Work Text:
“Patron!”
On what had been an otherwise ordinary day, Imrhys looked up from his writing to see his oldest friend Ranaghar march up to his desk. It was rare for the weapons master of House Auvryervs to be in a frazzled state like this.
“Breathe, collect yourself, then report, my friend. What did you find on patrol?”
“Vhaidra of House Uoswiir. Alone, safe for a girl. Her daughter,” Ranaghar said after a few deep breaths. “They are but skin and bones, sire.”
Imrhys rose from his seat. “Did they say what happened?”
“No, sire. She demanded to be escorted to the matron of our house.”
“Of course. She is too proud to ask a group of men for aid,” Imrhys said with a sigh, pitying the young girl with her. “Where are they now?”
“In the guest suite. They are being served a filling meal.”
“Good. Back to your duties, my friend. I shall alert my wife to the matter.” Imrhys touched Ranaghar's shoulder with affection when he passed him, then headed towards the matron's chambers.
He found Lledrith lounging on a stone recliner with a book in her hands. “Why, hello. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit at this hour?” she asked.
“We have guests, refugees, most likely, though she was too proud to ask Ranaghar and his men for aid.”
Lledrith laughed, her loose hair exposing her bare bosom when she threw her head back. “She must be desperate if she seeks out me of all people. Who is she? A DeVir? An Oblodra?”
“Vhaidra, of House Uoswiir.”
“She survived? My spies in Menzoberranzan are slacking, it seems. I shall cut their payment until they prove themselves,” Lledrith said, rising to retrieve a robe to get presentable.
Imrhys watched her, admiring her bare form as she walked. “She has a child with her. Her daughter.”
This caused his wife to pause for a moment. “Curious. What about her half-sister Ulua?”
“Nowhere to be seen. Dead, perhaps.”
“Well, she does owe me answers if she hopes for my hospitality,” Lledrith said, selecting a scarlet robe and fixing her hair with a comb of rubies and silver.
Not even ten minutes later, his wife was speaking to Vhaidra, leaving Imrhys to approach the little girl she had brought with her. His heart broke under its armour at the sight of her. Ranaghar had not been exaggerating, the girl had been hours away from starving to death.
He knelt down, getting to her level. “Hello, sweetheart. I am Imrhys, the patron of this house. What's your name?”
Under the fear, there was a fierce gentleness in the girl's eyes.
“Lymune. My name is Lymune.”
“It is nice to meet you, Lymune. You and your mother shall be staying with us. Just for a little while."
꒰ঌ♡໒꒱
“Remember, she is still recovering, so be gentle.”
“Yes, father,” Imyaraen said as they walked down the corridor towards the guest chambers.
A few days ago, there had been a commotion in their palace. Imyaraen rarely felt their house soldiers hurry through the halls like this, escorting a new pattern of tremors. His father had found him soon after, explaining that they had guests, refugees from yet another war between houses in Menzoberranzan.
Among these guests, there was a girl his age, the daughter and heir of the house, who right this moment was resting in a bed, a cushioned one like Imyaraen's father's, not bare stone like his own and his mother's. She looked almost undead, with sallow skin, yet her purple eyes were bright and kind.
Imyaraen had not known that their kin from Menzoberranzan could be kind. It was unlikely to happen, as such behaviour displeased the wretched Spider Queen. He would ask his father about it later.
For now, he approached the girl's bedstead, bowing as he had been taught to do. “Greetings. My name is Imyaraen. I am the heir of House Auvryervs. Welcome to our palace.”
“I'm Lymune,” the girl responded. “Boys can be heirs?”
Imyaraen sat down on the bed. “I know that it is different where you are from. I am a sorcerer, like my mother, so I am her heir.”
“You can do magic?”
Nodding, Imyaraen pulled a small gemstone from his pocket and concentrated, channelling his innate power into it, changing its colour from white to green, then handed it to Lymune.
“Wow.” She turned it in her hand, giving him a beaming smile. “Did you know your eyes glow green when you do magic?"
“No.” Imyaraen felt his cheeks grow warm.
“They do! It looks pretty.”
He watched Lymune fidget with the gemstone. She was a very forward person, but he sensed no poison in her words.
Perhaps, if she was to stay, she could be his friend?
