Chapter Text
‘Oh, no no no no no…’ Cinnamon Harpell thrust her hand into the crate of holding and hauled out the small creature who wriggled and then hung limply, gazing at her with a sad eye. ‘I’m sorry, Gary. You can’t come with me this time,’ the young wizard said firmly. ‘Not after the Silverymoon Fayre fiasco.’ She patted the small creature’s head and set it down, sighing as it trotted away, little hooves clippity-clopping. That was close. Poor thing. Neither a tressym nor a pegasus – just an accidental minature hybrid with one eye, little intelligence and no sense of direction.
Cinnamon Harpell couldn’t remember the last time she was this excited. Not only was she accompanying her favourite uncles to one of the most magical yuletide markets ever, but she was getting to look after the stall - herself! She’d had a run of bad luck with her spells lately – even for their family. So opportunities like this Obviously she'd have preferred to help her uncles with the Magical Tower stuff too - but this was a start at least.
‘It’s just that you’re so easily distracted, my love,’ her mother had sighed for the millionth time as she once again had to fix another of Cinnamon’s spells so that her father wouldn’t find out and banish her from using magic altogether. ‘I think you take after your great uncle Regweld.’
Her spells were always done with the best of intentions, but somehow it never quite worked out the way she planned. Conjure light spells made illuminated orbs that developed personalities then argued over who had the brightest light or best colour. Magicking up a light breeze to cool herself down resulted in a tornado that almost destroyed her bedroom and for some reason turned the walls a pale shade of blue, and a simple polymorph spell turned a broken chair into a chair that clucked, flapped and tried to run away whenever anyone sat in it.
But nothing like that had happened in a while now, and anyway, what could go wrong looking after the market stall? Just hand the snow globe to the customer, get them to shake it and throw the magic dust over them. It’s not as if any actual spellcasting was involved. She checked the crate one last time, counting the globes. Now all she had to do was seal the lid. There was a little room left. She could take a spell book to read… where did she put the one she was reading last night…?
***
Ellandra blinked at the iron lamp-post, its magical glow casting a flickering halo of light onto the delicate snowflakes that fluttered and floated around it. The ground was a blanket of crisp whiteness, and the sound of murmured conversations ebbed and flowed from somewhere nearby, punctuated by peals of laughter and happy exclamations. The spicy aroma of cinnamon, apples and warming alcohol permeated the air.
Was that... jingling bells?
Disoriented, Ellie took a step back and watched as a sleigh - pulled by a transparent silvery unicorn - zipped and weaved in her general direction. Two red-faced, hysterical dwarves and an extremely merry troll skimmed by, waving tankards and singing something loud and gleeful. They cheered and sang louder as they veered round her, narrowly missing a bolting squirrel, its red bushy tail flicking panicked puffs of snow behind it.
Ahh. Suddenly it made sense. Well, perhaps not sense, but she knew where she was. In the waking world, her body was currently trancing in her city home, her lover’s tentacles draped around her. The rest of her - her spirit, soul, whatever you wanted to call it - was here. And if she wasn't mistaken she won't be alone. She turned, smiling as annoyed grumbles behind her proved her correct.
‘I don’t see why I always have to be in elf form when I’m here,’ her lover grouched, brushing flecks of snow from his outfit. ‘It was the mind flayer who was the hero. And why am I wearing green? I hate green.’
Ellandra took his hand. ‘This time it was the mind flayer, yes. But you were Balduran once. Maybe it was just easier for them to transport you here in your original form?’ And she also understood why some heroes might not want a Mind Flayer at the celebratory feast. As did he. Sometimes he just liked being grumpy to make a point. She smacked a kiss on his cheek. ‘You love green. Come on. You’ll have fun.’ Ignoring his muttered complaints about why it had to be such a bright green, she set off along a winding wooden walkway lined with pretty icicle lights.
