Author's note: Happy birthday to my dear Oleander's One, talented writer, faithful reviewer, cherished friend, and Daeghun-fan. This one's for you.
This is loosely linked to All it Takes and Shards of Silver(I even considered posting it there); it's pretty much canon for my PC Tarva, but I left the name, race and class of Daeghun's foster daughter ambiguous, so it could be almost any fPC.
The term afver'larior also comes from Tarva's story, and is (sort of) an elvish term of extreme endearment, although not necessarily romantic or sexual in nature. Daeghun gives one definition (or set of definitions). Elvish languages are complicated. Even more when you're just pulling them out of your own head.
Daeghun no longer has a heart to break, but there is an ache in the hollow of his chest when he tells her she must leave. It was only yesterday, surely, that she was a babe dandled on Shayla's knee; only a few hours ago that he pried her from Esmerelle's cold arms.
No. It has been an eternity since he lost Shayla, and he is an old man with centuries yet to endure.
His foster daughter looks at him. She has spent all her life among humans, and they are expressive creatures; although she tries, she cannot hide her feelings from him - her weariness, her deep grief, her fear. Beneath those products of this night, there remains her fierce, constant hunger for all those things he cannot give her... approval, warmth, acknowledgement of just how much she matters to him.
He wishes she would hate him instead. He deserves her hate, selfish as he is; clutching the child Shayla loved so much to him, as though this second-hand link to his wife rendered her less distant, less dead. Lying to her, because the truth was too harsh to tell the first time she'd asked, and admitting the lie later would only drive her away...
But now she must go, for her own sake as well as the village's, and Daeghun does not even tempt himself with the idea of going with her. He has taught her as best he can, given her all that he can; she needs more, has always needed more. He has blighted her childhood long enough. It is past time to let her go free, let her forget the cold, hollow man who had once been her foster-father.
"You should not linger," he says.
"I know," she answers, and makes a small, aborted movement; any other woman, any other man, and she would have hugged him. He would have held her close, called her 'daughter', and been able to protect her. He has had no illusions on that subject since Shayla's death.
She squares her shoulders, as she does when accepting a task she does not care for. "Goodbye, father."
"Be safe," he says, and knows how hypocritical it is; he is sending her into a dangerous world to be hunted by githyanki and bladelings. Still, as she turns and walks away, that wish is the last thing he can offer her.
-0-0-0-0-0-
His half-brother is always sending him letters. Daeghun has never understood why. He does not wish to know the details of Duncan's life in the sordid city, and he has never written back. There seems to be little point telling the innkeeper how many pelts he has taken, or that Esmerelle's daughter continues to grow.
It does not seem to discourage the letters. One arrives nearly a moon after Daeghun had sent her away.
.
Daeghun, you rat. You could have warned me you were sending her here. And that she looked so much like Esmerelle. A kobold could've knocked me down when she walked into the Flagon. Trailing a dwarf, a wood-elf and a tiefling, of all things.
She's settling in well here. Joined the City Guard, and making a name for herself. I worry, of course, even though she's more than capable of taking care of herself. The Docks are full of lowlifes. No place for a pretty lass.
She's trying to find out about the shards. How much did you tell her, Daeghun? Does she know about Esmerelle? About Shayla? About the one in her chest?
I haven't said anything, but so help me, she needs to know. Deserves to. Don't expect me to keep your secrets forever.
If nothing else, Sand keeps whining that I blather when drunk.
Duncan
.
Daeghun closes his eyes, shakes his head. His half-brother... well, let it be so. Let her learn the truth, finally. She will never forgive him for lying to her, he knows.
He usually throws Duncan's letters into the kindling. This one he smoothes out and lays carefully in a drawer.
He waits for the next letter. What else can he do? His afver'larior has gone.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Duncan writes sporadically, and Daeghun quickly learns to scan the letters for the passages that interest him. Those he keeps in a slowly growing pile.
.
... she's back from Old Owl Well. Given the errands they keep sending her on, she seems to be the only competent member the Watch has. I expected better of Cormick, but he seems to spend just as much time with his thumb up his arse as the rest of them.
Well, she got the job done, and came back dragging a paladin and a crazy gnome behind her. Inherited more than her looks from Esmerelle, I guess. Doesn't surprise me. What does is how many of your traits she's picked up. Sometimes it's just like talking to you.
More murders in Blacklake...
.
... turns out those shards are part of a githyanki blade, which at least explains their interest in our girl. She blurted out that much before haring off again. Something about an old expert on githyanki blades and his descendants. I'm not sure where she's gone. I only pray she gets back safely...
.
...Well, she did. Brought a farmer lass from Highcliff with her. Shandra. Gods, Daeghun, she's... something. If only I were a few years younger, and not a washed-up old barkeep...
.
