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For all that has changed for the githyanki people in the past three years, the istik of Baldur’s Gate remain much the same as when Lae’zel had first met them. The city is still recovering from the Netherbrain and the ghaik invasion, but the society is remarkably the same as how her former traveling companions had described them. In their correspondence, Astarion and Jaheira, two long-term residents of the city, had remarked how little the culture ever seemed to change, even through all the crises it had been through.
Githyanki society across the planes had been upended by the defeat of Vlaakith. Despite the Warriors of the One Sky sparing no effort in spreading the truth of her tyranny, there remained those steadfast in their loyalty to the Undying Queen, and it was them who fell at the ends of Lae’zel’s silver sword and the swords of her comrades.
She does not pity them. She remembers how she was one of Vlaakith’s most faithful, but eventually saw the truth. If her younger, foolish self had been convinced, then, if another of Vlaakith’s warriors heard the truth and refused to listen, to continue to defend their queen of lies, they would deserve their death.
But part of her grieves for the people they could have been, if they had made different choices.
She’s grown sentimental since the parasite. Since her traveling companions.
Which is why, after Vlaakith had finally been defeated, she rejected Voss’s offer to have a leadership position in their new society. She had freed their people, and it was a great joy, and she would be keeping in touch, following Voss’s exploits with great interest...
But her heart ached for her old companions. They remained on the material plane, and if Lae’zel stayed in the Astral, she may live forever, but she would miss their entire lives. Their correspondence was far too infrequent, and she longed to share the same space as them, to talk and touch whenever she wished, as they had shared in their old adventure.
So, she had bid farewell to Voss and her loyal warriors and friends. And now she stands in front of a large house, in the settlement just outside the walls of Baldur’s Gate – Riverson, was it called? – a house near cliff’s edge, overlooking the river, that certainly wasn’t there when they had come to the city to vanquish the elder brain. The stone walls are remarkably clean, and the wood panels in pristine condition.
It must be new.
She had not mentioned she would be returning soon in any of the discs she had sent, nor the talks she had using the psionic projection. A surprise for her companions, then. Her throat feels obstructed, a strange anxiety filling her, one that she had not even felt before she faced Vlaakith. Three years, while a blip in the lifespan of a githyanki such as Voss, is far longer than she had spent traveling with these companions in the first place, and with all that has happened in that time, it feels like an age.
She swallows the lump in her throat and uses the knocker on the door. It’s shaped like a ghaik tadpole, which should be in poor taste, but somehow, she is only amused by it.
She can hear heavy footsteps before the door swings open, and Karlach appears, only taking a moment to take in Lae’zel’s face before a huge grin spreads across her face, displaying her sharp ivory teeth, and her tail begins to wag fiercely behind her.
“LAE!” she yells, and moves to hug Lae’zel, but stops for a moment. “Um, is it okay if I hug you? It’s been so long.”
“I still do not enjoy ‘hugs,’” Lae’zel says. “But I will tolerate it from you.”
Karlach scoops Lae’zel up, gently, unlike the bone-crushing embrace she had impulsively inflicted upon her when she had finally regained the ability to touch others. She’s not nearly as hot as she was then, and Lae’zel recalls one of their conversations, how Karlach had shared, nearly bursting with excitement, that her engine had been well and truly repaired, built to last in the material plane, and that she was finally returning home for good.
Lae’zel still isn’t sure how this is supposed to work, but she tentatively wraps her arms around Karlach’s shoulders to return the gesture.
“I missed you too,” Karlach breathes into Lae’zel’s shoulder, close to her ear.
Perhaps Lae’zel had lied. This is rather pleasant.
Karlach releases her hold, so Lae’zel does in turn, and Karlach is still beaming at her. “You have to see the others,” she says. “Shadowheart and Wyll and Astarion are all here, too, and Gale is at his teaching job, but he should be back later, and he’ll be happy to see you too!”
She gestures inside, and Lae’zel follows.
“The patriars wanted to thank us for saving the city,” Karlach tells her. “So while they were organizing the rebuilding of all the buildings that were destroyed, we were offered a house. Or rather, Shadowheart was, since she was the only one who stayed here immediately after all that, but she requested it to be big enough for all of us.”
