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Six months is a long time to spend alone. Well, alone was being a little dramatic; Avery saw plenty of people everyday. Tall Tales had never been busier now that the owner had stopped a mind flayer apocalypse.
Avery's days were full of all sorts of tantalising questions; 'Did you really slay a dragon?' 'Did you actually meet the Prince of the Comet?' 'What's Wyll Ravenguard like in person?' And sure, she was happy to answer them, but there's only so long before your mind starts to melt from the monotony of it all. Maybe becoming a mind flayer really was preferable to this.
Maybe it's for the best Karlach isn't around for this, it's all far too mundane for someone so exdordinary.
After another day much like the last, she receives a letter from the courier as she's closing up. More questions, she thinks, opening it with a sigh. The penmanship is unfamiliar, but the manner of speech is not.
Even without the directions included in the letter, Avery would have found her way. How could she not? It was like going home.
Night has just about fallen when she arrives. It starts as a low hum rumbling through the trees. The closer she gets, the more the sound begins to take shape. Music, propped up by muffled chatter and laughter. Is she late? No, surely not. Still, she picks up the pace, hiking up her skirts to avoid catching the brush.
The clearing is exactly the same and yet completely different. Where once it was crowded with tents now it is covered in tacky (though rather charming) decorations, a large table adorned with food right in the centre. Lights, both magical and torches, litter the space like thousands of stars.
Most importantly though, are the faces.
"Shadowheart!"
Avery sprints across the mud, only narrowly avoiding a trip on a loose shoelace. Shadowheart barely has enough time to place down her goblet before impact, Avery squeezing her tightly with every last bit of strength.
"Keeping me on my toes, are we?" Shadowheart laughs, hugging her back just as hard.
Avery pulls back just far enough to grin up at her. "You look great! How have you been?"
It turns out Avery is among the first to arrive. Shadowheart, Gale, and Jaheira have already cracked open the wine, and they're just moving onto the second round by the time Wyll, Halsin, and Minsc arrive. Lae'zel appears a while later in a shimmer of light. An astral projection, she explains to an awestruck Avery, and quite a powerful one at that.
At the head of the table stands Withers, still just as old and shrivelled, and ordaned in broken gold and a tattered cloak. Avery realises at that exact moment that they had never actually offered him a new one, at least not as far as she knew.
He raises his hand and everyone snaps to attention as if under a spell.
"Treasured friends," he says, his voice seems to reverberate through their bones, "I humbly thank each of you for accepting my summons."
There is a hole in the gathering. Two actually, both nagging and incessant like a dog nipping at everyone's heels. Yet no one says a word about it. Maybe they're worried they'll bring the mood down.
Their initial party had been eight strong. Avery, Gale, Shadowheart, Wyll, Astarion, Lae'zel-
Karlach and Adriel.
Avery keeps scanning the faces of attendees as if they might appear by magic. Certainly wishful thinking on her part. No one had seen or heard from Adriel since the tadpoles died with their masters and Karlach-
Well, she knew where Karlach was.
"Ah, there you are, cub."
The voice jerks her from daydreaming and Avery turns to a smiling wrinkled face. "Jaheira?"
"Are you all there? Or am I speaking to a changeling?"
Avery feels the tension leak from her shoulders. "I'm not sure, ask me something only the real Avery would know."
Jaheira scoffs. "Unless you've also copied her memories, then it would be pointless."
Jaheira was one of the few she'd actually seen since stopping the end of the world, though only in passing. She's a busy woman, after all, and their schedules just never lined up.
"You've gained a few more wrinkles," Avery snorts, "Kids giving you trouble?"
"Yes, actually," Jaheira says with a roll of her eyes, "Now that I'm back in the city, I receive a daily earful from Rion. It proves to be very potent at creating them."
"I expect you'll be fleeing back to the wilderness soon. Save a few inches of skin."
Jaheira gives her a, deserved, yank on her pointed ear. "Watch it. I'll have you know I am still armed."
Her gaze drifts to their friends. Gale roars with laughter in response to whatever Wyll just said, both of them slightly pink and wobbling. Jaheira sighs.
"No, my place is in the city. Just for a little longer." She glances back to Avery. "What about you?"
Avery cradles her goblet in both hands. "Well, you know, I'm busy with the shop and the like…"
Jaheira considers her for much longer than she'd like. Finally, she sighs, "You look tired."
"I'm fine."
Inwardly, Avery groans. She said that far too fast. Lying to Jaheira is a truly futile endeavour. "I'm not blind yet," she says with a huff, "are you working too hard?"
"That must be it, I'm completely knackered with the shop and everything."
She appears unconvinced, but satisfied. "And how are you faring without-"
It's as if saying her name would lay a curse upon them. Karlach wasn't the type to curse, well, not in that sense. Avery just shrugs.
Here she stands before Jaheira, the one here who has the best hope of understanding how she feels, but nothing she does can will the words to surface. Six months, six damned months, and the wound is still fresh.
Jaheira places a hand on her shoulder. "When you are ready to talk, I will be here." She scoffs. "Or maybe over there with Gale. Seems to be where all the fun is."
That at least tricks a smile to crack her expression. Avery nods and, with one more pat, Jaheira leaves her side.
Avery takes a bottle from the nearest table without reading the label and retreats to the edge of the party, just far enough for the voices to muffle behind the treeline. There's the remains of an old watchtower, crumbled and weathered by years of neglect. She finds a spot along one of its collapsed walls, just low enough to sit, though high enough that only the tips of her boots scrap the ground.
