The Confessor had checked the little clay jar to make sure there were no more coins hiding within it. He never charged anyone to speak with him, though he left the jar on the desk should they wish to drop a few coins into it. If they didn’t, he understood perfectly well. It wasn’t easy to get by sometimes here, when so many were still rebuilding. And he certainly wasn’t going to turn away anyone for lack of money. Most of the coins were put in by a select handful of his visitors, Hethurin being among them. Lani disliked it, and said he should charge at least a few silver at minimum, but he figured she made enough from her side of the office to make up for it.
Maybe she’d been right in this case, though. The pile of coins had been building for several months now, and he’d thought it would add up to a bit more. Still, there was a certain shop in town that he planned to visit, they sold used items but they didn’t call them that. They were “antique”, which appealed more to the rich elves in the city. It wasn’t something used and old, it was aged and full of history. The Confessor had been by to look a few times before, but they never had the same items twice, so it was a bit of luck to find something in particular. The Confessor went very early in the morning, as the shops were all bound to busy due to the holiday. Though it had originated in dwarven lands, Winter Veil had proven to be a huge hit with Silvermoon and its surrounding villages; an excuse to buy lavish gifts, drink a lot, and attend fancy balls. He had to admit that he felt a bit excited himself — last year’s ball had been lovely, and he was certain this one would be even better. Next year would be even better still, when the baby would be here and nearly a year old.
He’d originally planned to buy Lani the new book from her favorite author, the one with the questionable titles and covers. Thankfully the people at the book shop wrapped it for him, so he didn’t have to feel too embarrassed to carry it around the city. But as soon as he reached the antique shop, he knew what he’d buy her — a lovely wooden rocking chair, with sweeping elegant lines and a rich, dark stain. He hadn’t really been sure what to buy her, she’d wanted things for the baby, of course, but he wanted to get her something special as well. It would be perfect.
For Vaildor, they had a full-sized easel, a bit dusty but in good repair. There were a few paint splatters that could be sanded off, but the Confessor figured that Vaildor wouldn’t mind those so much. Later he’d stop at one of the art supply shops and buy as many as his remaining coins would allow. He hoped it would be enough. Vaildor had recently been very honest about his feelings, and even asked if he might call them Ann’da and Minn’da. Lani had cried, and he very nearly had. He seemed a bit uncertain about the new baby, worried that he’d be forgotten, but the Confessor hoped he’d warm a bit once they actually met.
He still had the little dragonhawk doll, hidden away in his chest. At first he’d thought to give it to the baby, but on taking it out he saw that its fabric had faded over the years, dust settling into its seams. It wouldn’t really be safe for a baby. And more importantly, he would be passing all of its weight and memories onto the new baby, and that really wasn’t fair. He had a new life now, a new beginning. At the toy shop he found one that was very similar to old Sunny, but bright and new, its little black glass eyes gleaming brightly. It had a yellow satin ribbon around its neck. That one would be the baby’s gift.