Zephyranthes
Zephyranthes Minuta - a small temperate and tropical wildflower in the Amaryllis family that only blooms after heavy rains, from which they derive their common name: Rain Lilies
“Love is like wildflowers; it’s often found in the most unlikely places.”
– Ralph Waldo Emerson
This takes place between two chapters of the main story in this series, Last Call
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Mirtul 1, 1494
Astarion stood in the kitchen, arms crossed over his sleepshirt, hip leaned against the counter, watching the storm rage outside the window. It was nearing midnight, and didn’t look like it was going to let up any time soon. These spring storms were something else – the rain had been coming down in sheets for hours, thunder and lightning crashing overhead every minute or so, wind nearly blowing the rain sideways. Amid the wind’s fierce howling, he could hear it slamming the garden gate he’d forgotten to latch closed earlier. He’d been debating for nearly ten minutes on whether it was worth it to keep trying to wait the storm out, or if he should run outside to shut the damned thing, because if it didn’t stop that racket, none of them were getting any sleep tonight.
“I can do it, if you don’t want to,” Tav says. He turns to her, an eyebrow raised. She’s sat at the kitchen table with Astraea, their fussy toddler bouncing in her lap, whining and pulling at Tav’s shirt; reminding him that they wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight regardless of the storm or the gate, because Astraea has some new teeth coming through and won’t settle. Jaheira had given them some medicine that was supposed to help, but getting her to take it had been a battle of wills each time, and was near-impossible once she really started fussing. Thus, they had spent the better part of last night and today taking turns attempting to dose their cranky thirteen-month-old with however much of the medicine they could get into her between her naps and nursing, with mixed success.
“No, I’ll do it,” he sighs, heading for the coat closet by the door, “you’ve got your hands full already, and I don't think she’ll take kindly to trading hands right now. If I’m washed away into the Chionthar, remember me fondly as looking nothing like the drowned rat I am about to become.”
He’s just reaching into the coat closet for his heavier cloak when there’s an insistent knock at the door. He looks to the door, brow furrowed, because who in the world would be knocking on their door at this hour, in this weather? Tav’s already on her feet, Astraea in her arms, peering out of the kitchen entry at their front door. She gives him a questioning look, but he just shrugs in response, because he has no more of a clue who their midnight visitor could be than she does.
Not wanting to take any chances, he shuts the coat closet softly and creeps to the front door, steps light and soundless, and peers through the peephole they’d had installed after one too many nosy neighbors showed up on their porch wanting to “say hello” to the strange couple and their child who only went out at night and rarely joined in on the various community activities that were always going on.
Peering through the peephole, he spots a pair of very familiar horns on top of a handsome, scarred face, and – breathing out a quiet the fuck? – he wrenches the door open.
There on his porch, wrapped in a heavy cloak that’s soaked through from the storm and left him wet and shivering, stands Wyll Ravengard.
For moment, Astarion can’t speak, but once he finds his tongue, he quickly makes up for those lost seconds.
“Wylliam Ravengard, do you have any idea what time it is?!”
Wyll, teeth chattering as he tightens his cloak around himself further, gives him a tired smile in response. “Just past midnight, I think, so prime vampire hours?”
“Yes, and why are you spending them here, on my porch, in the middle of a lightning storm, instead of in your cozy bed at Ravengard Manor, like a good little human?”
At this, Wyll’s smile drops, and he looks down at his feet, looking every inch the chastised child. And if Astarion didn’t have vampiric hearing, he wouldn’t have been able to hear Wyll’s mumbled response over the storm. “I, uh, I need help. Please. I… didn’t know where else to go.”
Astarion’s stern face softens at that, remembering once again how young Wyll is. Only twenty-five. Practically a baby. “And what,” he sighs, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe, “could you possibly need help with that’s worth you walking three hours from the Upper City to my doorstep, through a storm, in the middle of the night?”
“That… would be easier to explain inside,” Wyll responds, teeth chattering a bit from the cold. “Might I come in? Please?”
Wyll’s pleading eyes break Astarion’s stoney façade almost immediately. Parenthood has made him weak to puppy eyes – he used to be able to at least pretend he was more heartless than this.
“Fine, yes, come in, you complete lunatic,” he says, making room for Wyll to pass by him and shutting the door behind them once he’s inside. “But this better be good. Some of us are teething, and some of us didn’t get to go hunting tonight, and everyone’s sleep-deprived about it, so you’ve walked yourself into a den of cranky monsters.”