Even if it would be just for a little while.
꒰ঌ♡໒꒱
“You should stay a little while longer.”
Imrhys knew that tone in his wife. It was an offer in words only.
“I cannot. Ulua is already gathering our remaining forces,” Vhaidra responded, her eyes never once leaving Lymune, who was laughing and squeaking while she chased the taller Imyaraen through their gardens.
Imrhys smiled.
Their son was looking more like his mother with each passing day, both in profile and in stature.
“What about your daughter? You will be putting her in harm’s way.” Lledrith idly played with a piece of surface fruit, but her gaze was sharp. She was not going to back down on this.
She did not care much for Vhaidra’s fate, but Lymune had grown on both of them in the short time she had been in their care.
“Lymune will be strengthened by these trials.” Vhaidra was not backing down, either.
The girl was sweet-natured and kind. Her mother would need to break and reassemble her to get the heir she wanted and needed.
Imrhys resented the very thought. It was one thing to strengthen someone's resilience. It was another to make them something they were not.
“Be reasonable. You both almost died once on the way here,” Lledrith said. “The future of your house will be safe with us.”
Vhaidra’s hand nigh formed into a fist, though in the end, she relented. She had little choice at that moment. “Very well. Lymune shall stay.”
Lledrith’s smile showed that she would not mean a word of what she would say next. “Just for a little while.”
꒰ঌ♡໒꒱
Deep breaths. Even stance. Focus.
“Your will must be stronger than the stone you wish to shape," his mother had said. ”Trust in your blood, my treasure. You will know what to do.”
Imrae’s hand laid flat against the boulder in front of him. Half a ton of solid granite. His task was to break it into pieces.
A few crysmals were scuttering about, curious about what he was doing and if it might result in any debris for them to consume.
Concentrate. Even breaths, even stance.
“You can do it!” Lymune cheered behind him.
Instead of disturbing him, his sister’s voice calmed his mind, strengthened his resolve, and he focused inward, summoning the energy from the depths of the Underdark.
A pulse went through him, starting at his feet and making his heart beat with untold vigor, and when it reached his head, he knew what to do without needing to be told.
He focused the pulse into the stone when it reached his fingers, passing it on while focusing his will into a single thought.
Break.
When he heard a cracking sound and a joyful gasp, he took a few steps back.
“You did it, brother!” Lymune hugged him from behind.
“Thanks to you, sister.” Imrae swayed as the arcane energy faded from his veins, leaving him tired and his muscles aching.
His sister supported him and helped him sit down. “Are you alright?”
“Just tired. Let’s rest before we head back.” Imrae watched as the crysmal started picking at the smaller pieces of the broken boulder after their leader had deemed it safe. “Just for a little while.”
꒰ঌ♡໒꒱
“Why so sullen, little one?” Lledrith asked, having observed Lymune's mien in the mirror the entire time she had been brushing the girl’s hair.
“Something my mother always said isn’t leaving me alone. She always said emotions are a weakness, and that I can never show them.” Their purple eyes met when Lymune turned her head to face Lledrith.
The very same scoffed at the notion. “She would say that. For her, that might work. But your emotions are your strength, my treasure. Suppressing them will only lead to misery.”
Her adopted daughter fidgeted with the fabric of her skirt. ”I don’t know… I feel a lot. And strongly.”
“Good.” Lledrith smiled.
Lymune stopped fidgeting. ”What?”
“Emotion and a strong will are the key to the magic within. You may not be a sorceress, but your vigour is inspiring to those around you.”
”Really?”
”Really,” Lledrith said, cupping the younger drow’s cheek with her hand. ”The matrons of Menzoberranzan look down on women who focus on arcane magic, but I will find a teacher so you can hone your gifts.”
“Thank you!” Lymune’s frown turned into a beaming smile.
Lledrith resumed with the brushing. ”Just be patient for a little bit longer, just for a little while.”
꒰ঌ♡໒꒱
“If I ever get married, he has to be sweet. And handsome!”
“Looks aren’t everything. I would prefer someone witty. Someone with a good sense of humour.”
Lymune chuckled and shifted on the cushions that covered her bedstead. “You have me! I’m very witty and funny.”
