A Garden Meeting
Laeral Silverhand clapped along with the others as the three children - the dark-haired girl, Nat, the eye-patch wearing tiefling boy, Squiddly, and the brown-skinned boy, Jenks, took a bow, removed masks held down at their sides. She sat with others on benches arranged before a constructed stage in the courtyard garden of Phaulkonmere in the early evening, amid the pleasant scent from the wisteria hanging from the trellis-covered pathways that led to this circular patio and the underlying smell of other less prevalent flora. The adventuring party she'd rescued from the Blue Alley was also part of the clapping audience as well as was the head groundskeeper of the place, Mellanor Fellbranch.
The mistress of Phaulkonmere, currently having taken over the consciousness of a squirrel, showed her appreciation for the children's performance by clapping her tiny paws, chittering, and executing backflips. Presently the squirrel stopped in place for a moment, looked around in a panic, then scampered off into the garden.
"Well done children," the disembodied voice of Lady Jeryth Phaulkon said. "They have been working on memorizing the lines for Storm-Tossed Seafarings. We're going to put on a production of it when they are ready. All of you are invited."
That explained why the constructed stage looked like a ship's deck.
"The play from Marsember?" Laeral asked. "I'd love to attend."
On stage the faces of the three actors brightened, the deaf girl's after a signed translation from her friends, but their expressions fell at the Open Lord's next words.
"If I can find the time to break away from my duties."
She already knew it would be all but impossible to fit a children's play into her schedule. Apparently, she'd unintentionally conveyed this in her tone.
"Well, the rest of us will certainly be here for it," the aasimar, Aleina, said.
The Open Lord didn't need the spell she had active, which read the surface thoughts of others, to catch the hint of admonishment directed her way in the aasimar's voice. Mystra's blessings! Let her try and govern Waterdeep and juggle all that came with it! Just freeing up the time to come here to learn about a conspiracy against Laeral herself had taken a few days. But she sensed, as she ran through the young woman's thoughts, more a desire to keep the three former urchins from being crestfallen rather than true judgment. So, the Chosen of Mysta's reaction to these words just might stem from over sensitivity.
Laeral smiled slightly.
Even after over seven hundred years of life she still did not have a thick enough skin to fully ignore the perceived judgment of others. This indicated some deep-seated insecurity lingered as part of her being. But, she supposed, the day she was able to banish those sorts of feelings entirely would be the day she ceased to be human. That must never happen. Like all beings, she was not given the knowledge to fully understand her purpose in life - but part of it, she was certain, involved continuing to learn from and relate to others. For that she must ultimately remain relatively fragile - both in ego and body - no matter her own wishes and continued strivings for greater self-actualization.
"Children," Jeryth said. "In anticipation of your performance I had Mel pick up more of those sweet cakes in celebration. Would you like to have them now?"
The smiles and enthusiastic affirmation of the actors left no doubt on the matter.
"Then go with him into the manor," the Lady of Phaulkonmere said. "Once we are done here, I will join you in the library, and we can run lines of Storm-Tossed Seafarings. But you are going to work on your reading, sounding out the words, and I will help you."
"Awww," Jenks said, shoulders slumping. "We'll learn faster and be ready sooner if you just read the lines to us and let us memorize them."
"We'll only practice for a short time," Jeryth said. "Then I will read to you, but if you learn to read, all the plays in the library will be open to you to practice any time you want without my help. Think of how wonderful that will be."
"I guess," the brown-skinned boy said.
He did not sound overly convinced and the way all three trudged towards the manor after the groundskeeper, as if to the gallows despite the sweet cakes awaiting them there, showed their reluctance to their future reading lesson.
The Chosen of Mielikki heaved a sigh, which was an interesting retained mannerism as she had no body or breath.
"I need to hire a proper tutor to help them," she said. "They are bright children, but Jenks has it the worst. He says the letters swim before his eyes. Nat, of course, has inherent difficulties being deaf, so she can't hear me reading. Which means Squiddly is signing to her while Jenks is running his finger under the words. I will admit that each of us lost our patience once or twice already."