“I don’t know if ‘good’ is the word I’d use,” Wyll says carefully, moving to stand in front of the fireplace, basking in its heat, though he still hasn’t removed his cloak. “’Interesting,’ maybe. ‘Surprising,’ certainly.”
Tav, who’d managed to get Astraea settled on the floor with her blocks, comes over with some of their towels in her arms. “Off with that cloak, before you catch your death,” she says, setting the towels on the coffee table, hands immediately going to the fastening, “we’ll hang it by the fireplace to dry, and you can explain what possessed you to walk all the way out here when I know you have a carriage.”
“Right, well,” Wyll starts to stammer nervously, back stiff as Tav undoes his cloak, “I didn’t have my carriage tonight, I usually don’t, and then something happened and I just-”
Tav finally gets the clasp undone and sweeps the cloak from Wyll’s shoulders, only to find that he’s in nothing but his breeches and undershirt, his doublet held balled up in his arms, squirming.
“-panicked,” he finishes.
Suddenly words start tumbling out of him like water. “I didn’t know what else to do. I tried Jaheira’s first, but she wasn’t home, and I couldn’t go back to Father’s, not like this. The temples are still overrun with refugees, and she’s so small, and I just…” he turns that pleading face on them again, “I thought you might know how to help?”
Tav and Astarion stare at him, both at a loss for words, Tav still holding Wyll’s dripping cloak. Astarion manages to recover first, shaking his head to clear it and asking, “I’m sorry – she?”
At his question, a tiny squeak arises from the still gently-wiggling doublet in Wyll’s arms, which is miraculously dry considering how wet Wyll himself is.
“Yeah,” Wyll breathes out shakily, lowering the bundle from his chest, “she. I’m pretty sure anyway, I didn’t exactly take the time to check thoroughly. Didn’t seem important, with the rain and everything.”
Astarion and Tav both gasp as Wyll reveals his precious cargo – an absolutely tiny baby Tiefling, sporting medium-brown skin, little bone-white horn buds, and a riotous fluff of dark hair springing out in tight coils. The baby squeaks again, little face bobbing against Wyll’s chest as her tiny tail lashes back and forth in irritation.
“Don’t try telling me that’s yours, Wyll,” Astarion snarks, though his voice has gone uncharacteristically gentle, “you’ve only been out of Avernus five months, and I can personally attest that it takes longer than that to make a baby of any kind. So where did you get it?”
Somewhere in the middle of his sentence, Astarion had reached out, without realizing it, and started gently caressing the baby’s tiny little cheek with a knuckle. When the hells did he become the sort of person that just touches babies on purpose, like some doting grandmother? His baby excluded, of course. She was perfect. Other people’s babies were gross. Or they used to be, anyway.
Ugh, fatherhood really had made him soft.
“I found her,” Wyll says quietly, pulling the baby closer to his chest, as if he’s worried they’ll try to take her from him. “I went to the Blushing Mermaid to have a couple drinks, maybe play some cards – Halsin suggested I needed to get out of the house regularly, get used to being around normal people again, so I go there sometimes. After I left, I was walking home, and I heard a noise in the alley, just barely, over the storm. I- I thought it was a cat, a lost kitten maybe, but when I went to look-” he cuts himself off, taking a deep breath, his eyes flooding with anger and tears as he whispers, “when I went to look, I- I found her. Just… lying there, crying her little lungs out in a box next to the trashcans. Like someone just- just threw her away.”
Tav’s hand flies to her mouth, muffling an Elvish curse as she drops Wyll’s cloak, her own eyes tearing up as she steps closer, investigating the tiny baby.
“I couldn’t just leave her there,” Wyll continues, “it was storming, and she didn’t even have a blanket, not that it would’ve mattered, but still, who just-” he lets out a long breath, “I know there’s still a lot of prejudice against Tieflings, especially when people have a Tiefling baby by surprise, but… they didn’t even take her to a temple. They could’ve taken her to the Stormshore Tabernacle, Vicar Humbletoes accepts surrendered infants, no questions asked, he always has. But they just- just abandoned her, like she didn’t matter.” Wyll’s good eye wells up with tears, “Who does that?”
