WIP Sunday
thank you, @carnivaley, @litsenn and @gortashsrighthand!
What are our thoughts on antagonistic Morena who is not too happy that her son, after being a stranger for over a year, returned with a barefoot woman with no memory of her life by his side?
It was in those weeks that I met Morena, Gale’s mother, and a surprising number of aunts who seemed altogether too eager to have their prodigal son returned to them. They were delighted to see someone at his side, though I could feel the hesitation just beneath their smiles. A sorceress, with no proper schooling as a bard, no pedigree, no shoes on her feet — hardly the worthy match Morena had envisioned for her only son. She was too polite to say it outright, but I heard it all the same, the lingering cold that crept into her voice whenever she spoke to me.
Gale, of course, remained oblivious. Or rather, he brushed my unease aside when I confessed it to him, assuring me it was nothing more than my own uncertainty, the fretfulness of a mother who had nearly lost her only child. Perhaps he even believed it. But I knew better.
One afternoon—Morena and Tara visiting for dinner, cooked by Gale, of course—she asked me to join her outside when the noise of too many sizzling pans and bubbling pots grew overwhelming.
I followed her into the garden, acutely aware of Tara’s gaze lingering on us as we left the room. She had noticed as well.
“I admire your resolve in acquiring the adjacent building,” Morena began as she settled into one of the chairs on the small terrace. The garden barely deserved the name: a patch of grass large enough for a blanket, hemmed in by stone on three sides. A cherry tree clung stubbornly to life, its branches obscuring what little view there might have been of the open sea.
I did not mind.
I had chosen this deliberately. Not because we lacked means, nor because the former owners had been difficult to reach. The exchange of gold had been clean, almost ceremonial. The house itself was not in disrepair, merely neglected. Left waiting.
And I loved it.
But it had been the cherry tree that to spoke to me. Trapped between walls that denied it light, yet still reaching, still refusing to give in. I wanted to save it. Looking back now, the thought makes me smile.
Halsin would have approved.
“Thank you,” I said, settling into the chair opposite her. I knew it was not praise, only politeness. An opening gesture, nothing more. "The cherry tree is worth saving. Or at least the attempt."
“Gale was rarely interested in plants in his youth,” she continued, lifting her cup with deliberate care. “Though he has developed a certain enthusiasm over the years. Still, I did not expect him to acknowledge your wishes so readily. Or to act on them.”
Her gaze held mine. There was so much of Gale in her eyes—the sharpness, the intelligence, even a glimmer of provocation, carefully restrained.
I returned her smile. “We didn’t touch the family funds, if that is something you’re—”
“I was not,” she interrupted, smoothing her skirt with precise, economical movements. “But I do wonder how a woman of your standing and reputation came to settle in my son's tower in Waterdeep of all places. An archwizard of considerable renown who was all to eager to marry you without ceremony.”
Her tone was measured, polite. But the tension beneath it was unmistakable.
I doubted there would be any record of me here. For all I knew, I had never walked these streets before. And the thought that Morena might know more about my past than I did unsettled me more than I cared to show.
“It was Gale’s wish to return,” I said carefully. “The odds of our survival were slim. He wanted to come home. To his tower. To Tara. To you.”
“Yes,” she replied, her smile thinning. “His tower.” Her eyes flicked briefly toward the house. “And that is why you insisted on purchasing the adjacent building? So you might have something of your own?”
I did not flinch. Gale had not shared my reasons with her—of that I was certain. There should have been no way for her to know.
When had my intentions become so transparent?
“To expand into,” I answered evenly. “There are few limits to Gale’s magic now—”
“There never have been,” she cut in lightly. The story of what happened exactly was his to share.
I chose not to engage. “—but I didn’t want rooms held together by spellwork alone. I wanted brick and mortar.”
“I made inquiries,” she casually mentioned after a pause, smiling faintly. “With the Lords. And with certain acquaintances of mine.” Another pause. “As a long-standing member of Waterdhavian society.”
She watched me closely, waiting.
I sipped my wine and smiled.
“There is no record of you ever having been to this city,” she added. “No Celeste matching your description appears in any registry. What was the surname you gave again?”
“I didn’t,” I replied calmly. “With the fulfillment of our marriage, I took Gale’s name. I am addressed as Celeste Dekarios now.”
The corners of her mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. I admired her restraint, it was more than obvious to me what simmered beneath.
“But there was a Celestia,” she continued, after a moment. “Many, many years ago. A half-elf woman with dark hair and two different eyes.” Her gaze sharpened. “She was a member of the Guild of Apothecaries & Physicians for quiet some time, even after her return to Baldur’s Gate.”
She studied me closely, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
“You wouldn’t know anything about her?”
“I wouldn’t,” I smiled, even as my stomach turned. Had there been a life for me here? In this very city? Something so close—so important to Gale—woven into a past I could no longer reach?
“As I am sure Gale mentioned in private,” I continued evenly, “my memory was impaired by what happened to us. I cannot claim ever to have carried the name Celestia.”
It was the story we had agreed upon. The tadpole. Our so-called adventure. A convenient wound to explain the absence of a life. Gale had not loved the secrecy, but he had understood, and respected my wish.
“Yes,” Morena said thoughtfully. “How convenient.”
I opened my mouth, another careful answer already forming.
Before I could speak, Tara joined us.
“The entrée is ready,” she announced lightly, her eyes glowing as they met mine. “Would you care to rejoin us in the kitchen?”
I recognized that look immediately.
I smirked, inclined my head, and rose from my chair.
