CHAPTER 3 :

Snow Flower

After finding Lae'zel, the group finished searching the area around the Nautiloid. They found some supplies and canvas to build a shelter... but no other passengers. When they left, the day was drawing to a close and the sun was slowly beginning its long descent.

"We should set up camp for the night", Shadowheart suggested. "We don't want to get lost in the dark."

"Afraid of nocturnal predators?" Astarion ironised.

"I hope they find you more appetising than me..."

"There's no question of stopping", Lae'zel roared. "Do you think the mind flayers are resting? That the parasite is tired?"

"What I'm saying is curing our tadpole won't be a problem if we get our throats cut on the way home. We know which direction the tieflings went, so we have an idea of where they are. We might as well get our strength back before going there."

"And if you change during the night? I would have no hesitation to end your life."

"It's great to see we share at least one opinion."

"That's enough", Nymuë sighed. "By bickering like this, you're the ones risking signalling our position from miles around."

"What have you decided?" Shadowheart asked.

The dark elf gave her a stunned look. Now it was up to her? How convenient! She stared at the githyanki warrior, as motionless as a statue, at the priestess with her hands firmly on her hips, and at the high elf admiring his manicure. Perhaps... perhaps a break was indeed necessary, if only to ease tensions. They wouldn't survive long if they couldn't make the simplest of decisions together.

"I vote for the campfire", she announced. "Let's find some shelter and settle in for the night."

Lae'zel let out an irritated throaty noise, while Shadowheart nodded with satisfaction. They soon located an old ruin on the cliffs, offering them cover and a view of the surroundings. A well, still filled with clear water, gave them a chance to clean up. Nymuë sighed with relief as she wiped away the blood she accumulated over the last few hours.

She looked at her reflection with a curious eye. It gave her the image of azure skin, very pale compared to the rest of her kind; the result of a lifetime spent on the surface. She also saw white hair, cut short, and grey eyes, another sign of her existence outside the Underdark. How much longer would this face would be hers? Before it became distorted, replaced by tentacles, and her hair fell out in fistfuls... Nymuë sighed. They were going to find a cure, it had to be. The alternative was putting her nerves to the test.

Abandoning her morbid thoughts, the dark elf set about putting up her tent. She saw Astarion looked at her quizzically.

"Haven't you ever been camping?"

"I prefer taverns", he replied. "Lying directly on the floor is... something new for me."

Patiently, she explained how to arrange a shelter. At first, the high elf seemed incensed by this manual activity, but willingly complied. Shadowheart and Lae'zel gathered food. Their feast consisted of a piece of bread with dried meat. With a wave of his hand, Astarion refused his own ration; he was hardly hungry after today's events.

"If your legs refuse to carry you afterwards, we will abandon you", Lae'zel retorted. "I'm not going to waste time lugging you around."

"It's a shame", he sighed, "You'd make a wonderful mule."

"You told us you came from Baldur's Gate, Astarion", Nymuë quickly intervened. "That's also where I live."

"Is that so? We're clearly not moving in the same circles."

The dark elf held back a snort.

"You don't seem comfortable in the open air", Shadowheart continued. "What is your function within the city?"

"Oh, I'm a magistrate. There's not much to say, it's rather tedious..."

Nymuë wrinkled her nose: magistrate? If Astarion was into politics, then she may as well pretend to be Countess of Waterdeep. Revan had made her memorise the names of all the city's patriars. His tutor's work required the utmost discretion, and when he took Nymuë with him, he expected her not to annoy the wrong person. Since when did a man of letters play the dagger the way he did? "To each their own", she thought. She had no advantage interfering in other people's affairs... and it wasn't as if they had to be friends to travel together.

"And you, Nymuë?" The priestess asked. "What are you doing in Baldur's Gate?"

"I was a travelling artist for a long time", the dark elf said. "I went to Baldur's Gate when I was a teenager, and did a series of small jobs here and there to save money."

The perfect balance. Neither entirely wrong, nor entirely right.

"You don't have an instrument", Astarion remarked. "Failed artists are legion..."

"As much as crooked politicians. I haven't practised my art for a long time... I guess I didn't get the chance."

