Chapter Text
She is pulled out of the Chionthar by a nine-fingered hand. She does not question the offer—exhaustion has seeped into her every bone, and all she can do is get on her knees, shaking with cold and exhilaration, and cough up mouthfuls of foul river water as rivulets drip from her soaked braids and armor.
She gasps for air, once, twice—she is alive still, another miracle. Around her, companions lie hacking and wheezing, all dramatic but welcome signs of life. Her heart thumps in her chest, trying to warm her. She looks up, meets a set of silver eyes flashing from underneath the hood of a tattered cloak—they attempt to appear calm and collected, but Jaheira shivers as they travel down her poor battered body, assessing it for damage.
“I am fine,” she manages, even if it does not come out as annoyed as she had planned. She does not like anyone fussing over her, much less Astele.
“Sure,” Astele says, “fell from the sky and almost drowned, but she’s fine.”
She chooses to ignore that. ”The children?” she asks instead. She knows she is showing too much, that her eyes are filled with an agonizing plea she should have tried to push to the bottom of the river. She does not regret her choice to shelter the little ones in the sewers, just laments that it was the only viable option.
“Doubting my protection?”
“Just tell me—”
“They’re safe.”
The words are cloaked in a softness that surprises Jaheira, much like the hand fleetingly brushing past her wrist, as if to make sure there really is a pulse. She wants to let the relief wash over her, bask in it, but as she stares at Astele, she can only think of a tiny thief seeking refuge with a stone-hewn hero of old, and how many more of her will have been created today.
“Thank the oakfather,” she says then, because she must save her tears for later, when there is no one around to disenchant with the truth of her weariness.
”Thank my Guild.”
That stern pride is her saviour—Jaheira finds that she can laugh still, that her body can shake for an entirely different reason than cold and fright. “Yes, Astele,” she says, “thank you.”
She is too sincere, she knows. Karlach calls out for her, and she responds, asks if they are all alright. When she turns back, Astele is gone. She is hardly surprised.