... You should have been here. Damn you and your stubborn pride, you should have been here.
She's gone into Luskan, Daeghun, gone after those damn githyanki who kidnapped Shandra, and I had to send that worthless shit Bishop with them to find the way. I wouldn't trust him to piss on me if I was on fire. I'd sooner castrate him than let him anywhere near my niece, except that if I know you, she'll take care of the matter herself if he oversteps.
But... Luskan. If you'd been here to guide her, I'd feel confident that she'll actually return in one piece...
.
... those damn gith spilled half of it, anyway, when they tried to yank the shard right out of her chest, but I told her everything when she got back. The sword, Esmerelle, Shayla. It hurt her to hear it – Daeghun, that girl worships you, and she's taking it hard that you never trusted her with the truth.
Back in a moment – Nasher's favourite lapdog expects personal service when he deigns to grace the Flagon –
Gods, brother, you have to come. Now.
They want to ship her to Luskan for Low Justice.
.
Daeghun's hands clench down on the paper. No. This cannot be. He rises, bow in hand, and almost makes it to the door before a wrenching wave of nausea forces him down. When it ebbs, sanity returns. There is nothing he can effectively do to help her in Neverwinter – or Luskan, should he go so far (and he would, he would challenge the Hells himself if he could). More than this, he is not brave enough to face her, not with the lie between them, not with the sentence of death upon her... Fenmarel Mestarine curse him, but he is not strong enough for this.
"Daeghun, sir?" If he had not been so... preoccupied, he would have heard the little Starling child at his door, a small bit of paper in his grubby fist. "You don't look too good."
"It... will pass," Daeghun forces himself to say. "What have you there?"
" 'Nother letter from the coop." He passes it over and scampers off.
Daeghun's hands shake as he tears it open.
.
Daeghun,
Not as bad as I thought. Neverwinter's shielding her as best they can – making her a squire, which means High Justice and a fair trial here. As she's entirely innocent – they're accusing her of slaughtering Ember, for Tymora's sake - well, she's still in some danger, but it's not Luskan Low Justice.
If you remember Sand, he's defending her. Sly little viper of a moon elf, but he knows the game as well as anyone, I hear. He'd better.
Please come. She needs you now.
Duncan
.
The Seldarine be thanked for this mercy. Daeghun puts his face in his hands, and he shudders for a long time. Finally, he finds a clean scrap of paper, some ink, a quill, and writes the first letter to his half-brother that he's ever sent.
.
Your letters are appreciated. I will not come. The most I could be is a distraction, and she cannot afford that.
.
The letters that follow, over the next few tendays, are full of wild chastisements and orders, with occasional bouts of vituperative abuse depending on how much Duncan has had to drink. Daeghun tolerates them for the sake of the little news Duncan has heard. They are investigating Ember. One of the Neverwinter Nine will speak for her at the trial. The day is set.
Duncan sends his pleas, and nearly, so very nearly, Daeghun yields. His ward is fighting for her life, and if all goes wrong... he should be there, to ambush her accusers, or if there is nothing else, to avenge her.
But he has never been able to protect her, and his efforts only make things worse. He does not want to think what might be worse than 'given to Luskan justice', but it is not a risk he will take. He cowers at home and lives from letter to letter.
.
Daegun, you bstard. Glad I never didnt get yr piss father cos you dint get this frum mother whod be ashamed f you. You never rite back and the trial is tommorroorrow. She mite die and you don't care enuff to be heer and spport her. How will yu live with you if they kill her? Basstard.
.
The rest of the letter is a stained mess of ink and ale. This one does not go with the others; Daeghun puts it on top of the chest in his room.
.
Sorry for my last, the next letter begins. Thought if I drank enough, I wouldn't be so afraid of the trial. No such luck.
Well, she destroyed that strumpet Luskan called an ambassador – made her look like something a starving illithid wouldn't touch. Then the bitch called for Trial by Combat and named some thug twice our niece's size as a champion.
I doubt he's quick enough to scratch her, but...
Dammit, Daeghun, why aren't you here?...
.
And then another arrives some days later, and reads only You deserve this.
She arrives the next day.
A small, rag-tag group surrounds her. Daeghun takes them in at a glance – human paladin, infatuated and possibly dangerous; human ranger, Duncan's 'worthless shit'; human fighter, mostly harmless; human magic-user, looks unstable; gnome, definitely unstable; tiefling, probably untrustworthy; dwarf fighter, idiotic; moon elf spell-caster and clearly a capable lawyer, Sand; scruffy-looking wood elf – and dismisses them.
There are dark shadows under his foster daughter's eyes, and she seems both smaller and harder, as though the long moons have compressed her. For the first time in her life, Daeghun can't tell what she's feeling. "Hello, father," she says. "If you'll forgive me, I have to speak to Retta Starling."