“Someone who was scared. Someone who panicked, maybe,” Astarion answers, really taking in the tiny child before him. Her non-Tiefling features have an Elfishness to them that makes him suspect at least one of her parents was a High Elf, if not both. Which would explain why she’d ended up in that alley – his people weren’t always kind to children who didn’t arrive looking as expected. “Or someone who’s simply cruel and gave her no other thought beyond how to most easily dispose of her. The world isn’t kind, Wyll, whether you’re a greedy Patriar or a helpless infant.”
Wyll just looks at him sadly. Astarion knows Wyll likes to believe in the goodness of people, but it’s pretty hard to do that when he’s currently holding evidence of just how monstrous they can be.
“Well, just because the world is cruel, doesn’t mean we have to be,” Tav says, reaching for the baby, “give her here, and get yourself dried off. You can borrow a few things from the laundry basket there in the corner, they’re clean.”
Wyll’s hands tighten reflexively around his tiny ward, who’s started squalling as she continues bobbing her face against him, tail lashing angrily. Tav’s voice softens a bit as she takes in the Blade’s protectiveness over this little life he’s found.
“Wyll, you’re soaked to the bone, you need to get into some dry clothes, and she needs to be looked over. I’m no expert, but I can at least make sure there’s nothing major wrong,” Tav says gently, before her mouth twists in a wry smile, “and besides, she’s pushing her mouth against you like that because she’s hungry, and unless that transformation Mizora did to you added a few extra features I’m unaware of, I don’t think you can fulfill that particular need. I’ll give her right back, I promise.”
Wyll’s face turns sheepish, his grip on the baby loosening. “Right, of course. She’s had a long… whole life, I guess, of course she’s hungry,” he says, shifting the doublet-wrapped baby into Tav’s arms. “I’ll just… go change. And then I’ll be right back.”
Wyll doesn’t actually move, though, unable to turn his gaze from the baby in Tav’s arms. Astarion rolls his eyes and gives him a little push. “Grab the black sleepshirt and pants from the basket in the corner, Wyll, they should fit you. There are towels in the bathroom upstairs. Go take a quick bath, warm up, then use the guest room to change. She’s not going anywhere on her own – and we’ve already got one, so we’re certainly not going to take off with her.”
He does manage to get a small laugh out of Wyll at that, some small bit of their friend coming back to himself. “Alright, yeah, you’re right,” he says, running a hand through his braids, “I’m not any use soaked and frozen to the bone, I suppose. I’ll go dry off and change, and be right back as soon as I’m done.”
While Wyll grabs the mentioned clothes from the basket and heads upstairs, Astarion picks up Wyll’s dropped cloak from the floor and hangs it by the fireplace to dry, before grabbing their little emergency medical kit from the kitchen and taking a seat on the couch next to Tav as she lays the baby out on the coffee table.
He passes her the towel Wyll didn’t take with him, watching as she gently dries the baby and checks her over. “So, what’s the verdict on our little midnight intruder?” he asks softly.
“A healthy little girl, as far as I can tell, though it would be better if we had Jaheira or Shadowheart to look her over. She can’t be more than a few hours old, probably left in that alley just a bit before Wyll found her. She wouldn’t have survived long enough for him to hear her, otherwise.” She takes one of the astringents and a wad of cloth bandages from the medical kit and begins dabbing at the base of the baby’s umbilical cord, which is much longer than he remembers Astraea’s being. “This wasn’t an attended birth, I can tell you that, at least,” she sighs, “they cut the cord too long, and they’ve tied it with kitchen twine. Looks like they didn’t even use proper scissors to cut it, just went at it with whatever they had, maybe.”
“Is that a problem? She doesn’t seem to be bothered by it,” he says.
She sighs again, “Only insofar as it’s nearly as long as she is. We can fix it though; I’ll just need you to sacrifice some of your silk embroidery thread. The undyed one, maybe twelve inches. And your sharpest non-magical dagger.”
“On it,” he says, already moving. He unspools the requested amount from the bobbin in his sewing box, deciding to cut it quickly with a fang rather than look for his scissors, then grabs his spare dagger from the top of the coat closet. When he brings them back to Tav, she casts Prestidigitation on them, making sure they’re sterile before she begins.
With nimble fingers, she ties the silk thread around the umbilical cord, much close to the body than the twine sits, then takes the dagger in hand. “Come hold her still for me,” she tells him, “and grab that cloth with the astringent on it. Once I cut the cord, dab at the end. It shouldn’t bleed much, but just keep going until it stops.”
