Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Act 1: First Night/Long Rest

After a full day of exploring, the sunset finally bleeds into the satin darkness of the night. The moon soon glowing over the gentle lap of the river current.

The quintet of hapless illithid infected had staked out an empty clearing near the water, with a small dilapidated stone building that might once have been a watchtower. They didn’t have much in the way of supplies but they’d managed to acquire some bedrolls from a group of mercenaries scavenging nearby that Tav (and Lae’zel) had scared off.

Since they’d stopped to rest, Tav’s been trying to distract himself from the voices whispering in his head that he can’t seem to be rid of. He’d awoken on the nautiloid, mind scrambled and near empty if not for them and this perpetual headache that nothing can soothe. Both prodromes only frustratingly compounded now that he weren’t otherwise preoccupied.

By the stream, he finds Shadowheart perched on a log. Fiddling with that odd little prism he’d seen her retrieve from her pod on the mind flayer ship. She’s attempting to pry it open by twisting its sides from all angles but it stubbornly refuses to budge.

He’d asked after it earlier that day but she had made it clear she had no desire to disclose what it was. Though by her aversion to the subject he’s not entirely convinced she knows either.

Coming closer, Tav purposely stomps his steps a little louder to announce his presence so as not to sneak up on her.

She throws a surprised glance over her shoulder at him and quickly stows the metal object away.

"Doing the rounds, are you?" Shadowheart asks before he can say anything, and she sounds as though she disapproves. She juts her chin to look up at him, fixing him with a hard, judging stare. "You’d better get some rest."

"I made tea," he says, gives her a slight smile, and presents one of the two steaming tankards in his hands to her. "Would you like some?"

The half-elf cleric wrinkles her nose at him. "I can detect the slightest trace of poison by smell alone. If this is some daft attempt to-"

Tav’s eyes grow wide and he steps backward. "A simple ‘no’ would’ve sufficed…" he mutters under his breath. But he recovers swiftly enough and shrugs. "No matter, I can drink both."

"Why don’t you ask the others?" she says dismissively. Or is it accusatory?

"I did." Tavik looks back at the campfire where the Wizard is still standing, staring glumly into it, tossing an occasional pebble. "But everyone is brooding tonight. We’re all on edge and Astarion and Gale seem especially unaccustomed to sleeping outside in the dirt."

Eyeing the cup in his hand warily, "I suppose you’ve had ample opportunity to leave me to rot," she holds a hand out. "Very well, I’ll take the tea."

From what little he’s gathered about the Cleric since he met her, she could be irritable, but overall she seemed sensible, pragmatic. So he hasn’t taken her derisive snipes personally thus far.

Tav smiles around the lip of his tankard as he takes a swig of the liquid in it the same time she does hers. Awaiting her verdict. "I think all any of us care about right now is survival, and we’ve not quite reached the ‘sabotaging each other stage’ of our dilemma just yet."

"Not bad," Shadowheart concedes, lowering the tankard, "but I prefer black or herbal."

"I’ll keep that in mind for next time."

She glances up at him, assessing, seemingly taking him in as though for the first time.

Silence stretches between them and Tav gets the distinct impression his prolonged presence is unwelcome.

"Anyway, I’m going to go sweep the perimeter before I hit the sack." He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. "‘Night."

Shadowheart’s voice cuts through just as he turns to leave.

"You think we’re not safe here?"

"I think the biggest threats on the Sword Coast are already within this camp."

Shadowheart narrows her eyes at him before her gaze darts over to the rest of their newfound companions gathered closer to the fire pit.

"Well, in here anyway," he continues, pointing to his temple. "But I can’t say I’m entirely comfortable camping so close to the ship."

"I doubt it’s those mind flayers we’ll have to worry about out here. We both saw the wreckage."

"True, I’m not even sure how we survived that."

She stands, folds her free arm across her torso, begins pacing back and forth, clearly just as restless as the lot of them. "We should be more concerned about turning. We have lit fuses in our heads. Sooner or later, they’re going to blow. Each hour that passes, the thing inside us grows. We need to find a healer."

"Agreed. Finding that grove is our top priority, we’ll head there as soon as day breaks."

At his affirmation, Shadowheart’s expression softens somewhat, and her shoulders relax.

"Maybe we’ll get lucky. We’re overdue some good fortune."

Tav realises he’s started walking and Shadowheart has followed him while they spoke. He doesn’t make comment, lest she leave. Though, he’s not certain why that possibility would bother him.

Instead, he simply takes another sip of tea.

The pair follow the riverbank down a ways, then curve right into an expanse of trees to loop around their campsite.

Sorcerer ignites a tiny flame in the palm of his free hand as the forest shadows overtake the glow of the crescent moon. Illuminating patches of dark undergrowth, the trunks of trees, branches spidering out eerily overhead.

A cold wind bristles through the foliage, carrying a fresh scent of spruce and resin and cut grass.

Then, as the fire flickers, a sudden pulse of magic from within him surges outwards - burrowing deep into the ground beneath his feet. Roots erupt from the surface and swarm his boots, coiling upwards quickly, tightly, around his legs. Only stopping just shy of his waist.

A small puddle of them surrounds him and Shadowheart just barely leaps backward in time to avoid becoming entangled herself.

"What the-!"

Tav glances down, bewildered, then lifts his hands to examine them. "I think that was me."

"You trapped yourself in vines? Sharp as a marble, aren’t you?"

Tav gives a half-hearted snort, shoulders slumped. Realising dejectedly that he’s dropped his tea tankard in the confusion.

"Perks of channelling wild magic. It’s unrefined, elemental energy in its purest form." He tries to wrestle one leg free to no avail. "Potent, but cannot be contained or controlled, and there’s always a risk it backfires like this."

"All that from a single misfired cantrip?" Shadowheart asks, tone mocking, she raises her tankard to him, "Your power is truly a sight to behold!"

He frowns at first but it soon dissolves into a smile when he sees the humour.

"Maybe you should just sit on your hands from now on," she continues.

"Then whoever will rescue all the trapped cleric maidens in the realm?"

"I’m sure we’ll manage."

Then, to his utter shock, he hears her… giggle?

The sound is so surprising that he looks up to see she’s holding a fist to her mouth to stifle it.

She notices his stunned expression and sharply turns her head away, clearing her throat.

The brief glimpse behind her stony wall evokes something dangerous inside him but he doesn’t have a chance to ponder it because his focus diverts to the movement behind her.

There, he spots a familiar elf stalking through the trees a fair distance away - closer to the path leading down to the main road. His back to the two of them.

Tav drops his voice to a whisper. "Astarion’s sneaking off?"

Shadowheart casts a glance but doesn’t appear all too surprised. "Likely prowling for his next meal."

"What?"

"You saw the fangs, surely?" She folds her arms but props one vertical under her chin to hold her tankard to her mouth. "The pale skin, red eyes?"

"But he was walking in the sunlight all day. Wouldn’t he burn to ash?"

Shadowheart seems to consider, ultimately shrugging. "Can’t say I’m a vampire expert."

Sorcerer closes his eyes, breathes deep, and withdraws his magic from the earth. The roots retract, releasing him. Cleric looks on in interest.

Afterwards, they scan their surroundings for the man in question but he’s vanished into the darkness.

"We should go look for him."

The raven-haired woman holds a hand out in protest. "If he wants to run off in the middle of the night, let him. I’m not risking my skin for someone I hardly know."

"You don’t trust him," Tav observes.

"Trust is a rare commodity," Shadowheart says evenly, titling her head to the side as they resume their walk. "Not sure I’d spend it on someone who drew a knife on me moments after I met them. Especially when I’m liable to wake up to his fangs at my throat."

Tav hums, a little amused by her open tattling. "What about Gale, any thoughts?"

"What’s there to think about? He’s a wizard, all they care about is power."

"Did you feel it too?" Tav asks, leaning in eagerly, he rubs his jaw as he thinks. "I sense he was once of unfathomable power but it’s like he’s a shell of it now. I’d like to know why."

Indeed, his own magic seems subdued somehow. Though, without his memories, he's unsure as to what extent. Certainly his control over the Wild Weave has been impeded. The echo of the wizard's former prowess is far more obvious to his senses. Perhaps it has been that way longer - predating the illithid parasite - and therefor the cause is something else entirely.

"Do you know him?"

"No," Tav shakes his head, then pauses, frowns, as he reconsiders, "I don’t think so."

Shadowheart raises her eyebrows.

"I-I can’t remember anything since I woke up on the nautiloid about who I am or how I got there, actually," he explains. "Symptom of the tadpole, maybe?"

Hesitating, she looks away. "I can see why you might ask. But memory loss is not as uncommon as you may think, there may be other causes. As for the worm? I can’t say. Perhaps you’re better off pumping Gale for more information, he seems to have the most insight into our predicament."

"Or Lae’zel."

Shadowheart scowls and he has to suppress the urge to chuckle.

"Be careful with her, she’s not of this world. I would be surprised if our goals remain aligned for long."

The two women had clashed back on the nautiloid and earlier this morning. Tav noticed Shadowheart had a particular problem with the Fighter or maybe even githyanki in general - whereas Lae’zel had a problem with everyone. But as long as there was a greater danger, they all had a begrudging accord.

"You don’t hold back, do you?" Tav says, smiling. "I shudder to think what your impression of me is."

Her expression is unreadable, her eyes flit across to him without her turning her head. "I think you’re trouble."

"Oh?"

"A hells-touched sorcerer with little restraint on his power, no recollection of himself, and far too curious for his own good." Then, she smirks. "Not a winning combination."

"That’s… accurate and not as bad as I anticipated, so thank you."

"It wasn’t a compliment but you’re welcome, nonetheless," Shadowheart says, and Tav detects something smug about her tone.

Eventually the pair wind up back within camp. Gale and Lae’zel are already asleep near the fire.

One benefit of Tav and Shadowheart’s fey ancestry is the lack of a need for sleep. Instead, their rest involves a deep semi-conscious meditation ritual. For a full blooded elf like Tav of only four hours, Shadowheart more likely six.

Albeit, Tav is not all that eager to test whether his trance state will quell the noise in his head or exacerbate it.

Shadowheart sinks into her bedroll beside the fire, and as he does the same, he catches her shooting a suspicious glance at Lae’zel’s sleeping form a few feet away.

The githyanki warrior is on her back, stiff as a board, and has her greatsword hugged against her chest. She’d insisted on standing watch that night but Tav noticed how exhausted she really was and urged she slept. He’s a little surprised she actually seems to have listened to the suggestion, however.

Then the Cleric locks eyes with him, her expression easing, and she gives him a small nod.

"It was pleasant talking with you, Shadowheart," he finds himself saying before he can think better of it. More surprising even, he finds himself meaning it too.

She smiles, perhaps for the first time since he’d met her, but it seems a little reserved and fades quickly. "I’ll wake you up at first light. Get some rest."

Tav lies down, steeples his fingers together over his chest, staring up into the darkness of the starless night sky.

It dawns on him then… That throughout the duration of his stroll with Shadowheart, and for the first time since regaining consciousness, his mind had been quiet.

Chapter Text

Act 1: Emerald Grove/Sword Coast Wilderness 

Day three post-nautiloid crash and they were still no closer to a cure for the parasite than they were when they landed here.

Shadowheart had planted herself on some soft dewy grass under the shade of a large oak tree in the Emerald Grove. Kneeling in meditation, awaiting the others haggling with the resident merchants for new equipment.

They’d found their way here early the prior morning. Drawn by the shouting at the front gate. Alas, no one here could help them and each lead turns into one errant errand after another. That a certain someone insists they carry out each time.

Her surroundings aflutter with activity; the druids incessant chanting, bird chirping, distant voices deep in conversation, some bard singing somewhere.

It proves hard to focus.

After some time, she does not know how long she sat there, she senses someone striding toward her. She recognises the sound of their boots on the gravel, the billow of their robes in the wind, and even the confidence with which to approach her so casually. She doesn’t need to open her eyes to know who it is.

They walk past her, a respectful distance away as though to not disturb her prayers, and then there's a series of light thuds as something is dropped to the grass and propped against the trunk of the tree.

"Are we ready to leave now?" she asks, without moving.

"No, Gale, Astarion, and Wyll are still busy bartering."

Shadowheart nods once but does not reply.

"So…" Sorcerer drawls, piercing the silence, "You’re a cleric, right? Under which divination?"

She frowns to herself. When she opens her eyes for the first time, she casts him an irritated sideways look. "Do you bother everyone with these inane questions? Or is that privilege reserved only for me?"

Leant against the tree, there’s a flash of surprise on his face, Tav quirks an eyebrow at her. "Prickly today," he comments wryly, undeterred, "You okay? I thought connecting with nature was supposed to be soothing."

"Nature stinks," she retorts, frown deepening. She notices him glancing at her hand, the one with the wound that had sparked earlier, and she clenches her fist in her lap. "Sod it, don’t give me that look."

"Prefer the city to the wilderness, got it," he notes, one corner of his mouth pulling upwards in a way she finds irksome. "To answer your question - yes, I have asked after everyone. But don’t worry, you’re my favourite conversationalist."

Shadowheart resists a sudden urge to roll her eyes. "Wow, I’m honoured. Truly."

He chuckles, a soft genial sound. "Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy speaking your mind."

The Sharran stares at him and his goofy grin with a blank expression. "You can believe what you want, it matters little."

The other tadpole victims they’d picked up in the last couple of days were a mostly straightforward lot, content to keep to themselves. Tavik, the elven sorcerer and the group’s de facto leader, was an anomaly. At first, he'd been treading lightly around her, but as his aplomb grew, so too did his boldness. He’d oft come to linger nearby at camp and engage in idle chatter with her despite her reluctance to share much. He never pressed her on anything she was unwilling to disclose but that didn’t stop more questions aimed at other aspects of her life and character.

She wasn’t some mystery for him to solve, and at times, she wished he would cease. At others… some part of her wants to quiz him just as hard. He was as much an enigma to her as she was to him. Mostly, it was his sense of humour that left much to be desired. 

When she doesn’t look away, Tav folds his arms across his chest, tilting his head at her in a way a dog would when it is curious about something. "I get the feeling you want to ask me something."

Her mouth parts, a little impressed. "I do…" she confesses. She turns to look over the grove and its busy inhabitants. "Why do you concern yourself with the fate of these druids and tieflings?"

"You disapprove?"

After a moment of thought, she murmurs, "I wouldn’t say that." Shadowheart watches as some presumably wild-shaped bear trots onto the wooden elevator platform and curls itself into a ball to sleep. "Surely we are wasting time that could be put to better use looking for a cure. It is not like helping these refugees has proven profitable at all either. I merely wish to know your motive."

"Motive?" His brow pinches together like he’s genuinely confused. "Must there be one?"

"You mean to say it is out of the kindness of your heart, is that it?" She squints at him, unconvinced.

Tav rubs his chin with one hand and hums in thought. "Should I have left you to fend for yourself on the nautiloid too?" he says, challengingly. "That could’ve wasted precious moments of time delaying us."

Shadowheart’s reply dies in her throat and she looks away quickly.

Perhaps he has a point, she surmises reluctantly. These people clearly needed all the help they could get and their lot were in a position to do so. Still, even if the tadpole's incubation is suspended somehow - they needed to be rid of them. And Shadowheart had a mission to fulfil as soon as possible.

The elf pushes off of the tree to stand to full height. He walks a few paces so that he’s ahead of her.

"I won’t turn my back on those in need when I can stand to help." He glances over at her then and she meets his eyes. "That includes you, Shadowheart." His sombre expression lifts and he shrugs. "Besides, we can hardly expect anyone to help us if we spurn everyone else."

"At first I thought you were just naive." Shadowheart stands as well. "But that’s not true, there’s more to you under the surface… but I can’t quite put my finger on it."

Tavik crosses his arms again, looking amused. "You’re a very suspicious person, you know that?"

"I have to be. You’d be wise to be more careful with who you trust as well."

"Does that advice extend to me trusting you?"

She doesn’t flinch, defiant. "Possibly."

To his credit, he isn’t discouraged either. "I’ll take my chances."

Shadowheart searches his face, still unsure what to make of him. Of what he had said.

He doesn’t give her long to ponder as soon he’s pointing at something beside the tree. She follows his gaze. A shield?

"I got you something," is all he says.

Somethings. There at the base of the trunk is a circular metal shield studded with gold in its centre. Beside it, nearly blocked from view, is a spiked Morningstar mace.

She sends the Sorcerer an incredulous look.

He shrugs. "That tiefling blacksmith had some decent stock."

Chapter Text

Act 1: Toll House/The Risen Road

They’d come here expecting a fight.

Tavik blasts Anders through the desk of the office with a thrumming column of lightning, sending wood splinters flying. Just as Karlach, a fugitive from the Hells and their latest tadpole-infested addition, rounds it to finish him off with a mighty swing of her axe.

Wyll is perched on the second floor balcony duelling an assailant with his rapier. Having snuck around the side of the building to catch them off guard before they attacked.

Just as the Sorcerer prepares another spell prime for the third Paladin of Tyr, a sudden sharp pain shoots through his side.

Behind him, nobody was there.

Tav thinks he’s gone crazy until the air shimmers and a man with a devilish grin beneath a dark cowl materialises - holding the hilt of a blade plunged deep into the Sorcerer’s back. Right beneath his ribs.

Tavik lashes out with a spin, his staff flying through the air toward the rogue’s neck, followed by his fist encased in flame. Both connect, one after the other.

His attacker cries out as the flames scorch upwards, burning into the flesh of his cheek.

But Tav realises too late the twist of his body had caused the shanked metal to cut deeper, wider, and he has nothing left in his tank as he collapses against the nearest wall. Barely able to stay upright.

The rogue recovers quick, drawing another dagger from a sheath at his hip. Angry now.

Sparks fly as Tav meets a slash of the blade with his metal forearm bracer mid-air. But the movement has him dizzy.

Then, Shadowheart is there, charging the hooded man with her shield and he goes stumbling on impact through the front door of the Toll House. The same one the three True Souls had entered from in the first place. The man tips like a felled tree, lands hard on his back, groaning.

She follows her prey outside and Tav watches as she steps over his limp body and deflects a swing of the dagger with her mace, only to bash her weapon into his head.

Tav doesn’t think he’ll be waking up from that.

When Shadowheart returns inside, a dark look on her face, she finds Tav yanking the blade out. Hissing as another flare of white hot pain races up the entirety of the right side of his body.

The blade he tosses to the floor and covers his wound with his other hand. Blood leaking through his fingers.

"Little prick got me in the kidney, I think," he grunts. But, besides his daze, seems otherwise unaffected for now.

His free hand he braces against the wall again and Shadowheart comes closer.

Karlach emerges from the side room, her battleaxe blood-splattered in hand, and she’s burning. Bright red roaring fire searing across her shoulders, her hair, even the tip of her horn.

"Fuck them. Fuck Zariel. I’m not going back. I’m never going back!" she seethes to no one in particular, huffing and puffing like an angry bull but Tav doesn’t miss the slight waver in her voice. "And if any of mummy’s little friends want to pick up where the others left off, they’ll find nothing but a pile of ash!"

"Zariel wont go near you again," Tav says in reassurance, slumping a shoulder against the wall to hold his free hand out in a placating gesture. "We’ll make sure of that."

"That’s right, she won’t. She can’t. She couldn’t even lay a finger!"

Karlach bends forward at the hip whilst she laughs loudly, maniacally, but the sound is mirthless.

The hellfire of her jumps to the wooden furniture, the plank floor boards, the wall where she’s standing and smouldering, and Sorcerer shares a look of alarm with Cleric.

Shadowheart gestures for him to lean on her and he does so, letting her wrap one of his arms over her shoulders as she steers him limping outside. Still clutching his bleeding side.

A few paces away from the front deck, she tells him to sit, helps ease him down. He groans a little as he pushes his back against a large boulder.

Tav lifts his hand that had been covering the wound and it’s drenched in crimson. Looking at it has him light-headed, he somehow feels both hot and cold at the same time.

"Hold still," Shadowheart commands, kneeling beside him.

Before he can protest that he’s fine, the Cleric is already hovering her hands over his side and begins a healing ritual.

At first, Tavik’s watching the cerulean energy swirl and glow, the water-like floating bubble of it. Bending all around her arms in mesmerising circular patterns, culminating brightly at her palms and right down to her fingertips. A bubble of water that feels wonderful, as though he’s soaking in a warm spring.

After a while, his gaze flits up to the hard look on her face. Beneath her stern brow furrowed in concentration, her eyes blaze in their entirety with the same colour of her magic.

He hadn’t been conscious of her proximity until he was.

Falling silent, he just stares at her. His mind drifting… wondering if she’s worried about him.

Maybe it’s the delirium, but he finds himself overtaken by a sudden infatuation. A deep affection for this ethereal warrior clad in chainmail and ceremonial plate with the piercing eyes and hair as dark as the midnight sky. A feeling which seemed to stem right from the middle of his chest - his pounding heart. Burning just as fiercely as Karlach’s rage-fuelled rampage within the building she was presently yelling inside and destroying.

As he admires her, he finds himself longing for some talent with a paintbrush… The thought gives him pause and an idea strikes him.

Shadowheart glances up to meet him. The blue light dims, fades, and her stormy green irises emerge beneath. "What?"

"You… saved my life."

"Now we’re even," she says, one corner of her mouth quirked in mild amusement. "Careful, at this rate, you might become indebted to me for the rest of it."

That feeling again. It stirs within. A blooming warmth that has nothing to do with the encroaching inferno. And Tav thinks in that brief moment that if this woman trusted him with the world, he would not betray her.

A smile breaks across his face. "That sounds like you want to stick around a while. Are we becoming friends?"

"Your bar for friendship is abysmally low."

Amazed, he gestures his now fully intact side. There’s a tear in his robes from where the dagger pierced but the flesh beneath had regenerated to nothing but a long white scratch. Which, in the very next second, fades and disappears completely. "I wouldn’t call this low."

Shadowheart pushes upright to her feet, scoffing, as if her own power barely fazes her. "We just met a few days ago. You don’t know me."

With newfound strength, Tav is able to stand as well. Emboldened, he leans down a tad, and says, "But I’d like to."

One of Shadowheart’s eyebrows upturns as she daringly returns his stare.

“Oh, what a little charmer…”

Tav’s momentarily confused by the way he recognises her voice but her lips did not move.

"I heard that."

Shadowheart startles, her cheeks colour, and she steps backward, pointing at him in accusation. "Stay out of my head!"

"Hey, you must’ve invited me in!"

Surprise turns to indignation, and she glares up at him.

"I’ll try not to make a habit of this. Thank you, though. Seriously."

Shadowheart pauses, says nothing at first. Her arms fold across her chest as she appraises him. But their minds remain connected and it’s enough that he feels it when the tension dissipates.

"We’re in this together, right?" she says at last with a slight smile, and there’s no denying her dry and teasing tone. "Besides, who’s going to save everyone if you’re dead?"

The Cleric looks back at the building going up in flames. And through the parasitic bond he sees her intentions there - to douse the fire before it spreads into the surrounding wilderness.

"Since you fancy yourself such a hero, help me put this out, would you?" Shadowheart swirls her hands above her head, fingertips crackling with magic as a body of water large enough to fill a pond conjures over her - which she immediately propels toward the front wall of the building catching fire. "It’ll keep you on my good side."

Tav smirks, pleased with the assurance that he was on it. He fixes her with a curious look but follows her lead, withdrawing his Rain Dancer staff and casting his own water spell to combine efforts.

"Taking the initiative to valiantly extinguish a building on fire? I’m sure we’ll make a passable hero out of you yet."

"Not if I corrupt you first."

"I do like a woman with a dark side."

"Of all the dimwitted men in Faerûn, I ended up stuck with you."

"I’m certain you thank your patron god for that very fact in each and every one of your prayers."

Shadowheart shakes her head but Tav smugly notices an almost imperceptible smile on her face.

Luckily, the wood of the office seems moist enough that the fire hadn’t spread too badly and by the time Cleric and Sorcerer are done putting it out, the building still stands mostly intact if not for several large fresh scorch marks.

Karlach emerges alongside Wyll from a back exit, rounding a corner to come into view.

"Phew, had to lay off a little steam after facing off with those ignots," Karlach says, nonchalant, holstering her axe across her back. "Sorry about the building, hope it wasn’t important or anything."

"Hey, you can burn down as many toll collection offices as you want. You won’t see me shedding any tears," Tav replies. "Just try to keep it contained if possible."

Chapter Text

Act 1: Emerald Grove Environs/Camp

Rest proves as elusive as ever. For each night any and all attempt at repose is thwarted by flashes of blood red swarming the edges of his vision every time he closes his eyes. Accompanied by surges of white hot pain flaring through every recess of his mind. His throat. His chest. His stomach.

Tavik jolts upright on his bedroll and clutches his aching head with both hands.

The cool breeze sweeping in from the river and the soft whistle of it singing in his ear soothes him somewhat and he takes a deep breath. The throbbing headache seems to dull. The red in his periphery subsides.

Replaced with the blazing light of the campfire, still burning through the night, and he stares into it for a while.

Deciding he would not be getting much sleep tonight, Tavik pushes to his feet.

He finds himself making his way towards the river when he notices a candle burning inside Shadowheart’s tent, and the outline of her figure moving about inside. Clearly not asleep either.

She pauses whatever she’s doing when she hears his footsteps and soon after she’s holding the tent opening aside to peer out at him curiously.

"Tav? What are you doing up?"

He’s never seen her with her hair out before. Shadowheart of the dark raven locks, now cascading down well past her shoulders, seemingly glowing in the moonlight. On one side she’s tucked it behind a pointed ear.

Heat creeps into his face at the sight of her and he’s thankful it’s dark enough she won’t notice. "Can’t sleep." He tilts his head, embarrassment giving way to his own curiosity. "Why are you awake?"

Shadowheart raises a brow at him, aware of his deflection, but she doesn’t probe further. Instead she sighs and explains, "I’m trying to wrangle styling my hair."

Tavik laughs then. "What?" He makes his way closer. "At this hour?"

She bristles. "It’s been a while, okay? This is more of a two person job, I can’t exactly see the back of my head even with a mirror."

"I’m surprised you do it by hand. Why don’t you use magic?"

Standing to full height, just over a head shorter than him, Shadowheart juts her chin, giving him a challenging look. "If you know of any spells for this, I’d love to learn them. But alas, there’s nothing relevant among my repertoire."

"I would offer my own but I don’t want to accidentally set your head on fire."

"Yes," she agrees, in that dry sarcastic way that is so very Shadowheart, "you keep your magic to yourself, thanks."

"Maybe we stick to traditional means," Tav suggests, shrugging.

"You know how to braid?" she asks, skeptical.

He nods once, then smiles amusedly. "My magic may not be the subtlest but… I think you’ll find I’m quite good with my mage hands in other ways." He holds them up to illustrate his point and wiggles his fingers at her.

Shadowheart stares back at him, her lips twitch like she’s trying not to smile herself, but she rolls her eyes anyway. "We’ll see."

Tav encroaches onto the purple carpet she’d laid out outside her tent and takes a seat on the small wooden stool she’d left out.

She watches him wordlessly before turning around and slowly kneeling, her back to him.

"My style is far from simple. Are you sure you know what to do?"

"I may have an idea. Use the tadpole." Shadowheart turns her head to look at him. "You can monitor my progress through my eyes."

"Are you sure..?" The Sharran acolyte faces forward once more. "The mind melding can be… intrusive."

"Sure, I don’t mind. I trust you." He chuckles good-naturedly. "Even if you don’t trust me with your braid."

Her shoulders shake as if in laughter but he doesn’t hear her. Then, she goes still, focusing, and just as soon he feels her psionic presence seek entrance to the forefront of his mind. They’d done this before. A few times, in fact. Though this time her probing feels… gentle, almost uncertain.

He allows her entry immediately and their thoughts become one.

Together their tadpoles resonate and conjure an image, a memory, of what her hair looked like normally.

Carefully, Tav gathers the length of her hair together in one hand and holds it in place high where the point of her occipital bone would be.

The Sharran headpiece of hers, Shadowheart helpfully offers to him from over her shoulder and he deftly uses it to clip onto the base of her now ponytail.

It takes a while to complete the intricate ritual of weaving the sliver ring-linked chains segmenting her braid but he takes his time. Easily following the design from the image they share of her.

“I’m impressed, you’re better at this than I gave you credit for.”

Shadowheart does not say the words aloud. Instead, they form in his mind like they’re thoughts of his own. They’d not spoken since he began so the sudden interruption startles him.

"Sorry," she says, this time with her voice, her shoulders lifting ever so slightly.

"Don’t apologise."

Nimble-fingered, he finishes his task, tying off the last of her hair with the end of the thin chain and gingerly drapes her finished braid over her shoulder.

Shadowheart lingers in his mind space, analysing his work in front of him. He feels a surge of warmth. Not his own. Then their connection breaks.

She turns around fully to face him, shifting herself on her shins. Stroking the end of her braid with her hand, expression thoughtful.

"Will you tell me why you were lurking around camp this late?"

Shadowheart did not often ask after others business. The Cleric guarded her own secrets carefully and, in the short time Tav had known her, did not seem interested in prying into anyone else’s.

He’s unsure how to answer. How can he tell her he suspects there’s something evil possessing him? This… Urge. What will she think of him? Would she allow him this close if she knew?

She seems to take pity on him, her face softens sympathetically. "You’re in pain, aren’t you?"

"Yes," he admits, sinking in on himself, "My head aches something fierce whenever I try to sleep."

"Allow me, maybe I can repay you for your help now."

"What do you mean?"

Shadowheart pats the space between them, inviting him to kneel in front of her.

He frowns at her in mild confusion but gets down before her anyway.

Then, Shadowheart leans in, dangerously, impossibly, close and her hand reaches for the side of his head. She hovers it there.

"Te Curo," she whispers, head bowed, eyes closed. Her hand glows with blue light and a cool soothing sensation blooms in his head beginning from the placement of her hand. It spreads quickly and seems to encase him.

He’s felt this sensation before when she’s healed him in battle.

Any lingering fog of pain ebbs out of him and he feels a calm sweep through him.

Her features alight, washed in the blue haze of her magic, and he can make out the tiny scars on her face. One dashed across the left side of her lower lip. Another shorter scar struck on her chin. Both near completely faded. But his eyes are still drawn to the latest and most prominent jutting from the bridge of her nose across underneath her right eye. He idly wonders what caused them. Even if Shadowheart were willing to divulge, it was doubtful she’d even remember.

All too soon, her hand drops away and she leans back. Her eyes open and she’s looking back at him, green eyes searching. In their proximity, Tav finds himself entranced by the dark radiant beauty of her.

"There. That should hopefully give you a few hours of relative relief."

Shadowheart smiles at him and, gods, did it light up the night. Something stirs in his chest, not entirely unpleasant.

He looks away. Unable to meet the intensity of her gaze. "Thank you. What would I do without you?"

"Bleed out somewhere after tangling with the local wildlife probably," she offers humorously. He feels her eyes still on him. "Thank you for your help as well. Though… I’m not sure whether or not to be jealous of wherever you picked up that particular skill."

Tavik stares at the simple patterns woven into the purple mat the pair sit upon. Mind wandering. Has he done this before? Something about the act seemed distantly familiar. Did he have a sister? A daughter even? The prospect of him having a family seemed unlikely given the compulsions.

He meets the dark-haired Cleric’s gaze. "I doubt there’s anything for you to be jealous of."

————

A single candle burns another night in her small tent. Shadowheart knelt in the centre, combing her slightly damp hair once again alone late into the night, all while watching herself in her mirror.

She thinks about Tav. How he helped her a few days earlier in the routine… how soothing it had been to feel his fingers in her hair, against her scalp. How delicate yet precise his touch had been.

Few things surprise her anymore, but his kindness, gentleness… She never expected that.

…And so she finds herself wondering if she could recruit his aid a second time.

She thinks about the parasite. As much as she loathes the idea of that worm wriggling about in her brain matter, the abilities it grants them have proven increasingly convenient. Shadowheart isn’t as practiced in its usage as Tav but attempting to reach for him across the camp with it should be possible.

She thinks about Tav, again, and the tadpole. Clenching her eyes closed, she focuses on both. The tadpole squirms, almost as though excited, and she winces at the sudden discomfort but presses forward all the same.

Toward Tavik’s consciousness. It is easy to find, easier than she anticipated. It seems he was the only other campmate awake at the hour.

“Tav, can you come over here for a moment?”

There’s a short pause and she senses his surprise at her intrusion. Before she can think to apologise, the feeling dissipates. Quickly replaced by a warm curiosity before he answers.

“Shadowheart? I suppose.”

The Cleric cuts their connection as she jerks out of a slouch.

A few moments later she hears a distant rustling of fabric, then footsteps. The patter of flat shoes on the dirt.

Shadowheart pulls at the corner of her tent’s door and ties it aside. The sight of the camp bathed in night opening to her, and a rather confused looking Sorcerer sauntering over to her.

"What did you need?" Tav asks as he reaches the outside her tent. Then, in a more concerned tone, he adds, "Is something wrong?"

In response, she only smiles. Partly to reassure, partly out of embarrassment.

Still knelt in the middle of her doorway, Shadowheart presents her hairpiece in one hand, using it to loosely gesture at her own head. "Could you be so kind as to assist me with this once again? You did such a good job the other night."

The man cocks his head at her then puts his hands on his hips. "You called me over via tadpole for another braiding session?"

"Yes."

He sniffs, but she knows he’s amused because he can’t fight back his smile.

"I suppose your sense of humour is one of your best traits."

Chapter Text

Act 1: Camp

Above, the midday sun is shining and the Sharran’s heart feels light as she listens to the pleasant, excited chatter of her fellow companions.

They’d saved Councillor Florrick from a burning mansion this morning and after dousing the flames, were permitted to make off with provisions stocked within. Most of which survived the flames as the kitchens hadn’t been too badly touched by the time they’d arrived. This was perhaps the first night since leaving the Emerald Grove they’d had such a large assortment of food. 

All but Wyll, of course, who had been pacing by the river earlier. His father Duke Ravengard was taken by Absolutists. None of them knew he was noble born, but he certainly carried himself with the eloquence of an aristocratic bearing, in hindsight. Still, he'd perked up a bit after Tav had chatted with him. 

While the others fuss over dinner preparations, Shadowheart decided to use the intermission to get some chores done - carrying a crate of her own armour across the camp to clean. A ritual she knows well, armour maintenance one of the many lessons taught under her Sharran tutors and one she took to heart.

The group kept their communal equipment stored in one place; beside a flat overladen stone table situated beneath a raggedy blue tent tarp draped across three tall wooden posts. In some poor attempt at shade a few meters from the centre campfire.

Tav was already there, sitting on a tree stump. He doesn’t look up at her approach, attention rapt on something in his hands that is blocked from her view by what’s in her arms.

She sets her crate down upon the stone surface and began unloading her armaments.

When she glances up out of interest, she sees the elf crushing something into a fine powder using a mortar and pestle. Other ingredients laid out before him, along with some empty glass bottles and there’s an open barrel adjacent to where he’s sitting that seems involved in the process somehow.

At first she remains silent because he does, busying herself scrubbing the grime off her breastplate with a rag she’d fished from storage. There was still residual gnoll blood stains, the beasts had been swarming the Risen Road, and curtesy of Waukeen's Rest nearly burning to the ground, some black charring now too.

But curiosity wins out in the end, as she soon says, "You’re trained in alchemy?"

Tavik meets her eyes as he nods, then he briefly regards her and the armour plate in her hands before returning to his own task once more.

Unused to such a taciturn Tav, Shadowheart examines the collection of herbs and extracts set out before him. Most of which are used in health potions or elixirs that provide one boon or another. One particular mushroom catches her eye that she recognises as out of place.

"These are used in poisons."

That gets more of an acknowledgment from the man, as a slow smile spreads across his lips. "Yes," he agrees, "but in small doses can numb pain, provide relief. Good for poultices."

"So you’re the one responsible for our potion surplus, huh?" she asks with some measure of amusement, finishing her breastplate and placing it aside in exchange for another piece.

Tav smiles wider at her meaning. They’d all been lugging around dozens of potions that nobody seemed to know where they’d come from.

"Guilty."

They don’t speak but Shadowheart smiles because he is. And she likes it when he smiles. A soft, genuine expression that he gave her often. Never failing to evoke this pleasant warm flutter in - what she’d like to think is - her cold heart.

Before the moment has almost passed, Tav explains, "We can’t rely solely on you to mend our wounds and cure all our ailments."

Shadowheart pauses her ministrations.

He seems to realise his mistake, as he stammers, "I don’t mean to say that I don’t believe you’re capable. Quite the opposite, in fact. Just, we shouldn’t take advantage."

The Cleric laughs faintly. "I knew what you meant. Thank you."

Tav sighs in exaggerated relief, his eyes gleam.

Drumming her fingertips on the table, Shadowheart grows thoughtful. "Were you an alchemist in Baldur’s Gate?" she asks, as she selects one of her plate gauntlets to polish.

Ever since she’d confessed her Shar worship to the white-haired elf, she’d found herself drawn in by him. Seeking his company, his ear. He’d been unexpectedly open-minded about it for an outsider of the faith. More curious than ever judgmental. And now that he knows her secret, treats her no differently than he did before, it’s almost as if a weight had lifted. Something about that is comforting to her.

Tav’s brow slants as he considers her question. "Please, I’m a sorcerer not some village herbalist. For that, all I need is energy. This craft is to make up for my lack of restorative magic."

Shadowheart nods, satisfied by his answer.

"I have been wondering, however, why your spells primarily relate to radiant power and healing." Tav doesn’t look at her as he speaks, instead he’s pouring the crushed mixture of herbs from his mortar into a liquid solution. "Not what I’d expect from a Sharran cleric."

She pushes her lower lip against her teeth and chews it. "You’re reading too much into it."

"Can you manipulate the Shadow Weave?" he asks, "Necrotic magic?"

"Not shadow," the Cleric admits, with a slow shake of her head, "But I know a bit of necromancy."

After setting aside the mortar, Tav swirls the liquid within his glass once. Twice. Then she sees a pulse of magic as the bottle lifts into the air and hovers in place from some telekinetic spell he’d cast.

“Ignis,” he says, with purpose, and a flame erupts in his now free hand. Where he holds it beneath his floating concoction to brew something.

With his other arm, he props his elbow on the table and drops his chin into his palm, watching her.

Somewhat on the defensive now, Shadowheart holds her head high. "Why are you so interested?"

The Sorcerer looks down to one side, contemplative. Whatever’s on his mind, she doesn’t think he tells her then, instead he looks her dead in the eye and opts to say, "I’m interested in you."

And he smirks too.

The flirting. She’d noticed it before. This particular instance catches her a little off guard and she stands straighter.

She’d toyed with the idea of something more than friendly with him. Even entertained it here and there with teasing of her own. She wasn’t blind; he was an arresting, well-built man. Their band’s stalwart leader. Poised, and always so seemingly self-assured. It certainly didn’t hurt that he was possessed of tremendous strength, both physically and magically.

Shadowheart, in the beginning, assumed a few things about his perceived interest in her. That maybe she’d imagined it? That perhaps it were fleeting? Or he expressed as such to many? She had no desire to become one among a long line of conquests.

But no. They’d come across plenty of fair women… and men in their travels. Hells, the party was full of them. Some of which had conveyed special attention to the High-Elf. She'd noticed Astarion's eye on him, but he was a shameless flirt that has tried it on with nearly all of them, herself included, and Tav seemed immune to the vampire's charms just as everyone else was. Lae'zel, Shadowheart had overheard her proposition him - it had occurred after they'd defeated a particularly tough, particularly enormous, spider matron inside a huge cave beneath Moonhaven. Was Shadowheart spying? Maybe, but that's beside the point. If he had taken her up on that offer, Shadowheart was not at all interested in her leftovers. To her surprise, and surprising relief, he'd turned her down - all with the deference and grace of a true gentleman. 

There was something unique about his interaction with her. How he’d always find a way to plant himself nearby, the familiarity and frequency with which they spoke.

On the other side of things, she finds herself growing increasingly irritated by the way she reads into every little thing he does, searching for hidden meaning. Every small moment, every lingering look, smile replaying in her head.

It made logical sense to stick with other unaffected tadpole victims. Safety in numbers. United under a common goal. Even if they were strangers, not servants of the Dark Lady.

By pure dumb luck had that decision led to allying herself with mostly good people. People she weren’t too concerned about stabbing her in the back, for the most part anyway.

But this? Romance? Was the last thing she anticipated, intended, when she set out on her holy mission and wound up here.

Albeit… their fates were intimately bound until they were free and it’s not as though she’d taken some vow of chastity, so perhaps taking advantage of the opportunity wasn’t entirely out of the question.

When she doesn’t answer, Tav grimaces and looks away. Is he blushing?

"Sorry," he mutters, running a hand through his frosty hair to scratch just behind his pointed ear, "Too forward?"

Shadowheart raises her eyebrows, his sheepishness surging her with confidence, and leans closer to him, dropping her voice to a sultry timbre. "I’m going to say ‘no’."

Tav’s eyes grow a little wider and his mouth opens but no sound comes out, unable to look away from her.

Then he blinks and shoots a startled look at his own open palm, still positioned beneath the floating bottle but the flame in it has doubled in size.

He closes his fist, evaporating it in an instant, and snatches the bottle out of the air with that same hand while standing.

Adorably embarrassed, Tav’s face has gone completely red. Even the tips of his ears are rosy. And for some inexplicable reason, she likes that. It tempers his intimidating appearance to something honest, approachable. More like a person.

Neither of them speaks for several moments as Tav awkwardly glances around, anywhere but at her, and Shadowheart tries to hold back a laugh.

"C-Can I help you with that, maybe?" he manages to stutter out, motioning at her laid out armour.

Realising she’d neglected her chore, Shadowheart nods then wonders aloud, "Do you know how to polish armour, Mister Magician?"

Tav deposits the potion in his hand inside the nearby barrel with a ‘clink’.

"It can’t be that complicated," he shrugs, walking over to her side of the stone table, then smiles sweetly, "Show me how?"

He’s close. Close enough she can feel the heat rolling off the man and the scent of him familiar and disarming all at once. Beneath the smell of the ashen fire pit everyone here had come to reek of, there’s something earthy about his, like cedar and cashmere wood, with a sweet undertone of honey and jasmine.

Shadowheart shakes herself out of her wandering thoughts to hand him another rag and her other gauntlet, trying to ignore the buzz when their fingers brush.

"It isn’t," she says, demonstrating, "I normally do one initial wipe down for the dirt and then use this oil here for the blood and rust."

Tav follows along, scrubbing the scaled metal plates in a circular motion like she’d shown.

"Blood is highly corrosive, I bet that’s a pain in the ass. This is why I wear robes," he says with a small chuckle.

They don’t speak for several minutes, falling into an easy silence as they both go about polishing pieces of her plating.

"Say, Tav, I don’t suppose you brew your own soaps and perfume?"

The man lifts his head to look at her, considering, "I do actually, why?" Then, straightening, he asks tentatively, "Do you like it?"

Enjoying the power she has over him right now, Shadowheart smirks. "Perhaps. But that’s not quite why I ask. I was wondering if you’d be able to make some for me."

"Certainly!" he agrees, face lighting up with enthusiasm. "Just pass along the recipes if you know them and if I have everything needed, I can get that to you by tonight."

"Thank you," she says with a nod. "I haven’t been able to wash as frequently or thoroughly as I’d like." She holds her arm out, examining it as if she could see her skin covered in grime. "Camping in the woods for a tenday is hell on one’s hygiene."

"Gods, tell me about it, and I swear that illithid slime smell seared out my nostrils."

"In all actuality, I’m well versed in alchemy too, it was a necessary component of my training." She uses her plated boot to gesture at his alchemy set-up across the table. "It’s just that you tend to hoard all the ingredients and supplies to yourself."

"Oh!" He chuckles, nervous. "My apologies, it’s not something I do on purpose. Feel free to go rummage through my collection whenever you want."

"No," she says coyly, "I’d much rather you did it all for me."

"I see." The Sorcerer arcs an eyebrow at her, then bows reverently at the waist. "Very well, I’m at your service, my liege."

Chapter Text

Act 1: Riverside Teahouse/Sword Coast Wilderness

The party meanders through the swamp in the south slowly, in search of Ethel and Mayrina, coming up on the Riverside Teahouse over the short hill. Having just found out Astarion was being hunted by the Gur. Yet Gandrel did not seem to recognise the vampire due to his immunity to the sunlight.

Perhaps to distract or ease the tension, or merely fishing for gossip, Astarion speaks from somewhere behind as they walk.

"So, do any of you have loves waiting for you once this is all over?"

Most of them shake their heads.

"You know what - that is not the easiest question for me to answer," Gale says first.

"You mean just waiting? Like a love-sick puppy?" Shadowheart answers next, tone dismissive. "Short-term amusements are much less hassle."

Tav shoots her a questioning glance over his shoulder and finds she’s already looking at him. She sharply avoids eye contact soon after though.

Instead, Astarion catches his eye. "And you, Tav?" he asks with a tiny smirk.

"Doubt it."

"Do you have someone waiting for you in Baldur's Gate, Astarion?" Shadowheart says. "Your own sweetheart, perchance?" 

"No one in particular. The city is a veritable feast of sweethearts."

The dark-haired Cleric hums. "You must be eager to get back then. Slimmer pickings out in this wilderness."

Once again, Tav can't help but toss her another puzzled look. And once again, she's already looking at him. This time smirking. 