This was Ellie's second visit to The Heroes Midwinter Market, as far as she knew anyway. A magical place where only heroes can enter. She'd heard legends about this place her whole life and spent many happy evenings telling Griffin tales about the place when he was young. There were so many stories about how it was created and by whom, but she'd always thought it was a myth - until a few months after she and her friends defeated the Elderbrain and found themselves here. Once a year, around Yuletide, those deemed worthy are transported to this mysterious realm to partake of hot wine, good food and magical treats. Ellie realises that her memories of the place must have disappeared very quickly after her last visit, although now she vaguely remembers a pleasant calmness that had lingered with her for a tenday or so, around this time last year. She kopes everyone else would be here. They haven't seen each other since Withers’ reunion and it would be nice to catch up, even if none of them will remember it tomorrow. And she can’t wait to wander round the stalls. Play with some memory baubles and magical snow globes, and snack on some fortune gingerbread cookies. ‘Come on.' Suddenly impatient, Ellie pulled on the Emperor’s hand. ‘I don’t know about you, but I need some Forraltbor.’
***
Cinnamon took a step back and looked proudly at the stall. It was festooned with floating baubles, glittering bubbles and weaving threads of sparkling lights, and it looked welcoming and enchanting. She took a deep breath. Now the snow globes. She'd left this bit till last, because she wanted them safe while she put the stall together. She waved a hand, and one by one each globe hovered from the crate and onto their plinths. She'd smashed one by accident last year, removing a whole parallel plane of existence (not from reality – that really would have been quite a mishap, even for her) and her great uncle had been a little peeved about that. This time there would be no accidents. Only when the globes were settled into their allocated spots, each with their own swirling or falling or floating snowstorms, did she let her breath back out and let her sholdlers relax. Now, all she had to do now was find the little bag with the magical powder and she'd be...
Something moved at the corner of her eye and she turned quickly, her mouth suddenly dry, as a familiar sinking feeling plummeted through her. Oh Gods – please no. ‘Gary!' she wails, but whispering so no-one could hear. 'How did you get here?’
***
Ellie opened her eyes. Bleeding crows! What just happened? One minute they were walking towards a table full of their companions, a goblet of hot wine in their hands, the next there was a burst of light, a jolt that knocked the breath out of her, and she’s standing back at the portal they'd arrived at. ‘What in the Hells?...’
Ellie turned. She looks around, checks for any speeding unicorn-drawn transportation, and takes a confused step forward. Something thudded with a heavy ‘oof’ behind her.
turned. A spitting, muffled sound comes from a deep bank of a few feet away from the portal. Puffs of snow are followed by a scraping and scuffing noise. A head appears, topped with symmetrical buns of dark braided hair. After a couple of clumsy kicks, the rest of an elf appeared. Her skin was a shade of lilac and her dark hair was slashed with purple streaks. The matching buns are accompanied by two long pigtails which almost reached her waist. The style looked kind of cute, or it would do if the elf didn’t look absolutely livid.
‘Hells’ teeth!’ She stamped her red-booted feet. ‘If I’ve been dragged into yet another parallel realm in my sleep, Gods help me, I’ll…’
Ellie watched, amused, as the freckle-faced elf muttered to herself while violently brushing snow from her clothing. ‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ she informed her. Well, she hoped there was nothing to worry about. ‘You’re at the Heroes Midwinter Market.’
‘The what?’ The elf scowled and looked around.
Maybe it was her first time here?
Then her expression clears as understanding must have dawned. ‘Oh! Oh! The Heroes market thingie.’
'Yes. You have been here before then?'
'Once, yes.’
She smiled. ‘I'm Ellandra. Ellie.’
The elf grins back. ‘Maeva.' She fiddled with a glove. ‘Have you seen a pale elf hanging around by any chance?’
Ellandra shook her head. ‘Actually, I was here with my partner just a minute ago. We’d already made it to the marketplace and then for some reason I ended up back here. I really should go and find him.’ And check that nothing untoward had happened.
‘I guess we’re going the same way then.’
'Shall we?' Ellie gestured to the cheerful yellow brick pathway. Strange. She didn’t remember the yellow from before. Magical lanterns dotted the edge of the path, brightening as they approached.
‘We have lamps like these in the Underdark.’ Maeva commented, ‘although ours are made of mushrooms.’
She is drow then, Ellie thought. She seemed quite laid back for an under elf. ‘Are you from Menzobarranzan?’ she asked.
‘Gods no. I was brought up on the surface. The Underdark thing is quite recent. I live in quite a new town, with my… partner.’ She smiles and her cheek flush a darker shade of lilac.