He nods, placing one hand on the child’s chest to hold her still. His hand covers her entire torso and then some, and he wonders briefly if Astraea really used to be this small, before he shakes his head and focuses on the task in front of him, taking the medicine-soaked cloth up in his free hand.
After double checking the silk cord is tied tight enough, Tav takes up the dagger, setting the blade about an inch past where she’s tied the umbilical cord off. Her hands tremble for just a moment, but then, with a swift and decisive flick of her hand, she slices cleanly through it. Astarion dabs the cloth at the newly raw end of the cord, but like Tav predicted, there isn’t much blood to clean away.
“Good job, love,” Astarion says, voice low, “I’ll clean all this away in a moment. What do we do now?”
“Now?” Tav asks, wrapping the baby back in the towel, “now she could use a bath, but food is probably the more pressing concern, so a bath can wait.” She looks over to Astraea, who’s been studiously ignoring all of the commotion around her as she plays with her blocks. “We just have to hope Her Highness doesn’t mind sharing dinner service just this once.”
He sits back on the couch with Tav, pulling one of the throw pillows over and slipping it under her elbow for support as he says, “If she minds, I suppose I’ll just bribe her with one of those wretched little wheels of cheese you keep in the icebox. She’ll spend the rest of the night ignoring us.”
Tav laughs as she unbuttons the top of her shirt, bringing the tiny Tiefling to her chest and encouraging her to nurse. “That’s because our daughter has excellent taste. That cheese is delicious,” she says, maneuvering the little one until she gets the message and latches on. She takes to it immediately, her little shrieks softening to pleased grunts as she takes in what is likely her very first meal, one little fist gently tapping on Tav’s chest as she drinks.
He lets his head rest in his hand, elbow braced on the back of the couch, his other hand gently stroking the baby’s tiny feet and letting her twitching little tail wrap around his wrist. He watches Tav’s face grow wistful as she watches the baby nurse, a soft smile growing on her face. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this with someone this little,” she coos quietly to the baby, “you’re much more polite than my last client. I appreciate the consideration, little one.”
He feels a little stab in his heart, watching her, knowing that he’s the reason they can’t have this again. Now that Astraea’s already a year old, he’s had time to think about it, and he really wouldn’t mind having another one. But he’s a vampire spawn, so having more isn’t possible for them, and that’s his fault. Hells, the first one shouldn’t have been possible. Astraea was a once-in-a-lifetime miracle, and they’d resigned themselves to being grateful for the one little darling they’d somehow managed to make before the tadpoles were gone, taking their gifts with them. They’d considered adoption, briefly, but quickly dropped the idea, knowing full-well that no one was going to let a vampire and a Bhaalspawn adopt a child, Heroes of Baldur’s Gate or no, even when they already had one perfectly healthy and happy child to prove they weren’t complete incompetents.
Tav had assured him that she was happy with their family the way it was. And he believed her, he did. But it was hard to miss the way her eyes sparkled whenever she saw a tiny, new baby out at the market, or how delighted she was when Bex and Danis had offered to let her hold their twin boys, just a week old and so, so small. She’d lit up like the sun.
It stung, not being able to give her that again, when he knew how badly she wanted it. When he wanted it, too.
He lifts his head, letting the hand that was holding it up brush Tav’s bangs from her face instead. “Feeling broody again, my love?” he asks, aiming for a joking tone, but his voice is tinged with just a bit too much sorrow for it to really land.
“A little,” she sighs, leaning into him and resting her head on his shoulder as they watch Wyll’s foundling drink her fill. “But I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I love you, I love our daughter, I love our life. I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. I’d be thrilled if we someday found a way to have another, but if we never do, I’ll still be content right here with you.”
He sighs as he leans his head atop hers, packing that dream away with all the other things that will never be. “It would be lovely though, wouldn’t it? Another tiny creature of our own, keeping us awake at all hours, a horrible little beastie just like their sister.”
“It would,” she whispers, “but we’ve already got something good. I’m content, Astarion, I don’t need more than this.”
“I know,” he whispers back, “it’s just nice to think about sometimes, that’s all.”
Footsteps on the stairs herald Wyll’s arrival, and the moment ends, the bitter-sweet mood melting away as they disentangle themselves and sit up.
