2. Beregost

Kelddath's magnanimous smile returns. "Lovely, aren't they? I think they really set the mood for worship here. And no mortal choir on Faerûn can match them!"

He gives them a wave of his hand, which they return after a moment. "I wouldn't call them patrons. They're more of... features! It's been... oh maybe 10 years since they bonded to the Temple's pool, and we've enjoyed their music ever since."

"Bonded? Interesting, how do they go about doing that?" Dieter says genuinely curious unaware of Aiwë’s suspicions.

Aiwë listens with rapt attention. "Wow! I'd bet no other temple can boast the like." She beams at Dieter. "Yes! However did you get them to bond with this pool? A man of your stature, it can't have been dumb luck."

The high priest/mayor casts a simple spell to remove the water from his clothes and armor, as well as from the floor. "You're familiar with dryads, yes? They're bonded to a tree. It's their home and their life force. If it dies, the dryad dies, etc. They can't wander far from their tree. These sirenes are a similar breed of fey; water spirits, bonded to a body of water like a pond or a lagoon or the ocean itself. In this case, the four of them have bonded to the pool here in the Temple. It's their home now, and they defend it quite territorially."

Kelddath's smile turns self-congratulatory. "You see, there's something about the water here being holy that speaks to their sensibilities, I think. By Lathander's Grace, they simply don't want to leave. After that, it merely took some convincing to get them to add their voices to the atmosphere. It's what they do 'in the wild' after all. Here, Lathander blesses them with purpose! They enrich our worship, and we... let them stay."

"So that water feature is connected to the outside? How did they get inside to bond with it? " Dieter asked not familiar with dryads.

Kelddath shakes his head. "No, our water all comes from below the Templr. When it was built, we hired some Gondsmen from Baldur's Gate come and design a storage pool for underneath the Templr, as well as a system of pipes to convey the water up to the fountain here." He's obviously very proud of the feat of engineering. "Say what you will about the followers of Gond, but they are masters of their craft. We don't even need to go down there for maintenance; it's completely self-sustaining."

He gestures to the sirenes. "They were eager to bond with the pool. It must be because it's blessed by Lathander! I performed the rite myself to convert the entire thing to holy water."

Aiwë watches Kelddath's face. It's possible that the priest is just ignorant and doesn't understand the sirenes' ways. But she doubts it.

Aiwë smiles. "I've heard stories about people manipulating fey into one-sided deals. Your temple wouldn't be one of these, would it?" Her voice doesn't change volume much, but she pitches it to carry throughout the temple. "My family worships Torm, but I've always respected Lathander. It is devastating to think that his followers are the kind of people to keep sentient beings trapped as indentured servants, treated only as trophies and water features." Her eyes are hard as she stares Kelddath down. "That's the kind of news that would cripple a temple if news were to spread, perhaps even harm opinion of the Morning Lord, himself."

She drops her voice low. "Release them from their debt to you."

Kelddath pales in the face of this angry young adventurer. He takes her off to one side of the hall to be sure that nobody else can hear. "Look, you don't understand. These things aren't even human - I mean humanoid. They're not people, they're just water nymphs. And they're treated better than most servants. I... I..."

He lowers his voice even more. "I'm not even sure I can release them. They've become... well... accustomed to the water here. They'll become sick without it, even after bonding to another body of water. "

Paying close attention to him, Aiwë thinks he's telling the truth. Or, at least that he thinks he's telling the truth. To help the sirenes, these facts will need to be proven.

What is up with this town…

"…have you asked them?" Dieter asks

"You had your answer at 'They're not people,' Diets." Aiwë says, voice like a warning thunder, eyes fixed firmly on Kelddath's own. She steps in closer, glowering.

"Do you know what you don't understand, Mayor? Those women have been singing about their bondage here, their sorrow at men's trickery. Lovely ambiance for your temple don't you think?" She steps back and folds her arms.

"Don't assume to know what's best for people you haven't even spoken to, or guess about what you haven't even tried. But, I'll assume you are genuinely concerned. Come, I'll translate for you, and we'll work something out." It isn't an invitation.