Laeral was both surprised and impressed. She never would have thought, over a hundred years ago, that the young noble socialite, Jeryth Phaulkon, she obsessed with changing her hair styles into different elaborate coiffures every week, would be the mother of three adoptees off the streets.
"Motherhood is suiting you well," Laeral said, smiling.
Motherhood.
As soon the Open Lord spoke the word, the smile flattened from her lips. Three times she had been blessed with motherhood and three times lost those children. Two taken by the perilous vagaries of treacherous fate, despite Laeral's best efforts to keep them safe, and a third by old age - for though she might be Chosen, the daughter of a goddess, blessed with long life, that 'gift' did not extend to her offspring. Which pushed it into the category of 'curse' as she reflected on it. But her daughter had been happy enough, excelling as mother, grandmother, and even great grandmother before her passing. Strangely enough, in her later years, there were times she seemed wiser than her ancient in experience but young in body mother. It was as if the aging process itself imparted lessons the Open Lord would never fully learn.
Thoughts of her daughter brought to mind that her sister, Qilue, had suffered similar bereavements. Not for the first time the Chosen of Mystra wondered if her wild long shot of a scheme to resurrect her sister, back into this world of pain and loss, was selfish. And not for the first time she concluded selfishness lay at the heart of the matter.
"Forgive me, Sister." It was more prayer than thought. "Burdens are easier when shared. Will you begrudge me for calling you back to again shoulder them with me?"
No answer of course. Qilue was dead, her soul beyond hope of answering, and this was all introspection. Morose introspection at that. Which was precisely why she needed her sister back. Qilue's practical jests had always reminded Laeral not to take herself so seriously.
Her mood lightened with that thought, bringing a slight smile back to her lips, and her attention returned to the conversation in the garden courtyard.
"The children don't know it," Jeryth was saying. "But I've commissioned the tailor who measured them for new sets of clothes to also make them costumes for the play."
"They'll be so excited!" Aleina said. "I can't wait to see them all dressed up. We'll definitely be here for it. We're all looking forward to it, right?"
The nod and smile from her half-elf companion, Kuhl, was genuine according to Laeral's thought reading spell, as was the shrug and eye roll from the drow, Jhelnae. The tabaxi, Sky, gave a airy wave.
"It will be very cute," she said, tail lashing and golden eyes fixed on Laeral herself. "But I am more interested in what she thought about tonight's play. Any thought as to who the three masked figures in the tower might be?"
The Open Lord dismissed her thought reading spell. She had only cast it to glean further insight from the children as they portrayed the events where they overheard a plot to remove and replace her as well as the Blackstaff, Vajra Safahr.
"As the conspirators were masked, we don't have any physical descriptions to narrow down the suspects," Laeral said. "When Jeryth sent me her warning message, I had the clerks look up the deed of ownership of the tower. It is owned by Baeron and Shilarn Silmaeril."
"That is not possible," Jeryth said.
"No, it is not. The deed has obviously been falsified," the Open Lord said. Seeing the looks of confusion pass between the rest of the group, she explained.
"Baeron and Shilarn are former Lords of Waterdeep. Long dead."
"And known for overthrowing two who had seized power and restoring the true government," the Chosen of Mielikki said.
"I also did not miss that message left by the conspirators for any who would follow that particular trail," Laeral said, nodding.
"I'm not following," Jhelnae said. "Why all the secrecy about who owned the tower? Did they anticipate three children might be hiding there someday and overhear them?"
"Every time they arranged a meeting they risked betrayal," the Open Lord said. "The way I envision it, they gave out the sigils of the teleportation circle to those they wish to meet. Then, if they were betrayed, they could abandon the tower with no way to trace it back to them. I've ordered some members of the Watchful Order to lay in wait to catch anyone who might be unaware the meeting space has been compromised. But I suspect it will be a dull, uneventful duty."
