"She is coming of age." The Keeper of the Tomes was looking out the window of his office. Down there archers were engrossed in target practice. Two young archers in particular immediately drew his eyes for the striking coloring of their hair – pink and vivid auburn, - and their more slender forms. As he watched, the auburn-haired one notched the arrow and drew her bow in a practiced movement, the long sleeves of her dress flapping in the wind. The pink-haired girl watched attentively and tried to emulate. "You know it is time."
"She is not ready," Gorion moved to stand next to him and watch as his foster daughter adjusted Imoen's stance. The mage smiled fondly as the advice on bow-drawing turned into a tickling competition. He could hear their laughter from up here.
"The walls of Candlekeep will not protect her for much longer. You know it," the Keeper of the Tomes brought one of his dry spotted hands up to rub his bearded chin thoughtfully.
"Yes, I am aware of the prophecy, Ulraunt," the mage answered, still watching his ward. Estel was becoming quite the archer. And yet the way she drew her bow was imperfect, crude, more suited for a human than an elf. Gorion felt a pang of guilt every time he was reminded of how he robbed her of the childhood she should've had among her people, of the joy of communion and knowledge of the Spirit, but it was done to protect her. And once she came of age, she would be protected no longer. Not from those who wished to harm her and not from herself.
"You have grown too attached to the girl," the Keeper of the Tomes stated disapprovingly.
"She needed a father," Gorion said simply. It was his part of the intricate plan laid down by several powerful wizards who knew of the prophecy. But it was difficult not to love those blue eyes that looked up at him with such open trust. For over a hundred years he stayed with her, reading her bedtime tales, treating her scraped knees, teaching her to read… she was in all but blood his daughter. But now the time was approaching for the next stage of the plan. When it all began, he couldn't wait to be done with it and get on with the life he abandoned to settle down in Candlekeep with his foster daughter, and yet… "She still does."
"She has taken all she can from you and from this place," Ulraunt contradicted him stubbornly. "She can only learn the rest on the road."
"Then I will go with her," Gorion decided as he watched his daughter chat lively with the guards.
"You are taking too much risk, Gorion."
"No more than we are putting her into."
"And what of the other one?" Ulraunt winced slightly as Imoen jumped on the guards back and extended her arm like a mounted general ordering her troops forward. The training grounds burst with laughter. At least it would be quiet once they were gone.
"She will follow anyway, that one," Gorion smirked. "It is best if she doesn't suspect of her role."
"I am glad you can still think clearly when it comes to at least one of them," The Keeper of the Tomes said wryly, not an ounce of approval in his voice. "Where will you go?"
"Where does anyone in these parts go? I am hoping to catch Jaheira and Khalid at the Friendly Arms," Gorion drummed his fingers on the windowsill thoughtfully. "We will see from there."
"Do they know?" Ulraunt narrowed his icy eyes.
"No," the mage shook his head. "They assume she is the daughter of one of my friends."
"It is decided, then. Obviously you cannot be dissuaded from this course," the Keeper grunted. "Do not tarry. Each day you remain here brings greater risk to Candlekeep."
Outside the merriment continued. Gorion watched as Imoen dragged away Estel and some young recruit – Gern, he thought his name was, - hugging both tightly by their necks. How fast she grew up compared to Estel, his eternal child. It was still difficult to think of those two as young women. Perhaps Ulraunt was right. Perhaps Gorion did let his love for his daughter cloud his judgment.
"At least let her have her birthday here," he asked the Keeper of the Tomes. "In a few days we will be gone."
"We are leaving, child."
Estel squinted sleepily in the candlelight, too drowsy to understand the words spoken to her. She looked down at the traveling clothes and leather armor her father threw on the bed. Only a few hours ago they returned from the birthday celebration in the village. The celebration was a small one. Still, one had to give it to Imoen: she had a knack for doing something out of nothing. Her foster father's inn was drowning in flowers, the few travelers that happened to stay there at the time were appropriately dumbfounded but after a couple pints of local ale joined the congratulations like they knew Estel their entire lives.
"Estel!" Gorion called her urgently, a full backpack in his hand. The elf rubbed her eyes and only then noticed that he was wearing his traveling robes and holding the oak staff in his other hand. "Get dressed. We need to go."
She put on the clothes he brought her, still too sleepy to struggle with the straps and buckles of armor on her own. Her father strapped a short sword to her belt, slipped her bow and quiver over her shoulders. Once they were done, Gorion put the backpack on her and carefully brought her long hair from under it. For a moment he just stood there, his hands full of thick tresses shining in the flickering light of the candle.
"Father?" the young elf turned around and looked up into his face to find it full of sadness and fear. "What's happening?"
"We're going to the Friendly Arms Inn to meet some old friends of mine," he snapped back to reality. Ulraunt was right, they shouldn't have lingered this long. He adjusted the hem of her shirt and made sure that the backpack's straps were not going to chafe her shoulders. "They are half-elves by the names Khalid and Jaheira. If something happens… you can trust them. They'll make sure you're safe."
