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On the sixth anniversary of the defeat of the Absolute, they meet up in Baldur’s Gate itself. The first three anniversaries had been celebrated in the wilds, in their primary camp from the first leg of their adventure. The fourth at Last Light Inn. Astarion gets to choose the location each year, whatever significant location he can safely get to in time for their meeting. Except for the fifth year, when they’d unanimously agreed to go to Waterdeep. Gale was insufferable enough while Xaph was pregnant, none of them wanted to sit through his lecture on the risks of her travelling cross-country seven months in. The first peak of summer in Baldur’s Gate holds the sun high in the sky for most of the day and keeps him indoors until it sets, or at least under a canopy at the Elfsong. Shadowheart sits with him, and they bitch in Elvish and split ice wine just like they’ve been doing for six years. Some things never change. Some things do. Lae’zel sits cross-legged on the ground in front of Shadowheart’s chair, the half-elf’s bare leg slung over her shoulder. Lae’zel traces the adventuring scars on her partner’s skin, pressing her thumb into the bruises on her calves just to laugh when Shadowheart whacks her shoulder. They’d both been so slow to show any kind of affection during their adventure that the ease with which they hug and pay compliments now brings the relief of a gentle summer drizzle.
Xaph has stretched out across multiple chairs to put her feet up, her tail dragging on the floor and a pipe clenched between her teeth that she passes to Gale on alternate puffs. He sits perpendicular to her, head tucked into her shoulder while he plays Three-Dragon Ante with Wyll and Jaheira. He complains when Xaph pushes him off to sit up and tie her hair back to lift it off her neck and, on cue, she and Astarion both mimic him which sets Jaheira off rolling her eyes. Boo scrambles from one of her shoulders to the other and down her arm to squeak at the end of the table. This signals Minsc and Halsin’s imminent return with the food they’d ordered.
Wyll’s quickest off the mark, sweeping up the cards which inevitably sparks an argument between him and Gale over who had won. Xaph lifts her legs to let Halsin sit, then sets her feet back down in his lap. Various plates of food are put down and the whole party lunges towards the table except for Astarion, who merely commentates as battle commences. He’ll get his pick of the blood bags later as long they stay away from garlic bread. For once, they’re not fighting over artefacts or false gods or gnolls but butter buns, potato wedges and the Elfsong’s signature fishcakes. Lae’zel manages to snag the pears and Jaheira the spiced courgette while Wyll and Minsc toss grapes into one another’s mouths. Gale devolves into a secondary argument with Xaph as they cut into a brick of Elturian and a wheel of Waterdhavian cheese respectively. Mealtimes have always been something of a free-for-all with this particular adventuring party, but at least when they order food from a tavern they can make sure there’s something for everyone to eat. Shadowheart recounts the night they’d had nothing but apples to chew through and the time four fish and a handful of wilting root vegetables had to be split between fifteen rumbling stomachs. She’s about to reminisce over the morning they’d thought they could have porridge for breakfast but their milk had turned when Halsin reminds her to be grateful for the food they have now. Xaph shushes away mentions of gods by pushing her pipe into his mouth. Conversation bubbles happily over dinner, then boils up into cheers when pitchers of alcohol are brought out and set out on the table to replace empty plates and hells it’s nice to actually, fully relax together. They never got the chance to let their guards down this much when they were on the road.
A tiefling steps out onto the balcony, tall and slim with deep rosy hair and a smart pair of trousers. She dandles a baby on her hip who’s rubbing his chubby fists into his sleep-sticky eyes. Gale’s on his feet first, the least entangled with another person, to take the child from her,
“Thank you for letting him nap in your room, Lakrissa.” Gale says as the child nuzzles into his chest, still sleepy.
“Hey, if the manager of the Elfsong can’t pull a few favours for a couple of heroes, what’s the bloody point?” She takes a few more steps towards the table to snatch some cherry tomatoes.
“You’ve done well for yourself,” Halsin tells her, “You and Alfira both.” Lakrissa scoffs,
“I’d be rotting in Moonrise Towers if it weren’t for you lot. Dinner’s on the house.”
“The rooms aren’t?” Astarion drawls, pulling dark glasses down his nose.
“Don’t push your luck, fangs.” Wyll elbows him.
“They are if you want them.” Lakrissa laughs and disappears back into the tavern. By then Xaph’s reached Gale,
“ Hey , bunny, you sleep good?” she drops a kiss to the top of the baby’s head and he lurches forward, trying to grasp both of his parents at once.
“You have to pick one, bud,” Gale tells him, “Mumma or dada?” he asks, using his free hand to make signs that correspond with the options.
“He talks?” Lae’zel asks.
“He can’t pronounce any of your names yet, but we’re working on it.” Gale answers.
“You’ll be waiting a while, he can say ‘ball’ and ‘Tara.’ Well, ‘Ara,’ but she says that’s close enough.” Xaph explains. The baby taps his thumb against his forehead and mumbles dah sounds, detaching himself from Xaph’s dress. His tail has wormed around Gale’s elbow. It’s not long enough to get all the way round yet. They return to the table and set to feeding the baby, Xaph mashing carrots and Gale tearing chunks of bread.
