The Friendly Arm Inn
Despite the misgivings that Lysara had over the pair, they by and large ignored the two women riding in their cart bed on the trip north, and stayed quiet themselves. Not that she would have taken it if they offered, but they didn't even offer them a water skin. Lysara didn't relax until they'd ridden up to the lowered drawbridge outside the Inn at sunset, where they were stopped by the guards; especially when she realized: the closer she got to the walls, and the further she drew away from the forest, a sense of loss rose within her. She was almost disappointed to be inside of walls again.
"Welcome to the Friendly Arm," a short human hailed Montaron as he reined the cart to a halt. He was dressed in good silks, well cut black with gold trim. "All guests are required to relinquish their weapons for the duration of their stay. This includes books of magic and reagent pouches, and all magical scrolls and potions not of a curative nature."
Sighing, Montaron scratched the back of his head before thumbing his nose and leaning on his right knee. After waiting a moment, he nodded. "Alright then, sonny. You'll have my toys, but if I don't get 'em all back…"
"I assure you sir, nothing you carry is worth enough for any of us to steal," the pompous man replied, gesturing to summon four men bearing empty crates. The dozen or so guards who casually made their way out of the guard house seemed to reinforce his authority, if not his point. "Now, if I can just have your names, we can move this along…"
He took down Montaron's name first, and the short man surrendered his bandolier, two surprisingly long blades that he pulled from beneath his pauldrons, a short sword that was hidden down the back of his jerkin… Lysara stopped paying attention with that, but the male took at least five minutes to fully disarm himself and get his token.
Xzar simply handed over a book, and, after the customs officer cleared his throat, his belt of reagent pouches. The officer cleared his throat again, he handed over a small knife that had been stuffed up his sleeve. Then a satchel that clinked like filled bottles. And… it just kept coming, the madman trying to hold back his 'precious things' and the customs officer starting to look more and more impatient. Finally, once the customs man was convinced he had everything, he handed Xzar a small token.
The officer did a double-take when he caught sight of Lysara and Imoen, and his curiosity was written all over his face. He cleared his throat, catching himself and putting a bland face back on. "My ladies, if you would hand over all of the items I've described, and then vacate the cart for inspection?"
Lysara slipped down, somewhat unsteady but she managed to stay upright under her own power. She was a little sore from the uncomfortable cart that she'd been in for most of the day. Reluctantly, she gave her name, softly, so that the Halfling and the madman wouldn't hear, and handed over her bow, then took off her sword belt and handed the whole thing over.
"Just the blades would have done, madam. I can see you don't have any arrows, or so much as a quiver."
"You said all weapons… besides, that bow doesn't need arrows. But I warn you, its power is tied to my bloodline. Trying to use it without being my blood-kin is a bad idea. And the same is true of the blades."
She'd made that up, but it fit with what little Gorion had shared about the artifacts before he died. The man looked skeptical, and tried to draw the bow back experimentally. He jerked as though he'd been clubbed, and dropped it, letting out a loud noise as he looked at his hand, red with a blister. He quickly picked it up again, but only to tie a numbered tag to it and hand it over to the servant carrying her box. He didn't even try anything with her blades, but simply dropped them into the same crate and gave Lysara a token of her own.
When he turned to Imoen, she just spread her hands to show they were empty, and then put one on her hip, deliberately drawing his attention to the way it curved. She knew how to get a man to do as she wished, most of the time. "I'm not armed…" she said innocently, her free hand moving her satchel behind her back. Apart from some spare clothes, all it held was the book Elminster had given her and their meager travel supplies. But she was clearly not the first woman to try that from the cool, level look he gave her before he cleared his throat again.
"I haven't even had a chance to read more than the index," she muttered unhappily, getting the cloth-wrapped book out and handing it over.
He opened it and blinked, flipping through several pages before he just handed it back. "I said books of magic, not history," he said, taking her satchel and poking through it before handing it back. "Funny, girl."
Imoen tried to look like this wasn't news to her, putting on one of her mischievous grins and just rewrapped the book before putting it back in her bag. Then the guards pulled back the cart's coverings, and started unloading it. Lysara and Imoen, seeing no reason to hang around, just went through the gate, completely unbothered by the guards, though both of their 'saviors' looked disgruntled as they slipped off.
The Friendly Arm Inn was akin to Candlekeep in that it was converted from an old fortress. Though the complex was much smaller, and the inn only four levels high. Apart from the main keep, there was only a stable, a barracks, and a small temple to Wuakeen. The two of them, Lysara once again leaning heavily on Imoen, made their way up the steps into the inn proper. "Shouldn't we go to the temple?" Imoen whispered.
