The Quest for Dawn

Chapter 32: An Elven Handfasting

The twilight sun cast an ethereal glow over Ancunín Manor, painting the scene in hues of gold and lavender. The serene gardens, normally tranquil and calm, buzzed with a quiet excitement. At the heart of this joyful chaos stood a magnificent archway, draped in a cascade of vibrant blue roses. The blue roses of Evermeet, cultivated with druidic care by Jaheira herself using cuttings, decorated the white trellis with the symbol of the moon elves' legacy and commitment.

Around this breathtaking centerpiece, guests milled about, their conversations filled with laughter and warm greetings. Old friends from the Emerald Grove, their faces etched with time and wisdom, shared stories with the younger generation. Some of the exiled tieflings from Elturel, their horns adorned with festive flowers, brought a touch of exotic flair to the gathering. Even a handful of the ever-industrious Ironhand gnomes, Barcus's absence notwithstanding, had found their way to the celebration, their tinkers' hammers momentarily replaced with mugs of ale.

Halsin, his weathered face betraying a hint of nervousness, worked alongside Jaheira, ensuring the roses remained anchored around the archway. He offered a reassuring smile to the druidess, her brow furrowed in concentration as she channeled her magic into the blooms. Yet, Halsin's own heart was far from calm. A tremor ran through his hand as he adjusted a vine, his gaze drawn to Shadowheart.

The Selûnite cleric stood a short distance away, her eyes scanning the prepared words of the ceremony with frantic intensity. Her usually stoic expression was replaced with a mask of anxiety, her fingers fidgeting with the intricate embroidery on her robes. A pang of sympathy pierced Halsin's chest. He knew the weight of the ceremony, the vows that would bind two souls together, was no small burden to bear.

Amidst the joyous throng, stood a figure whose presence demanded respect: Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard himself. With his son Wyll by his side, the Duke strolled the garden paths, his usually stern visage softened by a rare smile. His appraising gaze swept across the gathered crowd, a sense of pride mingling with the warmth in his eyes. Even Ulder, famed for his unwavering stoicism, could not remain unmoved by this occasion, a celebration of love uniting two of Baldur's Gate's most revered heroes.

Despite the joyous atmosphere that filled Ancunín Manor, one soul remained consumed by a different kind of energy: Astarion. In his private chamber, he grappled with the unfamiliar sensation of nerves, a feeling as foreign to him as a sunrise in the Underdark.

Dressed in a meticulously tailored midnight blue coat, adorned with intricate silver embroidery that shimmered in the fading light, he felt the weight of the occasion settle onto his shoulders. The fabric was soft against his skin, the tailoring impeccable, and yet, despite the finery, his hands could not find peace. Pacing within a small section of the bedchamber, he fussed with the collar, tugged at the cuffs, and asked Gale—again—how he looked.

"Astarion," Gale replied, chuckling, "you look handsome as ever. Would I lie to you?"

"Yes, you probably would," Astarion said, exasperated, nervous, terrified—all of the above. "For your own twisted amusement or perhaps for your own guileless ambitions to make me feel better. I don't know. Yes. Probably."

Gale's laughter echoed softly in the chamber, a mirthful counterpoint to Astarion's restless energy. "My dear Astarion, I assure you, my intentions are pure. You look every bit the noble lord ready to claim his heart's desire. Tavriel will be breathless at the sight of you."

As if conjured by the mention of her name, a wistful smile graced Astarion's lips. "Is that so?" he murmured, his fingers lingering on the collar of his coat, before instinctively brushed against his curls. He wondered how Tavriel was faring, preparing for their impending union with the help of Alfira and the unlikely presence of Karlach. The pacing ceased for the moment, and he knew that the time was drawing near—an event that still felt utterly surreal to him.