II
"No!"
She'd cried, rushing to Gorion's fallen form, so cruelly marred by that hideous, nasty big, black sword. Quickly, she pressed her hands to his chest, ignoring the towering golden-eyed giant of a man and his indignant glare. She fixed him a glare of her own until sheepishly, he lowered his sword and ordered his minions to retreat. She had been very cross that day.
She woke with a start, remembering it as vividly as if it were yesterday. It had all been a terrible misunderstanding; after that, she sent Gorion back to Candlekeep to recover, and she and Imoen set off on great adventures, rescuing cows and correcting misinformed Xvarts, meeting Ursa their guardian bear and getting piggyback rides, putting up with lectures from stuffy old Jaheira (who secretly loved her) and dear old Khalid, making Mulahey apologise to Mayor Ghastkill of Nashkel, and ensuring that the half-orc served penance in Helm's temple under Nalin; freeing the kobolds from Mulahey's tyranny and convincing them to work together with Nashkel's villagers for the benefit of all; settling that nasty old mage's score with that dear old witch in that garish carnival tent… setting aside old hatreds between a Thayan and two Rashemen… everywhere she went, she settled old scores by righting wrongs, and explaining that just by talking, and listening to each other, calmly, with reasoned arguments, after letting it all out, things could be set right.
She took a deep breath. That was a long thought.
She had even got her mean old brother to put aside his sword and become a monk at Candlekeep, content to set aside his role in the prophecy so she could take her rightful place, (which she didn't want, and told him so), and had words with the silly voice in her dreams, telling her father how silly he was, and how he should stop this now, or she would be very, very cross, and shade or not, if he didn't stop it right now, she would give him a piece of her mind. And, while he was at it, he should tell her siblings to stop fighting too. Or else. With a capital 'E'. And Bhaal, dead god of murder or not, daddy or not, did not want Trouble. Oddly enough, it seemed to be Imoen's threat of dying the shade's armour pink that made him back down. Well, it didn't matter. Her father was dead, except in her dreams, and was always careful to be polite. She explained that he didn't have to remain dead; as long as his children were alive, he would live in them, and she was quite content to chat with him; in fact, it would be nice to. She was even looking into a way of bringing him back without killing anyone, and then they could have tea together. Instead of being a nasty god of murder, he was now an ex-god of murder, repented of his wicked ways, and now cared more about being Daddy than about killing. He still had an absurd hatred of gnomes, and imps, but she was working on that too. Not every gnome, she explained, was arrowbait, (even if most of them did deserve it).
That was another long thought.
One day, she promised, Daddy, Gorion and Sarevok would all sit down to tea with her and Immy, and maybe she could invite Gromnir and Balthazar. She wasn't sure Abazigal would like tea, being a blue dragon and all, but she couldn't imagine anyone not liking tea. There was always coffee, or hot chocolate; even apple juice. She would find something her draconic brother liked, even if it was pomegranate juice. (It didn't matter if she had to reach through inter-reality portals to find it either; nothing was too good for her friends and family).