Lost Girls

"Go on, say it."

"Say what?"

"Say it," repeated Doric. "Every girl your age does." And boy.

"How do you know my age?" asked Edgin's daughter.

"Oh, I can guess. Fifteen."

"What? No!" exclaimed the little runt, before whispering, "fourteen."

"Fourteen," Doric murmured, as she took another sip of wine. "I stand corrected."

The pair were sitting in what could be considered the elvish equivalent of a tavern. Really, the Wood Elves of Neverwinter Wood didn't put much stock in taverns, or really, any other kind of building. Elves came and went as they pleased, and as long as they gave due respect to the forest they called home, one tree was as good for drinking as any other.

And drink they did, Doric thought. Lord Dagult Neverember had returned from his slumber, and had promised to respect the bounds of Neverwinter Wood, thus granting the Emerald Enclave a victory of sorts.

That, and she and the bunch of idiots she'd come to call allies had saved the city itself from being turned into ravenous undead, so, y'know, cause to celebrate if nothing else. The only problem in that equation (alright, not the only problem, but the most immediate one) was that saving Neverwinter meant that they'd saved Kira Darvis, and because they'd saved Kira, Kira was with them in the not-tavern. And Kira, taking after her father and foster-father alike, was doing what all humans their age did.

Stare.

"Go on," Doric sighed, seeing that she wasn't going to stop. "Ask to touch them."

"Um, touch what?"

"These," said the tiefling, tapping the horns that jutted out of her head. "Kids your age always want to touch the horns." Or run away screaming.

"Um, well…"

"With elves, it's ears. With dwarves, it's beards. With orcs, it's…well, not sure about orcs, but with tieflings, it's horns. It's always the horns."

"But they're so pretty!" Kira exclaimed.

Doric frowned. She didn't recall anyone saying her horns were pretty. Simon might have, but Simon would say anything about anything. It was one of his slightly less excruciating traits.

But after taking another sip of wine, she figured it would be easier to let the little brat touch her horns rather than force her to buggar off. So she bent her head down like a mule that had been beaten one too many times, and let Kira touch them.

"Wow," she whisperd. "So, do you, like, feel me touching them?"

"Sort of," Doric said, as she raised her head. Kira had done her touchie-feelies, so hopefully that was the end of that.

"So were you born with them, or did they spring out afterwards?"

Alas, hope was a cruel mistress. "Born with them," Doric answered truthfully. "Smaller back then, but another to give my mother pain."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. The bitch deserved it."

Kira recoiled – whether it be from the language or the sentiment behind it, Doric didn't know. Nor did she care. Edgin's daughter had opened the casket, now it was time to swim in its contents.

"I remember my birth y'know," Doric said. "It's true. I remember hearing my mother screaming as I came out into the world, and I remember when she held me in her arms and screamed all the harder."

"Why?" Kira whispered.

"Why?" Doric tapped her horns. "That's why. Because when you're born to a pair of country bumpkins who can't count beyond ten, your parents think that a tiefling is a cursed child."

"But aren't tieflings kinda cursed?" Kira asked. "Magic-touched and all that?"

Doric nodded at Simon. "Does he look cursed to you?"

Kira did. Doric followed her gaze, and looked at the idiot weaving his magic to some vaguely impressed elves, doing a better job at handling himself than…well, than ever. And she must have looked at her former significant other longer than she thought, because a giggle from Kira brought her back to the real world.

"What?" Doric seethed.

"Kinda cute, isn't he?"

"Who? Your father?"

"No, the sorcerer."

"Technically he's a wizard."

"Potato, tomato," Kira said. "Point is, I know when a girl likes a guy."

Doric took a swig of wine. "I doubt that."

"Spend two years in the halls of Neverwinter, you get to learn some things."

"Oh, learn things, eh?" Doric snapped. "Well, here's some other stuff you can learn. People like you hate people like me. That's why people like you kept me imprisoned, and had a son so that their demon-child could be replaced. That's why I don't think Simon's cute, because the human part is still there with the elf part, and no, you can't touch my damn horns again." She thud the flagon down on the table. "Pint!"

A Wood Elf moved over with the speed of…well, a Wood Elf. One that knew better than to keep an angry tiefling waiting, even if a human girl was still looking at the tiefling with an expression of something that wasn't fear.

"What?" Doric asked.

Kira remained silent.

"What?" the druid repeated. "Why are you just standing there?"

"Oh, I'm just getting your measure."

"What?" Doric repeated for the third time (or fourth, the wine was making it hard to count).

"I'm sorry for what happened to you," Kira said. "Truly. I know a lot of people see tieflings as cursed. Demonspawn, magic-cursed, leave them to die on the side of a road, sell them to slavers, that sort of thing."

Doric grunted and returned her attention to Simon (because there wasn't anything else to do, she told herself).

"But spending two years in Neverwinter taught me a thing or two about politics, and I can tell when someone's lying."

Doric grunted. "Didn't Forge lie to you for two years?"

"Uncle Forge didn't…" Kira took a breath. "Okay. Point taken."

"Point taken," Doric repeated. "Now take the other point."

She wished Kira would go. She really, really wished she'd girl. She'd been reunited with her father after two years and survived an attempt on her life by her 'uncle,' surely she had better things to do than chat with a tiefling druid? Alas, Doric had learnt in the attic she'd spent most of her life in that she could make all the wishes in all the worlds, that didn't mean one of the gods would answer them.

