history. And while he was there, he was a soldier, which explains why he was so good at giving orders. I don’t like orders too much, unless it’s you giving me orders.”
Gale broke in before she could continue further, bringing his hand to her cheek and stroking lightly. “Before you continue, would it be misguided of me to enquire about why it is you are researching Thomas?”
She leaned into his palm, feeling the warm touch she had come to love. Noone else had ever made her feel as safe as Gale did, the comfort he provided making her forget the nightmares of the past. “Hmm, this is nice…” she mumbled. For a moment, she forgot what it was he had asked her as her eyes closed and she sighed peacefully.
“Nana? A little focus wouldn’t go amiss.”
“Hm?” She opened an eye and peered at him, remembering what was going on. “Oh yeah, why.” She was unsure if she wanted to speak the truth of this to Gale, as if jealously would be his first reaction, or even rejection, but she knew he was the one she couldn’t lie to. “I guess I just wonder if there’s a way I could have saved him. Was he always the way I knew him, or did that happen after he died? Died the first time. Not in the temple. You get what I mean.”
Gale contemplated the response, removing his hand from her as her attention fell back on him. He’d done his own research on Bhaalspawn since the events of Baldur’s Gate, finding very few positive tales, and certainly none that involved the resurrection of them into the bodies of living beings. “We both know of what he was though.”
“Yeah, but maybe he wasn’t like that when he was alive. His sister always said he was nice.”
“His sister? You’ve never mentioned her before.”
Nana shuffled uncomfortably on the floor, suddenly feeling very exposed. “Yeah, well, it was when things weren’t great…”
“You speak of Iriaebor and all that occurred during the time he controlled you?”
She nodded, knowing the story would have to come out now. Of the events of 1487 DR, the murders that took place by her hand, the adventure she’d been on with Thomas and his inevitable banishment that had failed. “I guess I should start with what I’ve found, so you get an idea of who he was before I met him.”
Nana reached her arm around Gale, smiling as she felt the rough fabric of his navy-blue robes. The memory of a night lying across his lap flicked through her mind and she almost grew distracted, wanting to act on it. Instead, she grabbed at a small green book, bringing it to her lap and flicking through the pages. “So as a child, he was very smart, bookish like you, from what I can tell.” She pointed to a sketch of a short dark-haired boy, skinnier and sicklier, than that of the taller girl who stood beside him. “This is him and his sister when he was about ten, from what I can tell. Their first day at the local academy.”
“First day? That seems rather late of age,” Gale said curiously, looking over the picture within the book.
She shrugged, but nodded in agreement. “The note in the book says it was because they were having a private education regarding the family business.”
He took the book from her hands, inspecting the picture further. There was something about the distant look in the boy’s eyes that made him uncomfortable. The young girl grinned happily, proud and clearly excited about what was to come, but her sibling showed no emotion. Gale found himself curious about what horrors had befallen this child before growing up to become the nightmare Nana had come to know.
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“You’re a fucking disappointment.”
Thomas Rosewood’s tutor had been unimpressed at the fact her pupil had failed to read the books she had set aside for him. Judge of the Damned sat on the desk with only a few pages read before he’d given up in frustration. Stuttering his way through the words had only led to her lifting the flat of the ruler and snapping it down on his knuckles as his fingers traced the words in front of him.
He wanted to argue, wanted to cry, wanted to crawl away to his mother, but none of this was allowed. He was instead to represent the family and all they stood for in Arabel, be the perfect child, as was expected of him. The Rosewoods had long lived in the city trading, working their way up through the hierarchy with each generation. Few did not know the family name in the region, and it was expected that the legacy would carry on for many generations to come.
From the age of seven, this belief had been drilled into him and his lessons had started: reading, writing, languages, political and economic landscapes. At first he had been excited by the concepts, but as time went on, he found them suffocating, instead choosing to watch others of his age from the window as they played soldier with wooden swords and shields. His younger sister, Brienne, was much more the bookworm than he, spending her time mostly in the library or teasing him when he struggled with pronouncing a word. Often he dreamt of burning that library to ash.
“Snap out of it, boy!” the tutor barked at him, striking his knuckles once again with the wood.
Thomas felt the burn on the back of his pale-skinned hand, saw the red welts rising that he knew he would have trouble hiding from those around him. Failing at the lessons was one thing, publicly displaying that failure was another, but he knew as well as she did it was part of the punishment. He just had to do better. He looked over the words, taking a deep breath, burying the emotions down as he had so many days before. Ten years old and already conditioned to stay in line, playing soldier without the sword.
“There have been many Lords of Death who cast judgement upon souls lost and found alike,” he mumbled through the words, his mind distracted by the idea of casting judgement on his tutor’s soul. What punishment would befit her? Starvation, a lashing with that same ruler?
She stood over him, watching as the words came more effortlessly to him, her teaching techniques finally achieving something.
“Death is but part of life: fear it not, evade it not, and view it not as evil.” The thoughts stirred in his mind, a questioning of the morals he had been taught as a child, a small voice telling him that sometimes people must die for the greater good and that he should not fear being the weapon that brings their fate.
The tutor whipped the wood down on the back of his hand, bringing him back to reality, a realisation that she had requested something from him as he had lain in daydream.
“Born into power and yet too stupid to wield it. Recite the basic prayer, boy. I will not tell you again.”
The verse trailed from his lips now with a new meaning to him. “Look not upon our sins, Master of Scales, but measure the worth of your most grateful dead.” Glancing over her form with innocent grey eyes, he questioned what sins she would have upon meeting Kelemvor, what manner of sins he would have when his own time would come.
Thomas Rosewood did not deny the whispers in the walls that night, ones that told him of his fate and who he was to become, ones of death and decay. They brought him a sense of calm he had long since felt. There had been no stutter with his young words over dinner, nor had there been the chastising of his sister over ridiculous pronunciation that mattered little. The pain in his hand did not bother him as he lay in bed in the darkness with the thoughts of his next lesson on his mind, of textbooks illustrated in freshly drawn blood, of the tutor’s ruler in his palm and the weight of the scales shifting with her sins.