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Yasha had never been one for crowds.
It was nicer, she supposed, when the crowd was exclusively her friends. Not just her friends, but friends of her brides, of her family.
It had been magical in a whole new way to watch an already drunk Caleb slur his way through his best man speech for Beau, and Caduceus had delivered such a heartfelt speech for both her and Jester, but even as she made her way from the dance floor, where elves danced with humans, genasi with tieflings, and everyone was full of joy and energy, even so late into the night, something about it had felt empty.
Every guest was a friend of hers, sure, but so few felt like they were there as her friends. Jester had invited her parents and caretakers, those she’d known while she grew up. Beau had invited her few friends from the Cobalt Soul, along with some of the friends she grew up with, and while those left of her carnival family were dancing among the other guests, it didn’t quite feel as personal.
Yasha excused herself politely from the celebration, taking a moment before she left to watch her new wives dance with their friends, and walked away from the bustling space they’d set up under the stars on the Glory Run Road.
She made her way quietly, carefully, through the benches that were still set up from the ceremony, stepping around scatterings of flower petals to where the coat sat, just off to the side of the ceremony setup, where her best friend could watch her wedding, just as he may have if he were still there.
She sat there, letting her long black dress get slightly stained with mud, and idly ran her finger along the patterns of the coat that had somehow managed to stay there for so many years.
She didn’t say anything, but the words seemed to spill from her mind to whatever may remain of him anyway.
‘I wish you were here. Nothing’s the same without you, and today would have been so much more perfect if you had been by my side.’
Her fingers found the hidden symbols on his coat, the ones that represented gods highly illegal within the Empire. She’d always been so amazed at how willing he had been to parade them right under a crownsguard’s nose.
Her fingers brushed the symbol of Melora, the staff and wreath she’d now seen so many times on Caduceus and Fjord, intricate detail in the embroidery. She’d been there when he was working on it, they’d been talking as he’d sewed the wreath, and she’d watched his fingers move with a practiced grace, sewing a forbidden symbol in broad daylight within the Empire with such an air of carelessness that no one bothered to question it.
Yasha pulled a flower from the many woven into her hair and set it down among the flowers and grasses that grew there. Overgrown as ever, though they had been neatened up somewhat for the wedding.
She spent a few moments watching the gentle rustling of the flowers in the breeze when she was suddenly overtaken by the familiar chill of being watched. Unseen eyes on her back, and her head whipped around to spot any danger, immediately reaching for the sword that wasn’t on her back, before moving to a knife she’d tucked away for self defense, then noticing the figure.
A drow woman with a long mess of bright red hair stood behind her, looking less intimidating than Yasha had ever seen her.
“Jourrael,” she greeted, the tears she didn’t notice she’d been crying holding her voice back to barely louder than a whisper.
The Caedogeist kneeled beside her, looking over the grave before them.
“This was your friend?”
Yasha nodded. “Mollymauk.”
Jourrael mouthed the name, repeating it as she placed a hand on the earth. Yasha couldn’t tell if she was casting something or simply familiarising herself.
“I thought you weren’t coming.”
“I was not. I’m not a fan of,” she gestured to the crowded reception, “people. Gatherings. Your friends come on a little strong.”
Yasha smiled at the ground, letting out a small, silent exhale of a laugh. “They’re… Excitable”
Jourrael nodded, and they both watched the flowers dance in the wind on Molly’s grave, each of them trying to find what to say.
“I haven’t seen you in a long time.” Yasha started eventually, “We were convinced you’d just ignored your invitation.”
“I was going to,” she hesitated for a moment, “but you all helped me escape Obann’s grasp, all those years ago, and I wanted to at least visit you. Since we had that in common.”
“Friends who are enslaved together stay together,” Yasha said solemnly, then chuckled a little to herself.
“Yes… Well, I wanted to give you this.” The Caedogeist reached into her cloak, pulling out a small, dark grey wooden box with the slightest of shimmers to it, tied neatly with a silver thread.
“Thank you.”
Yasha gave the thread the slightest of tugs and it unravelled itself almost entirely from the box, and she tucked it into a pocket before pulling the lid from the box.
Inside was a bed of dried grasses, making a neat nest for an arrangement of pressed flowers, the likes of which Yasha had never seen. A few seemed to have a slight glow, while others seemed so strange in appearance that there was simply no way they were from this realm.
“Oh, wow...” she whispered, reaching to pick up a small one coloured with blues, pinks and oranges that was glowing faintly.
“I apologise if they’re a bit strange, I just noticed when we were traveling that you kept pressed flowers in that book of yours, and I thought you may want some… more exotic specimens.”
Yasha placed the flower back down gently and beamed at her, tears forming in her eyes again.
“Thank you. This is so wonderful.”
Yasha reached into the folds of her dress again, pulling out the journal that was now almost filled with flowers, and started gently securing the new additions to the pages, and Jourrael watched her silently.
“Did you know he made me this?” Yasha asked softly, as she finished affixing the last of the flowers.
“Mollymauk?”
“Yeah,” she held up the book, showing the hand bound pages between leather covers, and turning it so Jourrael could see the engraving of the initials M.T. on the back, written in the corner in an obnoxiously curly font, and decorated with a slightly iridescent green ink.
“He seems like he was a lovely friend.”
Yasha nodded, smiling as she traced her fingers over the letters, “The best.”
“Anyone could use a friend like that.”
Yasha smiled, and looked back up at her.
“If you’re ever looking for one, my applications are open.”
Jourrael gave the tiniest of nods and smiles as she stood up.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Yasha watched as she disappeared from view, and sat for a couple moments more at her best friend’s grave, before tucking the book away and returning to the party.