She's toying with him, for certain. For the life of him he doesn't understand her meaning. Is she staking her claim? Or insinuating that she doth not care for him. There's no answers in her eyes, only that wry amusement at his confusion or at his concern, and they dart away soon after. 

They reach the entrance to the teahouse, a double doorway led up to by a decrepit set of stairs - the building is in similar rickety shape, old, damaged, and with swarms of moss and thick overgrown roots clinging to the wood panelling.

Tav approaches a nearby stone-brick well complete with a bucket and winch mechanism, yet the well is filled nearly to the brim when he peers down inside. Immediately to be assaulted by a putrid stench like that of rotting corpses and he recoils in pure disgust.

"What is it?" Wyll says from his side.

"Ethel’s bath water, I’d wager."

"I’d try it," Karlach shrugs.

————

"I am magic incarnate, you stand no chance, Hag." Tav folds his arms. "Give her up."

"You want the girl so bad? Have her roasted!"

Through the haze of Ethel’s poison mist, Tav had spotted Mayrina cowering inside a scraggly cage structure made of roots and vines suspended over a deep pit in the centre of the cave.

The green-skinned Hag tosses a yellow bottle of alchemist fire into the air aimed at Mayrina’s cage and it explodes in a burst of flames upon impact.

The hostage woman shrieks and cries out for help.

The Sorcerer rushes over to the ledge to get a better look. "Shit. Shadowheart, think you can put that out?"

The Cleric nods once, resolute. "I’m on it."

Ethel claps her hands together with a sinister cackle and vanishes into invisibility. Only to materialise into several duplicates of herself dispersed across the echoing chasm.

While Gale, Tav and Wyll cast various cantrips at the illusionary copies of Ethel’s to try weed her out, Shadowheart douses the cage in water. Putting out the fire as quickly as it had started.

Karlach and Lae’zel charge ahead with their weapons, dodging poison and acid sprays, and slashing at every variation of Ethel they can reach.

Any of the fakes struck simply disappear into small clouds of gas that the two women choke at.

Shadowheart then dashes down to the wheel from the other side to try and lower the cage to a nearby platform.

One of the Ethel’s catches on to her plan and slings a spell at her.

Tav thrusts his hand out and manages to counter it in time before it can land. As his own magic latches on to smother it, he recognises the spell type. Vicious Mockery, typically used by bards and not one he knows himself.

The enchantment of the Hag’s insult fails but everyone still hears the words she invoked clear as day.

“How could Shar ever love you? When nobody else does?”

Tav sees Shadowheart still, her gauntlets gripping the wheel of the lever, mid-turn. She looks as stricken as he’d feared and his heart tightens.

Gaze hardening, jaw clenched, he turns his attention to one of the few Ethel’s remaining.

"Your head will roll for that one, Auntie," he growls.

In the span of a heartbeat, Astarion’s notched an arrow and let it fly. It sails through the air and buries itself in Ethel’s chest.

The real Ethel.

Reeling, she rips it out by the fletching with a dirty scowl. "Come and get me, Petal."

Lightning, his elemental affinity, erupts in his hands and it cracks across the cave with a deafening clap - spearing the Hag through the neck and slicing her head clean off.

Ethel’s body drops to the floor with a wet thud.

Battle over, the True Souls reconvene behind Wyll and Tav helping a distraught Mayrina out from the simmering vine cage.

After speaking with her, she runs off further into the cave.

Before he follows, Tav casts a glance to check on Shadowheart who has gone stoic. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Shadowheart truly rattled like that before.

"Are you alright, Shads?" Karlach asks, placing a hand on the shorter woman’s shoulder guard before quickly retracting it - likely remembering she might burn her. "That was pretty vile, even for Ethel."

"I’m fine," the Sharran snaps, barely noticing. She then takes a breath to calm herself and says more evenly, "I don’t care what some shrew in a swamp thinks."

No one is fooled by that but no one says anything either. That is until Astarion pipes up.

"If it makes you feel any better, Shadowheart, I don’t think anybody loves any of us."

He lets out one of his signature little giggles at that.

Karlach and Wyll fix the vampire with unimpressed looks to which he only shrugs. Shadowheart’s lip curls in displeasure but she doesn’t answer.

Chapter Text

Act 1: Tiefling Party/Shadowheart's Wine Date

Shadowheart pours herself another goblet then wiggles the bottle at him in suggestion. "More wine?"

Tav snorts and waves away the offer with his hand. "Oh no, that’s enough for me. I shouldn’t drink any more, I’m still tormented by my own sloshed behaviour from earlier this evening."

Intrigued now, Shadowheart cocks an eyebrow at him. "Oh? What happened?"

"While the party was in full swing, I may have drunkenly hit on Halsin and he shot me down," Tav explains. "Very mortifying, I contemplated drowning myself in the river and everything. I’m thankful you weren’t there to witness…" His eyes widen and he pauses. "And now I’ve already blabbered it all to you so it doesn’t matter."

The Sorcerer runs a hand down his face and groans.

"I didn’t know you enjoyed the company of other men," Shadowheart teases, half amused, half surprised. "Unless this is just a result of you being positively tossed."

"Come on now, think I haven’t noticed your little comments about Karlach?" he retorts. He flexes a bicep at her, smirking, sly and arrogant, as he says, "She’s not the only one who can carry you over shoulder, if you so desire."

All of which catches her off guard so much that she chokes and splutters a bit. When she feels herself blushing, she quickly looks away, wiping at the corner of her mouth with her wrist.

Tav laughs in amusement at her reaction, but must take pity on her because he continues, "I can’t say I remember if I have in the past but after meeting Halsin, I’m open to the idea."

The Sharran absentmindedly swirls her wine and hugs her bent knees to her chest with one arm. She scuffs the edge of the rock face with her shoes, looking out at the remains of the party as it dies down.

"Hmm, I suppose he’s easy on the eyes but he seems like he’d smell like moss and wet bear."

"He does not!" Tav protests. "He smells of spring flowers, fresh herbs, and tree sap."

Shadowheart looks at him then.

"Ah, so you have gotten close. I didn’t realise you were so familiar."

At that, Shadowheart takes a long drag of her freshly topped off wine. Nearly draining the chalice in one gulp.

"And I’d bet my life that he gives good hugs."

"I can’t believe I thought this was a good idea to come here with you," she says with a small chuckle, shaking her head as she stares down into a now empty cup.

Tav seems to sense the change in mood. "Regretting it already?"

"Not yet," she sighs.

"Would it surprise you to know that I find everyone here attractive? Quite so."

"I-I… yes it would," she replies back, gaze darting to him at his words. But she glances down again when she thinks them over some more. "Though it’s hard to disagree."

"There’s only one I hope would look my way, however."

When their eyes meet, his are soft as he smiles at her.

Still…

"Is that right? Archdruid Halsin, I presume?"

"Bit more dark and mysterious than that."

Shadowheart rolls her eyes but a pleased smile crosses her lips all the same.

She pantomimes swooning, throwing an arm against her forehead and looking away dramatically as if faint. "All your talk, gushing about others, is so alluring," she says, then she places both hands over her heart and leans in, "I feel so close to you right now."

Daringly, unexpectedly, Tav leans in as well. "You can come even closer, if you like," he says in a low voice, their faces inches from one another.

Eyes flashing, Shadowheart pulls away before she does something she’d regret. Playing off the moment by shoving him backwards by the shoulder, to which he laughs again.

The Cleric collects her abandoned wine chalice, distracting herself by refilling its contents.

"This is why I prefer the strong silent type. Men are much more attractive when they don’t speak."

"Really?" Tav sits upright, back straightening. "Well, I have one of those qualities, at least. Hold on, I thought you enjoyed our chats? I certainly do."

"The prattling, the boasting," Shadowheart continues, ignoring him, "about oneself especially, implies a self-absorption to an excessive off-putting degree." To demonstrate, she conjures a small ball of fire in her palm, holds it out between them and, forcing her voice comically deeper, pulls her best Tav impersonation when she says next, "Behold my sorcery mortals, I can vaporise a man in an instant or turn everyone into toads at the snap of a finger or whatever…"

With a feigned unimpressed frown, Tav folds his arms. "Well, aren’t I fortunate I have you to keep me humble."

"Yes," she snuffs out the little fire by curling her fist, "you make it so tempting to melt your ego down like a lit candle sometimes."

"Shadowheart," he scoffs playfully, "if my ego were truly that large, it’d have crushed my tadpole under its weight by now."

Shadowheart bursts out laughing at that. Loud and delighted, if a little surprised. "Why? Because it’s already crushed your brain?"

At her own joke, she laughs harder, almost wheezing.

And Tav’s never seen Shadowheart like this. It brightens her face, her joy flooding into him. His own laughter spills just as easily, as freely.

"You think you’re hilarious, don’t you?"

"I do, actually."

"Well, you’re right, you are."

A pair of warm smiles linger as they stare at one another in a comfortable silence until, finally, Shadowheart looks down.

"You know, I do tend to prefer the company of other women more often than men," she says as she takes a small sip of her goblet. Then, her eyes dart right back to him, flicking down to his lips, "But when there’s a spark…"

"Oh? And is there?"

Shadowheart meets his gaze, a challenge in his eyes she gladly echoes. The air between them suddenly seems charged, heated.

"I think you know the answer to that."

The Cleric in that moment considers drawing in further. So badly does she want to kiss him. Rather, she hesitates, unsure whether to trust her skipping heartbeat or her fear of letting him get too close. So… she doesn’t, and much to her subtle dismay, he makes no such move either.

Instead, the moment passes, Shadowheart sighs and soon lies down on her back. Yawning into the back of her hand.

"Tired?"

"Just a bit," she confirms. "It’s been a long day or maybe the wine’s left me drowsy."

Tav lays himself down too alongside her and Shadowheart shifts closer, into and against him so that their bare shoulders are brushing. To which she catches him smiling crookedly to himself about in her periphery.

Hours beat by, Tav and Shadowheart murmuring to each other still in the first few. Admiring the stars and the moon and the night sky, until exhaustion overtakes them both completely. The pair falling into their elven sleep meditations together.

Shadowheart knows when Tav awakens because he stirs and she feels and hears him shift himself onto his side, facing her.

Her eyes flit open and she speaks without moving otherwise, "Nearly light. The others will be awake soon…"

At his silence, she glances over finally to see he’s studying her intently. Soft, half-lidded, as though trying to put every detail of her face to memory. The scrutiny has her letting out a short nervous laugh.

"What?"

"You’re beautiful."

The words are simple. Yet, she appreciates that he means them.

"I know," she drawls, turning back to stare up into the dawning sky. "But you’re sweet for noticing."

He says nothing further again, seemingly content to lull in the silence.

Shadowheart finds herself looking over at him once more. Gaze drawn to his own discerning features.

There’s something about his eyes. The elvish blue-silver and the blood-red. Though peculiar, they’re both warm, captivating. Beautiful too. She’d always thought so, but then again, she’d often been attracted to the raffish type.

"Thank you for last night."

"I hope there will be more to come."

"Me too."

Fanciful thoughts rear themselves in her head again when her stare flits downward to his mouth.

"You know, Shadowheart," Tav says, voice low, rough with an ache, desire, but still tinged with that Tav flavour of smugness she both hates and begrudgingly enjoys too. "I think if you want something… you should take it."

Catching the proposition in his meaning, she eyes him briefly, matching his smirk.

He moves first, pushing somewhat upright off the surface of the rock, toward her. There he waits.

Any and every reason why she probably shouldn’t are a million miles away when she finds herself swaying toward him, seeking his touch, and meeting him quickly thereafter. Her hand alights on his broad shoulder as she presses her lips against his.

His hand lands on her waist, his strong fingers gentle but firm, just barely grazing her hip.

Exhilaration pours through her veins as he pulls her in close, every nerve ending in her body suddenly coming alive.

As for his mouth, he’s soft and pliant for her and her mind runs wild with possibilities. His eagerness to surrender all control to her fills her with immense - immeasurable - satisfaction.

He tastes of the wine, slightly sweet and fruity with that aged vintage tang.

Her fingertips toy with the collar of his tunic idly as her kisses quicken.

In her haste, and maybe on purpose, Shadowheart bites down on his lower lip, perhaps too hard, and he lets out a startled hiss. At which she suddenly pulls away.

"That didn’t hurt, did it?"

But she can’t find it within herself to regret it because his eyes are dark, his breath shallow and ragged, and from the hungry, fervid, way he’s looking at her - she knows she’s left him wanting.

Chapter Text

Act 1: Camp

It’s near sunset and Shadowheart is ambling over toward Tavik’s little alcove in camp.

Some of the leftovers of last night’s celebration are scattered around the site. Strips of ribbon, empty bottles, dirty dishes. All that they didn’t quite have the time to clear away since most of them had awoken so late, hungover too.

They’d spent the better half of the day helping the tiefling’s pack the rest of their equipment for their journey to Baldur’s Gate and disposing of any remaining debris from the battle for the Grove’s inhabitants.

Tomorrow they planned to head down into the Underdark to further their search for a cure to the illithid parasites and a possible entry into the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Now accompanied by Halsin, the Archdruid.

The Sharran Cleric stops short when she happens to glance up and catch sight of Tav from behind.

Stood just outside his tent, clutching a white fabric in his hand as he tosses something through the doorway with his other. He’s wearing nothing but his trousers. His chiseled back completely bare to her. Though all of his clothing tends to cling to his muscular frame, she hadn’t seen this much of him before.

"Oh…"

Tav turns around, halfway pulling his tunic on over his head and she catches a brief flash of the equally defined muscles of his abdomen. The view disappears quickly as he’s soon smoothing out the crinkles with a few scrubs of his hands, then he glances up at her and raises an eyebrow.

Her gaze lingers on his collar, still unlaced, showing off a tantalising glimpse of his smooth chest.

"It’s rude to stare, you know," Tav says, which breaks her out of her trance, smirking in satisfaction when he notices a deep blush tinging her face.

"I wasn’t-" Shadowheart began, before she shook her head once, recovering quickly. "Oh please, you wish."

Tav throws his head back and snickers at that.

"I volunteered to fetch more firewood for tonight," she says, expression hopeful. "Come with?"

"Needed an accomplice and you chose me? I’m touched," he says, with a hand over his heart, holding back zero dramatic flare.

A mannerism almost mockingly familiar of Astarion that it has her shaking her head to hide her amusement.

"Don’t make me wish I asked Lae’zel instead."

"You’re summoning me to complete errands! That’s you practically speaking my love language."

Shadowheart groans. "Where did the mind flayers find you?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

The Cleric doesn’t give him a reply as she briskly walks off toward the tree line, a short distance beyond the boundary of their campsite.

He startles but quickly jogs to catch up with her. Reaching her side and soon trotting at her heel.

As a silence extends, Tavik allows his thoughts to drift to the previous night. When they’d snuck off as the tiefling celebration died down and spent the hours away splitting a bottle of wine Shadowheart had ‘procured’ above the waterfall together. Talking, laughing, smiling. The kiss they shared.

It was the first time they’d seized the chance to explore their connection… surrendered to it.

Though she had left him with a stung lower lip. He’d had to soothe it with his tongue.

Shadowheart had a mischievous streak. She likes to bite. But Tav didn’t mind. Actually, he liked it when she did.

When he’d left the premises of her tent space after escorting her there at dawn, an enormous smirk lit up his face. Glad that everything that happened the night before wasn’t a dream.

"So, why did you choose me to accompany you?" 

Shadowheart doesn’t look back but her head tilts to one side when she says in response, "Why not you?"

"And what about at the party the other night?"

He hears her laugh. She glances at him from over her shoulder, expression humoured. "Don’t let it go to your head." She waves a hand through the air. "Any port in a storm, and all that."

"Oh, I see." Tav grins back. "So I suppose I should be flattered you like me best out of everyone?"

They cross into the expanse of the trees as the sun slowly dips on the horizon at their backs.

"You’re good-looking enough, we get along and mostly see eye to eye," Shadowheart shrugs one shoulder in dismissal, "So I don’t see why I shouldn't."

"Good-looking, huh?"

He smirks wider, knowingly, and all-too-pleased.

The Sharran acolyte notices, scoffs.

"Enough, yes."

"Glad you approve."

She turns to him as they pass under a shaded canopy. "I’m thinking perhaps you were a magical court jester or some kind of village idiot in your previous life. You like the sound of your own voice far too much."

"Not exactly." He lifts his chin, looking down at her, his smug expression lingering. "I like the sound of your voice."

"What?"

"Uh, nothing," he mutters, suddenly embarrassed. Glancing up and away from her.

Wow, that’s a tall tree there!

Eyeing him dubiously for one brief moment, mouth quirked in the barest form of a smile, she grants him a reprieve - choosing to ignore him as she wanders off further into the woods.

Shadowheart’s long ebony braid sways with the rhythm of her steps as she walks just ahead of him once more, aided by the gentle breeze swooping in through the thicket. Shorter loose wisps straying out and curled at the base of the back of her neck.

Sometimes she’ll turn her head to one side to take in the sight of their surroundings, the trees casting shadows on the sharp striking features of her face. And even in the dappled shade, her equally dark makeup only accentuates the emerald glow of her eyes. That might be his new favourite colour.

He realises he’s been staring, but it’s difficult not to.

Shadowheart was beautiful.

He told her as much last night. To which, of course, she’d only smirked, and told him she knew.

Secretive. But he liked her from the moment he’d met her. She was intelligent and composed. With just the right amount of mystique. Beyond that, deeper, she was also witty, lively, and… kind when she wanted to be.

So incompatible with what he’d have pictured such a devoted pious servant of Shar to be.

It is a mystery to him, how someone so vibrant, could be raised in such darkness.

"Shadowheart," he says, serious this time, which catches her attention again and she glances back at him, "What was it like growing up in the cloister? Do you remember?"

She takes a moment to think and slows her pace.

"Not really," she admits, looking down. "Sometimes I get flashes when I see things that remind me. Of dark corridors. Rooms. Blurry faces, figures, I can’t put a name to. For the most part all the light and sound and colour blend together so much that it’s more of an indistinct haze. Then there’s these braziers. Of purple fire. I don’t know why I remember the braziers."

"Things like those signs that reminded you of the Dark Justiciars?" Tav asks, easily catching up with her so that he’s walking at her side now.

"Yes, that’s exactly it." Shadowheart looks thoughtful but ultimately turns forward, surveying the forest. "Lady Shar will return my memories fully when the time comes."

Tav isn’t so sure about that but he doesn’t voice it.

"What about you? Do you remember anything since?"

"No." He frowns. "I thought some of it might have come back to me by now like yours have, but everything is gone. It’s like I’ve awoken as this blank slate."

Shadowheart gives him a pitying look. "Does it bother you?"

"A lot," he nods. "And from what I can tell about my old self… it’s unsettling, to say the least." He pauses, regarding her once more. "I’m sure you wish you could remember more."

"Of course," she agrees slowly, raising an eyebrow, "But I know why I don’t."

For a moment, he lets a silence stretch, wondering how much he should divulge. The pair coming to a mutual stop in a small glade where the last threads of daylight stream through upon them. He finds himself caving quickly.

"I may not know in any detail but I do have a pretty good idea about what happened to me. At least what caused my memory loss."

"What do you mean?"

"The back of my head," he scratches the spot with one hand as he says it then drops it. "Feel it. There’s an… indent in my skull."

Shadowheart frowns. Hesitates. Then reaches her hand out slowly, coming just close enough that her touch can graze the curve of his jaw. The side with his swirling tattoo. The brush of her fingertips against his bare skin making him shiver with wordless longing.

He leans his head down to allow her to reach.

Her gaze softens as she takes another step forward, so that they’re standing nearly chest to chest. Close enough he’s met with the familiar, intoxicating rush of her perfume. He knows it well, as he concocted it for her. A delicate, dark, yet sensual, floral scent combined with a sweet note of smoky vanilla and sandalwood. Beneath which is a subtle hint of her Sharran lime soap and wild-berry shampoo.

Rising on her tippy-toes, her hand snakes further around his head, through his hair, to the spot he’d indicated. Her fingers tracing the scarred remnant, a jagged line in the shape of a blade wound.

"Someone stabbed you in the back of the head?" The Cleric asks, eyes wide. "Who? Why?"

Questions he’d asked himself many times over since he’d first found that marred into his skull like a cruel reminder. The worsening - now debilitating headaches, losing consciousness, altered behaviour, all consistent with possible symptoms of brain lesions. That traumatic injury to his grey matter the most likely explanation.

"I don’t know," Tav says, voice low.

Such a deep, uncontrollable, rage broils inside anytime he ponders it too long. Something thirsting for revenge for such a cowardly attack. A feeling almost not quite his own.

"How are you alive?" Shadowheart’s gaze drops to his chest where she presses her other palm against his sternum, as though to brace herself. "A strike like that should have killed you. Instantly."

The Sorcerer lets out a shaky sigh. "I haven’t got a clue."

He places his hand over her other and guides it further down to the taut line of his neck, where she can feel the strong thrum of his pulse. Drawing a rare comfort from her touch, her proximity.

"I’m just lucky the rest of my mind is intact."

Tavik doesn’t speak for several long beats, his expression more sombre than she’s ever seen it.

Attention amounting to fascination, Shadowheart moves to run her fingertips over his lips, relishing the way it makes his breath hitch.

"Well, maybe the whole mind flayer kidnapping and tadpole implant wasn’t such a bad thing," she begins, then takes a step back, "it sounds like you have a chance to start over."

Tavik notes, with some disappointment, how much colder he feels without her close. "That’s your take on this?"

"Lady of Sorrows guide me, I think your optimism is infecting me," Shadowheart replies, smile almost wry, but her tone lacks its usual sardonic bite, "but it’s what you make of it, right? You’ve been given a second chance… the freedom to choose your path. And using it to help people, like those Elturel refugees… some might say it’s an admirable-" Her shoulders lift in a slight shrug, "-if lofty, goal."

"I’m a little surprised to hear you say that." He fixes her with an amused, but proud, smile of his own. "Though I agree with the sentiment. Thank you, Shadowheart…"

Her mouth parts as if to speak but she must think better of it as she simply nods instead.

"We were here for a reason, weren’t we? Let’s hurry up and gather what we can before the others send out a search party."

"Maybe they’ll even put up missing posters."

Snickering at one another, the pair part ways to slowly weave through the trees and shrubbery, collecting suitable branches and wood chunks off the forest floor.

After a few minutes or so, Tavik stands, hefting his gathered pile under his arm, testing whether he’d secured it all.

When he looks around, he notices it’s gotten dark since they’d left. And in the shadowed shade cast by the looming trees, it’s almost sinister.

"You didn’t lure me out here to kill me, did you?" Tav jokingly wonders aloud.

Shadowheart, hunkered a few paces away beside a thick tree trunk, sends him a narrow-eyed smirk. "You should’ve checked that before you followed me."

Half-way to a smile, Tav suddenly frowns and makes a shushing sound. "Do you hear that?" he whispers.

The Cleric stops to listen. "It’s gone quiet."

Sure enough, the wind has stopped howling, the birds and insects have stopped chirping. The trees are eerily quiet and still.

The forest beyond dark and foreboding.

Then, to his right, there’s a low guttural growl and Tavik reacts in an instant.

Alert, he crouches, drops his wood pile to the ground, and, as he slowly stands once more, he holds an arm out in front of the Cleric.

"Stay behind me."

"We left our weapons back at camp, we shouldn’t-" Shadowheart protests, but she obeys anyway, standing close to his back and looking all around. Having already discarded her own pile.

"Please, we don’t need weapons."

The Sorcerer holds both hands out as lightning erupts within his palms, crackling through all ten of his fingers right down his forearms and glowing in a brilliant blue aura.

Shadowheart readies twin flames within her own.

Tavik takes a few tentative steps in the direction he’d heard the sound. When he sweeps his gaze across the grove, his enhanced sight piercing into the dark, that’s when he sees it.

A pair of glowing yellow eyes peering back at him.

Hidden within some bushes just ahead, the canine snout of a wolf snarls, revealing a set of sharp, drooling teeth.

Tavik tenses, not daring to move. More low growls fill the otherwise silence of the woods from other directions and his adjusted darkvision finally sees more of them.

A whole pack. He counts about six but he can’t be sure.

"Oh no… I hate wolves…"

He risks a glance back to check on her, worried by the quiver in her voice.

Only to find Shadowheart is trembling, staring dead ahead at the first wolf.

He doesn’t even need to focus before he’s thrust into her mind, their tadpoles squirm as their combined force musters the connection, and through it he feels the ripples of her panic, her fear. Nearly overpowering.

With a wince, Tavik wrenches out of the psionic bond, concentrating on harnessing a storm between his hands. Hundreds of fizzling bolts of pure electrical energy flit between them at rapid speed, lighting up the entire space to the point that it’s almost blinding.

"Stay back!" he bellows, baring his teeth in a snarl of his own, concern rapidly turning to anger.

The wolves collectively hesitate at the display, cowering back a few paces, hackles raised.

"Get out of here before I incinerate this entire forest!" he shouts, even louder now, the rumble of it coming deep from within his chest. Like the thunder to the tempest he’d conjured.

His electricity arcs outward in a ring in front of him threateningly and some of the wolves draw back a bit more but still, frustratingly, remain.

One of the animals moves to circle him, a large starved looking thing with a sunken belly and its ribcage visible, daringly creeping closer to Shadowheart.

Tav, enraged, shouts, “Peruré!”

Zapping the shrub nearest to it with a quick but potent blast of energy and it erupts into flame.

The wolf yelps in response and skitters off in the other direction into the depths of the trees.

The other wolves startle as well, panicked whimpers ringing out, claws scratching at the earth as they all hurriedly try to turn around and dart off to follow.

Tavik waits a few long seconds. Then all is calm, all is quiet, once more.

He extinguishes the fire he’d caused to the plant with a snap of his fingers, a smouldering charred branch is all that remains of it, and turns quickly to the half-elf.

She’s shaking, breath rapid, ragged, and completely paralysed in place.

Tav rushes over to her, taking her by the shoulders. "It’s alright. They’re gone."

The Cleric doesn’t acknowledge him, eyes unfocused, like she can’t hear him.

"Look at me," he says, gentle but assured, "They can’t hurt you. You’re safe."

Body rigid, she manages to lift her head to look up at him. "Tav..." she murmurs in a breathless wheeze.

Her eyes are wide with utter terror.

He doesn’t even think, he just wraps his arms around her, pulling her close.

After a moment, she embraces him back. Her breathing slowly returning to normalcy as she calms down.

They stay like that for a long while until she finally speaks. "If you hadn’t been here…"

There’s a fragile quality to her voice he’s never heard before. It makes his heart ache.

"I am here. And you’re okay. It’s okay."

Besides the quiet exhales, she remains still in his arms and they both stand there in silence.

Then, Shadowheart carefully releases him and steps backward, unable to quite make eye contact.

"I didn’t know you were frightened of wolves, Shadowheart," he says, scratching the back of his neck with one hand.

"Everyone is afraid of something." She crosses her arms defensively, staring hard at the ground to one side. "My fear is hardly irrational when you see the fangs on those things."

To say he was surprised would be an understatement. The Sorcerer had bear witness to her toppling grown men twice her size with a sturdy charge and valiant bash of her shield. Braved every other countless danger across the Sword Coast without an ounce of hesitation. He senses a story here… but perhaps not one she was willing to share.

"Now that you know… I’d greatly appreciate it if you kept that in mind should we run into any more."

"Of course. I’m sorry, it was my fault we were out here so long. I’ll make sure to avoid wolves in future if possible."

Shadowheart looks relieved at that and finally meets his eye. He realises hers are glassy, as though she’d been holding back tears.

"I knew you’d understand. Thank you."

He nods, gives a small smile. "Let’s head back."

——

They reenter camp a few minutes later, walking almost shoulder to shoulder. Tav the only one of the two to carry anything back.

"Hey, lovebirds! ‘Bout time you got back!" Karlach hollers, bounding over like an overexcited oversized puppy. "Decided to go frolicking in the woods?" 

Shadowheart doesn’t acknowledge her, her arms still folded and instead brushes past and makes a beeline for her tent.

"Why does she look like she’s just seen a ghost?" the one-horned tiefling asks, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder.

Tavik, who’d been setting the wood down in a pile near the fire, dusts his hands off then puts them on his hips. "I’m not so sure she didn’t. Maybe best to leave her alone for now."

At dinner, the Sorcerer carries a bowl of soup with him to Shadowheart’s tent. When he rounds the boulder it’s hidden behind, he finds her knelt on her outside mat as though in prayer. But her eyes are already open and she looks at him as he approaches.

"Here, thought you might be hungry. Careful, it’s hot."

Wordlessly, she takes the bowl he offers her. Looks down at it with a blank expression, but when she glances up again she attempts a weary but grateful smile.

"Tav," she says, tapping a finger on the rim of the bowl in her hands. "Tomorrow… I want to show you something. Maybe it’ll explain why I… froze."

At first, he’s too surprised to answer. But then, he nods. "Okay. If you’re comfortable with that."

When she doesn’t say anything further, he points at her, grinning. "We’ve got a long day ahead of us so be sure to get your ass to bed early tonight," he jokes, hoping to alleviate some of the tension. "No staying up late to comb your fringe or anything."

Shadowheart levels him with the full force of her glare. "You can piss off now."

He laughs hard. But it’s all worth it when, as he turns to leave, he catches her smiling to herself as she swirls the spoon in her bowl.

Chapter Text

Act 1: Underdark/Camp

They’d finally made it down into the Underdark, using the entrance through the ruined Selûne temple. The region was comprised entirely of a vast array of tunnel and cave systems. All but devoid of sunlight, and instead lit up by clusters of rare gigantic neon-glowing mushrooms.

One such mushroom the band of True Souls had discovered when rescuing Baelen Bonecloak, a dwarf trapped in a Bibberbang Grotto, called the Noblestalk.

Rather than give it up to Baelen’s crotchety wife, however, Tav kept it.

Later, at camp, he brings it with him when he approaches the Sharran’s tent. An idea in mind.

"You should eat the noblestalk, Shadowheart - perhaps it could restore your memories."

Surprise flashes on her face. "I…" She seems to briefly consider it but then shakes her head, steps back. "I can’t. My memories are being withheld for a reason. Lady Shar will return them to me when the time is right, no sooner."

She glances down at it in his outstretched hand and adds jokingly, "Besides, mushrooms aren’t my favourite. I think it’s because of the gills…"

Perhaps it’s simple stubbornness, but more likely born of growing resentment on Shadowheart’s behalf, and he finds himself frowning at the mere mention. With all that Shadowheart had shared about it thus far, Tav had come to see her faith not as empowering but instead nothing but a leash. With Shar and this ‘Mother Superior’ bitch holding - no, yanking - the other end.

"They’re your memories. You don’t have to ask permission to know who you are."

There’s a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, like he’s seen a crack in her mask, but he blinks and it’s gone and her expression goes hard. He almost thinks she might outright refuse again until she says, "Alright. Give it here."

Then she pauses and flicks her gaze up to him, brow furrowed. "What about you? You recall even less about yourself than I do. Don’t you want to recover some of your memories?"

Tav falters, swallows nervously. "I-I’m not sure that’d be a good idea."

"If I have to suffer eating this fungus," she says, jabbing her finger at it, "then so do you. Maybe we could half it."

"Would that even work?"

"Worth a try."

Tav carefully tears the noblestalk, its flower-like blue corolla fronds, in two pieces. It’d been odourless prior but as soon as its flesh opens, the mushroom suddenly emits this strong distinctly medicinal aroma.

"Fine, but you first."

Shadowheart eyerolls but obliges.

Tav crosses his arms as he waits while she chews her piece, grimacing the entire time. Then she goes still for several long moments, eyes clenched shut tight.

"Are you alright?" he says at last.

"I think so, I remember… something," she admits slowly, like she’s still processing all that she saw. "It’s new and not new at the same time, all jumbled up."

Shadowheart tells him further that her recovered memory was of her when she was a lot younger, still an Initiate at the cloister. Being mocked for her name. A Tiefling boy, her friend, comforting her.

"‘Rennald’." Her face brightens. "That’s the last part of it I remember… that must be his name." Her brow slants again, she looks to one side briefly. "Perhaps he’s still there, in Baldur’s Gate."

Before Tav can say anything in response, Shadowheart’s hand flares in a familiar purple glow. Her body jerks as she looks down at it and she balls her fist tightly. The Mysterious Sharran Wound. An obsidian dot that appears as though someone burned a lit cigar into the dorsal side of her hand. Shar's tether, a reminder that the fearsome Mistress of the Night owns her, but Shadowheart doesn't see it that way. 

Far from the first time this’d happened, but just as petty bullshit of a punishment as ever.

"Ngh… it hurts."

Still, this particular instance, it was his fault.

"Shadowheart!" He steps forward, as though to reach for her but he stops himself short. "I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pressured you into-"

"No, you didn’t. I’m a grown woman, I can make my own decisions."

The smile she gives him is bright and fixed, but he can see the pain in her eyes, the strain at the corner of her mouth. He can’t help but feel a pang of guilt.

She nocks her head to the side, lips pursed, expectant.

"Your turn."

——

Tavik slides the other half of the noblestalk into his mouth with two fingers. He chews it slowly, and she watches his features twist with disgust no doubt as the strange pungent taste bursts on his tongue too.

She makes a mental note to wash her own mouth out with wine or tea later.

Unwilling to endure the flavour any longer, he swallows the mouthful in one go.

After a moment, his face goes blank, only his eyes move as his stare falls to the ground and stays there - as though they’re following something only he can see.

Then, he squints, wincing, and turns his head sharply all of a sudden.

"Tav…?"

His gaze flicks up to take her in, and there’s a complex expression on his face she can’t quite place. Worried, maybe. Like he’s afraid of something unseen.

"Are you okay?" she asks delicately, head tilting to one side, "You look… disturbed."

It wasn’t often but Shadowheart realises she had seen this haunted look in his eyes before despite how he’d try to hide it.

Tav nods several times in succession. "Disturbed, yes, that’s a good way to describe it." His voice comes out scratchier than usual, like his throat is dry.

He’s tense. He massages his temple with his thumb. Thinking.

"Did it dredge up a bad memory?" Her stomach wrenches with guilt. "Do you want to talk about it?"

The Sorcerer takes a deep breath as he pauses, as though trying to find the right words. "Let’s just say, I’ve confirmed that I’m a deranged maniac and you probably shouldn’t trust me."

A confused frown creases her brow, unsure what to make of that. "For once, I can’t tell whether you’re joking or not…"

"If I was, it wouldn’t be very funny," he says deadpan. Then he turns away. "Excuse me."

Tav walks off, shoulders rigid, and she doesn’t see him again for the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

Act 1: Underdark/Camp

"Here," Tav says simply, handing over the sheet of parchment in his hand.

"What’s-" Astarion’s frowning, wholly confused as he stares down at the charcoal image, "Who is this?"

"It’s you," the Sorcerer answers with a slight incline of his head, then places his hands on his hips. "I think I’ve captured your likeness close enough."

"Me?" Astarion looks up at him, bewildered. Only to immediately resume studying it. "I look like this? You - made this?"

"Yes."

The Rogue’s hands tremble slightly, the sheet rattles, as he strokes the outline of the sketch with a finger. "Well, I knew I was handsome but hmm," he hums, voice shaky, dropping to a quiet murmur, "Gods, I’d forgotten that face."

Tav had caught Astarion lamenting over his lack of a reflection a few nights prior. Decided to etch his portrait for him as some small recompense.

"I don’t know what to say."

With a short laugh, "Astarion rendered speechless, never thought I’d see the day," Tav remarks.

A few moments beat by before the vampire finally looks up, his expression serious for once.

"What do I owe you?"

"What?” Tav’s arms drop. "Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not going to take anything from you for that." He shrugs haphazardly. "We’re friends, Astarion, just buy me a drink at the next tavern if it bothers you so much."

"Friends…" Astarion repeats slowly, looking down to one side, lost in thought. He grips the drawing a little tighter between his fingers and nods. "Thank you. This means… more than you know."

As Astarion sits down on his ottoman at his dresser, unable to take his red gaze off the parchment - Tav walks off.

That’s when Scratch bounds over to him, tongue lolling from beneath his snout.

Tav dodges around the dog’s furry, wriggling mass. Nearly tripping over him as he plasters himself into his side, tail thumping madly as he licks at his hands.

At the hound’s wordless insistence, Tavik kneels down to pet his head. "Who’s the goodest boy in Faerûn?" At Scratch’s happy barks, Tav grins and continues, "That’s right, it’s you, yes it is."

Scratch’s ears suddenly perk up, his attention fixed on something over Tav’s shoulder to which he turns to look at.

“That was kind of you,” Shadowheart says.

"Petting my dog?" Tav turns back to scritch beneath his chin. "Only a heartless bastard could resist this face. Isn’t that right, Scratch?"

He’s more like the camp’s dog really. Though, along that thought, he has noticed Scratch missing from his bed at recent. At first he assumed he’d run off in the night, until he spotted the coat of white fur leaving Shadowheart’s tent alongside her one morning. He never brought it up, and won’t, because he can already picture the incredibly smug expression on her face when she realises he’s jealous of them both. 

The dog yips as if in agreement and jumps excitedly as Tav stands.

Shadowheart folds her arms as the elf faces her fully, her smile wry.

"I meant with Astarion."

"Were you watching me?"

"No. Yes, but - not the point-" she says, holds her hands up, shakes them, and Tav raises an eyebrow. "I just wasn’t aware you could draw."

"I have a lot of free time at night," Tav shrugs, he wanders the remaining few feet over to his tent and withdraws a leather-bound book half hidden beneath some folded clothes, holds it up for her to see. "I use it to write and sketch in my journal."

Intrigued, she cocks her head. "Can I read it?"

"Nice try, but no." He shakes it slightly in the air. "This is private."

Letting out a long dramatic sigh, Shadowheart closes the distance between them as he sets the book back where he found it, "Fine, keep your secrets."

He smiles at her then glances over toward Astarion again as he washes the dog slobber off his hands in a nearby basin.

"That man needs a hug more than most, but he’d likely bite me if I tried."

"Not a fan?"

At her sly smirk, Tav instantly understands what she’s implying. "Well… that’d depend on the one doing the biting."

She steps closer.

"And if, say, this beautiful Cleric of Shar were a vampire?" She runs her tongue over the bottom of her upper teeth, purposefully, keenly aware of his eyes following every movement. "Would you let her feast upon your blood, suck your neck dry?"

"You’ll take any excuse." She must be messing with him but he swallows at the sudden mental image of Shadowheart’s lips at his throat springing to mind. "Full transparency? I’d probably let her do a whole manner of fucked up things to me."

Gaze smouldering, unyielding, Shadowheart looks very amused and very pleased by that confession. "Good to know."

Tavik looks away, forcing a grunt to clear his throat. "I can’t believe I’m having this conversation."

"Tav, the man that you are, odd certainly, but also strangely and simultaneously - exactly to my taste."

Placing both hands on his hips, Tav stands firm. "What a surprise the Shar worshipper is into the dastardly and depraved."

Shadowheart wrings her hands together, head bowed as she looks down at them, as if nervous all of a sudden. "I polished your gear for you. Your staff, dagger, and bracers."

"You polished my staff?"

Scoffing, "Don't be disgusting," she replies.

"You're the one who said and did it!" He flashes her an innocent smile, a twinkle in his good eye, as he strides over to where she'd left his equipment to examine her handiwork. "Very shiny. Thank you. You really hate feeling like you owe me something too, don't you?"

"Yes."

"You don't owe me anything."

"I know." She sighs, coming in closer. "Look, just consider it my attempt at playing nice."

"Oh, I am. It's very sweet and much appreciated."

A pause. Her eyes narrow. "You’ve been avoiding me."

It sounds like an accusation, but she doesn’t seem angry, so perhaps it’s a simple observation.

"I have?"

"Well, you don’t seek me out anymore. I have to come find you."

"I worried I was annoying you with that."

She chuckles lightly. "Maybe at first, but… I miss it."

"Having a big strong manservant at your beck and call?"

"Something like that. Doesn’t hurt that he’s handsome too."

Tav can’t help but grin at that. He nods his head toward the rocky ledge skirting their campsite and the pair walk toward it together.

The edge where they stand gives way to a giant chasm, a great view of the Underdark well beyond and below, the green, orange, blue luminescence of the various oversized plants and fungi.

"If this is about what happened with Lae’zel, I refuse to apologise for that," Shadowheart starts, holding a hand out defensively. "She confronted me first."

"Real mature." Tav snorts. "But no, it’s not about that."

Shadowheart stands straight, regarding him. Those green eyes of hers seem to search inside him. "So the noblestalk then."

His mouth twists. "Yes."

After consuming the Noblestalk - witnessing a scene it disinterred from the deep dark trenches of his mind, Tav felt changed. Not only because he had mistakenly thought this sudden desire to kill might’ve been a result of his brain trauma, a new thing. But now he knows he’d always been stripped of moral filters, the desire to act on base instinct had always been there. That’s what really worried him. He was, more likely, born a remorseless assassin.

Sceleritas Fel hadn’t lied.

It is difficult to fathom his past of amoral adventures, this revelation. What did he do it all for? And now? What changed? Is it just the logical side of him guiding him in what he should be doing? Is the actual emotional production of his brain snuffed out like a candle light?

Could it still be some vile curse?

Then, there was her. Shadowheart. The half-elf cleric who’d unwittingly wormed her way into his heart. Claimed it.

She stares up at him expectantly.

He’d been so excited at the prospect of living out their shared fantasy that he hadn’t stopped to consider things from her perspective. What would it be like for a woman to realise the stranger she dallied with was a crazed killer all along? She’d never be safe with him as long as this persisted.

She deserved to know.

He sighs, long and deep.

"I’m afraid of what you might think of me if you knew what really went on inside my head."

"You keep saying these things, but what do you actually mean?"

"It’s difficult to explain, but I will try." Tav paces back and forth in front of her, his hands moving as he elucidates his symptoms, "I think really cruel thoughts but they aren’t me." He pauses, clarifies, "Aren’t mine."
"I don’t know whether I’m just completely insane or something has cursed me to be this way. There’s this feeling deep inside - it possesses me and whispers ‘murder’, over and over. Like an instinct. I get debilitating headaches, I almost always feel nauseous, and it never stops unless I’m killing something."

If Shadowheart is perturbed by any of this, she doesn’t show it. There’s only the slightest crease between her brow.

Her eyes lower, she cradles her wrist with her other hand. "I never told you but I’ve been inside your head when we’ve… connected. I’ve seen, felt, some of it. Like a thick fog but shattered, empty, broken."

It’s hardly the time for jokes or snark but he can’t help himself. "You calling me broken now?"

"You denying it?"

"No. But it’s still rude."

"I know I poke fun at you about your head being empty but it actually is, isn’t it?"

Despite his cool exterior, his voice is shaky and uncertain. "If it weren’t true, I’m sure I would’ve corrected you."

Seemingly sensing his discomfort, Shadowheart steps close and his heart quickens. She puts a hand on his bare arm, surreptitiously rubbing a soothing circle.

"You don’t know how or why this happened to you, do you?" Shadowheart looks up at him, far too understanding, far too empathetic, than he deserves. "It’s not the wound in your skull, is it?"

"That’s what I thought at first too but… it might only explain the memory loss. Maybe I ran afoul of a powerful mage? Or my parents did? Perhaps it’s divine punishment for past sins." Shoulders sagging, Tavik admits what’s really on his mind, "I’ve done terrible things. It’s too late. And I don’t know if I deserve forgiveness."

Shadowheart presses her lips together into a thin line as she thinks. Ultimately, she just leans into him instead, wrapping her arms around his torso. Holds tight. And this time, he stops breathing altogether.

After a moment of shock, he eases into her embrace and hugs her back, clinging to her almost out of desperation.

When the two break apart, Shadowheart stays close as they stare into one another’s eyes. Tav reaches out and traces the curve of her cheek with his fingertips, but the corners of his lips are turned down.

"We’ll figure this out, Tav, together."

The Sorcerer manages a fragile smile, but his rueful look remains as Shadowheart moves away and leaves him alone.

There, he contends with the fear for Shadowheart’s safety and the desire her belief in him evokes within.

If he knows one thing, it's this:

Shadowheart’s trust was a rare gift. One he will not squander.

Chapter Text

Act 1: Underdark/Camp

Tavik finishes scrubbing the grime off the bottom of the metal pot in his hands. Giving it a once-over to check for any missed spots, he finds none and sets it aside with the other clean dishes.

Reaching back into murky water of the basin he’s hunched over, he realises it’s gone cold.

It seemed like a good idea at the time, but would prove to be a lapse in judgement - Tav summons a fire cantrip within his plunged hand.

Distractedly engrossed watching the water around his forearm begin to bubble, Tav doesn’t notice the footsteps that approach in front of him.

"Running yourself a bath, are you?"

Tavik startles, yanking his flaming fist from the dirty water basin and accidentally splashing a large gush of it at his own chest.

Shadowheart claps a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles as he stands abruptly, shirt soaking wet. He holds his dripping arms out in sheer disbelief.

At her barely contained, muffled laughter, Tav fixes her with a grumpy frown as he stands stock-still like a drenched scarecrow.

"You know, I’m very tempted to flick some of this at you but I respect you too much to follow through. A respect which is clearly not reciprocated, you are awfully cruel to me, Shadowheart."

"And yet, you keep coming back for more." She lifts her chin as she smugly looks up at him. "You can handle it."