Wyll starts to say something as he reaches the bottom of the stairs and rounds the couch, but the moment he catches site of Tav mid-feed with the baby, he flushes and turns around to face the wall. “Sorry, sorry!” he stammers, cheeks flushing with embarrassment, “I didn’t realize you’d be- that is, I wasn’t aware of- I mean- gods. I’ll just… stand over here until you’re done, shall I?”
Tav just laughs, making no move to hide or cover herself at their friend’s embarrassment. “It’s fine, Wyll,” she says, “I’m not bothered if you’re not. Besides, it’s kind of literally the entire purpose of having breasts.”
“I would beg to differ on that point, my love. Yours, at least, have many other wonderful qualities,” Astarion chimes in, mostly just to make Wyll blush further, earning him a swat to the chest and a quiet hush, you! from Tav.
Wyll still hasn’t turned around, staring intently at the wall directly opposite of Tav.
“You’re gonna have to get used to seeing breasts doing their job eventually if you’re keeping her, Wyll. You’ll need to hire a wetnurse, she can’t drink cow’s milk,” Tav chides him with a laugh.
Wyll whirls around at that. “Keep her?!” he cries, then realizes he’s looking right at Tav and begins looking quickly around the room, eventually collapsing into the nearby chair, head back, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. “I can’t keep her! She’s a- a- she’s a baby!”
“Yes, that’s usually how they start out,” Astarion snarks at him. “I was under the impression that being the son of the Grand Duke would’ve afforded you a quality education, but if you need instructions on where these come from, I’m sure we could put together a decent curriculum.”
“Very funny, Astarion, thank you,” Wyll snarks back. “I just mean… I’m still living in Father’s manor. Things are still… tense… between us. He wasn’t happy when I chose to go to Avernus with Karlach. He was even less happy when I didn’t immediately want to join him in politics when I got back. He’s still unhappy because we got in an argument the other day after I told him I was looking at houses out here in Rivington, that I wasn’t going to stay in the Upper City.”
“You’re looking for houses in Rivington?” Tav asks, shifting the baby to her other breast now that she’d finished with the first one.
“Yeah. I love my city, but I don’t- I can’t live in the Upper City. I hate it there. Surrounded by Baldur’s Gate’s ‘elite,’ listening to them complain about having to pay the smallest amounts of taxes while there are still hundreds of citizens who are displaced after the Illithid Crisis, not even counting the refugees who came here to escape the Absolute’s armies and then couldn’t leave.” He sighs, “I can’t stand listening to them, and Father thinks I should just be able to bargain and compromise with them, when the compromises are things like ‘I’ll actually pay my taxes this year, and you’ll look the other way when I find new and exciting methods of breaking the law for personal gain.’”
“Sounds like the Upper City, no surprise there,” Astarion chimes in.
“Yes, unfortunately, it does,” Wyll laments. He pauses when he feels a tap on his knee and looks down to see Astraea has pulled herself up to stand, clutching the chair and his pantleg. “Oh, do you want to come sit with Uncle Wyll, Astraea? Come on up, then,” he says, scooping the toddler into his lap. “And I don’t really want to go back to adventuring, not for a long time, if ever. But I also can’t really take living in the city proper where it’s so busy anymore. It’s… too loud. Too many people.” He helps Astraea stand on his lap, holding her still while she tugs at his horns and fiddles with his braids. “I found a place I liked. It needs some work, but the bones are good. It’s a little cottage of sorts, three bedrooms. It’s not too far from here, actually, maybe a five-minute walk. Close enough to the forest that I could hunt game whenever I want, but not so far from town that I can’t go for a pint or two. I’ve got the coin for it, since you guys were kind enough to keep my share of the gold from our adventure safe for me.”
“I know that place,” Astarion says, “it used to have a boar problem. Used to. What’s stopping you from buying it and moving out of Ulder’s place if it’s so perfect and you can afford it?”
“I don’t know,” Wyll sighs, “I guess it’s just… the first time I left, Father was so angry with me. The last time I left, I was disappointing him again. If I leave this time, I wonder if we’ll be able to repair our relationship at all.”
“Wyll,” Astarion says firmly, “have you considered that, if Ulder wants to throw a fit about your perfectly reasonable desire to live your own life instead of being his perfect copy, then it’s entirely his own choice, and the consequences are on him?”
“That’s not-”
“No, no! Listen to me,” Astarion says, getting up from the couch and pacing the room, “we can go round and round all day about the way he treated you when you first signed your pact with Mizora – which was badly, by the way – but my personal feelings about Ulder Ravengard’s beyond lackluster parenting aside, you can’t spend your entire life afraid to live just because daddy might be upset about it.”