Aw sweet. A fairly new romance then. She can relate to that. Hers was fairly new too, in the grand scheme of things. ‘Come on. Ellie took her new friend's arm. ‘I didn’t even get a sip of my wine before I was rudely whisked back to the portal. I think we both need one.’
***
Maeva recognised the entrance from the last time; Silvery globes floated and popped around the silvery archway which had Welcome - Heroes of Faerûn carved in sparkling lights. As they strolled under the gate, the aroma of roasting meats, plum brandy and hot forraltbor welcomed them. The marketplace was set in a small town square, surrounded by tall, slim brick houses of various colours. In front of the houses, rows of glittering, stalls encircled the centre of the plaza. Maeva remembered some of the things from the last time. Enchanted baubles that took you back in time to revisit a happy memory, shimmering candies that changed taste and colour based on your past and future. Fortune tellers that she knew were just spinning tall tales, but who she visited anyway, because it was fun. Other stalls had vast, steaming vats of food from places you’d never heard of and would never see and which smelled delicious. Maeva’s mouth watered. She was starving. But first where is Astarion?
‘Mmm.’ Ellie inhaled.’ Smells like this always remind me of the Wintershield festival at Amphail. Have you ever been?’
Maeva shooks her head. ‘I haven’t. Where is it?’
‘Near Waterdeep, and it’s definitely worth a visit.’ The beautiful sun-elf smiled, her silvery eyes misting over a little. It was clearly a nostalgic memory for her. ‘More beer and hot cider than wine perhaps, but the food…’
‘You’ll need to tell me about it.’ Maeva smiled, then looked around, hoping to catch sight of a familiar face or two.
Ellandra nudged her. ‘First wine. Then we find somewhere we can get a good view around the whole market. I’m sure our lovers are capable of finding us there, or we’ll see them as they walk past. What do you think?’
‘I think that sounds like a good plan.’ Hot wine as a priority. Truly an elf after her own heart. Maeva followed Ellie to the stall where they collected large steaming goblets of wine. They weaved their way through the huddles of people, until they found a free barrel, flanked by a couple of stools. They slid onto the seats, then clasped their hands around their hot drinks.
‘Egészségére,’ Maeva lifted her goblet of wine in a toast.
’Kippis,’ Ellandra said then lifted the goblet to her mouth.
Maeva took a careful sip. The flavours danced on her tongue as she scanned the area around them. Groups of people were laughing and chatting, smippets of their conversations drifting up into the night air. The last time she'd recognised a few more faces. This time there was no-one who looked familiar.
Not far from where she and Ellie sat, a large, red-roofed wizard tower loomed high over the bustling rows of stalls, and beside it, a massive tree reached skywards, it's branches covered in glowing trinkets which shimmied and sparkled. Every now and then one unhooked itself from a branch of the tree and whizz over the throngs of people, before exploding and scattering candies and keepsakes on whichever table it landed beside. The area around the tree itself was jammed with heavy wooden tables and benches, covered in blankets to keep out the cold that wasn’t actually very cold because the temperature was magically controlled - but what was a Midwinter festival without snow? Small wooden performance stages scattered here and there, each with a different form of entertainment. On the one cloest to them a drow bard with drizzt-purple eyes and silver-white hair was softly strumming the strings of a lute and singing ‘Toss a coin to your Harper’.
‘So,’ Maeva blew on her wine. ‘You know where I live. What about you?’
‘At the moment, I live in Baldur’s Gate, although my hometown is Luskan.’ Ellie looked thoughtful. ‘I must admit, I never saw myself staying in Baldur’s Gate, but circumstances…’ She tailed off a wistful smile playing on her lips. ‘And you? You said the Underdark isn’t your home? Where are you from?’
Maeva sighed. ‘Hard to say. Nowhere really. I moved around a lot when I was younger, and again when I was a bit older. Long story short, now we live half the time in the Underdark – a place called Spawntown, even though Astarion hates the name, but it seems to have stuck, and the rest of the time in Baldur’s Gate too. I’ve never seen you there though.’
‘Astarion?‘ Ellie looked surprised.
