The Quest for Dawn

Chapter 9: Through The Storm

Sleep, for elves, was not usually practiced. The word was still used, of course, when speaking the common tongue in conversation with humans, halflings, gnomes, or any other race that mingled within the diverse society of Faerûn. Elves did not need sleep, though they could if they wanted. Why would a fey creature subject themselves to the chaos of dreams, however, when a controlled trance was all that was needed to rest – and in half the time?

But sleep did come, for Tav was warm against Astarion's body. She drifted off to whirling thoughts of him as he held and caressed her. Dreams may have been chaotic, but sometimes they could be pleasant, and Tavriel occasionally enjoyed letting her dreams take her into mystical places. Dreams that now carried her into a comfortable kaleidoscope of memories.

Astarion, on the other hand, remained awake most of the night, though not without his own pleasant musings. Thoughts were fleeting while he held her warm body against him, and he simply let himself enjoy her presence. Eventually, he allowed himself to slip into a trance, and recalled all the memories from the night before to enjoy again as he rested beside her.

Tavriel awoke, her eyes lazily drifting open in the light of dawn. Her eyes fell on Astarion, and she watched him for a moment. The morning light came through the window, gliding over his beautiful face as he rested peacefully in the twisted covers of the bed they shared. She smiled, and carefully slipped away to dress herself. All their clothes had been tossed carelessly onto the floor, and her grin could not be suppressed. She plucked up his shirt, his doublet, and trousers, smoothing them neatly and left them at the foot of the bed. His boots, too, were gathered together and placed on the floor where she'd laid his clothes.

Wearing her comfortable bodice and chemise, she pulled on her soft boots and tiptoed out the door. Breakfast was in order, as her stomach was rumbling with a hunger to rival even Astarion's insatiable thirst – and he had had plenty of her last night. It always left her feeling a little light-headed, but manageable.

The Elfsong Tavern was usually rather quiet in the morning hours. She entered the large main room of the mostly-empty fest hall. The crackling of the hearth in the center dispelled the growing chill of autumn in Baldur's Gate. Then she stopped – in utter surprise.

Gathered in the far end of the hall were a small group of adventurers; faces she knew all too well. Faces with names, and all of which had received her letters; sent nearly a month ago from the inn on the road. Wyll Ravengard, with the visage of a devil and proud curling horns, was engaged in conversation with Gale of Waterdeep – whose short missive had granted access to the illustrious libraries of Candlekeep.

Shadowheart sat with them, sipping a glass. Halsin, the massive wood elf druid with arms like tree trunks, sat as imposing a figure as he did when he was standing – looking just as gentle as he was large. Tav was elated to see them all, and hurried to them. Wyll saw her first, his smile bright and charming as he stood quickly to greet her with open arms.

"There she is! Tav, come here, girl." Tav beamed as she fled into his welcoming hug, looking over his shoulder to the rest of them, who now watched her with a restrained sort of joy. She knew why. She had told them all, in her letters to them.

Tav pulled back from Wyll, touching his horn lightly, "Still a handsome devil, I see, Wyll."

"Aye, it's been easier to blend in at Avernus and the hells. Karlach sends her warmest regards, of course."

She gave him a sly grin, laughing lightly, "Cheeky."

Halsin stood, his broad form at least two heads taller than Tavriel's slight elven frame, and moved around to embrace her, almost swallowing her in his arms. "Oak father preserve you, dear one." A hug from Halsin was always unmatched, and Tav delighted in his enveloping embrace for a moment before stepping back.