"So, no leads we can investigate?" the tabaxi sighed, shoulders slumping. "You didn't learn anything?"
"I wouldn't say we learned nothing," Laeral said.
Sky perked up at her words, golden eyes bright and inquisitive.
Silence stretched as the Open Lord opened her mouth, then stopped, suddenly realizing she was about to confide her suspicions to a group of people with no official capacity within the hierarchy of the city. The tabaxi had used the word we, but there was no we here in terms of future investigations. She mentally ran through the objections the Masked Lords would raise should she continue.
"The entire city's resources at her disposal, the Watch, the Guard, the damnably expensive to maintain Griffon Cavalry that she thought it best to re-establish, not to mention the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, yet she decides to bring in outside interlopers? I ask you, my fellow Lords, does this not reek of a desire to bypass the will of the council to rule as she sees fit? We have traded the corrupt Dagult Neverember for something far more dangerous and insidious. Think of her sister Alustriel and Silverymoon. Over a century and a half of self-rule lost to a fair face and so-called benevolent rule. Call it what it is - gilded shackles. Waterdeep is a free city and so it must remain!"
Laeral would assure anyone who brought up such arguments that if she were forced to be the Open Lord for even a decade, let alone a century and a half, she'd find a way to immolt herself in her own silver-fire! How had her sister put up with it so long? She decided to trust the instincts that had served her so well for over seven hundred years. Those instincts told her to continue speaking now.
"The golden devil masks," she said, seeing them in her mind's eye thanks to the thought reading spell she had cast while the children performed. "Indicate members of the Cult of Asmodeus. And I can only think of one possibility as to who they were meeting with."
"Who?" the disembodied voice of Jeryth asked.
"Whoever it is," the Open Lord said. "They are believed powerful enough in spellcraft to eliminate myself and the Blackstaff, Vajra Safahr. They tried to make an alliance with the Xanathar and ended up with a gang war instead. Currently, we have a gang war playing out on the streets between the Zhentarrim and the Xanathar. Who is a former leader of the Zhents, thought dead many times, who has an annoying habit of resurfacing thanks to countless clones?"
"Manshoon."
Laeral realized, as a shiver of fear passed through her, she had been making them guess at the name due to an inherent reluctance to speak it herself. She looked in surprise at the aasimar, finding it strange she had been the one to answer. How would the young woman know that name?
"I should have figured that out," the Chosen of Mielikki. "The gang war between the Zhents and the Xanathar was a giveaway."
"I should have figured it out as well," the tabaxi sighed, shaking her head.
"Manshoon?" the drow asked. "Who is Manshoon?"
"No idea," Sky said, shrugging.
"Then why did you say you should have figured it out?" Jhelnae asked, giving her friend a confused look."
"I don't know," the tabaxi said. "Just feel I should have."
She lifted one of her hands up for her own inspection and flexed it so her claws popped out. Seeming satisfied with what she saw, she nodded to herself.
"Whatever," the dark elf said with a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes.
"He was the villain in a series of chapbooks I read as a child in our manor library," Aleina said. "Always coming back as a clone in the next book when defeated."
Her knowledge of someone as dangerous as Manshoon came from children's literature? That explained why the name didn't seem to hold any fear for her. Becoming part of tales, she supposed, was the natural result of centuries old fame and notoriety. Now that she thought about it, there had been many chapbooks written through the years which had no issue taking liberties with fact or reality that featured Laeral and her sisters - some most definitely not for children.
"So, two of the conspirators are members of the cult of Asmodeus," the half-elf, Kuhl said. "The other might be this Manshoon."
"Or rather one of his clones," the aasimar said.
"Or rather one of his clones," the paladin repeated, tone indicating he didn't think this distinction mattered much. "But why send an oni to assassinate a dryad? Why do that?"