As always, her complacency is infectious and he can’t help but smile back.

"Thought I’d be clever and boil the dish water with magic. Didn’t work out like I planned."

"I think we can safely retire the notion that you’re clever."

Tavik grumbles under his breath as Shadowheart puts a hand on her hip, shifting her weight to one side.

"It’s only your tunic that’s wet, just take it off."

Eyebrow raised, "So you can ogle me like a starved displacer beast would a piece of meat?" he asks. "I don’t think so, Sharran."

The dark-haired woman lets out another short laugh. "You make it sound like I’m some drooling lecher."

"Aren’t you?"

"And what of it?"

Tavik huffs in indignation but obliges, tugging the tunic off himself and using it to wipe self-consciously at the damp patch its left across his chest.

"Happy now?"

Shadowheart eyes him up and down, a growing smirk on her lips. "Very."

She steps closer, holding her hand out. "Quit pouting, give it here."

Unsure, he does give the fabric to her and watches as Shadowheart wrings the water out of it. She must be using some kind of spell manipulation because every speck of dirt and grime filters along with the liquid. All of which she propels into a nearby mushroom cluster.

When she hands his shirt back, though wrinkled, it’s completely dry and without a single trace of muck.

"That’s… handy. Thank you."

Shadowheart mock curtsies at him as if to say ‘you’re welcome’, a triumphant grin on her face.

He’d been considering telling her they should end things. But when she smiles at him, her pretty green eyes warm with mirth and affection, all sense leaves him.

Not like he really had it to begin with when it came to her.

Despite everything he'd confided in her, everything she now knows, she still looks at him like she doesn’t see the monster he really is under the surface. She sees Tav.

Despite how afraid he is of the day her desire turns to terror, he can’t bring himself to enforce a distance. At least not now, not yet. For the time being, he resolves to dedicate himself to learning anything he could in pursuit of thwarting this.

She deserves so much better than a broken, half dead, husk of a man. He has to be better, he would be better.

He didn’t want to hurt her. Or anyone, for that matter. So maybe he wasn’t as far gone as he’d thought.

Though… he suspects if he ever dared break her heart she’d probably have him pick up every broken piece with his bare hands. Then clobber him over the head with a mace for good measure.

As the white-haired elf redresses himself, Shadowheart curiously circles his washing set up, bends down and sits cross-legged in front of the basin and pile of dirty dishes.

"Look at you playing mother hen. Did we leave everything to you? I’m sorry, let me help."

Amused, Tav sits as well, beside her and resumes his task washing. "If I’m the mother, who’s the father? Karlach?"

The tiefling barbarian is with the others by the fire, loudly regaling everyone with stories from the Hells.

"She has more of an uncle aspect to her," Shadowheart says, thoughtful, then shakes her head, blushing. "Not that I’d really know."

The Sharran Cleric was an orphan, she’d told him as much previously. Had shared with him a vision of her earliest memory of being lost in a forest only to be ‘rescued’ from a lone wolf by other Shar worshippers. The entire reason she’d developed such a debilitating fear of the lupine in the first place and why her devotion held so strong. That whole situation didn’t sit right with him, there was clearly more to the story. It seemed manipulative to ensnare a child that way, and worse still, Shadowheart had confessed to him that her Mother Superior did not shy away from using her fright against her. Bitch.

She picks up a tea towel and one of the clean yet still wet plates and Tav holds a hand out to intercept her.

"No, it’s alright, I can do it. You can take over tomorrow night."

"Ha! You won’t ask me to."

"Hm?"

"I haven’t lifted a finger around here since we met." She leans into him sideways, the entire length of their arms and shoulders pressed together. "It hasn’t escaped my notice that I’m your favourite, Tavik."

He gives her a small smile. "I wasn’t hiding it."

"Oh, move over, will you? We’ll get this done faster and you can help me with my nighttime routine."

"If you insist."

Some time passes and they’re making good progress. He’s surprised yet comforted by how easily they revert back into companionable chatter.

"Know what? We have done pretty well for ourselves. I half expected to be caked in mud and eating leaves and tree bark within a tenday when we first crash landed. It’s most fortuitous that at least you and Gale can cook."

It was a set of skills he weren’t too sure where he must’ve picked up, but it came naturally to him. One of his many newfound simple pleasures was in feeding his friends, the people he cared about, and their returned enjoyment of such. Besides, he could hardly expect anyone to cook for him when he eats five times as much.

"Good Gods, that pompous ass of a wizard insisted upon doing everything himself and would hardly let me get a word in edgewise those first few nights. Perhaps I should’ve gotten you to distract him by asking questions about the Weave and Mystra."

He twiddles his fingers at her, imitating casting a spell.

She swats his hand away with a smirk.

"Look, I like him but no, thank you."

"I do too - but if you tell him that, I will vehemently deny it. Besides, if it were up to him alone, I bet he’d be serving shoe leather."

The pair both snicker at one another about that.

"I will say this, your cooking is exemplary."

"Shadowheart! Did you just pay me a compliment?"

"Don’t get used to it."

Their conversation is interrupted by a frowning bearded man with his hands on his hips standing before them.

"What are you two giggle-gaggling about?" Gale points at the side of his head. "Is that what those elongated elvish ears are for? Listening in on trivial gossip exchanges?"

"Says the one adding eavesdropper to his list of fine qualities." Shadowheart raises an eyebrow but with the quirk of her mouth, seems unapologetically humoured by the situation.

"You and your freakishly small round ears can shove off it, wizard," Tavik says without looking up at him.

"For your information," Gale began, pointing his forefinger into the air. "I was absorbing the magic of the enchantment in those boots! Not chewing on them!"

"Sure, Gale."

The wizard taps his foot and strokes his chin, pretending to think. "This must be that High-Elf pretentiousness I’ve read so much about."

"Because humans would never, right?"

"Sorry that our eighty-year life spans breed more innovation than will ever be seen in your one-thousand-year old ones."

"If you bring up anything about ‘the indomitable human spirit’," Tav looks up, impassive, "I swear to the gods, Gale, I will zap you."

"Also, I’m a Half-High Elf, thank you very much," Shadowheart cuts in, humour dissolved somewhat as her smile has faded.

"Well, you inherited it from one of your parents at least."

"I never met either of them so I wouldn’t know."

There’s a bitter inflection to her tone that doesn’t elude him, but that Tav didn’t expect. Perhaps he’d missed it before. Was Shadowheart more upset about being orphaned than she’d let on?

He’d mulled over asking her before how she can be sure Shar hadn’t locked away or outright robbed her of any recollection of any family relationships. Albeit, Tav knew better than to bring it up again - it’d only be a surefire way to cause an argument and that was the last thing he wished.

As Gale obliviously continues blathering on about human superiority or something rather, Tav stopped listening, but he gives Shadowheart a sympathetic smile.

The Cleric notices and returns it.

Chapter Text

Act 1: Mountain Pass/Camp

They’d just made the perilous journey up through the mountains towards the githyanki crèche at Lae’zel’s insistence. It was supposedly further along the trail, somewhere inside the abandoned Rosymorn Monastery carved into a mountain and once dedicated to the Morning Lord, Lathander.

Weary, hungry, and now freshly battered by a horde of undead summons left behind on the road by the Absolute cultists responsible for escorting Wyll's father, Grand Duke Ravengard, to Moonrise Towers. Two Death Shepherds, giant skeleton warriors clad in half-plate, leading a swarm of ghouls. From the githyanki youth corpses littered about, it appears as though the cultists had intruded upon a training exercise and the two factions had crossed blades as well as crossed paths.

Their pilgrimage is cut short for the day as Lae'zel had rushed to the rescue of Astarion when he'd been overwhelmed by the hulking beasts - the Rogue escaped no worse for wear but Fighter was slumped against a nearby tree sideways. She bore a massive gasping slash across her mid to lower back, right in the gap between the metal plating of her githyanki armour. It's pierced the leather and cut deep enough to leave a nasty long gash. More scratches crisscrossing her exposed arms and legs from the thrashing of the fiends that swarmed her.

Tav's there, knelt at her side, hand on her shoulder. 

"That old ruin near the cliff we scouted back down the road looked a suitable place as any to make camp, might be safer to tend to you there."

Rigid, Lae'zel lifts her chin to glance up at him. Nods. Tries to stand, but she crumples back down with a grunt. 

"All right, no walking," he muses. "I'm going to carry you."

The Sorcerer waits a beat in case of protest, and she does grumble a bit but concedes, so Tavik carefully scoops Lae'zel into his arms.

"This is humiliating," the Fighter huffs, crossing her arms with the pout of a petulant child.

"C’mon, you said you missed us, so give us a cuddle."

Tav's got his shit-eating grin on his face, all too amused at having the fierce githyanki warrior Lae'zel of Crèche K'liir cradled to his chest like a baby animal.

"I did not say that and I do not ‘cuddle’."

A stab of jealousy tightens in Shadowheart's ribcage at the sight, and as she follows, she wonders just what it would take for... Perhaps, she should feign an injury to get carried. She did not dress for hiking mountains and her legs are on fire. This is unfair.

As the rest of the party goes about setting up their encampment, hunkering down for the night in an outcrop of an old section of what was once a temple, Tav sets Lae'zel down on a spare bedroll out in the open. Then, his eyes flit over to her, giving Shadowheart a rare stern look that warns her not to make trouble. Which Shadowheart frowns at.

The Cleric stoops down to tend to her, but before her magic can cast off, the Fighter flinches away. 

"I did not ask for nor require your assistance, half-elf," Lae’zel bites out through gritted teeth. Wincing, but there’s an attempt to hide it.

And there’s an attempt from Shadowheart to not eyeroll at that. "Well, you have it regardless. So cease your squirming, you stubborn mule, and let me help you."

She'd never met someone so pigheaded. 

Reckless, rude, demanding, aggressive, overzealous, excessively self-interested, and bears an enormous superiority complex. Shadowheart knew from the start that she’d turn on them first chance she got. 

Tavik could be a nuisance on occasion but he’d proven far more agreeable than she’d first thought. Lae’zel, Shadowheart makes a point to avoid. She stayed out of her way and she had stayed out of hers for the most part. 

Trying to make this quick, Shadowheart projects a slightly more intense restorative spell than strictly required for the severity of Lae'zel's wounds, she'd rather not be here all evening.

As her hands poise over the githyanki's back and she begins closing her numerous lacerations, her mind wanders. Shadowheart did not consider herself particularly studious, but understanding the anatomy and physiology of living beings was imperative for the effectiveness of her evocation practices. Githyanki seem to share the same commonalities as most humanoid races, a curious thing seeing as they hatch from eggs. An old woman they bumped into along the path up here even asked of them to cradle-rob one from the crèche. Some 'Society of Brilliance' member, like Omeluum and Blurg. But unlike them, she seemed mildly unhinged. 

Just as Shadowheart's contemplating all the possible ways she could inquire if Lae'zel would allow her to examine her as a lab specimen, the githyanki in question speaks.

"Hm, perhaps I am grateful I did not slay you in the Underdark, after all."

Lae'zel and Shadowheart’s eyes meet at the same instant.

"You mean grateful I didn't slay you?" she corrects. 

"Had your spell-slinging meat-wall not stepped in to save you, you'd be rotting amongst the mushrooms in one of those caves."

Shadowheart remembers the events a little differently.

Herself, hovering above Lae'zel's prone sleeping form. She'd made a mistake that night, gotten too comfortable bedding down unarmed. Well, almost unarmed. The blade Shadowheart held to the soft warm flesh of her neck was Lae'zel's own. The manoeuvre may have been underhanded, but she'd been fully prepared to end her that night. Certain that if she did not, the githyanki would've cut her down in the duel she had demanded come the following morning. 

It is not as though Shadowheart thinks her skills are lacking, but she was taught to fight not on equal footing, but to identify avenues to disadvantage her foe first. And the artefact is far more important than bruised egos or some misguided sense of honour. 

"Had he not stepped in, your throat would be cut and your corpse feast for the hook-horrors."

The pair glare at one another for a long while.

Then, Lae’zel’s expression evens.  

"I did not seek to start an argument with you, Shadowheart, I was trying to express my thanks."

The Cleric didn’t consider herself above pettiness. She had quite a few petty bones in her body. It had been incredibly satisfying to antagonise the other woman wherever the opportunity arose. Still, Lae’zel seemed sincere. If there was one thing you could trust about her, it was that she was always straightforward, there was no room for duplicity. Shadowheart supposes that’s refreshing. And…

"I suppose I could do without the bickering also," she admits truthfully. She’s too tired for this now. "You're more useful swinging that blade at our common enemy, anyhow."

"And you prove useful with your restorative talents and your weapon."

"That sounded dangerously close to flattery from you for my liking, Lae'zel."

"I don't flatter anyone, least of all would I you."

"That suits me just fine."

Shadowheart and Lae’zel stand at the same time. 

This was perhaps the first time she and Lae'zel had ever treaded neutral ground. Her curiosity about the other woman grows, and seeing an opening, she takes it.

"You know, I’m a little surprised you stepped in for Astarion. Didn’t take you for the heroic type."

Under her breath, Lae’zel growls. "A foolish mistake. I do not know why I laid with such a feeble man who cannot defend himself, but it will not happen again." 

"Laid with-?" Shadowheart starts, then she blinks, nonplussed. "What?! When? How did I not know about this?"

"It were the same night you bedded Tavik," she replies, head turning toward the unnaturally brawny High-Elf. "He refused me some time ago, I suppose because his eye has always been on you."

He's across camp, with Gale and some newcomer - an elderly bearded man in red robes with a wide-brim pointed hat.

"Tav and I haven’t-"

It must be the tiefling party she’s talking about, Shadowheart figures. Her words trailing off as her mind fits the puzzle together. She thought she knew everything that went on in this camp. She stands corrected. Astarion and Lae’zel, what an odd pair...

"Chk. The men of this camp lack imagination."

"I... can't say I've had that precise problem."

Shadowheart chooses not to clarify further, but Lae'zel seems disinterested anyway.

Instead, her gaze of ochre, highlighted by the black accents rimming her eyes, fixates back on her. "The artefact. Let me see it."

Silence stretches between them, taut and loaded. The two women staring at one another. Lae'zel, stands proud and intimidating as always, despite being the same height as one another. Yet, this time, Shadowheart isn't quite as afraid of what she might do. 

Gingerly, Shadowheart reaches inside her bag of holding, a pouch strung securely to her belt on her hip, and produces the prism. Holds it up between them both. 

Lae'zel leans in to examine it, but keeps her arms at her sides, makes no move to snatch it away. "Hm. A creation of my people, though I cannot decipher writing this ancient."

Shadowheart turns the strange object in her hand for her, it vibrates in a subtle consistent rhythm. As though alive. 

Then, the githyanki warrior straightens. She juts her head. "Keep it. Do what you will with it."

"You're no longer angry?"

"It is for other gith to hunt and punish you." Lae'zel's eyes are intense, she smiles slightly, the tips of sharp teeth flashing. "And they will, knowing my kin."

The Sharran tucks the relic away, returning it to its rightful place. Brow furrowed as she considers both Lae'zel's threat, and unexpected relent.  

"But it is not my mission to collect your head. The ghaik parasite comes first." 

Interacting with Lae'zel was often such a hair-ripping experience, but Shadowheart recognises the peace offering for what it is, even as the deviation from their usual animosity comes as no small shock. 

"I am content," she finishes. "Go now, rest. I will do the same."

Just as either woman can make good on that suggestion, a familiar blazing red one-horned tiefling gallops over, her arms wide, as well her grin.

"Aww, have you two kissed and made up?"

Shadowheart balks. Her face burns hotter than the sun. "What?! Don’t be absurd. I’d never-"

"I don’t kiss."

"My girls finally getting along!" Karlach near squeals with delight. "I'd definitely sweep you both into a group hug, if I wasn't going to scorch your hides. But, hey, check out Gale's grandad!"

——

The Sage of Shadowdale, a renowned wizard hero, better known as Elminster, had just paid their camp a visit to bring Gale a message from his goddess of magic, Mystra. Gale's off brooding somewhere about his fate (as if Tavik would ever allow anyone to detonate that Wizard - including that very same Wizard), so Sorcerer and Warlock were on food preparation duties this night. 

Tav’s carrying some timber he’d just chopped for the campfire under one arm and balancing a stack of metal pots and plates in his other hand when he spots the vampire. 

Brushing his white curls at his dresser outside his tent. Tav’s not sure why he bothers staring into a mirror when all he must see is a floating hairbrush.

"Get up off your ass, Astarion," Tav calls over, "I need you to refill the water basins before supper."

Over his shoulder, Astarion shoots him an irritated look. "Why me?"

"You’re the only one not doing anything, as per usual."

Astarion makes an exasperated sound then glances around the campsite, soon pointing an accusatory finger across as he protests, "So is Shadowheart! And she can quite literally CREATE WATER from thin air!"

Following his line of sight, Tav spies Shadowheart nursing the stein full of tea and chewing on the slices of tangerine he’d given her while sitting on a log by the fire. She makes momentary eye contact with him, a guilty expression on her face, but she quickly ducks her head in favour of taking another sip.

"You don’t ask the camp doctor to fetch water," Tav answers, "Especially when she’s worn out from keeping ungrateful asses like you alive every day. Have you even thanked Lae'zel for saving you? Perhaps you ought to take a page out of their book -  and help."

The Rogue stands from his ottoman, striding over as Sorcerer leaves the lumber by the fire and squats down to arrange the cooking equipment.

"Oh, I get it," the shorter elf says, he clasps his hands and holds them to his cheek, "It’s because I don’t flutter my lashes at you and gaze longingly up into your eyes?"

Straightening to full height, Tav folds his arms. "Actually, you do do that."

Still annoyed, the Rogue scoffs again, then spreads his arms. "Well, I don’t even eat supper with the rest of you lot, so I don’t see why I should help prepare it!"

"We could serve you those rats I saw scurrying about by the rocks tonight if you’d prefer," Wyll chimes in, holding the knife he’s using to chop vegetables with up in the air as he does, a giant grin on his face.

"Ah, Wyll," Astarion says, flinty stare narrowing, a rare flare of barely contained anger has his body stiffen, "You pretend to be such a nice guy but I see your true colours."

"Wyll, bit too far, mate," Tav cautions. Only to glance back to find the vampire giving the horned man a triumphant smirk at having been defended. 

But the young Ravengard takes it on the chin. "You're right. Please accept my humblest apologies, Astarion," he says, sincere, as he hands the diced vegetables to Tav and takes his leave.  

Having a vampire spawn and a monster hunter in the same camp did have its fair share of challenges. But thankfully the two were mostly cordial, usually. Still, fostering cooperation from his companions was like trying to herd cats sometimes. Why is it that their synergy in battle is often impeccable, yet they drag their grievances back to camp for him to mediate?

"Remember that time you tried to sneak a bite on me while I was meditating?" Tav reminds him, attention having returned to the other white-haired elf. "Then proceeded to nearly drain me dry?"

"I’ve said I was sorry!" Astarion says, then he runs a finger over his own lower lip, eyes hooded, "It’s not my fault you’re delicious. Beautiful people taste better. You know it's rather unfair on the ugly. They have such wonderful personalities." He then gestures Tav in his entirety. "You have more than enough blood to spare, anyhow. Don't be greedy."

Ignoring him, Tav continues, "This is your punishment - helping with chores like everyone else, without complaining."

Tav didn't mind pulling five times his weight for his companions but he didn't think it unfair to expect some contribution. Gods above, he really is mother of the camp.

"Ugh, such a slave-driver, you’re almost worse than Cazador," he grumbles, but he does trudge over to the stacked basins and carries them off to the lake. Tossing one last frown back at Tav.

Tav’s still staring after him, thinking about how lenient he is on such a slack vampire when a voice from behind pipes up and he spins toward it.

"Conflict resolution skills. What a display."

Shadowheart. Coy smile, leant forward on the log behind him. 

"I have no clue why you lot assigned me leader," Tav sighs, running his fingers through his sweat damp hair with one hand while he affixes a large cast iron pot upon the campfire with his other, "I may not remember much but I’m certain I did not volunteer for this."

"I don’t know, you have a knack for it." Her smile broadens, and her voice comes a low purr when she continues, "You're kind of enticing when you take charge like that."

Tav merely raises his eyebrows at her.

A deep scarlet blush stains her cheeks. "I mean- When you do it to others. Not me."

"Right," he drawls, then chuckles. 

She clears her throat, straightening her back as she sits upright, recovering enough to revert back to her usual flirty sass. "Tav, be a dear and replenish my ginseng tea?" she asks, offers the mug in an outstretched hand over his shoulder.

"You need me to grab everything for you?"

Despite the sarcasm dripping from his voice, he takes the empty off her anyway, telekinetically pours more ginseng tincture into and returns the camp teapot to its perch above the fire to boil. 

"Certainly," she agrees. "I’m extremely lazy."

Sorcerer snorts. "You and Astarion both. I see why you get along so swimmingly."

"Perhaps that might change since he sees fit to toss me under the wagon like that," she muses, chewing her lip.

At that moment, Lae'zel brings over a board laden with meat cutlets from the boar she'd been skinning, and, wordlessly, she marches off back to her tent. 

"He tends to tailspin when he feels backed into a corner," Sorcerer continues, giving the Fighter a small thankful nod as she leaves. 

"I've noticed that too." A pause, Cleric's eyes bore into the back of the githyanki's retreating form. "Did you know he and Lae'zel slept together?"

"Yes, she told me. Though I was slightly out of it of sorts," Tav shrugs, "Last time I'll ever get drunk." 

"Even you knew?" 

Over shoulder, he shoots her a slightly skeptical look. "Why do you care?"

"I don't!" she denies, defensive. "I just mistakenly thought I was in the loop with everything."

Tav hums, non-committal, doesn't quite believe her. 

Finished, and with a snap of his fingers, he refills then levitates Shadowheart's stein back to her all without looking up from his pot-stirring. "For you, your highness."

Behind him, he hears her delighted little giggle. A melodious sound he lives for. "Thank you. It’s good that you know your place."

"Would I be correct in my presumption that ginseng is your favourite?"

It takes her a second or so, but she confirms, "It is." Another beat of silence passes. "You think you have us all figured out, don't you?"

"Perchance. It'd be rather obtuse for me not to seeing as we're all stuck together for all hours of the day."

Unexpectedly, one of her hands lands on his shoulder and she caresses along his collar over his camp tunic. Making him momentarily freeze.

"Just a suggestion, you should chop wood in front of me more often," she whispers, close to his ear, "Preferably at a side angle, and shirtless."

"Gods," he laughs outright, shaking his head, "you need to be locked up for these dark fantasies of yours."

When he twists to look back at her, there's a familiar playful spark in her eyes. Features aglow, gilded in the brilliance of the setting sun. He was getting used to seeing her like this, in a natural, good mood. 

"Would you come visit me in prison?"

And, just like that, a familiar tension settles between them. Palpable, undefined, yet tinged with warm curiosity and affection. One Shadowheart always seems all too avid to stoke the fires of. 

"If you got arrested, I’d probably be right there with you in the cell beside yours," Tavik says, matching her humour, "Maybe we could hold hands through the bars."

Shadowheart grins at him.

"A love story for the ages."

Tavik smiles back at her. His face is warm and he suspects it's not merely from the heat of the campfire he's cooking over. 

As he returns to his ministrations, he feels Shadowheart's fingers in his hair, threading through the waves at the nape of his neck.

"I do wonder what dark fantasies your mind curates, Tav," she murmurs. He doesn't know what exactly she's doing, but he enjoys her touch too much to stop her so, like always, he lets her do as she pleases.

"Want to know my darkest fantasy?" he asks, not waiting for her answer, "To love and be loved."

At that, she snickers like he'd made some joke. "I can't believe you'd dare utter such a thing aloud! That is deplorably profane! And highly unrealistic."

"I know, I plan to self-immolate after this."

She'd been twisting a tuft of his hair into a short braid. Now complete, she sits back on her seat upon the log, eyebrows drawn slightly, fixing him with an almost unreadable expression as she studies him. And as he brings his fingers to his hair to fiddle with it while watching her. He’ll probably keep this in for a while, and request she redo it later. 

"I hope you don't mean me."

"Heartbreaker."

"I'll break a lot more than that."

Tav waves a hand at her in dismissal. "Course not you." He nods over at the Druid who is at present playing fetch with Scratch and the owlbear cub. "I meant Halsin. My one true unrequited love."

A ghost of a smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. "I'm sorry to be the one to break this to you, but he seems the roaming type, unlikely to settle down."

"Please, he must hibernate for six months a year." Impulsively, Tav wraps one of his arms loosely around her calf, pretending to snuggle against her at her feet as he says with a dramatic lilt, "And I for one would love to cuddle into some soft bear fur on lonely winter nights."

An unrestrained, half-snort laugh escapes Shadowheart. His heart swells.

It’s true what Astarion was insinuating. That Tavik spoils her. Why? It was thoughtless at first, then a bid for her attentions, like some kind of male bird’s mating ritual. Sometimes she’ll act a princess, expectant and entitled to the treatment, but her arrogant smirk belies her gratitude. He recalls her words when he’d gifted her that Idol of Shar back in the Grymforge: "Nobody has ever given me anything before…" She’s unused to it. That’s no real surprise, he finds it difficult to picture a coven of Sharrans being particularly warm, but it is a real shame. One he hopes he is remedying.

His time with her, them keeping each other company during their evening tasks like this, he treasures. They hadn't known each other all that long, yet, this bond - it was beyond the friendship, kinship, that he shared with the others - he was completely besotted with her. It was frightening in some ways, but exciting in more. 

"You know," she starts, thoughtful, leaning back on her hands and gazing off into the distance. "I've been dwelling on what I told you before, about wanting to become a Dark Justiciar." She looks back, down at him, their eyes locked. She shrugs, lets out a wistful sigh. "But perhaps I should be content with my lot. I have you in my life, after all."

"You can be so sweet sometimes," he says, partially jesting, even as his heart skips a beat. It is a miracle she feels the same way. 

"Don't tell anyone."

"I wouldn't dream of foiling your aura of mystery, my dear." Tav takes a moment to consider her. "Still, you don't need to give up on your dreams. I'm sure you'll find a way to get there eventually."

"I'm not giving up. Just... trying to be realistic."

Chapter Text

Act 1: Mountain Pass/Post-Crèche Y'llek

The Wild Magic Sorcerer wasn’t used to being nervous. At least, as far as he could tell. Whatever his past, whoever he was, he has no clear memory. Yet this trepidation, the knot in his stomach, feels so unusual all the same. As though his body had never felt this way before.

They’d survived the Hells and the nautiloid crash, both the Goblin Camp and the creature's ensuing attack on the Emerald Grove, the descent to the Underdark, and just recently, an entire hostile githyanki crèche. Yet there’s only one thing, one person, that evokes this kind of physiological response from him.

Granted, there were all sorts of feelings she managed to evoke within him that felt strangely foreign… yet he can’t seem to get enough.

Tavik closes his eyes, steeling himself, and he makes his way over to Shadowheart.

The half-elf looks up from her book at his approach. The corners of her eyes crinkle as she smiles at him, warm and sincere, and he nearly chokes on his own breath at the sight.

"Tav, always a pleasure. What can I do for you?" she asks sweetly, folding a corner of her page and closing the book in her lap all without looking down.

She’s still adorned in her armour. A medium adamantine scaled plating they’d forged in the dilapidated Shar temple. Though her gauntlets are missing.

With a small grunt to clear his throat, "I want to invite you to dine with me tonight," he says.

"We eat together every night," Shadowheart raises an eyebrow but her smile remains, "what do you mean?"

"No, uh, just the two of us this time." He averts his eyes, earlier nerves flaring. "There’s a rocky outcrop with a nice view of the lake a ways south. It even has a waterfall," Tav gives her a conspiratorial smile, "… and hopefully can afford us some more privacy."

Shadowheart’s signature half-smirk makes an appearance. "Is this your idea of courtship, Tav? If you wanted to share your bedroll, you might’ve only asked."

"What?" He jerks his head toward her. "I don’t want to shag you in the bushes," he says, exasperated, "but to share a pleasant evening… If you’re interested, of course."

"Pity, but probably for the best. Brambles on bare skin aren't as fun in practice, I'm afraid." 

"Speaking from experience, are you?"

"I don't kiss and tell." Her smile is small and mysterious but it softens as she continues, "Consider me intrigued." She gives him a slight nod. "I’ll be there."

"Come find me just before sunset."

"Can’t wait."

——

Shadowheart finds the spot Tavik spoke of a few hours later. A slightly elevated ridge with a thin dirt path leading up to a clearing where someone had set up a small square table and chairs with a pair of metal plates and cutlery. In the middle of which are covered platter dishes, lit candles, twin goblets, and a wine bottle beside a glass vase of colourful freshly picked flowers.

She spots the Sorcerer himself hunched over on the ledge, his back to her.

Strumming a lute. Whatever cord he's playing must've failed because it twangs awkwardly and Tav lets out an irritated huff. Muttering something to himself under his breath.

"Planning to serenade me?"

The elf jerks around at her voice and he stands abruptly, still clutching the lute. "I would, but I’m no bard," he says, with a small chuckle. He leans the instrument against a crate, likely what he’d used to carry everything here in the first place. "So perhaps another time. When I’ve had more practice."

His sometimes tousled white hair, he’s combed back, with a few shorter curls straying out at the front. Wearing a dark leather jerkin over his usual camp tunic that she’d never seen before.

Instead of commenting, she turns her attentions to the smell of cooked food taunting beside her.

"What’s all this?" Shadowheart gestures the table setup with an open hand.

Already making his way over, Tav lifts the cloche off the dish in the middle to reveal a large seared fish smothered in herbs.

"I overheard you telling Astarion you missed the fish in Baldur’s Gate," he explains. "This might not quite compare, but it’s fresh, so hopefully it suffices."

He then grabs the neck of the wine bottle, holds it up, and she recognises the label. A rare expensive vintage.

"And I know how much you like wine. One bottle of Baldur’s Grape with your name on it."

Suddenly at a lost, Shadowheart tears her eyes away from him to survey the table assortment once more. Her heart thaws.

"You did all this for me?"

"No, this is for Astarion so I’m not sure what you’re doing here," Tav answers, shrugging, grinning.

The Sharran cleric narrows her eyes at him for a moment. "If you’d rather let him drain you dry, by all means."

And he only laughs but he pulls a chair out anyway, motioning for her to sit.

She does.

As he takes a seat across from her, he meets her eyes. "Let’s not chat all night on an empty stomach. Dig in."

Tavik fills their goblets and the pair soon begin to enjoy the presented meal as the sun sets on the horizon. Casting a haze of orange-yellow ribbons across the lake’s surface that the two admire briefly.

"So this is where you disappeared to with Wyll today?" Shadowheart began, swirling her wine in one hand idly. "Fishing and arranging all this?"

"Yes, Wyll’s father taught him. Seems I’m not too bad at it myself." He leans in, holding a hand to his mouth as if to whisper a secret. "Not to brag, but I caught the biggest one."

She rolls her eyes at his juvenile competitiveness. "Are we celebrating something?"

"We haven’t had much time alone together between the Underdark and Crèche Y’llek. Now we’re about to head into the Shadow-Cursed lands and-" He looks down at his plate. "-I thought perhaps…"

As he trails off, Shadowheart arcs a brow, she pretends to look around as though searching for something. "You know, the absence of any musical ambiance is quite noticeable. All this date’s missing is an acoustic lute rendition of High House of Wonders to really tie it all together."

"Fine." He folds his arms cross his chest and leans back in his seat. "Next time I’ll hire Alfira to play for us." At his own words, his eyes flash and he shakes his head quickly. "On second thought, maybe the silence will have to do."

"Why’s that?"

"Well…" He clears his throat and chuckles but she notices how forced it seems compared to his usual. "I can’t very well make a blundering spectacle of myself in front of two women, can I?"

"Oh, quit fretting, I was kidding, this is all lovely. Thank you," she says, hoping her voice carries her sincerity. "By the way, the feeling is very mutual."

"Then why does it feel like you are making fun of me?" Tav asks, smiling. But the uncertainty in his eyes betrays him.

"Because I am. It’s just disarming to see this side of you, I suppose. Tavik, our fearless leader, being romantic," she teases, but her expression is soft. "It’s nice to know there’s a person under all those robes and muscles."

A flush of embarrassment heats his face and he looks away. "I’m not that intimidating," he mumbles. As soon as the words leave his mouth, however, they taste like a lie.

He must be frowning because the cleric then asks, "Are you all right? You seem on edge almost."

Tavik sighs. "I’m just not sure I’m going about this correctly. I don’t remember if I’ve ever done this before. I might've been closer to some reclusive bookworm spending all his time poring over dusty tomes like Gale, honestly."

"Neither do I," Shadowheart laughs, and the sound alone is enough for some of the tension to leave him, "So, my fellow amnesiac, let’s take the opportunity to experience this as if it were both our firsts, hm?"

Everything was uncertain. Between the tadpole, these demonic impulses that grip him, and everything else hellbent on killing them. It seems strange to pursue romance in the middle of it all. But it offers reprieve.

In Shadowheart’s company, with her snarky jibes and smug little smirks, it’s the only time Tavik doesn’t hear the withering voices in his head. Or feel the heated rush of his blood and its compelling darkness. Her presence is as soothing as her healing magic.

"There’s that clerical wisdom I’ve come to appreciate."

"I try."

——

Some time later…

Cleric and Sorcerer let the next few hours flit by unnoticed. Both indulging one another’s penchant for long conversations about everything and nothing. Having long finished their food and nary a quarter of the wine leftover.

Tavik’s looking out at the lake now bedazzled in moonlight.

Then, he stands, and catches Shadowheart staring at him. Smirking now, he holds a hand out to her, "Walk the shore and gaze at the stars with me?"

She takes it. The skin of her hand smooth, cold to the touch. "I find it hard to refuse you, handsome."

Together, the pair make their way down and along the sandy shoreline hugged by trees on the opposite side. There’s bits of waterweed strewn among rock and pebbles. Tav’s boots squelch with every few steps.

"How’re things with you and Lae’zel?" Tav says, at last.

"Hmm?" she hums, glancing over at him questioningly. She seems to catch his meaning though as she shakes her head. "We may not ever be friends, but I don’t think there’s to be any more bad blood between us."

"You seemed awfully concerned about her when she was in that Zaith’isk contraption."

"Don’t give me that," Shadowheart replies, stern. She throws her hands up. "I don’t have to like her to not want to see her suffering. Besides, if anyone is going to kill that gith, it’s going to be me."

Tav grins at that. Looking smug.

Shadowheart squeezes his hand and looks down to her feet as they walk.

"Tav, I wanted to thank you…"

"You don’t need to thank me."

"No," she objects, turning her head toward him. "You don’t know what it means. To have someone you can rely on. Someone you can trust."

There’s a pause.

"Ever since I woke up on the nautiloid, this adventure has felt more like a nightmare at times," she continues, now gazing up at the sky. "I wouldn’t be alive if not for you, you’re always there when I need you, and more than that… I feel like a whole different person when I’m with you."

Tavik waits, Shadowheart seemingly lost in thought to the point she’s stopped walking.

"Anyway," she says with a start, blinking rapidly, "what I mean to say is… I’m glad I met you."

The smile he gives her is immediate and forms of its own accord. "You’ve been by my side from the start too but… I know how much courage it must’ve taken for you to muster to share that. Know I appreciate it, deeply." 

Aspect wonder shines on her face when she says, "You make it so easy."

And her gaze is hypnotic. For one brief moment, his world seems to spin.

Why does she hold everything good and warm in her eyes and not expect him to melt on the spot like butter in a saucepan? Why is it that in the silver moonlight they shine brightest? Why does she seem to glow whenever she smiles?

He’s reminded of the night they spent together above the waterfall. He’s been thinking about that kiss ever since. And every moment before and between.

Gods, he could admire her forever if she and time would allow.

Before he can react, Shadowheart cries out and rips away from him as if struck. He learns why a second later when he sees her clutching the hand he’d been holding in her other. Spasming purple light and wisps of black smoke sears between the gaps in her fingers.

The Sharran incurable wound.

The sudden jerk in movement, her eyes clenched shut, the disorientation causes her to stumble on a stray rock and she tips over backwards.

"Careful!"

Tavik leaps forward, catching her around the waist in one hand and by the wrist in his other, pulling her smaller body towards him just as fast.

Hearts hammering in tandem, Tav holds her there, against his chest, for a few long moments. She’s clutching his shoulders, it’d almost be painful if he wasn’t so worried about something else. He lets out a heavy breath and tilts his head back to assess her.

"Are you alright?"

He sees her wince but at least the wound on her hand appears to have abated as the light has disappeared. She leans her forehead into his chest and murmurs something he doesn’t quite hear.

"I don’t think your goddess approves of us."

Shadowheart looks up at him, expression longing, almost sad. She says nothing but makes no move to pull away.

There’s a crack of thunder in the distance that both turn their heads towards. The clouded grey sky lit up on the horizon by flashes of jagged lightning. Followed by another bout of thunder.

Something cold drips on Tav’s head and when he looks up, his face too. Rain.

"Shit, a storm." The Sorcerer, with an arm still wrapped around the half-elf, raises his other above his head. And with a wave of his hand, his fingertips spark with magic - conjuring a spherical shield that hovers protectively atop the both of them.

Shadowheart watches as the rain pellets pit-patter against the surface of the translucent glass-like dome. Quickening. The sound gradually drowned out by the rumbling of the gathering storm.

"Afraid of getting a little wet?" she asks in a small voice, slightly amused.

"If you’re so eager, I can always toss you into the lake," Tav challenges. "I’m sure the water’s perfect this time of year."

Her grip on his shoulders, which had slackened earlier, tightens, vice-like. "Don’t you dare! I can’t swim, remember?! You do that and I’ll hunt you down and make mincemeat of your tadpole-brain."

"Now you sound like Lae’zel." He shrugs wryly. "But fair point, I’d deserve it."

Then, he’s sighing, dejected. "We should head back. Make sure our belongings don't soak through."

Chapter Text

Act 2: Shadow-Cursed Lands

A swarm of birds - those curse-corrupted ravens roost in the gnarled trees up above, watching the party with beady glowing eyes as they traverse the shattered landscape of an ancient battlefield.

They’d just lost track of those Harpers they’d run into that’d ambushed the drider caravan. All of whom had since scattered into the darkness.

She'd thought the crèche was bad enough, but compared to this... perhaps surviving the githyanki training ground were mere cakewalk.

A place marred by the height of the Nightsinger’s power; the shadows that seem to almost sap the strength of the living, the cold that tore right through you, the endless fog of darkness that blots out the sun completely, the vicious creatures lurking within - just barely held at bay by torches and light spells - she finds it all both awe-inspiring and… quite unsettling.

Alone, Shadowheart may have felt uneasy, but with Lady Shar’s protection encasing her and her companions - and Tav - at her side, she doesn’t let herself become swept away in it.

All of a sudden, the Sorcerer bounds ahead, much to the collective alarm of the group.

He clears a small chasm formed by the quaked earth with a leap, only to come to an abrupt halt at the root of another gangly tree.

Tav bends down, and plucks something at the base of which with his hands that she does not see since his towering form blocks whatever he’s doing from view.

Whirling around, his eyes are on her as he makes his way back over till he’s standing before her. Smiling wide like he’s just thought of another hysterical joke, with one arm behind his back, hiding something out of sight. With his next words, it doesn’t take a lifelong scholar to guess as to what.

"Remember when you told me Night Orchids were your favourite flower?"

"Rings a bell," she says slowly, "Why?"

"It just so happens I have one right here."

The Sorcerer whips out his arm to reveal a long stem of clustered dark violet Night Orchid blooms that droops from the weight of them all at the middle.

"Oh hells," she breathes, feigning a horrified expression, "You didn’t pick that by hand did you? They’re deadly poisonous!"

Tav’s brow slants, jaw going slack, as a momentary panic sets in that she mercifully decides to ease quickly thereafter.

"Joking!" she says in a sing-song little voice, soon snickering, all while she points both her index fingers with her thumbs cocked as though to mimic shooting at him in her own amusement. "They’re safe - and beautiful. Thank you."

To add to her smug satisfaction, she notices a stark flush reddening his cheeks. After a moment frozen, he coughs into the elbow of his free arm and presents the flowers to her in his other.

Of which she takes with a slow reverence, stroking the unfurled petals delicately.

"They are indeed," he agrees easily, giving her a tiny smile with his twinkling multicoloured eyes, "Though… nothing compares to your beauty, for you outshine the stars."

Had that been said by anyone else, she’d have scoffed at the rather cloying nature of it. But it was from him… and her heart soars instead.

"Not too difficult to accomplish when you can’t see them," she responds, twirling a hand to gesture the shadowed sky.

"True enough. I can see why you might like these," he continues, gaze turning wistful. "Persevering through the midst of this curse to bloom in darkest night? There’s something resilient about that that I can’t help but admire."

At a momentary loss by the implication, Shadowheart finds herself shy all of a sudden. She looks down. "You grow where you’re planted, I suppose… Oh, I-I don’t have anything to give you in return, I’m afraid."

He smirks. "Well I’d better take it back then."

"Ahem, no you shall not." She returns the coy look he gives her as she playfully folds her arm behind her back with it as he had earlier. "I’d hate to reward a kind gesture by breaking your fingers. Give me some time - I’ll see if there’s a way I can make it up to you."

"You and gifts," he laughs, shaking his head, "I don't expect anything-"

"Perhaps, in the meantime, this will suffice?"

In the very next instant, she’s taken his wrist in her free hand - using it to wrest him down to meet her halfway as she presses a small, soft, but chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

She pulls away with a dangerous little smile. And she thought he was blushing before.

"Well… now that I know you’d react like that, you can expect to wake up to a whole bouquet tomorrow morning."

"They’re quite rare."

"Oh, I know." Tav wrings his hands together and nods down at her. "If you’d like later, there’s a way I can preserve it so the petals don’t wilt."

"I might just take you up on that."

"I look forward to it." Tav leaves with a curt bow and saunters off back to the head of the pack, looking pleased with himself.

Shadowheart watches him go, lost in thought. Then shakes off her bemusement and tucks the flowers into her pack - following along with renewed purpose.

Chapter Text

Act 2: Shadow-Cursed Lands/Camp

These nights at camp with everyone relaxing and packing it in after a long day of adventuring and questing were Shadowheart’s favourite. With the campfire blazing in the centre, often tended to by Gale, Tav and, on occasion, Wyll, who, together, cooked and prepared most of the group’s meals. Karlach leering over their shoulders hungrily and making conversation with the three men. Lae’zel (loudly) sharpening and cleaning her blade outside her tent nearby. Astarion idly flicking through a book at his dresser.

The owlbear cub and Scratch busy themselves chasing one another around the expanse of the camp as they often did.

Halsin had left earlier in the day to watch over Art in Last Light so the camp was back to their original seven for the night.

Shadowheart herself stayed near the outskirts of their camp. Often planting her tent in a more secluded place away from the others for added privacy.

The Sharran enjoyed the calm ambience of their nights. The group had become an eccentric sort of family almost. And it was strangely comforting to be around them like this. She never would’ve expected to, but she found she’d grown quite fond of them. Not so much Lae’zel, of course, but she admittedly respected her.

The quaint simplicity of a small band of wayfarers against the odds.

She would miss this.

Her musings are abruptly interrupted when Tav approaches her carrying two metal plates of food. The smell of cooked meat, roast vegetables, potato and pumpkin, and fresh bread wafts over strongly. Making her mouth water.

Tavik hands her one of the plates and a set of cutlery that she takes with a small, thankful smile.

This ritual of him bringing her her dinner had started their first night and he had not failed to continue the habit every evening since. Satisfyingly, she was also the only one he did that for, as pointed out to much amusement by Karlach one day.

As Tav walks away to find a place to sit and eat closer to the campfire, Shadowheart stares after him before standing and following.

She takes a seat beside him on an overturned wooden log and he raises an eyebrow at her but smirks soon after around a mouthful of food.

He swallows. "Hello to you too, Shadowheart."

"Tav," she acknowledges, before taking a bite of the meat skewered on her fork.

A few of the others across the other side of the fire shoot knowing glances at the pair, then each other. Shadowheart rolls her eyes upon noticing.

They've been eating for several minutes in relative cozy silence when the owlbear cub happens to trot over to her, sniffs at the plate in her lap. He squeaks a plea and gapes up at her with puppy eyes that’d put Scratch to shame.

"Owlbear, your dinner is over there beside Scratch’s," Tav intercepts gently, pointing to where the white-coated hound stood over his filled food bowl on the ground, eating alone.

"Oh, it’s alright," Shadowheart says as she holds some of her food between two fingers to his beak that he happily and greedily accepts. She scratches between his ears while he swallows and he preens in response. The owlbear cub makes another excited noise before scampering off to rejoin the dog.

When Shadowheart glances back over at Tav, she finds he’s already staring at her.

"What?"

"Weren’t you the one who said we shouldn’t feed the cub. Something about how he’ll eat us next?"

"I said he’d eat you," she corrects, smug. "He wouldn’t dare lay a talon on me. I’m just looking out for you, Tav."

"How gracious of you," the Sorcerer says, amused. Their knees brush and he pauses for a beat. "You act all cold and pragmatic but you’re such a softie at heart, aren’t you?"

