Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Frankly, Jamie hasn't the first clue what the fuck is going on.

They get the distinct impression that Shadowheart doesn't, either. That helps.

"Okay, explain this to me again?" they say, kicking an errant stone from their path. "We're walking through the city of crime and chaos after dark to go look at the moon because…?"

Shadowheart looks over her shoulder at them. Two steps ahead, as usual.

"Don't pretend you don't love wandering these streets at night, Jamie. Danger's your middle name."

Jamie laughs and sticks their hands in their pockets. "True. Well, not really. It's Shayne."

"We are observing the Solstice, Jamie Shayne, by attending a holy Selûnite moon ritual. The moon is the most important element. It can't be done during the day."

"Right, the moon. Because… Selûne said so?"

Shadowheart tries to hide her smile, but Jamie catches it. Jamie will always catch it.

They grin back, but rein in the urge to joke about it. Shadow's enjoying her new Very Devout And Stoic Moon Priestess act, and Jamie's not about to take that from her.

"We went over this. The Solstice is the shortest day and longest night of the year," Shadowheart says, then stops short. She cocks her head, thinks. "Turn here."

Jamie nods and pivots, following her down Portyr Lane. "The longest night. That sounds kinda Sharran, doesn't it?"

"It would be if the point were celebrating the night," she says. "But the point is celebrating the cycle, not the darkness. The days leading up to the longest night are a time to reflect. And after the Solstice itself, each night begins to shorten again. It's rebirth. New beginnings."

Jamie gives her a moment, then, letting the concept linger. A new beginning. Just about everyone they know could use one of those. Shadowheart for sure.

She's gazing up now at the sky, twisting the silver bracelet on her wrist absently. The moon sits low but bright above them.

"This way," Shadowheart says suddenly, taking a harsh left turn onto Stelmane Street. Interesting.

"I mean, I fuck with the moon. They say I'm a moon elf, you know, so I've got moon-blood or something. But I've never done a Solstice. How do Selûnites celebrate it?"

Shadowheart takes a small breath and scans the alley she's just turned into. She steps back, retreats back to Stelmane Street, and speeds up.

"Well, we'll reflect on how we'd like to renew ourselves this year. We'll consider where we've been. Where we'll go. There will be incense, prayer, wine…"

She stops again under a street light and fidgets with a strand of white hair. The sun's finally sunk from the sky, and the lantern casts an eerie shadow.

Jamie can't watch this in good conscience anymore. "Shadow?"

"Yes?"

"Where's this happening, exactly?"

For a moment, Shadowheart says nothing. Then she sighs and faces them.

"The first step of the ritual is… finding your way to the ritual," she says quietly. "The other Selǔnites sent only vague instructions. We're meant to find it by the light of the moon and the pull of the divine."

Jamie covers their grin with a bandaged hand, but she catches it anyway. Shadowheart will always catch it.

"Don't you laugh at me, Jamie Shayne Cross."

Jamie holds their hands up. "I'm not, I'm not! It just makes me feel a little better that I'm not the only one who's never done this properly before. That's all."

Shadowheart bristles slightly, but relaxes after scrutinizing Jamie's expression for a moment.

"I'm serious," they say. "It's nice. Both of our first real Solstice, together. Lost. Late. It's very us."

"I suppose it is. I can hardly imagine more appropriate company to be lost and late with."

"Fuck yeah," Jamie says. "Now c'mon, tell me those 'vague instructions' you got. I'm gonna navigate by the light of these lanterns. Selǔne will understand."

Chapter Text

Jamie's Street Rat Rule #547: Bandages do not keep your hands warm in snowy cities. Get gloves.

They're inventing that rule a little too late, if their numb fingers have anything to say about it.

This is probably the coldest Jamie's ever been outside. It doesn't snow in the Moonsea. It... smogs, if that's a thing. It chokes. Jamie spent night after lonely night on its streets and caught a cough, not a chill.

Turns out Baldur's Gate dumps down snow like it's going out of style.

That's a drag, because Jamie's walking home from Shadowheart's moon party in nothing but a plain tunic and pants stolen straight from Astarion's wardrobe. Stylish, yeah, but warm? Not even close.

Jamie's gonna get back home and return these deeply impractical pants before Star even notices they're missing. Jamie would've asked before borrowing his stuff, but he was luxuriating in a post-feeding trance by sundown. He looked so fucking sweet, curled up under the quilt Halsin gave them as a housewarming gift, belly full and face blissful. Jamie couldn't bear to wake him.

Anyway.

Jamie turns left into the beautiful Bloomridge neighborhood. They sound out the street signs and tavern names as they go, the way Gale's been teaching them. Practice makes perfect or something.

Finally, they reach it, sitting cozy along the Inner Gate that separates the Upper and Lower Cities: home.

Gods, what a concept.

The Cross-Ancunín townhouse (or Ancunín-Cross, depending on who you ask) isn't huge. It's got two bedrooms and wide windows and lots of blackout curtains. But it's the biggest place Jamie's ever lived and the safest place Astarion's ever lived, which makes it more than perfect.

And hells, it's theirs. Some patriars donated it when they learned Star and Jamie had nowhere to go after saving the city. Jamie nearly cried the night the Grand Duke handed them the key.

(He handed it to Jamie, mind, which is why it should obviously be called the Cross-Ancunín townhouse. Fuck the alphabet.)

Jamie shivers and twists the doorknob with ice-cold fingers. Nothing.

They twist it again, but it sticks in the sheet of frost crusting on the metal. With a grunt, Jamie readies a Fire Bolt to just melt it away, but it's so cold that their magic's gone slow, sluggish in their veins.

Jamie's seconds away from breaking into their own house with a blood-magic blade when it's pulled open from inside. They hide the knife behind their back like a kid caught stealing and glance up.

"Hey, Star." Damn, their teeth are chattering.

Astarion's eyes are half-lidded, half-awake, but they widen when he truly sees Jamie.

"Gods below, darling, get in here," he says. He gathers them by the shoulders and pulls them gently inside, then takes the blade they thought they were hiding. Jamie doesn't even mind: There's a fire going, they realize, and it immediately starts defrosting their limbs.

Astarion holds them close with one arm and reaches for the door with the other to fasten the lock.

Then the second lock.

And the third.

He stops himself then, a little sheepish, and brings both arms back around Jamie. "That was an abysmal attempt at breaking and entering, my love. I heard you all the way upstairs."

"That's not fair," they mumble into his chest, into the soft sweater he slept in. "You've got bat hearing or whatever."

Astarion chuckles and presses a kiss to the top of their head. "You aren't wrong. What you are is freezing, and I thought I was meant to be the cold one. Have I misunderstood something?"

"Was colder out there than I thought it would be."

"Clearly," Astarion says, but his voice is soft. "Come sit by the fire. I prefer you warm and healthy. You're so much tastier that way."

"That's the reason, huh?"

"Oh, of course," he says lightly, running his hands over their arms. "Whatever else would it be?"

Jamie grins and allows him to lead them into the sitting-room. They recline on the sofa, close their eyes, and let the heat relax their muscles. There's a throw blanket lying here half-folded, and they pull it around their shoulders. Feeling returns slowly to their fingers, to their face, to the core of them where they felt frozen.