He watches her walk away, and turns back only to meet the too-knowing eyes of the moon elf. "Nothing quite like paternal guilt," Sand murmurs, thankfully not in the Common tongue. The wood elf girl turns to look at them as the rest of them scatter to sample West Harbour's meagre hospitality. "Daeghun, isn't it? If you have forgotten, I am Sand, and this is Elanee, a druidess of Merdelain."
Elanee offers a greeting; Daeghun responds in kind. He has had some dealing with her Circle before, but doesn't know her.
"I see the lass found the swamp elf!" Georg hollers from across the way. Daeghun takes advantage of the momentary confusion granted by the idiotic statement to slip away.
-0-0-0-0-0-
It is dark before he hears her familiar knock at the door, and her slow, heavy steps. Daeghun puts Duncan's ale-stained letter back in its accustomed place, and goes downstairs to meet her.
"You look... tired," he says, as weak a greeting as he could imagine.
"It has been a... difficult time," she answers, sitting in her old place on the floor. Few chairs are built for the weight of full plate armour. "I am... it's good to see you again, father."
"And Retta Starling?"
"I found her missing son. And I killed him."
"Ah," he says. They have never been good at small talk, and glad as he is to see her safe, he does not want the conversation that will follow as surely as night follows day.
She looks at him, her eyes unusually expressive, pain and betrayal in their depths. Daeghun turns his head way, unable to meet them for more than a moment.
"Why?" she asks softly.
He shakes his head. He has no answer to give her. There are reasons, there are excuses, but they are weak, foolish, unworthy. Like him.
"Why did you lie to me?" she asks, more passionately, almost desperately. "Didn't you trust me? Wasn't I good enough?"
"I cannot..." The words are halting, nearly impossible to shape. "You could not understand."
"I could, if you helped me. Father..." He still cannot look at her. "Your wife died for me. Why did you think I wouldn't want to know? That I wouldn't care?"
"It was... is... difficult for me to speak of that time." It is as much as he can force out.
After a while, she gets up. "One day, father," she says.
The door closes behind her as Daeghun curses himself.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Even Duncan's letters come less frequently, terse missives that let him know that his foster daughter continues well, and is facing more and more threats against her life. The Neverwinter lord has put her in charge of the ruins of Crossroad Keep. The King of Shadows is rising again, Duncan writes, and this, at last, explains the subtle darkness he has felt creeping over the Mere – the movement of the game, the silence of the air, the secrecy of the druids.
It makes Daeghun restless, and shortly after he overhears the wizard Tarmas trying to persuade Retta Starling to leave, he goes himself. Much to his surprise, Bevil Starling accompanies him, suggesting that perhaps one member of the Starling clan has slightly more brains than hair.
They go to her Keep. Bevil makes himself known and is greeted warmly; Daeghun waits for an opportunity to speak to the druidess without coming to his foster daughter's attention. It is... easier that way.
He slips into the keep, calls out to the wood elf – just before Esmerelle's daughter and the man known as Bishop come down the hill towards him. He nearly flees. "The Circle of Merdelain may still exist," he says instead.
"The Elders are - can you take me there?" Elanee asks, her face ablaze with an uncomfortable amount of hope.
"No," Daeghun says, which is not entirely accurate. "I have... other tasks." He has been listening to the Keep, to its rumours and its gossip, and he can do more than the human scouts they have been sending out. He can find the Shadow Reavers.
"You don't need him," Bishop says. "You have me."
"Was that you volunteering?" his ward asks. "You surprise me."
"Got more where that came from," the human leers at his foster daughter, and Daeghun nearly kills him. His hand even wraps around a dagger, before the man looks at him and laughs. "Not something daddy likes to hear, I see. I'd best be off, Captain." Bishop saunters off, and Esmerelle's daughter watches him go with a faint frown.
"I do not like that man," the druid says.
"Who could?" She sounds distant, already thinking of something else. "Father..." she turns back to him. "Bevil told me about West Harbour. I'm glad you're safe."
"And you... you have come far," he says. An asinine comment, but she nods her head gravely. And she has – he can see the genuine respect of her guardsmen, the strong walls about her, the strength in her bearing... this young woman is very different from the child he sheltered for a few short years.
She doesn't need him.
"Will you stay here, Father?" she asks, as the druid mumbles something and backs away. "There's plenty of room, and I need all the help I can get. And..." she glances down, scuffs at a pebble in the dirt, "I m- I'd like you here."
"I cannot," he says slowly. "There is too much to do. Be assured that I will help you as best I can."
Her eyes close, and she nods. "Stay safe, then."
"And you," he says. Afver'larior, he thinks, but does not add.
He regrets that, later.