“You couldn’t wait to push out an ankle-biter?” Astarion asks.
“We’ve been married for five years.” Xaph points out.
“You say that like you weren’t the first one at the tower last year.” Gale adds.
“It was on my way to Neverwinter.” Astarion waves a nonchalant hand and leans back in his chair as if about to sleep.
“You stayed for three months-” Gale starts.
“-then you cut out when I went into labour.” Xaph finishes.
“Darling, if you thought I’d stick around to watch that crawl out of your clamshell you don’t know me at all.” Astarion replies, sending Wyll into snorty giggles.
“ Clamshell?” Shadowheart shrieks with a laugh, and the party simmers back down into conversation.
When three-quarters of the plates are empty and the baby starts to reject the mushed-up food offered to him, Xaph takes him from Lae’zel’s uncertain grip. To the githyanki’s credit, she had tried, and that’s a huge step compared to how she’d reacted to children even a couple of years ago.
“Um, hey, d’you mind if I go for a walk?” The question is for the group at large, but Xaph drifts towards Gale while the others answer. He reaches out to her and slides an arm around her waist, rubbing reassuring circles into her hip.
“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks quietly, head bowed so no one else can hear.
“If it’s alright, I want to do this myself.”
“‘Course it’s alright,” Gale mumbles the words against her hair while the baby pulls at the buttons on his shirt, “How long do you need?”
“Give me thirty, forty minutes?” Xaph suggests. He nods, and she turns her head and kisses him, chaste as anything, “I love you.”
“I love you,” Gale repeats back to her, giving her a quick kiss in return just as he drops something into the pocket of her dress, “Give her that from me.”
***
Baldur’s Gate Lower City Cemetery expanded significantly after a not-insignificant amount of people underwent rapid ceremorphosis and then died within a few hours, but Xaph knows what she’s looking for. She settles in front of a trio of headstones and puts her baby down between her legs. Two of the stones are about twenty years old, with a few chips knocked out of the edges and moss creeping up the sides. The middle stone is newer, it still has its shine and dirt hasn’t filled all of the letters yet. Her eyes already sting. She presses a hand into the grass, keeping her other hand on top of the baby’s head and her fingers gently scratching where she’s sure the nubs of his horns are going to come through in a year or three.
“Hey, soldier,” Xaph greets the grass, her voice low but not quite a whisper, “I know you’re not in there, but we like to think this is where you hang out. Wyll got you a nice rock, huh?” Wyll’d had to wait through the backlog of funerals and headstones and mausoleums, but he’d done it. He’s in Baldur’s Gate the most out of all of them. Something small and neat, between her parents. Like she asked for. A single flower made of beaten metal has been pushed into the ground just before it. A peony. When Xaph touches it, she recognises the zing of hellfire. Infernal iron, “Dammon’s still around? Have to pay him a visit. You two could have made a real go of it, I think,” the baby rolls onto his back, and she takes a moment to tickle his tummy to make his tail wag before she picks him up and puts him back in a sitting position, “We’ve seen a couple of the tiefs since we got here this morning. Lakrissa’s manager of the Elfsong, Alan Alyth actually listens to her now. Alfira’s finally gotten her bard school off the ground, has a couple dozen students and three teachers. Mol heard we were back, reached out. She’s running the kiddy division of the Guild, got her whole gang in executive positions as double-agents for the Gazette. Reckon tomorrow we’ll stop by Sorcerous Sundries, check in on Rolan, Cal and Lia. Like Gale would let us leave without getting some books.”
“It’s the anniversary, so, that makes six years,” Xaph’s voice catches. She doesn’t even try to stop tears from falling, but she smiles down at the baby when he twists to find the source of the funny noise, “Fuck, I miss you. We’re all sitting there eating and laughing and shit. It’s great, I love it, I love them. But you’re not there. Feels weird. Always does. The others’ll be round soon, but I had things I wanted to show you. We were going to come down for next Returning Day, when little bunny here was a bit older, but Astarion wanted us to meet here, so we got to see you sooner. Gale made this for you,” Xaph takes the wizard’s gift out of her pocket. She holds it up to the headstone, reads out the incantation he’d written for her on a scrap of paper and it attaches itself to the granite. It’s the symbol she first saw on Tara’s collar, then in tapestries Morena wove for them, and in the clasps that Gale uses for his cloaks, “Family crest. You’re one of us, K. As good as my sister,” Xaph picks up the baby who’s trying to crawl away in the wrong direction, “I made this. Not necessarily for you, but…” she tilts her head down and blows a raspberry on the back of his neck to make him giggle again, then hugs him tight to her and waves one of his hands at the grave, “Karlach, I want to introduce you to our son. Gale’s and mine. This is Cliffgate Dekarios.”