It takes them a moment to realize Star hasn't sat down with them.

They glance around. Has he gone back upstairs to their bed? Or over to the downstairs bedroom, which he's been using as a sewing space? No... no, he's around the corner in the kitchen.

Wait. Astarion's in the kitchen.

He's not fussing over the wine rack or digging into the cupboard Gale enchanted to stay cool for blood storage. He's just standing over the woodstove, hands busy but blocked from Jamie's view.

"Whatcha doing, sweet boy?" Jamie calls.

"Vampire business, darling. Very important and extremely secret. You just sit there and warm up."

"That's... mysterious."

"Yes, we must cultivate an air of mystique, hm?"

If it were the tiniest bit warmer, Jamie would march over and figure out exactly what their beloved is up to. But it's not, so they don't.

Instead, they bundle up in the plush blanket like a creature in a cocoon. They breathe deep into the fabric. It smells like Astarion, like citrus and rosemary and aged brandy—like being old, but in a good way—like home and safety and all that stuff.

They wonder vaguely whether this is the blanket from Wyll or the one from Tara and Gale. They can hardly keep track of the gifts their friends have given them in the past year. That's a gift in itself, huh?

Jamie's nearly asleep, lulled by the warmth and the comfort, when they feel a slight depression in the sofa. They force their eyes back open. Astarion's sitting beside them with a steaming mug in his hand, a leg crossed over his knee like someone very proper, but his hair is still mussed from sleep. He seems almost shy. 

"I've, ah, made you tea," he announces. "Or I've attempted to. I can't speak to its flavor, but it's fresh and piping hot, if nothing else."

Jamie's heart swells. Astarion made them tea. Astarion fired up the woodstove, found the tea leaves, and made them a hot drink on a cold night that he can't even taste.

It's no longer strange for Astarion to do kind things—there's a reason Jamie calls them "sweet boy"—but he's never done anything that involves food. (Well, tea isn't food. Jamie can hear Gale saying so in his Teacher Voice. But it's in the same realm.)

"Whoa, thanks, Star," Jamie says. "That's so nice of you."

They wrap their hands around the mug and shiver, not from the cold this time but from the warmth, from the kindness and the care.

"Don't thank me until you've tried it," Astarion says, looking away. "It could taste of ash. That's what I thought of it, anyway."

Jamie blows on the hot liquid and takes a small sip. They didn't expect it to taste like ash, but they didn't expect this, either. It tastes like winter itself, like vanilla and spices and some kind of dried berry. It's one of the best drinks Jamie's ever drunk.

"Astarion, this is incredible. Thank you, seriously," they say.

Star looks surprised and relieved in equal measure. "Well, it must be good, if you're using my proper name."

"It really is." Jamie takes another, larger sip, both to prove it and because they want it. "Where'd you get this blend?"

"Jaheira brought it by a few nights ago," Astarion says, watching them with intense vampiric focus as they drink. "I never suspected that living so close to the High Harper would have its perks."

Jamie snorts. "Please. You love Jaheira."

"'Love' is a strong word."

"You at least love that she's the butt of the 'old-person' jokes instead of you when she's around."

"Mm. Yes, at least that."

"Even though you're older than her."

"Shut up and drink your tea," Star says, but he's smiling enough that Jamie can see the points of his fangs.

They do, in fact, shut up and drink their tea, leaning against him. He welcomes them by resting a slender hand on their chest.

"I can feel you warming up," he says quietly. "Are you feeling better?"

"I really am," they say. "You know, I could get used to this. Normally I'm the one giving you a drink."

They grin and tap the side of their neck Astarion most often bites (only three times in a tenday now, since the anemia incident. Doctor Dalyria's orders.)

"What kind of partner would I be if I didn't return the favor every once in a while?" Astarion pauses to adjust the blanket, bringing it higher on Jamie's torso. "I'd like to repair your coat as well, so next time you traipse off into the wilderness with our dear moon witch, you won't come home to me frozen solid."

"Oh, Star, for real? That'd be amazing! I've had that thing for ages."

"I say this with all the love in my unbeating heart: I can tell."

"Yeah, it's been falling apart. That's why I had to quit wearing it. Didn't want it to give up on me for good."

"It's nothing I can't fix," Astarion says gently. "Consider it my Solstice gift to you, since we're apparently observing now like good little Baldurians."

"Gods, you're sweet." Jamie adjusts the blanket now, too, pulling a bit of it over Astarion's lap. He repositions to let it cover him. "What'd I do to deserve you?"

"Oh, nothing dramatic. All one has to do to gain my affections is simply murder my abuser and save the world from illithids."

Jamie laughs now. Their body feels warm and loose for so many more reasons than just this incredible tea.

"I love you, Star."

"And I you."

For a moment, that's all there is. Just Jamie, and Astarion, and tea, and a blanket from a friend.

But then Astarion sits up out of nowhere.

"Hey! Are those my trousers!?"

Chapter Text

Bang bang bang.

Jamie groans and rolls over, burying their face in the pillow Astarion insisted on wrapping in silk (for his curls, apparently). They stayed up with him playing cards and drinking tea until the wee hours, and then an hour more sharing glasses of red. 

Well, Star had the red. Jamie had a Baalor Ale or two. And they both cheated their asses off at cards and argued good-naturedly until Jamie passed out in his lap. 

A badass evening, all around.

BANG BANG BANG BANG.

"Is that you, Karlach?" Astarion calls from downstairs. Jamie hears him scamper towards the front door much faster than his typical saunter. 

"What's our poor door done to deserve this beating? Stand down, darling, gods below."

Jamie can't hear Karlach's reply, but they can hear Astarion clicking the complicated locks open one after another. When it finally swings open, it's chaos. Perfect, Karlach-coded chaos.

There's some shuffling, some bumbling, the sound of Karlach saying something joyful and Astarion saying something muffled but vaguely frantic. Jamie perks an ear up. It is just Karlach, right? Star's safe down there? 

"Sorry, sorry!" Karlach says to Astarion. "Told myself I would ask first. Lemme try again: Can I hug you?"

"...alright, briefly. But don't bloody squeeze me this time! You'll wrinkle the blouse."

Jamie grins into the pillow. 

Right, today's the day Karlach's gonna teach them about Solstice bells. They're looking forward to helping hang cute little bells throughout the Outer City neighborhoods, to bring some cheer to a place that doesn't always have it. But... but the bed is so soft, and so warm, and it smells just like Astarion's pomade, and they could stay here forever. Or at least a few more hours. 

Not today. 

There's the sound of feet on stairs, and the bedroom door swings open with unbelievable force. 

Before Jamie can react, someone warm and heavy launches herself onto the bed. Jamie yelps and dives deeper under the covers. 

"Rise and shine, Jay! We got bells to put up!"

"I'm rising and shining, I swear."

"Is this what rising and shining looks like in fancy-shmancy Bloombridge?" 

Astarion arrives now, just a few feet behind, and Jamie hears him lounge against the wall. "Sorry, my dear," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "I couldn't stop her."

"Damn right you couldn't," Karlach says. "I'm on a mission. Up and at 'em, Cross! We've got places to be!"