The house is cozy and welcoming, a far cry from the camps Lae’zel had grown used to during the war. The windows are large, allowing ample sunlight to filter in, but with heavy curtains drawn to the sides. There are several shelves filled to bursting with tomes, all manner of wooden carvings and plants on every available surface, plush rugs, paintings on the walls. The largest painting is of Minsc’s hamster, Boo, in great detail and several times the size of the real thing, set in an elaborate brass frame and hanging over a hearth. He looks nearly the size of an actual giant space hamster, and it makes Lae’zel a little hungry.
Positioned strategically in a wide beam of sunlight is a deep red couch, currently inhabited by a lounging Astarion and Wyll.
“Lae’zel is back!” Karlach announces, and the pair look up from their position, and they both light up when they see Lae’zel, just as Karlach did.
“Well, if it isn’t our revolutionary friend,” Astarion drawls, detaching himself from Wyll and patting the space he just vacated.
“I can’t say we were expecting you today, but you’re a welcome sight,” Wyll comments with an easy smile.
So, Lae’zel sits down between Astarion and Wyll, stiffly. The couch is really quite soft, and Toril’s sun warms her skin. She relaxes minutely, then tenses again as Karlach collapses onto the couch, on Wyll’s other side.
“You should have told us you were returning, dear,” Astarion scolds her, but the pet name conveys his light tone. “We would have thrown a lavish celebration.”
“I already celebrated,” Lae’zel states. “We slayed Vlaakith, and liberated the githyanki people. We feasted around the display of Vlaakith’s head, and selected partners to partake in the pleasures of flesh.”
“You slayed Vlaakith?” Wyll asks. “Is that why you’ve returned?”
“Ooh, did you bring back any parts of her for me?” Astarion also asks.
“Yes, to all of your inquiries,” Lae’zel answers smugly. “I was allowed to keep one of her eyes. You may have it if you wish, Astarion.”
“You truly never disappoint, my dear,” Astarion says, eyes bright.
“Wait, you went through all that to liberate your people, and then came back to us?” Wyll’s eyes are wide as he stares at her – there’s something different about them, Lae’zel knows, but can’t place what. He is smiling though, so she will take that as a good sign.
She takes a breath, as she thinks of how to respond.
“I… missed you,” she confesses. “All of you. It is true that I desired githyanki liberation above all else. But after it was achieved, well… I simply wanted to return to this plane, and stay with you. Voss found it strange, that I would… care so much for a few istik, but he gave me his blessing. Freedom for the githyanki means freedom for myself to make that choice, too.”
“Aww,” Karlach says. “You do love us, don’t you?”
Lae’zel pauses again, as she thinks of her life before the tadpoles. Blood-red and death-black. The only “love” she felt in her heart was for Vlaakith – an obsessive sort of love, an unrequited love, pouring her entire being into a queen she would be betrayed by and ultimately seek revenge upon. She had allied herself with an unorthodox group of istik. A woman who blindly worshiped a dark goddess, so similar to Lae’zel in retrospect. A vampire spawn, abused and broken, but tasting freedom for the first time in two hundred years. A wizard chained by the weapon of mass destruction in his chest, bound to sacrifice himself for a goddess as well. A man who pacted his soul to a devil and yet was still foolish enough to help any hapless refugee or stray kitten they encountered. A tiefling woman who had fire instead of a heart, but nonetheless had the biggest heart of them all in a sense, burning brightly for the very real fear that she would burn out.
They had allied out of convenience. They all had ghaik tadpoles in their brains, and all required a cure. They were all very irritating to her at first. Nothing like her, nothing like a githyanki. They all conducted themselves in inferior ways. If they were practical in one way, they were impractical in another. Inefficient istik. Burdens.
And yet, she had stuck with them. They were good fighters, a well-rounded group that could cover each other’s weaknesses. They saved her hide countless times, and she did the same for them in return. She grew to know each one, why they were the way they were. She found herself thirsting for the blood of those that had wronged them, in the same way that Vlaakith had wronged her. She took great pleasure in killing Cazador, Gortash, the Mother Superior.