“I’m not-”
“Yes you are. You’re literally refusing to buy a house that you want and move out of his hideous mansion – something that you apparently need for your own peace of mind – because you’re worried he’ll throw another Grand Duke-sized tantrum about it, instead of doing what a proper father would and help you get whatever it is you need to be happy! Because that’s what good fathers do – they do shit they hate, because it makes their kids happy!” he paces the length of the room a few more times.
“Astarion-”
“Do you know how much of that hideous Waterdhavian cheese I have personally braved the sun, the rain, and the snow to purchase, simply because Astraea adores it?” he says, turning again and gesturing at his daughter. “I hate the stuff. It smells terribly; I cannot escape it anywhere in this house. She always manages to make a huge mess with it, and she usually manages to get at least some of it on my face, because she wants me to eat it with her.”
He starts pacing faster, his voice rising in pitch as he really gets into his rant, “It is quite possibly one of the worst things she does, and she once puked chocolate iced cream all down the front of me, then topped it off with a diaper explosion, while I had her in the baby sling and couldn’t even clean it up! But do you know what I do? I let her feed me that awful, disgusting cheese, every time, because it makes her happy. And nothing makes me happier than seeing her happy, even if I hate it the whole time. And if one day she asks me to buy her a herd of dairy goats so she can become a cheesemonger, then I will be first in line at the livestock auctions the next morning, and I will suffer as much stinky cheese as she wishes me to endure.” He crosses his arms and glares at Wyll, “And I will do it gladly.”
“My father just wants what’s best-”
He throws his hands up in exasperation, shouting, “Oh hang your father and his wants! He doesn’t want what’s best for you, he wants what’s best for him and the idealized son he keeps in that stupid, shiny head of his. Wyll, when you found this baby, you didn’t even hesitate to put yourself in discomfort, and frankly, danger with how bad that storm is, to make sure she got help. You could have dropped her off at any of the dozens of temples you passed between that alley and here. Why didn’t you?”
“Because… because I trust you guys. I knew you could help, and that you would help, that you wouldn’t turn us away.”
“Exactly. You walked for three hours – six miles – through a lightning storm, to make sure a child you don’t even know, that you have no responsibility for, was taken care of by people you trusted.”
Astarion’s voice gentles as he asks, “When was the last time Ulder did anything like that for you?”
Wyll says nothing, but a single tear streaks down his face, which Astraea pats away, looking concerned at her usually jovial uncle being so upset.
Astarion looks to Tav, for help, but she’s still busy nursing the baby, so fine, he’ll just have to ring some sense into Wyll’s head himself then.
Throwing his head back with a groan, Astarion stomps over to Wyll and sits down hard on the coffee table so that they’re eye to eye. “Wyll,” he says slowly, “you are my friend. I have talked your way out of a Devil’s contract. Twice. I went to Avernus – literal actual hell – for nearly an entire month just to get you out of there, and then I almost died when that same Devil turned my insides into soup. I have guarded your blind spot in countless combats, helped you fight an Undead Dragon, saved every Gnome in that foundry because you asked it, and even let you teach me those annoyingly twee little court dances you’re so fond of just so you would stop wallowing when we were in the Shadowcurse.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “Could you maybe, just this once, please consider that I’m saying all this because I just might know what I’m talking about and do actually have your best interest at heart?”
“You… you really mean all of that?” Wyll asks quietly.
Astarion drops his face into his hands and screams just a little, just for a second, before composing himself and staring him in the eye. “Yes, Wyll,” he says, “every word. And if you ever bring it up again, I’ll deny it and eat you in your sleep. But, darling, you have spent your entire adult life doing what everyone else wants. Everyone but you. Don’t you think it’s time you do what you want?”
Something seems to dawn over Wyll’s face at that question, breathing new life into his eyes, and he looks lighter than Astarion’s ever seen him as he says, “Yeah. Yeah, maybe it is.”
“Excellent,” Astarion says, a genuine smile starting to form on his face. “So now, tell me: What does Wyll want? Not Wyll Ravengard, the Grand Duke’s son. Not Wyll, Mizora’s Warlock. Not Wyll the Blade of Avernus. Not even Wyll the Courtly High-Society Storybook Prince. Just plain Wyll. Just you.” He taps Wyll on the forehead, right between his horns, “What does he want?”
