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Briar was uncharacteristically quiet, face drawn, that grim, haunted look in her eyes that always surfaced whenever the party brushed close to some reminder of her divine blood. It tore at Khalid to see her like this. She was a sweet, silly girl who clearly took much more joy in the glamour of city life and popular public attention than being out on the road again, and the fact that she was out on the road again was, according to Jaheira, very much to do with how very angry she was at Caelar Argent’s assault on her sister.
Though Jaheira did not always understand Briar in full. Khalid thought he saw the whole of it. The girl was frightened—deeply—and wished to strike out before another she loved was struck down. Yet in striking out, she found herself once again tangled in the divine strangeness of her blood. It seemed wholly unfair.
“Briar Rose,” Skie was saying, tugging gently at Briar’s sleeve. “Hey. C’mon, sweetheart, look over here at me! That was super scary, obviously, but you handled it so well—”
Khalid decided to take matters into his own hands. Carefully skirting his wife, who was in some sort of lowered-voice conversation with Dynaheir as to the events they had all just witnessed on the bridge, he stepped around Skie and towards Briar. “Briar,” he said lightly. “Can—that is, might I request your, your aid in a-a sensitive matter?”
Skie said reprovingly, “Briar’s busy—”
“No, it’s fine,” said Briar. She tugged herself free of Skie’s grip. “What’s up, Khalid?”
“Over, over here?” Khalid gestured towards a secluded cluster of trees, slowing down so that Briar, slower than usual, could reluctantly follow. “Yes. Good. I, I was w-wondering if you would help with—”
Briar fell back against the tree, slowly sliding down to sit at its base. Her eyes were unfocused, and glassy. Tearful.
“Oh, Briar,” said Khalid softly. He sat down in front of her, taking her hands in his, and laced their fingers carefully together, the way he had always imagined he might with his own daughter one day. “I’m sorry. That, that was frightening, wasn’t it?”
Briar didn’t say anything, still, which caught and pulled at his heart. She’d met him at Bridgefort just as warmly cheerful, but when he’d asked to see her songs, there hadn’t been even half as many new ones as there usually were. Quite a few racy ones about Skie Silvershield, which was certainly a new and slightly discomfiting artistic direction, but not as many silly ones. He’d asked her where her silly songs were and she’d said, oh, I don’t know, there just doesn’t seem to be as much time to write on the road. Which hadn’t sounded like Briar at all, to him.
Khalid stroked the side of her hand with his thumb.
Briar said, “I want to go home. I don’t want to be out here anymore. I don’t want to be—what I am. I don’t want to—” Tears were beginning to tumble down her face. “I don’t want to have bad dreams anymore. I can’t be anyone but me. There’s something wrong with me. And we’re in camp, and I can feel the soldiers—looking—like they think I’m going to tear them apart, and I’m not! But I—I dream—”
She was starting to really cry. Khalid removed his cloak, draping it carefully around her shoulders, and she buried her face in the fabric to muffle her sobs. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, feeling woefully inadequate. What could he—what could anyone do in the face of divine blood?
Briar sobbed, “I just want to be normal!”
Khalid sat down next to her and tucked his arm around her shoulders, settling the bundled-up Briar against his side. She curled into him with a hiccupping sob and clung. “You are,” he said, quietly. “You are you. I wo-would not change you—for the world. No one who lo-loves you—”
“The blood in me is wrong!” Briar pressed. “It’s evil! Caelar Argent, she’s—she’s from a good god, and the way they talk about me—like I’m some feral, evil, Sarevok thing—”
“They speak of you as, as such, because th-they have never met you,” Khalid asserted. He reached into Briar’s satchel, fishing out her notebook. “Murd—murderers—do not write—like this.”
“You don’t know that!” sobbed Briar.
Khalid flipped through. Song after song. His smile curled gently up when he found the one he was looking for.
Now, I don’t know much about love outside
of the fairy tales I used to read—
Briar’s sobbing increased in volume. Clearly this had been the wrong move. Khalid glanced nervously towards the rest of the party and saw that they were hanging back, entirely because Jaheira appeared to have shepherded absolutely everyone into a corner and was refusing to let them move. He did appreciate his wife’s faith in him, although in moments like this it felt particularly misplaced.
“Can you—sing it?” he hesitantly asked, determined to at least try.
Still sobbing, Briar shook her head. “I’m evil,” she wailed. “I’m not meant to sing about—I don’t know about—love!”