He hadn’t looked away yet, attention rapt on her face. Normally she’d be embarrassed or taken aback by such scrutiny but Tav’s brand of intensity was not at all unwelcome. He felt like the warmth of sunlight on skin on a glittering summer evening. And after a lifetime of darkness, maybe that was something she didn’t know she wanted. Needed even. He understood her perhaps better than she understood herself. And most of all, he accepted her without hesitation. Admired may be more accurate, really.

"Well," she began, briefly glancing back toward the cub now eating from his own bowl beside Scratch. Unable to keep the smirk off her face, she says, "Maybe I just have a soft spot for big, dumb, and cute."

Shadowheart bumps her shoulder against his, looking up at him sideways beneath her lashes and she catches his sharp intake of breath as he watches her.

Then, he smiles too, at her, then the cub.

"Maybe we could raise him together when this is all over." He tilts his head, thinking. "Though he’d probably grow quite big."

“Together?” Shadowheart repeats hesitantly, realisation dawning.

Tav looks over at her again, noticing her shift. "Oh, just a thought."

"Tav…" Shadowheart moves her plate off her lap and places it between them. "You must know… this isn’t going to last, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"This. Us." She points between the two of them. "Once we’re rid of the Absolute and cured ourselves of these tadpoles, I’m going back to my cloister in Baldur’s Gate. My life is there."

Tav nods slowly. "Right. Ignore me, it was just a silly suggestion anyway."

"I-I don’t want to mislead you." Shadowheart wrings her hands together. "I thought you knew that this is how our relationship would go."

"I should’ve but didn’t," he sighs, shoulders drooping. He flexes his fingers around the edges of his own plate and places it beside himself as well.

Lost in thought, he stares off into the campfire. Everyone else had returned to their tents to pack it in for the night. They were alone.

"I’ve enjoyed our time together. Truly. But I can’t choose between my life and you."

Finally, Tav turns to look at her again, attempting to smile but it’s bittersweet. "I wouldn’t ask you to."

Shadowheart looks away first this time. Heart racing. Stomach in knots. Tav’s disappointment seems to mirror her own.

"If this isn’t what you want, I’d understand if you move on. I’m sure you wouldn’t have much trouble finding someone else, judging by the looks some of the others have given you before," she says, trying to sound lighthearted but her chest tightens at the thought all the same.

"No," he says quickly, taking her hand in his own. Warm, gentle, but firm. She hadn’t realised she’d been clenching her own so hard up until now. "I want you. In whatever way and for however long you’ll have me. There is no other option for me."

The admission is as unexpected as it is gratifying to hear. Though on that first part, perhaps it shouldn’t be…

Still…

"Look, there doesn’t need to be any expectations," Tav starts again. He takes a breath. "But tell me I’m not a fool for holding onto some hope?"

"Oh, I know. You’ve made that perfectly clear," she chuckles, though her mirth quells quick and her face soon falls.

The truth was, Shadowheart had been avoiding this topic, this conversation. Even thinking too hard about their dalliance. It was so easy to pretend it wasn’t as serious as it had become. It started off as a bit of fun. Meaningless flirting. That cheeky kiss that one time. All that she assumed would just be some passing fancy.

At the end of this road they were supposed to part ways. Yet Tav had no intentions of that and… her heart agrees.

Maybe she had been deluding herself. She’d sorely underestimated just how strongly she would feel.

By the gods, she has no idea how any of this even happened - she could not begin to explain it. How did she fall for some oddly charming, utterly bizarre, magically-volatile, cursed elf man she met on a brain-devouring squid ship hurtling through Avernus?

"You’re not a fool for that…" Shadowheart says finally. "I like that I always know where I stand with you."

Tav smiles, a sweet thing.

Luring out one of hers in return, even as the tension lingers, heavy and unwelcome. "Look, my return to the cloister may not entirely… spell the end for us." She sighs and adds, in a quieter voice, "I just fear things will not be the same."

"Not be the same, how?"

"We won’t be able to see one another often." Shadowheart pushes off the log to stand in front of him and she crosses her arms. "I’m not even supposed to be involved with anyone, especially an outsider."

Tav’s eyebrows raise but he says nothing and looks down.

"We were only permitted to leave sometimes for training where we’d practice subterfuge. Blending into a crowd, pickpocketing, tailing, masquerading as someone else. That sort of thing."

As she speaks, more of her old life returns to her. She recalls herself doing all these things, fragmented memories so hazy they could’ve been dreams but she knows they are not. She realises she hadn’t thought much about it in some time. Delving into the fog of her riddled memory tends to bring about more discomfort than any solace or clarity. Besides, she’d barely had the chance to between all that had happened since she’d first set out on her holy mission.

And now, on top of it all, Lady Shar herself needed her.

"The last thing I want to do is get you in trouble but surely we can revisit this?"

Shadowheart frowns, but remains silent as he continues.

"In what a year or so?" He pushes to his feet and spreads his hands as he stands before her. "When you’re a Dark Justiciar and leading your congregation. Nobody can stop you from sneaking out to come see me."

"What?" she says incredulously, shaking her head. "Tav, that’s not how that works-"

"And why not?" There’s a mischievous glint in his multicoloured eyes, one that appears when he has an idea. "You’ve said so yourself, Sharrans appreciate cunning. You’re a powerful cleric, the sole survivor of your infiltration team, and against all odds you’ve made it this far - artefact in hand. Shar should be practically begging you to take over."

"That’s imaginative." Shadowheart eyerolls but a flood of warmth spreads through her at his forward praise. "But don’t be absurd."

"I’m not!" He tilts his head. "Well, not entirely."

Shadowheart searches his scarred face. "Are you saying you’d wait for me?"

"I’d wait a lifetime for you if that’s what it takes."

"You… really see a future for us?"

"I want nothing more. If that’s what you want, as well."

It’s tempting… so tempting that it makes her heart ache for something she knows she cannot have.

"My faith will always come first and foremost, I can’t promise you anything."

"I know."

"But I’m not ready to give you up either."

Chapter Text

Act 2: Shadow-Cursed Lands/Camp

Rest eludes Shadowheart. For all she can think about is this strange new place where even the stars themselves are smothered by Lady Shar’s embrace.

From the moment she’d first laid down, hours ago, she’d been tossing and turning. Rolling onto her back, she opens her eyes to stare up at the ceiling of her tent. Mind wandering.

What does Lady Shar want from her? At times it feels like she is punishing her, at others, she shields her.

Shadowheart feels… lost. A sensation that is not new to her.

A memory surfaces. One of the few that she can still lay claim to is of being lost. Lost and afraid.

Child Shadowheart alone in the woods hunted by a stray predator.

Before Lady Shar, she was nothing. An orphan who could not forget the howl of wolves. Her goddess saved her life. Gave her a family.

That memory of the woods, nearly dying, being saved… is all she has of her childhood. Lady Shar guards the rest.

The Cleric pushes upright until she is sitting, legs sprawled out before her, hands pressed flat into her bedroll at either of her sides.

Why was she in those woods? The vast gaps in her memories become more unnerving the more she dwells on it.

She crawls out of her tent and stands, looking out over her companion’s latest camp. Their tents are surrounded by a wall of rock from behind, and ahead of them lies the Chionthar. Torches borrowed from Last Light enchanted with Continual Flame by a certain wizard and sorcerer pair stamped into the camp’s borders to stave off the ever-encroaching shadows.

A fog sits upon the open water obscuring anything beyond a certain distance.

Countless possibilities. She could’ve been lost, abandoned, orphaned, or even offered as some sacrifice to the gods. Some druids force children to live off the land. Followers of Talos are said to sacrifice innocents to lightning. Most disquieting of all, what Tav had suggested the day she’d shared this all with him, Selûnites are known to leave their young in the wild and challenge them to find their way home.

She thinks about that Selûnite Cleric Isobel that they’d met that day at Last Light Inn. How the defenceless woman had nearly been kidnapped by fiends and cultists had she, Tav, and the rest not been there to fend them off.

Shadowheart slides her shoes on, then glances up again.

And what of the Astral Prism?

It’s still tucked away safely in her pack, Tav had insisted it stayed in her hands. She’d half-expected he might confiscate it like one of her aggravated teachers would a piece of classroom contraband. Just why was she sent to retrieve it? She hadn’t questioned it when the Mother Superior tasked her with the mission initially. But now, the others are dead, Shadowheart were left tadpoled - the only thing protecting her and the rest from ceremorphosis was it and their Dream Guardian trapped inside. What interest could her cloister even have in such an item? How did the Mother Superior find out about it?

And why her? - A chance to prove herself? Test her mettle? To become stronger? Or did she just want her dead?

Her jaw clenches at the thought.

Now her adventure, everything, culminates here and the Nightsinger had finally turned her sights upon her.

Lady Shar embraced her, whatever her past. She serves her, is strengthened by her, and now she guides her toward something. Whatever awaits her in these lands must be important. The Dark Lady wills it… in her own way.

A movement from behind catches her attention out of the corner of her eye. She turns to see Tav’s form sitting, huddled, on a large rock overlooking the waterfall that leads into the stream cutting their encampment in half.

Curiously, surrounding him is this barely lucent dome that she recognises as a silence spell.

Shadowheart clambers her way over and up, stepping inside the spell he’d cast around himself and suddenly she’s met with the sounds he’d locked himself in with.

The strumming of a melody on the lute cradled in his arms and his voice, low and soft, singing.

For a moment, she stands there and drinks it all in. Not only was his speaking voice attractive, but he was a talented singer too.

He’s set out a picnic mat to sit on. Legs dangling over the edge of the rock face.

Shadowheart pads closer, then she sits beside him.

"You’re getting better at that," she says as she wraps her arms around her bent knees.

Tav stops to give her a delighted, if bashful smile. "You think so?"

With a slight incline of her head, "Keep playing," she replies.

"It’s one of Alfira’s songs," he explains, adjusting the instrument in his hands.

But he obliges her request soon enough and starts off sweeping his thumb against the strings again. The tune is almost wistful and when he starts singing, after the first few lines she realises it must be a love song of sorts.

The song is sung from the perspective of someone inviting a presumed lover down to a river to spend time together, and she can’t help but smirk at the apt link to herself and Tav. And whatever it is blooming between them.

She relaxes, basking in every note, every word.

When he finishes, he sets the lute down on the opposite side of him and leans back on his hands behind him. "I am absolutely mesmerised by music. I don’t think it’s something I ever fully appreciated the beauty of in whatever my old life was. When we listened to Alfira’s The Weeping Dawn, it was like the first time I’d ever heard song."

Shadowheart arches an eyebrow, mildly amused. "Is that why you got her to teach you?"

Looking down, kicking his hanging feet a little. "And so I could serenade you, of course," he laughs.

Shadowheart scoffs, albeit affectionately.

"I’ll be singing tales of your greatness in no time."

"Me?"

"A bard can hardly sing about himself, can he? That’d be awfully egomaniacal and you’d hate that."

"So you’re a bard now?"

Tav pretends to think, only to wave his hand through the air above his head, "You’re right. It’d be a waste of my talents. Still, the minstrel arts are something I’ve come to see the appeal of in our travels," he muses to himself.

Then, he’s turned toward her, giving her an even, measured look. "Anyway, how are you doing, Shadowheart?"

A bit taken aback by his subject change, Shadowheart blinks. "Hm?"

"You don’t quite seem yourself, of late." He nudges her with his shoulder gently.

"Is that so?" Shadowheart began, motioning her hand outwards, "Well, I hope you don’t intend to make such a claim without some evidence to support it."

"You’ve been acting differently," he explains, frowning. "Praying less, pacing more. And now you’re up late enough to catch me. Something's bothering you."

"True prayer needs peace," she defends, the reminder of her earlier anxieties sparking a bitterness inside her. "And serenity has proved elusive of late…" She takes a deep breath, and continues in a less severe tone, "I’ll admit it, staying true to Lady Shar has proved difficult at times…"

Before she can think better of it, the Cleric begins to unravel everything that had been on her mind, keeping her up. The memories, her goddess, the Noblestalk and Rennald, the prism, the woods.

The Sorcerer had a way of coaxing out even her deepest embedded secrets. Something that frustrated yet bewildered her at first. Now though, she thinks she understands why.

He just listened. Intently.

"Nothing is simple anymore. Sometimes it feels like all I have is doubts."

As her words trail off, Shadowheart stares off into the still, murky water below.

"These doubts…" he says from her side, "where do you think they stem from?"

"The Mother Superior must have had some reason to deny me the chance to become a Dark Justiciar… perhaps this is the reason?" She looks across at him, gauging his expression. "Perhaps I’m simply not worthy."

The pitying look he gives her and the sinking in her gut she tries to fight push her to turn away.

"Forget I ever said anything. I’m just indulging in thoughts best buried."

"You feel unsure…" he observes, "like you don’t know what to do?"

"You could say that."

Tav lies his forearm on his thigh, palm facing the sky, and she watches him unfurl his fingers. An invitation.

Tentatively, Shadowheart places her hand in his and sends him a questioning look. His touch is warm and she’s struck by how much the simple gesture anchors her. Quelling the anxiety spurring in her chest.

He smiles at their joined hands and gives hers a reassuring squeeze.

"When doubts plague your mind, follow your instincts. Yours are sharp," he says, catching her gaze, holding it, then nodding sagely at her. "Even should they steer you wrong and land you elbow-deep in shit, at least you were true to yourself. That’s most important."

Shadowheart steeples their fingers together, oddly at ease all things considering. Unable to quite look away from him.

A wind gushes through, rifling their hair. Yet even windswept, his retains its perfection.

After a moment, Tav reaches toward her face with his free hand and straightens her bangs with his pinky finger. Her eyes widen at his touch but by now she’d grown accustomed to the brief physical contact they shared that part of her yearns to lean into it. Instead, she feels a pesky heated flush in her cheeks.

"And," he continues, earnest, his eyes soft, but with a certainty that steals her breath, "Even if that does happen, I’ll be there to help pull you out."

Shadowheart wonders if her relationship with Tav is truly at odds with Lady Shar’s wishes. If she’s risking her heart, falling for him. But everything in her wants to believe this could work.

Her gaze drops to their joined hands again and she smiles despite it all. "Thank you."

Chapter Text

Act 2: Shadow-Cursed Lands

They’re searching some moulded crates inside an old abandoned potter's workshop, dead Meazel corpses scattered all around from a dismally failed ambush on their part, when Tav spies a chest perched on an elevated platform too high up to jump to.

The Sorcerer casts 'Grant Flight' upon himself and levitates upwards, landing smoothly at the foot of the chest.

It’s locked but he tries a key he found hidden behind a loose brick in the wall outside and it works. The rusted lock opens with a ‘click’.

There’s a varied assortment of items inside when Tav pries it open but his eyebrows raise at one in particular he recognises of which he picks up, only to move to the edge of the ledge and shake it at the Cleric. Grinning ear to ear all the while.

"Look, Shadowheart, it’s your favourite goddess!"

Covered in blood splatter from the earlier fight, she stands down below still. In her typical and adorable idle manner with one arm bent at her ribs at a ninety degree angle, her hands fisted loosely and her weight shifted slightly more to one leg. She has to crane her neck to look up at him but when she does, she instantly scowls like she’d just watched him spit in her breakfast.

"A Selûne idol? Really? Are you in need of a paperweight?"

"You know, Shadowheart, it is a little heavy," he says, his coy smile grows again with every word, hefting it in one hand. "Could you carry it for me in your pack?"

"I’d sooner thwack you upside the head with it."

"See? It has its uses."

As Tav descends and alights beside her, Wyll is looking between the two of them with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Sometimes I cannot tell whether you two like or hate each other," he says, pointing at them both.

The Sorcerer leans in a tad closer to her sideways, rubbing his jaw and watching her out of the corner of his eye. "‘Like’ does not even begin to describe it."

Shadowheart glares at him still then rises on her toes to reach her mouth to his ear before speaking. Her breath curls in a warm whisper down the side of his neck. "The lust in your eyes seeps out into the world, have some decency."

"What was that?" He asks without looking at her, suppressing a shiver. "Didn’t quite hear you from all the way down there."

In that moment, the Sharran stomps on the toe of his leather boot with the heel of her steel-plated one, hard, and he yelps. Springs apart from her.

"I don’t think Shadowheart wants a man," Astarion mutters in an aside to the devil-horned Warlock, but loud enough for them all to overhear, "She wants a victim."

Shadowheart's pointed ears twitch and she folds her arms across her chest, staring down the Sorcerer who is looking back at her with his teeth clenched together in pain. "Like he’d be so lucky to end up shackled in my basement dungeon."

Tav feigns a look of shock horror, badly disguising his amusement and slight intrigue. "Have mercy, my lady!"

———— 

In an effort to rescue Thaniel from the depths of the Shadowfell, the party of True Souls follow their hulking wood-elf companion across the bridge leading out the back end of Last Light Inn. Near the barn housing the oxen and Dammon’s forge.

Archdruid Halsin was a great beast of a man, taller even than Tavik by about an inch or so.

Shadowheart amusedly pointed out one day that she found it curious Tav was more attracted to the other man than intimidated or threatened by him.

The elf was ruggedly handsome - much like himself - he’d wryly told her.

To add to that, Halsin was also quite a wise and understanding confidant. Tav had an amiable rapport with the man and he was the only other person Tav had disclosed to about his Urge properly. Halsin ended up comforting him with the assurance that he was still one of Nature’s creations despite the affliction.

"Chin up, Halsin," Shadowheart tells him, tone goading almost, "I know you don’t favour Lady Shar’s darkness, but look - trees!" She points ahead at a mass of them as they walk, blackened and twisted.

"I will not be taunted in this place - not after all it has taken from me," Halsin’s voice booms out gruffly, edged with his distaste. The only other time Tav had seen him this way were when he was scolding Kagha after finding out about her involvement in the Shadow Druid’s plot. "Show respect, or you will force my hand."

Shadowheart appears entirely undaunted by the assertion. Instead, she’s apparently admiring the length or shape of his arm, eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. "Is that so? It’s quite a hand…"

Shooting her an incredulous glance, "You’re flirting with Halsin, now?" Tav asks her as the man in question trudges ahead a fair distance out of earshot.

"You were right, he does smell like spring flowers," she says and he’s surprised at the unctuousness in the lilt of her voice. "I might try out his hugs next."

Something twinges unpleasantly in Tav’s chest at her words. He’s not entirely certain what it means. "Are you trying to rile me up?"

Shadowheart finally looks over at him, she leans her head forward and flutters her eyelashes at him innocently. "Why would I do a thing like that?"

Tav huffs. "Well good luck, I think you’ve pissed him off."

"He’ll get over it."

———— 

They’d returned to Last Light Inn for perhaps the third time in the last few days, back from their excursion to Moonrise Towers. Having docked on a stolen rowboat at the small pier beneath the building amongst the mismatch of prisoners they’d just jailbroken. Minthara, a drow former-Absolutist cult leader, along with the missing deep gnomes and tieflings.

The group had split up earlier to speak to various people within, and Shadowheart is alone, roaming the tavern looking for the Sorcerer.

Karlach and Wyll are together with the tiefling children, likely breaking the news that they’d been unable to find Mol but would keep searching for her nonetheless.

Shadowheart strides past and makes her way up the stairwell. When she rounds the corner, she bumps shoulders with Tav walking briskly in her direction.

They both jump in surprise.

"Shadowheart!"

"Tav?"

The Sorcerer spares a glance behind him and runs a hand through his hair.

"Could you go check on Isobel?"

"What?" Shadowheart near balks at the mere suggestion. "Why in the Nine Hells would I want to talk to her? Weren’t you just in there?"

His eyebrows draw together, he folds his arms, stern. "She’s helped us, a lot more than most."

"That’s only because she’s desperate." Shadowheart gestures loosely down the stairs. "They all are. They’re sitting ducks here without us."

"And without her, we’d be swallowed by the shadows."

The Sharran mirrors his posture. "You all, maybe."

"Gods, Shadowheart, there’s enough misery to go around in this world, we do not need to add to it." He lets out a weary sigh, and asks again in a smaller voice, "Just do it, for me, please?"

"Fine, but you owe me."

"I’ll make this up to you somehow, I promise."

As he plods down the stairs to the ground floor, Shadowheart realises he looked a lot more troubled than normal, and both her pledge to him and her own heightened curiosity have her following through and making her way to Isobel’s doorway.

The Selûnite Cleric has her nose buried in a book upon her approach, but she soon looks up at the sound of her footsteps.

They’d already surmised that Isobel was Ketheric’s daughter. Had went rifling through the family’s old rooms within the Towers, picked through their abandoned keepsakes and notes.

The book in her hands snaps shut and Shadowheart just briefly catches a glimpse at a portion of the title: ‘Eyewitness Accounts’.

The silver-haired half-elf with the dark splotchy eyeshadow fixes her with a piercing yet peculiar look as she slides the text back into place on a nearby bookshelf.

"Ah, the Sharran."

On her guard, Shadowheart is immediately struck by the accuracy of her approximation considering they’d never exchanged words up until now. "You can tell my allegiance from a look?"

"It’s an aura." Isobel does not bother to conceal one shred of her disdain. "Or lack of one, really."

“Hope you stretched before that reach,” Shadowheart thinks snidely to herself but otherwise bites her tongue. The monumental effort that it is.

As Shadowheart’s frown deepens, Isobel points to the circlet wreathing her own head. A Selûnite emblem in its crest, and Shadowheart gathers from the single gesture that she must’ve recognised her contrasting Sharran one. Just barely hidden beneath her dark bangs.

Then, Isobel’s expression softens, brightens almost, and she says, gesturing between the two of them, "But the Moonmaiden didn’t strike me dead for blessing you, so she must rather approve of this little alliance."

Irritation threatening to boil over, Shadowheart recalls how odd and uneasy she’d felt after that barbaric Selûnite magic had settled over her a few days prior. And, of course, the incurable wound inevitably sparking on the back of her hand.

"I didn’t need your protection, Lady Shar shields me from the curse."

"For now - perhaps. But Shar can be fickle, and her love can prove fleeting." She spreads her hands. "Besides, it aided the rest of your companions travelling with you - I somehow doubt Shar’s largesse was extended to them."

Shadowheart sneers but Isobel is right about that last part at least, so she says nothing and the other cleric continues.

"Surely the Nightsinger could’ve shielded all her followers, and made this place her domain long ago…" Her head tilts to one side as she studies her, Shadowheart feels like a curious antique in a marketplace under the appraisal. "Yet she only acts now, and aids you alone."

Holding her gaze, chin lifted, Shadowheart can see the grudging respect enter Isobel’s expression.

At which, Shadowheart lets her honesty spill easily, if a little unexpectedly. "I don’t know what to make of it myself."

"I suppose Shar is nothing if not mysterious."

Isobel seems to sense Shadowheart’s disquiet so she motions at the door with an open gloved hand.

"Your partner was just in here."

"We’re not-" Shadowheart starts to intercede but at Isobel’s eyebrow raise, she says instead, "That’s none of your business."

"I thought followers of Shar were forbidden from pursuing romantic entanglements."

"He knows."

"Do you?"

"You know what, I came here to see if you were okay. Tav implied you were in some type of distress." She scowls and turns back toward the door. "That was clearly a waste of my time. I’ll be going now."

"It isn’t me who is distressed." Isobel looks contemplative, then nods. "But thank you."

Shadowheart strides out the door, balling her fists at her sides.

That’s when Isobel says from behind, "Good luck, and may the Moonmaiden protect you - if you can stand it."

To which, Shadowheart rolls her eyes nearly into the back of her skull.

Chapter Text

Act 2: Shadow-Cursed Lands/Camp

Tav takes another sip of the bottle clutched too tightly in his grasp. Standing over the roaring heat of the campfire and staring into it as though its flames held all the answers.

Sceleritas Fel, that wretched little creature, his so-called 'Butler', had paid him another visit the previous night.

Promising another boon in exchange for the Selûnite Cleric Isobel’s death. He’d been horrified at the prospect, of course.

But when he saw her there today, from the doorway of her upstairs room at Last Light Inn. Why had he considered it? Why had it been nigh on impossible to wrench free of those dark twisted thoughts? Why had his hands twitched?

And her innocent, idealistic defiance. Her claim that he would not do it when he told her. Why had that small act tempted him more?

This is no mere bloodlust. This curse is something foul and degenerate.

Worse than that. The brief visit to Moonrise - before subsequently rescuing Minthara and the other prisoners - had told him all he needed to know. He’d done this all before. Been here before.

With that veil of ignorance torn down, he couldn’t deny it any longer. He might not remember any of it. But he knows with damn near certainty that he was not a good person in his past life, the furthest thing from it, and far more involved in this cult conspiracy than he ever could have imagined.

He crouches. Setting the bottle down and palming his face with both hands as another gnawing headache sets in.

They’ve been getting worse and worse. His sleep is constantly disturbed by nightmares and never restful.

Who is he?

His head is empty but for a string of phantom images. Indiscernible flashes of blood and fire and rot. All shrouded in gloom.

Truly, the worst was not the pain, or the void, it was the loss of mastery over his own body. His grip on his sanity tenuous at best.

"Tav?"

Tav gasps as if coming up for air after a dive, he turns his head to see Shadowheart had crept up on him unnoticed. Now setting a gentle, concerned hand on his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" She must spot the alcohol because her expression sours. "Are you drinking? At this hour? Why?"

"I-I… It’s hard to explain." He sighs.

"Try."

"The… Urges… they’re getting worse." Tav stares blankly at the logs as the flames lick at them. "I almost attacked Isobel and potentially doomed all those people in Last Light."

Shadowheart removes her hand and he hears her step back. He does not blame her, only drops his head in more shame.

"You were acting strange today…" she says slowly. "This is similar to what happened with that bard, isn’t it?"

"I’m still in control, just." He shakes his head. Still refusing to turn around and look at her. To see the horror in her face. "I’d blacked out then."

"And you thought getting soused would help?"

Tav curses at his own stupidity. Then stands. "You’re right. I wasn’t thinking. I just needed something to numb me."

They’re silent for a few beats and Tav turns around. Their eyes meet. She does not look afraid, as he’d expected, feared, but thoughtful.

"Come with me," she says simply, nodding her head in a direction then moving to walk toward it.

He follows, a little lost.

To her tent, of course. She pulls it open and stands outside expectantly. "Get in," is all she says.

He’s more lost.

"What?"

"Do you want me to help or not?"

"Shadowheart."

"Tav."

"Okay."

He crawls inside the cramped space, awkwardly obliging, he barely fits. Shadowheart soon follows, kneeling at the head of her bedroll.

"Lay your head down," she commands, smirking just a little out the side of her mouth. Patting her lap once.

He does so, but not before shooting her a wary look.

Once he’s settled, after a bit of adjusting, he glances up at her.

She looks down at him.

Then, the emerald of her eyes glows blue as she murmurs an incantation and sets both her hands upon either side of his head.

The gentle healing sensation gradually overtakes the ache in his skull and his eyelids flutter shut at the lull of it. He hums his approval.

She rakes her fingers through his short soft locks, lightly massaging, maintaining the spell all the while.

Tav relaxes and threads his hands together, resting them on his abdomen. He’d never request this of her, but had contemplated it, many times, after she’d done so that fateful night back near the Emerald Grove environs.

When the magic ends, she continues the movement of her fingers anyway.

"You’re not… repulsed by me?" he asks quietly, lifting his chin to meet her.

The dark-haired Cleric looks pensive but ultimately breaks eye contact. She makes an affirmative noise then says, "I can hardly judge. Well, maybe I can." Huffs a small laugh. "But look around; Gale and Karlach are both walking bombs, Astarion’s a blood-thirsty vampire, Wyll’s got a devil on his shoulder, Lae’zel’s former lich queen is hunting her." She lets go of him to spread her hands in the air as she shrugs. "And we’ve still got worms in our skulls."

"You’re saying because we’ve other problems to contend with…?"

"Your curse is still an issue, certainly, but our merry band is already beyond abnormal." Shadowheart strokes some loose hair off his forehead, tucks it behind his ear. "You may well be a beast but there’s a noble heart in there somewhere. I don’t think you’re truly a bad person." She sighs. "Believe me, I’ve known plenty."

Tav stares up at her a while, mouth parted as if to speak but instead looks down.

A silence stretches between them wherein a new guilt grows inside him.

He bends one leg and folds his arms across his chest. "I wouldn’t be so sure." He swallows. "I have a confession to make."

Shadowheart stills beneath his head. "Go on."

"You remember how we met?"

"Of course."

————

Act 1: Nautiloid 

Shadowheart recalls how she’d awoken inside that flesh prison on the nautiloid. Chitin-like in appearance and tough too. The lid of the vessel was transparent, allowed her to see through it to the chamber it was situated in.

The Cleric could move, her limbs unbound, but the space limited. Forced to stand almost in a reclined position supported by the back wall of the pod.

She remembers slamming her fists against it in a fruitless effort to break through. Tried kicking too but was unable to generate enough force. She’d searched for some kind of control or release mechanism from the inside. Also to no avail.

None of her spells or cantrips would cast either. There were some kind of omnipresent barrier obstructing magic that she didn’t have the patience to consider at the time. In hindsight, perhaps it were for the best as she may have done more damage to herself than the illithid construction housing her.

Panic surmounted, she’d beaten against the dome caging her again and again. All it did was succeed in making her hands burn, raw and bloodied.

There were other pods arranged in a circular fashion around the perimeter that she could see. A large illithid mechanism in the centre of the room and several people mounted upon some kind of mental torture devices in a ring around it.

She had called out to them but they did not respond, trapped in some kind of stupor. She knows now they were cultists, same as those currently infesting Moonrise, who were likely being experimented on by the mind flayers aboard.

Many a prayer to her dark mistress fell seemingly unanswered. Never had she felt so alone and vulnerable.

The pod she was in lurched, the entire ship heaved, and she’d been thrown into the side of it.

That’s when a door across the far end of the room, a fleshy sphincter, had opened and two humanoid silhouettes emerged.

"You! Get me out of this damn thing!" Shadowheart had screamed to the person ahead. Still busy searching for somewhere to pry it open from the inside with both hands.

A man she could tell by his stature and the width of his shoulders.

"One’s awake!" the man said to the figure behind him. Then he was rushing over to the foot of the pod and peering inside at her.

"Get me out! Please!"

"Your pod is jammed," he said after some consideration, pursing his lips. "There’s some kind of warding runes blocking the release."

"No!" She slammed her fist against the pane again. Hard. "Please there has to be another way! Don’t leave me here!"

Finally, his companion had come into view as well. A githyanki soldier. Lae’zel. "We have no time for stragglers."

"She’s a prisoner here like us, we should help her," he had said, still surveying Shadowheart’s damaged pod.

To her relief, he ignored the gith’s protests and moved to examine another fleshy illithid console a few meters away. She remembers her desperation as she watched him hover his hand over it. Suddenly, she was propelled inside his head too, felt his will commanding the pod to open. And the device coming alive and its ensuing subjugation. A tingling, painful, buzzing sensation that reached her even from in there and, along with the sudden wriggling of the tadpole, had made her grimace.

Then, her pod opened. The lid lifting and she fell forward, weightless and exhausted, collapsing to the floor on her hands and knees. She wheezed, a rush of hot sulphuric air assailing her.

"Are you okay?"

She glanced up, leaning back so that she was kneeling, to see the man who’d helped her. Her rescuer.

Tall, even by elven standards. Burly, especially by elven standards. Snow white hair. Sharp pointed ears pierced with silver rings. A large black tattoo covering near half his face. The design resembles wispy tendrils that all seem to emanate from his left eye and swoop back toward the left side of his head, with some curling down onto his neck. The sclera of that left eye is abyss black, with a demonic hells-touched red iris. His other eye is a silvery blue and he has a large facial scar slashed across it from forehead to cheek. Wearing his dark black and scarlet sleeveless sorcerer robes with gold embroidery along the seams and carrying a quarterstaff on his back.

A rugged appearance atypical of a mage.

And he was powerful. She could tell that even then. A potent magical aura radiated from him that she immediately attuned to.

"Thank you," she had said first, breathless, "… thought I was done for. That that damn thing was to be my coffin."

"Need a hand?" he then asked, offering his own out to her.

His voice was deep, slightly raspy, but still somehow smoother than honey.

There was an honest look about him, despite the eccentricities, but she could not afford to let her guard down.

Instead, she narrowed her eyes at him. "I’ll manage," she had said, and quickly pushed herself to her feet, if a little unsteadily, as if to prove her point.

The Sorcerer nodded, unbothered, and took a step back to give her space.

Shadowheart spotted the githyanki scowling at her from over his shoulder.

As soon as the Sharran Cleric’s mistrust surfaced inwardly, the torrent of it rushed through her - connecting her mind with both his and the gith’s. All three flinching at the contact. It cut as quickly as it started.

The gith and elf exchanged looks. The former crossed her arms defensively.

Giving Lae’zel a sneer of her own, Shadowheart then said, "You keep dangerous company."

"Dangerous company’s what you need in a fight."

"Fair point. Looks like there’ll be plenty of fighting ahead." She’d stepped forward, determined. "Let me come with you, we can get off this ship and watch each other’s backs along the way."

He nodded. "Good idea."

Lae’zel had already began walking off, her back to them. "Enough distractions, we need to get to the helm," she demanded.

"Just a moment." Shadowheart had turned, rooted around in the bottom of her open pod. She found what she was looking for and grasped it firmly. When she turned back, halfway examining the artefact in her hands for any sign of damage, she looked up to meet the elf’s gaze once more.

His brow was furrowed as he eyed the prism in her hands.

She quickly stowed it away in a pouch at her belt, staring him down all the while, as if daring him to make comment.

To her surprise, he did not.

"Call me Shadowheart."

A brief confusion flashed across his face, then he hesitated and glanced over his shoulder at Lae’zel waiting impatiently by another sphincter doorway.

"I’m… Tav."

————

Act 2: Shadow-Cursed Lands/Camp

"I lied to you, you know."

"About what?"

"My name." He took a deep breath. "I made it up."

“What?”

"Yep!" The Sorcerer points up into the air with his forefinger. "Right there when you told me yours. Tav was all I could think of. It being short for Tavik? Pure bullshit too."

He recalls how he’d assumed her own name, Shadowheart, was supposed to be some spooky alias at the time as well. Not like that was an excuse to keep this from her until now though.

When he risks a glance back up at the Cleric, he sees her staring ahead at the incense sticks smoking near a lit candle on her nightstand. Her brow furrowed and a faraway look in her eyes.

"Why would you lie about your name?" she then asks, without looking at him, "What is your real name?"

"I don’t know. Don’t remember."

His bent knee jitters and he taps his foot. Already regretting revealing this. Especially in this way. Perhaps the alcohol had gotten to him after all.

"When were you planning on telling me this?"

He considers getting up, off her, but something keeps him moored there. Unable to move.

"I… don’t know. Maybe never. I didn’t expect we’d end up travelling together when we met on the nautiloid."

"Are you going to tell the others?"

"I’ll tell them tomorrow. They deserve to know."

Saying nothing, she still refuses to meet his gaze. His heart thunders at that, tightening.

In the silence, he finds the strength to sit up and tentatively twists to look back at her. He searches her face for any insight into what she’s thinking but she remains impassive.

"You’re a strange man, Tav… or not Tav. What should I call you?"

"I don’t know any other name, Tav is fine."

"Tav, then." Shadowheart’s gaze drops down to her lap. "I’d like you to leave… for now."

He cringes. "I-I understand."

"Your affliction and this memory loss… Drink it off. Sleep it off. Whatever you need to do. Just, you’ve a lot to think about."

Tavik emerges from the opening in the Cleric’s purple tent, dusting himself off. The sinking pit in his stomach as empty as it could ever be.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when a voice cuts through the darkness to his side.

"This is not the first time I’ve caught you hovering around Shadowheart’s tent after dark." Astarion. The vampire tuts. A gigantic, fang-bared, all-too-pleased grin on his face. "You naughty devils."

"Astarion." Tav puts his hands on his hips, not the least bit surprised to see him. "You’d do well to mind your own business sometimes."

"Ooh, touchy! You know I simply can’t resist the drama," he teases. "The more scandalous the better." He feigns a look of sympathy, holding a hand over his heart. "I take it from your tone things didn’t go well this time?"

"I’d rather not have this discussion and she’s right there," Tav replies, jabbing his index at the tent he’d just been inside. "Why are you always creeping around anyway?"

"Nothing insidious if that’s what you’re thinking, I’m merely returning from a midnight stroll."

"Midnight snack more like."

Chapter Text

Act 2: Gauntlet of Shar

After the devil, Raphael, left their camp in a plume of red misted sulphur - Tav consulted Astarion about his next steps now that the vampire was armed with the truth.

With the Yurgir matter dealt with, they’d decided to bid rest before continuing to scour the temple any further. Setting up camp in an alcove inside the ruins.

Lost in thought, later, after dinner, Tavik found himself wandering the dank corridors of the Sharran Gauntlet in search of the dear cleric.

Their next order of business, of course, to make their way through and find the Nightsong relic.

She was meditating at the foot of a large ancient statue of her goddess, Shar. Head bowed, hands on her knees. Still.

He stops a short distance away, behind her.

"Shadowheart," he says gently, "may I have a word?"

"Go ahead," she murmurs, head lifting, then standing.

"We haven’t had much time to talk one on one since…" Tav shifts his weight from foot to foot, that odd bout of nerves that only seemed to arise when he spoke to her returning. "Anyway, I wanted to apologise. I should’ve told you sooner. I was ashamed, to put it plainly."

As they’d delved deeper and deeper through the Shadow-Cursed Lands, he’d sensed the Sharran acolyte drifting away. Her usual reserved smiles, warm greetings, teasing banter, had all but ceased.

Part of that he knew was his own fault. But it seemed to transcend that. If anything, she acted unbothered by the revelation yet remained distant. Distracted even.

"It’s fine," she says simply, shoulder guards raising slightly as she shrugs and folds her arms across her chest. "You don’t owe me privy to all your secrets. We’re practically strangers at the end of the day."

"No, you’re wrong," he takes a step closer, "I did owe it to you. After everything we’ve been through together. I don’t want to be strangers."

"…Tav," she began, her placid mask faltering for a split second. But she turns away just as quick. "Forget it, we all have other things to worry about."

Right as the words leave her mouth, the space between them alights in that all too familiar purple hue emanating from her right hand. Crackling with power, the wound sparks again with a pain that has Shadowheart hissing out a slurry of curses.

Before he can think, Tav takes her hand in his own two and she lets him. Her fingers flex then clench, cupped inside his.

The purple dims then dies.

She takes a deep breath as he caresses a thumb over the back of her hand in a motion he hopes is soothing.

He gives her a worried look. "What was that for?"

Shadowheart glowers and yanks her hand from his grasp. As though his touch suddenly burned.

"I told you already," she says, impatient, "I don’t know for certain what causes it." She shakes her head, looking frustrated. "Maybe I’m progressing through these trials too slowly."

"We just got here and this place is massive." He spreads his arms, turns on his feet in a small arc and back, gesturing their surroundings - the open chasms, the giant architecture built within it. "Not to mention we took down that Orthon that killed all her Dark Justiciars. So if that’s the case, your Mistress of the Night is certainly not easy to please."

A muscle in her jaw ticks. She closes her eyes and breathes through her nose. "To hear my lady is a gift and the greatest offering is pain, our suffering. For pain gives way to loss."

"Shar get a kick out of watching you squirm?"

Shadowheart stands steadfast and firm. "It has meaning."

"Not if you don’t remember what that meaning is."

"Tav," she warns, in a cold, emotionless voice, "Envy doesn’t look good on you."

Sincerely baffled, "You think I’m jealous?" he asks, to which he gets no reply only an icy glare. A look he’d scarcely seen before on her, definitely never directed at him... regarding anything serious, anyway.

Though he continues - knowing he’s crossing a line but, in his mind, he’d held his tongue on this matter long enough. "Shadowheart, someone who cares about you, someone who loves you, should take care of you. Protect you. Not cause you to suffer."

"And what would you know about love?!" she snaps back. Eyes ablaze, furious.

His face falls, he can only gape at her. "I-I…"

(*The Dark Urge rolls for broken heart saving throw**Disadvantage*)

An array of emotions criss-cross his face in that moment. Shock, hurt, rejection, before finally settling on acceptance. And he’s nodding his head, taking small retreating steps backwards, looking at the floor.

"I’m sorry," she sighs, turning her back on him. "I don’t want to argue. Can we drop this? I need to focus on my mission."

"As you wish." His voice is nothing but a tiny whisper.

Defeated, the Sorcerer turns on his heel, and swiftly marches away back toward their makeshift camp, leaving Shadowheart to her thoughts.

Chapter Text

Act 2: Gauntlet of Shar

The Gauntlet of Shar… Her Dark Lady’s sacred Crucible. Here she stands. She can hardly believe it.

Surrounded on all sides by polished violet bricked walls, columns, scaled high into the air. The grandeur is astounding. Beautiful, ancient, imposing, much like Lady Shar herself. Even after left in such a state of disrepair following a hundred years of abandonment.

Her mistress must’ve guided her here. This is what it were all for.

Great warriors, Dark Justiciars, were trained and trialed here, and now Shadowheart had been given the chance to follow in their footsteps. Her dreams imagined. This is her destiny. She knows it. She can feel it with bone-deep certainty.

It’s morning, far as they can tell this far underground without seeing the sun, and the party resumes their exploration of the eastern most section of the ruins.

They’re trudging through a long corridor within the temple and Shadowheart's mind drifts off. 

"If I succeed, I wonder if I'll be allowed a pet. Ugh, I'm being silly..." 

To her side, puncturing the lengthy silence as well as her train of thought, Halsin speaks.

"Shar’s armies of destruction arose from within these halls," the Druid laments to no one in particular, voice soft with his sorrow.

Shadowheart’s gaze snaps to him.

He’d fought against Ketheric before, at the side of his comrades within the Emerald Enclave, the Selûnite resistance, and Jaheira and the Harpers, a century earlier. Back when the now Chosen of Myrkul marched under the Nightsinger’s banner, at the head of Lady Shar’s infantry. From the bowels of the Underdark here, Ketheric had gathered a force so large it were meant to conquer the entire Sword Coast.

It was only with his dying breath that he’d invoked, in Lady Shar’s name, the Shadow-Curse that had been inflicted on these lands. With its spread, the curse corrupted every living creature and warped them into the undead abominations that now roamed the shadows up above on the surface.

A curse which now, with Thaniel and Oliver reunited, would diminish upon Ketheric Thorm’s final end. Perhaps Shadowheart should feel regret for helping banish the shadows, but the curse was a gift, one that was wasted on a traitorous wretch like Ketheric, and as she had told Tav, her Lady could redirect her power elsewhere later. 

The Sharran holds her head high and affirms with conviction, "Those who do not listen to the reason of Lady Shar’s words must instead feel the keenness of her blade."

The wood-elf only sighs as though he were a disappointed parent. "You sound like a student - reciting words for a test without considering their meaning."

"I’ve considered them plenty," she retorts. "Besides, Lady Shar favours actions over words. Try it out sometime."

Gaze steely, Halsin eyes her sideways. His mouth twisting into a small frown. She gives as good as she gets, returns it with a glare.

Tensions were high among Shadowheart and the rest of her companions, she was self-aware enough to notice. Halsin were just the most vocal about his disapproval.

When the Druid says nothing further, Shadowheart glances ahead where Tavik is walking - leading. He does not so much as turn his head to look back at her.

The group descends into silence once again.

After navigating a dilapidated stone stairwell, they enter an old chamber hidden below in one of the lower floors that Shadowheart deduces must’ve been some sort of command centre. According to a plaque on the floor that she reads as she steps inside.

There’s a large stone rectangular table lining the middle strewn with old books, scrolls and notes. Dust ridden and moth eaten.

As the others glance around, the Sharran finds herself drawn to a great mirror-like structure on the far right side of the room.

It bears a prominent headdress like that of Lady Shar’s. Circular, large, the shattered glass is indigo in colour but, upon closer inspection, also tinged with wisps of black shadow that swirl in its centre. As Shadowheart draws nearer, she can feel the faint traces of dark magic it exudes. And another distinct thought occurs to her.

"This mirror… it’s so familiar," she says, wondering aloud to herself. "I’ve stood before one like it before. Felt its magic. What did it do?"

But the mirror is fractured and beyond any use.

She takes a few steps backwards to take it all in further. Only to collide into someone behind her. Both of them stumble at the contact.

Shadowheart swivels around, anger spiked, and, unwilling or unable to desist the venom from entering her voice, she reacts without thinking.

"Watch it, Oaf!"

It’s Tav standing there. His sudden surprise melds into caution at her outburst as he regards her. He steps away from her as if she might claw at him for being too close.

"Sorry," Shadowheart says quickly upon realising, pinching the bridge of her nose as she closes her eyes. "There was a lot of tall lumbering assholes in the Grotto."

The Sorcerer’s eyebrows lift and he pauses for a few beats before tentatively asking, "The Grotto?"

"Oh." Shadowheart straightens stiffly. "My cloister back in the city."

"You’ve never called it that before."

"Yes," she admits, looking down. "It’s only recently come back to me."

Tav’s multicoloured eyes seem to search through her in that moment. His lips slowly quirk down.

It doesn’t require the tadpole or reading his mind to know what he’s probably thinking then and there.

They’d been close, like no other, since the very beginning. Shadowheart had confided in him just about everything she could remember about herself, and he about himself in her, and though that weren’t much coming from a set of amnesiacs, it meant everything to her. To them.

Now, they’d barely spoken since the last time they were at Last Light Inn, and there’s a distance between them that feels like that of an insurmountable chasm.

