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The House of the Moon loomed large in Waterdeep’s Sea Ward. Its white marble walls and gilded domes caught the light of Selûne’s eponymous moon as it spilled over Diamond Street; the moon was full, and Selûne’s clergy and faithful were flocking to the temple - and to its warmth - to bask in the literal light of Her presence and take part in rituals that would be especially potent this evening.
But one of Her faithful was headed away from the temple. She would return, eventually; but for the moment, she had a different destination.
The white-haired woman lifted her hood slightly to get her bearings as she traveled down a now-familiar road in the Dock Ward. She tugged the woolen cloak more tightly around her against the bitter cold, knowing that she would only need to withstand it for a short while longer.
She knocked on the door of a modest cottage and smiled when a short gray-haired woman opened it. The woman smiled back up at her and quickly pulled her into a hug. “Hello, Shadowheart.”
Shadowheart squeezed her tightly. “Hello, Morena. It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to be seen!” The cottage was filled with the smell of spiced apple cider. “Happy Wintershield, my dear.” Morena ushered her inside and shut the door. “Please, make yourself at home and get warm!”
“Happy Wintershield.” Shadowheart quickly shrugged off the cloak and unwrapped the scarf from her neck - the cozy sitting room was almost uncomfortably warm. A fire blazed in the fireplace. Shadowheart carefully hung the coat and scarf on the rack that stood by the door. “How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you. Have you been keeping safe? I want to hear all about your adventures.” Morena’s hands fluttered. “Oh, but let’s get you some cider first.”
“I’ll do it, Morena.” Shadowheart followed the aging woman into her kitchen; her posture was more stooped, her gait slower than it had been the year before. It didn’t stop her from shooing Shadowheart away from the kitchen cabinets to reach up for two mugs. “Thank you.” A ladle sat aside the pot of steaming cider. “Smells delicious! And….” She sniffed experimentally. “Is that-”
Morena’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “I may have added just a smidgen of Radagan’s Red Rum, just for the occasion.”
“Morena!” Shadowheart laughed, filling both their mugs. She offered Morena her arm and the old woman took it gratefully. As they both sank onto a settee, Shadowheart took a cautious sip. The spiked cider sent a soothing tingle of heat through her limbs. “Oh, that’s glorious. Where did you acquire a bottle of Radagan’s?”
“A gift from Rolan.” Morena took another sip.
“What of the tower? Have you visited at all this year?” Gale’s tower was a museum now, an immersive monument to the hero of Baldur’s Gate, and whatever income it made went to Morena’s living expenses. That had been Rolan’s doing; he’d established a portal between his own tower in Baldur’s Gate and Gale’s tower, with some assistance from Elminster, and he made certain that the museum was responsibly staffed and well-tended. Shadowheart had visited exactly once - and even once had been too much.
“I still haven’t,” Morena admitted. “I can’t.”
Morena could have moved into her son’s tower - the offer had been made, by Gale himself. Shadowheart didn’t know the full contents of the letter that Gale had left for her, had probably delivered to her via the same simulacrum that had attended the reunion six months later. She only knew that Morena had refused, and that when Elminster himself had visited to try to convince her, offering to help move her himself, Morena had coldly asked the old mage to vacate the premises. Shadowheart knew this much from letters exchanged with Rolan, and also that the Sage of Shadowdale still regularly inquired after Gale’s mother’s well-being. But Morena would have nothing to do with him - and Shadowheart could hardly blame her.
“But Rolan checks in on me from time to time and lets me know how things are going there,” Morena continued. “He’s a dear boy, that one.”
A peculiar trilling sound drew Shadowheart’s attention to another chair in the room, upon which rested a bedraggled ball of fur and feathers. It lifted its head, blinking. “Do we have a guest, Morena?”
Morena gave her a wistful glance. “She decided to settle down here permanently earlier this year,” she whispered to Shadowheart. “She’s half-blind now.”
“I heard that,” the tressym groused.
Shadowheart quickly rose and crossed to the chair, crouching down. “It’s me, Tara. Shadowheart.”
“Oh, goodness!” Tara stood on shaky legs and nuzzled against Shadowheart’s palm. “So good of you to visit us. Would you be so kind as to help me join you?”