"I'm up and at 'em right now. Just look at me."

"All I can see of you is, like, three strands of hair and one of your little half-elf feet. Don't make me tickle it, soldier. You know I'll do it."

She leans over, but Jamie rolls away before she can attack.

"Oh shit—oof—"

They miscalculated.

They're falling. 

And now they've crashed to the floor still wrapped like an infant in the duvet. 

It's hard to say whether Karlach or Astarion laughs harder. 

"Just leave me here," Jamie fake-moans, pulling the duvet off their face just enough to see. "I live here now. On the floor. I'm just a creature."

"Oh, lovely!" Astarion teases. "I'll get the whole bed to myself. Never again will I fight for my life dodging your flailing limbs." 

Jamie's about to point out that it's him who tosses and turns, but they don't, because probably there's more to it that doesn't need to be unpacked on this hungover, Solstice-season morning. 

"Come on, creature," Karlach says. She's cross-legged on the bed in a new outfit Jamie swears they saw on Astarion's sewing table a few weeks ago. She holds up a mug. "I saw this coming when Shaddy got home last night. That party went fucking late. So I brought you an Avernus-tested, Karlach-approved hangover cure."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yup. Coffee with a healthy dose of something special. You can't say Mama K never does anything for ya!"

"Now we're talking. Karlach, you're an angel."

"Damn right I am. Now get off the ground, get situated, and meet me outside in five, yeah? Or I'll drink it all myself."

"You got it, soldier," Jamie says with a mock salute. 

Astarion clicks his tongue. "I haven't finished mending your coat yet, Jamie. You'll need to borrow one of mine."

"Aw, don't worry, Fangs," Karlach says as she passes him and heads back downstairs. "I'll keep them warm out there."

"You'd better," Astarion says.

Seven minutes later, Jamie's on the front stoop in one of Astarion's coats he dressed them in personally. Karlach, true to her word, did finish a third of the coffee, but there's enough left for Jamie to chase off their hangover with caffeine and what turns out to be Chultan Fireswill. 

"Alright, soldier, follow my lead," Karlach says. She thrusts into Jamie's hands a box that jingles pleasantly, and they start down the long road through the city. 

It's not as cold today as it was last night, especially sticking close to Karlach. The city's alive, the food smells wafting from taverns and the street vendors setting up stalls. Jamie and Karlach chat about everything, about her Shadowheart and their Astarion, about holiday gift ideas and a certain scholar who's helping Jamie finally learn to fuckin' read. They read at least six signs out loud just to show off, and Karlach applauds after each one. 

She starts explaining the bells ritual once they get closer to the Outer City.

"So the thing is, when you hang 'em on the doors of folks' houses, it's supposed to keep out bad spirits and bring in good ones," she says as they enter Brampton. The gate that leads outside, actually named the Cliffgate, waits just ahead. 

"Literal spirits, like ghosts?" Jamie asks. 

"I guess so," Karlach says, smiling more as the Cliffgate draws nearer. "I think it's also about vibes, though. The bells are light and bright, so they keep away what's dark and evil. Or maybe they... guide it, instead. Guide it into being something better. Not everything wandering at night is necessarily bad."

"So... not alcohol spirits."

"Well, nobody said you can't have both."

Jamie downs the final swig of coffee-and-fireswill as they pass the Harborside Hospital. Is Dalyria working today? Jamie can't tell walking by. They'll have to drop by soon and see her. 

"I like that," they say quietly. "The idea that some people leave out little lights to guide the way for whoever's lost. That's really something."

"Yeah! My parents and I used to hang bells all over our neighborhood when I was a kid. A lot of people were older, or they traveled for work and were always tired. They didn't have the time, so, we helped out!"

"I can picture that," Jamie says with a smile, and they mean it. They imagine a tiny Karlach running barefoot through the street, laughing, jingling bells, doing everything she can to light the way. 

"And speaking of, oh man," full-grown Karlach adds. "Look what I brought!" 

Karlach stops dead in the middle of the street to root around in her pocket. Two halflings nearly crash into her and a very irritated drow nearly crashes into them, but Karlach doesn't seem to notice. (The drow stops like he wants to cause a scene, but Jamie gives him their best "I dare you" expression, and he thinks better of it.) 

After a second, she produces something small and silver that Jamie instantly recognizes. 

"Holy hells, is that Dolly, uh, Three-Times' bell?"

"Yeah, Dolly Thrice!" Karlach's volume rises as she gets more excited, and she starts walking faster towards the Cliffgate. Jamie has to half-jog to keep up. "Well, it was before we freed her."

"Totally. Yep. Yes. That is a thing 'we' did, as a group."

"Uh-huh, and you weren't against it at all."

"Loooook, I thought if we freed her we'd choke to death in Shar's fucked-up shadows!"

Karlach laughs and gives them what's supposed to be a friendly shoulder-punch, but to be honest, it almost knocks Jamie over. 

"It's all good, soldier. I let her go and everything worked out. But I kept the bell, though, for this exact reason." 

"You carried it all this time?" Jamie asks, rubbing their shoulder as discreetly as they can. 

"Course I did. It's a memory! Of our adventure, you know? Of us, of a light in the dark. We did something really, really good out there, back in Reithwin. I like remembering it. And I wanna remember it this Solstice." 

"That reminds me," Jamie says. "I'm seeing Halsin tomorrow. He's supposed to get here around lunch or something. I'll ask him how the town's doing."

"Probably fucking amazing with the bear looking out for it."

"Yeah, I think so too."

The conversation drops as they reach the gate. Jamie almost restrains themself from making snarky comments to the border guards, which is an improvement from last time when they ended up nearly spending the night in Heapside Prison. The Grand Duke had to remind the Fist who Jamie was to get them released (and then reminded Jamie how to "be polite to law enforcement," a lesson they ignored then and will continue ignoring forever and ever, amen).

But once they're through, they're through, and the strange steady peacefulness of the Outer City sits before them. 

"Which one?" Jamie asks. 

"Uh, as many as we can, soldier."

"No, I mean, which one's gonna get Dolly's bell?"

Karlach grins, not at Jamie but at the space before them. "Mine," she says at last. "Mine and Shadow's."

Jamie feels warmer now than they have all morning. "Good. You guys deserve it. That's beautiful." 

"I know, I'm a real romantic when I get the chance." She turns to them with a hand on her hip. "You know what else is beautiful, though?"

"Huh?"

"The breakfast plates they make at the 'Maid now. Wanna get some when we're done here?"

"Fuck yeah I do."

Chapter Text

Jamie can't say it's surprising that Halsin's favorite Solstice ritual involves leaving offerings out for animals. What is surprising is that he came all the way to Baldur's Gate—which is a city, famously a place that is not teeming with critters—to do it.

The most surprising part is that he wants to bring Jamie along.

Jamie, who spent their life on city streets. Jamie, who doesn't even have a pet yet. Jamie, whose most significant experience with nature was just a year ago in a certain wilderness.

Or maybe that's Halsin's point?

"I know I've said it once already, but I am honored that you would choose to accompany an old man during his old ritual, Jamie," Halsin says.

"You said that, like, six times," Jamie teases, still mostly listening to the crunch of dead leaves beneath their boots. "I'm the one who's honored, though. You came all the way back here to join the teach-Jamie-about-Solstice mission."