"Well, my apologies for lumbering into you," he replies, gives her a fragile, partial smile.

Tav’s mouth opens again as if there’s something more he wants to say but he just closes it instead and nods. Walks away.

An image of his face from the night before, when she’d snapped at him, flashes into mind. Her eyes burn into the back of his head at his retreating form as she remembers the expression on it.

The Cleric knows in her heart that she’s taking her frustrations out on him. Guilt gnaws at her insides at the thought. It weren’t him that troubles her, not really, not at all.

It shouldn’t hurt. It still does.

But if she must close off her heart - she will.

————

Shadowheart was close. So close. The Faith Leap trial lies ahead, a long narrow room stretching out before them bathed in shadow beyond the platform where they stand, the last of the three tests. She’d made it this far, no turning back now.

Tav stands just in front of her, examining the final altar. A bust in the Nightsinger’s image bearing another sacrificial bowl. He’s in the way again.

"Allow me," she says sternly, then adds in a softer lilt, "Please."

Without looking back, he steps aside like he had before and she takes his place before the statue.

Shadowheart brings her arm out before her, holding it aloft above the bowl as she withdraws her knife from the sheath on her belt at her back.

Teeth gritted, she draws the blade cleanly across her palm. Deep. The pain is hot, her nerves afire and her eyes screw shut at the sudden sharp sting of it but she perseveres. Tilting her hand, she watches as her blood trickles down upon the altar in offering for, thankfully, the last time.

Behind the statue, much of the shadow mist lifts as more statues of the Nightsinger flare with wisps of light. There's three of them mounted in the centre of three square platforms arranged in an almost 'V' shape with sizeable gaps between each. 

As she goes to heal the gash with her other hand, she feels a larger one settle on her forearm with a tender care and she looks up to see Tav. His expression grim.

"You’ve been slicing that hand open over and over," he says. Then in his other, he holds up his first aid pouch. "Here. Let me."

"I’m fine."

"Save your strength, you’ll need it."

Shadowheart concedes. She holds her bleeding left hand out steady, palm upside, as he attentively cleans it with a damp cloth. Watches with some measure of fascination as he then presses a prepared poultice to cover her wound. Its sensation cool, numbing. 

Tav hands her a small red health potion bottle, which she downs with a few reluctant swallows but the effects kick in quickly.

Beneath the poultice, a faint blue light shimmers and she can feel it as the tissues of her hand stitch themselves back together. When it fades, Tav removes the matted material to reveal the flesh of her palm reformed with nary a scar left behind. 

Under normal circumstances, it's her that performed as group healer, being a cleric imbued with divine magic prime for many evocation spells. She was also studied in medicine, something she had in common with him, but was quite unusual for a sorcerer - they typical aren't the sort to care for or value such things. So, she's a tad surprised by his bedside manner. 

It is then that she hears it... A voice that had become a familiar presence in her head ever since she’d first entered this hallowed ground. Lady Shar speaks in her mind.

“Beware your sorcerer companion,” Shar warns, catching Shadowheart's attention immediately. “The fool dances in your shadow for your favour, worships you quietly, and you are wise to use it to your advantage. But there is more to him than he lets on.”

“What about him do I not know?” she responds.

Silence. 

Tav smiles at her then and she takes a step back to put some distance between him and herself. Even though she still feels the ghost of his touch on her skin.

What did Lady Shar mean by that? Doubt creeps in as she studies him, and he only stares back at her, curious. Tav had been most forthcoming with her from the beginning. What could he be hiding that Lady Shar felt necessary to warn her about? What more, anyway. 

Her worried deliberations are interrupted when Astarion's voice carries over from the safety of the nearby ledge behind the altar. He's surveying the expanse of the dark room with some of the others. 

"Someone has to traverse that without falling to an imminent death?" he says, in his usual flippant manner, pointing limply. Then, he plants both fists on his hips and scans the group. "Alright, who is the most expendable of us here? Gale, you’re up."

"Need I remind you, Astarion," the Wizard replies, "Any premature death on my part will have explosive consequences." 

"Don’t be foolish," Shadowheart interjects, turning her head toward the two men. "This is my test, I will go." 

The Rogue and Wizard exchanges glances. Then Astarion bows at the waist with an arm across his chest and gestures vaguely behind himself with his other. "Well, don’t let me tell you otherwise. As long as it's not me plummeting to a ghastly end."

When she turns back to Tav, she finds him studying the floor, head inclined to one side as he strokes his jaw with one hand. She recognises what he's looking at, a mosaic of golden bricks outlining the hidden path between the three platforms and the end where the ancient altar housing the last Umbral Gem is situated. 

Shadowheart speaks as she examines it beside him, trying to put the determined path to memory. "The Dark Justiciars were said to be sure of foot in even the darkest recesses of Lady Shar’s embrace. I must remember where to step and have faith that she will guide me."

"Perhaps I could just cast a flying spell on you, that way you don't have to touch the floor at all," Tav says, thinking. "Or if you'd prefer, I believe we have a few scrolls of Misty Step." 

"No." Shadowheart lifts her chin. "That would defeat the purpose of the trial, it is a test of faith. I must complete it correctly." 

Tav's mouth twitches, like he's chewing on something in discomfort. "This is risky. Let me help somehow." Suddenly, his expression brightens. "The tadpole! You can refer back to the map through my vision if we use the connection."

There's a part of her that wants to turn the idea down, but it is a good one. "That might work," she muses. "Our teachings tell us to take every advantage wherever it may present itself."  

——

Navigating the treacherous winding path to its completion, Shadowheart reaches the end of the chasm at last. Taking small, tentative steps, careful not to shift her weight onto her front foot until she's sure there's a surface beneath. According to the map Tav's tadpole is projecting through to her telepathically, there's a straight shot ahead to the final ancient altar. 

The Sharran Cleric uses both arms to hoist herself up onto the last platform. When she stands, she's overwhelmed by the darkness engulfing her.

It's a mist - pure, blinding. It burns her eyes so much that she can barely keep them open and so she covers them partially with a forearm across her face. The glow of the Umbral Gem is enough to focus on and guide her and she takes a few more fleeting steps before lifting it from the altar in both hands. As she does, the braziers in the room spur to life, washing the space entirely in firelight as the last transpositional flux below conjures. A swirl of purple and black shadows coalesce. 

"That’s the last one," she says, breathless with exertion and a little disbelief. "The inner sanctum is within reach now."

Shadowheart's form warps back at the foot of the sacrificial bowl. 

Lady Shar's voice croons from the statue before her, but this time it is audible to all and not just in her head. 

"You have triumphed at every turn. Seek out my inner sanctum - the final test awaits."

The Cleric senses a presence approach behind her, feels a hand land on her shoulder and turns to see Tav once more. Looking relieved, "You had me holding my breath there," he says. "Nice work." 

She cracks a smile involuntarily. "I know, I was in your head, remember?"

Before anyone can get another word out, Shadowheart's incurable wound blazes for a split second. A jolt of fire that passes a lot quicker than ever before but the shard of which is just as painful and sudden. 

"Agh... why?"

"Shit. Is that because we cheated?" he asks, his hand on her shoulder gives a small reassuring squeeze before he lets go and steps away. Frowning.

"No." 

Shadowheart averts her gaze, toward the statue once more. Another flicker of anxiety twinges inside her as she looks upon it. Is this why it were so difficult to receive her mistress's blessing in her recent prayers and meditations?  

Did Lady Shar fear Tav had led her astray? Why?

The Sorcerer seems to sense her unease so he turns to the rest of their companions instead. "Come, we still have that library to check out, then we might as well go skewer Balthazar. I don't want him and his zombies following us." 

————

Tavik hoped Shadowheart got what she wanted. He really did. But if she does...

His feelings about her departure were more complicated than he could've predicted. 

They stand before a brimming fountain, ripe with an overpowering arcane energy, and there's a stone staircase leading down below and through it. Well, Tav and the rest stand and Shadowheart is knelt in prayer aside him. There's another ostentatious colossal statue of Shar leering down at them all from across the water. It had spoken to Shadowheart, welcoming her, as they'd entered the inner sanctum.   

It must be some kind of portal. To the Shadowfell, perhaps? Shar's domain? Tav is wondering to himself about why the goddess is leading them there when the half-elf finally gets to her feet. 

"Alright, no need to rush in ahead of me. Let's go." 

Tavik folds his arms across his chest and fixes the Cleric with a pointed look. He could respect that Shadowheart had her secrets she wanted kept hidden, knew it’d be hypocritical of him not to, but this seemed important. Significant, somehow.

"If you have something to say, Tav, say it," she mutters, an edge to her voice, and she looks angry when she does. No, frustrated.

"Is there something you aren’t telling us?" He doesn’t mean his words to sound like an accusation but they do. "You know what’s down there, don’t you?"

"Yes." Shadowheart squares her shoulders. "The final test. My Lady Shar demands a sacrifice."

"What kind of sacrifice?"

"It’s simple. One life. I must plunge this spear into the heart of a Selûnite."

"What?!" The Sorcerer near blanches in shock. "You’re going to kill someone?"

Shadowheart, beyond vexed, rolls her eyes before glaring at him. "Please. How many breathed their last just so we could make it this far? We’ve killed lots of people."

"No one innocent."

His thoughts are on Isobel as he stares incredulously at her. How badly his Urge had clamoured for the Selûnite Cleric’s death. Would Shadowheart really execute her in cold blood if Shar behest it?

"No one is innocent. Especially worshippers of that Moon Witch. They’re misguided at best-"

Taking a step forward, Tav’s tone turns pleading, "You’d slaughter someone for being misguided? Is ignorance a death sentence for you now?"

Shadowheart swallows, clearly at a loss, and Tav can tell he’s getting through… then her expression hardens and she scowls.

"I thought you understood. Don’t judge us by others laws."

"This is too far."

Shadowheart bristles. Temper flaring. "Do you know what it means to be an agent of Lady Shar? We lie, deceive, steal, torture, kill. There’s nothing we won’t do if it is in her name, to spread her will."

Tav holds his hands up defensively, shaking his head. "No, I know. It’s just hard to imagine-"

"This is who I am! You’ve always known that. Don’t act so surprised."

"Is it?"

"You are the last person who can lecture me about murder, Tavik." Shadowheart reaches over her shoulder for the grip of The Blood of Lethander. "Don’t stand in my way," she threatens. Her voice is ice and she’s giving him the coldest look he’s ever seen. Eyes dark, pitiless, like that of Shar’s void itself.

If he hadn’t known better, it might’ve been enough to send a chill down his spine. Normally, he loves the bite of her sharp tongue, but this time, it really stung him.

Despite the roiling storm of emotions within, he maintains his composure. Just as stubborn, refusing to give in either.

They stand at a stalemate, several long tense seconds beat by where no one says anything, the two just staring at one another. Shadowheart with a white-knuckled grip wrapped around the handle of her enchanted mace, her feet spread in a fighter stance, muscles tense.

Tav makes no such move for his staffs.

All he can do is wonder if this is the same woman he thought he knew.

Those giant walls of hers suddenly re-erected, brick by brick.

Then… her expression softens somewhat and she releases her weapon. "Look, I don’t want to fight you, but I will if I must." She slices her hand through the air in front of her as if to enunciate her point. "Just let me do this. This will help us."

If these rabid intrusive thoughts of his, the wretched memories of bloody villainy, have taught him anything - it’s the ruin and torture that path would bring. And there’s a gaping hole in his heart at the prospect of Shadowheart wandering down it…

Here they stand at the precipice.

Could he, would he, follow her?

Tav glances beside him where the rest of their companions stand stock still, silent witnesses to the prior argument before them. He locks eyes with his friends, but theirs are empty, with no answers to give.

"Fine, do what you must." He sighs, he can’t look at her anymore. "I won’t stop you."

Chapter Text

Act 2: Shadowfell/Nightsong's Prison

“Just a little bit further. See my actions Lady Shar. Hear my words of faith.”

“Blessed Nightsinger, witness my adoration...”

“I have emptied my heart of falsehoods.”

“I have vanquished your foes.”

“Nearly there… have to keep going…”

“Lady Shar’s will shall be done. As sure as night will fall.”

The pocket of the Shadowfell plane they’d plunked down in was a near empty space - a blackened sky of everlasting violet darkness. All around, a column of dark grey clouds swirl violently - a giant vortex - and they were caught in the eye of it.

Suspended between is a field of shattered asteroids, gigantic jagged space rocks rise in strange, sweeping shapes - jutting out like the teeth of a great beast.

The air is charged with powerful magic, making every inch of his skin prickle and his hair stand on end. Similar to his, but darker, draining almost.

Sourceless lightning strikes between clouds, the scourging energy closing in as the crackling fills his ears.

“Do you know what I am, little assassin?”

Before them, trapped in some kind of rune ward prison, what Balthazar had dubbed a 'soul cage' within his notes, stands the Nightsong. Ketheric Thorm’s source of immortality. Not a ‘relic’, but a person, a woman. More than that, an Aasimar, child of Selûne herself.

Of fair shoulder-length blonde hair, slightly matted, and ashen skin, both dirtied from a hundred years of imprisonment. Tall, strong, body and face marred with the purposefully carved scars of a lifetime of torture. A dreadful thought occurs to him as he studies her - might she have been forced to endure all the injuries that were intended to fell Ketheric? The Commander of the Reborn Dead had scribbled some crude depictions of this lifeforce binding but to see the result on its victim...

Even in spite of her predicament and despite now finding herself at Shadowheart’s mercy - she carries herself proudly. Imbued with a powerful trace of magic, a warm glow like that of Isobel’s Selûnite variation - yet suppressed, likely by the enchantment of her cage. 

Shadowheart faces off against her, shoulders squared, both her cape and intricate raven braid billowing in the howling wind.

Nightsong rears forward, towards her, pointing at the Sharran with a crooked finger.

Shadowheart backs up a little, clearly intimidated, even as three gangly mage hands grasp the Aasimar by the arms and shoulders and yank her back in place.

“For I know you - a lost little girl, frightened by wolves in the dark.”

Face paling, Shadowheart falters and Tav swears he felt it the moment her heart stopped.

"What did you say?"

"Much has been promised to you, hasn’t it?" the other woman says knowingly, nodding. "But what has been taken from you? What do you know of your own heart - your own life?"

Shadowheart stammers but cannot seem to formulate a reply, she can only gape back.

Nightsong straightens, regards her long and hard. "I sense more in you than you know."

The air around them seems to crackle louder, the blowing wind relentless, the strange currents of energy buzz in Tav’s ears like an insistent pesky flying insect you can never quite shoo away.

The Sharran Cleric’s eyes dart around, unfocused, but she remains rooted to the spot. Unmoving.

"Shar speaks now, doesn’t she?" Nightsong risks another step forward within her warding, and gestures the side of her head with her hand. "Dribbles the poison of oblivion in the shell of your ear?"

When Shadowheart makes no claim to deny it, the Aasimar’s expression softens somewhat sympathetically. She spreads her arms.

"I don’t hear her words, but I sense her rage. Why does she fear truth more than I fear death?"

In a moment of desperation, Shadowheart suddenly turns to Tav. He half expected to meet the back end of Shadowheart’s annoyance, but when her eyes meet his, he could see the turmoil roiling within them. Her face stricken completely with doubt. Worry.

"I… what do you think? What should I do?"

His heart is once again torn between urging her away from Shar’s vices and the fear for what the consequences that course may bring. What would be gained if she accepted her fate? What would be lost if she refused?

To an outsider, perhaps the choice was obvious. But Tav could understand what it were like to feel powerless to the whims of something greater. His Urge. Her Lady.

Shar may be evil but she was a goddess. A powerful one at that. Someone you did not want to stoke the ire of lightly.

A hopelessness had hollowed him out as he watched Shadowheart’s confrontation with Nightsong play out. But now, slowly, the feeling shifts into determination.

"I-I can’t decide your fate." He juts his hand out, pointing to the ground as if to cement his stance. "But I have your back, no matter what. I trust you. Now trust yourself."

At his response, Shadowheart’s throat works as she swallows. The wind whips around, and in the tumult, he sees her resolve has weakened. Then she pivots back to the woman before her.

Paralysed in indecision for only a beat longer, she seems to come to some kind of understanding. Her right hand flexes as she summons the Spear of Night inside it, her fingers curling tight around its length. Nightsong must be immortal, yet this weapon... Tav knew it could truly end her.

Exhaling as if in frustration or to mentally prepare herself, Shadowheart, Cleric of Shar, clenches her eyes shut.

All those present watch on with bated breath, uncertain what to expect.

Taking one last long look at Nightsong, Shadowheart grasps the spear firmly in two hands… then abruptly spins and hurls it toward the ledge of the ritual site.

It clatters once, twice, before teetering over the edge and plummeting into the void.

For that single moment, it’s as if time itself had crawled to a halt, as if he were watching the events unfold in slow motion.

Shadowheart looks shocked, stunned. Her breathing comes hard, heavy, and her wide eyes glaze over with daze. She looks around but never finds whatever it is she’s searching for.

Tav is unsure what to feel, what he does feel. There’s a swell of something leaden in his chest. Awe? Pride?

"I… I can’t believe I just did that," Shadowheart mutters, breath shaky, still reeling. "Lady Shar will disown me… what will happen to me?"

"Not what will happen - what will you do," Nightsong cuts in encouragingly. Stepping as close to the rim of her prison as it will allow. "Your past is not yet lost. Your future is not yet fixed."

Then Nightsong kneels before her.

"Lay a hand on me in friendship, not quite Sharran, and I will fight the battle that has been waiting for me this last century. I will end him - and I will lay your path at your feet. Then, you must walk it."

With that, Nightsong crosses an arm against her chest and bows her head, chin tucked.

Shadowheart takes a deep breath but does as she asks. Laying a hand on the Aasimar’s shoulder. As soon as she does, the ward lifts and the green necromantic light of it fades away into oblivion.

The next moments are a blur to him as Nightsong chants of her freedom, of Selûne, then soars into the air and transforms.

The sudden light of which is so bright, his eyes are slitted against the glare and he shields them with his hand.

Now clad in a suit of plated blue and silver armour, a glinting greatsword in hand, and a pair of white feathered angel wings spread across her back. Nightsong thanks Shadowheart once again, speaks of seeking Ketheric, then bursts into the air with a sudden speed and takes off flying overhead.

Everything feels vivid. Full of potential.

For Shadowheart, Daughter of Darkness, had just stepped into the light.

——

A shudder of fear runs through her. Lady Shar asked her to prove herself and she failed.

Shadowheart lifts her hands, examines her palms. Her skin is still prickling from the electric Shadowfell atmosphere. Yet no pain, no reclamation. Only silence. And somehow this strikes her as worse.

Karlach and Wyll are the first of the four remaining to enter the portal ahead. Another, larger, transpositional flux that had appeared not long after Nightsong took flight. One after the other, disappearing in a brief flash of light.

Tav watches them go then turns to her.

Shadowheart barely catches the slight twitch in his hand as he goes to reach for her, soon retracting it.

"You go first," he says instead.

Numb, unable to get any words of acknowledgment out, Shadowheart nods slightly. Walking the few paces towards the glow, her steps heavy, and goes to leave the Shadowfell with all but a single glance over her shoulder.

But leave she does not. Instead, she’s transported somewhere else. A giant disc held aloft in the palm of a gargantuan statue of Lady Shar holding an equally large blade aimed right at her.

The wound of her right hand flares to life, from it spreads a roaring heat so hot it’s as if her blood was suddenly burning - it blazes through every vessel in her body.

A cry tears from her throat as Shadowheart instinctively clutches her wrist with her left but it does nothing to quell the pain searing through her. It’s like she’s being cooked alive from the inside out, or dragged through the hottest pits of every layer of the Hells all at once.

“You rejected your duty. You spurned my embrace.”

It’s the Nightsinger, here for her final reckoning and Shadowheart collapses to her knees in sheer agony.

“Ungrateful child,” Shar spits. Her once motherly, caressing whisper of a voice, now oozes pure vitriol with every word. It reverberates, echoes all around. “You could have wielded my spear, carried my voice. Instead, you are nothing. And I will leave you with nothing.”

Tears spring in her eyes as Shadowheart screams in abject misery, the sound filling the otherwise silence of the Shadowfell air. She drops forward to the floor on her forearms - prostrated, still grasping her outstretched erupting hand.

Every reprimand, every punishment, every time she’d been told she was unworthy, replays in her throbbing head on a loop. She barely registers it when Lady Shar resumes her tirade.

“All of my children will know you for what you are. You are marked.”

Shadowheart had suffered the wound many times since she’d begun this journey but never like this.

Just as she thinks the pain will become unending, Lady Shar says finally, “Now leave, outcast, you are not welcome here.”

Vision swirling, swimming, the world seems to spin around her.

Spent, Shadowheart crumples onto her back and everything goes black.

————

Act 1: Sword Coast/Blighted Village

Deep down, Tavik knew that Shadowheart was special.

Back near the Emerald Grove where they’d crash landed together, they’d been exploring a blighted village once called Moonhaven, when he’d caught her behind the windmill. The same one they’d first found Barcus Wroot spinning on one of the blades of - much to the amusement of a tribe of goblins.

As he drew closer, he saw the Sharran Cleric, standing still as a statue, staring at something ahead. He followed her eye line, her attention was fixed on a damaged old altar.

Tav recognised the figure the marble carving upon it was meant to represent. Selûne. Goddess of the Moon, Stars and Navigation. Both sister and enemy of Shar.

Half the statue was crumbled, the top half cleaved off and abandoned beside the still standing leg pieces. Defaced with strange markings. Only some partially melted old candles set before it left seemingly untouched.

Inclining his head, Tav peered across at Shadowheart’s face. She was wearing a complicated expression on it, confounded, yet tinged with a hint of something almost akin to sympathy. And it’s as though her breath had caught in her throat.

After spending the day making all sorts of disparaging remarks about the various Selûnite trinkets or signatures they’d stumbled across within the village, the sudden fascination came as much of a surprise to him.

Then… something had ignited within her. Power. Being a sorcerer, he was more sensitive than most to magical energies and he had sensed the flicker of it echoing out in Shadowheart in that moment. Somehow much different to her usual divine veneer.

Almost at the same time her wound flared to life and the glint quashed in an instant. That must’ve been perhaps the second time it’d happened since the crash, that he knew of.

“Ngh,” she grunted as she brought her arm up to examine it. She was wearing gauntlets at the time but the purple wispy light shone through all the same. She stared down at her own hand, there was the slightest tremble in her fingers, with a mix between shock and embarrassment.

Then she dropped it, shook her head once, and finally met his eyes. Hers were wide.

"We… we should keep moving."

"What just happened?"

"I… I don’t know exactly." Her stare moved away from him slowly to look upon the statue once more. "Lady Shar protect me," she said, barely above a whisper.

"I felt it," Tav insisted, wholly intrigued, "Something stirs in your blood. Something magical. Tell me."

Her eyes flitted back to him. "I saw something that reminded me of my faith… my mission," she said, thinking, her voice low with unease, "I felt something rise within me, like my blood was on fire. Then it passed. That’s all I know."

Her eyes widened again when her gaze passed back to the old altar one final time. With a start, she turned away from it to face him.

"It’s stopped now. Whatever it is. Let’s just carry on."

————

Act 2: Shadow-Cursed Lands 

The portal opens to the mouth of the Thorm Mausoleum and Tav stumbles to the ground, only just managing to keep his footing. Karlach, Wyll, and the others all await him but someone is missing.

"Where’s Shadowheart?!" he demands, panic spiking in his voice.

Tav spins as he looks around frantically.

Before anyone has a chance to reply, Shadowheart spills from the portal opening and it closes immediately behind her.

She’s free-falling backwards midair and Tav just barely manages to fling his hand out and cast off Telekinesis to catch her before she can hit the ground.

Breathing a sigh of relief when her limp form halts in place a foot from the dirt, Tav rushes over, sinks down in front of her and gingerly helps ease her upright then onto her knees.

Her eyes blink open wearily and she slumps forward in exhaustion into Tav’s shoulder with a low pained groan.

"Please, my lady… forgive me."

Tav holds his breath, worry etched into every feature on his face as he assesses her.

"Shadowheart? What happened? You were missing for a moment."

The Cleric leans back, presses a hand to the side of her head as if to steady herself then glances around. Getting her bearings.

"I… I thought I was done for," she says with a wheeze. Eyes wide with disbelief as she looks up at him. "I thought perhaps I might’ve been dead."

"Can you stand?"

Shadowheart makes a small affirmative noise and they separate. Tav holds both his arms outstretched just in case, to catch her if she fell again.

The newly former-Sharran staggers to her feet, when she wobbles slightly her hands dart out to brace herself using his forearms. Her fingers dig into flesh but he doesn’t care. He stands close to shield her from the wind.

"Thank you," she says breathlessly.

Taking in her surroundings once more, Shadowheart then glances down at her hands as she removes them with a shuddering gasp. "This… this is all like some sort of terrible dream. But it’s real, isn’t it? I stood before Nightsong. I heard Lady Shar’s words… and I failed her."

Tav says nothing. His heart brimming with guilt. The pain in her eyes nearly breaks it.

"Worse than failed." She looks up, shakes her head. "I defied her. Just because of what that Aasimar said."

Shadowheart takes a deep breath and explains. Tone still controlled, but he could see how tense she was.

"I tried to leave but Shar blocked me. Punished me for failing her. I thought I knew the limit the incurable wound could inflict, but I had no idea. I felt like I was suffering the agony of a thousand people, all at once. My blood was boiling, my hair was on fire. I thought I’d claw my own face off with the pain. But then she released me - banished me more like. Said I was an outcast, that all her children would know me and revile me. I’m alone."

The bitterness in her voice makes him frown but even worse is the despair at its core.

Shadowheart looks distraught. Abandoned by her goddess and all former allies.

She gazes up at the sky, as though struggling to fight her grief. He’d not be surprised if there were a lump in her throat and her eyes welled with tears.
However, she doesn’t cry. The tears never come. Instead, she seemed drained.

Though Shadowheart was of shorter stature to him, he’d never thought much of it. Here and now is the first time she truly did look small - that frightened little girl, Nightsong had called her, shining through.

Studying her now, he realises Shadowheart seems to glow - like the twilight eclipse between dark of night and light of day - she’s shimmering in faint silver-white, or like perhaps even the moon itself. She doesn’t see it but it’s mesmerising. A warm breeze rustles the overgrown thatch weeds at their feet... but then fades away.

Selûne? Tavik could still sense the radiant aura of divine magic within his cleric companion, so she’d either not been cut off or The Lady of Silver had accepted her into her graces. Though admitting who empowers her now may just break her spirit for good.

"You’re not alone. You have me," he says, means it. He holds one of his hands out further. "You have all of us."

"I suppose I do, don’t I?" Shadowheart offers a pained smile. Clasps his hand in her both her own as her tense shoulders droop. "You’ve done more to help me than my faith has in recent times. If I’m honest."

"This may be of small comfort right now, but I think you did the right thing." He gives her fingers a small squeeze.

The words do nothing to console her, her smile drops, as do her eyes. Gaze going distant once more. "You’re lucky to have such confidence. Me… I think the full price of what I’ve done has yet to reveal itself. I’m a target to Lady Shar’s followers now."

Everything in him yearns to comfort her, yet he's at a loss as to how. There does not seem to be anything he could say to assuage the pain she’s feeling. To assure her she’d be okay, with or without Shar. That perhaps she hadn’t thrown away her life, but seized it back into her own two hands instead.

Shadowheart inhales deeply then cuts her hand through the air, tightens it into a fist at her side, summoning the last of her former steely persona. One that he used to attribute to her Sharran affiliation.

"Nightsong promised she’d tell me something about myself. I need to speak with her as soon as I can. What she said about the wolves… that’s no coincidence. She’s gone to hunt down Ketheric Thorm. All I can do is help hasten his demise and hope answers soon follow."

With one last firm nod, Shadowheart checks her shield and enchanted mace are still with her then trudges off where the others stand waiting.

And Tav feels about as useless as he did throughout the Gauntlet of Shar. For how can he help her, when it may be best if he stayed away?

Chapter Text

Act 2: Shadow-Cursed Lands/Camp

Wyll had asked her once, “What’s your gripe with Selûne anyway, Shadowheart?”

“She betrayed her sister and ruined the balance of things,” Shadowheart had told him. “Imagine turning on those who love you for your own glory.”

Everything had changed. So fast. She can’t lie to herself, she’s having a hard time coming to grips with it all.

After leaving the Shadowfell, she’d been left with many questions and few answers.

Ketheric Thorm lies dead, the Absolute and the other two Chosen revealed.

Speaking to Nightsong, Dame Aylin, earlier shed some light on all those doubts that’d been swirling around her head ever since she wound up in the Sword Coast wilderness.
Once she would’ve thought her words pure heresy. But she can deny it no longer, she’d sensed a new presence empowering her ever since the Shadowfell. Selûne.

Now she has those answers. Some, anyhow. Enough to set a course for once she reached Baldur’s Gate at last.

Her parents. Alive. Imprisoned somewhere inside her old cloister, the Grotto.

Her whole life spent living a lie. Every illusion she ever held - shattered, and she were left to sift through and somehow make sense of the pieces. For the first time in her existence, she'd completely tossed aside all her obligations, abandoned all caution to the wind. At the very least, she now knows she hadn’t thrown everything away for nothing - she’d been vindicated in following that instinct all along.

And this. The enchanted spear Aylin gave her sits across her lap as she ruminates upon her stool just outside her tent. The same one she ironically might’ve impaled her with had things panned out differently. The pointed head glows from the emblazoned intricate runes running up and down the length of the blade. Right below that, its most noticeable feature, before the shaft begins, at its crest - is a black sun encapsulated in swirled rays of the same colour like the petals of a flower. The shaft itself is long and durable. Selûne’s Spear of Night.

Staring down at it, she’s confronted with more questions that have no easy answer. Was she a villain or a hero? Sharran or Selûnite? Only she knew who she really was, she supposes. For now, her place in the world was safe but uncertain. And her life hers to choose as she wished. A notion that had never quite held true before and its unfamiliarity tastes bittersweet.

"Well, you look particularly parched."

That snaps Shadowheart out of her reverie and she glances up to see Tav lingering before her. She hadn’t even heard him approach.

"Would you like some honey-tea?"

Then, there was him.

Their relationship had been tumultuous in the last few days, but Tav stood by her at every step, every turn.

He’s holding two steaming tankards in his hands and she’s reminded of their first night at camp together.

"I made it for Halsin but you can have mine. I know it isn’t herbal or black but-"

One thing she’d noticed about him, was how he rambled when she didn’t answer quickly enough. She gives him a small smile and says, "I would love some. Thank you, Tav."

His grin is easy and carefree as he passes one of the beer mugs over. She cups it in two hands as she brings it down to her lap, reveling in the heat, a welcome contrast to the cool night air.

"Enjoy."

The Sorcerer meanders off in search of Halsin most likely and Shadowheart watches him go as she takes a sip of the sweet tea drink.

The little interaction was dumb and goofy, over in a flash. But in the wake of it, the sadness was lifted. And she didn’t feel as alone as before.

Pondering that thought further, she hadn’t felt alone for much of this journey because of him. Everyone had been most supportive of her since she’d spared Dame Aylin which she appreciates even if she couldn’t adequately convey that in her grief up until now. But… Tav had always been there from day one. The first person she’d met since she was kidnapped by the mind flayers, the one she awoke to and ventured with on the beach at the crash site. The way she gravitated towards him unthinkingly, their endless conversations that never dulled, the warmth and giddiness that surged through her at the smallest touches, smiles, words. With him, it's all too easy to let her inhibitions melt away, to enjoy the fantasy she finds herself in.

From what little she can remember, she must be more familiar with isolation than intimacy, connection, yet she yearns for it with every fibre of her being as if it were something that’s been part of her for all her life.

Gods, she’s never felt this way about anyone.

They’d been back to Last Light today, alongside Isobel Thorm and Dame Aylin to retrieve the last of the Selûnite Cleric’s meagre possessions. Seeing as the 'Moon Lesbians', as Tav had so aptly called them, were now accompanying them to Baldur’s Gate.

The place was empty but Tav had found an entrance to a tunnel in the prisons below where they’d found something.

"A shrine to Selûne," Shadowheart had said, voice a little hollow from her many regrets. "I might’ve sneered at this once. Or tried to destroy it."

Hidden, much like the one they’d found in the owl bear cave on the Sword Coast. Albeit, at least it was preserved, unlike the one in Moonhaven.

Tav had eyed her sideways, a corner of his mouth tenuously quirked upwards and his tone had been equally as exasperatingly smug. "I believe that’s called growth, Shadowheart."

"You’re a nightmare."

Later in the night, everyone had returned to their tents to rest but Shadowheart is unable to reach her meditative state. She turns her head and spots her old Sharran circlet abandoned beside some of her other gear. She’d taken it off soon after the Shadowfell but now, seeing it again after what Aylin had imparted to her - she wants to launch it into the damn Chionthar.

She sits up. She can’t stay here, too many of her belongings are Sharran. Too many reminders.

Shadowheart emerges from her tent and quietly pinpricks her way across the campsite over to Tavik’s.

His is half-open, his feet facing the door and he’s tranced on his back with his arms at his sides.

Crouching, Shadowheart drops a hand onto his trouser's ankle and Tav immediately shudders awake and jolts upright. His head springs back into the posterior tent pole with a loud metallic ‘twang’.

Whispering a curse, the Sorcerer rubs the back of his head with a hand and peers up at her in the doorway in a daze through one eye cracked open.

"Shadowheart?"

"Hey, sleepyhead. Sorry, did I scare you?"

"Considering only demons grab people by the ankles while they sleep, yes!" he says, hissing the last word. "You’re lucky I didn’t boot you in the face."

Shadowheart snorts then giggles softly behind her hand.

Leaning back on his palms behind him, he shakes his head but motions for her to come inside, which she does. "You are always laughing at my misfortune."

"Wouldn’t you if you were me?" she asks, unabashed, as she adjusts to sit cross-legged across from him.

"No!" he protests. "I would help you."

"I do!" she counters.

"Only after laughing your entire ass off."

"So what? I could always leave you to suffer alone afterwards instead."

Shadowheart shifts closer, teasing smile lingering, and Tav pauses in surprise. He looks at her for a thoughtful moment before his features warm with a smile.

"I suppose."

"I will try to rein in my amusement or hide it better," she promises, grinning, shaking her head as well. "If it bothers you so."

"It doesn’t," Tav says, eyes never leaving her, and her cheeks warm under his appreciative gaze. "I like seeing you smile. Hearing your laughter. It’s nice." He shrugs, tilts his head toward one shoulder. "Even at the cost of my dignity."

"Are you sure you have dignity to begin with?"

Mouth opening in shock, he gapes at her wide-eyed as she quietly laughs.

Then, he huffs indignantly and looks away, muttering, "Why did I invite you in here again?"

Shadowheart tilts her head to mirror him, unable to suppress a smirk. "Why, indeed."

Tav sniffs, light-hearted, as he snaps his fingers at the lantern at his bedside. Bedroll-side? The candle wick within flares alive with a single tiny flame that bathes the scant space in light. Then he makes, what she at first assumed was, an ineffectual gesture at his tent opening behind her. That is until, she sees the two overhanging cloth flaps strings fasten together seemingly of their own accord. 

Shadowheart looks back at him with a feigned unimpressed eyebrow raise. Even if she's inwardly grateful to no longer suffer the draught.

"Nevertheless, you are a lovely sight to wake up to," Tav says at last, returning his attention to her once more. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"I… wanted to talk," she replies, looking down, oddly unsure.

"I do miss our late night conversations."

A small, fond smile emerges on her lips at that. "As do I."

"Well, my door is always open to you." He waves a hand vaguely at the now closed tent opening again. "Proverbially speaking of course, since we’re all homeless vagrants right now."

"Thank you for clarifying that, I had no idea."

He leans in, bending one leg upwards to rest an arm on his knee, the mirth in his expression drops as his face grows grave. "How are you, Shadowheart?"

"Relieved? Terrified? Sick to my stomach? I can’t get my feelings straight, ever since I spared Nightsong. Defied Shar. I can’t stop thinking about what comes next - it’s keeping me up."

Listening intently, Tav nods to encourage her to continue.

"When we get to Baldur’s Gate, the time will come where I’ll need to rescue my parents." She grips one of her thighs in her lap anxiously but looks up at him, hopeful. "I do not expect your help, but I would not turn it aside either."

"Of course I’ll help," he agrees easily. "I’ll not let you waltz into that den of vipers alone. You need me for anything at all, you have me."

"Thank you - though I do want you to refrain from foolish heroics. I don’t want to lose you, not after everything."

The admission lingers in the air between them and Tav raises his eyebrows momentarily.

Then, his expression softens as does his voice. "Shadowheart…"

Butterflies flutter madly in her stomach. Her hands quiver. She’s more nervous than she ever has been before. But she has to confess what’s been building up inside her.

"Which leads me into what I wanted to say next…" Taking a deep breath, she meets his eyes, her own searching. "There’s been something between us for some time. A connection, something a little beyond friends. I recognised it. But didn’t act on it."

Tav’s lips part but then he hesitates, looks down to one side and leans back a little. "Shadowheart, you needn’t rush into anything, I’m not going anywhere any time soon."

"No, I’ve squandered too much time already." Shadowheart splays her hand before his on his bedroll, their fingertips brushing and his gaze flits up at her in surprise at the movement. "I want to be with you. Now and always. Do you want the same?"

He’s silent for a long time, she notices the tight retrained set of his jaw and she braces for a rejection. Instead, Tav takes her hand and lifts it to his lips, lingers for a moment, thumb brushing the backs of her fingers.

"I do. I’ve wanted that for a while now."

Before she realises what she's even doing, Shadowheart surges forward, wraps her arms around his neck, and holds tight. Burying her face in his shoulder.

Tav lets out a small noise of surprise but she soon feels both his strong arms obligingly coil around her waist to return the embrace. His warmth enveloping her and she closes her eyes in satisfaction. His familiar scent, that woody honey faintly melded with campfire ash, is intoxicating enough that it almost has her lightheaded. 

"You could charge gold for these hugs, you know," she murmurs after some time, brushing her nose against his pulse point. "They'd be queuing over the horizon." 

"Too bad. You're the only one I want to do it with." 

"Good answer."

They share a small laugh, the vibrations of it travelling out and into each other, rebounding, both having no intention of parting any time soon. 

For it was such an intense hug with so much meaning behind it -'I’ve missed you dearly.' 'I never want to let you go.' 'You were my safe space, My happy place, My protector.' 'I’m falling apart, please hold me.'

Tav scoots up, lays himself down on his back, Shadowheart coming with him. Their bodies warm and insistent against one another as her weight settles atop him. Readjusting, Shadowheart snuggles into his chest, cheek pressed against the soft fabric of his tunic and she can hear his heartbeat thunder inside his ribcage. 

His grip loosens by a fraction as he moves one arm to delicately caress the spot on her lower back where his thumb had landed with the pads of his fingers. So soft she might not have even noticed. Coaxing a delighted shiver from her. 

"I think you’re going to have a hard time kicking me out," Shadowheart purrs. "You’re so warm and comfortable. I might replace my pillow with you."

Tav chuckles. "I could do a lot worse than ‘Shadowheart’s Pillow’." He gives her a small squeeze with his arms. "Stay as long as you like."

A very-pleased smirk tugs at her lips. "You’re spoiling me."

"That’s what you just signed up for."

Shadowheart lifts her head, pressing her upper half upright to look down at him. "And if I wanted to stay every night?"

Tav sucks in a sharp breath as he watches her. His gaze drifts down to her shoulders but no farther, lingering on the soft shadows cast on bare skin. He swallows hard. As his gaze flickers back up to meet hers, the warmth in it deepens to a sparking heat. Shining with something close to reverence. 

"Is there a reason why you can’t?"

"Mmm I suppose not," she says with a low hum. As he gazes up at her, eyes glinting in the dim, slightly muggy, candlelight, she feels a bold spark ignite in her chest. "I’d like to kiss you… may I?"

When he speaks, his voice is husky. "Like you need to ask. Please do." 

They're so close, faces only inches apart, and Shadowheart finds herself entranced. 

The moment feels so fragile, as if it might break if she moved too swiftly. So his name escapes her lips in a breathy whisper. 

"Tav..." 

The instant he tilts his head towards hers, she closes the distance. Her mouth brushes his, and there's not a moment's hesitation as he presses back to return the kiss. 

His touch is thrilling, and yet with the cool air biting, and in the still quiet of the night, the moment feels tenuous and precious. Something she doesn't want to end. 

Shadowheart's hand slides from his shoulder to the back of his head, guiding him closer, while her other rests lightly at his cheek. 

She knows it's just a fleeting moment but it feels like a promise. His lips move over hers and she shivers. With pleasure instead of the cold. 

Eventually, and with some reluctance, she pulls away. Her hand cupping his face remaining. 

"Is it forward of me to admit I've thought about this happening again?" he asks with a mischievous little grin, leaning into her palm.  

"I've often thought about the same thing." She looks up to one side, pretending to think. "Why weren't we doing this sooner?" 

Tav's arms tighten around her. "I don't know, but it was worth the wait." 

Shadowheart lowers herself down against him once more as she gazes into the lantern beside them, a smile tugging at her lips. She spends the next few minutes quietly listening to the jackhammering of his heart as it slows, and her exhaustion catches up with her. If Tav ever said anything further, she never heard it as she was fast asleep. At a height of comfort she's not sure she remembers ever reaching.

Chapter Text

Act 2: Shadow-Cursed Lands/Camp

Tavik felt something off even before. His stomach churns around and around. The bile within unsettled. Each passing moment brings about a new surge.

Even with Shadowheart asleep atop him, the entire length of her body draped over him. He tilts his chin to look down at her. Right now her face was a mask of peace, her mind adrift in some far-reaching dream world, and it’s the closest to serene he’s seen her since the Shadowfell. He cradles her in his arms but despite his best efforts, he cannot find the same comfort.

'She sleeps like a blissful lump of meat.'

The sudden intrusive thought surprises and disgusts him in equal measure. Could it be…?

"The gods fight over her, but is she truly that special?"

The Sorcerer startles. He jerks his head, his eyes darting to where he heard that all too familiar voice.

Sceleritas Fel. A short, hunchback, vile little fiend with greenish skin, razor-like claws protruding from his exposed fingers and toes, and a gaunt face. A beak for a nose, beady red eyes, hooked ears, and small yet sharp cone-shaped teeth that reveal every time he speaks or smiles. The creature claims to be his ‘butler’ and certainly dresses the part - a suit of dark greys and blacks tinged with ribbons of scarlet and a matching necktie and top-hat upon his head. The hat has what looks like a snake skeleton coiled around its crown.

A relic from his dark past whose visits never bear anything but bad tidings. Tav hoped to never see him again.

"You cling to her like a life raft, a security blanket, hoping you won’t fall back down into the darkness." He inches closer, studying her with his head tilted at an odd, unnatural angle. Then his beady eyes flit back to him. "But, Master, the darkness is where you belong!"

Careful not to rouse her, Tav shifts so that he can lay Shadowheart back down onto his bedroll. Supporting her head and lower back.

Her brow creases but otherwise she does not wake. His heart breaks just a little bit when he sees her arm move as though reaching, searching for him in her sleep.

Anger radiates off him like the shimmer of a summer's heat as his eyes level up to the sight of the little fiend.

Sceleritas tuts in disapproval, wringing his clawed hands together as he shakes his head, as though genuinely disappointed. "You could do so much better, Milord."

"Lay a hand on her and you lose it, Fel," he growls lowly, rising into a crouch and closing in.

The fiend skips backward in surprise.

Tav casts Telekinesis on his tent doorway and it blows open as he drives his retreating butler outside.

He didn’t really intend to hurt the scurrying scrote but he’d do anything to keep Shadowheart safe.

"I won’t lay so much as a talon on her!" Sceleritas proclaims, spreading his hands. Then his voice takes on a more sinister inflection when he adds, "I wouldn’t rob you of that delight."

Realisation dawns on him as Tavik stands to full height, his heart sinks to his stomach like a lead weight. His face falling just as quick.

"Your clever mind is penning tragedy as we speak. Your repressed Urge yearns to kill." The fiend raises a taloned finger, explaining, "And kill you will. Tonight, the moment you close your eyes, your favourite person will be brutalised."

"No… I love her. It cannot be."

Sceleritas leans over. "Each man kills the thing he loves." Then he straightens, his features alight with enthusiasm as he points up higher into the air. "She was starting to trust you. The only one she ever has. Pity it’s coming to an end."

"I haven’t told her how I feel about her."

"Why not whisper it to her as you twist the knife?" Fel suggests all too readily, as if everything he’s saying doesn’t sound completely deranged, "Like a sweet nothing in her ear. Or have a love confession be the last words between you?"

"No!" he almost shouts, "You can’t make me do this. That murderer may be who I once was but not anymore."

Despite his conviction, he knows it’s coming. That familiar feeling of profound dread that always surfaces - from the lowest pit in his gut and rises like a tidal wave - when he knows he’s losing control and no matter how hard he fights it, it just keeps coming till his blood is running a boil.

A rage, like his head is being squeezed on all sides. Every wall closing in. One of the most exhausting feelings in the world. Such a relief when it's over.

The wretch only hums sadly in objection. "It is my duty to ensure you are making the right decisions, Young Master. There was much disappointment at your reluctance to kill the little Moonmaiden." The fiend hops closer, clasping his hands and looking up at Tav hopefully. "You could kill this one deliberately. I’m sure it will be considered a great show of good will. The tithe could still be yours."