She takes a swig from the bottle and cringes. Oh, that is a foul concoction. She squints at it in the dark just to make sure she hasn't somehow taken a bottle of urine by mistake. It isn't, but she wouldn't recognise the name if she was smacked over the head with it. Still, it seems strong enough to put an orc to sleep so she sticks with it.
She is about to take another swig when the brush rustles.
Maybe it was a Bhaalist, furious at the fall of their god. Or a Gith raider seeking to cut them down for Vlaakith. Unfortunately, Avery's imagination was pretty good like that.
She wobbles to her feet and hefts the largest stick in reach up over her shoulder. The sound moves closer, a phantom in the undergrowth.
Then, the shape of a person emerges and she swings-
They catch her weapon with a curse.
"By the Nine Hells!"
She blinks. "Astarion?"
"Yes!" he squawks, yanking it from her grasp and tossing it into the undergrowth, "Gods, are you trying to kill me?"
"No way, too many witnesses nearby."
He groans. "Oh good, you're still a comedian."
"And you're still a fuss pot. I wouldn't have take your head off with this-" She brandishes the weapon as she says so.
"You would have gotten close, I'm sure."
Avery crumples back down to her seat, bottle balanced between her knees. Astarion has put on some weight since she last saw him six months ago. Not a ton, but there's certainly more roundness to his face. He's still pale, obviously, but there's more life to him, ironically.
If she were here, Karlach would crush him in a hug, one he'd insist he hates but would make no sincere effort to break free. Avery's were nowhere near that good.
"What are you doing out here, anyway?" she asks.
Astarion only huffs and makes himself comfortable on the wall beside her. Not too close, he leaves about an arm's length between them. "I should ask you the same, skulking about the forest. One might think you're up to no good."
She takes a swig, a drop escaping down her chin. "So what if I am?"
"Then that's none of my business, but you could at least be discreet about it."
Avery looks back at her bottle. "I just- I needed a minute."
Astarion only hums and gulps down a mouthful with a hiss. “Oh, it’s vile. Utterly vile.”
He offers it without looking up and Avery accepts. It does taste pretty awful, but it’s sharp in her throat and warms her belly. She prefers it to her own, though not by much.
They find themselves simply existing for a while, struck so suddenly by the knowledge that, despite everything, they were both somehow still here. That they hadn’t died to something benign in the six months since they’d last met.
“So, what have you been up to?”
Astarion finishes his swig and gestures with one hand. “Oh you know, galavanting about slaying crooks and villains. I’ve been very good, only drinking from the bad guys.”
“That almost sounds like a reputable new lease on life. I’m proud of you.”
“Almost? What more do you want from me?”
"You could try petting bunnies or picking some flowers."
"Just ask the world of me, why don't you?" Astarion takes another drink.
"You sound… happier."
He seems taken aback for a moment, but recovers quite quickly. "I should hope so. I've been working quite hard, you know."
Avery can't let it hang between them any longer. "Have you… heard from-"
"No," he snaps, clearly intending to leave it there.
Avery frowns. "Haven't you looked for him?"
"Of course I have! But what do you expect me to ask people? 'Hello, have you seen a raving lunatic dragonborn spouting nonsense about Bhaal and stabbing everyone in the vicinity?'"
"Well, why not?"
"Have you been doing that, then?"
"Sort of? I haven't been including the Bhaal part… or the raving lunatic part."
Astarion huffs and tips his head back to finish the last of his bottle. He throws it by the neck into the brush, the sound of its shatter echoing in the night air. Avery wordlessly passes hers and he accepts it with a grunt.
"As far as I'm concerned, he's dead. But that's what I deserve for getting my hopes up."
The last time they saw him, Adriel was not himself. The once gentle giant who would stoop just to appear less threatening was tall, stiff. Every muscle spasmed and twitched as he stumbled away, muttering nonsense as he disappeared into the city.
Then the bodies started appearing-
"And Karlach," he says stiffly, "I take it you're the one keeping her grave in order."
"Of course," she says, "And her parents'."
"They look… nice."
Avery looks up at him. He's not focused on anything in particular, his grip on the bottle loose. She hums. "I'll be honest, I'm surprised you even visited."
"Of course I did," he snaps, but there's no venom to it, "she was my friend too. And for what it's worth, I think she would have loved what you've done with the headstone."
"Astarion-"
The words die in her throat as Avery suddenly goes very still, catching a sound beyond the limits of camp. Astarion seems to hear it too, already reaching for the dagger on his belt.
"Who's there?" she calls out, but gets no response.
"Show yourself," Astarion barks, "we're in no mood for games."
The trees and brush are still, unnaturally so, as if the wildlife had also fled whatever was skulking about in there.
Every muscle, every bone, they plead for respite-
Respite that has not been granted by Father!
Even a minute, a second, he wouldn't beg for anything more from Father-
How vile, for such a son so unruly to demand anything of Father!
So many faces flash across his fractured mind. Are they not payment enough-
No! Never! Not until all of Faerûn runs red!
Brambles tear at his calves as he stumbles onward, fingers grasping his blade so tightly that his claws draw his own blood-
For Father! One's own wretched blood for Father!
After an eon in the dark trees, light. It's faint but more than he's seen in so long-
More offerings for your atonement! For Father!
Wait, those voices, he knows those voices-
That doesn't matter! Father demands blood! Blood that you have denied him!
No! Not them! Anyone but them! He'll do anything-
Kill! Rip them to pieces! Shred their skin! Pick the flesh from their bones!
No! He can't! He's their friend-
You are nothing! Nothing but Father's will!
No! No, no, no, no, no-