✵ Beautiful Baldur&#39;s Gate ✵

It had been a long road to Baldur's Gate. Bel had appeared where he'd left, at the Moonshae Isles, and had a number of awkward conversations with friends who he'd last seen over a years ago, but hadn't noticed he'd left. And, well, it was weird because Bel had grown a lot in that year and it meant having to explain it.

The group had largely been parting ways, since everyone but Sylvia (and Bel himself, at the time) had their stomach for adventure. Bel booked passage back to the mainland, and it wasn't until he landed in Waterdeep and prepared his trip down the coast that he'd started to realize his old instincts were off... a year in Caldera had meant he had forgotten what it was like being a drow on the surface of Faerun.

He'd known he'd come back for some very particular people, but that part was not one he was looking forward to. And people in cities seemed to be more open to the unlikely, including a drow trying to look like an ordinary traveler asking about a particular artificer leader.

(Bel had once threatened to go find the Ironhands and make a nuisance of himself until Barcus showed up, but it turned out not to be necessary. Whatever reasons humans thought he was asking about, it was considered not threatening to Barcus.)

Bel did feel jittery knocking on the door, still, as if this entire thing, Caldera included, might have been a dream and this was the test if it was real. Or else that he had gotten so lost and was about to be shooed away by a confused human servant. He'd already weighed the outdoor decor for signs of similarity to their house in Grey Ward. But he did knock, with his bag resting by his feet and the medallion Barcus had given him worn openly.

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It helps Barcus to have Satchel with him, as if she carried all his Calderan memories tucked beneath her collar. She's backup, and if he ever thought for a moment that his memories were false, a look at her slightly-crossed eyes would reassure him.

He has more than that, though. He has trinkets and books, pieces of strange stone and metal, gifts from friends. He has power at his fingertips, which he never had before. Here he has to be far more judicious with it. He can't go whipping up rubies out of nowhere, lest he destroy the economy. Still, he has the option, and it delights him.

He's sent messages to and from Caldera, but contact with Bel has eluded him for long enough that he's anxious by the time the drow appears, worried about where he might have landed when he returned to Faerun. A lot of bad things can happen on the road, and death is rather more permanent here than in Caldera.

The knock at the door is timed well. He was just putting breakfast dishes away, and the tapping sound is followed immediately by the galloping noise of Satchel tearing across the house and yowling loudly. She always likes visitors but this is uncharacteristic excitement, and it makes Barcus hurry a bit, because what if it means something?

The gnome looks slightly flustered as he opens the door, with the cat weaving around his legs, but the agitation falls away when he gets a look at Bel's very familiar face. His gaze drops to the medallion, and for a second he looks downright misty-eyed, before closing the gap between them (rrrrrooowww! Satchel protests, but moves out of the way) and pulling Bel into his arms, hugging with all his might.

"Findal," he says softly. "You found me."

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Bel reflexively crouches down to better hug Barcus, though at this point he's practically pulling the gnome into the air with the embrace. "I did. I'm sorry it took so long, love."

Because he hadn't realized how much he missed this until he was back. It still didn't feel entirely real because who was he to be so very lucky?

"Perhaps I should have sent a letter ahead, but I'm not convinced it would have arrived before I would."

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There may be a passerby or two on the street who do a brief double-take. A drow and a deep gnome hugging like long lost lovers is a rare sight, even in Baldur's Gate. Barcus doesn't care a bit, though. At this point, let them stare.

He'll have to be a little careful introducing Bel to the Ironhands, but it'll be fine in the long run. Barcus asks very little for himself, but his personal life is non-negotiable.

In the meantime, his heartbeat is fast against his ribs, and he makes a wordless, dismissive noise at the apology. "I'm just glad you made it safely."

He knew he would try, unless his memories were erased, but knowing something and seeing it happen are different things. It means a great deal for someone to go out of their way to come to him. "I...I did expect you. I wasn't sure when, but...well, you know. I bought a double bed. I mean, there are guest rooms as well, but I made sure to have space for you."

"...good gods, you just got into town and I'm already trying to get you into bed. Come inside. Are you hungry?"

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Bel laughed. "I admit that carrying you up to bed and making sure neither of us would be walking straight for the next few days was an idea I had on the road, I probably should get something to eat first and find out what your plans were for today."