“Yes, but you are my sister,” Imrae said. "It is up to me to continue the Auvryervs line. Problem is, I don’t feel that fire towards others that makes one want to procreate. Father said that it is only a matter of time. That… is probably it, right?” He sighed and stared up at the ceiling, as if he could find the answer there.
”Everyone's different.” Lymune shrugged. ”Otherwise, we’d all be the same, wouldn't that be boring? Some like girls, some like boys, some like both. Maybe some like nothing?”
“Maybe.” Imrae looked at his sister, trying to imprint her image into his mind. ”How long until you will be able to visit?”
“I don't know. Until winter break? Maybe you all will visit me at the bard college instead before that?” Lymune grinned. ”It would be fun, all of us together in Waterdeep. I can show you around!”
”Maybe. You know that Mother does not like it when I go too far from the palace. But if we are all together, it might be different. If only just for a little while.”
꒰ঌ♡໒꒱
Imrhys’ hair clung to his neck, soaked with sweat.
Blood clung to his blade, fresh and bright red.
Lymune clung to his side, terrified of the woman who birthed her.
Keeping a low stance to protect his daughter, Imrhys focused on Vhaidra's movement. She was faster than him, but she was having trouble landing her most devastating strikes due to his armour.
But her foremost aim was to abduct Lymune. If she snatched the girl, Imrhys would not be able to catch up with her again
He breathed against the pain in his leg. That damned old scar always troubled him in the worst moments.
Vhaidra was already bleeding from the side, the result of a lucky strike Imrhys had landed.
A battle of endurance, then.
When his foe surged forward, Imrhys raised his hand. ”Detono!” he shouted, focusing a wave of energy in her direction to throw her back.
She was sent flying a few feet, catching her fall to come at him again.
Slower this time. She’s faltering.
Her desperate punches dented Imrhys’ armor, breaking ribs even through layers of padding.
Hold firm. She cannot keep this up.
“Tormentum,” Imrhys shouted. Darts of force surged towards Vhaidra’s chest.
She fell to one side. Her leg shot out to crack his shin.
Without hesitation, Imrhys thrust his sword into her chest, right where her shriveled cold heart would be.
Lymune buried her face in the wool of his cloak. She hated violence, but she understood that they would know no peace as long as Vhaidra lived.
“Jaluk,” the dying matron hissed.
“Vith’ir.” Imrhys twisted his blade before he pulled it out and moved away, falling to one knee while Vhaidra breathed her last. His head ached and nausea was setting in. Concussion from one of her strikes, probably.
”You’re hurt!” Lymune moved his cloak aside, surveying the damage to his side and his leg.
”And you are not. That is how it must be,” Imrhys brought forth through clenched teeth, clinging to his sword for balance and support.
He felt Lymune’s hand on his side. She was humming, focusing her burgeoning bardic magic. ”Te curo,” she sang before salving energies flowed through Imrhys' veins. It was a weak spell, but he could not have been prouder of his daughter.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Imrhys pulled her close now that the pain had lessened. “I will be fine. Your mother and brother will find us.”
Lymune nodded, shivering with fear and exhaustion.
Now she was theirs. Forever. Not ‘just for a little while’.
꒰ঌ♡໒꒱
Crystal glasses clinked, their sound sharp in his ears. Gems and jewels sparkled, reflecting light into his eyes. Heavy perfumes of their guests hang in the air of the dancehall of the Auvryervs palace, making it harder to breathe.
Dressed in his finest threads, head heavy from the jewelry woven into his hair, Imrae walked through the crowd, giving out polite smiles to the dao dignitaries while his mother was entertaining their leader on her dais. Their gazes were of the desiring nature, he was certain of it, but so far the earth genies had been respectful enough not to touch him.
Perhaps it was respect, though it was more likely that it was the intimidating gaze of Ranaghar, who was keeping close to Imrae at all times, one hand resting on the pommel of his sheathed blade.
“If one of them touches you, they lose that hand. I don’t care who their patron is, they should know not to mess with a drow,” their weapons master had promised before the festivities had begun.
Snatching green wine from a servant’s tray, one cup for him, one for his loyal guardian, Imrae looked to where his mother was laughing with their noble guest.
Kabril Ali al-Sara al-Zalazil, the Great Khan of the Dao.