Backed into a corner by these heroes' unflagging persistence and dead-serious demeanor, Kelddath has no more excuses. He goes with Aiwë to talk to the sirenes.

It takes the better part of an hour, but when all the facts are laid bare (and Kelddath's enlightened as to his misuse of these magical creatures) it turns out that while the sirenes have built up a reliance on holy water, they hate it here. Kelddath agrees to release them from his service, and additionally to provide them with flasks of holy water to help them during their adjustment period.

The sirenes need no bidding to leave, and as soon as the conversation is over they quickly depart. But not before gifting the party another three pearls!For his own part, Kelddath admits his mistakes. "In the light of this morning's dawn - Lathander's most sacred hour - I have been humbled. To think that these women have had cares and worries this entire time and I treated them as unfeeling elementals... It is a valuable lesson, and one that I will be sure to apply to my life most vigorously. I... thank you, adventurers. Should you return for healing, you will find these doors open to you. May Lathander guide you in your further endeavors."

As Aiwë teaches Kelddath, Stella decides to help at least start fixing the shattered pieces of the temple, placing pieces where they belong and tracing starts around them to seal the breaks. (Mending)

She smiles at Aiwë's fervor. She could help others see what they could not, often whether they liked it or not.

As she works and listens, Stella also thinks over her experience the previous night, after all the chaos had finally settled.

Go home...or raid the Blacktalons and the Chill.

Those seemed like her two options. Stella supposed those weren't her only options. She could probably run off with Aldous if she really wanted to, for example...

She lay in the accommodations Ida had found for them, mind churning over the decision, feeling sick. She considered finding Aldous to let him know she was alright, but it wouldn't matter if she was leaving back to the Icewind Dale. To home.

She did miss home. And she missed Mama and Papa. She had accepted that. They had done great things, but she still felt so...inadequate. She tried to imagine returning home, shame and failure written all over her. She should be stronger, braver. Like everyone else. But to continue stand to up to ever-dangerous assassins from someone with grand resources and a determination to see them killed...

Stella rolls over in her bedding and pulls her tome from beside her—her old one. It was time. She rolls onto her stomach, props herself up on her elbows and splays the book's pages in front of her, her elven blood letting her read with her star-lit eyes despite the darkness.

Dearest Stella, I hope . . .

A spike of panic rises in Stella's chest as she starts to read. She closes her eyes and takes a breath. She could do this.

Dearest Stella, I hope .you find this in a time you need it. Given my track record, I am quite sure I have likely committed several offenses between the time I've written this and the time you read it. Thus, I also hope you can come to forgive a foolish half-elf father for often being as clueless as I am.

Stella huffs quiet, incredulous laugh. She wasn't sure if him being aware of his incessant pressure made things better or worse.

Take courage with whatever path you've chosen to follow on your journey. The paths you choose don't matter so much as how you choose to walk them, for you are far more than your bow, or your herbalism, or your magic. You bear a thousand talents, and with all, you shed a tremendous light wherever you put your gentle touch. Through your smile, through your eyes, and through your heart. I see in the faces of the Kuldaharans. The women, their children. Wirrow and Aiwë too. Their eyes brighter, their heads higher, their laughter sweeter, and their lives bettered for you being in them.

Stella's shoulders relax as she takes a breath in, almost a gasp. Her eye-stars shift from a pensive blue to a wondered green mixed with an awed and honored white, a color her eye stars rarely turn to normally.

I watched you growing up, taking your first steps, then taking bigger ones, hoping you would see your potential. Now you are a divine-half-elven-archer-druid-herbalist-wizard-singer-scholar! (Ilmater's mercy, how did you manage aptitude in so many areas!) You will continue to grow in marvelous ways. I suspect Candlekeep will just be the start of your own journey. I hope you stay safe but I suspect that won't happen. (Especially not with Sheemish's and Aiwë's...er...ambition, but don't tell them I said that, or they'll pr—

Stella quietly laughs again, misty eyed. Glen's inky handprints covered the next several words. Sweet little Glen... she things, wiping her eyes. She couldn't place the feeling...Validation? Acknowledgement? It was something more.