It was nice to know they were on the same page. And, truthfully, Bel wouldn't mind actually seeing more of the house, and the city, even if it delayed a detailed exploration of Barcus himself. Wonderful thing, cities: while Bel assumed people noticed him, they didn't actually seem to care. He hadn't really tested that by stopping for breakfast or anything, just enough to talk his way into the Upper City, but so far it was working out for him.

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"My plans have already changed," he asserts, squeezing him a little more tightly. "My plans are you, exclusively, until I have to meet with the Gondian alliance in two days' time."

Sure, he has projects he's working on, but they can wait. They won't spoil. Reluctantly, the gnome relinquishes his grip on Bel, but snatches a gentle kiss on the lips before truly letting go. "Come sit. I just finished my own breakfast but the kettle is still hot and I have fresh bread. I'll make you tea and a mushroom omelet."

"You really did just get into town, I think?" He'll let the drow carry his own gear inside, it can be set anywhere. "If you feel up for a tour, I'll show you around. We're almost done with one of the bridges we've been rebuilding but you can still see the support structures, it's a fine piece of work."

You wanted to hear about infrastructure, right, Bel?

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"I did. It was easier to travel at night, since the road from Waterdeep isn't too hazardous, and I'm not so soft that I couldn't make a rough camp somewhere hidden during the day."

Bel could have tried to find caravaning work, but what had seen like the normal level of 'convince people that the lone drow man was harmless and not some scout for a group of slavers' he'd gotten used to had seemed like too much of a bother after a few years of people treating him like a normal person.

(That and his usual of handling ships was offer to stand night watch for his passage; humans had shit for night vision. Bel was no sailor, but he could follow instructions and climb and handle ropes.)

His gear was mostly clothing and his armor and bedroll, and a few tools (knitting needles, lockpicks) and sentimental items; his sword was currently peace-bound and could be stowed as well -- cities didn't generally like strangers who were armed and armored. He'd figure out where to put it all later. For now he could just shove it somewhere out of the way in the house.

"An omelette sounds divine. And I wouldn't mind a tour, but I'm going to be tired in the afternoon as I get used to being awake during the day. And if you don't mind explaining who I am to the curious"

Bel didn't care about infrastructure. Bel did enjoy listening to Barcus talk about his projects, though, and actually was willing to ask questions while accepting that Barcus didn't care that they were probably easy ones. And Bel figured Barcus had been thinking about a plan for explaining to deep gnomes why he 'suddenly' had a drow lover.

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Once Bel has set down his gear, Barcus takes him by the hand and leads him gently through a rather cushy living room (at least twice the size of their own place in Caldera) and into a kitchen that still smells of fried mushrooms. There's a table with four chairs, and the drow is welcome to any one of them.

"Hmm, well perhaps breakfast and then a bath or a nap until evening, then. This city never sleeps anyway. There's nothing happening in the day that you can't see just as well after dark, except perhaps a few ships at the dock."

"It might be for the best to introduce you to the Ironhands sooner rather than later, just to clear the air. I have attempted to explain Caldera, and the idea that I was snatched across planes is less shocking to them than it should be, but I don't think anyone would believe I was gone for over a year. Well...not amongst the Ironhands. Zanner and Obelia Toobin have been supportive."

He puts the kettle on and starts getting things out of the pantry to cook. "I would introduce you to them first, except I fear Thulla would get jealous. She likes to be consulted about things."

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Bel nodded as he took a seat. "Breakfast sounds wonderful. And I won't need much rest, but a bath sounds heavenly. You're welcome to join me," he grinned.

"Any advice on meeting the Ironhands? I'm an old hand at appearing harmless, but that's usually more for people who have only heard of drow, not people who have encountered us before."

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"Well, my bathtub is a little small," Barcus says archly, smirking over his shoulder. "We'd have to get very close in the water to make it work."

You wanted to bathe with a gnome in your lap, right? Or vice versa.

Thoughts of washing Bel's hair while sneaking in little bites to his neck and shoulders are, sadly, derailed by the question. "You'll have to be a little delicate with the ones who were held in the Grymforge," he says. "The Duergar there were more physically vicious to us than Nere, but he was in charge in the end."

Perhaps it's lucky that Welso has left for home. It's not fair, but it's hard to lose a sister like he did and then live comfortably amongst people who resemble her murderer. "I think the most important thing to remember, though, is that we are a practical people. Take no offense at sharp comments, because there will be sharp comments, and appeal to rationality."