Rumored to be as powerful as a god, though even a being like him was in need of allies on the Prime Material. He despised the enemies of Enlightenment, and the goddess Lolth, called Lotha by the people of Zakhara, was among those Savage Gods.
Imrae’s ears twitched when his father’s voice rang above the crowd. “Your Highness, dearest guests, I now present our pride and joy to you, our daughter Lymune and her beautiful music.”
Invited in by the polite applause of the elemental folk, his sister stepped through a silk curtain, looking marvellous with her hair braided in their family style and with her new dress hugging her figure. She carried her favourite flute with her, her lucky charm, a gift by Kashoon, a tiefling friend and mentor she had met during her travels on the surface.
“Welcome to our humble estate,” Lymune said, a dazzling smile on her lips. “My first song is one I have composed recently in honor of my wonderful family.”
Without further ado, she put her flute to her lips and began to play. As she coaxed the first notes from her instrument, the last of the guests who had been whispering to one another fell silent, enraptured by the melody.
Imrae smiled when he recognized parts of the melody. His sister had woven the song of the Underdark into her composition, a tune audible to everybody who was willing to listen and which he and Lymune were in the habit of humming together whenever one of them was sad.
The melody soothed his nerves, and Imrae soon found that he breathed a little easier.
When Lymune’s eyes met his, seeking him in the crowd, he gave her an approving nod.
A beautiful reprieve from the stresses of the festivities, even if it lasted just for a little while.
꒰ঌ♡໒꒱
”So, Imrae, what brings you to Baldur’s Gate?” The elf with the white curls leaned in closer, an easy smile splitting his lips.
“Trade,” Imrae said, taking a sip of the wine the handsome stranger had insisted on buying him. Crisp and fruity, with a pleasant amount of acidity.
His words were not an outright untruth, but the elf did not need to know about the precious artefact which would wait for Lymune and him at Sorcerous Sundries tomorrow, or about the arcane crystals they had brought with them as payment for the wizard Lorroakan.
His mother had agreed to let the two of them travel to the surface together, for Lymune had assured her that people were accepting of drow in the city of Baldur's Gate.
“Oh, you are way too pretty to be a mere merchant, my dear,” the elf purred.
Imrae had not known that surface elves could purr, but there was no other word to describe the stranger’s tone of voice.
“Perhaps I am ugly by drow standards, how would you know, good sir?” he asked the elf with a smile.
The stranger laughed. “Nonsense, I know beauty when I see it.”
Imrae had been warned that the surface did find drow desirable, and sure enough, not long after he had left their room at the Elfsong Tavern at dusk to have a cup of tea in the taproom, the man in a fine padded doublet had joined his table and bought him a drink.
“Brother!” Lymune came down the stairs and walked up to them. She had donned her favourite dress and redone her hair in tresses. ”Did you make a new friend already?”
The stranger's smile grew wider. ”Brother and sister, hm? You two could dethrone the drow twins if you wanted.” He chuckled at his own joke.
Lymune sat down, putting her arm around Imrae's shoulder. Not affectionate around his waist. Protective.
Something about the stranger had irked her.
“My my, aren’t you two precious,” the elf commented.
“Among other things,” Lymune said with a smile that was a bit too sweet. “Are you a regular here, Mister…?”
The stranger laughed. “Semi-regular,” he said before he got up to leave. “But I know when I am intruding on a private moment. See you around, perhaps.”
“Thank you for the wine,” Imrae called after him, then turned to his sister. “That was odd.”
“He was up to no good. He didn’t like it one bit when I showed up.” Lymune did not take her eyes off of the elf before he had vanished from sight. She then took the cup of wine, giving it a sniff before she drank from it. “He has good taste in wine, though. Did you learn his name?”
“No.”
“He was definitely up to no good, then.”
Imrae gave a concurring hum. A pity, the stranger had been of the witty variety, offering delightful little jokes that veered on the risque and the macabre.
No matter. Him and Lymune would still enjoy the evening, have a drink, then perhaps take a stroll through the streets down to the beach now that the sun was gone.
‘Vacation’, the surface folk called it. A nice distraction and reprieve from the demands placed on the heir of House Auvryervs.
Just for a little while.