They traveled through the world of Faerûn. She saw many places, sights, sounds, people. Experience was nothing like reading the slates in the library of K’liir. They arrived at Baldur’s Gate, and her companions who knew the city showed her places that were important to them. The taverns they frequented. Fresh fish by the docks. The Wilden Oak. The graveyard, with the graves of Karlach’s parents, and Astarion’s own grave. Places associated with a wide spectrum of emotion and memory. And Lae’zel had cared. Lae’zel had felt a bit of that feeling as her companions shared why it was so important to them.
Before the tadpoles, her world was blood-red and death-black. Her companions showed her more than blood, more than death. Their home, their lives, what was truly important to them.
All the colors in between.
“Yes,” she says, finally, to three pairs of expectant eyes. “I do think that’s what I feel.”
The colors of the room are vivid. The verdant green of plants, the gentle brown of the wooden carvings, the bright gold of the sunlight. Lae’zel suddenly realizes she has relaxed fully into the couch, and notices the gentle press of Astarion and Wyll against her shoulders.
Astarion snorts, but he’s still relaxed. “It’s about time you figured it out.”
“You know it takes her a while sometimes,” Wyll chides him, and Lae’zel remembers something that’s been bothering her.
“You three,” she says. “There’s something different about all of you.”
“Oh, how could you tell?” Astarion gestures to the patch of sunlight he’s stretched out in, and then holds out his hand. “Gale and Shadowheart worked out a little something to let me enjoy the sun again.”
A small golden ring on his finger, with a slightly glowing amber stone embedded in it.
“As long as it doesn’t slip off, of course,” Astarion adds. “But that’s what our heavy curtains are for.”
Wyll chuckles. “I wouldn’t blame you for not noticing, it’s rather subtle.” He gestures to his right eye. “I replaced Mizora’s sending stone with a glass eye, since she has no power over me anymore.”
His glass eye is brown, with a normal white sclera, like his real eye used to be before his devil transformation.
“It suits you,” Lae’zel says simply, which earns her a smile from Wyll.
“My engine,” Karlach pipes up, grinning again. “It doesn’t run on infernal metal anymore. I got it replaced with something more like an artificial heart.” She punches her chest, and there’s a clang of metal, but no infernal blaze. “It’ll last in the material plane, and it’ll be easier to maintain. I can live, a fairly normal life, in my home.”
She had already heard the news, she knows. Nevertheless, Lae’zel’s heart feel like it may burst, a feeling not dissimilar to what she had felt after she had finally dealt the death blow to Vlaakith. The joy she feels for the liberation of her companions is comparable to the joy she felt at the liberation of her entire people.
She realizes she is beaming, and makes no move to stop it.
She is very glad indeed that Karlach is able to live. That Lae’zel is here to see her live.
“Don’t forget about Shadowheart, though,” Karlach changes the subject. “She’s out in the garden, if you want to say hi.”
“I did not forget about her. It is just pleasant to sit here with you.” Lae’zel says plainly. “But I would like to see her as well.”
As she moves to stand up, Wyll asks tentatively, “Are you going to stay with us?”
Ah, she forgot to mention that.
“Yes,” Lae’zel says. “If you will have me.”
“That would be a delight,” Astarion purrs as he leans back towards Wyll. “We did miss you terribly, you know.”
“Oh, and take this!” Karlach adds, holding out a vial. “Potion of animal speaking. So you can say hello to the owlbear.”
“The owlbear is still with you?” Lae’zel asks, bemused, but takes the vial anyway.
“Yeah, he’s outside with Shadowheart,” Karlach says. “They’re inseparable now. So go say hi!”
The garden, as it turns out, is in the back, the complete opposite end of the house from the entrance, which explains why Lae’zel didn’t see it when she arrived. It’s quite a large yard, partially shaded by a large willow, and bordered by artfully arranged flowers and edible plants. In the shade of the willow tree is a patch of night orchids, and a chair on which Shadowheart sits, lost in some book, with the large owlbear curled up next to her, dozing.
“Shadowheart,” Lae’zel announces as she draws near, and she looks up with wide eyes, framed with reading glasses.
“Lae’zel!” Shadowheart smiles. She folds her glasses and tucks them in the page of her book before setting it down, standing up to meet Lae’zel at eye level.
“May I kiss you?” she asks, quietly.