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Dang. Bel will have to redirect back to Barcus helping him bathe, but this is a serious matter. "I'm good at letting insults roll off me," he admitted. "Well, most insults. I admit I'm a bit sensitive about ones calling out drow men in particular, but I can deal with ones about drow being horrible demon-worshipping slavers."

It might be for the best that Nere wasn't too personally involved. Bel's impression of duergar was that they were absolutely willing to use violence to make sure their slaves got as much done before they inevitably died of exhaustion, but that they were less inclined towards psychological nastiness. Or maybe that was just reserved for followers of Lolth, not drow slavers in general -- it wasn't like there was much of a difference in the Underdark.

"But appealing to rationality is something I can do, as long as no one expects me to not also be a bit frivolous because it is the surface. I suppose that also means employment for myself, unless you intend to keep me as your consort."

Bel didn't have a good word for the concept in Common, so he used the drow word, a bit teasingly. Because in that context, it would imply 'a man largely kept around for sex and the social status of having his undivided attention', and wouldn't be what Bel actually wanted, though it was something Bel didn't mind playing at for a short time.

He really should stop getting distracted from just focusing on Barcus, but some of this is because Bel is still adapting to the idea of a new stage of his life, living in a human city with Barcus, and trying to get some footing.

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"Might not be direct insults," Barcus says. "More like banter with a sting in the tail of it. When deep gnomes feel powerless, we divert our energy into passive-aggression, and many of us do feel powerless in the face of an adult drow. We're all too aware of the power balance in the Underdark, and where we would be on the food chain."

"They'll test you, and it will be subtle because they don't want me to give them a talking-to," he says, and drops butter into the pan so it sizzles. "To see if you'll lash out openly, or try to maneuver around them, or neither. But in the end, deep gnomes respect industry, intellect, and loyalty. Being charming and playful won't hurt you with them, but it won't win you points in particular, either. Not beyond a moment of laughter or a drink at the Elfsong, anyway, which is valuable but not long-term. What will win them is when they see you actually do love me, and that you're capable of far more than stabbing people in the dark."

"I think that's what turned them from Wulbren to me, in the clutch. I was there in the Grymforge with them. He wanted me to be the outsider, the one who was there by his leave, but they knew better. I suffered with them, and when he turned on me and ordered my death, he broke faith with them, too."

"I have faith in them, and in you. It may take time, but you'll get there. In the meantime, the Gondians will warm to you faster, but be careful not to get so embroiled amongst them that you become one of them in the Ironhands' eyes. Zanner and Obelia and Featherweight will be safe enough to befriend. The Ironhands like them very much."

He turns to look at Bel as the omelette starts to cook, and gives him a softer look. "...I won't lie, playing at one of us being the other's kept consort sounds like a fun bedroom game. We could switch off with that. But I think we're both far too practical to let that be our permanent existence. I can help you get work easily enough. You could assist in the forge if you wanted, but there are textile shops about, too. You might find that more intuitive, with as much knitting as you've been doing."

"I suppose we could call you my bodyguard, instead, but I don't know. That might muddy the waters, if people think you're paid to protect me and we just sort of let it become sexual."

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"Loyalty is something I am good at," Bel commented. He wanted to go up and take Barcus by the waist, but that wasn't smart while Barcus was cooking. "It was a mixed blessing growing up, but has paid off on the surface." Loyalty without an obvious reason was seen as suspicious when growing up; the people around him were more likely to trust self-interest. At least as a man, many female drow were willing to dismiss Bel's loyalty as marking 'a safe but boring and unamibtious choice'.

"And I imagine having a job that isn't stabbing people or looking intimidating in shadows would help. It would help me as well. I like being good at more than sex and violence... not that I object to being good at those as well. Which rules out being your hot bodyguard. Especially since it would suggest you have something that needs my full-time protection, not just your own abilities and the people around you's."

Given some of the politics Barcus mentioned, Bel isn't sure that Barcus is entirely safe, but Bel generally trusts that most people don't know about Barcus's Caldera-granted powers, which is enough of an edge that even someone preparing for a gnome artificer might be caught off-guard. And Barcus is also surrounded by loyal people, which means anything Barcus can't deal with himself will have backup.