"Leave me be," Tav orders, stomping one foot closer to the butler in his bubbling fury. "I refuse to give into this senseless killing."

"I’m sure all young scions go through a rebellious phase at some point," Fel mutters at the ground, as though reasoning with himself. "It was long overdue perhaps… especially on account of your brain being damaged beyond repair. But you still have the chance to resume your place in your Father’s good graces."

Tav's pointed ears perk perceptively at that little divulgence. 

"My father?"

Sceleritas pauses, goes still as stone, seems almost shocked, like he’s said too much.

"What do you know about me?!" the Sorcerer demands, voice raising, "Who am I?"

"I do not doubt you will act with the decorum befitting one of your rank. Good night, sweet lord."

With that, Sceleritas holds his hat in place as he bows reverently and disappears from head to toe in a strange torrent of blood-red light. As though he were never there to begin with.

Tav shakes his head in aggravation, cursing under his breath, the welp always seemed to slip away before he ever got any real answers out of him. He turns back toward his tent.

Gods, he was such a fool. He never should’ve gotten close to her. He’s put her life in peril.

As fear strikes deep in his chest, he creeps closer to glimpse inside. The sight of her brings him back to the present.

Shadowheart rests blissfully, without a fear in the world. Settled herself into a fetal position, knees slightly bent halfway to her chest on her side with her hands tucked beneath her head.

Sceleritas Fel had made a mistake. He’d warned him. Now he could warn her.

Thinking quickly, he moves to kneel aside her and reaches forward to shake her shoulder.

As his hand approaches her body, it wavers. It longs to close around her throat.

A splash of vivid red obscures his vision. The roaring in his head louder than before; a series of ringing voices in his ears - calling to him, beckoning him to do harm, don his murderous ways. Carrying with it colourful encouragements of bloodletting and other unspeakable horrors.

He feels his mind going. His thoughts muddled by a rush of raw instinct.

It takes every mental effort pitted against the Urge but he manages to resist.

“Shadowheart…”

——

"Hmm…?"

Shadowheart awakens bleary eyed to find Tavik looming over her. Crouched at the side of the bedroll, his hand hovers over her, having just shaken her shoulder to rouse her.

"Oh, has the mood struck you, love?" She slowly sits upright, one leg bent to prop her elbow on it. "I suppose we could try, if you think the others won’t stir…"

There’s a flash of confusion on his face that disappears just as rapidly as a dark shadow takes over in its stead.

That’s when she notices his hands are quaking. His whole body racked with small shudders and his breathing comes a little harder than it should.

"Hold on, you look like you’ve had a shock - is something the matter?"

"You are in a lot of danger," he manages to utter out, his head jerks and he’s grimacing as though in pain, "we need to act fast."

"Alright, I’m awake. Tell me everything."

"When I close my eyes, the madness will take over my body against my will, and I will try to kill you. You need to stop me."

With a bit of surprise and sudden horror, it dawns on her the gravity of the situation she’d just awoken to.

The bloody curse, of course. Perhaps they’d gotten lucky Tav hadn’t had an incident since the Sword Coast wilderness but now she feels they’d been left overwhelmingly unprepared.

"Gods, what I wouldn’t give for a boring lover sometimes."

Tav sways on his haunches, suddenly dizzy, but manages to get ahold of himself again. He presses the heel of his palm into his forehead for one moment, eyes clenched shut, chest heaving in rapid pulses, before he shakes himself once.

"You need to bind me. Hands, feet." His gaze darts around their campsite before landing on a stack of supplies beside their storage chest. "Use that rope. Make sure it’s tight. Do not untie me no matter what happens or how much I beg."

Tav speaks all his words quick and succinct.

Alarmed, Shadowheart promises to keep him secure.

"Then wake the others."

"We’re going to help you get through this, together."

Tav nods firmly down at her but his eyes then go hazy as his head wobbles. Seemingly overcome by some unseen force, his eyes roll back into his head as his face goes slack and his entire body lurches sideways - collapsing into a heap in front of her.

Knowing she won’t have much time, Shadowheart springs to her feet and dashes over to the rope he’d indicated earlier.

Then, she rolls the large limp elf onto his stomach on the ground and pins his arms behind his back to fasten bindings to his wrists. Next, his ankles. He’s heavy, but she’s stronger than she looks.

Just as Shadowheart returns to kneel down at his side after waking some of their companions who’d helped drag his prone form out beside the firepit - that’s when Tavik finally stirs once more.

But it’s not him in there anymore. All self control is gone. He thrashes on the ground only to find his limbs bound. That realisation has him letting out an angry growl and he lifts his head to look up at them.

Shiny draconic white scales rimmed in red have sprouted in triangular patterns from beneath the flesh of his cheekbones, forehead and chin. His shoulders, biceps. The changed visage startles her so much that she recoils.

Those narrowed eyes of his are now somehow the same colour as one another. Onyx slit-pupils like that of a reptilian’s, surrounded in an ocean of bloodshot lava-red that actually appears like miniature orange-yellow flames are blazing within. They flash murderously when his gaze locks on Shadowheart. Completely ignoring everyone else in the vicinity.

They go quiet as they gape at Tav, spasming on his front.

"Fortunately, we still have one of these Sussur Blooms from the Underdark on hand," Gale says, carrying over a sealed glowing jar that he places on the ground nearby before taking a seat on one of the overturned logs. "It should suppress his magic throughout the duration of this crazed spell. And mine… so I certainly hope nobody expects me to tussle with him if he breaks out of that."

Shadowheart nods, resolute. "Good, we can’t have him lighting up wriggling like an electric eel while he’s like this."

"Anyone mind explaining what’s going on?" Wyll asks, trudging over from the far side of camp, last to arrive, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes with one hand. In his other, he’s clutching his sheathed rapier scabbard.

"Tav thinks it’s some type of curse," Shadowheart replies, staring intently down at him writhing in desperate frustrated agony. "A bloodlust possesses him and he becomes this… Right now, he wants to kill me."

"What?" Karlach blanches, her eyes briefly springing between Tav and Shadowheart before returning to gawp at the elf. "By the gods, Soldier, you look like hell."

"Wonderful." Minthara claps her hands together, then gestures at Tav. "As entertaining as watching this unfold would be, in reality it is pretty pathetic. Don’t bother me unless the sorcerer has actually killed someone. I’d much rather return to my mediations before I lose any more respect for him."

Lae’zel hovers nearby, inspecting the edge of her Githyanki greatsword, feigning disinterest. “Chkk. T’rac,” she spits. "The spell-slinger has finally gone completely feral."

Everyone else pointedly ignores her as the drow strides off and Karlach puts her hand on the Cleric’s shoulder.

"Shads, maybe you shouldn’t sit so close…"

Shadowheart shakes her head. "He won’t hurt me."

Tav’s eyes are baleful and cold, full of hatred, as he glares at her. A look so distantly removed from the Tav she’d come to know. Her Tav.

As if acknowledging he’s being referred to, “I wish nothing more than to cut you up and eat you raw!” he seethes through gritted teeth, and his voice is just as unrecognisable. Distorted by a deep-seated venom, and empty of all but malice.

"You sure about that?" Karlach questions. Looking on in polite horror.

Shadowheart glares back down at him but refuses to be goaded. "It was you who convinced me to spare Nightsong. You and I are both capable of resisting the darkness that compels us."

Tav’s eyes screw shut, his entire body squirming, but they fly open again and he lunges at her with his teeth as if they were sharpened - trying to gnash at her kneecap.

"No - keep back!" Shadowheart scolds, jabbing a finger at him in disapproval. "No biting!" Then, she sighs. "This is worse than I thought…"

All she’s missing is a handy rolled up newspaper to bop him on the nose with.

He makes a strangled sound low in his throat, still struggling like a wounded animal. But Shadowheart is determined not to give up on him.

"If you’ve energy to flirt, then you’ve energy to fight this thing. Stay with me, I know you can."

For one brief moment Shadowheart swears his expression contorts as his body goes rigid. The anger drains from his face, instead, there’s a glint of something akin to remorse and she knows it’s Tav. Who lets out a low pained whimper.

"Easy, you’re in control. Bloodlust won’t win tonight."

But it’s gone just as fast as it came, as suddenly, he’s grinning at her with a wicked little smile that is quite unsettling.

“Your pretty red blood will clot for me like liquid rubies,” he taunts in that same gravelled voice.

"Whatever’s whispering these rabid thoughts to you, block it out. Focus on me."

"What. The. Fuck," the tiefling Barbarian whispers to herself in barely disguised appallment.

Halsin, stood nearby, strokes his chin in thought. "Tavik mentioned something like this happening. That his symptoms do not wholly align with the makings of the parasite but to witness it in action? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a thing in my time."

In agreement, Shadowheart nods at him. "I’m not certain of the prognosis. Tav’s been researching curses and hexes in old tomes we find but I do not know if he found anything that explains this yet."

"And regular healing spells do not help?"

"The analgesic properties do seem to soothe his physical pain somewhat but I suspect there is something deeper to his condition that simple magic cannot repair." She taps her temple with two fingers. "It appears to be a matter of his mind and mental state. Or intimately tangled up in it, at least."

Folding his large arms across his chest, Halsin frowns, considering. "The thing inside him is voracious. It’s a testament to his strength that it hasn’t yet consumed him whole."

They’d not spoken at length about his curse since the Underdark and Shadowheart had been distracted lately. But she promised she’d help him and she intended to abide by that.

"Why didn’t he tell us? We could’ve helped him," Karlach began, then her voice drops, "We could’ve helped…"

"He tried, I think."

Karlach glances up as the memory occurs to her. Then her expression grows glum as she looks down to the ground.

Astarion is twirling a dagger a fair few paces away but he steps a little closer to join the conversation out of simple curiosity.

"None of that explains why he’s after you, Shadowheart, darling," he says, motioning at her with a pale crooked finger of his knife hand.

Flushing with colour, Shadowheart grunts to clear her throat. Averts her eyes.

She doesn’t speak but the silence seems answer enough for the vampire, as he smirks and soon wanders off.

After some time, Shadowheart bids the others to go back to sleep, promising to shout should she need their help. Karlach protests a bit but seems appeased when all but Jaheira depart back to their tents, who watches on from some distance away. A constant silent vigil.

The night passes with more violent thrashing. More vicious sneers. More angry snarls. More dirty scowls. All of which lasts several hours.

Shadowheart monitors with the occasional soft reassurance or disapproving chide.

Though gradually, it lessons, and eventually his eyelids droop to half-mast. Exhaustion carries with it clarity, the fury subsides, and the tremors die down.

The haze of his eyes clears. He blinks, looks at her, focused, as though seeing her for the first time. But something is wrong still. Those blazing fires in his eyes linger, cold yet inquisitive.

“Curious, I thought my heart died long ago, but it beats now for you…” he whispers, sinking to the floor.

"Tav…?"

“Don’t call me that!” he hisses, eyes flashing momentarily. Mouth twisted into another cruel sneer. “The miserable wretch should’ve perished years ago.”

Confused yet resolved to investigate, "Then who are you?" she asks. Voice hard, unwavering.

“That fire,” he says, speaking slowly from fatigue, cocking his head a fraction from the ground as he studies her with renewed interest. His pinched scaled face cracks and he seems almost pleased as he continues, “I see why we are so drawn to you. But be wary, for it is not the wolves you should be afraid of…”

Before she can even process a reply to that, his head drops entirely to the dirt with a dull thud. Eyes closed for the final time. He’d enervated himself to sleep.

————

When Tavik first comes to, it’s not to the campsite and his companions faces as he’d expected.

No.

Slowly, he turns in a circle on the spot, taking in the scene.

There’s a giant red sun with black splotches hung low carving a silhouette over the endless pond or bog he finds himself in - shrouded in dark mist with nothing else on the horizon in all directions.

As he steps, his boots patter wetly in some kind of liquid he’s standing in. A thin sheet of it on the surface.

Blood. Blood and more blood, a river of it through the murk as far as the eye can see. He follows it back to its source.

The glaring sunlight rays reflect off crimson, twinkling invitingly, luring him further in to investigate.

Tav’s mind is befuddled, a dull ache, like he’s been clobbered over the head with a blunt instrument, and he’s not sure how he got here.

Another rancid nightmare, it must be. But this seemed different somehow. No screams, wails, cries. No pain, no death. Everything is a hush but for the squelching underfoot. There was a strange atmosphere to the place. He didn’t feel like he was in danger exactly but there was sort of an undeniably threatening undertone.

No matter how far he walks, he can’t seem to make any progress, the plane stretches ever onwards and Tav finally turns back to check behind him.

It’s then that he notices his shadow is suddenly missing or maybe it were never there to begin with.

Somehow more befogged than before, Tav sinks to his knees in the blood river, staring down where his reflection should be. Only, there’s nothing there.

His head is throbbing now and he scrubs his face with two hands. Pulling back when he feels blood smear across it. His hands now sticky and slick with it and the coppery tang of its scent is thick in his nostrils.

Beneath him, the liquid begins to pool and gurgle and Tav’s frozen in place as he watches as something materialises in its image. The suggestion of something. A figure.

It takes shape. A shadowy outline of… a dragonborn? At first, nebulous, but the opaque void morphs into more detail the longer he looks.

Arcuate horns spike out backwards along the top of its head. White diamond scales proliferate and spread across pink leathery skin along its snout, forehead, jaw, neck and shoulders, and hot flame-like blazing red eyes with narrowed pupils open to meet him.

Tav realises it’s smiling at him and he rears his head back in fright.

Its reptile grin is unfriendly, like there’s a dark cloud of anger looming behind it. Those eyes squint malevolently.

Suddenly, the face staring back at him comes alive - tangible - draconic maw hinged open wide, baring impossibly sharp teeth, as it lunges for him.

No time to react, he’s grasped by the neck in two clawed hands and yanked down into the depths.

Then he’s falling.

Nothing but darkness all around.

He floats in that void, weightless, lost, with no sense of time or place.

He hears it then. A disembodied voice croaks out from the beyond and reverberates all around; garbled, deep, yet unrecognisable.

“I see you changing from how I designed you.”

“You have forgotten your purpose.”

A dark pit forms in his stomach. The dread grips him again. No, he knows this voice. Why? How? But he can’t place it.

Something spins him midair and his eyes crack open to see that same Dragonborn beast again. Claws clamped on his shoulders as they free-fall together. Barrelling, sinking, toward oblivion like two stones cast into the sea.

Tav goes to scream but no sound ever comes out as the creature never gives him the chance - in the very next instant he’s watching its form coalesce into something spectral rather than solid as it collides with him. Merges with him.

A force greater than he’s ever known pulls at his consciousness and like a dying fleck of light, he’s out.

————

A few hours from dawn, Shadowheart’s standing, pacing back and forth. One arm crossed against her chest, the other propped beneath her chin - deep in thought.

To her side, she hears Tavik groan and her attention skips to where he’s lying half-face down in the dirt a meter from the campfire.

She stops, watches, as his eyes flutter open and dart around in a panic. Coming to a focus on her. With some relief, she gleans from that single look that his eye colours have returned to his normal heterochromia. The reptilian scales have all but disappeared from his flesh as well, leaving nothing but smooth skin in their wake. 

Shadowheart steps closer, still somewhat wary, half expecting to hear him taunt at her again, or snarl. She stands before him as he awkwardly pushes himself upright so that he’s sitting on his knees. All while still hogtied.

Drawing her knife at her side, "Now… if I touch you, you aren’t going to try and bite me again, are you?" she asks.

Tav’s dark brow furrows in confusion for a split second. "What? Of course not." His voice is hoarse. "It's me, Shadowheart, I promise."

Saying nothing, the Cleric moves to circle him. Reaches down over his hunched shoulders and slices off his ropes.

Rubbing his wrists, he shuffles stiffly on the spot, and pointedly avoids eye contact. His skin and white hair glinting in the firelight with a sheen of sweat.

And Shadowheart sits down across from him, both legs bent to rest her forearms across her knees as she regards him fully.

There’s a sullen expression on his ducked face but he otherwise seems to have come back into full control of himself.

"I’m almost afraid to ask..." Tav mutters, then he looks up finally. "What happened? Was I screaming or something? My throat is dry."

"Mostly growling."

Tav sighs. "Great."

"I think some more explaining is in order," she starts, her tone accusatory, and its enough to make him shrink in on himself, "Exactly what just came over you?"

At that last sentence, Tav lifts his head, shakes it. "I told you, the Urge…"

"Not that, that part I know." Shadowheart points at him, shakes her finger up and down at his face. "What exactly are you playing host to? Are you some kind of lizard?"

"Lizard?" he repeats, dumfounded. 

"You grew scales, Tav, all over the edges of your face."

His brow slants as he considers, but he doesn't appear surprised. "Were they white?"

Her eyes narrow. "So you knew?" 

"No! I only... I just found out." Tav takes a deep breath, then exhales. "I saw something while I was blacked out."

In the next few minutes, Tav explains, in great detail, the dream, or vision, he had while unconscious. Shadowheart listening attentively. 

The confession hangs in the air in silence for a few beats as the former-Sharran processes the new information. 

"I think I met your other half." At his puzzled look, she continues, "You-It spoke to me. Right at the end, in a moment of lucidity." 

"What did it say?"

"It seemed enraged when I called you Tav." She cocks her head as she talks, dubious, gauging his reaction. "Kept referring to you as a 'we'." 

"It must be the side of me that was in control in my past." He scratches his head, concentrating, eyes going distant as he gazes off into the campfire. "What takes control. The Dark Urge." 

Shadowheart knows of what he speaks. She were there when they explored Moonrise Towers, some of the cultists recognised him. Deeper, burrowed within the mind flayer colony below, they'd discovered more fragments of his past. Astarion had identified Tav's old damaged containment pod by the scent of his blood residue. And they'd run into Kressa Bonedaughter, a Myrkulite necromancer who'd patched him back together after he'd become a tadpoled wreck with part of his skull chiselled out, who'd kept him around for who knows how long as some kind of flesh pet to perform routine vivisections on. He were part of the cult until he was betrayed.  

"That person is a stranger to me. Don't torment yourself with the past." 

Tav exhales slowly, a long whistle of air, frowning but doesn't look at her.

"I'm not that kind of priest but can we exorcise it?" 

Chuckling humourlessly, Tav asks, "What? Plan to leave me out in the light of a full moon over night and diffuse amethyst lavender incense over my body to coax it out?"

To his sarcasm, she merely shrugs indecisively at him. 

"I still don't know what it is, but it doesn't feel like a demon or spirit. It's part of me, Shadowheart," he says, examining his palms in front of his face. "I both carry it and am it."

Sensing his discomfort, she gets to her feet and draws closer to him. Sits beside him near the fire. He looks up at her in surprise.  

Then, he sighs once more and turns his head to take in their surroundings. The tall, twisted trees looming over the outskirts of the clearing, grim and imposing. 

"If you can figure out a solution, I'm all ears," he says finally, picking up a branch and using it to stoke the fire, keeping its glow warm and bright. "I would dance to this thing's tune like a mindless meat puppet no longer." 

She says nothing, chews her lip, deep in thought. An image flashes into mind of that face she knew so well contorted in anger and disgust. Everything replays in her head - him thrashing, savage and unrelenting, like a rabid animal. The curse of his blood filling him with that unreasoning rage that precludes any true thought.

"Alright, I have another question. Why was I the mark of your Urge's anger? Is it because we...?"

"I think I’ve angered it. Whatever it is. Because I didn’t kill Isobel." He gazes at her, his face carved of guilt. "And you... I-I... Shadowheart, I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess."

Shadowheart reaches over the small distance between them to latch onto his forearm. "I promised I’d help you figure this out. I’ll protect you." She looks down, thinking over their conversation, everything that had transpired this night. The irony is not lost on her when she adds, "Seems I’ll need to, just to keep myself safe."

Jaw clenched, "I’ve killed so many people," he admits. "You should just end me now."

"Well, it’s always an option if we’re out of ideas… but let’s at least try to save you before it comes to that, hmm? Besides, there's plenty of foes out there for you to vent your impulses on."

"I nearly hurt you," he chokes out. Suddenly, he stands, wrenching out of her grip and steps back, away. 

"You haven't hurt me yet." 

"'Yet' being the operative word there." 

Gingerly, Shadowheart pushes off the ground to stand as well. With a small, wry smile, she holds her hands out placatingly and says, "If the last time was any indication, at least if you do decide to slaughter me, you’ll do me the courtesy of informing me first."

The jest seems to only provoke him further. "Unless you have a death wish, please take this seriously." He juts a hand through the air in front of him. "If I lose control again, you need to kill me. Promise me you will." 

"And I’m the one with a death wish?” she scoffs, shakes her head once, “Whatever evil compels you, you're stronger. You can fight it. I’ve seen it." 

"I want to believe that too but I can’t risk hurting you or worse. It's safer this way, for everyone."

She meets his glare with her own, and in that exchange, she sees the desperation to keep her safe… but also a wavering resolve. Behind that stony wall, a storm of emotions swirl in his eyes; regret, sorrow, longing. Two sides at war with each other. But above all, he looks - is - for the first time since she’d met him - genuinely terrified. 

Tav was an imposing man at face value on the sheer basis of how large he was, his potent grasp of the arcane, and perhaps, exacerbated by the whole bloodlust-murder-curse, but Shadowheart had never once felt like there were anything to be afraid of. 

"If you must end my life to retain yours, do it," he affirms again, this time in a lower voice but just as solemn. 

Perhaps due to her recently arisen yet once latent masochist streak, but Shadowheart stands firm. Shoulders set, she strides across the remaining distance between them, thrusts her hand out and grasps the collar of his tunic by the fistful - yanks him down to eye level, forcing him to look right at her. 

“I will. So don’t make me.” 

In that beat of shock, breath caught in his throat - Tav swallows, his eyes searching hers. 

"Promise me you’re going to resist." 

For a moment, Tav looks as though he might argue. But he only sighs deeply. "I intend to try." 

"Not good enough. You will." 

"I will."

Shadowheart's grip loosens by a mite before she lets go completely. Though Tav remains rooted to the spot, hunched down slightly, soft multicoloured eyes boring into hers. In that fragility, she finds herself reaching for him again. His face, in two hands. Gently, this time. She cradles either side of his jaw, caresses with her thumbs. 

"I know you better than that, Tav. I've known for a while, even before you told me. I still chose to be with you."

Eyes closed now, the pair press their foreheads together tenderly. 

She doesn't see it but she can hear his cracked smile in his next words. "Slim pickings out here, huh?"

Huffing a small laugh, she says, "Like you wouldn't believe." 

She feels both of his warm hands on her waist then, pulling her in close.

"Do not despair. I won’t give up on you. Don’t give up on yourself."

Chapter Text

Act 1: Goblin Camp/Selûne Temple Ruins

They’d arrived at the Goblin Camp, a base of the cult's operations, just before nightfall. In the outside courtyard, a party rages - goblins and bugbears alike celebrating their recent successful raids and pillages in the surrounding area. Tav and his companions await Nightwarden Minthara - apparently she's supposed to be a drow matron commanding the goblin troops here. They'd been told she were out with one of the search teams at current but was scheduled to return shortly. Tav and the others blending in seamlessly with the cultists as 'True Souls' in thanks to their little brain-worm stowaways.

Exploring the ruins, they'd accomplished much; Lae'zel had thrown Priestess Gut into a chasm - never to be seen again, they'd interrupted Dror Ragzlin's 'Speak with Dead mind flayer ritual', Tav had participated in Abdirak's Loviatar 'demonstration' to the absolute horror and glee of his companions, and Halsin was free inside the prisons below lying in wait. Now, they'd found an empty secluded apse within the ruins where they'd set up another makeshift camp in the meantime.

Drawn to the noise, Tav enters one of the adjacent rooms within their camp alcove to find of all scenes - Shadowheart and Wyll squaring off with one another. Quarterstaffs in hand.

They stand half-crouched across from each other in the centre of the small space. There's several wooden church pews pushed against the walls to create more room as some kind of make-do sparring ring.

Wyll strikes first and Shadowheart deftly blocks before spinning past and catching the horned Warlock in the back of the leg with one end of her wooden staff. Making his knee buckle underneath him.

Instead of anger or frustration, Wyll appears almost impressed by the successful blow when the pair turn to face one another again.

He wipes some perspiration off his brow with the back of his free hand, smiling. "You’re a natural," he says.

To which the Sharran cleric smirks, twirling her staff in one hand at her side. "I think you’ve gotten too complacent with that rapier, Wyll. Perhaps you ought to train with other weapons more often."

Ever humble, Wyll only chuckles. "You might be right."

That's when Tav finally notices Lae'zel is also present. She's sitting on one of the pews, leant forward as she assess with her piercing green eyes. Tav only spots her in the dim lighting because she speaks.

"Watching you fight, Shadowheart... Your skills are improving."

"My skills were just fine to begin with," Shadowheart retorts, lifting her chin and fixing the Githyanki with a familiar glare. "You can save the compliments."

"I don’t pay compliments," she says. "I make observations."

Sensing the tension, Wyll's gaze flits uneasily between Tav and the two women. "I’m going to go see if Gale needs any help at the cook pot," he says, cutting through the sudden silence, handing back his training staff to Shadowheart. Then, he promptly walks out, exchanging a brief glance with Tavik as he passes by.

Cleric and Fighter had clashed again as they'd entered the goblin camp hours earlier, when Shadowheart's mysterious artefact had sprung to life and shielded them all from the Voice of the Absolute. An icosahedron of black iron and Lae'zel had recognised the pulsating ruins inscribed on it as ancient Githyanki in origin - Tir'su script. Shadowheart had stolen it from Lae'zel's people.

Lae'zel abruptly stands as well. Her face a hard mask as she coldly regards the dark-haired half-elf one final time before leaving to follow Wyll.

At her exit, Shadowheart breathes a sigh of relief and her tense shoulders fall.

Tav raises his eyebrows but decides not to comment. Instead, he says, "Working up a sweat?"

"Trying to keep sharp."

"Temple dwellers got you on edge?"

"More like the temple itself." Shadowheart raises one of the staves in her grasp, uses it to point at the ceiling. "Selûne. As if mingling with a horde of goblins wasn’t bad enough."

Indeed, above them on a fresco across a large section of the ceiling is Selûne's symbol. Two eyes looking down upon them, as if watching them, surrounded in a loop by seven twinkling stars. The ruins once dedicated to her worship.

"Ah," Tav folds his arms, "Not your usual haunt, I take it?"

"Quite the understatement, but yes," she says, nods. "Let’s not linger here any longer than necessary."

"We need an audience with that drow, but I’m inclined to agree." Tav casts his gaze around, wrinkles his nose. "What with the current inhabitant's mouth-breathing their rot breath, it's a wonder I can still smell it from up here considering they're about yay high," he says, holds his hand out flat just above hip level as though to illustrate. "I don't think any of them have bathed since birth."

Shadowheart shakes her head, looking down, lets out a soft laugh. Until finally, she glances back up at him.

"Spar with me?" she asks, offering one of her staves, holds it out vertical just ahead of her.

"I don’t normally duel with my staff, it’s just a conduit for my magic."

"Can’t hurt to keep in shape though, right?" She shrugs, allows a small smile. "Besides, it’ll help us pass the time if nothing else."

Tav takes it, fingers curling around the shaft just above hers. "Alright, you’re on."

The two rear back, then circle one another. Blue-silver and red gaze locked on green. Both grinning in challenge.

Tav grips his in a single hand, tight, but loose at the wrist.

Shadowheart darts in first and swings. Tav deflects.

"I tend to prefer maces or spears," Shadowheart says between breaths, bringing her staff up to meet his. "But with staves, we aren’t as liable to slice one another open by accident."

Hardened wood meets hardened wood.

"I must admit, I wouldn’t know the first thing about fighting with any of those." Tav ducks back, narrowly avoiding a strike to the side of the head. Her staff passing harmlessly in front of his face in a quick whistle of air. "Let alone swords, axes, or what have you. Though I can use a bow quite proficiently."

The Sharran huffs. "Typical High-Elf."

What began as an impromptu sparring session had transcended into an intricate dance. Of staffs spinning and shared smirks. In sync completely.

Shadowheart hits with surprising strength. He'd seen her fight before, of course, but it was another thing entirely to be on the receiving end of her attacks. He wonders just a little bit if she's holding back at all or not.

They trade blow after blow.

Clack.

Boots patter against stone.

"Spears are good for distance," Shadowheart starts again, her breathing coming a little heavier, as she stalks slowly ahead of him. Light on her feet. "Maces are good for bludgeoning into heavy armour without the need to penetrate it and do not require as much training to use effectively."

Clack.

Tav shrugs his shoulders. "Sure, but they lack the same versatility and practicality. Most people cannot afford such heavy armour, let alone trained to wear it."

Though the Sorcerer can tell she's getting tired, her movements remain fluid. Impervious. What she lacks in raw power, she makes up for in speed and dexterity. Swift and elegant.

Parrying, he lands a blow on the outside of her upper leg. "And it takes you longer to recover from a swing than it would with a sword."

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Their staves crash together dead on, Shadowheart pressing against his controlled force. For several heartbeats, they stay locked together, the moment feels oddly intimate, before the Cleric disentangles their weapons and springs back.

"That is true. But that’s why I use a shield in tandem," she says, miming hefting one in her left arm, all while a slow smile spreads across her lips.

The little gesture brings a returning smile to his own. And hers? Well, even in subdued candlelight, with shadows dancing along her features - its the most luminous smile he'd ever seen. He finds himself growing nervous all of a sudden at the sight of her.

Shadowheart, with her dark bangs slightly dishevelled from the sweat and exercise, eyes sparkling just beneath.

Tav wanted the ground to swallow him whole then and there because he'd never felt anything like what he felt when he saw her. Nothing comes close.

In his stupor, he doesn't even see it when the length of that wooden stick slams into his cheek. Hard.

Tav's jaw goes slack and he stumbles a few steps to one side.

"Tav!"

Her staff clatters to the floor and Shadowheart rushes over, frantic.

"Oh my Gods, I'm sorry! Why did you stop? Are you okay?"

She comes in close to his side. Too close. Her chest almost brushing his arm as she tentatively reaches up at his face.

"No, no, I'm fine." He holds up a hand to reassure her. "Just startled me."

"Come here, I'll heal it."

"That's not necessary, it's just some swelling. I'll survive."

"No, you're bleeding."

Tavik grazes his knuckles against his cheek and pulls away to inspect them, indeed, they're now specked in blood. He tastes blood in his mouth too, warm and metallic, from where he must’ve bit open his own tongue.

"Your face is flushed, Tav, allow me, please."

No doubt his face is redder for another reason entirely. He gulps.

The pleading note in her voice has him turn to look at her at last. He gives in.

Bending down a bit, he lets her set her hand there. Cool, slightly calloused, fingertips against the heat of his skin. He's fairly certain she doesn't need to physically touch him for her magic to work but she does so anyway. The air stirs as her spell hums to life.

Tav blinks but tries to look anywhere but at her. Resisting a nagging, wild, reckless urge to lean into the woman, undeniably drawn to her.

Her hand lingers for a moment longer than required, and he swears he can almost hear her heartbeat as she steps away.

The Cleric turns her back to him, retrieving her staff from where it had rolled abandoned on the floor.

"We going for round two, or have you had enough of me, today?" Shadowheart asks light-heartedly, half smirking.

In truth, Tav doesn’t think it’s possible to get enough of her.

He straightens, wiggles some of his fingers to loosen them before clenching against the wood in his grasp. When he does, he notices her eyes trailing down the length of his arm, lingering for a beat on the muscles of his forearm. He flexes again.

She realises she’s been caught staring and looks away with a sharp turn of her head.

Chuffed under her flattering gaze, Tav grins. Earlier embarrassment melting away at her own.

"Sure," he says in answer, positioning himself across from her once more. She stands ready also, knees slightly bent, rolling one shoulder.

They go at it again. For several minutes, there is only the rhythmic thwacking of wood on wood, puffing breaths, as they resume their bout. Backing each other across the cramped space.

"Shadowheart, I actually wanted to ask you about that artefact."

Shadowheart seems to freeze for one moment before her focused expression cools into something unreadable.

"I was wondering when this’d come up again." She sighs. "Ask away."

"You still have it?"

"Yes - and I’ll guard it with my life," she says flatly. Her eyes flit to the doorway behind him, narrowing. "Even though Lae’zel’s been eyeing me up and down ever since."

Both the Githyanki and the Cult of the Absolute seem interested in it, but Tav’s more intrigued by Shadowheart’s particular role in all this. She’d been cagey about it ever since he’d met her - the one thing, secret, she did not seem inclined to share at all.

"Say it does cost you your life - what then?"

"Then so be it - I did my duty," Shadowheart answers, holding his gaze, resolute. They cross staves once more. "As for the artefact… it’s powerful. And has a mind of its own sometimes. You’d better hope you’re up to bearing it. Don’t forget what it was like, when you heard the voice. It’ll only get worse if you don’t have the artefact to protect you."

They push apart.

"How can you be so sure of yourself?" he wonders aloud, nocks his head toward one shoulder as he appraises her, skirting the border of their small arena. "You don’t even know what it is you’re protecting."

Her next strike comes with slightly more force than he’s expecting and he grunts a little under it.

"It’s called faith. Duty. It doesn’t have to add up to me as long as I serve." She waves a hand dismissively to the side of her. "I’m part of a bigger plan - one that will be revealed in time."

Tav blocks several concussive blows then dodges into a vacant space where her flank is open to him. He doesn't take the opportunity to land a hit. Instead, he asks, "But how can you go through all this trouble and not understand why?"

The half-elf shakes her head, turning back around to face him, brow furrowed in irritation under his line of questioning. "I told you already - I surrendered my memories, for the sake of the mission. Shar’s secrets must be protected - duty demands it. Once I fulfil my mission, I can have my memories restored."

"Blind loyalty? Spoken like a true pawn," he quips, he leans his head forward, "They tend to get sacrificed first, you know."

"How cynical," she remarks back, points at him loosely, "I should borrow that line sometime." Shadowheart squares her shoulders. "But if I have to die, so be it. Like I said - faith. Faith and devotion. Love. It’s not enough to live. It’s a question of what you live for."

“Love?”

"Certainly." She says it so casually, her demeanor and this new area of conversation catch him off kilter. "Many people cite it as one of the main things that give life meaning, especially for us mortals."

They'd stopped fighting now, just standing before one another as they speak.

"I wouldn’t have expected to hear that coming out of your mouth."

"Why not?" Shadowheart spreads her arms, seems almost amused yet still somehow offended. "I’m not some shrew harpy intent to live out the rest of her days as a reclusive spinster." She flexes the lean muscles of her biceps, triceps, stamps the butt of her staff into the ground. "Not like there’s anything particularly wrong with that, I suppose. Besides, there’s more than one type of love. My Lady Shar’s love for me is maternal, I am one of her children. She cares for me, nurtures me. If she demands I lay down my life for her one day, I would gladly do so."

He didn’t fully comprehend it then, but Tav would look back on this interaction later. Remembering her unyielding conviction that Shar loved her despite the abuse she suffered on a regular basis, even all the way out here - she was not beyond that cruel reach. Yet, despite that, Shadowheart had rushed to his aid when she’d accidentally hurt him.

"Do you truly believe that the gods can care for us so? To such a depth?" Tav asks after some time, his voice dropping to a softer timbre than normal.

"I don't believe it. It's the truth. At least, in my Mistress's case." When he says nothing further, she frowns, looks down briefly, then at him. "Do you not believe Lady Shar cares for me? That the Gods care for us?"

"When did I say that?"

"You just asked me if I believed the Gods care for us."

"And wherein that did I imply I did not believe Shar cared for you?"

"So you do believe."

"I didn’t say that either."

"You... are an exasperating man."

————

Act 1: Sword Coast/Camp... One Unfortunate Night

Tav’s seen a lot in his short time since awakening on the Nautiloid but this Dragonborn stray was another thing entirely.

"I don’t understand." He shakes his head. "How you can write love songs, when you’ve never found love yourself?"

On one hand, he doesn’t rightly care that much. On the other, he’s a little baffled someone this tooth-achingly sweet and innocent survived all alone this far. Quil Grootslang, a Dragonborn of purple-silver scales, and a bard, singer and composer. Arrived at their camp fleeing after she was ambushed and robbed by goblins.

The little bastards had even made off with her pants, he had just given her some spare earlier. If Tav had a copper for the amount of times they’d stumbled across a goblin-stealing-someone’s-trousers scenario, he’d have two coppers. Which wasn’t a lot, but it was weird that it’d happened twice.

Quil leans closer, her expression ripe with excitement, wide eyes dancing and bright, grinning, expectant. "Is there someone who you think you might love?" She gasps in delight at whatever face he’s making at her. "Come on, I won’t tell!"

A little taken aback by the question, Tav’s gaze darts across camp to Shadowheart of its own accord. She’s closing the book she’d been reading, yawns into her fist, stands, and turns toward the doorway of her tent. Entering soon after.

They’d barely known each other a tenday and Tavik was already smitten with her.

Even as the thought crosses his mind, he knows it’s just wishful thinking. Still, memories of their little interactions keep springing into his head. He was fairly certain the half-elf cleric was attracted to him, at least aesthetically, albeit he's pissed her off enough times with his facetious half-wit remarks that it might've killed any further interest.

He quickly looks away from her direction, his face is hot.

"Love is a bit of a stretch but... Shadowheart is pure grace," he admits.

Somehow, the bard’s enthusiasm has only intensified. "And have you said so?" she asks eagerly, springing on her toes on the spot. "Does she even know one little bit about how you really feel?"

"What?" he scoffs. "Of course not, it’s way too soon."

Nodding knowingly, Quil continues, "There’s a special feeling to having love all to yourself, don’t you think? For no one to know. I grew up smiling about my little secrets." Her voice lowers, as do her eyes. "I would’ve been laughed at if I admitted to anyone how I felt. It’s not my kind’s way."

Suddenly, without warning, that bubbling ardour bursts free once again as Quil spreads her arms out wide and smiles into the night sky. "But I have my whole life ahead of me. Things will be different now that I’m on the Sword Coast. I can’t wait for what’s coming next!"

Tav awakens that night with blood on his hands. And Quil will never wake up again.

————

Act 2: Shadow-Cursed Lands/Camp

As Tav heads to his tent and bedroll to catch a few winks in before sunrise, carrying the lute Alfira had gifted him by the neck at his side, he passes by Withers. The mysterious undead entity, looming stiffly in his usual spot beneath a copse of gnarled trees, whom they'd found in an old abandoned temple on their first day in the Sword Coast wilderness.

Tav gives a curt nod in acknowledgement, not expecting any reaction and certainly not to be spoken to at the hour.

"Thou hast now a bosom-companion," Withers says, cutting into the silence, and Tav freezes in place before slowly turning his head to look at him. "Take care that thou art not distracted on thy quest," he continues in his monotone voice, holding up a bony finger and shaking his head slightly. "Seeking the comforts of the flesh."

The usually cold and indifferent undead scribe sounds as though he disapproves. It takes a moment for Tav to realise what exactly it might be of.

"You mean Shadowheart...?" he asks tentatively, but even as he gets no response, Tav suddenly laughs. Overcome with a wry amusement at the strangeness of the situation. "Gods, I wish she were my 'bosom-companion'."

Shadowheart had departed his company earlier but they'd spent much of this night, like many others, conversing. He's even had the opportunity to play her one of the tunes he'd been practicing. The nights were often cold, but with Shadowheart, he felt warm inside.

For a moment, he feels distinctly forlorn that their relationship, if it can even be called that, is short-lived. At the end of this journey, Shadowheart will run off back to her coven in Baldur's Gate - carrying his broken heart with her.

It won't be easy, but he'll survive.

Withers' grey haggard face and desiccated skin make him hard to read, but Tav gets the marked impression that he's being judged right now.

"Recall that in time, all becomes dust and bone."

————

Act 2: Shadow-Cursed Lands/Camp Post-Moonrise Mindflayer Colony

"When an emissary of Selûne came to our little town, we were elated," Isobel explains, as animated and moony-eyed as she was the day she's describing - Tav thinks, "Dame Aylin, daughter of the Moonmaiden herself. Tell me, do you believe in love at first sight?"

Tav's gaze goes distant as he stares off out at the open water behind them. "I might've said no, once upon a time, but now..." He blinks, feels his face warm, but smiles despite himself. "Well, there's a certain magic in a look."

"That's exactly it!" she agrees. "And I tell you, I took one look at her, and I just knew. She was it. Lucky for me, she felt the same way. But my father was skeptical. Aylin is immortal, after all. I understand it's strange, there's an imbalance between us, certainly," she says, tone dropping to a bit more of a contrite note, but then she perks up again, "But I suppose loving Aylin felt the same as loving myself. It was natural."

"I am very pleased you two found each other again, you both deserve to be happy," he says, his heart stirring with a genuine awe at the two women's affections for each other. There's a fufilment there in that he and Shadowheart had something to do with it. Of his many many regrets, he takes solace in the fact that this, at least, is something he could be proud of.

"Thank you, that is kind of you to say." Isobel smiles up at him. After a brief pause, she looks at him curiously. "What of your own happiness? And Shadowheart's?"

Eyebrows lifting slightly, he says, "You know about us?"

"What? Is it supposed to be some kind of secret?" Isobel asks, giggling politely behind a gloved hand. "Your love for one another, well, it's rather obvious, sorry to say. Even I've seen the way you look at her, and the way she looks at you when she thinks nobody is watching," she says that last part while leaning in and holding her hand to her mouth sideways, grey-blue eyes gleaming with mischief. "It's sweet."

... Love?

Did Tavik love Shadowheart...? He supposes he'd never fully considered that possibility before. He loves her quick temper. He loves her sharp words, even when they’re directed at him. He loves the rush every time he turns her scowl into a grin. Or when her grin darkens into a glare. He loves that her smiles appear far more often than when they'd first met. Is that love? It’s not like he ever learned what love is supposed to feel like. He's not sure he's capable of it. Deserves it...

"You two get along like a house on fire, don't let that slip away."

The advice is simple, yet it settles in his bones.

Alas...

About half an hour earlier, Dame Aylin had explained further about what she had alluded to in the Shadowfell to Shadowheart, about her past, and the former-Sharran had insisted he be by her side throughout. He'd seen, heard everything. Now, Shadowheart was back at her tent, lost in thought.

"It's up to her, but she has a lot on her plate right now." He sighs, but smiles ruefully. "I would not wish to add to her burdens with my own nonsense."

Isobel's brow slants, she looks almost sympathetic. "You're talking about what happened before, back at Last Light, aren't you?"

"I-I, yes, I did want to apologise for that again." He sighs deeply, the guilt eats him alive everyday, he musters his earnestness. "I'm sorry if I scared you, Isobel. I was not myself. Sometimes... it is hard to differentiate or even distinguish who it is I am in the first place."

The Selûnite doesn't say anything for a long time, expression thoughtful. "It were you who saved those tieflings from the Emerald Grove, then again, you saved us all at Last Light." She twirls her hand in the air, gesturing their surroundings. "Even the Shadow-Curse is lifting now after a hundred years, thanks in part to you." Isobel fixes him with a soft, yet serious look, using her raised gloved hand to then motion at him. "This is who you can be, if you want to be. Someone who helps people."

"It doesn't negate all the death I've wrought." He shakes his head, shifts uncomfortably on the spot. He knows he doesn't deserve the praise, not after learning of his past misdeeds. He'll die ashamed about it. "I've done bad things in my past. Unforgiveable things."

"The good might not forgive the bad, but the bad doesn't destroy all the good you've done and will do either."

"Perhaps..." He's not sure he believes that, no matter how much he wants to. "But it's still within me. I can't be confident that I won't snap one day and turn into what I was before. What good am I to anyone if I can't stop this?"

'How do I live with this person, myself, who is both those things?'

He realises he might've said too much. He didn't mean to maunder on like this, dump all his personal grief on this poor woman. Whom he almost killed. Oh Gods.

"Tell me, what do you think's changed? What is it that grounds you, guides you, now, that might not have been there before?"

"I-I... I don't know," he sputters.

He takes the time to think. Long and hard. He looks back at the rest of the camp, everyone milling about as they prepare for bed. His first memories are with Shadowheart. With them.

He loves her. He loves his friends. They make him want to be kinder, gentler. Even when they argue and fuss and mock each other relentlessly, he realises then and there... that he'd be lost without them.

It was like a fog had lifted. One that he hadn't known was even there. Everything was so clear.

"I’m learning and growing. This journey, it's an opportunity to discover more about the world around me. I think there is so much beauty that is worth preserving. Love, kindness, friendship."

Isobel smiles at him then.

"There, see? Your true nature manages to outshine your dark side. You can choose your path."

"Thank you, Isobel. I will think more on this."

Something blooms within. Something that weren't quite there before.

Hope.

————

Act 3: The Road to Baldur's Gate

It's morning, they're about a day's trek on foot to the city outskirts away, having camped once more in the woods somewhere just off the road overnight. Tavik, the Wild Magic Sorcerer, awakens from his meditations bright and early and alone. But with a hope in his heart and a steely determination in mind.

First thing he does is seek out Shadowheart, of course. Carrying with him a filled vial and one of the syringes he'd scavenged in the House of Healing in Reithwin Town.

Under the morning glow of the bright sun, she turns at his approach, sliding on her second metal plate gauntlet, and as she adjusts the clamps and leather straps to fit it in place, Tav finally looks up and meets her gaze proper.