“Of course.” With a questioning glance back at Morena, who nodded solemnly, Shadowheart gingerly lifted Tara off the chair and carried her to the settee, settling her down between them. “It’s good to see you.”
“Morena has been talking about you all week!” The tressym lifted her head and turned glazed eyes towards Morena, who reached out and gently stroked Tara’s head. “We can’t wait to hear about your adventures.”
However, after a few minutes of discussing the relative mildness of this year’s winter, the serendipitous lack of clouds that allowed a clear view of Selûne, and the overall rise in prices of everything from eggs to cloaks in Waterdeep, Tara promptly fell asleep again. “Mmm, good scritches,” she murmured lazily.
Morena pulled her hand away carefully as the tressym settled down. “It’s been nice having her here on a permanent basis,” she said softly. “Like having a little piece of him back.” She blinked and looked up at Shadowheart. “But what have you been up to?”
Shadowheart attempted to embrace the change of subject. “Oh, nothing much beyond my assignments from the House of the Moon.” She shared an amusing story about a very young human assassin who’d been tailing her in Amn with all the subtlety of a behemoth. “I didn’t even need Nocturne’s warning about that one. He never knew what hit him!” She shrugged. “So, just the usual - tracking down Sharran assassins, atoning for my past.”
“You have nothing to atone for, my dear. Like my Gale, you were just a pawn in a selfish goddess’s scheme.” Morena looked away, into the fire; the hand on the mug trembled slightly.
Shadowheart was quiet for a moment. “You know, we didn’t get along, at first. Gale and I. My fault, mostly, if I’m honest.” She smiled, remembering. “But we bonded over a good glass of wine, in the end. He somehow always found the perfect wine to pair with a meal. And my, could that man cook! Did I ever tell you about that mushroom stew he made while we were in the Underdark?”
Morena gave her a grateful smile. “No, I don’t believe so.”
“Well, he sent Astarion and Wyll to gather some mushrooms - they nearly got themselves killed in the process. And if that wasn’t bad enough, one of the varieties they brought back was poisonous! Lucky for us, Gale had done his research on the flora and fauna of the Underdark. But” - Shadowheart shrugged - “he managed to turn the rest into a stew that smelled absolutely delicious. It was delicious.” She put a hand to her mouth, covering a smile.
“I feel a ‘but’ coming on,” Morena prompted, punctuating the word with a single raised finger - the familiarity of the gesture startled Shadowheart.
“Oh - oh, there is.” Shadowheart recovered herself quickly. “Gale knew what was poisonous - we were safe, at least - but he didn’t know that there had been a single timmask mixed in, and it had some…interesting properties. Astarion had been carrying it without any ill effects, and since he didn’t eat any, he ended up having to babysit the rest of us for the next few hours until the effects wore off.” She laughed. “Gale was sure that Astarion had done it on purpose, and watching Gale insist on trying to argue with him while in a state of confusion was just - oh, goddess help me, I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”
“He did always need to have the last word,” Morena agreed, chuckling. “Ah, my Gale.”
“I sometimes wish he’d had a chance to meet my father,” Shadowheart ventured. It was a delicate balance, reminiscing with Morena; if they talked about Gale for too long, one of them was likely to be overcome. “I think he would have appreciated his terrible puns.”
“Such as?” Morena set her mug down on the table.
“Well, my father bore the werewolf curse, you know. I was fortunate not to inherit it myself.” Shadowheart set down her mug as well and lifted her hands in a mockery of claws; Morena smiled. “One of the older priestesses at the House of the Moon remembered him and shared some stories with me - she’d helped him learn to control his transformations, with the Moon Maiden’s help. He had a great sense of humor about it, apparently. Case in point: what do you call a lycanthrope with no sense of time?”
Morena shook her head, smiling.
“A when-wolf. What do you call a lycanthrope who is extremely curious?”
“Ah - a why-wolf?”
“Right. And, of course, a lycanthrope who isn’t here anymore is a-”
“There-wolf,” Morena said with her, and they both laughed. “Yes, I can see where Gale might have enjoyed his company. His father was quite a punster himself.”