His green eyes narrowed with the question indicating, no matter the reason, those who hired the oni would pay for the dryad's death. In small talk as they waited for the children to get ready for the play, Laeral had learned Kuhl was the namesake and grandson of someone who had saved her during the phaerrim-Evereska war. That Kuhl from the past had been a deadly fighter, a bear of a man who could move with grace and stealth, and she had thought his grandson didn't resemble him at all. Big enough, and strong enough, certainly, but favoring his elven heritage in most aspects. With his current expression, she very much saw a resemblance to his dangerous forebear.
"Her name was Gisirelle," the Open Lord said, with a sad smile. "She was the last of the dryads in a once great forest. The Vanderwood is diminished at her passing, less wild, less magical, less fey. It is only a forest now."
"She asked me to ask you to protect her woods," the half-elf said.
"I read the letter you sent to the Palace," Laeral said. "Discussion on protective laws for the Vanderwood is already on the docket for the next council meeting. It is in a way ironic that she would think of me. The first time I met her, I threatened to burn her to a crisp."
She spoke the thought aloud as it entered her mind without reflecting on how it sounded. Perplexed looks and shared glances of confusion were the result.
"I had finally pulled Khelben away from his duties as Blackstaff and convinced him to do a ride and a picnic," she explained. "And after all was laid out and ready I waited for him to return from the short walk I sent him on. And waited. Then waited some more. Only to find him chatting with a dryad who had tried a charm spell on him."
"Oh, there would have most definitely been threats thrown out in what you are describing," Jhelnae said, nodding.
"Over one little charm spell and a slight wait before you got to eat?" Sky said, giving a slight shake of her head. "When you got to meet a dryad?"
"Once I had calmed down, a few days later, I came around to your way of thinking, Sky," the Open Lord said, "I sought her out, and we formed a friendship."
As the Lady Mage of Waterdeep, the mistress of Blackstaff Tower, a ride in the countryside had been part of her ten-day routine. Since her return and becoming the Open Lord, she'd not felt she could spare the time. If only she had made the time to ride, take in the country air, and visit her old friend. Gisirelle might still be alive.
"But to answer your question," Laeral said, looking at Kuhl. "I have been thinking about it since I learned of her demise. What purpose could the death of a dryad serve with regards to the politics of Waterdeep? I came up with nothing. The only reason I can possibly think someone would want her dead is her oak. At certain times of the year, it shifts planes to the feywild and Gisirelle resided there. So, someone wanted to control that gateway? Or eliminate it? Because I doubt it will still shift without her. The Vanderwood is only a forest now and her tree is only a tree."
"You know every broadsheet speculated the eldest Cassalanter child wandered through a fey crossing," Jeryth said. "It made sense. Lost in the Ardeep Forest and wanders out of the Vanderwood years later, not having aged and barely remembering who he was let alone what happened."
"The disappearance and reappearance of the Cassalanter boy was before my return to Waterdeep," the Open Lord said. "But everything I have heard does suggest the poor soul wandered into a fey crossing."
"Dasher's story of the dryad asking him to look in on the Cassalanter child as a favor for an archfey pretty much confirms it," the Lady of Phaulkonmere said. "She said they were receiving disturbing dreams?"
"Those years lost could have been many more in the feywild," Laeral said. "Or only a few days. The point is - who knows what sort of subconscious memories enter his dreams from his time there. I would be surprised if the boy didn't have nightmares. Which archfey made the request?"
"Dasher didn't know," Jeryth said. "He only knew a beautiful dryad asked it of him and that was enough."
"How typically male," the Open Lord said.
All but Kuhl and Sky shared a snort of a laugh and a shake of collective heads.
"So, you're saying whoever sent the oni assassin is likely from the feywild side?" the half-elf asked.
"It makes the most sense," Laeral answered. "She was essentially a fey crossing herself and the magical nature of the assassin himself also indicates this. I will have loremasters look into the sword and vambraces the oni wielded and see what they reveal."
Kuhl looked disappointed, likely since a quest for justice for the dryad would be far more difficult if the Open Lord's reasoning proved true.