“Obj-j-jectively false.” The word was frustratingly tricky. Khalid pressed on. “Skie.”
Briar’s sobs stilled. She raised her head as if genuinely surprised. Almost experimentally, she said, “I don’t want to hurt Skie.”
“Sarevok,” said Khalid, “took—a lover. Remember?”
“He didn’t even care about her. Not really.”
“And you,” Khalid flipped through, “write—write—songs.”
Briar took the book from him. Her hands were trembling. She flipped past all the love songs to press her thumb against a few unfinished lines on the most recent page.
Skie o Skie I just might die
If e’er you have a wandering eye
I’ll sit around and mope and cry
“My rhymes are getting worse,” she said.
“Murderers,” said Khalid, “do not—generally—care—as to the, the quality of their songs.”
“Now you’re just saying things.” Briar pressed her wet cheek against his shoulder, staring down at the parchment. She was not crying anymore, but that luminous cheer that Khalid loved so much was still nowhere to be found.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. Casually, Khalid said, “You—you will recall, I-I mentioned—n-needing your help?”
“Sure you want the help of a Bhaalspawn?” said Briar miserably.
“I-I want Briar’s help.”
Briar’s mouth trembled. She ducked her head, pulling Khalid’s cloak over her face.
“All right,” said Khalid. He turned towards the hooded figure and gently ruffled—well, where her hair would be, were the fabric not in the way. “Well. My, my anniversary is coming up—”
Briar dropped the cloak. Disbelievingly, she said, “With Jaheira?!?!!”
Khalid couldn’t help it: he laughed. Impossible not to! The relief coursing through him made him giddy. “I-I am hardly married to—anyone else,” he gently teased.
“How long have you been married?” Briar’s eyes shone with excitement.
“S-save all questions for, for the end. Thank you.” Khalid tucked the cloak gently around Briar’s shoulders, fastening it at the front. It looked better on her, anyway, and he knew she tended to run cold when she traveled. “I am th-thinking on—perhaps—spider silk. As a gift.”
“You’re kidding,” said Briar, but not at all maliciously. She was really starting to smile. “I picked up some spider silk!”
“Really?” said Khalid, who had received at least four letters from Jaheira complaining about Briar picking up spider silk in a cave and subsequently giving it over to Jaheira to carry because “it’s nature stuff and you’re a druid.”
“Yes! Jaheira says you can make things with spider silk—”
“Yes,” said Khalid. “She, she taught me. How.”
“Ohhh,” gasped Briar, hands flying to her mouth. “Oh, um—I—I have a song idea but it’s—”
Khalid took the notebook and quill. He said, “Dictate.”
“It’s just that they aren’t always good when I first—”
“Dictate.”
Briar blushed. Grinned. Sang.
“O, glory to Harpers that strum out sweet song,
as they’re moving together to sever their foes!
For a spider-silk love weaves a tapestry strong,
and as years pass by quickly, that love only grows.”
“Hold on,” said Khalid. “Is that the rest of the song?”
“What?” said Briar.
“Well,” said Khalid, and flipped the pages back. “If you just—and, and here—” and showed Briar his notes.
Now, I don’t know much about love outside
of the fairy tales I used to read,
but you don’t have to know too much about love
to know about Jaheira and Khalid.
Oh, you could roam from here to Rashemen,
looking everywhere for love and care,
but there’s nothing from here to Rashemen
like the love that those two share.
So sing for the Harpers that strum out sweet song,
moving cleanly together to sever their foes!
For a spider-silk love weaves a tapestry strong,
and as every year passes, that love only grows.
“Oh, wow!” said Briar. “It is the rest of the song! Khalid, have you ever considered—”
“No,” said Khalid.
“—I didn’t finish.”
“No,” said Khalid.
Briar gave Khalid a very put-upon look (he schooled his expression, determined not to let on how delighted he was at the absence of tears), and said, “—being a bard?”
Khalid looked her directly in the eyes, placed a hand on her shoulder, and said, “No.”
“Oh, you were just waiting for that,” said Briar, nose upturned. “Just for that, I might not even help you with your whole anniversary thing!” The moment she said it, she followed it up breathlessly with, “Though of course I totally will. Spider silk, right? Spider silk sounds great. I’ll get it back from Jaheira. Somehow. Probably.”
Khalid gathered her into a hug. She laughed, and the sound was like music.