"Not doing anything until I meet father's friends," Lysara whispered back. "Besides, Mister E says that this 'Jaheria' is a druid. She might be able to heal me without involving anyone we can't trust."
Lysara had expected another sleepy little inn like the one back home, with but a few patrons at any given time. Apparently it was dinner time though, because the large common room - which was most of the first floor in fact, and contained a large bar besides the dining area – was packed with customers. Almost all of the four-seated circular tables, and even the larger rectangular tables that she could see were taken to the last seat. Waitresses darted through the crowd, platters holding food and drink held high overhead as they danced to get through.
"Evening loves," a man in a near-identical coat to the customs officer's greeted them as they entered. "Come at a bad time I'm afraid. Meal time is always packed. We've got some places, but this couple just grabbed the last table. Maybe they'll let you share if you ask?" Without waiting for a response, he pointed vaguely through the milling crowd and was gone an instant later.
"Wait!" Lysara called, but he was already gone, talking to some people at yet another table and jotting down what they were saying. With no other choice, Lysara wrapped her arm tighter around Imoen's shoulders and started trying to get through.
"You are most welcome to sit with us, if you wish," a male voice said when they were passing a seemingly packed table. But the man wasn't sitting. Head and shoulders taller than either of them, the man wore plate mail head to toe, with a winged helmet covering his face. "My wife and I are waiting for some friends of ours, but you seem to have need of getting off your feet." He gestured towards the door to what could only have been a private dining room. A woman leaned against the frame, blocking any attempt to enter simply by standing there and glaring at anyone trying to get past her. She had the same look of the woman that Elminster had described – at least, her hair, eyes, height, attitude and attire seemed to match - and a man who never showed his face could have been Khalid… or someone else.
"We'd be delighted to join you," Imoen said before Lysara could make up her mind. And she found herself swept along into an empty room. It was largely dominated by a very large dining table, and a roaring fireplace at either end. The woman shut the door the moment her companion stepped in.
"Sit down," she told them, her voice a no-nonsense, rustic flow of words. It was an unnecessary command, as Imoen was already lowering Lysara into a chair. "Where is your father, child? We expected the two of you, but not this girl as well. He is not with you? And… you're wounded."
Lysara settled down into the chair, just staring at this strange woman who apparently felt that she could give her orders. The man cleared his throat. "Forgive my wife's manner," he said quietly, his voice coming through the breathing holes in his helmet rather thinly. "She is not accustomed to being indoors for so long-"
"I can speak for myself, Khalid," the woman, presumably Jaheria, snapped. "Don't you understand what this means, them showing up alone? And Lysara hurt?" She took a deep breath, visibly forcing herself to calm down. Turning back to Lysara, she looked grim now, rather than impatient. "Gorion knew exactly where to look for us, you see. And I know very well he would not let you out of his sight on a trip such as this. You have our condolences."
"How do you know who I am?" Lysara asked calmly, her tone flat.
"Strange, Gorion never described you as being so rude. Yet suffice it to say that I am quite certain of you, child. But you… I'm not sure who you are," she turned to Imoen, turning her head a fraction.
"I'll introduce myself," Imoen said brightly, "When you give us your names."
Clearing his throat, the man, Khalid, spoke up. "I am Khalid, as my lovely wife, Jaheria has already told you. Forgive us, we are normally much more… civilized. Gorion was a good friend and we went through much with him. His tardiness already had us worried, as he was always so… punctual. News of his death has affected us most distressfully."
"I am sorry," Jaheria agreed. "Normally I have such a warm, sweet disposition." Khalid snorted a laugh behind his helmet at her sarcastic tone. Finally seeming to force herself to relax, she eyed Lysara's left arm again. "Now… what happened to your shoulder?"
Lysara considered lying, but as she opened her mouth, Imoen spoke up for her. "She was shot: quarrel through the left shoulder. When I found her I was scared witless that it had hit her heart. I did what I could for her, but I'm no healer. I'm just Imoen."
Jaheria moved around the table quickly, crouching next to Lysara and trying to open her blouse. "Let me see it. I may be able to do something for it," she said, rather sternly, or perhaps worriedly. It was rather difficult to tell, between her manner and her accent. Lysara was about to give in, most of her buttons undone, when the door opened, and then she was clutching it closed again as the waiters came in, laying out a small feast for them. Lysara's stomach rumbled loudly at the variety of smells wafting off the covered plates.