"Be honest... what do you think of the new look?"

Tav thinks he's just forgotten every language he speaks, and his own name... again. Her beauty nearly renders him speechless.

She's stunning. But even that word seems paltry when applied to this woman. Shadowheart has dyed her hair white-silver entirely and chopped her fringe in favour of long curtain bangs, parted in the middle yet slightly off-centre, framing her face on either side, coming just below the curve of her jaw. Her features seem sharper, skin more lustrous. The tapered points of her ears poking out just behind.

There are not enough hours in the day to look in her eyes and really take her in but even they appear lighter when contrasted against her new hair colour. A soft shade of jade bespeckled with shimmering gold. Still contoured with her signature dark eye makeup.

Tav chokes, face flooding with sudden heat, but she's looking up at him so nervously, awaiting his response, that he quickly clears his throat to pull himself together.

"I think you look breathtakingly radiant. Ethereal, even! Like a goddess on a whimsy descended from the heavens to bless us unworthy mortals with a glimpse of her divine grace."

Shadowheart sniffs, but seems pleased, an irrepressible smile tugging at her lips. "Trust you to be overdramatic about it."

"When it comes to propping you up? There is no such thing as too much." Tav spreads his hands to gesture her in her entirety. "I'd be remiss if I did not compliment your endless assets. Besides, I’m only speaking the truth." He lets out a breath, grins at her, his eyes soft. "In short? I love it."

"Well, I’m glad someone does." She lifts her hand to the side of her now slightly flustered face. "Perhaps I'll get used to it. I have a lot to get used to, right now."

Finding it difficult to look away from her, Tav shakes his head, but even that doesn't clear his mind - he's utterly transfixed. "What inspired the change?"

"I thought I knew who I was... but I was wrong." Her smile has dropped now, expression sombre. "I do not belong to Shar, and I do not want to be adorned like one of her puppets any longer."

"You came to mind as well," she adds softly, to which his eyes widen and his back straightens. "I remembered that night, when you resisted your impulses, turned away from what was demanded of you. I thought perhaps that if you could take a step towards the light, then I could try as well."

Tav glances down at the syringe in his hand, long forgotten. He fiddles with it. Looks up. He's not quite ready to let the subject drop just yet.

"How did you manage it?"

"An unexpected benefit of my training. Any novice knows how to source the right herbs and mixtures to alter one's hair," she explains. "Typically reserved for disguises and subterfuge rather than self-discovery." Her face brightens, as if a little gratified by her own apostasy when she says next, "But I don't live by Shar's rules any longer."

He's so proud of her. He hopes she can see that in the smile he gives her then.

Astarion gasps, coming closer to the pair. "Ah, we have a new look, for a new you," he purrs, leaning over to her. "Nice as it is, you still don't have the best hair in camp," the vampire adds, bringing up a hand to lightly brush the back of his white curls with his fingers.

Shadowheart only grins at him. "That's rich coming from the man who can't even see his reflection."

"Ah, ah!" he tuts, holding up a finger in protest, then he fishes out something from his bag of holding on his belt. Holds it up for the two to see. The portrait of Astarion's striking image Tav had sketched for him in the Underdark. He's framed it and everything. "See!" he proclaims, sweeping his hand to present it, proud and arrogant in equal measure. "Best hair in the camp."

"Run along, blood-sucker, and stop interrupting," Tav laughs, placing his hands on his hips.

"Every elf in this party besides Halsin has white hair now, Gale and Lae'zel are going to just love this." Astarion gives them a delicate little wave and a smirk before he wanders off to some of the others, likely to spread the news.

"You know what this all reminds me of?" the Sorcerer says, thinking. "When a caterpillar has completed its suspension in a cocoon and emerges as this beautiful butterfly. What’s that process called again?"

"Metamorphosis?" Shadowheart rolls her eyes at the comparison, unable to fight her smile. "Tav, that’s so trite-"

"This is your metamorphosis, my love. You can spread your wings and go off." He throws his hands up. "Put yourself first for once. Do whatever you please."

She's still shaking her head, but she's looking at him in earnest.

"That gives me an idea..." Tav trails off. His gaze darts to a certain wizard who's yawning loudly nearby, hair all mussed from sleep, scratching the top of his head as he listens to whatever Astarion's saying. "Come find me tonight, I want to try something."

Just as he’s about to leave, he startles, turns back to her.

"Oh, and before I forget, here."

Tav hands her the syringe and vial in his hand. She looks down at them, brow pinched.

"What is it?"

"It’s a sedative. Strong enough to knock down a fully grown owlbear. If the Urge returns, you must use it. If it comes to it, kill me."

Her mouth opens as if to protest but he holds up his hand.

"Last resort, I promise."

"Okay, Tav," she sighs, "If it'll set your mind at ease."

"It would."

——

As they leave the last of the Shadow-Cursed Lands behind them, the staid Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep walks in step with the rest of the large group as they follow the road to Baldur’s Gate, somewhat off to the side but near the middle of the pack rather than front or back. Head buried in a book he’s holding in one hand, and his other aloft, primed to turn to the next page.

It takes Tavik swallowing every ounce of his pride to ask him this, but for Shadowheart? She’s worth even that. He inhales, bracing himself to listen to Gale prattling on like he’s just swallowed a thesaurus and every textbook in a mage college library himself. Tav thought he was a right snob when they'd first met... no, he still does. But for all his faults - he's intelligent, knowledgeable, Tav will concur on that.

"Gale, I have a question. A magic question."

The Wizard glances up in surprise but then when he spots Tav, his expression morphs into something between a mix of haughty yet curious. One eyebrow raised, mouth quirked upright.

"Oh, do tell," he says, closing his tome and, as he lets go of it, it hovers briefly as if held up by an invisible string before disappearing in a flash of white light. "Finally realised you have reached the limits of your natural inclinations and only through thorough study of the arcane arts will you ever truly master the Weave?" he asks, arcing a hand through the air in front of his face as though to mimic casting a spell or browsing a shelf of books.

Tav’s brow twitches. "Yes, yes, wizards know a lot of spells, but how many friends do you know?"

"I have Tara! How many friends do I need?"

"She actually sounds too good for you, but I digress, I need... your help." His stomach rolls at that admission and both Gale's eyebrows shoot up.

Leaning forward at the hip, Gale laughs loudly once. "Help with magic? Thought you'd be more swept up deciding which colour crayon is your favourite flavour to ever come to me for that!" He scratches his beard as a thought occurs to him. "You know, I once read a book-"

"Gale, another word and Lae’zel will swat you like a fly and you’re going straight back to camp to keep Withers company for the foreseeable future."

Gale’s mouth hangs open for several moments longer until he shuts it. Whatever he wanted to say wilts and dies on his tongue.

Steepling his fingers in front of his face, closing his eyes, the Sorcerer takes a deep breath. "I am sorry, that was impertinent of me. I'm trying to be a better person."

"You are?"

"Yes. You're making it difficult."

Sorcerer explains his idea to Wizard and the two put their heads together for once to figure out the suitable spell incantations and preparations to put it to work. Spending several hours walking, talking, and reading through Gale's collection of magic tomes and spell books.

——

Act 3: First Long Rest/Wyrm's Lookout Dilapidated Fortress

Beyond the campsite, Baldur's Gate, the city waits in uneasy silence - one sleep away.

Tavik stands upon the roof of the highest tower of the dilapidated fortress alongside Karlach, Lae'zel and Shadowheart. The small town of Rivington spread out below, framed from behind by Wyrm's Rock and the giant stone city walls in the background. Blanketed in the vastness of the starlit night sky.

He goes to follow Shadowheart down the ladder as they move off one by one to enact his plan, but Karlach catches his arm by the bicep before he can.

The normally carefree tiefling Barbarian is hulking before him, expression grave.

"Look, about what happened, a few nights ago... I know you're sorry. I'm sorry too. But that girl down there, she's been through enough."

Tav frowns but doesn't interrupt.

"You’re my best friend, Tav, besides Wyll. But if you do anything to hurt her, I will kill you."

Karlach could probably twist him into a Baldurian Pretzel with only her left hand if she wished.

"Please do.”

Face flashing with sudden shock, Karlach's grip on him loosens but he keeps still. He gives her a grim smile, lips pressed into a thin line, and places his hand on her shoulder.

"I feel better knowing you're watching out for her."

Karlach nods and a mutual understanding passes between the two in a single look.

"I hope Shadowheart finds peace and Shar finds Hell."

——

That chill spring eve, Tavik leads Shadowheart, hand in hand, treading uneven ground, to a small clearing along the outskirts of their camp. Soon standing across from one another.

Shadowheart casts a cursory glance around briefly. Then she swings her arms at her sides a little, absentmindedly, but in a manner that is hopelessly endearing to him. "So your grand plan, what are we doing?"

"We're going to fly."

"What?" The Cleric abruptly holds up both her hands, shakes both them and her head at him. "Your magic is volatile, to say the least. Remember that time you turned us all into cats and dogs? Or when you cast fireball at those Shadows and shrunk yourself down by three and a half feet?"

"And you asked me if you could pick me up but when you tried, I still weighed the same?" He chuckles at the memory. "Yes."

"Tav!"

"We'll be fine!" he insists, still smiling. "Do you trust me?"

"Against my better judgement," she says reluctantly, still skeptical. "I trust you, not so much your magic."

Tav steps backwards, bare feet pressing into soft dewy grass, to put some distance between them and lifts his hands in innocence. "Here, I'll do myself first and if I don't spontaneously combust, will you consider it?"

Eyebrow raised, Shadowheart warily eyes him up and down. "Perhaps. I'll observe from back here."

With a smirk, he reaches back over his shoulder and pulls his tunic up and over his head, tossing it aside into the grass without looking. Then he positions himself with his feet spread shoulder-width apart, brings his hands up in front of his chest, elbows bent. Pressing the backs of his hands together, one with his fingers pointed down, the other hand's pointed up. With a sudden jerk, he flings his left arm into the air and snaps his fingers above his head.

"Tibi do Penna!"

Tav bursts into a flare of bright blue light that encases him entirely, then rapidly swarms into his body. A pale smoke engulfs him from behind, dissolving into small magic feathers that flutter in a whirlwind around his lower half as a pair of powerful wings bursts forth from between his shoulder blades. Rippling white scales breaking out across his flesh as he shrugs and those leathery membraned wings expand outwards.

Shadowheart gasps in wonder, eyes wide, mouth parted.

"That's... not permanent, is it?"

With a laugh, Tav flaunts his dragon wings, opening them wide. "No, it'll last about an hour or so, and yours... will be slightly different. They're more cosmetic, symbolic, but they're still fully functional. Willing to give it a go?"

"I don't know about this, Tav..."

"Come on, when have you ever shied away from danger?" He asks that with a conspiratorial smile and a glint in his eye.

Expecting Shadowheart to roll her eyes or make some witty retort, he feels embarrassed when she only looks flustered and slightly nervous.

"I hope you don’t expect me to tear my clothes off too."

With a bit of surprise, Tav chuckles, shakes his head. "No I can work around it, you’re fine. But we don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"No, I do," she says quickly, she takes a deep breath as though to steel herself, "Albeit, if I explode or fall to my death, I swear on Shar's grave that I'll come back to haunt you."

Sauntering closer, Tav's smile softens and he props his left arm vertical aside his head. The other coming across to meet hand to elbow in an 'L' shape before his left hand flings down, stopping a hand-span from the top of her head as he repeats his incantation loud and clear. That same blue hue bedazzles the glen space in bright light and a warm tingling sensation jolts along her skin as his magic settles around her.

Shadowheart bends slightly forward into him with a shudder, lifting her arms out to examine them, wiggling all ten of her fingers as though to check she still has feeling in them. A cloud of loose magic feathers poofs up around her as well just as two white feathered wings sprout from her back.

She twists slowly, glancing over one shoulder then the other, then she looks back at him in utter shock.

He allows himself to drink in the sight of her, the low neckline, the dark, sleek fabric of her camp ensemble hugging her body, her elegant silver braid draped over shoulder, and now the brilliant feathered wings extended across her back.

"Now we have two angels in camp," he remarks, smug, yet admiring.

Letting out a short puff of air, Shadowheart blinks, coming back to herself. "All right, I'm ready."

"You sure?"

She nods mutely. She holds out a hand but instead, Tav clasps both his around her waist and lifts her into the air above him.

With a tiny yelp, Shadowheart's braces her hands on his forearms, as if expecting to immediately drop back down without his leverage. Instead, the transmutation spell's magic keeps her hovering there, suspended several feet above the ground. Her wings flap experimentally and Tav lifts off to join her.

"I had to ask Gale for help with this."

"You asked Gale for help?" she asks in disbelief as they draw closer in the air. "With magic of all things? That must've been quite painful."

"Excruciating," he agrees, holding a hand on his chest as though wounded. "I'll never recover, it's left a permanent stain on my honour. I hope you appreciate all I suffer for you."

"Oh, you poor poor sorcerer," she giggles, seeming more comfortable floating here now.

Tav spreads his arms out in invitation, wings fluttering behind him. "Hold me while I weep, beloved, lest I fall apart at the seams completely."

Shadowheart opens her arms and eases toward him, circling one around him carefully. And as he wraps his arms around her body in return, head buried against her shoulder, she pats his head in faux sympathy at his plight but still with a sincere affection.

Suddenly, they burst out laughing together. A merry, loud, mutual guffaw that leaves their eyes twinkling when they part.

"What in the Hells are we doing?"

Tav shakes his head, still chuckling. "No idea." He turns his face upward. This time, he does hold his hand out and as she takes it, he says, "Come, the sky beckons."

With a powerful unfurling of two pairs of wings, they ascend.

And with just a few mighty flaps, his stomach swoops as they push through above the leafy canopies and are suddenly sailing above the treetops in a joined half twirl together.

The air rushes past their faces, stealing their breaths. Climbing higher, higher, and higher still. A blast of frozen air numbs his face as they soar into the clouds. Soon, the celestial body of the full moon becomes a colossal backdrop on the horizon.

The vast tapestry that is Faerûn stretches out below them as the world falls away, becoming miniature and distant. The weathered peaks of Baldur's Gate jutting out across the sea and the streams of endless woodland and grass fields.

Initial terror melts away, soon replaced by sheer, giddy joy. Shadowheart tries to speak but her words are lost to the wind.

The headrush of ascent slows as their wings stretch wide, the wind quieting as they glide through the air until both coming to a slow stop in place.

The stars glitter overhead, casting an opulent glow over Shadowheart’s awestruck expression as she looks up and around. A cool silvery mist swirls around their ankles and a chill breeze sweeps past as they float, swirling with tiny motes of light and the smell of it crisp and fresh.

"This... is amazing," Shadowheart says breathlessly, her eyes wide as she takes everything in, "Everything is so beautiful from up here!"

He only has eyes for her. Her bangs and long plait billowing in the wind, the almost magical sheen of her eyes, the colour of a precious gem. Every facet of her beauty highlighted in the omnipresent moonlight. It's like she's reached her element.

"It is."

She brushes some of her hair out of her face and looks at him then.

It is like they are the only two beings in existence.

"How are you doing?" he asks gently, smiling, as she lets go of his hand to slowly spin and flutter in place before him.

"As long we don't go careening into the sea, well, I feel fantastic!" She grins at him. "This is remarkable!"

"The water would probably save us."

Shadowheart scoffs, though it is more playful than anything, turning to cast her gaze down at the sparkling waters of the coastline. "Not if I drown right after."

"You must let me teach you how to swim some time," he suggests, drifting over so that he's in front of her once more, he takes both her hands in his own again. "It's not that difficult, I promise. Besides, I'd never let you fall."

"I believe you." She looks down at their joined hands, her brow slants, then she meets his gaze. "...I’m not sure I could’ve ever made it this far without you."

"I think you would’ve been perfectly fine on your own, minus one dashing sorcerer." He smirks at her questioning eyebrow raise. "Perhaps you’d have even done something to resolve all the sexual tension between you and Lae’zel too."

"Excuse me?" Shadowheart breaks away from him, hands dropping. "Lae’zel? What- I-I…" She shakes her head fiercely, frowns in incredulity. "If that’s supposed to be a joke, know it is not funny. Have you been sampling some new reagent you've concocted that’s addled your mind further than it has been already?"

Tav folds his arms behind his head and leans back lazily. "Deny it all you want."

"I am denying it!" She bristles, her angel wings catching in the buffeting breeze. "You know we borderline hated each other, right?"

"Sometimes hate is just overcompensation," he says, sweeping an arm through the air dismissively and closing his eyes.

After some time, he realises she's gone quiet. His eyes fly open and dart to where she's hovering in silence, staring down at the crumbling fortress ruins below where their camp sits.

"Sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable," he starts.

"I appreciate that but it’s not you," she replies, her shoulders lifting loosely. She chews her lip. "I… actually had a dream about her like that…" Her eyes flash and she glances up at him. "I can’t believe I admitted that out loud." Her face has turned a bright shade of red, as though competing with Karlach.

"A dream?" He leans in, grinning wide. "I knew it."

"It was strange." She groans frustratedly to herself, running a hand through her loose hair. "Definitely unexpected. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, honestly."

His expression softens. "You’re adorable."

"And you are infuriating," she says, pointing.

"Infuriatingly charming."

She laughs derisively. "Nobody is accusing you of being charming."

They circle one another, levitating, slow, wearing matching smirks.

"But I am princely!"

"Definitely not." She throws her head back to snort. "Just some vagrant tadpole-brain."

Tav nears, dipping his head to look down at her. "Who else have you had dreams about?"

"It was only the one," she asserts, swatting at his arm. "And stop fishing for gossip."

His eyes lock with hers, curiously intent.

"Can I ask one thing? Was it before or after that fiasco in the Underdark?"

"Tav!"

He holds his hands up in surrender but dissolves into a fit of unrestrained laughter soon after.

After some time, the two descend into silence, only occasionally pierced by their shared breathing and the whipping wind bristling between them.

"Before we move on, I need to say this..." Shadowheart begins, "I never apologised for what I said back there… in the Gauntlet." She's looking down, at her feet. "I knew you only meant well but I was so wound up about proving myself to Shar that I-"

"You don’t have a damn thing to apologise to me for," Tav interjects, knowing where she's going with this, he turns his head away. "I pushed too hard, knowing full well you'd push back. Then I nearly tried to kill you afterwards, I think you're due some grievance. Besides, you were right anyway."

Her brow furrows and she swirls closer midair, half-reclined sideways to look at his face. "Right about what?"

With a short sigh, Tav lifts his head to meet her gaze. "Who am I to say what love is? How it should be."

"That’s not true at all," she protests, voice soft, softer than he's ever heard her. She takes his wrist in her hand, turns it upside to run her fingers along the lines of his palm. "You’ve shown me - all of us - more love than I can ever recall from Shar or anyone."

"I don’t know... and I don't know if I deserve yours."

"I don’t think love is something you deserve or earn." Her gaze flits up, smile small and reassuring. "Love is balanced. It involves an emotional connection, trust, and care. It has no conditions. It just is. It’s accepting the reality of a person and situation without and not in a way that takes away from their well-being."

All he can do is look at her stunned for several heartbeats. His must be thudding at the speed of a horse on the loose. But he does not want to fight these feelings lodged in his chest. He wants to give in.

"Oh, ever-wily Shadowheart, dispense upon me more of your boundless wisdom."

"You dolt," she chuckles, "It's you who taught me that."

"Me?" He gapes at her, shakes his head once in denial, searching for the right words. "I don't know about that..." The Sorcerer looks down, at her hand in his, still rubbing soothing circles. He brings hers up between them. "All I know is that you have a good heart and you deserve better than this," he says, brushing his lips against that obsidian dot of her incurable wound on the back of it. "You have always had so much inherent worth beyond the approval of Shar. Or anyone, for that matter. They were so hellbent on devaluing you."

The Cleric had a long road to deconstruct the way she was raised, facing an enormous existential crisis. Yet, she's taking everything in stride.

"I got out."

"Not unscathed."

"Forget about that for a minute." Shadowheart closes the remaining distance between them to wrap her arms loosely around his neck. "I'm here, suspended in the night sky, alone with the most gorgeous, considerate man in Faerûn and I want to focus on just us right now... before reality collapses atop me like a ton of bricks."

In jest, Tav pretends to look around. "I don't remember inviting Halsin, do you think he's here in wild-shape? An eagle? Some kind of insect?"

"Gods, you're impossible sometimes."

But she's right. The world seems so far away right now, as do all its worries.

Something about the mist and the moonlight and the invitation in Shadowheart's smile, makes him bold.

Circling his arms around her waist in turn, he dips his head, brushing the tip of his nose against hers. "Shadowheart, I cherish every moment I have with you."

Shadowheart's eyes drift down to his mouth, she moves one arm, the pad of her thumb stroking absently across his lower lip. They're so close, but it's not close enough. An ache swells inside him like hunger. He feels breathless, electric, like a single touch would set him alight.

The rest of the world fades away entirely around them as Tav gazes down at her. Giving into the moment, Shadowheart tilts her chin up until her lips are almost brushing his. Before she can respond, he's kissing her. If the previous intimacies they shared were embers that slowly built into flame, this one is ablaze instantaneously.

Tav's fingers trace the curve of her jaw, tilting her head back. She groans lowly against his lips, then grips onto him tighter, pulling herself flush into and against the length of his body. The feel of her soft, languid curves against taut muscle is intoxicating. And she kisses back, open-mouthed, hot, desperate. Their legs twine together beneath them.

He makes his own sound of approval as her hands move to roam up his waist, forgetting everything, and just enjoying the taste of her. Her cool fingers slide deliciously against his bare skin. He shivers beneath her touch.

That cloudy mist swirls around them as Shadowheart sighs against him, it's cold caress accentuating the warmth between their bodies.

He answers by kissing his way down her neck, heat coils through him when she throws her head back, exposing more of herself to him.

Tentatively, he traces a line down her collarbone, brushing the curve of her chest with a hand, his own pulse leaping in anticipation.

Shadowheart grasps at his shoulders to steady herself, using the leverage to swing her legs up to hook around his hips. Then one of her hands is on the back of his neck, roving up into the thick hair curled at the nape of it.

She leans down and forward to plant her own trail of searing kisses from just below his ear to the edge of his neckline.

He shifts forward, pressing his hips right against the spread of her thighs. Pressure is slight but its enough to make her melt against him. Both groan at the contact.

His hands squeeze her thighs, still bracketed around his hips, and she murmurs in his ear, "As much as I'm enjoying this, I think if we go any further, we really will plummet into the ocean." Her voice is warm, sultry, and Tav's ears twitch.

Tav pulls back to look up at her, her hair fanning out, their mingled breaths hard and heavy. Her half-lidded eyes are glimmering in the starlight, their depths threatening to drown him. Her fingertips glide slowly up his bare back, to the curve of his outstretched wings and he shudders.

"You're probably correct, but what a way to go, right?" he says, breathing a small laugh.

She kisses him once more, deeply, her mouth warm and soft against his. Nipping gently at his lower lip. Until eventually, she pulls away, still smiling.

——

Wrapped securely in his arms, the pair spiral down together gracefully, alighting on an intact section of rampart along the wall of the fortress. Her legs are shaky as she lands.

She looks up at Tavik. His face is beautiful and noble, proud and dangerous, wind rippling through his tousled white hair.

And when Tav meets Shadowheart’s gaze, she feels a flutter at the answering affection in his smile. For he gives her the brightest smile she’s ever seen, the way his features scrunch when he closes his eyes halfway through his grin, as though the sun were shining just for her.

She’d been taught that hope was foolishness. That life was an inherent emptiness.

She feels like such a fool. Living a lie. All the terrible things she did in Shar’s name.

It did not occur to her that she could be anything else until she had a taste of it.

This whole misadventure had upheaved her entire existence. Yet she can not find it in her to regret any of it. It led her to the truth. Freedom. And Tav.

Stripped of her memory, alone in the world. She owed him everything. He were free with his affection. His gentle care. Chasing away the faint chill that had been with her as a constant companion since as long as she could remember.

With obvious reluctance, he releases her, but his smile remains bold.

With a slow sweep of his hand, his magic sparks and their furled wings diffuse into a blue-white mist, melting away and Shadowheart has to actively force herself upright as she loses their weight off her back all of a sudden.

Shadowheart tucks her hand in the crook of his arm and Tav obligingly moves close as he escorts her back down to her tent.

They come to a stop at the foot of her tent mat.

Tav bends to press a kiss to her cheek, then her forehead.

"Goodnight, Shadowheart," he says softly, voice a whisper.

Then, he turns and leaves.

He’s Hell on Faerûn, disguised as Heaven.
And Shadowheart has fallen hopelessly, irrevocably in love with him.

Chapter Text

Act 3: Rivington

"Or what?"

"I’d say ‘you’ll live to regret it’ but honestly I’m not so sure you’d live at all," Zenovia says snidely, giving a cruel sinister smile. An elf woman with a large burn stricken diagonally across her face and a tattoo strap that cuts down from the middle of her lower lip to her chin.

It’s beyond hilarious this random city mercenary thinks she can intimidate him after they’d just defeated an avatar of Myrkul.

The Urge stirs within at the affront.

‘Gold is nothing to me. My only pleasure in life is blood and I’ll be having yours.’

"You’re going to hit me?!" Zenovia squawks suddenly in near disbelief.

Tav blinks and comes back to himself, realising he’d stepped forward with both fists balled at his sides.

He doesn’t trust himself not to go too far but it was certain someone needed to knock some sense into this upstart.

It’s then that he recognises a familiar presence latched onto his consciousness via their tadpole link and a single thought passes between him and her.

"Not me."

In a flash, Tav steps aside and Shadowheart springs forward with her rear elbow cocked - she swings straight and slams her fist into the other woman’s nose with a sickening ‘crunch’.

Zenovia reels back, both from the shock and pain, groping at her own face. Her teeth clench as blood leaks down through her fingers.

She’s beet red when she pulls her hand away, her nose is crooked and she’s bleeding profusely from both nostrils. She huffs once out her mouth in fury, narrowed eyes glaring daggers at Shadowheart - then Tav.

"That… was a mistake, sweetie. A mistake the Guild will hear about."

Shadowheart smirks, in spite of whatever pain she’s feeling from those soon to be bruised knuckles. She shrugs her shoulders loosely. Not the least bit threatened.

And despite her bravado, Zenovia looks around at her men, deciding better than to take on Tav’s party, she says with a tremble in her voice, "Come on, boys - we’ve got places to be."

The mercenaries scutter off down the cobblestone road together, speaking in hushed tones but refusing to glance back.

They’d barely been in Rivington for an hour and they were already picking fights, but it was par for the course for their troupe at this point.

"That felt good," Shadowheart says, cracking her neck, watching their retreating backs, and it isn’t until they’ve disappeared into the crowds that she shakes her hand out. "I think I needed to blow off a bit of steam."

"You enjoyed that a little too much." Tav plants his fists on his hips. "But not as much as I enjoyed witnessing it. Phenomenal form. You should punch people more often."

Is it bad that he’s mildly aroused right now?

"You volunteering?" she asks, before turning to look at him. Smirk lingering.

"No," he answers, then looks up to one side as he reconsiders, "Well… it depends on where. I’m not opposed to physical punishment." He grabs his own chin between thumb and forefinger and strokes his squared jaw at her. "But I’m a little sensitive about this beautiful face."

He grins when she rolls her eyes and smiles right after.

The squatter man they’d defended from being forcibly removed from the abandoned house comes in closer to be heard.

"Not sure what possessed ye to stand up for us, but yer the first people to give a shit about us refugees in this city since we arrived. I’m damn grateful to ye."

"The Absolute’s army is coming and folk are arguing about property rights," Tav replies in an exaggerated show of agreement, hiding the fact that he’s suspicious of what the owner is concealing within. "It boggles the mind."

——

Later, they trail off the main road that leads down to the bridge of Wyrm’s Crossing and instead follow a wide dirt path with hundreds of boot imprints trampled across it. It takes them to the main section of the refugee camps staked out beside a large wooden warehouse manned by a detachment of Flaming Fist. Likely where Arfur Gregorio’s suspicious toys were donated. There’s a group of people yelling at the soldiers about something, blocking entry.

"You mentioned Shar followers might be watching for us," Tav says, sidling up next to Shadowheart as they walk. "You think we can use them to track down your parents?"

"I hope so. So long as I’m willing to stroll right into the Mother Superior’s trap, they have no reason to not tell me where to go," she explains.

"Expecting a warm reception?"

Shadowheart raises an eyebrow and answers his sarcasm with her own, "If by ‘warm’, you mean a flaming arrow?" She pauses to think. "I doubt they’d attack in public. No, I expect they’ll point me in the right direction to face my reckoning away from prying eyes."

"So you don’t know where to go?"

"Not quite. Above all else, protecting our base of operations in Baldur’s Gate was the reason I had to surrender my memories to begin with…" She frowns as the doubt creeps in. "Or, at least, that’s what I was led to believe."

She lifts her hand as she motions ahead where the main swarms of people mill about.

"We should look for someone to point me in the right direction, otherwise we’ll have little recourse but to wander the whole city, searching."

Tav presses closer, sideways, his bare upper arm brushing her armoured one as he smiles down at her. "I think I’d quite like to get lost with you, exploring the city."

For once, she does not smile back, instead she appears almost sad. "I understand what you mean, and under different circumstances, I’d like that too. But first things first, I’m afraid." Her keen eyes sweep the throngs of faces as they come to a stop beside a wooden fence blocking off a patch of untrimmed grass. "Wyrm‘s Crossing is a choke point - if I wanted to intercept a new arrival, I’d find somewhere like here before the bridge to blend in amongst the crowd and wait."

Just as she says that, as though right on cue, a brown-haired human man with a moustache and soul patch staring dead on at them raises an arm above his head and beckons them over with a wave.

"Young lady - Shadowheart - a word, if you will!"

Shadowheart sends Tav a quizzical look, as though to suggest she doesn’t recognise him even if he recognises her, but she approaches anyway. Tav and the others follow her lead.

The stranger looks her up and down, lips twisted. Then he puts his hands on his hips. "I just lost a wager, thanks to you."

"Who are you?" she asks.

"Someone who bet you’d never be foolish enough to show your face in this city again, but here you are," he says, gesturing her with both hands. "And the gold in my purse is soon to take flight."

The Sorcerer takes the man in out of suspicion. He must be a rogue of some sort, wearing two sheathed daggers across his back, a brown unassuming leather jerkin over a simple tunic, and he’s stationed himself at a stall displaying a mismatch of items. Tav’s eyes skim over each one. If he were to hazard a guess, he’d say he were using a cover as some type of pawnbroker - likely offering measly sums in exchange for the refugees here’s last remaining personal possessions.

"Our hearts bleed for you," Tav responds. "Get to the point."

The man barely acknowledges him. Attention still rapt on Shadowheart.

"There have been whispers about you, sister. About your faith, your loyalty…" he trails off as his eyes drift across Tav and the rest, "Your company."

Her face hardens but she says nothing at first.

"I can’t help but feel the strangest twinge of disgust as I look upon you. Is it true? Has our Lady forsaken you?"

"I know the truth," Shadowheart affirms, scowling, but her expression evens out the longer she speaks, "I know my parents still live. Tell me where they are, and I have no quarrel with you."

"I’m afraid the quarrel is unavoidable, thanks to you," he spits that last bit out like poison in his mouth. "Now I must report your reappearance. If you are intent on bringing matters to a head, then seek out the House of Grief, in the Lower City."

Before the man can go to leave, Shadowheart says suddenly, "Tell me one thing… Is there someone called Rennald there? A tiefling with short horns and purple hair."

"Rennald… Now there is a name I haven’t heard in a while. He is no more. I’ll leave the rest for you to find out... Heretic."

At that, the Sharran spy sweeps his collection of goods into a large knapsack and heads off.

Tav watches with a sneer.

"What a condescending ass. Is it bad that I want to chase him down and strangle him?"

"As much as I’d love to help with that, as Shadowheart said, just as they won’t attack in public - we shouldn’t either," Jaheira, the High Harper, says, coming up to his side, also staring at the back of the retreating Shar agent.

Tav and Shadowheart exchange a furtive yet guilty glance. Both thinking the same thing.

"I swiped these off his person while you two had him distracted," Astarion says with a titter. Holds up a frost enchanted dagger and a purse full of coins.

Jaheira gives the vampire a stern look at his recent sticky finger activity whilst Shadowheart and Tav snicker behind her.

——

Some minutes later, they’re still making their way through the camps, circling round to the northern side of the requisition barn to scope it out. They greet some of the tieflings who’d made it to Baldur’s Gate ahead of them, ones they’d first met in the Emerald Grove. Wyll, Karlach and Gale stop to speak to them a little longer, Minthara pointedly looks away, and Tav and some of the others separate to examine the wooden barn and the single Flaming Fist mercenary standing watch, perched just outside the padlocked double doors.

"The side entrance is guarded too, maybe we should just circle back to the front and explain the situation rather than sneak in," Tav muses, rubbing his jaw.

The helmeted guard lifts a gloved hand in a friendly wave, noticing the group staring at him. "Hail, friends. Fine day, isn't it?"

Tav tenses at first but decides to try the congenial approach on account of being caught snooping. He steps a little closer, nods, attempts a smile. "Indeed."

"Forgive me - you're in no mood to talk about the weather," the Fist continues cheerfully. "Your journey here was a hard one, no doubt. Is this your first time in Baldur's Gate?"

The Sorcerer pauses, glances over shoulder as if he could check his history behind him in a singular glimpse at the city walls but still comes up a blank to no real surprise. "I think... I think I have been here. Although I don't remember it much."

At all.

He's fairly sure his accent is Baldurian, and prior to figuring out he'd been trapped inside the Moonrise Mind Flayer Colony for some time before ending up on the nautiloid, he initially assumed he'd been kidnapped from the city in the first place. Sometimes he'll just know things about Baldur's Gate. Things that would be common knowledge to a resident or longtime visitor. He must've lived here somewhere at some stage.

To his cryptic reply, the Fist raises an eyebrow, tilting his head back as he takes the elf in. "Is that so? Enigmatic soul, aren't you?"

Tav doesn't say anything further, something strikes him as strange about the man but he's not sure what.

"A word of advice then - you might not get as warm a welcome as in days gone by. Used to be you'd arrive knowing you'd a fully belly and a warm bed waiting for you. Not any more." The guard's sunny disposition hardens. "These days, there's barely enough to go round. Add the refugees on top and... well, folk aren't feeling too generous."

"Is there anything I can do to ease these people's burden?"

"I've been asking myself the same question. I wouldn't be the first to interfere. Some well-to-do's in the city donated enough to see the newcomers right for the time being. Only, they didn't bother helping everyone else. Local's going without while strangers feast - it's stoked the fire, all right. Some Baldurians are kicking up a fuss at the front of the barn as we speak."

His voice drops low. Just above a whisper. "If I wasn't wearing this uniform, I'd walk round there and teach them a lesson they'd never forget."

Tav folds his arms. Unsure where this is going. "You're supposed to keep the peace, not stoke the fire."

To that, the guard laughs in mockery. "What peace? If no one steps in, there'll be bodies piled high in the streets before long. Those refugees have been leeching on our city for too long. If we don't show them we mean business, they'll bleed us dry. We need to march round the front and kill every last one of them. Let's see them eat our food with their guts on the floor." He leans in sideways, a glint in his eye. "What do you say?"

Great, he's crazy. That's probably why he's posted round back alone.

'Let's soak the earth with their entrails, kill, kill and kill again!'

Tav presses the heel of his palm into his temple, in some vain attempt to use the tactile pressure to drown out the rising tide of voices urging at his latent sadistic inclinations. He clenches his jaw, muscles straining.

Great, Tav's crazy too. How could he forget?

The Sorcerer shakes his head as though to clear it and stands straight.

"You're a monster. I'm reporting you to your commanding officer."

"Tell them!" The man goads, laughing like a madman. "I'll cut out their eyes and make them watch!"

His grin grows far too wide to be humanly possible, when all of a sudden, his head lolls to one side as if his neck had just snapped at the gallows. Then his whole body cricks as bones bend and crack into nauseating angles, both of his arms twisting backwards. Tav reels back in shock, along with the rest of his companions, as the Fist's head swivels around one-eighty degrees. As he reaches both hands up to righten it into place, a red mist surrounds his entire being and Orin is standing there in his stead.

No time to react, Tav can only stare dumbly in a stunned, disturbed, terror. Frozen in place with his arms held up defensively.

"Look at it, crawling home, hands stained with the Bone Lord's soot." Her thick, lengthy hay-coloured braid swishing across her back as she jerks her head in quick movements, and she juts her chin up at him snidely. "And you carry his stone."

In a flash, she produces her swirled blood-red dagger, brandishing it's length in her hand, grip reversed. One red Netherstone pommeled between the blade and hilt. It glitters in the sunlight, as though to taunt him.

The Lash of Bhaal, he remembers her calling it.

Rage, the festering wound of it he'd carried across the Sword Coast, heats like a furnace at the mere sight. And at Orin's feral smile leering behind. His blood runs hot like the deepest pits of a roiling volcano. He's angrier than he's ever been before.

"Have you lost your nerve, my blood starved sibling?" Orin mocks and Tav wants to wring her neck. "Ohh," she coos, feigning sympathy. "Did I mangle your skull too terribly?" The woman laughs, sucks in a deep breath. Her words, her movements, become jittery, rabid, "I could end it now - but I'll be patient. Father will see us together again. He will see you bleed."

With that, she lifts her hand and fiddles with a ring on her fourth finger, disappearing in a burst of red.

"So Orin is a shapeshifter. How long has she been watching?"

Why, why, why is her laugh so godsdamn familiar?

——

The next time Tav encounters Orin in Rivington, it's closer to the bridge, Wyrm's Crossing. The entryway to which is blocked off by another squadron of Flaming Fists, and a giant metal automaton of black and gold he would later find out was a Steel Watcher. They're turning away anyone that can't afford some swindling toll. He knew this, in the back of his mind, that the Fists were renowned for rampant corruption. Tav's far too parsimonious to pay it to smug bastards like that though.

Keeping their distance for now, the band are stood at the corner outside of the Sword Coast Courier's office when a tiefling woman in a red vest waves and advances on him with a quill and notepad in either hand.

"Aren't you - I knew there was a story here, and there you are, the hero of the hour, right there on the street." She flourishes the feather pen in her hand. "The name's Lens, reporter with the Baldur's Mouth Gazette. Care to do a quick interview?"

Tav half-turns, surprised at being approached. "Hold on, what do you want with me?"

"I'm here looking for my next angle, but it's all the same - oppression, famine, death." She sighs in a bored kind of way, as if those subjects are simply banal. "I need something new. Someone like you. It won't take more than two moments of your time. If you play your cards right, this could make the cover! I just need some extra details."

Lens glances down, and props her quill ready to begin writing at the top of a blank open page.

"So you've just arrived in Baldur's Gate. What's brought you here at a time like this?"

This time around, Tav catches on quick. He narrows his eyes in suspicion, puts his hands on his hips. All sorts of lies about visiting family, friends, holidaying, come to mind but instead he just says, "None of your business."

"Look, I'm going to write this piece with or without your input," she continues, unfazed by the bluntness, yet irritated, "It'll be much more accurate if you answer my questions. You must have some plans for when you enter the city."

"I've had enough. This interview is over."

Another wide smirk spreads across this journalist's face. "Don't worry, I already have everything I need."

The woman's neck kinks forward and there's another elaborate display of bone bending, every limb twists unnaturally out of place, before Orin reveals herself in her true form.

Tav crosses his arms, snarls, as the shapeshifter's whitened over, grey, pupil-less eyes blare back up at him.

"I see how you slip-slither closer, belly dragging in the filth. Father is laughing at you." Her whole body is wracked with twitching shudders as she cackles, then her ashen face twists in barely disguised anger. "You think you can hide your purpose? You are a brutish butcher, your blunted skull has no vision for deceit."

Orin leans in close, black lips curled. "Do not worry, slaughter kin. My blades are still sharp and sweet. They will greet you soon enough... And tell the lordling that Orin is watching."

Then, she's gone in another flash.

'Coward.'

"So Bhaal's Chosen is a doppleganger," Jaheira comments at his side. "I should not be surprised - they have ever been among his favourite servants." The Harper shifts in place to face him. "Orin is testing you. Either she thinks herself a predator, playing with her food... or she fears what you might do."

Tav frowns, but grunts his agreement. Casts a cursory glance around at the people strolling back and forth along the main road.

"She spoke to you in a rather... familiar fashion," she continues slowly, eyebrows raised. Tav feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end at the skeptical way she regards him but he holds her gaze. Soon, Jaheira shrugs. "More shapeshifter mind-games, I suppose."

From what he can recall of dopplegangers, they're supposed to be shapeshifting monstrosities of unknown origin. Unnatural predators, with latent empathetic abilities that help them know, imitate, and eventually replace their prey.

"She wants us paranoid - likely so we'll make a mistake."

"Exactly," Jaheira agrees with a half-defeated, tired sigh. "The last time I fought dopplegangers, the Bhaalspawn Sarevok was using them to subvert the city government. Aid his rise to power." She glances to the side, at a family of passersbys struggling with a load of bags and satchels. Two children slogging behind, dragging feet, complaining loudly. "But Orin is more predator than politician, I think. She simply wants to make us feel hunted - isolated."

The High Harper turns her head back sharply. "'Tell the lordling that Orin is watching.' It seems Gortash and Orin have had a little falling out," she says, the slightest lilt of smugness entering her voice. "We should leverage that."

——

That night, they spend several hours at Sharess' Caress talking over pints and wine at a long rectangular table together on one of the upstairs floors. Halsin and Jaheira had returned to camp after their meal as they both don’t imbibe frequently. Minthara went with them, calling the original seven all children on her way out. But Shadowheart suspects the real reason was that she’s still unnerved by the Bhaal Chosen showing herself earlier in the day.

They'd explored most of Rivington, some of Wyrm's Crossing, but it seems the fortress of Wyrm's Rock is closed off to the public for the next two days until Gortash's scheduled coronation as Archduke of Baldur's Gate. For now, the drawbridge leading inside and further, into the Lower City, is up. Karlach begged they visit the circus tomorrow when it opened, so they at least had something to occupy themselves in between.

Shadowheart stands, pushing back her wooden cushioned chair with the backs of her legs. "I’m going to grab another bottle of this vintage," she announces to the group, hefting an empty one by its neck to showcase her meaning. They have to speak a little louder than normal to be heard over the chatter of other patrons.

Tav nods at her then resumes the conversation. "I just know Withers used to be quite fetching back in the day."

"Used to be?" Karlach asks.

Tav and Karlach both reach across the table to high-five. Laughing uproariously all the while.

The Cleric scoffs affectionately and wanders off down the stairs. Returning a few minutes later with the fresh bottle of red wine which she sets down in the middle of the table in front of her seat as she sits.

"Honestly, I’m not really thinking too hard when we’re out," Astarion says, delicately swirling the remains of his drink with his goblet in hand.

"Same for me," Wyll agrees, he chuckles, leaning his forearm on the table. "I kind of turn off my brain and just follow Tav’s lead."

"What?" Tav blinks, flabbergasted. He slaps his palms down and leans forward slightly, glancing around at everyone who all either laugh or avoid eye contact. "Do all of you do this?" He turns to her, sitting at his side. "Even you, Shadowheart?"

Averting her gaze, Shadowheart mutters over the rim of her goblet, "No comment," before promptly taking a large gulp of it.

Astarion points over at her, red eyes sparkling with amusement. "She was so distracted by her own goo-goo eyes that she didn’t even notice that you pick up rotten vegetables and stuff them in your pack while scavenging until we were mid-way through the Underdark."

"Astarion!" she hisses, glaring. "I told that to you in confidence."

She considers kicking him in the shin under the table but refrains lest she snag Wyll by accident in the crossfire.

"Hey! Traders still buy them off me, and gods know I need the gold to cover the exorbitant tab you freeloaders have racked up tonight," Tavik defends, crooking a finger at the giggling vampire.

Gale pipes up from the other end, and in a way that she's uncertain is sarcastic or not, says, "I’m sure us relying on Tav's wits to guide us conserves a fair amount of mental energy this way."

"That can’t be right, at least one of you complains about my decisions half the time," Tav accuses, waving his finger around at all those present.

"No, no," Astarion starts, holding up his hands, "We tune in when you’re interacting with someone or something. But whenever we’re just walking around, smelling the roses, not much is going on up here," he explains, gesturing at his own head.

"Not a single thought is being processed!" Karlach says, echoing his statement, raising her tankard high. Some of the frothy alcohol in it sloshes over the side and she curses before taking a drag.

Tav’s mouth is still hinged open in a mingle of shock and horror as he listens to his companion’s recounts. "This is very concerning, guys. How in the Nine Hells did we even make it this far if this is what you lot have been doing the entire time?"

"I am always wide awake," Lae’zel affirms, slamming her twelfth consecutive beer mug of ale down on the table top with a resounding ‘bang’ that makes everyone jump in their seats. "A githyanki warrior cannot afford to let her guard down like any of you, istiks."

"Thank you!" Tav breathes a sigh of relief in her direction. "At least one of you has some self preservation instincts."

"Well, nobody died and we made it to Baldur’s Gate!" Karlach says happily, wiping across her upper lip with the back of her hand. "It can’t be that much of a problem."

Warlock and Barbarian tap their drinks together in cheers before tipping their heads back and downing them in a few rapid chugging swallows.