'Is something...? Before Maeva could ask any questions, she spotted the vampire himself, looking distinctly flustered. He was swerving to avoid a portly man, who was garishly clad in white-trimmed red robes with biggest, fluffiest white beard Maeva had ever seen. The large man was pounding after a group of…. it was hard to say… gnomes? goblins? Some sort of halfling? Whatever or whoever they were, they were dressed in bright green hats and jackets adorned with red collars, and their legs were clad in red and white striped stockings. They jingled cheerfully, in compete contrast to their sullen expressions as they scampered along. Some kind of entertainment, perhaps? Astarion snarled something as he almost tripped over one of them. They took no notice and continued their scurrying.
She waved 'There he is! Astarion, over here.'
***
Astarion's step faltered and he swung his head towards the voice. Now who was calling to him? Honestly this was like waking up in some kind of fucking nightmare. He knew where he was. Oh yes, he remembers it from last time. Ooooh yeeees, let’s drag our heroes from their beds and send them to a marketplace and make them have fun, whether they want to or not! At least the last time he was here, the rest of his acquaintances were here too. But this time he doesn’t seem to know anyone. Although plenty of people seem to know him. Maybe he could disguise himself in some way? Find somewhere to hide?
‘Over here!’ The same voice. Some elf woman was waving at him. He stared, then scowled. Right. He was going to find out what in the Hells was going on. He marched towards the table containing the annoying elf woman. As he approached, he could hear snippets of the conversation she was having with an elegant looking sun-elf.
'Astarion is your partner?’ The sun-elf was saying. The dark-haired elf nodded in agreement.
Well, of all the...‘I beg your pardon?' Astarion came to a halt at the barrel table, glowering first at the darker elf and then the other one. 'No. I am not.’ Really, this was just taking liberties.
'Yes. Do you know him?’
'I'm standing right here! Hello. Do I actually exist? Can you see me?' He jumped up and down and waved his arms in the air. 'Am I invisible?’ Actually, that might not be a bad thing.
The dark haired elf turned to him. ‘Did you arrive at a different portal? This is Ellie.' She gestured. 'But it seems you know each other.’ Maeva stretches out an arm as if to hug him.
He jumped back, alarmed. 'Do you mind! As I have already told so soooooooo many people in this fucking place, if you’ll excuse my elvish,’ he glared at them, ‘I am Astarion. Yes, I am apparently one of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, although I’d really rather not be addressed as such, thank you very much. I do not have the sliiightest inkling of who either of you are, please-don’t-touch-me, and there is nothing wrong with me apart from the fact that people keep asking me what's wrong with me!’ He huffs. ‘Did I say please don’t touch me?’ He was aware that his arms were doing a lot of flailing, but his words did not seem to be making his point eloquently enough.
The dark one looks confused. ‘Oh.’ Her shoulders slump a little. ‘You’re not my Astarion.’
The other folded her arms and examined him closely. He sticks his tongue out at her. She grins. 'That is something he would do, but I don't think you're my Astarion either.’
Finally. ‘Is there something wrong with your hearing? Hmmm? I am nobody’s Astarion except my own, thankyouverymuch. And now that we have that cleared up, can anyone tell me what in the hells is going on? Oh fuck!’ He jumped. It’s that fucking little band of entertainers again. The ones who nearly flattened him before. They jingled past, the red-robed man huffing behind them. ‘What in the hells are they?’ He could hear that his voice had reached heights a sopranist would be proud of. Perhaps he should calm down just a little? Can vampires have heart attacks?
‘Sorry, did I hear someone ask about the hero of Baldur’s Gate?’ A tall elf, her long white-blonde hair tied back in a braid and slung over one shoulder, approached them. A long scar ran over her nose and right cheek, and she looked at him intently, furrowing her brow as he scowled at her and hissed. Really, he wished all these strange people would stop leering at him. This elf was accompanied by a wolf, currently showing great interest in a sausage being eaten by a half-orc at the next table.
‘I’m Tav. I'm… well, I suppose I'm a hero of Baldur’s Gate,’ the scarred elf said. ‘Hello Astarion.’
‘I am NOT your Astarion.’ He waggled a finger at her.
‘Evidently not.’ She raised an eyebrow and cast a glance over his clothing. ‘My friend Astarion is much better dressed.’
Well! How dare she! What was wrong with his outfit? Wait, he'd been trancing. He wasn't wearing his night attire was he? He looked down, horrified. But no, he was wearing an outfit that he might have chosen himself. Dark, elegant and well tailored. He huffs indignantly. Of all the...