You have the ferocity and instincts of Halla, the honor of Arranis, the cunning of Ilmadia, and the sweetness of dear Saki. I pray Ilmater and Sylvanus both will be watching over you. I don't underst—

An ink spill.

—and the world is dangerous. But the biggest danger will be yourself. To fear your past. To fear what you've done, what you could have been, or what you fear you cannot be. It nearly ruined me and killed me on several occasions.

Remember this: You can be whatever you wish to be. You will continue to grow as long as you believe you can. (As much as I'd love to take credit for such wisdom, Saki told me that one.)

Stella laughs through more streaming tears, sniffing and wiping her eyes.

Whether you persist as an archer or not, I hope you continue to become a watchwoman. To watch over others. Care for their needs and give them the chance to live and grow. To use your capacity to preserve life and hope. One soul at a time. To help them learn, and to learn yourself. That is what the bow means to me, though I now know (with no small help from your marvelous mother, of course) that I've done a poor job trying to teach that through endless drills.

This letter may be about the most serious set of scribbles this self-righteous half-elf has ever scribed. I hope that means something to you. Because You, my Little Star, most certainly mean something to me.

We will always be under the same stars.

With great love,
Zenithral

Stella sniffs and shutters a breath, tears running down her face. Love. That feeling was that of being loved. Why hadn't she read this earlier? All the weight she had felt...she hadn't seen his love. His caring honor. Misguided at times, but devoted. And believing.

She turns the page to fine a clean sheet of paper signed Lily with a tiny doodle of a flower.

If her friends believed in her. If her family believed in her. If Papa believed in her...then she could too.

"The courageous fear what must be feared—and often act contrary," Grandpa Arannis' words echo yet again in her mind.

Stella opens her new tome, to the star chart of people, concepts, ideas, and ideals. The one she had started to write while on the road to Nashkel after Aiwë had convinced her she could be her own protagonist. Her most recent addition was the word Hero boldly written and connected to her name.

Next to it, she writes: Loved.

Stella Melerelel was loved. And she was powerful. She could make a difference. And suddenly, it made sense:

This Tazok and this Taurgoz...whoever was sending these assassins. This enemy feared her companions. And they feared her.

"I'm staying," she finds herself saying, as she finishes fusing a chunk of floor back in place. She looks to Aiwë, eye-stars a mix of violet and white. She nods. "I decided I'm staying."

Aiwë accepts Kelddath's words with grace and only inward surprise.

"I will be sure to spread the news that rest can be found for all in these hallowed halls."

She returns to Stella's side cradling the four pearls in her palm, her other hand tapping out some rhythm on the piercings in one long ear. She stills as she sees Stella's determination.

"Then I with you, sister-girl." Aiwë smiles and beats her chest twice. "To battle then."

Stella stands and nods. "To battle," she says for the first time.

Looking at Aiwë, she opens her mouth to say more, then pauses, eyebrows lowering. The image of her little sister's flower drawing enters her mind again, and the feelings swell, she looks around the temple as if searching its halls for the meaning behind the precipice she felt she could almost see over. Color in darkness...of a flower drawn in what she thought had been black ink.

She reaches for her pack she set next to a pillar and pulls out her old tome again, flipping to the page with Lily's flower. Had Lily painted the flower, and her druidic or celestial powers were heightening? Or...had Stella seen the flower before? Was it an herb for healing or...perhaps a poison?

"To battle...aaaafter I do a few more things...I need a few minutes." she says, staring into her book. When had Lily seen that flower? Or learned this language? Stella's younger sister was as fascinated by flowers as Stella was the stars. She still wasn't sure whether the names their parents had given them were prophetic or self-fulfilling, but had the flower been in Kuldahar or elsewhere in the Dale?

Without further explanation, Stella sits cross-legged by the pillar and opens her new tome, Bently's old spellbook, running her finger down the pages of the complex ritual. She holds her crystal star necklace, begins chanting, and tapping out the stars of the Lady of Mystery, followed by runes of divination. She finishes the spell several minutes later then tries to read the words between the petals again.

(Stella casts Comprehend Languages)