Her body stiffened as she fought against the usual images. There was no point in dredging up the past.

"What's that strange object you're carrying?" she asked Shadowheart instead.

"There's nothing to tell", she said. "Nothing that concerns you, at least. Just forget you've ever saw it."

"Probably a compact, so she can powder her pretty nose", Lae'zel hissed.

"I'd talk about your nose, but it doesn't exist. What I can tell you is that I too am trying to reach Baldur's Gate. I have contacts there that I need to reach. As soon as possible."

"I suppose, Lae'zel, you're not inclined to tell us much about yourself?" Nymuë asked. "I'd never seen a githyanki before today."

"Tchk. No wonder. They'd have cut you from navel to neck."

The rest of the meal was silent. The atmosphere was tense... and anxious. Beneath their bravado, her new comrades must have been just as worried as she was. Nymuë remembered the last time she had camped in these conditions, on the ground and with the sky as her only witness. It seemed like another life. Everything was so different back then: her companions, herself...

She wished them a good night before heading for her tent. Lae'zel seemed determined to take the first watch. Shadowheart isolated herself in a corner, on her knees, almost in prayer. As for Astarion, he simply vanished into thin air. "Let's just hope he doesn't kill anyone on the way," Nymuë sighed. She lay back on her bunk, remembering the attack on the Nautiloid. Who would have thought, at the dawn of her new life, she would find herself in such a mess? And in the company of perfect lunatics, to add a point. She prayed that the parasite would not disturb her sleep.

Instead, her memories visited her.

The cacophony outside was deafening. Tonight again, the circus had been full.

"A success!" Lady Seri applauded. "A huge success! I'm proud of you, my children. Brindille, don't look so glum next time. I mean, no more than usual. Aktas, it's unbelievable that with two brains you've forgotten half your act. Make an effort, will you?"

She wandered among them, correcting one mistake or another. Lady Seri had always been picky about their show. Their phantasmagoria was the very heart of The Shining Star, the highlight of the spectacle : that's why, come wind or snow, the stands were always full. The freak show. Oh, of course, that wasn't how the matron called her favourite attraction. 'The Exotic Parade' sounded more elegant! A gathering of strange, irregular, abnormal individuals. Something to distract the common people from their hard work. To take them away from their problems for a night, and find catharsis. After all, doesn't the man who is drowning in debt from morning till night become a king when he watches more ridiculous than him? Doesn't the woman who beats her children have a clear conscience when the curtain rises on genuine abominations? Who would question them when faced with a two-headed orc, or a Kobold dressed like an aristocrat? And then, of course, there was her. The drow. "The jewel of the crown," Lady Seri had once whispered to her, holding her close to her heart. Creatures so rare to find on the surface! Both feared and hated. "Oh my beautiful one," she had said, "if you only knew how much they will pay to hate you."

"I don't want to be hated," Nymuë had replied, even though she was just a child. Lady Seri had suspended her movements, and her smile had froze. "Can't I just play my music?". The matron had laughed herself to tears. Who on earth would come for that?

Nymuë knew the circumstances of her birth. Lady Seri had often told her. "A dark elf decided to barge into my tent! She ruined the whole show. I would have chased her away, but my good heart got the better of me. As if that wasn't enough, she died in childbirth, leaving us with a newborn to take care of. We, travelling artists, hardly ever bring up children. I'm not a wet nurse! But Rivlo, my late husband, had a fine nose. A drow, if it doesn't kill you, is worth money! That's what he wisely told me. And you, my darling, were too valuable to leave in the first ditch that came along."

Who her mother had been and where she had come from were questions Nymuë had stopped asking herself a long time ago. Before she died, she had left no name or explanation. Just a pendant representing a spider, a large 'A' between its eight legs. The first letter of her name? A gift from a loved one? She had no idea. Sometimes she dreamt her mother had stumbled across someone else than these troubadours... Or that Lady Seri did actually preferred the first ditch she came across. But the fact remains that she loved playing her music. When her bow glided over the strings, she felt her existence slipping away. It was as if she were getting rid of her skin and making way for another Nymuë.