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Solas' departure from Caldera had come with no fanfare. The house had been left furnished, the hearthfires cold, everything carefully closed up and warded against time and its depredations. The wise and clever amongst them would have seen it before-hand, in the generosity of gifts, and the private assurances; of course they would visit. Of course. But they had other duties, another home, and unlike many, Solas possessed the tools and power to cross between any world— not merely the doorways Caldera's permeable walls had left open to them.

So it is when, one sunny, cheerful morning, a slim, scintillating green spark crackles into being in the air above the courtyard of Barcus' dwelling. It hangs there, hissing and popping and then, as if satisfied at what it sees, draws a long, writhing line of lightning through the air, down, down, down, until it meets the flagstones. And then, as if that contact had been some sort of trigger, the way springs abruptly open. In one moment it is a captive bold of virulent green lightning, and in the next a smooth and pale surface, shimmering and faintly-blue, like a mirror, or the underside-surface of a shallow pool of water.

A face emerges, and then a shoulder, and then Solas steps out from the Eluvian portal.

He surveys their surroundings with calm aplomb; the streets, the sky, the shocked and terrified face in a side-window, and the young man, scrambling to run and abandoning his delivery-cart in the process. Sensing no genuine threat, Solas turns back to signal the all-clear, and is met by another elf, who comes through with one arm burdened by a tightly-wrapped bundle, and her other hand tight around the hand of a third— a child with a riot of curly, copper-colored hair. For a moment they simply stand close together, speaking quietly, while the little girl peers around in every direction, clutching at knees.

With the wave of a hand and a sharp crack, the portal vanishes, and Solas walks ahead of his little family, to make the appropriate noise at the door:

Knock, Knock... is anyone home?

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Lest anyone be concerned they came to the wrong house, a flash of movement in one of the windows draws the eye, and they should see a familiar cat peering through the glass. Satchel is wearing a new collar, with an elegant butterfly bow, but otherwise looks the same as ever she did in Caldera. Meeting Solas' eye, she meows, though the sound is inaudible through glass.

A second later, the door opens, and Barcus is standing there with a pair of reading glasses perched on his forehead, and a worn leather apron tied over his brocade doublet. It's been a busy day, and it's only mid-morning.

He blinks at Solas, glances into the yard as if looking for the portal that brought him, blinks again at the children, and then smiles, folding his arms over his chest. "So you didn't forget me after all! Hello, dear."

"You may as well come in, all of you." His expression softens when he looks at the child, and he gives her a friendly nod. It doesn't take a genius to figure out where she must have come from, but he'll have exclaim about that later. (Is that a second one? An infant? Magga camarra!)

"I was in the middle of something with Thulla, but we were almost done anyway." If Solas looks past him, he'll see a woman about Barcus' size, but with slightly darker skin, blue-violet eyes, and close-cropped white hair. She seems to be sizing him up, though not necessarily in an unfriendly way.

"He's still got six pages to initial," she says primly. "Dibs on his right hand until that's done, but you can have the rest of him any old time."

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"You are unforgettable," Solas replies, with stalwart serenity, and smiles when he notices Barcus' attention pass over the ginger cloud at his knees. The child is staring with enormous eyes, "...This is Avisenehn. My daughter."

The girl glances up at the sound of her name, and then back at her mother as if to ask for permission— or reassurance. Evidently satisfied by what she sees there, she babbles a lilting stream of fluid elvhen.

"Try again in Common, da'len," Solas admonishes, indulgently, and the child scowls, "...She has not spent much time in mortal realms."

"Hello," She says, in her small, accented voice, "I am the Wolf's daughter, Avi. You are very small!"

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Barcus' smile widens slowly, but he doesn't interrupt, simply listening to the child. Sometimes it takes a while to understand what they're talking about even when they're speaking Common, in his experience, but he's grateful for Solas' eventual intervention.

"I'm afraid andaran atish’an is about the only elvhen I know," he tells her. "But perhaps you can teach me a bit more while you're here."

He offers a handclasp. "Well met, dear. I'm Barcus. My kind are a small people, comparatively speaking."

"Or everyone else is just too big," Thulla suggests, and holds out a sheaf of papers, determined to get the work done. Barcus hums and moves to the side, beckoning his guests in, and then leans over to scribble his initials on the papers. "Depends how you look at it."