Halsin chuckles. "I fear all I truly did was rouse you from your warm home and the arms of your lover to drag you into Rivington's woods."

"Nah, man, you didn't drag anything. You literally waited till I had coffee and ate a 'good lunch' before we left, you let Star beat you at lanceboard, and now you won't even let me help carry that bag of trinkets." Jamie nods towards the burlap sack Halsin's holding like it weighs nothing at all. "Shadow and Karlach showed me their Solstices too, and theirs were definitely less gentle than this."

"Really? I'm shocked," the druid says, and he grins. "Do not let your expectations rise too high, however. My observance promises to be less exciting than our friends' likely were."

He stops then and crouches to the ground, placing the bag on the trail.

"Whatcha even got in there?" Jamie asks, bending down next to him. "Do I finally get to see?"

"Take one more guess before I reveal it," Halsin says, "but do try, this time. Your last two guesses were... uninspiring."

Jamie laughs. "Whaaat? I think 'a dead body' and 'runepowder' were great guesses."

Halsin's expression somehow manages to be both amused and concerned at the same time. Okay, this is probably a good time to try harder.

They watch the druid root around in his bag and strain their ears for any sounds that might reveal its contents. Some rattling, maybe? That could be anything... Do they smell peanut butter?

"Um. Gifts for the children of Baldur's Gate?" Jamie tries at last.

Halsin blinks. "For what reason would I bring the gifts into the woods, where there are, in fact, no children?"

They feel their ears droop just a touch.

"Jamie, you recall we're here to make offerings to the—"

"OH! The animals!" They bounce once on their heels. "It's food for them, isn't it?"

"There we go," Halsin laughs. He extends his arm to show Jamie what he's produced from the bag: a wooden box with metal mesh siding, painted bright, streaky, mismatched colors.

"I have several of these feeders," he says. "The children of Reithwin Town helped to build them. I told them the animals of Baldur's Gate needed gifts for the Solstice, and they wanted nothing more than to provide."

"Wait, that's really sweet," Jamie says quietly. They imagine Halsin's gentle hands showing Doni or Umi how to cut the wood without hurting themselves, guiding Zaki and Ide's hands as they hammer the nails. They picture his patient expression as Mirkon wanders off. His calm voice as he encourages the whole crew of kids to welcome newcomers.

Something in their chest aches, and they hate it, and so they ignore it.

Jamie reaches into the bag, their arms brushing against Halsin's as they pull out another box. This one is larger, painted green, and affixed with a carved wooden rabbit. This whittling's not Halsin's work; they know that immediately from the rough edges and imprecise shapes. Still, there's something about it that makes Jamie want to grab it and take it and put it on their shelf where nobody can touch it again.

"Those kids really made these?" they breathe without exactly meaning to. "Just to feed the animals in a different city?"

"They did," Halsin says, his kind eyes meeting Jamie's. "They are remarkable, those children. They are survivors, learners, and adventurers, and still they find it within themselves to be artists."

"This city wasn't even good to them," Jamie says, voice tight.

"Indeed, but that was hardly the fault of the animals," Halsin replies. He pulls out a pouch that smells like the stocked pantry in Gale's house, very graciously looking away from Jamie as they blink fast to clear the weird blur forming in their vision. What would it have felt like, they wonder, to be taught and held and cared for as a child?

"I've brought birdseed and nuts to stock them," Halsin's saying, "and we can gather some local perennial berries from the resources Nature has deigned to provide here..."

Once Jamie gets their shit together, sniffles, and rolls their shoulders like everything's normal, the work begins.

Halsin shows them how to scoop the right amount of food into each feeder and how to hang them to ensure the rats and squirrels don't get to it before the birds do. He does the actual hanging—it's much easier for him to reach the trees, obviously—which means Jamie gets to do the feeding. There's a simple, peaceful art to it, a rhythm, and it's not even disrupted by Jamie adding extra food when Halsin's back is turned.

Which it often is, because he's talking dreamily about all the little guys who will benefit from this offering. He names different kinds of birds that call the Outer City home. He discusses the creatures' migration patterns and food preferences, and how the Solstice affects their life cycles, too.

"I got a silly question, Halsin," Jamie says eventually, filling one of the last remaining boxes to the brim.

"I have become quite accustomed to such questions," he says. "Fire away."

"If I was an animal, or a druid who could Wild Shape, what do you think I'd be?" they ask.

Halsin actually stops what he's doing for a moment to ponder this. He looks down at Jamie, who's wearing a borrowed jacket and a messy hairstyle and pretending they aren't giving the animals more food to store, and he hums thoughtfully.

"Normally a druid engages with Nature and communes with the Oak Father to discover their true Wild Shape form. I would encourage self-exploration, were you asking seriously. But if I had to choose for you, I would settle on the raven."

"The raven?" That's not what they expected.

Normally people compare Jamie to a fox, a quick, sneaky little thing, or a moon-loving wolf or a poison-resistant snake. Once, Shadowheart called them a vampire bat. (Astarion took great offense.)

"Yes," Halsin says easily. "They move quickly and with advanced intuition. They are mischievous and prone to thievery, I'll admit, but they do not act without purpose. They are wiser than most give them credit for. The raven is brave, adaptable, and fierce. A scavenger when it needs to be. A hunter when it must be. A strategist at all times in between. And they store food away for later, as well."

That blur is coming back to Jamie's vision. So weird. They'll have to get that checked out.

"I guess that does sound like me," they say, and they try to grin convincingly, but Halsin does not seem convinced. Damn druids.

"It's only natural to feel your emotions more strongly when outdoors," Halsin tells them. "Do not be ashamed of it, little raven. You should feel free to express those sentiments."

Jamie sniffles and laughs at the same time, and it's a weird, watery sound that isn't exactly part of their persona. But Halsin doesn't seem to mind. Halsin doesn't seem to care the slightest about personas. He just smiles sagely and starts returning the few errant nails and berries to his bag.

Jamie bends back down and helps him do it.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

It's not that Jamie doesn't appreciate what their friends are doing, but it is nice to have a break.

They're visiting Wyll and his father tomorrow for a traditional (meaning "dull," according to Astarion) Solstice dinner, but today's a day off. A day without celebration or ritual or the unbearable strangeness of thinking too much.

Jamie's lying upside-down on the sofa, halfway through today's chapter of Adventures on the Sea of Fallen Stars, when a Sending spell rings through the townhouse so loud they drop the book on their face.

MEET ME AT OPEN HAND TEMPLE.

ARRIVE BEFORE MIDDAY MEAL.

ARM YOURSELF. WE HAVE BUSINESS.

Well. So much for a break.

They hear Astarion stir in the sewing space. He pops his head into the sitting-room, where Jamie's barely moved except to pull the book off their face and snap it shut.

"It sounds like someone wants you dead again, my darling," he drawls.

"Yeah, I heard," Jamie sighs. "It's cool, I was getting a little too comfortable with the townhouse-and-holidays life."

"I can't say I disagree. I'd accompany you, but Gale hasn't enchanted my sun-blocking parasol in a tenday."