Jaheria took the seat next to Lysara, patiently watching the servants lay out cloth place mats for four people, setting out the silverware, pewter goblets and two full pitchers, either wine or tea, or perhaps one of each, several plates that gave off the aroma of roasted, spiced meats, and several bowls of various steamed vegetables and rice, and a plate of sweet rolls that was only covered by a cloth.
"Would miladies care to freshen up before dinner?" one of the servants asked, eyeing Lysara's and Imoen's disheveled hair and clothing askance, especially Lysara's blouse.
"Thank you, we will be fine," Jaheria replied before anyone else could speak up. Sensing the dismissal, the man, clearly in charge of the lot, motioned to the fellow servants, pausing while the others exited.
"If my lord, or my ladies require anything else, I shall be on hand personally, orders of the innkeeper," he said before bowing out and closing the door behind him.
"Lock it," Jaheria told her husband, and returned to trying to examine Lysara's shoulder before he could budge. Lysara was quite consciously aware of Khalid's presence while his wife stripped her to the waist. "Worry not, child," she said to Lysara, sounding kind for once. "My husband knows better than to even consider gazing on another woman, let alone a girl."
"I am a woman," Lysara replied defensively, wincing at Jaheria's finger probing the sensitive, barely closed wound.
"How old is this?" she asked Imoen, who had been reaching for the rolls.
"Seven days, maybe eight," she replied, quickly withdrawing her hand and looking sheepish.
Jaheria kept poking at it, and looked behind Lysara's shoulder, finding the exit wound. She and Imoen discussed the bolt as though Lysara wasn't there, and Imoen answered directly, if somewhat shortly. She didn't seem to like talking about it. Imoen had remembered her lessons well. She said she had used the burning body of Gorion to heat the haft of one of the ogre's weapons. And while that was happening, she shoved the bolt the rest of the way through, since she didn't know if the head was barbed. It turned out it had been. Just yanking it out would have done much more damage. She then had to snap it off before she could pull the shaft out. And then she'd used that broken iron shaft to cauterize the wound, which had started pumping blood out as soon as the shaft was clear.
"Crude," Jaheria commented, "But it kept her alive. If the wound was as grave as you describe, she would have died otherwise." Closing her eyes, she muttered a soft spell, and surprisingly, an ache she hadn't even realized was there went away and that damnable itch and burn faded, though a sudden sense of fatigue settle in. "You require a few days' rest. I have done what I can to help the hole knit faster, and helped your body purge the infection. Be cautious with that arm. You will not be able to use it to full extent for a tenday at least. But come, your stomach is empty and I've kept you from this excellent meal for too long now."
"Finally, some real food!" Lysara exclaimed, trying to fill her plate as quickly as she could without being hasty enough to be rude while trying to simultaneously do her buttons back up. Now that the burning in her shoulder seemed to be lessening, the rumbling in her stomach was rearing up with a vengeance.
"Hey! Was that a crack on my cooking?" Imoen protested with mock indignity.
Imoen seemed to be the only one who could provoke Lysara into smiling, which she did briefly. "Ask me that again after I've had something to eat," she replied before sticking a slightly too-large slice of beef into her mouth. As soon as it was down it was followed by a quarter of a very tasty spiced potato.
"Ease yourself," Jaheria cautioned. She seemed to do most of the talking between the pair. "I realize your hunger, but gulping down your food will lead to more harm than good."
They ate quietly, Lysara and Imoen forcing themselves to pace their eating. Jaheria opened a small pouch that Lysara recognized as having been stuffed down her blouse, and choked on a mouthful of mulled wine.
"To whom do these belong?" she asked quietly, spilling a ruby as big as the third knuckle of her thumb, and a flawless emerald of the same size on to the table, followed by a copper ring set with a topaz, and a silver ring set with a diamond.
"To me," Lysara replied, at least a little defensively. Clearly Jaheria heard that in her tone.
"Let me rephrase then," the druid said, sounding a touch too patient. "To whom did these belong before you, and how did you come by them, that you would feel compelled to smuggle them in your clothes?"