“Mmm. Gale never spoke of him,” Shadowheart commented, watching the old woman’s face. She tried, on these visits, to keep the conversations as light-hearted as possible, but inevitably that became difficult for both of them. Morena, however, just nodded to herself.
“No, he wouldn’t have. Gale was so young when we lost him.” Morena sighed. “But I remember him. That’s what I’m here for now, I suppose. To remember them both.”
“Oh!” Shadowheart suddenly found her own face wet - she hadn’t meant to lose her composure so easily. She hastily rubbed away the tears. “Gale and I had that in common, too, I suppose - not remembering our fathers.” Sniffling, she retrieved the mug and took a long swig. “Ah. Forgive me.”
“Did you bring a map?” Morena asked suddenly, blinking away tears of her own.
“Of course I did!” Grateful for the respite, Shadowheart replaced the mug and went to retrieve the folded parchment from her coat pocket, a crisp new map of the Sword Coast, freshly purchased at an exorbitant price from an enterprising bookseller a few blocks away from the temple. Maps being a traditional purchase for Wintershield, Shadowheart had been fortunate to find one at all, so she’d tried not to balk at the cost. Morena slid their mugs closer to the edge of the table to make room as Shadowheart looked around the room. “Apologies - do you have a quill and ink?”
“This is hardly our first Wintershield, dear!” Morena gestured towards a desk in the corner, upon which sat the requested items. As Shadowheart took the writing utensils, she noticed an unfinished letter. Shadowheart’s eyes automatically began to skim it; she stopped herself and returned to her seat, careful not to jostle Tara as she unfolded the map to spread it across the table.
“Here we are, on Hammer 1,” Shadowheart began, carefully circling Waterdeep on the map and adding the date and a small “M” and “S” beside it. “Let’s start with you. Where would you like to go?”
This, too, was part of their annual tradition. Shadowheart would do her best to estimate where her missions would take her, and mark them on the map, while Morena would list off fantastical places she hoped to visit. They both knew she wouldn’t leave Waterdeep, although Rolan had offered to assist her with portal travel to anywhere she wished. “Hmmm, let’s see. How about Toaridge-at-the-Sun's-Setting? I’d love to try to catch sight of one of the sea elves. My husband told such outlandish stories about them.”
Shadowheart hummed appreciatively. “Good choice.” She marked an “M” next to the uppermost dot in a chain of islands southwest of Candlekeep. “As for me, I expect I’ll end up in Calimport at some point - that’s where the Temple of Old Night is, after all.” She marked and circled the southern city and looked up at Morena expectantly. “Next?”
They took turns listing exciting locales - some more exotic than others - as the evening wore on. Shadowheart dutifully circled each place, marking their initials as she went.
“There,” Shadowheart said triumphantly. “Now we both have our plans for the year.” Her stomach suddenly growled.
Morena gasped and threw up her hands, struggling to get up quickly. “Oh, goodness - I almost forgot dinner!” Shadowheart jumped up to help her. “It should still be warm. The hundur sauce just needs to be spooned over the fish.” Together, they went into the kitchen. The small dining table was already set; Shadowheart grabbed the two larger plates and one small one - the third presumably for Tara - and brought them over to the counter next to the stove. Morena prepared the dishes, arranging the fish with extreme care while she watched.
“Actually - excuse me for just a moment, Morena.” Shadowheart hurriedly walked back to the front door to retrieve another slip of paper from a coat pocket. “I don’t know why I brought this,” she said apologetically as she returned, unfolding the scrap under Morena’s quizzical gaze. “It’s just that I’m not much of a cook, and-”
“What is this, dear?” Morena took it, squinting as she studied it. “A recipe for a cheese bake?”
“My mother’s, apparently.” Shadowheart shrugged as Morena looked up at her. “It was found in a chest of her belongings.”
“Would you like me to help you make it?”
“You’ve already prepared dinner!”
“It’s a holiday - we can have a second dinner! Or we can halve the recipe and make it a side dish,” Morena said cheerfully. “Besides, it looks simple enough, and I’m fairly sure I have all of these ingredients. Except for the red bell pepper - I have some tomatoes we can use instead. Oh, and this Cormyrian mustard. You’ll have to settle for plain old Waterdhavian mustard, I’m afraid.”