"What happens? Is there someone after you?" Estel grabbed Gorion's arm as he turned to leave. It was difficult to imagine that anyone could cause such anxiety in a powerful mage like her father, and yet… It frightened her. She didn't want to leave. "This library is a fortress! Surely you'd be safer here…"
"No," Gorion didn't stop and she had to skip along just to keep up. "We'll be safer on the road, moving."
He led her out of the keep quickly as she showered him with frantic questions. All of a sudden the familiar lights of Candlekeep were behind them and they entered the dark forest. The stream of questions dried out on its own as intimidating darkness enveloped the travelers. Estel tried to convince herself that as an elf she should be at ease with the rustling of night creatures and hooting of owls, but there was something threatening about dark shapes of trees against moonlight, movements barely out the corner of her eye, strange sounds she had never before heard in the safe confines of the great library. With sudden clarity she felt that they were alone. The forest would not help them.
A tug of her father's hand urged her to pick up her pace. They were off the road, treading the beast trails he somehow knew. But despite everything the warmth of his large hand enveloping hers made her feel safer. She could almost imagine them back in the top room of his tower, watching the night sky through the transparent roof as she recited constellations to him. For hours they worked their way through the forest hand in hand, until Gorion suddenly stopped, glancing around with a frown. Estel looked up at him, puzzled. To her keen but dreadfully inexperienced ears the night forest sounded normal, even if it was terrifying kind of normal. Yet there was a feeling she couldn't quite associate with any of her normal senses that filled her with icy dread. Something was coming purposefully toward them from all sides, surrounding them like dark mist, herding them. She gripped her father's hand more tightly and he answered with a reassuring squeeze before disentangling himself.
"Keep behind me," he whispered and got a better grip on his staff.
She heard him before she saw him. The clanking of heavy armor, faint at first, but unnatural against the usual sounds of the forest, gave him away. To her inflamed imagination he appeared a giant, a creature that simply could not be man. In the moonlight his dark spiky armor was throwing long peculiar shadows that crept toward her like oily-black crooked fingers. His sharp giant teeth were bared in a constant feral grin that seemed to split his horned head in half. His eyes, glowing with malicious yellow light, were immediately drawn to her as if there was no one else standing between them.
"Hand over your ward and you can walk away," his voice thundered. Estel shrank behind her father's back. He wanted her. He came for her, and wherever she tried to run, he would hunt her down.
"Lay down your weapons and you can walk away," Gorion answered, his strong and calm voice making her believe that they would get through this and in the morning it would just be a quickly fading nightmare. Estel reached for her sword handle, the familiar weapon fitting comfortably in her small hand.
But, just as she was beginning to think that everything would be fine, the creature laughed. It was a deep, self-assured laugh that chilled her to the bone. From the shadows all around them dark figures stepped out. Too many. Perhaps too many even for her father.
"Prepare to run when I clear you a path," Gorion whispered calmly, his fingers reaching for spell components in a pouch on his belt.
"I can fight with you!" Estel whispered back, not quite sure that she could even move, but still refusing to abandon her father.
"I will find you, child. Run once you see an opening," Gorion insisted in the same irrefutable tone he used to tell her to finish her dinner.
"Old fool!" the creature rumbled and motioned for his men to attack.
Estel didn't remember much of what happened next. Drawn steel was gleaming in moonlight and flashes of magic released by her father. Shadows dashed around the forest clearing, cursing loudly. The creature roared and fell over as one of Gorion's spells hit him. The mage waved his staff at two of the attackers that blocked Estel's way and they were blown away. "Run!" he commanded, and the elf found her legs carrying her away from the battle into the hushed forest. Behind her the creature roared for someone to follow her, and she picked up her pace, scrambling franticly over the roots and mud. Another scream sounded behind her and was cut off abruptly, but it wasn't her father's. It couldn't possibly be.
She ran, slipping in mud and tripping on twisted roots, barely ducking under the branches that threatened to blind her. Once her long hair got caught in them and she nearly cried out in pain, but dared not alert the attackers to her presence. She didn't hear anything behind her, but that could just mean that they were stalking her quietly, waiting for her to give away her location, so she dared not stop or come back for her father. Not knowing which way she was running, she only focused on small achievements like climbing over a fallen tree or running up the hill without her knees buckling.
Sometime in the small hours of the morning it began to rain. Frozen to the bone and exhausted, Estel nestled between the roots of an old tree, bringing her knees to her chest in an attempt to somehow stop shaking. She didn't care if they caught her now, even if they killed her. She was so tired and the forest drowned in dim morning light around her was so cold and inhospitable that she found herself wishing for them to find her. For someone to find her.
Maybe father would come. Maybe they would sit by the fire together, him telling her about a lifetime of adventures he once had, and she would be warm and safe. Enveloped in those memories like in a warm blanket Estel soon slipped into reverie, oblivious to the dangers of the waking forest.