“Yes,” Lae’zel breathes, and leans in to press their lips together. Shadowheart’s lips are softer than they were when they had last kissed three years ago, but Lae’zel imagines her own are just as rough as ever, having continued to fight the last three years while Shadowheart enjoyed a hero’s reprieve.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful you’ve returned, but why now?” Shadowheart asks when they pull apart. “Last I heard, you were still preparing to raid Tu’narath.”
“Vlaakith is dead,” Lae’zel announces, tipping her chin up in pride. “My people are freed. I have fulfilled my destiny.”
“Oh! That’s wonderful!” Shadowheart exclaims, reaching out to hold Lae’zel’s hands. “But you came back here?”
“I have… strong feelings for all of you.” Lae’zel confesses. “This is how I choose to use my new freedom.”
Shadowheart leans in to kiss her again, and Lae’zel reciprocates. She can feel Shadowheart’s smile in her kiss, sure and loving.
“That makes two of us,” Shadowheart says. Lae’zel’s thumb traces her hand, feeling the odd scar that was once an incurable wound.
Yes, they are both free.
The mound of feathers shifts, and the owlbear is awake, big yellow eyes blinking up slowly at Lae’zel.
“Friend?” the owlbear’s voice echoes in Lae’zel’s mind. “Flat-nosed friend?”
“Hm,” Lae’zel muses. “It has more capacity for memory than I thought.”
The owlbear lunges at Lae’zel, and she has the strength to stop it before it bowls her over, but it only looks up at her with an endeared brightness in its eyes. “Flat-nosed friend! You’re back! I missed you!”
Lae’zel huffs, and concedes to rubbing its huge head. Shadowheart giggles.
“I’d think keeping a full-grown owlbear would be even more of a chore than a cub,” Lae’zel comments.
“Dead friend gives me lots of meat,” the owlbear says. “No blood in it. But that’s okay. It’s good.”
“Dead friend?” Lae’zel asks.
“Astarion,” Shadowheart answers. “We get fresh meat, he drains it, and then he divides the rest between our cooking supplies and the owlbear. It’s quite efficient, really.”
“Not as good as live meat,” the owlbear says. “But if it’s friend, it’s alright.”
“Does the owlbear not deserve the opportunity to rend apart a live animal?” Lae’zel asks.
Shadowheart snorts. “Perhaps that would be fun to watch. It would have to be one I’m not attached to, of course. Not Tara, or Scratch.”
“Then that is my next quest,” Lae’zel declares. “I shall procure a live animal for the owlbear.”
“Yes! Fun!” the owlbear says, dancing a little on his toes.
Shadowheart scratches his head, then moves to sit back against the tree. Spots of sunlight dance on her figure as a breeze blows through the branches, and she smiles warmly up at Lae’zel, so unlike their early days of traveling together.
Lae’zel thinks back to the mercy she had shown the woman who stole a gith relic. More than what she had granted her cousins, whose only crime was losing to her in training. Perhaps that was the moment that the seeds of her new self – a person who could see beyond the war and death of her training, who could learn to find true and lasting joy in a peaceful life – had been sown.
“Stay a while?” Shadowheart asks, patting the ground next to her.
It was impossible for her to have known, back in the wilderness, that she would develop such a strong bond with a person who she had initially seen as an enemy of her people. That she would develop these bonds with any of this disparate group of istik, that she would turn her back on Vlaakith, that she would upend the githyanki civilization she had once thought to be perfect, that she would do so and then return to a mortal life on Faerûn rather than living eternal on the Astral Plane.
The Lae’zel of the past – a past that seems so distant, now – would have thought simply sitting under a tree in a sunlit garden would be an utter waste of time, time that could be spent furthering Vlaakith’s agenda, which she believed was more important than anything else.
But Lae’zel of the present gladly accepts Shadowheart’s invitation, and finds that sitting here, leaning into another, taking in the sights and sounds of the carefully cultivated space, is a perfectly fine way to spend her time.
Time passes. The shadows shift as the sun moves across the sky. The owlbear runs around the garden in short bursts of energy, then stops to sun himself or roll in the dirt. Shadowheart reads, and Lae’zel leans on her shoulder to read alongside her. It’s a romance novel, but Lae’zel has not read anything like this before, so she has no standards by which to judge its quality.
