Shaerl rolled her eyes. "Of course. Silly of me even to think you'd get tipsy, or take headaches from wine, like mere mortals."
"Look ye, lass, it took me the better part of a year to get the spell right-and after all that, Mystra laughed and changed me with a wave of her hand! I could have saved myself hours-nay, days-of painstaking research!"
"Aye," Shaerl agreed dryly. "I can see how long and hard it would have been, drinking every night away to see how long it took you to start reeling, and if 'twas different than the night before."
"That's not how I did it, lass!" Elminster growled at her.
Shaerl spread her hands in apology and sighed. "I'd have more sympathy, El, if I didn't look in the mirror every morn and see myself getting older, fast. Not all that long ago I was ordering my gowns slit thigh-high to catch the eyes of young blades at feasts, and having gowns made to match so my parents wouldn't see until the coach was around the first bend, and I could strip them off! Now I couldn't even get into any of those gowns… if I still dared to dress like that!"
"Why don't ye dare dress like that?" the Old Mage asked, trying to peer around the edge of the table to see her ankles. "A few years and a child don't ruin one's legs!"
"But they do add to one's belly. Never mind about me… you know what I'm talking about, Old Mage. You've had centuries-and may well have centuries more. I'll be lucky to see sixty summers."
" 'Tis not the shining thing ye think it, this longevity," Elminster told her gravely. "I bury friends every day, it seems… and one grows so tired of it all. If ye didn't need me so sorely in the days ahead, 'twould be so easy to just bid it all good-bye and lie down in a tomb somewhere to dream the ages away… but ye always need me."
"I do?" Shaerl asked challengingly, but hastily added, "No offense, Old Mage."
Elminster waved a dismissive hand. "Not ye personally-thou art one of the bright spots, lass. Cormyrean noble ladies who can think for themselves are rarer than they should be! I meant the Realms in general, and Shadowdale in particular. There's something here that the gods need very badly just now-and I must guard it from them."
"Ah, with us caught in the middle, as usual," Shaerl said sarcastically. "Wonderful."
"Ye wanted adventure when ye left the castle of thy father," Elminster reminded her. "So ye took the oath to Azoun and joined Vangerdahast's service, were sent to Shadowdale and promptly married the man ye were sent to spy on… so here ye are. Too late by far to criticize the bed ye made for thyself, dear."
"I know," Shaerl replied in exasperation. She got up, leaning on the table for support, and then strode restlessly about the room. "It's just-"
She threw up her hands in surrender, whirled around, and ran to the old wizard, flinging her arms around him.
"I'm just so scared, El," she said, tears standing in her eyes as she stared into his. Her lower lip trembled. "Every time Mourn goes out that door, I think it's the last time I'll see him alive. Zhentil Keep attacks us every gods-be-damned spring… and now the entire world seems torn apart, with gods everywhere and orcs and brigands, and magic going wild! Mourn needs me to be strong, I know, when what I want to do is run away from it all, just the two of us, and-"
"The two of us? Ye and this old wizard? Miss, I'll remind ye that ye're married!" Elminster said primly.
"I meant Mourngrym, you dolt," Shaerl said scornfully, voice wavering on the edge of tears.
"I know ye did, little one," Elminster said. He folded her gently into his arms. That brought the explosion of sobs he'd known it would. He held the lady of Shadowdale, murmuring comforting promises and stroking her hair until her tears were spent.
She lifted her head from his breast at last, red eyed and wild haired, and blinked at him tremulously, morose thanks in her eyes.
"Ah, ye're done!" Elminster said brightly. "Now, how about that wine?"
"Ooohh!" In mock rage Shaerl snatched up a cushion from the chair and belted him with it.
"That's better," the Old Mage said gruffly, through the rain of blows. "Beat the wits out of the only archmage left to defend Shadowdale, that's a smart girl."
Shaerl let fall the cushion as if its touch suddenly burned her fingers. "Sorry," she whispered, turning her head away.
Elminster chuckled and clapped her shoulder. "I was jesting, lass. Why don't ye settle into a slightly more cozy position on my lap-one in which thy knee isn't pressing hard into this old bladder, mind-an' I tell ye all the wild tales about which avatar is walking where in Faerun, and what a mess they're making of things. When ye're thoroughly scared, I'll pass on to news of the main Zhent army, currently being warmly entertained in Voonlar by several hobgoblin bands I sent thence… ah, dropped literally atop their camp, actually."
Shaerl giggled. "I wish I'd been there to see that," she said. "Has it thinned the Zhent host appreciably?"
Elminster nodded. "Moreover, I'm not done yet. It's taken me until now to locate my favorite hobgoblin tribe-the Nose Bones-so they'll be er, dropping in on our Zhent friends just before dawn."
"Taken you until now?" Shaerl said in mock alarm. "Why, whatever have you been doing?"
"Holding the Realms together, lass," Elminster told her rather grimly, "and fighting off various old foes who've decided to take advantage of the Fall of the Gods to conquer or destroy as much of Faerun as they can seize-the Malaugrym, in particular, have been troublesome."
"Those Who Walk in Shadow?" Shaerl asked, eyes grave. "Storm and I have talked about them several times, after one attacked you at the inn and you wouldn't tell us anything. They sounded deadly, indeed."
"Ah, but I've acquired three heroes to deal with them now," Elminster said, holding out to her a goblet that shouldn't have been full.
Shaerl stared at it suspiciously, sipped it, and then peered into it again. It was still full-or rather, full again. She gave Elminster a look.
The Old Mage spread his hands with an air of innocence.
The lady of Shadowdale sighed. "So who are these three mighty ones?"
"Sharantyr and two Harpers; men who came to Storm for training."
Shaerl stared at him, mouth open. "The three rangers? Against spell-hurling shapeshifters? El, they'll be killed!"
Elminster shrugged. "That fate could well befall us all in the days ahead. I can't be everywhere, especially now, with bindings failing and magic twisting awry all across Toril. My valiant three've done well enough thus far, I must say. Even if they all perish forthwith, they've dealt the House of Malaug a shrewd blow."
"Will you write that on their tombs?" Shaerl asked quietly.
Elminster shrugged but said nothing. After a long silence, the lady of Shadowdale whispered, "What will you write on ours?"
The ghost of a smile stole across the Old Mage's face. "Perhaps: I should have been laid to rest here long ago, but I'm still busy defending Shadowdale."
"Oh, no," she said quietly, shaking her head as the bedchamber door opened and a weary Mourngrym strode in, tossing down cloak, helm, and sword. "That's what your tomb should say."
"It already does, lass. Ask Lhaeo to show ye some time-on the morrow. It's a good place to hide with thy heir, if the dale's overrun. Oh, in case he forgets to tell ye-don't mind all the floating eyeballs that'll drift around after ye. They do no harm… and if the food runs out, they're good eating."
"Is he teasing you about fried eyeballs again?" Mourngrym asked as he strode into the room. Without slowing to hear Shaerl's reply, he bent over the chair to kiss the top of her head, and then looked up at Elminster as the soft fingers of his wife stole up to stroke his cheek. "And what's this about 'hide'? And 'overrun'? With you here holding the dale against all invaders?"
"We must all fall sometime," Elminster replied very quietly. "That's why I've been grooming every hero I could find these last ten years or so. Someday, defending Shadowdale without me will be your task. Perhaps someday soon." The Standing Stone, the Dales, Flamerule 17