#made myself a little sad with this one; this is definitely a period where jaheira needs a lot of hugs

[blackjackkent]

Prompt fill for @theajaheira from this ask meme: Lord Huron Lyric Prompts

Jaheira - "do you know what loneliness does to a man"

As I'm doing more often these days - didn't use the exact quote but let it inspire me and then modified a little to fit the story. Set about ten years pre-BG3. Caden is my Bhaalspawn PC from BG1/BG2. Hope you enjoy! c:

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Caden’s eyes drift half-open drowsily and he stares up at the ceiling of the guest room of Elerrathin’s Home. At first he’s not sure what woke him - perhaps one of Jaheira’s small horde of adopted children causing chaos downstairs - but then he hears it. A muted, rhythmic, slightly atonal whistling coming from the roof.

“D’you hear that?” he mumbles. Aerie, still sleeping peacefully at his side, doesn’t answer. After a moment’s hesitation, he gives in to his curiosity and slides carefully out from under the blanket so as not to wake his wife.

It’s a little hard to find the route upwards, presumably so the children don’t make use of it - a ladder carefully inset into the climbing vines along the upper floor’s rear balcony. (Plants among more plants - the balcony is strewn with pots of flowering buds, jars of dirt waiting for use, long planters with the stems of autumn vegetables just starting to poke into view. Like so much of Jaheira's house, it is a sanctuary of green amidst the dusty brown of the city streets.) Caden carefully avoids damaging any of the vines as he clambers up the ladder; his shoulder twinges with the unexpected exertion and he grunts. Gods, getting old, aren't you, boy?

Emerging onto the gentle slope of the roof, he blinks, for a moment dazzled by the brilliant orange of the sunrise against which the endless buildings of the Lower City are silhouetted. The fall air is crisp and cold and raises goosebumps on his skin as he steps out of the cozy warmth of the house below. 

Jaheira sits with her back to him on the edge of the rooftop, looking out to the west away from the sunrise and towards the grey sheet of the harbor not yet touched by the daylight. Her head is ducked slightly, and it takes him a moment to realize that the strange sounds are coming from her - she’s playing, very unsteadily, a simple tune on a small and very battered tin whistle. 

He moves softly, but she hears him anyway, and her head snaps up, turning to glance over her shoulder. She fists one hand tightly around the whistle, dropping it into her lap as if to hide it. “Ah. You’re awake, my friend,” she says.

He smiles. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just came up to listen.”

She snorts softly. “We have known each other long enough that there is no need for flattery, Caden.”

“I didn’t say I was listening because it was good.” He sticks his tongue out at her.

This elicits a soft laugh, and her shoulders relax slightly. “No, I should think not. I cannot quite get the touch for it, despite my efforts.” She lifts the whistle again and turns it slowly in her fingertips, watching as it catches a muted reflection of the slow-rising sunlight. “I do believe it is mocking me.”

He grins, moving to sit beside her so his legs dangle off the roof edge. “I’m sure someone in the city could teach you.”

“For coin and time - neither of which I have to spend on such frivolity,” she says wryly.

He raises an eyebrow. “Ah, right, you’re the High Harper now. No more fun and games, hm?”

“Just so.”

“There are those who would say we, of all people in the world, have earned a little frivolity,” he points out.

There’s a dash of humor in his voice, though, because he already knows the answer she will give him even before she speaks the words. So he’s not surprised when she shakes her head. “There is always yet more work to be done,” she murmurs. “For the city. For my children. Perhaps for the world, if it should have need of me again.”

Caden juts his lower lip out stubbornly. “If the world should have need of me again, someone can bloody well tell it that I'm not available for hire. And nor is Aerie. We've given enough.”

“You and Aerie have many happy years yet ahead; I would not take that from you,” Jaheira says quietly. 

A pause, and then she laughs again, but this time it is a somewhat darker sound, sardonic, self-deprecating.“But… ah, well. You see that this is what loneliness will do to a woman.” She gestures vaguely with the whistle. “She takes to brooding on rooftops and plotting self-sacrifice, and tormenting the local cat population with the squeaks of a whistle.”

Caden frowns. “Is that what you are?” he asks. “Lonely?” 

Her head jerks, her gaze flicking away out across the buildings around them. Then she smiles, and suddenly the moment passes, the tension in her face loosening. “We may call that a slip of the tongue,” she says mildly. “What time do I have to be alone, with that crop of rascals running about downstairs? Not to mention the Harpers under my command - who seem younger every year. And you, just now, as my guest.” She shakes her head. “No - I am not alone, and for that I am grateful.”

“Alone and lonely are not the same thing,” he says gently.

Again that flicker of a shadow crosses her face. “Do not press me on this, cub,” she says. “A slip of the tongue, no more.”

“Cub. You’re not really so much older than I am, you know,” he says dryly.

“Nonsense.” Her expression softens as she glances at him affectionately, and then she grins. “You were the first wayward child I ever raised, long before Rion.”

“I was twenty!” He laughs, nudging her gently in the shoulder. “But believe whatever you want.”

She smiles. Whatever dark thoughts led her to the rooftop seem to have passed, or at least burrowed themselves into better hiding; she tucks the whistle casually into a pocket and pushes herself to her feet. “Come. I will leave aside this travesty against melody, and let us go down to breakfast.”