"If you are right," Sky said, tail lashing. "You'd better have Captain Emlyn and his Guard patrol the Vanderwood regularly. Any fey plot involving the forest probably isn't good for Waterdeep."
The Open Lord stared at the tabaxi. Surprised she knew the name of one of the captains of the Guard in Cliff Watch and at her very good and practical advice. She seemed such a random personality that it was easy to dismiss her. Which would be a very unwise thing to do, Laeral realized.
"You are right," the Chosen of Mystra said. "I will send orders that they do just that."
"Everything you are saying makes sense," Aleina said, thoughtfully. "But there is one thing that doesn't fit. Dasher Snobeedle asks after the eldest Cassalanter child and then a mysterious woman seduces him, dragging him along in a drunken, drug infested, very public revelry through festhalls and gambling dens. Back in Baldur's Gate this was a tactic used to destroy political rivals."
"The same tactic is used in Waterdeep of course," Laeral said. "But to what purpose? I'd never heard of Dasher Snobeedle until Jeryth contacted me. He has no political ambitions that I know of. Isn't it far more likely a young woman, trying to feed her own sad addictions, targeted him?"
"It's just strange is all," the aasimar said. "You're right of course. An oni assassin targets the dryad right after he makes his inquiries and at the same time his character is attacked. The only thing I could think of is someone might want to make anything he said easily dismissed. He says he met a dryad who asked him to inquire about the eldest Cassalanter child. That already sounds crazy enough. But if he is a drunk and drug addict?"
"It is a strange coincidence," the Open Lord said.
She paused, considering, aware of the gazes upon her as she did.
"But it does not fit," she finally said, shaking her head. "What do the Cassalanters have to fear from such inquiries? The revelation that their lost child spent time in the feywild? As Jeryth has already said, that speculation headlined every broadsheet at the time. Also, they are a banking family, hardly the type with the means to hire an oni assassin. They'd probably do something like hire some woodsmen to try and harvest her oak. And also…"
She trailed off, but Jeryth finished her final thought for her.
"And also they are the Cassalanters," the Lady of Phaulkonmere said. "They're one of the most prominent and wealthy families in Waterdeep, Lady Cassalanter known for her philanthropy and care for the poor of the city."
"Victorio is the son of Caladorn," Laeral continued. "One of the city's Open Lords and also considered a Hero of the North in his time."
Aleina sighed.
"You are right of course," she said.
This was the third time she had agreed the Open Lord was right and the third time she still had a fair amount of doubt in her voice. It caused Laeral's own seed of doubt to sprout.
"But let me tell you something about noble names," the aasimar said. "I have a very noble name, a patriar name, since the earliest days of the city of Baldur's Gate, we were there. I could go on and on about our proud lineage and all the services my ancestors performed for the city. All of that didn't stop us, long before I was born, from supporting the losing side of a coup in the hope of reversing our ailing fortunes. All your arguments based on reason are convincing, all the ones based on a noble name, not at all."
"That is fair enough," the disembodied voice of Jeryth said.
That brought a bout of quiet regard among those gathered, which Jhelnae finally broke.
"If we're done with all that," she said, with a wave of hands that seemed to encompass everything they'd discussed. "I have another unrelated question."
When no one voiced any objection, she continued.
"So, we have a friend who is one of the bouncers at the Jade Dancer," she said. "Which means we can bypass the line. When we go out dancing, you want to come along with?"
Laeral's eyes widened. The dark elf was looking right at her!
"Jhelnae," Aleina said. "She is the Open Lord of Waterdeep."
"And?" her friend responded.
The Chosen of Mystra relaxed slightly, thankful she would not have to be the one to explain why the over seven-hundred-year-old leader of a city could not be seen cavorting around that same city with a couple of ladies who hadn't even reached thirty winters.
"So," the aasimar said. "She doesn't have to wait in line to get into any festhall. Inviting her is brilliant. We don't need to limit ourselves to the Jade Dancer. We could make a whole night of it."
