He is roused from sleep by distant voices, in counterpoint -

"You meant well of course, child, but we have little resources. Wasting magic like that on a single -"

"Yes, yes, Aunty J -"

"Whilst it is indeed true that the proper issuance of fiery humour in large quantities can be cleansing and soothing to the spirit, in tactical situations -"

"Well, sure, who doesn't like a good fireball, Dynaheir? But it was a wild surge; this place is weird. Could happen to anybody! Now I've had a jolly bad day, and by 'jolly' I mean -"

He and Imoen ease out of their pile of book-leaves and pad silently around the shelves. They see the Hero of Baldur's Gate striding through the ruined library, dishevelled in a ragged shirt and dirty linen pants. One pointed ear is bent at the tip, and her reddish-brown hair sparks with static, like the fur of a cat in a thundery weather. She does not look in a happy mood.

"Imoen!"

"Rae!"

Trailing her is a fighting man, brown as a nut with the sloe eyes of Kara-Tur, who supports the witch from Rashemen, Dynaheir. She limps but carries her head high, and lets a singed hamster rest in the crook of her arm. And behind them -

"Khalid! Where have you been?!" - and he is in Jaheira's arms -

"I missed you, little sister!"

"I missed you more, and you're my little sister."

"This ain't a good place for an argument so I'll save time and win it now."

"Hey!"

- there's a smell in her sweat that he doesn't like, sweet and musky as old poppy milk, and her pupils are dilated more than they should be in this light. He buries his fingers in her russet hair and cradles the curve of her skull, while she traces her palms down his arms, across his flanks -

"Clay golems!" says Rae brightly. "Did you know they just soak up spells like a sponge?"

"Uh, yeah," says Imoen. "I can only do cantrips an' I know that..."

- Jaheira's voice drops to the tones she saves just for him. "Tell me this is no trick," she murmurs low. "Tell me there are no mirrors and smoke and you will not vanish as soon as my eyes leave you. Oh, I had such dreams..." -

"Details, details. And poniards and stilettos, they don't just bounce off, they stick, it's very frustrating, except for that hand of darts, that was funny. You know what works, though?"

"Bashing it with a stick?"

"Bashing it with a stick! And then this air elemental turned up near the end (I smell nice to elementals, it's a thing) and, brrrrr, powdered golem everywhere - at least an E on the E.P.I.C scale."

- he drops kisses in the dip above her collar-bone and the pulse-point below her jaw, and feels her take a shuddery breath. She lifts his head and he closes his eyes as they rest against each other, forehead to forehead -

"This place is too darn creepy. I really want out of here."

"I'm with ya there, Immie. Aargh, Aunty J and Khalid are doing that thing, that -"

"Open display of affection?"

"Cover my eyes, Imoen. Save me!"

Notes:

there's a smell in her sweat that he doesn't like, sweet and musky as old poppy milk - In the canon, Jaheira makes a comment about having been drugged while in her cell.

"Uh, yeah," says Imoen. "I can only do cantrips an' I know that..." - Eh, when I play I keep Immie as a thief as long as I can before dual-classing. So in this version she can only do little magics right now. (Surely she got an extensive education from the mages in Spellhold, right?)

This story is finished, there's more to come in the AU, though.