Wyll hesitates for a moment, his words a bit shaky as he says, “I want to buy that house. To live where it’s quieter.”
“Wonderful,” Astarion encourages, “what else?”
“I want to do something besides politics. I don’t know what, but something else.”
“Good, we’ll workshop it. What else?”
His voice starts to get stronger, more confident. “I want to get married. To someone who loves me for me, not for my station or my political power. Someone who’s never heard the last name ‘Ravengard.’”
“Fate willing. Keep going.”
“I want to keep growing my braids out, maybe a beard, even though Father disapproves.”
“I think that’s an utterly charming look. What next?”
“I want…” his eyes dart over to the baby in Tav’s arms, “…her. I want to keep her. I’ve always wanted children, and I don’t believe in fate, but if I did, this feels like it would be.”
Astarion smiles wide at this final confession. “Then she’s yours. You found her, you cared when no one else did, and you saved her life. Quite literally walked through a storm for her. You’ve been more of a father to her in the last four hours than Ulder has been to you in the last eight years. I’d say you’ve earned the title, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” Wyll whispers, “yeah, I guess I did.”
Tav rises from the couch with the baby, who had apparently finished her meal a while ago. “Well in that case,” she says softly, settling the baby into Wyll’s arms as Astarion picks up Astraea from his lap, “let me be the first to say – congratulations, Wyll, it’s a girl.”
Wyll tears up instantly, practically melting over the tiny little girl squirming in his arms. The baby chooses this moment to finally open her eyes, and Wyll gasps at the sight – one red eye, one silver-grey, a perfect match to his own eye and the silver prosthesis he’d gotten to replace Mizora’s stone.
“Well, would you look at that,” Astarion breathes, “the family resemblance is kicking in already.”
“Did you think about names while you were up in the bath resolutely not adopting her?” Tav asks, lips quirked in a smile.
“I… I did,” Wyll says. “There are these little flowers that grow all over the gate, but only right after a heavy rainstorm, otherwise you never see them. They’re tiny, so small you’d miss them if you weren’t looking for them. But they’re pretty little things, white or pink or lavender. Rain lilies. I’m sure they have a proper name, but that’s what I’ve always known them as. I couldn’t stop thinking about those flowers while I was walking here, how much she reminded me of them. So… Lily, because she popped up in a rainstorm, like those flowers. And Aurora for her middle name. The same as my mother’s.”
“Lily Aurora Ravengard,” Astarion says, “how perfectly lovely.”
“Well,” Tav says, “not to break up the party, but I think it’s time everyone gets some sleep. You can use the guestroom, Wyll. I’ll get you some of Astraea’s old pajamas to dress Lily in.”
Astarion stands with a groan, stretching as he yawns. “I’ll dig out her bassinet from the closet, and we can put it next to the bed. Astraea slept like a rock in that thing.”
“I think we still have Astraea’s diapers from when she was that little,” Tav continues as they head up the stairs, “but if not, we can make the bigger ones work for one night.”
“I have absolutely no idea how to change a diaper,” Wyll replies with a yawn.
Astarion’s face cracks in a wicked smile, though his voice is soft to avoid waking either of the sleeping children, “Ooh, darling, please say that I can teach him! It’s quite an experience.”
“No, you can go put our daughter to bed, and then get some fresh sheets and a blanket for Wyll,” Tav replies with a smile.
“You never let me have any fun, my love.”
── ･✩*₊˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖₊*✩･ ──
Thirty minutes later, the guest bed has been made up, the bassinet sat next to it, and Lily Aurora Ravengard – now bathed, diapered, and dressed – is sleeping peacefully in it, holding tightly to Wyll’s finger. He’s laid himself on the bed as close the edge as he can, his arm hanging over into the bassinet, just letting her hold onto him, both of them reveling in the connection.
Tav and Astarion linger in the doorway for a moment more, watching their friend experience the same magical moment they’d had themselves just over a year prior.
“If she gets hungry, or if you need anything at all, even just to ask a question, come knock on our door,” Tav says quietly. “We’re light sleepers, we’ll hear you.”
“Thank you guys,” Wyll mumbles sleepily, “really. For everything.”
“You’re welcome, Wyll,” Astarion murmurs. “And… congratulations. You’re going to love her.”
As he shuts the door, he just barely hears Wyll’s sleepy, wonder-filled whisper.
“I think I already do.”