"Ah, shit. I should've brought it with me last night and got him to juice it up. Sorry, Star."

"I'll see him again soon, I'm sure," Star says easily, sauntering over to lean against the sofa above Jamie. "Shall I fetch you one of my daggers?"

Jamie's about to tell him that they've got three of their own already tucked into their boots and a pants pocket, obviously, when a crackle of magic shoots through the house. Astarion ducks and curses, and Jamie goes for a blade, but that mechanical voice comes back:

I WAS TOLD TO ANNOUNCE MYSELF.

I AM LAE'ZEL OF CRÈCHE K'LLIR.

AND OF FAY-RUN.

Astarion crosses his arms. "Soooo, the gith turns on us at last. I can't say I'm surprised."

Jamie rolls off the couch and grins up at him from the floor. "Nah, you know her better than that. It's not me she wants to fight. I'm probably helping her ice somebody else. Y'know, she told me last time she visited that I'm a 'robust warrior' now."

"High praise, indeed."

"I am gonna borrow your jacket again, though."

Astarion smiles and offers a hand to help Jamie up. "Good. It doesn't look completely awful on you."

"Now that's high praise."

The walk to Rivington is less familiar than Jamie expects it to be.

They don't go often, to be fair. There's not much there for them, while there's a shit-load of work to do in Baldur's Gate. They've only been back once, to help the Gur people pack up and find their kids after Cazador got cooked.

It hasn't changed much. It's still calmer than the city, with more plants and animals than people, with simpler clothes and quieter air. Jamie befriends a sheep and three cats before they reach the steps to the Open Hand Temple.

The temple's nicer now, they realize. Someone built a shrine for Father Lorgan out front where visitors leave offerings of coin and fruit and prayer sheets. Even better, there's a sign that Jamie's pretty sure says kids can drop by every afternoon for a free meal.

Melvaunt could learn a thing or two from Rivington. Jamie's stomach makes itself known just remembering the hungry nights on its streets.

...And possibly because they forgot to break fast again today. Shit.

They slip quietly through the open door, a dagger tucked into their sleeve. They're not an idiot: The Sending spell seemed like it was from Lae'zel, but it's easy to fake those things, and they've seen no sign of the githyanki yet.

Everything seems safe, though, as they scan the main room. No Bhaalists or Banites or body-snatching psychos. No traps or tripwires. Just a cleric chatting with a pilgrim in one corner, someone praying in front of Ilmater's likeness, and... oh.

A group of children linger by the kitchen door. One of them's clutching a cloth doll to their chest. Another's drawing on a page probably torn from a hymnbook. A tiefling teenager looks she's trying to smoke a shoddy cigarette but can't get the hang of it. A small human boy's rousing an even smaller human girl from a nap in a pew.

Gods damn it, this was supposed to be a day off from emotions.

Jamie closes their eyes for the briefest second, tries to block out the image that's knocking on the door of their brain. It's themself, younger and thinner and... at least a little shorter, waiting in that line with them.

What if Jamie had a place like this as a kid? What if there was a safe place to draw or nap and ask for food without being thrown out or beaten or—

Fucking hells.

They swallow, stow their blade, and jam their hands in their pockets. Any coins in there? Yeah, a few. Good.

Jamie approaches the kids—not too fast, just trying to look more like one themself than like the well-meaning but clueless adults the kids are probably used to.

"Hey, guys," Jamie says, giving a stupid wave they immediately regret. "Any of you seen a githyanki come through here today?"

The girl trying to smoke glances up, clearly assessing Jamie for all the right things: intent, experience, danger.

The smaller kids look to her, deferential.

"A what?" the girl asks, wary.

"A githyanki. Gith. They're people from the Astral Plane. They're skinny and, like, yellow. Armed to the teeth and then some."

"Like a alien?" asks the kid who was napping, rubbing her eyes.

"Technically," Jamie says, "but don't tell 'em that. They'll stab you. And they'd kinda be right, y'know?"

The girl giggles, and the teen with the cigarette tilts her head.

"I think I saw someone like that head into the kitchen," she says. "I never seen a sword that big in my life."

"It was glowin' gold!" adds the child with the doll. "Was scary."

"Sounds like the person I'm looking for," Jamie grins. They pull a few coins from their pocket and pass them to the leader. "Take care of 'em," they add, nodding to the younger ones.

"'Course," the girl says, eyes wide. "Thanks, saer."

Jamie nods and moves past the kids, stepping carefully over the drawing on the floor, towards the kitchen.

The door's ajar, so the reach out to push it the rest of the way, but it swings right back and nails them in the face.

They groan and jump back. That's twice they've taken a blow face-first.

"You would do well to keep your distance from doors that are in use."

Jamie glances between their fingers and grins despite the throbbing nose. "Lae'zel, it's you!"

"Correct," Lae'zel says with an imperious nod and a ghost of a smile. "My travels brought me back to the Sword Coast."

"I'm so fuckin' happy to see you!"

"I am grateful to walk these lands once more," Lae'zel says, "and to see its people. Some of them, at least."

"Like me?" Jamie grins.

"Perhaps," she says. "It appears you recall how to obey, to your credit. You did well to arrive on time."

Her voice is clipped and cold as it always is, but Jamie knows better than to let that fool them.

"Come, ra'stil," she says, brushing past them. "It is as I said: We have business."

Jamie pulls their blade back out and falls in line behind her, half-jogging to keep up as they pass the children and leave the temple.

"Look, I'm game for this, but you gotta give me some details, Lae," Jamie grunts. "Who are we killing? Where're they at? Is somebody after you?"

Lae'zel looks over her shoulder like Jamie's doing something strange and maybe gross.

"I do not intend to kill today," she replies. "Why do you draw your weapon when we have no enemy before us?"

"What?" Jamie stops now, and irritation flickers over Lae'zel's face, but she pauses too. "Wait, okay. You told me we have business."

"We do."

"But we're not killing anyone?"

Lae'zel narrows her eyes and lifts her head imperiously. "Some missions require nonviolence. I would think a hero who ousted Shar's shadows, freed a city from illithid menace, and planted the seeds of githyanki liberation should know this."

Jamie can't decide if this is funny or annoying.

"Why'd you tell me to come armed, then?"

Lae'zel actually shrugs. "I said I do not intend to kill today. There are many who would change my plans. By asking inane questions, perhaps."

Point taken. It's time for Jamie's Street Rat Rule #13: Know when to shut the fuck up.

"Alrighty then. Lead the way."

"I shall."

And she does. Still too fast, especially for someone toting a gods-damned silver sword on her back, but Jamie keeps up and the walk isn't much further from there.

They recognize the location as they crest a small hill: the former site of the Gur camp. Last time Jamie was here, they were convincing Ulma and her gang to 1) get off Astarion's back and 2) give their own kids a chance to live. They even helped the tribe pack their shit and drew them a map, by hand, of safer paths through the Underdark.

Astarion hadn't said much, but he'd hugged and held Jamie for at least an hour straight when they got home that night.

Lae'zel doesn't say much as she turns into the campsite. She heads straight into the little barn where the Gur once slept and pulls open a chest that looks heavier than Jamie's whole body.

She pulls a pouch from it, a blue burlap one with an orange ribbon tying it closed.