Lysara started to invent a story on the spot, but the druid saw through it immediately, slamming her open palm into the table before the fifth word had left her mouth. "Enough!" she all but shouted. "Listen well, child. We are your father's friends, and we have been for a very long time. I cannot, I will not, believe that he would approve of or sanction his daughter stealing. We will give you what aid we can, and watch over you as much as is possible, as was his will should you survive his untimely passage. Believe me when I say we have nothing but the best intentions for you. But if we catch you thieving again out of spite or greed, I will not tolerate it. And that goes for both of you." She added the last with a pointed glance at Imoen, who returned her most innocent look. "I mean it. The occasional document or piece of distinctive jewelry in the course of an investigation, to be used for justice, is one thing. Stealing from someone for no good reason makes you no better than a petty thief."
Her tone had softened as she continued to speak, for all appearances a woman correcting a child's inappropriate behavior. Lysara just shrugged indifferently, still eating. Normally such a scolding would have jarred her to the bone, yet for the moment, all she did was eat, and drink. She hadn't had much wine before, and after her third cup Khalid took the pitcher away.
"Hey," she started to protest. She did like the taste.
"Don't try to fill that void you're feeling with liquor," he advised. "You'd be surprised at the number of people who follow their loved ones to the grave simply by drinking too much. Somehow, his plate was half-empty, but he still had his helmet on.
"I feel fine," Lysara lied. Oh, the alcohol still hadn't touched her, and she was starting to think that it wouldn't. It was her emotional state she lied over.
Both of the other women laid hands on her shoulders in what was supposed to be a comforting manner. But she didn't want to be comforted right then. She found their sympathy intrusive, and snapped out of her chair so fast that the nausea once again found her, though thankfully far less than it had been. "I think I'm ready for a rest in a proper bed now," she said snappishly. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go see about a room."
"We've already arranged a place for all of us to sleep, chi-"
"Will you stop calling me 'child'?" Lysara interrupted Jaheria. "Where is this room?"
"You are the target of very powerful individuals," Jaheria said as if Lysara hadn't spoken. "We need to sit and plan, preferably without temper tantrums. Your enemy knows who you are, and has at least a vague idea where you are; while the reverse cannot be said truthfully. It would be unwise to continue using the name Gorion gave you, or to show-"
"I'll use and treasure everything he gave me." Lysara thought her tone quite clearly left no room for discussion on the matter. "Look… I'm tired, very tired. We can plan in the morning as well as tonight, can't we?"
"Listen," was all that the druid said.
"To what?" Lysara asked, hearing little that was remarkable.
"The walls of this room are thick, and it is warded against scrying – a little of my work – and on top of that, the music and bustle from the common room at dinner time will make a job of anyone trying to listen in more… conventionally. The next half hour or so that remains of that time is the best time to be planning, before my wards are discovered and removed. Please… Lysara. Sit down, and participate. I would rather see what you can do then simply tie you to apron strings and hand-walk you through the realms."
"Come on, Lys," Imoen put in quietly. "You're not doing Mister G. any credit acting like this."
Shame pierced the wall of numbness that the elf had been surrounded by, and she sagged, deflated and defeated, back into her chair. "I'm sorry. I don't know…" she didn't even finish her apology, just shaking her head.
"You are in pain," Khalid supplied.
"Those who lose, as you have lost, often strike out at whoever is at hand." Jaheria stated. "That is why I am being patient with you instead of turning you over my knee as Gorion obviously neglected to. But we will discuss this later. Now it is time to plan."
"Our main reason for coming to this region," the druid continued, "Is to investigate, and hopefully rectify, this iron shortage. The problem is two-fold.
"Firstly: Bandits are choking all the roads into Baldur's Gate, striking anyone or anything that is carrying raw iron, or anything made from iron. Somehow they seem to know the truth of who is carrying what, and are ignoring the convoys and caravans which aren't. They appear to be a very large, very well-organized group. Or perhaps it is multiple groups working in concert, but our associates believe it is a single group.
"The second problem is that locally mined ore is somehow… tainted. Blacksmiths aren't complaining of any difficulty or oddity in the forging process, yet anything forged with local iron is brittle, and breaks far more easily than should be possible." She waited for a moment before asking. "Your thoughts on the matter, Lysara?"
Rubbing her eyes, her mind was working to click everything together. "There's no way I can see that the two events aren't related," she said quietly. "The ore is clearly being tampered with, or else there's a conspiracy among every blacksmith in the region to produce shoddy equipment. The former is much more likely in my mind.
"This makes me think that either the bandits, or someone working for them, are sabotaging the ore somehow. Or that maybe both the bandits and the crew dealing with the local ore both answer to a third group. But I have absolutely nothing to substantiate that on, other than it's too much for coincidence to account for. As for the bandits, I'm assuming you or your sources have already checked the obvious, mundane solution of someone in the shipping offices leaking cargo lists. Perhaps they're slipping someone in with each caravan to check their cargo?"