-0-0-0-0-0-
The war comes quickly upon them. Daeghun does what he can to help, working with her scouts, finding the Shadow Reavers, reporting their locations and their movements. He rarely speaks to his foster daughter; she is very busy now. She has accrued strange allies: a veiled woman who appears githyanki, but is apparently githzerai instead; a tattooed warlock whom Daeghun recognises. How could he forget the man who raise the silver sword against the King of Shadows that night? The man whose unstable weapon killed Shayla?
He watches Ammon Jerro carefully. For years, he has entertained ideas about finding this man and killing him. There had been nobody else (save Daeghun himself) to bear the blame of Shayla's death, and Esmerelle's. But his foster daughter seems to respect him, and before this is over, Daeghun may well even have a chance at the King of Shadows.
Suddenly, without warning, Highcliff falls. Crossroad Keep, its Knight-Captain and her reforged silver sword, are the last hope standing between the King of Shadows and Neverwinter. Daeghun goes out scouting, mapping the army's movement.
The black tide will sweep them all away, unless Esmerelle's daughter can somehow produce a miracle. If she cannot... well, he is not leaving. He will stand here, and he will defend her as long as he has breath.
She is his afver'larior, after all. His duty. His reason for living. Without her, there is no blood in his veins.
He is there the day they destroy the bridges, and plays his small part in the battle. He is there when the undead attack by night, safe behind the barricades with all the other archers, while she races across the battlements to destroy the siege towers.
The thought comes to him: how proud Esmerelle would have been of her. How... how proud of her he is. He has no right to be – but he is.
He is there when dawn breaks, and the foul army continues its assault, empowered by Garius's dark magic.
The gates were only ever intended to held until dawn. They are not equipped for a siege, not against undead who need no food, no rest, and who are protected against the sun's rays. They are blown inward, and the enemy is upon them.
They fall back to the inner courtyard as his foster daughter races down from the battlements.
"Shut the gates!" Lieutenant Kana shouts, and the ranger Bishop slides out from the lingering shadows.
"Oh, I don't think you'll manage that little trick," he drawls. "If you get back up to the walls, ladyship, you might survive this. Maybe even wise up a little. There'll be room for you on the winning side."
"What have you done?"
"Smashed the gate's locking mechanism," he says calmly. "That portcullis isn't coming down, which means that your precious little Keep is. For what it's worth, you almost made me stick around, but it's time for me to take my leave now. By the way," he scans the stunned defenders and finds Daeghun, "thanks for that little tip about the druids. I wouldn't have had my audience with the King if you hadn't given me a pointer about a way into Merdelain."
Daeghun's hands are shaking with rage as he nocks an arrow and fires at the human. His arrows have never flown so far wide before. He tries again, others with him now – but the ranger is out of range of spell or arrow, and the undead are pouring into the Keep.
His foster daughter fights on in the early sunlight, the paladin and the gith beside her, the others positioned at various choke points. Daeghun's arrows do little damage, but he looses them all the same, desperate and afraid. He may see her fall today.
Garius himself appears, summoning a fraction of the King of Shadow's presence into a tall, dark construct. She doesn't hesitate, and neither does anyone else. Daegun cries out when the thing knocks her back and she lands badly, but the gith turns to her instantly, and the paladin shields them until Esmerelle's daughter is back on her feet.
And then, without a fuss, the Nightwalker is gone, and Black Garius is undefended. The gith chants a string of nonsense syllables – the balefire around the Reaver's skull fades – and Black Garius flees as his spells are undone and the undead begin to flame.
The day is won.
-0-0-0-0-0-
His foster daughter and her companions gather in the Main Hall. Daeghun has no real place there, but nevertheless, he listens as the sage explains how he is going to teleport them straight to the King of Shadows.
His heart cries out that this is impossible, to prevent her, or at least to go with her, but almost before he understands exactly what's happening, she is gone.
Daeghun leaves without another word. He takes a fast horse from the stables, and he rides south, to the Mere.
By the time he arrives, days after the battle, the shadow has lifted. He follows the twisting trails through Merdelain, though the ruins of West Harbour, out to the old Illefarn entrances.
They lie in ruins, their walls tumbled down, the archways collapsed. No way in or out. A few people sit beside them. The tiefling. The dwarf. Sand.
Nobody else.
"Daeghun," the elf says wearily. "I'm sorry. Mystra, I'm so sorry."
He stands there, frozen, as they speak of the battle, of those who turned against her, those who died. Of the King of Shadows, and his destruction. Of their escape from the crumbling fortress. Of losing her behind a fall of rock.
When they fall silent, Daeghun nods and steps past them. He dismisses them from his attention; they are no longer relevant. The entrance is a crumbled mass of stones. He struggles to lift one, toss it away. The ruins cannot keep him out forever. He will leave no stone standing in his search. He will not stop until he finds his daughter.