The young woman removed her red contacts and placed them on her dressing table. Another gift from her benefactress: she felt it was important for the spectators to see in Nymuë what they had paid for. And they had emptied their purse for a drow. Which meant she had to wear the red eyes typical of her species. It happened that some dark elves were born without the sign of Lolth, the goddess reigning over the Underdark; but then again, who would come for that?

Next to her, Brindille was struggling to remove the detritus clung to his scales. The audience often vilified them at one point or another during their performance. "It's all part of the show", Lady Seri said. It was not good for the audience to be shy.

Nymuë had tried to leave, of course. Several times, she attempted to rebel against her fate. Lady Seri didn't punish her, put her in irons or even starve her. No, each time, she held her back with a simple question: "And where will you go, treasure?" What fate awaited a dark elf outside this tent? Who would take her in, or take pity on her? Nymuë had believed there were places where people would be benevolent. That outside the Shining Star, she could be accepted and integrated. One day, she went to the neighbouring village, her heart full of revolt. Lady Seri was wrong, the 'Exotic Parade' was not the best situation for her!

She returned the next day with blood all down her arms and face. At the mere sight of her, the inhabitants armed themselves with stones and pitchforks. Aktas lifted her in his massive arms and led her to the main tent. Lady Seri hugged her: "I told you, my angel, the outside world is cruel. It doesn't see you as I do". Nymuë never tried to escape again.

The sound of horses drew her out of her gloomy thoughts. Lady Seri stopped twirling among them to go outside. A cart had stopped in the middle of the circus, driven by Tim, The Shining Star's personal steed.

"Oh-oh!" The matron exclaimed with delight. "Tell me I've got a bargain, Tim. If I ever get stuck with a so-called flying goblin again, I no longer answer for anything."

"Not this time, ma'am!" Tim replied with a toothless smile. "I checked it myself. This fairy is the real thing!"

"Show her to me. Children!" she shouted to the performers. "Come and welcome our new recruit."

The doors of the caravan opened as Tim gently unloaded its content. The newcomer was the height of an eight-year-old child, with a round face and delicate features. Her large green eyes gleamed with a feverish glow, half-concealed under badly-combed red locks.

But the undeniable eye-catcher was the pair of wings on her back. They were almost as big as her, and covered in patterns reminiscent of butterflies. The emerald of the forest crossed with the gold of the sun: a resplendent combination, making you forget the mud of her hair or the anguish of her expression.

"Move!" Tim growled.

The little girl fell at Lady Seri's feet. She took hold of her chin to examine it from every angle:

"Yes, she'll do. She'll make a wonderful member of 'The Exotic Parade', won't she? It's not every day you come across an inhabitant of Faerie. What's your name, my dove?"

The child jumped out of the way, terrified, and ran towards the caravan. Brindille and Aktas stepped aside, but Nymuë remained motionless, as if numb. In slow motion, she saw the little creature clinging to her waist.

"Well, that's a way to behave!" Lady Seri snapped. "Is this how you thank those who give you a home, young lady? Did I make a mistake when I snatched you from the black market?"

The little girl whimpered and Nymuë gently came to stand beside her. Two green eyes observed her with curiosity. One hand touched her bluish skin.

"That's lovely", the fairy whispered.

"What's your name?"

The rest of the group had gathered around them. The child continued her examination, gazing raptly at the glow of the candles on her azure skin. Her gaze finally met hers, and she gave a shy smile:

"My name is Elyon. And you're a snowflower."

END NOTES

You have a little more context on Nymuë's background, although we'll come back to it... I imagine Lady Seri similar in spirit to Gothel, the evil mother in the Tangled Disney movie!

As for the introduction : besides drawing on what I know about Dungeons and Dragons, I collected my information from "The Legend of Drizzt", a book written by R.A. Salvatore about a dark elf trying to escape his condition. In terms, he knows many adventures on the surface. This character is contemporary of the events of Baldur's Gate 3, he is also mentioned by some texts. And if you have watched the role-playing game played by the Voice Actors, he makes an appearance.

Another note, on this sentence: "If Astarion was into politics, then she may as well pretend to be Countess of Waterdeep". This is a little easter egg from me to me, a reference to one of my old role-playing characters, Saphire Duprée, who was actually a countess of Waterdeep.

See you next week !