"By all that dances!" the dark elf said. "I hadn't even thought of that! And you are right, I am brilliant."
Laeral's mouth fell open and she glanced around for someone to rescue her. Her gaze met Kuhl's, but he only offered an apologetic shrug and Sky seemed to be completely bored by the conversation, eyes gazing out into the garden foliage for some distraction while her tail lashed from side to side.
"Ohh, is anyone invited?" Jeryth asked. "I'd love to go."
"Ummm," Jhelnae said, lips pursing in thought. "You don't have a body. Kind of hard to go out dancing without a body."
"I'll take over the consciousness of an animal," the Lady of Phaulkonmere said. "And dance on one of your shoulders."
"Oh, then of course," the dark elf said.
"Hold on a moment," Aleina said, putting up her hand in a stopping motion. "Is it going to be a rat?"
"Probably," Jeryth answered.
"A mangy, beat up one?" the aasimar asked.
"Probably," the Chosen of Mielikki repeated.
"Then definitely not," Aleina said. "You already made me look bad once."
"Fine," Jeryth said. "A cute, fluffy little squirrel."
"That will work," the aasimar said, smiling and dropping her protesting hand.
"She is really particular, isn't she?" the Lady of Phaukonmere said.
"Oh, you have no idea," Jhelnae said, laughing and shaking her head.
"Says the person who insisted the rat ride on my shoulder last time," Aleina said, defending herself.
"I was wearing my cream-colored skirt," the dark elf said, throwing up her hands. "You know I love that outfit."
For some reason, Laeral found herself smiling at the banter. A voice, sounding suspiciously like Qilue's spoke in her mind.
"A worshiper of my goddess invites you to dance, and you are going to refuse on the grounds of proper decorum? Who are you?"
"The Open Lord of Waterdeep," she mentally answered. "A role with an inherent decorum. Especially, and quite sadly, necessary if a woman is in the position."
"Very true," the internal voice like her sister agreed. "And all the more reason why you must have carefree moments, free of such burdens. Accept this invitation, and magically disguise yourself as you and your sister frequently did on similar outings."
She had not thought of doing that. Likely because it was a painful reminder of her missing sister, who seemed to still be giving unasked for advice through remembrance of who she was and what she believed. Laeral smiled slightly at that thought, thinking that it proved the comforting aphorism that those who passed lived on in memory of those that loved them.
"Thank you for the invitation," she said aloud. "I'll consider it."
"Coward," the mental voice that sounded like Qilue chided.
Probably true. But an Open Lord of Waterdeep had to keep her schedule as flexible as possible.
I have joked with Lumen delMari that I have seen posts on the Forgotten Realms Reddit lamenting the lack of new Forgotten Realms novels (beyond Drizzt and Co.) and tried to redirect them to all the fanfiction being written. To no avail.
BUT there is a bright side to this. Because I know my version of Laeral and the Seven Sisters would likely anger die hard fans of the Realms. According to Ed Greenwood, the creator of the Realms, none of the Sisters have truly died. They have all become Weave Ghosts who will be awarded new bodies when their goddess mother sees the time is right for their return. Here is my issue with that...I read the book where Dove died. This dramatic scene where she is fighting a desperate fight and, after being mortally injured, thinks about how it will be fine to join her deceased husband on the 'other side' (The Herald I think it was). Then, in a book also written by Greenwood, her consciousness is riding around in Laeral's head, bantering and joking along with Sylune as 'weave ghosts'. I was like, "Wait a sec, you had this whole death scene for Dove but she is really still alive in spirit?" It didn't work for me.
Also, after reading Laeral's bio on the wiki, and then I say, "Okay, we're in your POV, go..." she always manifests as very much more introspective than she is in the novels. So as this is just fan fiction and not official lore, I just went with it. For any die hard Forgotten Realms fans that do stumble upon this, my apologies for taking such liberties.