Waning

BG3, Shadowheart, Nocturne, Astarion, gen, 1k

The veranda in front of the House of Grief had a beautiful view over the canal. Shadowheart and Nocturne sat in the sun, eating sliced fruit and talking quietly every now and again. It was nice.

An elven woman on the bridge caught Shadowheart’s eye. She was looking at the water, and Shadowheart could see her lips move. She was singing again.

“That woman over there. She was here before.”

“Oh, the Lullaby Lady?” Nocturne said. “Well, that’s what we call her, anyway. She comes around every now and again. Almost every day, lately.”

The Lullaby Lady. Yes, she had been singing a lullaby when Shadowheart had walked past her. She hadn’t paid much attention to the woman, then. But now that she had time to really look, the woman looked almost familiar. She had sharp elven features, softened by gentle lips and a cloud of fluffy hair. Not silvery, at least not yet. But still.

“Who is she?” Shadowheart asked.

“A client, or that’s what I was told. Long before our time. I don’t know if you remember, but old clients sometimes keep coming around. Maybe they know they lost something here, even if they don’t know what. She’s an elf after all, and I suppose they’re particularly bad at letting go.”

Shadowheart looked at the woman’s hands, curling softly around the bridge railing. Her hands looked frail, and not like they were particularly good at holding onto anything. Of course, Shadowheart had lately only paid attention to hands when they were holding onto weapons. Hardened hands.

Shadowheart suddenly felt cold. Her mind was connecting dots she was sure weren’t really there. It wasn’t likely, in fact it was barely possible. But she needed to know for sure.

“Do you know how to access the client memories?” she demanded of Nocturne, who startled at her sudden intensity.

“Well, most are given to the Lady, of course. But Mistress Viconia kept some of them in the archives. I’m sure they’re cataloged in some way? We could go look?”

“Good. I think I might be able to help that woman.”

The House of Grief wasn’t fully empty, but those that remained kept to themselves and nobody tried to stop them from entering the archives.

The memory shards were neatly arranged by year.

“I don’t know where to start. We should have asked her what her name is, first,” Nocturne said.

“It’s fine. We’ll start at 1268.”

“That’s specific! And almost 200 years ago! Do you really think she’s been coming around for so long? Do you know who she is?”

“I hope not,” Shadowheart said. There were not many crystals from so far back, and it didn’t take her long before she came upon one from 1309. “Oh. I think it’s this one.”

The shard that held the memories the woman had surrendered glowed a warm, creamy white in Shadowheart’s hands. She took Nocturne’s hand, and concentrated on the crystal. The tadpole in her brain came awake. Shadowheart could feel it poking curiously at the crystal. It wanted to understand. It didn’t take long for it to figure it out, and then the memory was pouring out.

“What is it that you wish to surrender, my child?” a voice from two hundred years ago asked. The words were kind enough, but Shadowheart would not have described the voice as warm. The voice that answered was livelier, though raw and pained. Not at all like the mellow, wistful singing voice of the woman on the bridge. But when she spoke, Shadowheart was sure she’d found the right crystal, and she felt her heart sink.

“I’m here because of my son,” the woman said. “I lost him. I’ve grieved him for longer than he was alive, now. Surely that’s long enough. But the grief won’t go. I keep thinking about his grave.”

“Do you visit his grave often?”, the first voice asked.

“No!” the woman snapped. “Sorry. No. I can’t. I went there only once, the morning after his burial. The air was still cold with mist. I couldn’t bear thinking about him, all alone down there. So, I went to bring him flowers. But the grave…” the woman’s voice broke, and it took him a while to collect herself.

“You see, the grave was empty. And the coffin… it was smashed. Someone had taken my son’s body. I… I think that’s why I’m here. I think that’s why it never heals. You see, he was murdered. Left for dead, and then buried the very same night, before I even had time to understand what had happened. And then to find his grave destroyed like that... I ran to find help. The night guards were already gone, so it took me a while to find anyone. And when I came back with a guard… the grave was undisturbed again. Like nothing had happened. The flowers I’d dropped were arranged on top of his tombstone. Just the way I would have arranged them.”

The woman took a deep, shuddering breath.

“They thought my mind was playing tricks on me, of course. That the grief and the shock had gotten to me. And maybe they were right. That would be better, wouldn’t it? Because otherwise, I don’t know where he is. I don’t know what happened to him. And I don’t want to think about it anymore! Corellon forgive me, but if I can’t have him, I want him gone from my mind.”

The woman was starting to sound hysterical, but the other voice soothed her.

“There is no need to ask for such forgiveness here, child. The Nightsinger will carry your sorrow, now.”

Shadowheart set the crystal down, and let out a deep breath. Nocturne looked at her.

“Well? Do you think we should go talk to her?”

Shadowheart stared at the cold stone floor. She thought of the woman’s song, floating softly over the moving waters. Then she thought of a pale, bloody hand, gripped around the hilt of a dagger, carving and taking, guided by a hunger so deep it could never be sated.

She sighed. She knew of loss, and of letting go.

“No. I was wrong. I don’t think there’s anything here for us to fix.”

Shadowheart and Nocturne put everything back the way it had been, and then walked back out into the sunshine. The apple slices were crawling with wasps. Nocturne made a face, and tossed the apples over the railing, into the canal.

The water shimmered golden in the late afternoon sun, and the bridge was bustling with people. The Lullaby Lady had already gone.

"Odd, isn't it. My parents never sang me lullabies - yet I've got one wormed in my mind, clear as day."

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