Jamie cocks their head.

"I require your expertise," Lae'zel says. She shifts her weight, and it's the closest Jamie's ever seen her to nervous. "I am told this season is a celebration of the Solstice on the Sword Coast."

"Yeah, it is, but I'm not exactly an expert," Jamie says carefully. "Street kids don't really celebrate it."

"That is where my problem lies," Lae'zel says. "I have procured an item for the youngling, Yenna. I do not know the custom around giving it to her. I have stored it here in the meantime so she does not stumble upon it early."

For a second, Jamie's stunned, blindsided, wondering if they've misheard. They open their mouth and close it again without saying anything, then clear their throat and try their best.

"You... you got a gift for Yenna?"

"I did." Lae'zel sits lightly on the closed chest and looks away. "She wrote to me after my departure from Baldur's Gate. She was grateful to me for protecting her from the shapeshifter Orin that night."

"And you wrote back?" Jamie imagines Lae'zel and Yenna becoming extraplanar pen pals. There's probably nothing funnier, or weirder, in the world.

"Yes," Lae'zel says. "We have exchanged several letters. I understand she has taken residence at the Open Hand Temple. She is an apprentice chef now."

"Aw hells, that's perfect for her," Jamie says, bouncing as warmth floods them. "Were you visiting her just now, in the kitchen?"

"I saw the youngling and her teacher, the cook Donnick, in the temple kitchen. I wish to give her a 'gift' to support her training," Lae'zel says, turning the pouch over in her hands. "But I do not know what accompanies the gift-giving custom. What I do know is that Yenna does not have many possessions of her own. I am told this situation may necessitate a delicate hand."

It finally sinks in then. Lae'zel's asking Jamie for help not because Jamie knows about Solstice, and not because she knows a thing about it either; she's asking because Jamie knows exactly what it's like to be a street kid without a damn thing to your name. Because Jamie knows what they wanted, what they craved more than fresh air or hot food when they lived on the streets: to be cared for by the grown-ups around them.

"Gods, Lae. That's so fucking s—"

Lae'zel holds up a hand. "I have already been informed that this is 'sweet' and 'kind' and 'good.' I do not wish to hear it again. I fear I will fall ill if I endure a moment more of this saccharine praise."

Jamie laughs again, letting it bubble freely out of them. "I gotcha, I gotcha. Let's go back to the temple. We can plan on the way, okay? It'll be easier than you think."

The kitchen's buzzing when Jamie and Lae'zel return. Yenna's standing on a stack of books so she can reach the wood-stove, stirring a frankly enormous pot of soup, while Brother Donnick holds brightly colored ceramic bowls for her to fill. The kids have moved into the kitchen while they wait to be served, hands outstretched and mouths impatient.

The whole place smells like care, like spices and herbs and someone giving a damn.

Jamie's stomach and chest both tighten.

"Yenna!" they say, and the girl looks up with bright, surprised eyes.

"Jamie!" she cries. She hands her spoon to Donnick and ambles over with the kind of speed only kids are capable of, wrapping her arms around Jamie's waist. "Auntie Lae said you'd be here!"

Jamie glances over Yenna's head at Lae'zel, who is inspecting the wallpaper like it's suddenly become exceptionally interesting and avoiding Jamie's gaze. That's okay. They will never forget "Auntie Lae" as long as they live.

They ruffle Yenna's hair. "Hey, kid. It's good to see ya. You cooked this yourself?"

Yenna steps back and nods so hard Jamie thinks her head might pop off. "Brother Donnick's sharing all his best recipes with me," she says. "He says I'm almost ready to prepare the midday meals by myself now."

Donnick, who's started handing the kids their soup, looks over at Jamie with a gentle, cleric-core smile.

"Yenna's humility shines through," he says. "She neglects to tell you that the program to feed Rivington's hungry children was an idea entirely her own."

"Holy shit, Yen! That's so cool of you," Jamie says. Donnick only glares a little bit at the curse, which is pretty cool of him, too.

Yenna giggles. "I wanted to do something good with the skill I have," she says. "Just like you and Auntie Lae and Star and everyone else did good with your skills. I want to take care of people like you all took care of me when I was alone and scared."

It takes every bit of strength Jamie's ever had in their life not to fucking bawl in this church right now.

Every fucking bit.

They're probably gonna do it later, at home, in bed, maybe while in the bath so they can pretend it was just water sounds.

They take a deep breath and bend down to Yenna's level. "You're amazing, kid," they say. "And you know, Lae'zel's brought you something because of that. It's a gift for the Solstice. Something just for you, not for everybody."

Yenna's eyes go wide. "I've never had a Solstice gift before," she says quietly.

"I didn't get one for a long time, either," Jamie tells her. "We all gotta start somewhere."

Lae'zel steps forward and offers Yenna the blue bag.

"You show great skill in the kitchen, but we must never grow complacent with our ability," she says as Yenna starts undoing the ribbon. "We must strive to grow and improve so that we continue to perform tasks well and efficiently. This gift will allow you to do that."

Yenna pulls the gift out of the bag, and Jamie realizes with a jolt that they absolutely, positively, 100% should have asked Lae'zel what it was before they agreed to do this.

They should have known.

"A dagger!" Yenna shrieks, smiling so wide Jamie forgets to be concerned. "Thank you, Auntie Lae! I can chop even bigger vegetables with this!"

Lae'zel looks confused, but only for a moment.

"It can be used to prepare meals, and in time, you can learn to wield it to protect yourself and behead your enemies."

"BUT," Jamie adds quickly as Brother Donnick glares, "that's a later thing. A much, much later thing, when you're a lot bigger and maybe not even then! For now, stick with soup. You're really good at it."

"And getting better," Yenna says with a grin. "Do you want to taste the soup I made today? There's some leftover, right, Brother Donnick?"

"There is," Donnick says, watching warily as Yenna holds the new blade in her hand. "Why don't you sit that knife down, and we can serve our guests together?"

Yenna tilts her head. "Brother Donnick, didn't anyone ever teach you not to leave blades lying around? I need to stick it in my boot, or, um, something..."

Jamie laughs so loud they don't even hear what Lae'zel says next.

That's probably for the best.

Chapter Text

"Okay, can you remind me one more time? I'm fuckin' sweating here."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

*From the mouth of one very intoxicated, still-quite-ill Jamie Cross, transcribed in the elegant hand of one Astarion Ancunín...

...with the assistance of the Sorcerous Transcription cantrip Gale created, because Jamie talks at the speed of a behir...

I wanna start with a... what's that word again, lawyer boy? "Disclaimer," yeah!

I want to start with a disclaimer: I didn't get high on purpose. I'm high because our druid grandma gave me some stuff for my throat. (What? Okay, fine, my druid grandma, but she's totally yours too no matter what you say.) Her tea makes me sleepy and loopy and weird, but it also makes me able to get out of bed and swallow properly and talk again, so I'll take it.

Whatcha writing? 'Kay, good. I thought you were writing about me. Like, writing down what I'm saying. ...No, I know you're not a spy. You could be one, though. You're a sneaky little nighttime guy. Fast as fuck, too, and also cute.