"Do you miss your parents?" Kira asked.

Doric turned and looked at her, wondering if the girl had suffered a stroke.

"I mean, there must be something of you that misses them, right?"

Doric took a sip. "Not really."

"Oh," said Kira, looking disappointed. "It's just, well…"

Doric sighed, and gave permission to the brat to speak.

"It's just I barely remember my mother," Kira whispered. "Dad was, well, dad – out of the house half the time, counting loot the other half, getting drunk the other…okay, that's thirds, but…but he never talks about her."

Doric sipped some more wine.

"And don't get me wrong, Holga was a great aunt," Kira continued. "And Forge…gods, even after what he did, I still can't stop thinking of him as an uncle."

It occurred to Doric that Kira was either very stupid, or very lonely. After sipping some more wine, much to her surprise, she settled on the latter.

"And it's just, well, Simon told me about your mum and dad, and I thought that, well…that you'd…"

"Give you a shoulder to cry on? Reminisce about our mummies?"

"Something like that," Kira whispered.

Doric finished her wine in one massive swig and got to her feet. After stumbling a bit, she slurred, "take it from me, kid. Having a bad mother is worse than having no mother."

Kira nodded. She didn't look convinced, but she did look afraid. Being in the presence of a drunk-but-not-really-drunk-who's-asking-druid had kicked in her survival sense.

"Heya Bean."

Which was kicked to the side as Holga strode her way. Smelling of something that Doric couldn't quite put her finger on, and no, the alcohol hadn't robbed her of her sense of smell.

"Hey Auntie Holga." Kira gave her a small hug, causing Doric's insides to squirm. When she'd been Kira's age, she'd come to realize that she wouldn't be getting any hugs, period.

"You okay?" Holga asked her.

"What? Oh, sure, fine." Doric hiccuped. "Just, y'know…sleepy."

"Right. Sleepy."

"You okay?" Doric asked. "I mean, you were – hic – dead, not too long – hic – ago."

"Oh yeah, fine," Holga said. "In fact, better than fine. I should try being dead more often. Really cleanses the body."

"That's – hic – good to – hic – know." Doric stumbled back into the chair, and wondered why someone had cast an illusion spell, making it seem like there were two of each of them.

"Piece of advice kid?" Holga asked. "Want to get into drinking, you start small. Weak stuff first, build up a constitution, then you go in on the elf-wine."

Doric wasn't sure who the barbarian was talking to. She saw their lips move, but couldn't hear the words. Something about "leave her alone" and "yeah, she's drunk," but she couldn't be sure. Nor could she be sure why, as the pair headed back to Edgin (who was singing a song that felt like a dagger passing through her ears), why she wanted to ask them to come back.

"Bean," she slurred. "Bean, Bean, so mean, beam of magic hit Bean, in manner obscene, with pretty gleam, and hic!"

She recalled, however faintly, that Holga (or had it ben Edgin?) had explained that Kira was called "Bean" because that's how Holga had first found her. A small baby like a bean. Underfed, underloved, barely kept alive by a father who could barely look after himself. Not that Kira looked undernourished now (two years growing fat in Neverwinter would do that to a girl), but…

"Not fair," Doric slurred, as she rested her head on the bench. "Not fair – hic – far…fair…"

No-one had walked into her life. She'd had to fight to survive every step away from her parents' house. The Emerald Enclave had welcomed her, and she'd been all too happy to show humans a fraction of the pain that they'd inflicted on her, but for all their kindness, none of it had ever come close to love, let alone the type a parent could provide. Liavaris, perhaps, but he had always been more of a guardian than a surrogate father.

Ironically, the closest thing to love she'd ever experienced was from Simon, and didn't that just say how pathetic her life was? Simon loved her the way a puppy loved its master – by messing things up and drooling all over her tunic.

"Doric?"

"Gah!"

Simon had just arrived. Good Simon, sweet Simon, kind Simon, gentle Simon, Simon who was sitting right beside her, showing genuine concern for her, who-

"Doric, are you drunk?"

She answered that with a hic and a kiss, though not necessarily in that order. Her head was pounding, and all she wanted right now was a hug (not necessarily what she needed, but wants and needs were separate things).

"Okay, you're drunk," he said. "Come on. Bedtime."

"Not…drunk…."

"Right. Sure. And drow aren't murdering bastards."

"Actually – hic there's this – hic – drow called Driz – hic who – hic!"

She didn't know how long it took for Simon to find her a bed. Point was, it was an elf bed, and having gone on numerous missions for the Enclave (and a fetch-quest with a bunch of idiots), she'd learnt that elf beds were best beds. Halflings made the best food, dwarves made the best armour, humans were the best at something (probably), but elves were the best at beds.

She almost asked him to share it with her. Almost. Part of her wanted nothing more, especially since Simon had found his manhood recently, but the part of her brain that wasn't awash with elfwine told her that that would be a silly thing to do that they both might come to regret later. So instead, when he asked her if she wanted anything, she gave him a hug.

"Don't need anything," she whispered. "I just needed that."

The look on his face told her that he didn't understand. But he didn't need to. The hug wasn't about him.

Take that, Little Bug, Doric thought as she drifted off to sleep. Tieflings can get hugs too.

Come the morning, she'd rub it in her face, she told herself. Or teach her some nature magic.

One of those things.