"Give me just a moment and I'll get you all some refreshment." Barcus says. "What do you like to drink, Avi? I know some of us don't much care for tea. Solas, how long has it been for you? I suppose time passes differently where you've been staying."

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"It has been a few years. But time passes strangely in the Fade, or so I am told. Or perhaps," With a knowing nod towards Barcus' businesslike aide, as his daughter dubiously accepts Barcus' hand in her own chubby fingers, "It is all the rest of you who pass the time at an unusual pace."

Behind them, the bundle in Beleth's arms has begun protesting the injustice of his ill-treatment— or perhaps merely the presence of the myriad smells and sounds of Baldur's Gate, and the consequential absence of their routine atmosphere. Solas, observing these struggles, smiles with helpless affection, and together they go in. The room is darker than the outer sunlight, and the change soothes— well, some part of the children.

"Please, take your time. There was no way to easily send a warning ahead, of our visit. Clearly, we have—"

"Vherlin!" For her own part, Avisenehn points and gasps. Satchel, who stops her confident parade into the room with an abrupt bout of stage-fright, "Papae! Vherlin! Sathan vherlin'dara ma?"

"...Common, da'len," He reminds her again, but she is too excited to heed him, tugging on the corner of his sleeves and pointing again with an insistent Papae!, and Solas sighs a little, "How is Satchel with children?"

Edited Date: 2026-03-10 10:01 pm (UTC)

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Thulla smirks at that, appreciating the acknowledgement. Between that and the wife and kids, you have earned her seal of approval, saer. You can stay.

"Well, I left some pieces of clockwork on the dining table," Barcus says, "so perhaps discourage your little one from climbing on it. Aside from that, once Thulla's had her fill, I'm free for the day."

"No worries," the female gnome says cheerfully. "I'm not so hard up for company I'd spend the day with you, boss."

The way Barcus snorts and stifles a grin suggests this is a common joke between them. "Away with you, then," he says, and tucks the pen behind her ear in an almost brotherly gesture. "Tell the Toobins I'll see them tomorrow. Now--"

Whatever he was about to say to Solas gets interrupted by Satchel and Avi locking eyes from across the room. Oh. Well, then! He doesn't need to speak elvhen to get the gist of this. "Truthfully she's never had much interaction with children, but she's let Night Sky, Zenri, and assorted druids maul and snuggle her in various shapes both large and small, without complaint. Speak gently and don't pull or squeeze her, dear, I'm sure she'll be all right."

Satchel has yet to meet someone whose attention she doesn't ultimately want, so at worst, this will be a learning experience for everyone. "But I will," Barcus adds, "insist on a proper introduction to the baby before much longer. You lot have been busy."

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arlathvhen

"I would certainly like some tea." Beleth speaks up finally, having lulled her fussy infant into sleeping in the sling around her chest. "If the offer is still available. Floral, if you have it. I worry about herbs and caffeine with Nori." There is a gesture to the now sleeping baby, still young enough to nurse, and thus, young enough for Beleth to fret over what she puts in her own body.

"The little one -- littler one, perhaps," She says, as she watches her little-but-not-as-little daughter peek over the table at the cat in question, too distracted to argue that she's not little at all. "He is Aenorean -- though I suspect he will be Nori for a while yet." Aenorean being a mouthful for any little mouth. "He'll grow into it, though, as will Avi. And Lini as well -- Lingrean, Nori's twin. She is with Felassan. She was being fussy, so he located a store where people were doing... party tricks?"

An odd thing to see, when so used to Southern Thedas, where magic was shut away from the public eye.

It is then that she manages to pull her mind off of the children, and put her focus on something besides.

"But what about you, falon? How have you been? I kept meaning to come sooner, but..." A meaningful glance at the children once more. "...I got distracted."

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Solas looks up from his task of ensuring their daughter's gentleness, and easing the cat's rightful caution.

"There are three," he says with what he is clearly trying to make a humble tone; his pride in the accomplishment, in the children, and in Beleth herself, spoils the effect, and he isn't sorry for that, "Twins run in Beleth's line."

And how own, now— a thought no less strange and satisfying for being the hundredth time he's had it. He has never had family before, not like this, and despite his dignity Solas is dizzyingly, brilliantly happy.

"We have all been busy. It has been three years, for us; the work is significant, but the reward worthy of it. Our children will grow up in a world free from Blight."

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