Anyway, I've been thinking about how I always call Jaheira my grandma. She's not actually my grandma, but she lets me call her that because I mean it, like, symbolically.

You are writing this down, aren't you?! Okay, you can do it, but make sure you write down that I just said "symbolically" because that was probably the biggest word I've said in months.

So Jaheira might as well be my grandma 'cause it's not like I have one, really, and Jaheira's all about building a family without necessarily being blood. I don't really have any family that's blood. I don't have parents, no siblings that I know of. I have no idea where I come from, you know? Everyone says I have to be a half-elf because of my ears and the way I'm built, and I fuck with that. I fuck with Corellon. But the moon elf part, everyone's guessing about it. It seems true enough, but I'll never know.

I'll never know who my parents were. Which one was the elf? Which one was the human? Which one of them gave me my purple eye and which one gave me my grey one? Did they smoke? I don't know. Sometimes I wonder if they're alive and they were just shit, or if they died when I was born and that's why I ended up in that hellhole orphanage. Probably they were shit, because the Moonsea is shit and most people there are shit. But mostly I don't think about them a lot. I don't have much to think about when it comes to them.

Hey, thanks for not looking sad about that. When I was talking to Karlach about this stuff, she got sad. But I'm not sad about it, because I don't know anything else. I'm just aware of it.

When I was calling Jaheira grandma, I realized that I'm kind of making my own family now.

Family gives you herbs that make you trip a little bit when you're sick. Family pretends they think you're annoying, or maybe they really do think you're annoying, but they love you anyway. That's Jaheira.

Family also shares things with you that are important. I don't mean "things" as in "items," but that, too, probably. I mean everyone's been showing me their Solstice. Shadowheart brought me to her first Selûnite moon ritual to celebrate it because she wanted me there! That's so important to her, and she wanted me there. 

And Karlach took me to her old neighborhood to keep up a tradition she literally did with her parents before they died! She was kinda making me a part of her family like that. We're gonna go to their wedding when they have one. We're gonna be in that wedding. If they don't put me in it I will rush the stage. No, I'm not joking! Mark my words! Write that down! 

Alright, moving on.

So then Halsin took me out into the woods to feed the animals, and he was telling me that it's okay to feel feelings and talk about them. That's what you're supposed to be able to do with family, right? Feel and speak even your worst and weirdest?

Gale of Waterdeep invites me over every tenday and gives me food and reads with me and lets me pet his cat. He wasn't a dick when I had a hard time at first, with the reading or the food. Remember when we were on the road and he had me do a taste-test because he wanted to cook what I liked and avoid what I didn't, but I didn't really know yet? Who does that shit besides your family?

Gods, and Lae'zel bullied me into helping her give Yenna that gift. She told me that she wanted to do it but wasn't sure the best way because gift-giving isn't really a thing for the gith. She felt comfy telling me that she didn't know what to do, even though she almost never feels comfy admitting when she's lost, because we're family. Family trusts each other!

Oh, and she and Yenna are literally pen pals! Yenna calls her Auntie!!

Sorry, sorry, inside voice. I gotcha.

Where was I? Wyll! Wyll, too. You heard him and his dad the other night, telling us it's okay to be whoever we are. I felt so accepted. Really safe. Wyll doesn't care that I don't know how to use the forks, and not even in a we'll-be-patient-while-you-learn way. It was a we-don't-care-if-you-learn-at-all way. Wyll understood that I'm not going to become the kind of guy who dresses up and acts right at fancy dinners, and that's family because family's supposed to understand you better than anyone.

Did you know Minty sent me a letter? Read it myself. She's coming up from the Underdark in a couple days. Said she's got "business" in the city and informed me that she'll be staying in our place. She didn't say what the business is, so I think she's just coming up because she knows we're all here together. She wants to be with us.

What? Oh, sweet boy, don't tell me you're still scared of Minthara. She loves you! Or likes you, at least. She's awesome. You worry too much.

Look, what I'm trying to say is that they all have their own ways of being family. They're not 'real' family, but I don't think it matters that we don't have the same blood. I think maybe it's better that we don't, because that means we're not hanging around each other just because we think we have to. We had to at the beginning when I found all you guys on that beach and around that Grove, because of the tadpole thing, but we didn't have to stick together after.

Especially you, Star. I haven't even talked about you, mostly because I'm not really sure how to get it all out. Like, I said how everyone understands me and makes space for me to just be myself, and you do it better than all of them. Sometimes I'll be really embarrassing with my nightmares or something, or I'll forget to eat all gods-damned day and then everyone's got to babysit me, and you're just like, "I'm here, darling." But you'll call me out, too. You'll challenge me. You don't just pretend I'm perfect. You help me be better. And you let me take care of you when it's you who needs it. And we have fun together, man, you're my best friend on top of the love stuff. I think that's what a family does, what your partner's supposed to be.

I know family is kinda a fucked-up concept for you, after everything. But you're so good at being mine.

Now I'm thinking about Dalyria. Hells, I can't wait to give her the present we got. I feel like she's my family now, too, in a way. Sister-in-law, I guess! Kidding, marriage is bullshit. We don't need rings to be what we are. I do feel sisterly about Dal, though. She pretends not to be thrilled when I pull up in the hospital to pester her during her shift, but I know better. She always asks about you, like, first thing. Don't roll your eyes, you care about her too, in your way. I know it's complicated. She really cares about you, though. And I do.

I care about all of you. It's not the passive way like how I care about the guy who runs the pub, where I don't want anything bad to happen to him but I don't feel like he's a part of my world. The others, I think I wouldn't be who I am or live the life I live the same way without 'em. When I think about who I am, I think of being a blood mage and a Guild rat and a Baldurian, but I also think about being Star's weird little husband-wife and being Jaheira's cub and being Karlach's soldier.

Are you still writing? Stop that and you can kiss me instead. Only if you want.

'Cause I'm adorable, that's why! You're focusing on that parchment way harder than you need to... Oh, I see: I made you all misty by bein' real sweet and real high.

Dude, we should get a cat...

Addendum: I did, in fact, kiss them. Repeatedly.

Chapter Text

"My sweet? My love? My half-elf disaster?"

Jamie stops spinning as Astarion strides into the kitchen looking deeply unimpressed. "Yeah?"

"Get back into bed this instant or so help me gods, I'm going to fucking kill you."

Jamie is not even close to the bed. Jamie is downstairs, dancing to no music just because they can. Honestly, Astarion should be thrilled. They're up! Their fever's down! Blood-mage constitution and Jaheira's herbal remedies killed their stupid little sickness in three days flat, and Jamie's so restless from "resting" their legs are starting to ache.

"Star, I've been in bed for seventy-two hours straight," they say. "Some of us have circulation, and mine is literally choking."

"No need to rub it in."

Astarion watches Jamie as they kick and twist, wearing the exact expression Jamie pulls when they see an interesting bug—or like the one Minthara uses when she looks at Gale. His pointy ears are tilted halfway down, his eyes narrowed slightly, his head tilted just so.

But Jamie doubles down and dances harder, if that's even a thing. They've just remembered to involve their shoulders in dance, and maybe their hips, too. Like this, maybe?

Star makes a noise in his throat that could either be groaning or laughing or both but pretending it's neither.

