The wind howled in the trees, whipping at the branches with a ferocity that would frighten the bravest sailor. Snow whirled in violent swirls, curling about the houses of the town, peeking in at windows and banging against shutters that were firmly closed. In all the library fortress, only one candle remained lit, by the bedside of a small boy, who slept fitfully in restless repose.

His father sat nearby, his handsome face old before his time as he gazed on the feverish boy. He had sworn to the child's mother that he would do all he could to give her children the life they deserved, and yet, here was the threat of life snatched from her youngest. He bore the looks of his mother, and yet further resembled the features of another of her blood, the man for whom he was named.

Anomen sighed wearily. He still did not know why Duran had insisted on naming their youngest son for her brother, but had not been able to resist. It had meant so much to her, to know that somewhere her brother would have heard of his namesake, and might someday return to them to meet the child who had taken so after him.

Tears glistened in the paladin's eyes as his thoughts turned back to his sunny little wife, and the joy she had given him in the years she had lived. Her life had been full, indeed, full of love and joy, even for those who did not deserve her forgiveness.

Sarevok had never treated her as she treated him, refusing to acknowledge her part in his new life. He had even refused to accept her gift of her stepfather's knife, the one belonging she owned that had been Gorion's. The man she insisted on calling brother had returned it to her after only a few days, and probably never knew how the act had hurt her.

There was a moan from the bed, and Anomen glanced up, hurrying to his son's side as the young Sarevok tossed and turned, caught in the grips of some nightmare he might never wake from. In his haste to reach his son's side, the paladin never noticed the figure standing outside, braving the howling blizzard to stand vigil with him over Duran's son.

He had stood there since nightfall, his eyes trained on the suffering child. Silent and still, as once before he had been on this very hill, he remained in the darkness, just beyond the circle of light, to stand guard over the soul of the child she had named for him. He would not allow the child to die this eve, nor the next. Duran's son should live the life of an adventurer, proud of his mother and the woman she had been. Even he could sense the tragedy of the boy dying so young.

The cold had seeped into him slowly, numbing his strong frame with insinuating chill, soaking his clothes until every inch of him was wet and cold, freezing in the unforgiving wind. His boots had long since been buried in the drifts that pushed against the house, his black hair growing stiff with ice and snow. Only his eyes continued to burn with the fire that had driven him al his life, yet now he burned for another. For the child.

Would he have done this for any other? He doubted it, though perhaps if they had also been of his blood he would have stopped to see if they lived or died. No, the bard had bound his soul to that of her son and to that link he remained true. In all his lives, he had never loved so deeply as he had loved his sister, and to have lost her when he needed her most had cut cruelly into him. He would not allow the gods to take her son, the boy she had given to him with a single word. Sarevok, his nephew, the boy who would live on and restore honour to the name he had so defiled in his younger days.

A strong gust of wind threw him forwards, onto his knees in the snow, and he found he had no strength with which to rise. Slumped in the drifts that lined the house, he waited, for the spirit who would come for the child as he knew they would. His back to the wall, he waited, peering into the darkness, through the snow and ice, and the pain.

How long he waited he could not tell, but slowly he became aware of another standing beside him. For a moment he was afraid to look up, to see her beloved face once again, but look he did, into the full warmth of her smile.

She was gazing through the window, her tiny form uncloaked, unprotected from the cold, but then, she no longer felt the hazards of the world. Her smile grew gentle, tender, as she looked between the suffering form of the young boy and the frozen man at her feet.

Her eyes burned into his, and he knew she had come for the soul, though which soul, he was no longer certain. He could feel his life's essence ebbing away, and yet knew if she chose to take the boy, he would live through this night, and through many others until his time came again. Briefly he wondered why she stood vigil out here with him, rather than beside the man who had made her life happy, before dismissing the thought as irrelevant.

'The time has come,' she said softly. 'Whom shall I choose?'

His eyes sought hers once again, and he felt the stab of guilt to his heart as he saw the suffering of her soul written in her crystal clear eyes. What a choice she must make.

On the one hand, the man who had set her on her course and in some small way made her who she was, and on the other, the child who should have been his future, her legacy on the mortal plane.

Dragging himself to his feet, uncaring if his legs shook with the effort for he knew the cold was nothing to him any longer, he gazed through the glass at the child. His father sat beside him, cradling him in his arms, and for one terrible moment, he feared the boy had already been stolen away.

'No . . .'

She turned to look at him, her eyes full of concern. With faltering steps he moved to join her.

'If the choice must be made, let it not be yours to make,' he begged her. 'Let it be mine.'

The smile that rose on her face warmed him to his very soul, and he found himself walking more easily, moving to take the place he had made beside her. Her hand found his, drawing him into her embrace.

'Then the choice is made,' she whispered, holding him close against her as he had always wished she would. 'Welcome home . . . brother.'

Within, the boy suddenly drew in a shuddering breath, opening his eyes in wonder as his father began to weep for joy. They sat together in relief, each holding the other close through the long lonely night.

When, the next morning, the cleric arrived, to lay hands on a child who should not have survived the night, he was greeted with the sight of a newly turned grave, and the boy and his family kneeling before it. Anomen would tell him nothing of what had happened, only that his wife's brother had finally gone to his rest.

And so, beneath the turf that saw the play of many children through many, many years, Duran Delryn, Child of Bhaal and Saviour of the Sword Coast, slept on, nestled between her father, Gorion, and Sarevok, the brother who finally did come home.