As the light turns amber with the setting of the sun, the door to the garden opens, and another familiar voice calls, “Lae’zel?”
It’s Gale, who flashes a bright smile as Lae’zel looks up at him. Shadowheart all but shoves her to her feet, muttering “he missed you, too.”
“Karlach was very excited when I came home,” Gale explains. “Judging by the fact that this is the first time you’ve visited us in person since the Netherbrain, I assume you have news?”
“Vlaakith is defeated,” Lae’zel announces. “My purpose is fulfilled. I wished to return to Fay-run.”
“You’re doing that on purpose,” Gale chuckles, and Lae’zel meets his gaze with a smirk.
He slowly takes her hand, allowing her to pull away if she wishes. She doesn’t.
“We all missed you,” he says. “And I, for one, am very glad you’ve returned.”
“I thought it would be harder to choose,” Lae’zel confesses. “Between rebuilding githyanki society, and returning to my old comrades. But Voss and his warriors have matters well in hand, and with the end of Vlaakith, I am free to choose.”
“I myself made a choice I didn’t think I would make,” Gale says. “I seriously entertained the idea of becoming a god. I nearly fell into the same mistakes I made that led me to be cursed with that orb in the first place.”
He huffs a laugh, and Lae’zel holds her tongue.
“But I returned the Crown to Mystra. She cured me of the orb. And I am now a simple teacher in Waterdeep.”
“Waterdeep?” Lae’zel asks. “But you live in Baldur’s Gate.”
“I sort of live in both,” Gale says. “I established a portal from this house to my old tower in Waterdeep. It takes no time at all to travel there.” Gale’s face lights up. “You haven’t seen Waterdeep! I must show you, one day soon.”
“Yes, I would like that,” Lae’zel replies simply.
Truthfully, she had only seen a small part of the Sword Coast during her travels. She itches to explore the world her companions call home.
“For tonight, though,” Gale says, “let’s just all have a nice dinner, to welcome you home.”
Gale’s dinner is nowhere near as grand as the feast of celebration following Vlaakith’s defeat, but it is also far more lavish than the meals the group used to share when they camped, huddled around a fire and sipping on stew of variable quality, depending on whatever ingredients they had available. There is a selection of fish, potatoes, salad, fresh fruit, and wine, and Lae’zel partakes in it all, as does most of the table, although Astarion is content with a glass of blood so he can feel included.
Lae’zel is the center of rapt attention as she regales her companions with the tale of Vlaakith’s defeat. The hunt for the lich queen’s phylacteries, akin to Mystic Carrion’s in Baldur’s Gate. How her own mighty dragon had felled Ephelomon, Vlaakith’s ancient consort, and how her own silver sword had severed Vlaakith’s head from her body. The euphoric honor of being known as mla’ghir: liberator.
When she finishes telling her tale, the others catch up by sharing stories they hadn’t brought up before: how Gale and Shadowheart worked out the combination of scholarly and divine magic to enchant Astarion’s ring, the tale of how Karlach found a way to fix her engine in Avernus, Gale’s adventures in teaching, Wyll’s efforts to rebuild Baldur’s Gate, the construction of the house and their decision to all live together, eventually.
The house is already well-furnished with gifts from their other companions, who had gone their own ways after defeating the Netherbrain. The wooden figures are handmade gifts from Halsin, who had returned to the formerly-shadow-cursed lands to help nature heal. Jaheira, who set about rebuilding the Harpers, had provided many houseplants, with extensive instructions on how to care for them. Minsc, now well-paid by the Guild, had commissioned many paintings of Boo, and generously gifted some to decorate the walls of the house.
They talk until the food on their plates is gone and the sun has dipped below the horizon, and afterwards Lae’zel finds herself upstairs, laying on a large, soft bed surrounded by her companions. She thinks she prefers a firmer surface to lie on, but the presence of her companions is… nice.
She runs her hands over the keratin of Wyll’s horns. Hears the soft rumble of Karlach’s repaired engine, and the thump of her tail against the mattress. Shadowheart’s braid tickles her shoulder. Astarion’s unnatural cold is a balm against the heat of the others. Gale’s magic is a pleasant static hum in the air.
Yes, she will stay.