Shadowheart laughed. “That sounds wonderful.”
Between bites of fish eaten at the counter, they bustled about the kitchen, with Shadowheart gathering ingredients as Morena located another pan and a baking dish. The older woman walked her through the recipe, laughing as they both struggled to calculate half of a half. The cider likely wasn’t helping, but they both enjoyed another mug once the cheese bake was in the oven and the fish was gone. Tara wandered into the kitchen at some point to eat her own meal and eyed them skeptically; it only made them laugh harder.
After Shadowheart regaled Morena - and a sleepy Tara - with a few more tales from her travels, the cheese bake was ready, and this time Shadowheart took care of the plating under Morena’s watchful eye. Tara had already fallen asleep on a kitchen chair, but Shadowheart left her a small plate as well. She sat next to Morena and took a bite. “This is lovely,” Morena commented, as she tasted her own. “You did quite well!”
Shadowheart chewed and swallowed - she couldn’t even taste it - and took a shuddering breath. “It’s-” She coughed.
“Too hot?” Morena was staring at her, her face growing concerned; Shadowheart put down the fork and dropped her head into her hands. “Are you all right, dear?”
“She used to make this for my father,” Shadowheart said shakily. “In her little notes in the margins - she mentioned that he liked it with extra cheese.” She lifted her head as Morena scooted her chair closer, placing a comforting hand on her back. “And the baking dish with the floral pattern - it must have been special, for some reason. But I’ll never know.” Shadowheart shook her head. “I’ll never know why she used mustard from Cormyr. I’ll never know how she met my father. So many memories lost, or never made in the first place. So many things I’ll never get to ask.”
“I know.”
“I should have tried harder,” Shadowheart choked out. “I was there, I was right there - I could have talked them out of it, I could have talked him out of it, I-”
“Oh, sweetie - you’ll tear yourself apart thinking like that. I was angry for a long time - with myself, with Gale, with Elminster, with-” Morena silently looked up at the ceiling and took a deep, slow breath. “I thought all of us could have done more.”
Shadowheart nodded, sniffling.
“But Gale did what Gale wanted - stopping him would have been like trying to cage the wind itself.” Morena made a soft sound of amusement. “Little did I know how well I’d named him. But my point is, his last act was an act of love." She turned in her chair to reach out with both hands - Shadowheart turned to grab them. Morena squeezed her hands tightly. “As was your parents’. All we can do is honor that, and remember them.”
Shadowheart looked down at their hands. “I miss them. And him,” she whispered.
“I do too.” When Shadowheart looked up, Morena was smiling fondly at her. “But, in a way, he gave me you. And I hope that, in some way, I’ve been here for you, too.”
“Oh, Morena!” Shadowheart leaned over to hug her awkwardly. “Yes - yes, you have been. I’ll always be grateful for that.” Morena didn’t let go, in spite of how uncomfortable the position had to be for her. “Thank you.”
They returned to lighter topics - about cooking, about the occasional sounds of fireworks in the street - as Shadowheart helped Morena clean up and began to gather her things. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay here for the night?” Morena asked.
“I’ll be all right. They’re expecting me at the temple. I’ll catch a hire-coach.” Shadowheart held up the Selûnite pendant that hung around her neck. “They’ll get me where I need to be. I'm sure I'll have a new assignment by morning.” She wrapped herself back into her scarf and coat. “I wish I could stay longer.”
“That’s all right. Next year, then - the gods willing.”
Shadowheart swallowed. “Sooner, if I’m able. I promise.” She bent over to kiss Morena’s damp, wrinkled cheek. “Take care of yourself. And Tara.”
“I’ll do my best.” Morena returned the kiss and gave her a pat on the cheek. “You be good.”
Shadowheart laughed. “I’ll do my best.” She walked out the door and into the cold.
“And Shadowheart?”
Shadowheart turned around. “Yes?”
“We remember them. At the blowing of the wind,” Morena intoned.
“...and in the chill of winter,” Shadowheart returned.
And then, together: “We remember them.”