Another elf appeared at the makeshift table; brown hair so dark it was almost black. 'I'm Morwen.' She nodded, then scanned her startling blue eyes along the small group with an air of quiet confidence, before spotting Astarion, where they softened. ‘Actually, I’m a hero of Baldur’s Gate. And Astarion is my lover.' She paused. 'One of them anyway,’ she added, with a mischievous glint. She moved closer.
Astarion hissed again. ‘Madam. Do you mind? I've never met you in my life.’ The blue-eyed elf narrowed her eyes and stared at him quizzically. She was about to say something else when another, louder voice piped up. Ye gods. How many of them were there?
‘I’m a hero of Baldur’s Gate. And so’s my sister, Diana. She’s Astarion’s lover.’ The woman points over to someone he assumes is the aforementioned sister, who has the reddest hair he's ever seen. She looks a little uncomfortable, which he can very much relate to.
Astarion narrowed his eyes at who he assumed must be the pushy, annoying sister. ‘I beg your pardon, I…’ Oh, you have got to be fucking... this must be a nightmare of some kind. The Bard who was definitely playing her lute just a moment ago is wandering towards the group with a look of intent.
'Astarion, I was wondering where you were…’ The bard smiled at him, then turned to the rest of the assembled elves. ‘Hi. I'm Halinae. I don’t like to blow my own flute, but did I hear you talk about the heroes of…'
‘Right. That does it.’ He;s had just about enough of this. Astarion placed his hands on the rim of the overturned barrel. The two elves who had started all this grabbed their drinks. Oh now they were paying attention. He hauled himself onto the barreltop and stood, arms folded, scanning the faces below. He was going to just stay up here. At least from here he could plan a clear route of escape. With a bit of luck, the misinfomred elven fan club below might forget he was there. He was just going to ignore them. He closed his eyes and put a finger in each ear. If they tried talking to him again, he would just start lalalalalalala-ing very loudly. It had worked before. Hadn't it? With Wyll? Maybe it was Gale... No Jaheira! Well, whoever. He opened one eye a smidge and peeked down. Gods! Was it working? They all seemed to be chatting with each other. He pulled a finger out of an ear just a little to listen.
The dark elf with the braids. He thinks her name is Maeva, turned to the sun elf. 'What about you you, Ellie? You're going to tell me that you're the hero of Baldur's gate too, aren't you?'
'Well, yes.' The elf gave her an almost apologetic look before looking up at Astarion and smirking. 'But not the vampire’s lover.’
Astarion closed his slightly open eye quickly. Damn. did she catch him looking? Then he reluctantly reopened them both, unplugging his fingers from his ears. It was hard to be angry and indignant if you couldn't see or hear anything. And he was most definitely angry and indignant now. He stomped on the barrel. ‘I am not anyone’s lover,' he shrieked. A shocked circle of faces gawked up at him. Finally, he had their attenion. ‘I was Karlach’s lover, before she decided to blow herself to smithereens - in fact, I really do think of myself as the Astarion that Karlach built, so unless by some divine magical intervention she's been pieced back together by a very skilled tailor and is actually present, I do not wish to be called a lover by anyone else. Is that clear. Hmmm?’
There was some awkward shuffling, and general murmur of assent. After a moment or two of silence, a tiefling sidled up to the barrel and looked up at him, a slightly unsure expression on her face.
‘I'm Eos, and I love Karlach too,’ she said in a gentle tone. ‘I can’t imagine how awful it must have been to see that. Why don’t you come down. I’m sure there’s a stall somewhere that will have a nice bloody vintage.’
Astarion pursed his lips. A drink of something bloody might be quite nice. And this tiefling at least wasn’t trying to claim him for her own. ‘Fine. But no pawing or touching.’
'Of course.'
'Alright then.' He jumped down from the barrel. 'And no talking about Karlach.'
She nods her assent and he prepares to follow her.
'Little bat.'
A voice he recognises at last! Oh, thank all the gods in Faerûn, although that would be a first for him. He turns and scowls at the Harper. ‘Well, it’s about time you turned up!’
A chorus of ‘Jaheira' echoed around the High Harper, who examined the gathered faces with puzzlement. 'I do not know any of you. But you clearly know me, so,’ she turned to Astarion, ‘Little bat, tell me what is going on.'
Then the wizard tower exploded.