"And you, child?" Jaheria asked, turning to Imoen. Lysara had to shove down a surge of annoyance at the druid once again calling them children, let alone asking for her thoughts and then not even responding to them.
Imoen surprised them all by simply ignoring Jaheria and continuing to eat. The druid cleared her throat, which made Imoen look at her. "Something in your throat?" the younger woman quipped before turning back to her plate and sipping her tea.
"Imoen… I would like to hear your thoughts on the matter at hand, if you please," Jaheria rephrased her request with a very small smirk.
Imoen paused for a moment, before once again turning to face the group. "Do you have anything on how the ore is being tainted?" she asked.
Jaheria looked surprised. "We have no knowledge of how, only that there is but one mine inside the bandits' perimeter that even can supply enough iron to outfit an army, and that anything made with it is as I have already said." She leveled a very considering look at Imoen.
"Well, knowing what's wrong with it is the first step in figuring out how to undo it, or prevent it from being done in the first place. It's entirely possible that it's a simple matter of a vein of tainted iron has been tapped recently, but much more likely that it's being altered, either alchemically or magically. I'm assuming your 'associates' have checked for both though?" She put a very soft emphasis on the word associates, but by the way they both focused their attentions on her, she had hit on something. Both Khalid and Jaheria had gone post-straight, and both appeared to have forgotten Lysara was in the room. What it was that Imoen had hit on, Lysara couldn't guess just yet.
Jaheria rallied first, returning her face to something carefully neutral. "Several alchemists have studied the weakened iron products, as well as taking samples of the unprocessed ore to analyze. They've determined nothing," the druid answered. "And many scryers as well: Arcane, Divine, Natural… no one can tell."
"Well," Imoen said. "If whoever is doing it is avoiding local authorities, maybe a smaller group of… let's say 'independent investigators' could ferret something out. I take it you're planning on heading to Nashkel?"
"Very… very good, Imoen," Jaheria complemented her. She glanced at Lysara, who was quietly chewing a slice of lamb, and answered. "Yes, Nashkel is our destination, to do exactly as you've suggested. We do not belittle Gorion's murder, but-"
"But you've nowhere to go on that for now," Imoen finished. "But I – we – assume you'll help us with that matter if some kind of lead turns up." It was not a question, or a request. Lysara had to hurriedly swallow a mouthful of tea to avoid choking. They were in no position to bargain or make demands.
"Gorion was our friend," Khalid finally spoke, his plate mysteriously emptied. He sounded offended, and dangerous. "Of course we will follow up on leads into his death, but this iron shortage threatens the whole of the southern sword coast!"
Lysara was surprised at the outburst. But more so by the fact that he ignored Jaheria's attempts to quiet him. Apparently he did have a backbone.
"Enough, my love," Jaheria said firmly after he'd already stopped talking.
"How did he ever become a Harper?" Imoen offhandedly commented, reaching for one of the bowls of vegetables.
Both of them were apparently so annoyed with each other that they didn't even respond to Imoen's question. But Khalid spoiled it by starting to look in her direction before fixing his attention back on his wife. Coincidentally Lysara heard a soft thump from under the table just as he did. Lysara finally put it together herself. They were acquainted with Elminster, at least insofar as that he knew what they looked like. And from the way he'd spoken she thought it was more than a passing knowledge. And they were here specifically to save the Southern Sword Coast… with an apparently wide-spread network of 'associates'… She saw no fault in Imoen's deduction.
"Oh, by the way, if we're going to Nashkel, we happen to know of someone else who may be travelling in that direction," Lysara finally spoke up in an effort to break the tense silence. "I trust them about as far as I can toss this table, but more allies might be helpful in this… endeavor."
Jaheria turned back to Lysara. "We'll be staying here for several days yet. Perhaps we can speak to these… acquaintances of yours. Who are they, that you think they would be… useful?" There was no mistaking the pause at the end of the sentence.
"I didn't mean it like that," Lysara said defensively. "I don't like the idea of using people. I simply meant that more people means greater safety and a better chance at success."
"Unless one of those near you plans to plant a dagger in your back," Jaheria countered reasonably. "Now who are they?"
"A halfling with a lot of knives, and a human mage that I'm fairly sure is insane," Lysara supplied. "I thought that the Halfling was a dwarf at first-"
"Don't tell me… Montaron and Xzar?" Jaheria interrupted again.