"Darling, please," he says, a smile playing at his lips. "Jaheira said—"

"Jaheira said I'd get better soon, and she was right!" Jamie interrupts him and nearly knocks the carafe of water off the counter with a flailing elbow. "I'm not gonna die, Star. You worried a little cold is gonna take me out, after everything that didn't?"

Astarion crosses his arms. "You know full well this is a little more than a cold," he drawls. "But no one said anything about being worried. I'm simply asking you to rest so you heal soon and I can sink my teeth into you without filling my throat with your plague."

"I'm sick of being in bed!"

"You're sick, period!"

"Barely, anymore," Jamie says, though they've got to admit, at least to themself, that they are starting to feel out of breath. Their chest might still feel kind of... pressurized. "I feel fine."

Astarion runs a hand through his hair. "Your 'grandmother' said the moment you say you're fine is the moment you most need to be in bed. The medicines made you feel better, but your body remains ill. She told me to tie you down if I must," he adds with a smirk. "Such a naughty thing, even at her age."

Jamie twists an ankle in their joyful flurry of movement, and Astarion cringes at the cracking sound it makes. "She was definitely joking," they say.

Star waves a hand. "Oh, I'm certain she was, but who says I am? I'm quite handy with a rope."

Jamie's about to say rope is too rough and they know he prefers silk when a knock on the door makes them jump.

Astarion braces. It's subtle, but Jamie catches it and stops thrashing dancing.

"Are we expecting a visitor?" Astarion asks, voice low.

"Don't think so," Jamie says, trying to sound as breezy as they can, "but folks stop by here all the time. It's okay."

Star goes quiet but looks wary as Jamie half-walks, half-dances over to the door. They start opening the many locks he's installed and try to remember if anyone's supposed to come over today.

"Oh, maybe it's Minty," they mouth to him over their shoulder.

Star looks even warier. Jamie catches his gaze flicker towards the knives in the sitting-room.

But when Jamie finally pulls the door open, it's neither Minthara nor any of the threats Astarion imagines (or that dwarf who keeps coming around asking about "taxes").

"Shadow!" Jamie grins. "And look who you brought! Hey, Scratch."

They bend down to pet the dog, who's bouncing nearly as much as Jamie just was. The little guy's coat is shining white and smells less like Dog and more like lavender. Scratch nuzzles against Jamie's hip while they rub his head.

"Ah, Shadowheart," Astarion says from the sitting-room behind them, obviously more relaxed now. "Our white-haired friend and her white-furred beast. Come in, darling."

"Hi, you two," Shadowheart says. "I was taking this one for a walk and ended up in the neighborhood. Thought I'd drop by and see how you're faring, Jamie."

"I'm thriving," Jamie says, and then immediately coughs into their sleeve. "Uh, good to see you!"

They step to the side to let her pass, but Scratch bounds past her and darts into the townhouse before she can.

"No, do not let that mutt indoors—dog, get back outside—! Oh, hells," Astarion sighs, giving in as Scratch runs up to him. He pretends to resist petting the dog for all of three seconds before he leans over and reaches behind Scratch's ear.

Shadowheart laughs as she closes the door behind her and removes her coat. She hands it to Jamie for some reason, as if Jamie has some plan for it. They drop it on the floor by the counter and follow her into the sitting-room, where Astarion's telling Scratch in a very stern voice not to think about climbing onto the sofa.

Scratch is thinking about it so hard Jamie can almost hear it.

"It's alright, Astarion, he's just had a bath," Shadowheart says brightly, taking a seat in the armchair.

"I was wondering why he smells like an apothecary," Astarion says. He lowers himself onto the sofa, still serving Scratch a warning look, then frowns and leans in a bit closer. "What's this?"

Jamie slinks into their sofa spot beside him, restless feet still tapping. Shadowheart's got that smile—the secretive one, that smirk that means she knows something you don't know, and she's proud of it. Jamie can't help but grin.

"What's what? Lemme see, Star," they say.

Astarion shifts to let Jamie move in. They see what he sees: a small bag clenched between Scratch's teeth. It's small, blue-and-white, and tied with a glittery silver ribbon.

"Give that here," they say to Scratch, reaching a hand out, and the dog immediately opens his jaw to deposit the bag.

The present, to be more accurate about it. He's brought them a present!

"Aw, what's this, Shadow?" Jamie asks.

The cleric gives an exaggerated shrug. "I wouldn't know," she says. "It's from Scratch, and he says you aren't to open it until the Solstice party." She pauses for a moment and laughs again. "Truth be told, I didn't know he'd brought it until we'd nearly reached your neighborhood. I actually think he was too excited to wait."

Jamie laughs too and reaches out again to pet Scratch with their free hand. "We'll open it at the party," they assure him. "You'll be there, right?"

Scratch barks enthusiastically and runs in a small circle, his wagging tall slapping Astarion's knees. Star only glares a little bit.

But Scratch doesn't stop after his excited circle. He turns again and again, then fixes Jamie with an expectant look and leaps into their lap without warning. Jamie's knocked back slightly against the sofa cushion.

"Holy shit, someone's in a good mood," they laugh.

"It's not Astarion," Shadowheart says.

"I just don't see why he insists on climbing atop the furniture!" Astarion moans. "And he's so energetic in the middle of the day! He's almost as wiggly as you've been, Jamie."

Shadowheart cocks a brow. "Jamie's been... wiggly?"

"Yeeees, they were wiggling all around the kitchen when you arrived. Like some sort of cute, delicious little worm."

Shadowheart snorts and says something that sounds suspiciously like "freak."

"Hey!" Jamie says, handing the gift to Astarion and guiding Scratch gently back onto the floor. "I wasn't wiggling, I was dancing!"

"Is that what you call it, darling? I rather thought you were seizing. I was considering whether it'd be worth it to take you to Heapside Hospital or if I should let you go gently into that good night right then and there."

Jamie stands next to Scratch and throws a hand over their chest like they've been mortally wounded. "Are you hearing this shit, Shadow? I'm an artist, and my vampire doesn't appreciate me at all."

Shadowheart hums and reaches into her bag. She finds Scratch's red ball after a second and offers it to Jamie.

"Well, Scratch appreciates you. He'll appreciate you even more if you take him outside. I've brought his ball—now you can both expend a little energy."

Jamie grabs the ball and gives both of these elvish bitches the best imitation of Star's put-upon look that they can.

"I see how it is. You guys are sending me out into the snow so you can talk shit about me, right?"

"We can talk shit about you while you're standing there, if you'd prefer," Shadowheart says easily.

Jamie grins and tosses the ball up into the air. Scratch bounds up to catch it and lands back on his paws with a thump and an excited whine. They can tell Shadow and Astarion have something else to discuss, something that brought Shadowheart all the way here from her home in the Outer City.

"Nah, me and the best boy have very important stuff to do," they say, heading for the door. "We'll see you guys when we're done wiggling."

"Take care," Shadow says with a cheeky wave.

"Put on a coat, darling, for gods' sakes!"

"Yeah, yeah," Jamie says. They grab Shadowheart's jacket from the floor where they left it and pull it around themself.

"C'mon, boy," they say to Scratch as they pop open the door, "let's go play some chase."