Lysara blinked. "How did you…"
"We've… met," she answered before the question was fully out of Lysara's lips. "Avoid them if you can, child. We have not discounted the Zhentarim as the ones behind this plot. Didn't you realize? They are agents of the Black Network."
"They did say their 'associates' – or maybe it was 'employers' - were displeased with the shortage, now that I think about it," Lysara mused as she leaned back in her chair, drawing her left foot up so that it rested flat on her chair seat. "And that 'powerful people' were having to put their plans on hold until it was over."
Jaheria waved her hand dismissively. "I don't trust Zhents," she said. "And you should not either. Even if they are in earnest – and there's usually no way to tell until the dagger's in your back - it's still possible that the faction they serve doesn't know that the shortage is a sanctioned event, or their employer hopes that stopping this plan would elevate them in comparison to another. The inner workings of the Black Keep are… difficult to see. Remember, a Zhent's first loyalty is to himself. Many serve out of fear of what their masters will do to them. The rest serve from mad ambition that most likely will never be met."
"In any event," Jaheria continued, glancing at the door. "It seems that the noise of the common room is somewhat diminished. I would hazard a guess that dinner is nearly over." She looked meaningfully at Lysara, who just returned her gaze in what she thought was a level manner. "You look to still be in shock," is what the druid said.
Lysara blinked, a brief flash of surprise welling up in her before being cut off by the numbness that should have been worrying her, but didn't. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"Do not play at being stupid, Lysara. After sitting with you here for an hour I know that neither of you are that." That comment took in both her and Imoen before she returned her attention to the elf. "You are numb, yes? You feel absolutely nothing, no emotion except for short bursts, and you are not even worried about it, though you know you should be. Gorion was the only father, the only parent you've ever known, and now a large part of your life has been suddenly ripped away. There are two ways people your age deal with such loss.
"Firstly, you lash out at anyone and anything nearby, even if there is no one to blame. If there is, they sometimes fixate on that person, and more oft than not, devout what is left of their lives to revenge. Some call it justice to mask their intent even from themselves, but really, unless the sentence comes from a court of law, or at least a neutral arbiter it is merely vengeance.
"Secondly, such victims can try to fill that aching void in their hearts by pouring literally everything that's left of them into it. It renders them… blank… and sometimes they will just give up and die; by seeking death, or by taking stupid risks because they know it is likely to get them killed."
She fixed Lysara with a sharp look. "Not you, I think. You suffer from the blankness, but you will not die because of it. Still others go from one to the other." Taking Lysara's right hand, the druid placed it on Lysara's chest, directly over her heart. "Gorion is still right here, chi- Lysara. And he always will be so long as you remember him, and do his memory proud."
Khalid stood, and filled a goblet of wine for each of them, though he put significantly less in Lysara's than in the others'. They really didn't believe that she felt no ill-effect from the alcohol, which triggered a flash of irritation. She stood smoothly, letting her grace bring her to her feet, and was relieved that there was no accompanying jolt of nausea. Each of them took their glasses in hand, but didn't raise them yet.
Khalid went first. "Gorion was as good a friend as any I've ever known," he said, raising his glass. "He will be missed by all of us here, and so many more elsewhere."
"To Gorion," Jaheria said, raising her own. "At least as good a father as he was a friend. The evidence stands here before us." And she repeated Khalid's second line.
"Mister G." Imoen chimed in, raising her own. "I didn't know him as well as some, but he was always kind and patient, even with a little scamp like me." She, too, added a copy of Khalid's line.
"My father," Lysara said, a lump forming in her throat. "The last thing he told me from father to daughter… was that he was proud of me. He…" She shut her eyes, her glass wavering slightly before she steadied herself. "I will miss him greatly." There were no tears in her eyes, nor any threatening to form.
They drank as one, and Lysara didn't even let herself taste the wine, swallowing it down quickly. Imoen put her in a tight hug after the lament was over. She just wouldn't let go until Lysara hugged her back. Even Jaheria put a hand on her shoulder. "Tears will come, Lysara," the older woman told her. "In time, they will. Do not run from them. Do not shun them. Each one shed by you is a testament to what you felt for your father. But come. I know not of you, but I would welcome a hot bath and a warm bed just now."
Indeed it was welcome. Knots and sores simply seemed to melt away in the hot water. It felt glorious. Lysara luxuriated in the water that maids brought, and most likely would have just let herself soak there all night if Imoen hadn't insisted on them both drying off when she was done with her hair. She even let Lysara do it herself.
She was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.