Sorcerer shakes his head and sighs in defeat.

"So, Shadowheart, there’s a chance you’re a werewolf, isn’t there?" Wyll suddenly asks, across from her on the other side of the table, setting his empty chalice down between them.

At first, Shadowheart merely raises an eyebrow.

"Can you imagine if you and our friend had werewolf cubs? They’d be so adorable."

Tav chokes.

Shadowheart clears her throat. "Ahem - I’ve shown no signs of lycanthropy, thank you very much…" she asserts. Then, gradually, she matches the Warlock's smirk with one of her own. "But should that change, I’ll take it that you’re volunteering to be child-minder."

Tav is still choking.

Reaching across sideways, Shadowheart pats Tav's back firmly a few times.

The young Ravengard snorts a chuckle. "Buy me some protective gloves and I’m all for it."

Tav dabs at the corner of his mouth with his wrist, fixing her with a perplexed expression. "What if you have shown signs but don’t remember? What if Shar took those memories so you didn’t transform into a beast and brutally claw your way through the cloister?"

For a moment, her heart palpitates in her chest. "You’re making me paranoid now, stop it."

With a pout, he asks, "Does that mean we will not be stripping naked to howl at the moon together?"

She hums, taps her chin, as though seriously mulling it over. "No, but table that idea for later. It sounds fun."

Tav grins wide, leans closer. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

"You two are in public," Karlach points out, and both snap their attention to her across the table. "Get a room. As private and soundproof as possible."

"Yes, ma’am," Tav laughs.

——

About an hour or so passes, and Tav's out on one of the balconies of Sharess' Caress, overlooking the main street of the bridge. Alone. Leaning on the parapet with folded forearms, deep in thought.

It’s calm, quieter, here at night without as many people filling the street, and the rancid stench of pig shit blowing across Rivington isn’t as strong.

What Orin had said to him is still replaying in his mind on repeat. More mentions of this Father character. Did Sceleritas and Orin mean that literally? Could his father really be...

A memory occurs to him, a hazy wash of a vision that seizes him in an instant.

A little girl of long blonde hair sits, kneeling with her back to him, him braiding it for her. She turns her head, a happy smile on an all too familiar face.

Orin. Younger. A child. No older than ten years of age.

Before he has the chance to process it, the memory coalesces into another.

He's looking down, at child Orin again, even younger here, a toddler perhaps, small hands climbing up his leg, soon clinging to... his tail? A long white scaled one with small blunted spikes down the spine.

He's grumbling something, folds his arms, but makes no motion to remove her, begrudgingly allows her to remain.

He turns, barking orders at a hooded man, downturned face hidden beneath the dark cowl and the shadows. Whom scuttles off soon after.

Gleeful childish giggling from behind has him turn once more, glancing down at Orin, curled around his gently swishing tail.

"Little sister," he calls her.

Tav's yanked back to the present by a pair of familiar hands snaking around his middle from behind. Someone, a woman, presses her chest snugly against his back.

"Why hello, lover…" Shadowheart drawls, then she snorts, snickers at herself. "That sounded more debonair in my head, I’ll admit."

Tav shoots a wry smile at her from over his shoulder, he tentatively pulls her arms around him tighter, welcoming her embrace. "Never change, Shadowheart, never change."

As always, the strife in his head and heart quieten at her mere presence. 

"There you are, I wondered where you wandered off to," she murmurs softly. She leans her cheek against his back too. "What’re you doing out here?"

"Just thinking."

"You can do that? Impressive."

A laugh clears his throat at her remark. "Oh, give it a rest, will you? You lot just admitted to not thinking."

"And we established that we don't need to when clever Daddy Tav is on the case," she says, and he can just hear the smirk in her voice.

"Never call me that again…" He idly caresses along her bare arm wrapped around his waist. "Mommy Moon Witch."

"Hells no."

Suddenly, Shadowheart pulls back just enough so that her hands are gripping his sides, and then she’s tickling him with her fingertips.

Tav springs forward into the balustrade, laughing uncontrollably. With a start, he jerks around to grab her by the wrists to fight off her relentless assault.

He captures both and holds her arms up between them. Shadowheart capitulates with a playful grin, staring back up at him, batting long dark eyelashes in innocence.

"You’re evil," he says, catching his breath, chest heaving, a stitch in his stomach from his outburst. "Gods, I had no idea I was ticklish."

Shadowheart’s brow slants downward, her grin turning wolfish.

"Stay back, fiend!" Tav warns.

Rolling her eyes, she slackens in his grip and he warily lets her go.

"What were you thinking about?" she asks, coyly tilting her head at him.

"Orin's put me on edge, I confess." He runs a hand through his hair, then scratches at his eyebrow. "She's toying with me, but I can't figure out what she wants."

She puts her hand on his arm. "Her little displays are only intended to rattle us. We mustn't let her succeed... but you're right, we need to stay alert all the same."

"I know, but it seemed personal, don't you think?"

Concern flickers across her face at his words. "It did, I agree. We'll take things as they come. Nothing we can do about her now until she next rears her head again."

"Aren't you worried one of us may be replaced by a shapechanger? How do you know I am the real Tav?"

Shadowheart scoffs, steps backward. "You're already the shapechanger, Lizard-man."

“Lizard-man?” Tav repeats, frowns with an eyebrow quirked. "That's just plain rude."

"Orin puts on a convincing act, but you saw her, she can't maintain it for long." Shadowheart nods knowingly. "If you were her, you'd already be monologuing at me by now."

"She's not working alone, the shapeshifters beneath the Open Hand Temple are proof enough of that."

Shadowheart sighs, looking down. "That's true. Can't we ever catch a break?"

"I wouldn't count on it."

"Speaking of -" Her head lifts, interest piqued. "- Can you summon the lizard form at will? Have you tried?"

"I have thought about it," he says, pursing his lips. He leans back against the railing behind him. "But I'm a little worried I might lose control at the same time."

The silver-haired Cleric draws in close, pining him in place with her arms, hands gripping the railing on either side of him. "Well, if you ever want to experiment, we could always chain you to a tree overnight."

Smirking, Tav watches her expression as her gaze flickers down from his eyes to his mouth. "Don't sound so eager."

Just as he goes to reach for her to pull her in, the pair are startled out of their reverie by a commotion below down on the street of Wyrm's Crossing.

"Stop! Thief!"

An elderly man is shoved down to the cobblestone in the near empty street, walking cane thwacked out of his grasp and clattering out of reach.

Another man in raggedy clothes sprints past, throwing a panicked glance over his shoulder at him. Something is clutched, in his hands, to his chest as he makes a mad dash towards Rivington.

Sorcerer casts a twin-spell of Haste to include his half-elf companion in its effect. Imbuing both. 

"Citius!"

Both hop the parapet, dropping onto an overhanging rafter below, then jump once more down to street-level together. They chase down the thief with a burst of speed.

Within range, Shadowheart slides to a stop and casts Command: Halt with a firm, clear shout of her voice and a strong thrust of her arm.

In an instant, the poor man is paralysed in place from the neck down, stuck as a statue on the one leg of his last running position.

With a slight flit of his hand, Tav uses Telekinesis to lift the purse he stole from the thief's fingers and it levitates over to him. He pries it out of the air and tosses it up and down in his palm once. The coins inside jingle.

The two approach, circling him with interest on either side until they're both standing before him side by side. Unimpressed looks on their faces.

"Please don’t hurt me, I’ve a family to feed," the thief pleads. "I know it ain’t right, but what’s a man to do when he’s lost his job and nobody else wants to hire a refugee? Please, Saers, I’m awfully sorry for the trouble!"

"What are you apologising to us for?" Tav puts his hands on his hips, sharing a look with Shadowheart. He points ahead, behind the thief to where the sprawled elderly man is struggling to stand. "It’s him you stole from. Frankly, that old geezer looks as poor as you do. Go steal from someone richer."

"They’re not letting us into the city, Saer!" he protests. "That’s where all the rich folk are hiding out while that cult is marching on the way."

Tav and Shadowheart glance at each other, gauging.

"Please, just let me go, my family!" the man cries.

The Sorcerer sighs, he reaches into his own bag of holding, withdraws another two pouches and hands them over as Shadowheart dispels her magic binding. "Here, some food and coins. I don’t want to see you shoving retirees to the ground anymore, you hear?"

Staggering off balance onto both feet, the man looks between the pair before his gaze returns to Tav. "Yes, Saer, praise you, Saer."

The man nods excessively, wide eyed, as though he can't believe his own luck. Tav motions he get going with a sharp jut of his head. Taking the hint, he clutches the two pouches and takes off once again.

"I believe this is yours," the Sorcerer says smugly, holding out the stolen coin purse in an outstretched hand toward the old man.

"What? You went and helped the swine?" the other man grumbles, a half-elf with a mop of grey hair and a scraggly beard, waving a hand dismissively in the direction the thief disappeared to. "You know he’ll just reoffend tomorrow when you’re not around to stop him."

"Do we look like the Flaming Fist? I fail to see how that’s my problem."

The robbing victim pauses, looking up from his hunch to take in Tav's face. "No... you do look oddly familiar though. What’s your name, son?"

Shadowheart lifts a questioning eyebrow from beside him, Tav shrugs in ignorance at her.

"I’m Tavik."

"That’s a dwarven name, for a pure blood elf," the man says, wizened eyes roving him up and down, he scratches his chin. "I knew of a elven lad with a dwarven name back in my day. People around here have short memories. But I remember! I’m not crazy. They say the whole family died in that fire, but they never found the kid’s body!"

"What are you talking about?" Tav asks, confused. "What fire?"

The geezer crooks the thumb of his cane hand behind them, in the direction of Baldur's Gate. "In the Outer City, near the slums, there was a tavern. Run by this elf woman and her dwarf wife, one of them was a bard or something. Played every night while the other poured the ale. I remember them for the food, it were to die for, I tell you. Anyway, one day they got left a babe on their back doorstep. They couldn’t find the parents or whoever left him there. They raised him themselves. Took him in for nigh on a decade. Kid was strange, folk say, had cold dead eyes sometimes. White hair. Elf boy. You remind me of him is all."

As he talked, he became more and more animated. And more and more manic. Until, suddenly, there was spittle flying from his lips as he made his case with wide, frantic eyes.

Shadowheart steps forward, brow pinched. "And this boy, you don’t think he died in the fire?"

"No!" The old man shouts, making them both startle. "They found the couple, even amongst all the ashes. Whole building got razed to the ground but they never found that boy. I say he did it and ran off."

Cautious, Tav asks slowly, "How long ago was this?"

"Coming up a century now!" he proclaims, waving his gold purse in front of him. "If that kid's still kicking, still killing and burning, well he must be a century old himself!"

"That's a terrible turn of events. But, well, couldn't be me," Tav shrugs haphazardly, tight smile on his face, "I was born in Evereska, and I'm much older than one hundred."

The man shakes his head, muttering just under his breath, "Kid with that kind of crazy should be rotting in prison, I say, doubt he's walking the streets among us. Godsdamn Baldur's Gate, capital of murder."

"That's a frightening thought," Shadowheart agrees, she claps her hands together, looking to Tav, "But we really should be going, our family is waiting. Isn't that right, dear?"

"Right," Tav nods, registering her meaning, "Stay safe, sir, I hope you get home with no further trouble."

As the couple move off to return to the house of pleasure, the old half-elf man is still whispering to himself, raving about something they can no longer hear as they walk away.

Everything he said... Well, it made for a chilling revelation.

"Tav..." Shadowheart says finally, when they're far enough away, hidden in an alcove beside the building of Sharess' Caress. "Do you think...?"

"Who else could it be?"

Chapter Text

Act 3: Rivington/Camp

Confirmation comes that night, long after they’d returned to their Rivington encampment. Comprised of their well-worn tents set up on an abandoned farm a few minutes walk south of the town.

Inside the barn, reclined on his bedroll stretched along a hay bale pushed against the wall, Tav stirs in his Reverie meditation. Tonight’s troubled rest is, as ever, overwhelmed by his killing fate. He dangles above a dark precipice, one move away from falling. He can’t have been down for more than half an hour when the nightmares come crawling.

Out. Up. From the deepest pits, trenches, of his ever mangled subconsciousness.

During the day, he’d found ways to suppress them for the most part. Focusing his attention elsewhere on distractions like music, art, bantering. Any stimulus of his other senses; touch, taste, smell, sight. Only the slightest whispers creep through, across, usually when the silence is loudest and he’s left alone with them. Or when emotions run high.

But at night, at rest, there was nothing to hold any of it at bay. They haunt his dreams. Flashes of death, gore, bodies piled upon bodies. Blood. So much blood. Oceans of it.

Most victims are nameless to him but then he’ll be washed in fleeting glimpses of Quil. Her screams filling his ears as he tore through her thorax like a rabid mindless beast. Her face carved of terror. Cold, lifeless eyes blaring up at him.

Now he’s begun to see Kressa, watching helpless as she’s slicing his convulsing body open, deep, blood gushing, all as she rearranges his organs on an unwashed operating table.
Untold days, weeks, months of torture, experimentation that sits in his ruined memory for him to relive over and over.

It’s only gotten worse since the Shadow-Cursed Lands.

“Naughty, naughty, naughty, little Master.”

Tavik jolts awake, gasping, in a fright, eyes flying open as he sits upright. Already feeling out of breath, every nerve ending vibrating in an uneasy trepidation. He's not certain where he is but it isn’t the scenery of the camp.

Eyes narrowed, he takes in his new surroundings as he cautiously pushes himself into a stand. He can’t spot Sceleritas Fel anywhere, his voice comes disembodied, but he’d recognise that vile sniveling timbre anywhere. Tav begins to step forward following the sound as though in a trance…

“You have disobeyed your Father’s wishes one time too many.”

There’s a gigantic grey-black stone carving of a humanoid skull on the far wall, overlooking an open temple amphitheatre of cascading staircases leading down to the altar where he now stands. Stained crimson rivulets have dribbled down from those empty hollow eye sockets as though it had once cried tears of blood, they flare to life with a pair of forbidding red glowing orbs. Tav finds himself transfixed.

“For he who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself becomes a monster.”

Nothing scares him more than himself, but this… comes very close.

Tav stops. He glowers back, squaring his shoulders, refusing to back down.

“When you gaze long into the abyss the abyss also gazes into you.”

In his periphery, he sees Orin, there cradling her dagger as she lies on her back along the altar in the centre of the sanctum. One leg crossed over the other.

“Another will embrace what you have rejected. And that other will be your death.”

The shapeshifter suddenly glances up at him, sneering, and cartwheels both her legs until she’s standing beside the altar. She raises her dagger in an outstretched hand, aimed level to his throat as she dares closer step by step.

Matching her scowl, Tav nears. Primed to pummel her with his bare fists if it comes to it.

“But your father loves you dearly. You may reinherit yourself yet.”

Then, as though in pain, Orin keels over, dropping her dagger, as her hands fly to her clutch at her head. A blood red rune circle forms beneath her on the ground as she convulses on the spot.

In a burst of gore, she transforms. Morphing into that of a great beast. It towers over him, the height of three men, with claws as long as his forearms. A leathery scaled hide of orange-brown pigment outlining rippling musculature as it rears itself on two powerful hooked shaped legs.

Somehow, he knows what this is… The Slayer.

It screeches out a blood-curdling scream to the heavens above. Then hunches down its spiked back to fix him with a hungry stare. Drooling maw open.

Tav stands firm, tensed and ready, but he’s not fast enough.

One of those strong legs kicks forward and shoves him down under its weight, clawed foot pinning him by the chest to the altar Orin the Red was lying across moments before.

“Slaughter your line. Become the last of your name,” Fel tells him. “Lord Bhaal shall have but one Chosen.”

Then everything goes black.

Tavik awakens in a cold sweat on the ground outside at the front of the barn with a pounding headache. He stands, pushing two digits against his temple, wincing.

Memories flood back - snatches of his story, written in the blood of a thousand victims. Years spent in worship of Bhaal, leading his savage congregation in prayer, sacrifice, and slaughter. Tavik was their Master, and Bhaal was his. A cruel Master, a Dread Lord… a devoted Father.

All is as he feared. He was a spawn of Bhaal - his heir, his scion.

His jaw strains as he grinds his teeth, tense.

All those deaths at his hand. How can he ever atone…?

No, that may have been what he was, but it is not who he is anymore. …And yet he’ll never be free of this Urge if he does not confront the past.

He’s not the last of his name. Not yet. There’s another - Orin, the abomination wrapped in flesh.

It’s time for a family reunion.

A shuffling sound behind. Slow, quiet, yet, deliberate, plodding of footsteps has his ears prick up.

He turns to find Jaheira has crept up on him. She’s stands straighter at having been spotted. Her twin scimitars in either hand, just barely at rest at her sides.

"Sleepwalking?" she asks with a pointed nod.

Tav says nothing, eyeing her warily, unsure what her angle is.

"I think I can guess. Visions of blood on your hands. The blood in your veins, perhaps." The Druid Harper spreads her feet as she shifts her weight. "For all the gifts Bhaal’s children inherit - a peaceful nights sleep is not among of them."

"Jaheira," Tav sighs, letting his rigid shoulders droop, he runs a hand through his hair, slick with sweat. "I suppose I had a feeling you knew. If you want to kill me, go right ahead. I won’t fight back. Just… I don’t envy the conversation you’ll have to have with everyone else come morning."

The Harper’s keen gaze remains stern and does not waver but she makes no move to approach further or attack. "The dark dreams alone do not concern me. It’s what waking deeds they might inspire. Tell me, are you truly your own master? What is it you feel when Father’s dreams come calling?"

With a pained groan, Tav drags a hand down his face, loose hair falling messily across his forehead. "It’s sickening. I never asked for this power, and hope to be rid of it."

In one swift movement, Jaheira crosses her blades before her. Gleaming razor sharp edges bathed in firelight curtesy of the torch sconces staked into the barn's support pillars, and illuminating both their faces. "There is one certain way. I hold it in my hands."

It does make Tav flinch but only for a moment.

"This is your Father’s true legacy. Not his children - but the fear they plant in us. The savagery it blossoms into."

She lowers her weapons once more.

"In another time - with another of your kind - we found a better way. I would dearly like to find it again."

Tav steps forward and Jaheira steps back.

“‘A better way’?” he repeats incredulously. "It’s far too late for that. My cruel deeds cannot be undone. No matter how much I wish it were so."

The Harper gazes upon him, showing no fear, but open concern. Compassion. And it’s not what he expected. She sheaths her scimitars across her back.

"You are what you are, child of Bhaal. But that need not be all that you are," she says softly in her distinct accent, Tav's eyes downcast as he considers her words. "You would not be the first to turn the taint in your blood to your advantage. But there are barriers a Bhaalspawn must overcome, first."

"Tell me what I must do."

"My role is to offer word of caution, not dictate what you should do. But those of your kind… Orin - I am sure you already know that as long as she lives, she will never stop hunting you." She spreads her hands as she speaks, explaining, "It will be that you must turn and face her - you cannot change that. All that you can choose is how you face her: as another bloodied child of Bhaal, or as yourself."

Gesturing to him, she continues, "All I can offer is the promise that should you choose to do so, you will not meet her alone."

Tav chews the inside of his cheek but nods wordlessly.

Jaheira jerks a thumb over her shoulder at his bedroll further inside the barn. "For now, take what rest you can - I will watch over you this night."

"Thank you. For everything."

"Sleep well."

The Sorcerer returns inside to bunk down again and he hears the Druid Harper follow. He crawls atop and lays down onto his side, facing away from her. As he does, he glimpses her sinking down to the hay strewn floor a few paces away, watching him.

No more dreams await him in sleep that night. Only the warm knowledge that indeed - he is not alone.

——

At breakfast that morning, Tav’s standing with a mug of hot coffee next to the barn. Leaning on his shoulder against one of the wooden posts, ankles crossed. Observing his companions as they awaken and go about their morning routines in preparation for the coming day. Weighing his options, deciding if and who to tell of this new revelation.

It feels unfair, that'd he'd awoken in the mind-space of this unlovable corpse fathered by such an evil entity with a hundred years of suffering inflicted on countless individuals behind him yet he remembers none of it. Not that he'd want to. But why had he awakened? And not simply died. Perhaps that'd be letting him off too easy. Tav now and The Dark Urge then, feel like two entirely divorced beings. He shares a body, shifter or not, with this wretch yet the past doesn't feel like his and he'll be damned if he lets it rob him of his present.

Orin will die, that's for certain, the Elder Brain will fall... and what then? What's next for him? Is it even possible to separate himself from the Urge? Or is he doomed to carry this for the rest of his pitiful existence?

He’s halfway through a grieffully melancholy sip of his earthy, bitter brew when Astarion appears at his side. Studying him with a curious intent.

"The Urges are calling upon you again, aren’t they?"

Tav’s head snaps to him. He blinks a few times in surprise like he'd just been caught with his hand in someone's purse.

"I haven’t seen you sleep once through the night the past days."

"You’re still watching me at night? Astarion, please find a new hobby." Tav grumbles, nose wrinkling, and drains the rest of the contents of his cup. He places it empty on a nearby table. After a moment, he gathers his thoughts and spins to face him. "But I suppose you’re right… I had a vision," he confesses, voice gruff, "I found out I’m a Bhaalspawn."

If there were any colour in the vampires face, Tav’s sure it would’ve drained from it then. "I knew you had some nasty habits, but I didn’t want to pry overmuch. But, bloody hells, a Bhaalspawn?" he asks, speaking quick with alarm, tilting his torso back a bit.

Tav doesn’t move.

Then, as if morbidly curious, he leans forward with a raised eyebrow. "Probably more Baldurian parents scare their children with stories of your kind than mine," he says, pointing at himself with his last word. He’s still scrutinising Tav all over with his eyes. "I thought your kind was extinct. Goes to show, you should always check your facts."

Tav’s brow furrows as he plants his hands on his hips. Wondering where he were going with this. "Yes, most interesting." Not at all horrific. "I wish it weren’t true but it makes too much sense. I was brought into being by Bhaal."

"So… how are you feeling? Keen to reconnect with your family? Or ready to throw yourself into an oubliette?"

The pit seems most enticing.

"I’ve suspected for some time, in earnest."

The first clues of course were the Urges he’d had since dawning on the nautiloid and Sceleritas Fel’s visits. He’d felt something stir in recognition the first time Bhaalspawn were mentioned in conversation, when Karlach was raving about Jaheira’s past exploits upon their initial visit to Last Light Inn. Then there were the fragments in Moonrise… and Orin.

"But I’m afraid. How can I stand up to a god? He wants me to cause carnage." Tav looks down at his hands, pondering the raw power at his fingertips and their frequent itching to stab and carve and tear. "His taint is in me, I’m tethered to him."

The vampire's expression softens in pity.

"You know, I didn’t realise you and I were so alike." Astarion hesitates for a second, mouth parting a fraction, but he decides to forge onward voicing his thoughts. "I… I felt paralysed to do anything about Cazador for so many decades. I gave up on myself. I gave up on any hope of escape after a few lashes."

It’s surprisingly truthful, Tav thinks, the measure of his voice. Astarion weren’t often vulnerable, he’d cower and run for the hills at the very thought most likely. They’d come a long way. They'd already had to deal with Lae'zel's former lich queen Vlaakith intruding upon their campsite with another overblown oversized magic projection of herself demanding Lae'zel's sworn fealty, and if any more of his companions past ghosts came back to haunt - well, Tav's overactive imagination has a few ideas for how to deal with that. Cazador, for instance, if he dared rear his ugly vampire face here - Tav will be the first to waterboard him in holy water and kick him into the campfire for good measure.

Pointing at Sorcerer, Rogue tilts his head as he continues softly, "Bhaal controls you in much the same way. I don’t know how you could beat him, but I do know this-" He leans in close, looking up at Tav hard, holding his fist out firm, "-you must try. The half life of a mind-addled slave is worse than death. Don’t become his. I wouldn’t live another century as one for all the moonstones in Evereska."

——

Later… Tavik approaches Jaheira again. He’s still a little apprehensive about divulging his heritage to the rest, however, the Harper has the most experience with his kind and the sanest part of him trusts her judgement. She's fitting on the rest of her armour, chewing on the last of her food from breakfast.

"I need to know more about the Bhaalspawn. I need to know about myself."

Jaheira regards him long and hard before swallowing and sighing. "I am no expert on the matter, despite all my experience. But - if anything I know can help you resist your father… only ask it."

It seems the perfect chance to discover more about his troubles. Before diving into his myriad of questions, Tav spends the next several minutes explaining his circumstances from the very beginning and how he's pieced most of the puzzle together since. The amnesia, the whispers, the blackouts, the strange fascination with bards - Alfira and Quil, Sceleritas Fel, his past intimate entanglement with the cult, the vision from the last night.

When he's done, he takes a deep breath, exhales slowly, as Jahiera squints at the ground in thought. He gets this shiver up his spine whenever he thinks about all this. Can’t help but feel uneasy. Out of place almost. Wrong. But it'd be irresponsible of him to simply ignore it.

"You’ve never known a Bhaalspawn to go mad, have you?" he starts.

"Not mad… no." The half-elf Druid shakes her head once then nods toward the nearby overturned log - goes to sit and Tav follows. "Take Sarevok, for example. For as much carnage he caused, there was always a cold calculation to it. He craved power and his bloodline was just another path to achieve it. I saw that same bloodline turned to better ends than Bhaal ever intended for it. It was Bhaalspawn who threatened the Coast, and Bhaalspawn who saved it. It is possible to go on and live a life outside your father’s shadow."

Tav, standing feet shoulder-width apart with his arms crossed before a seated Jahiera, turns his head, searching for sight of his cleric. "Did your friend ever live happily, once Bhaal was dealt with?"

To that question, Jaheira appears genuinely amused but he quickly gathers that it is not in a mocking fashion. "Ha!" she laughs, "Bhaal was but the beginning. Be warned - a godspawn draws trouble like iron to lodestone." She opens her arms wide as she elucidates. "There will be crusaders who wish to rid the world of your taint, or jealous minds who believe themselves more deserving of the power in your blood. But happiness is not beyond a Bhaalspawn. It simply comes at a higher cost - constant vigilance."

"Was your camp bothered time and time again by a grotesque Butler?"

"Bhaal had his minions, certainly. But none that watched over their wards so diligently. I wonder if past experience has taught the great god to fear - that another of his children might turn against him."

"Did your friend ever tell you of the dreams Bhaal sent them?"

"Yes. Your rancid father will try to twist your thoughts, as he did with all children. The harder you resist, the darker your dreams become. Our camp was often roused by screams in the night, back then. We learned to take them as a marker of pride. Even gods can be resisted."

Tav catches sight of Shadowheart speaking merrily with Gale nearby their two tents across the campsite. Blissfully unaware. She notices him staring and her face brightens, she beams his way, and with a slight twiddle of her fingers - gives him a little wave - before resuming her conversation with the Wizard. A lump forms in his throat.

"Did the Bhaalspawn have children? Did they inherit his taint?"

Jaheira had been watching the entire interaction, her expression softens in sympathy when he glances back down at her.

"A Bhaalspawn can sire children, certainly. Whether they should... There are things in our nature we might unwittingly pass on, yes. But I do not believe them stronger than the things we choose to pass on."

He was afraid she'd say that.

"If you are asking whether love and joy are beyond you, just because of the taint in your blood... No. They most certainly are not."

His biggest fear is turning back into what he was. Losing his mind, the last grip on that dwindling thread that is his sanity. With his Father’s blood coursing through his veins, his power enabling him, it felt inevitable. A cynical part of him doesn’t think he'll be able to resist forever, but the idealist in him needs to believe he can. He couldn’t live in perpetual fear of himself, or what he might do. It wasn’t sustainable. He must do this for himself. No point agonising over what he's done. Can’t turn back time, but he can change what happens here and now - in the future. 

With a concerted effort, he takes another deep breath and tries to compose himself. He takes a seat beside the High Harper, wrings his hands together between his spread knees.

"Bhaal frightens me."

"Then you are wise." Jaheira smiles. "I will not mince words: if what you told me is true, you are already further under Bhaal's power than my old friend ever was. But so long as you fear that power, there is hope. Fear means you are not fully mad - not yet."

He has one chance. It's worth an attempt.

Chapter Text

Act 3: Rivington/Camp

Done with his journaling for the day, Tavik stands from the rock he’d perched himself on, takes one last look at the rough sketch he’d made of the farmstead campsite across two pages and closes the book. He tucks it under arm as he makes his way back.

Tav slows, coming to a stop a few paces from Shadowheart. Knelt with her head bowed, eyes closed, at the front of her tent. The purple Sharran one he still has no idea from where she acquired. Same with Lae’zel’s grindstone, Minthara’s cradle mounted globe device, Astarion’s dresser. All mysteries to him.

"Tav…?"

He snaps back to reality, realising the Cleric is looking up at him questioningly.

"Sorry, are you praying or meditating? I can wait."

"Praying… but I was done anyway." She shrugs her shoulders, smiles. "You’re welcome to sit with me."

Fighting back a smirk, he gestures at her. "Is this seat taken?"

She looks down, then back up at him, mildly confused. "My lap?"

"Mhm."

"Yes." She smirks too. Pauses just long enough for his own confused frown to form. Then pats her thigh. "I was reserving it for you."

Tav grins, then drops down and crawls over beside her. Laying his head down in her lap, and shifting until he’s comfortable, he lets his eyes flutter shut. Journal clutched against his belly.

Shadowheart makes a small noise of amusement. Then he feels her fingers lightly threading through his hair.

"Tired, love?" she asks softly after some time.

"After everything? I could sleep for a tenday."

"I think I said the same thing after we defeated Ketheric and Myrkul."

A silence descends upon them for several minutes. It would be so easy to drift off to sleep here, but he doesn’t want to waste the opportunity to converse some more.

"Who were you praying to?"

The question hangs in the air for a moment. Shadowheart’s fingers halt their movement along his scalp ever so briefly. He wonders if they’re both thinking the same thing.

Selûne.

With a sigh somewhere between exhausted and resigned, she answers, "Whoever will listen."

Tav turns over so that he’s looking up at her, blinking blearily. "What are you praying for? I’m no god but whatever your wish or desire, I would grant it if I’m able."

The smile Shadowheart gives him is small and fond, one she seems to reserve only for him. "Guidance."

He looks past her, up at the darkened sky, with a grimace. "Hm, yes, I wouldn’t suggest heeding my counsel." Advice-giving was not something he’d consider his forte.

"Yours isn’t that bad."

"Oh? Oddly nice of you to say."

"Yes," she nods, looking up and surveying their encampment, some of their companions still up conversating closer to the fire, "while you may not be clairvoyant, on occasion you manage to formulate, or at least - articulate, some nugget of wisdom that actually makes some semblance of sense." Then, she glances back down at him, and adds smugly, "However rare it may be."

He waves a hand vaguely in the air. "Glad to be of use."

That’s when she seems to notice the journal clasped in his other, left sitting flat on his abdomen. Her eyes narrow in recognition.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Huh? Oh, yes, haven’t written anything in a while. Spent the last hour catching up."

"What’s in it?" She reaches over, taps it in the centre of the cover with a few of her fingers, then grins. "Let me guess - love poems about me? My charming wit and radiant beauty?"

Tav quirks an eyebrow and chuckles lowly. "And your unparalleled humility." He lifts it and brings it closer to her above his face. "No, but you’re not too far off."

Shadowheart looks surprised as she takes it with two hands. "You’re letting me read it?"

"You already know all my deepest, darkest secrets. What’s the harm?"

A pleased smile spreads across her face as she eagerly cracks it open.

"Your little pictures are cute, you’re quite the artist. How did you figure out you could draw?"

It was mostly a collection of small etchings of object oddities, symbols, and curiosities along the corners or margins of certain diary entries. Or page scale portraits of the environments and landscapes they’d explored, many of their various camps across the Sword Coast and Shadow-Cursed Lands. Numerous detailed drawings of Scratch, the owlbear cub, and Us.

"Well, when I awoke, I didn’t know the first thing about myself besides this strong connection to the Wild Weave, so I was determined to, if not learn who I was, forge myself anew." He folds his arms across his chest limply. "Besides, I’ve found the arts keep the mind quiet."

"Have you ever drawn me?" she asks, though Tav suspects she's more than eager to hear the answer - she feigns nonchalance, distracting herself by turning through the pages with a quiet delicate rustling.

"No, I have not, I wouldn’t without your permission or unless I intended to give it to you. But I’m not sure I’d be able to give it up if I did."

"Pity."

Shadowheart flips toward the front of the leather-bound book, skimming the first and second pages with her pointer finger as though searching for something.

A giant smirk lights up her face when she spots what she’s looking for and she clears her throat before speaking. Reciting off what Tav had written down all those weeks ago, forcing her voice into that silly Tav impersonation she’s used to make fun of him before;

“I learned that the other captive survivor aboard the Nautiloid is called ‘Shadowheart’. She joined me again on the beach we both must’ve landed upon while rendered unconscious. A half-elf woman of raven black hair. Also infected with a parasite. Cleric, divination unknown, but seems capable and her abilities have proven most useful. Reluctant to share details about herself, doesn’t trust easy, yet strangely quite willing, or insistent - I should say, to join forces and recruit other survivors. Mysterious, I can’t deny my intrigue.”

Shadowheart giggles, bringing a hand to her mouth as she reads a bit further in otherwise silence.

"This is quite the account." She lowers the book to fix him with a curious, amused expression. "So you’ve liked me from the start?"

Tav grins, not embarrassed in the least. "How could I not? Are you saying you didn’t like me at first?"

Looking up to one side, she pauses for a beat as she thinks, remembering. "Well, I didn’t dislike you. I suppose I could tolerate you above the rest, but that may have just been attributed to some primacy bias since you’re the first person I met."

"And you still love me most, how sweet. I’m flattered."

"Gods only know why."

Tav turns over once more, this time his head facing her, and - seeking to be closer - wraps his arms loosely around her middle. Nestling there quite contentedly.

"I’m going to hold onto this a while longer, I think. ‘I can’t deny my intrigue’," she quotes, badly stifling a laugh at her own jest.

With a snort, he shrugs his shoulders. "As long as you return it eventually," he murmurs against her hip. "I still want to scribble in it on occasion."

Another few minutes of relative silence passes. Shadowheart places the journal behind her, somewhere inside her tent.

"Tav… there was something I wanted to talk to you about, actually."

"Oh yeah?"

"I can still feel the Shadowfell all over me… still hear her words in my ear. I feel… unclean."

At her admission, he sits up carefully, twisting his body to look at her properly.

‘Oh, Shadowheart,’ he thinks.

"I’m sorry," he says.

Shadowheart shakes her head as he shifts to swivel around in place to face her.

"You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Far from it, in fact. Without your help, things could’ve turned out very differently for me."

After taking a breath, she brightens, but wrings her hands almost nervously.

"I have an idea. Something I’ve wanted to do for a while. Something that might help me put her in the past… but I’ll need your help."

"Name it."

"Wait until the others are asleep, then come with me. There’s a place we can go, down the coast a little."

——

The Cleric leads Sorcerer down a rocky embankment to a secluded strip of beach. Perfect untouched golden beige sand spread across, gently lapped at by the moonlit sea tide.

She'd been walking just ahead of him for the last stretch of their stroll, strides long and purposeful, and it's almost a struggle to keep up. She stops close to the waterline, glances to her right, then abruptly turns to face him.

"This will do," she says smoothly, "Take off your clothes."

His brow shoots up, dumbfounded.

"What?"

A smile plays on her lips. "You don’t want to get them wet, do you?" Shadowheart asks, coy. "Or worse, weigh you down. Go on, don’t turn shy on me now."

Tav huffs out a small breathy laugh. "There’s easier ways to get me naked, you know."

She chuckles too, the soft sound is music to his ears. "I don’t doubt you in the slightest."

Even with their shared mirth, there's a tension between them that hadn't ever quite existed before. Tav's breathing shallows and so does hers.

"You first," he dares, with the slightest quirk of an eyebrow and the upraise at a corner of his mouth.

"Fine." There's a pause and then she smiles again. "Well don’t just stand there," She lifts a hand and makes a shooing gesture, "Turn around."

He does so with a tiny wry shrug. He faces back the way they came. Soon rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet with his arms behind his back, waiting patiently. This all seems like an elaborate ploy for something or rather, he's not certain how serious she is about this.

That is, until he hears the rustling of her clothing gliding across her skin as she strips down, the muffled thumps as each article is dropped into the sand. Oh, she is serious, alright.

"You haven’t even attempted to peek," she calls over from behind. "I’m a little offended."

Tav takes that as both challenge and invitation. He playfully pretends to furtively peep over shoulder at her only to see a wad of rolled up clothing flying straight at him. He ducks down out of its path as it sails overhead.

"You’re lucky I didn’t have anything more dangerous to throw than undergarments," she teases.

Whatever smart reply he had dries up on his tongue as he turns back around to face her again. Instead, a small admiring smile forms, his eyes trailing down then up again in wonder. Spellbound by the shape of her, the slope of her slightly athletic shoulders, the lines of her abdomen, every inch of her smooth flawless skin. Glowing faintly in the starlight. She looks exquisite but that's no real surprise.

He realises now why she'd taken her hair chains out back at camp, she's discarded her hairpiece and undone her entire braid to let her hair out. The silver-white length of it cascading down her back, normally straight but now slightly wavy from being wound up all day.

"What?" She sounds uncharacteristically shy, her voice soft, and she brings an arm out just ahead of her for a moment before dropping it. "Don’t just… stare."

Despite the cool breeze, he grows hot all over.

"Sorry." Even with his apology, he grins a tad wider. "Hard not to. You’re beautiful."

"I know." Her head tilts. "Your turn."

"All right. Turn around."

"No."

Tav didn't realise refusal was an option, but it's just like her. He returns the smirk she's giving him with another shrug.

Reaching for the lacing of the collar of his corset vest, he makes a show of unfastening it to expose the slightest glimpse at his chest, watching her reaction, pleased with the rapt attention of her eyes following every movement of his fingers and the spark of intrigue within. Once that's gone, he cedes and pulls his undershirt off over his head, whirls the white fabric like a lasso a few times in the air then tosses it aside. Next, his trousers, slowly pulling down inch by painstaking inch and holding her gaze all the while - until they're past his knees and he just kicks the rest of it off as he straightens.

Shadowheart's eyes linger a moment longer at the apex of his thighs, she beams appreciatively, then they flit back up to his face.

Tav follows just behind to her side as they pad closer to the water together. Suddenly, she stops, just as the waves lick at her bare feet. She casts him a worried look.

"I… I don’t know if I can do this. Now that I’m here."

"Yes, you can." He nods encouragingly. "Just walk forward until you feel the weight lift."

She lets out a shaky breath but his words seem to do the trick as she takes a step further in. "All right. Just stay close."

Just as she requested, he remains with her, within arms reach but not touching her as she wades further into the shallow depths with some measure of caution that gradually abates into open curiosity. Tav watches her face, a smile on his own.

At camp, he'd often just bathed in whatever clean body of water they'd pitched nearby at to clean off out of convenience sake despite the frequent chilly temperatures. Since he'd found out about his love's inability to swim, he'd often been the one to run her a bath in one of the larger basins they had on hand, heating it with magic to just the right degree - strangely quite hot in his opinion - but Shadowheart insisted it were perfect and he believes her on account of overhearing her delighted sighs on his way off when she sank into them.

There's always been something about her. That makes him unable to look away from, or stop thinking about her. That drives this need, this wish, desire, to simply be near her. Soak in her radiance. He wants to do any little thing he can to ensure her comfort, make her day more convenient, bring that gorgeous smile to her face. She's worth every effort.

In no time flat, they're both out in a deeper end and Shadowheart gasps. "Oh hells, that’s cold!" Suddenly, she's giggling, treading water, halfway between nervous and excited. "My feet aren’t touching the bottom anymore - it’s terrifying. Do people really enjoy this?"

"That's it," Tav says, looking on proudly. "The most important part of swimming is learning to float. If you feel yourself sinking, just kick your legs a little to push yourself back up."

Even though it's dark, with the rich moonlight sparkling above onto the surface, he can see that she is gently kicking her legs beneath her in the water when he looks down. He can feel the cool currents swirling below against his legs from her movements.

There's a flush of confidence to her as she grows more comfortable, and Tav would be first to proclaim how good it looks on her.

In the next several minutes, he demonstrates how to float on his back by keeping the chest and hips up and she follows along, catching on quickly.

Once he's satisfied she can right herself on her own, he smirks as a particularly devious idea formulates in his mind.

Tav thumps his hand into the water between them, splashing her.

"You pest!"

Shadowheart laughs and cuts her hand through the water, skidding a thin but sharp sheet of it at him too that he has to block out of his eyes with his forearm.

He's still grinning devilishly as they continue to patter little splashes at one another, tittering like children.

"This isn't actually deep enough for me, my feet are still firmly planted in the sand, you can hold onto me if you get tired."

Shadowheart arches a dark eyebrow, then tilts her chin down as she grins over at him. "You didn't need to wait until we were in the water to hold me. Come here..."

Wading over closer, she's still giggling gleefully, and she latches onto his extended arm to pull herself in to him.

Tav reaches for her, catching the warm gleam in her cheeks and in her eyes, and he curls an arm possessively around her waist to cup the small of her back just as she loops hers around his neck. She bites her lip suggestively as she gazes at him. He knows exactly what she's thinking and he wants that too.

The air shifts around them, the water eddying about from the slightest movements, her sopping wet hair clinging to her and fanning out across the surface.

They both lean in for it, until her lips are grazing deliciously over his, leaving him yearning for more. His entire body surges into hers as he captures her mouth in an avaricious kiss. She makes a small sound of surprise that melds into a soft little moan. His whole being is aflame at the feel of her bareness pressed against his, reveling in how soft and yielding she is. The skim of her tongue against his, the taste of her, he's already addicted to. He can't suppress a pleasant shiver.

Both her hands roam clumsily up the back of his neck before tangling in his wet hair, fingertips curling, stroking, against his scalp as his own slide slowly from her hips up and around to the smooth planes of her back.

As their legs writhe together below them, he massages delicately on either side of her spine, beneath her shoulder blades and Shadowheart pulls out of their kiss to throw her head back with a half muted groan. Her grip on him tightening as she drives her pelvis against his leg, seeking friction.

Tav takes her reactions as encouragement, increasing the pressure of his feather-light touch to something firmer, using it to work at and release the tension in her upper back muscles then lower. At the same time, he dips his head to press his lips to her skin, he can taste the salt as his tongue inches toward the sensitive hollow of her throat.

"Mm, you weren't lying when you said you were good with your mage hands."

It takes a moment for him to process, he blinks his eyes open and tilts his head back. He exhales, trying to master the desire flooding his senses.

"You remember that?"

Shadowheart was looking at him, but she glances away suddenly. "Of course... I remember most of our... talks," she admits, cheeks colouring bashfully though at first he's unsure why. When their gaze meets again, she adds defensively, "What? It's not like I remember much from before all this."

Tav almost chokes on the chuckling sound that escapes his throat. "So you've filled up your memory bank reserves with ones of me?"

"You're making fun of me," she scoffs.

"Not this time," he shakes his head, pausing, "I just... I thought I was the only one."

"You too?"

Tav nods.

She laughs breathlessly. "Gods, we're hopeless."

He pulls her higher, hoisting her up by the hips in one fluid movement and she clamps her legs around his waist, bracing herself with a grip on his upper arms.

With one arm securely wrapped around her to hold her in place, Tav lifts a hand up to her cheek and lets it rest there for a moment, his thumb lightly stroking along the scar under her eye, drinking in her serene beauty. Allowing the digit to fall to her mouth, he then tenderly traces its shape, memorising each dip and curve.

Her lips part, breath hitching.

Then, she's trailing her fingers up his deltoids to his shoulders on either side and she drops her mouth to his ear, letting the warm scent of her and her hair wash over him. The graze of her breath turns to fire when she takes his earlobe between her teeth, nibbling in the gap between his earrings, making his body tense and coil, ready to spring.

Her voice comes sure in his ear when next she speaks, murmuring in an alluring whisper that makes him shiver all over, "You’re so warm all the time. Is it the Draconic Bloodline of you?"

"Hadn’t thought about that before," he hums, turning his head to kiss slowly along her jawline, gently pushing aside the water slick hair in his way with his fingers. "Possibly? Why are you always so cold? That's a woman thing, isn't it? Or do you just have poor circulation?"

"Yes, women are cold blooded."

"You might be, I doubt you speak for all." Tav laughs, holds her a bit tighter. And Shadowheart squirms in his arms at the vibrations rumbling off his chest against hers.

He pulls back to find her staring at him once more.

"That was mere jest, mind you. In truth, you're one of the most benign souls I've ever met, Shadowheart," he says. "Or shall we call you Sweetheart? Meltedheart?"

She raises an unconvinced eyebrow, but with the slight upward twist of her mouth - seems amused. "Am I just?"

"I mean, no offence, but you were a painfully bad Sharran." He shrugs.

Shadowheart's slight smile drops, as if she did take offence. "Explain."

"Helping people, healing strangers, making friends, whatever you call that cooing thing you do with cute animals."

"Ever considered that I was just using you at first?"

"You’re also a bad liar."

Shadowheart seems contemplative, then she sighs, and looks out toward the sea. "I don’t know if I’ve ever lied to you."

"My point exactly." Tavik shakes his head a few times in faux disapproval. "Terrible Sharran practice. Forget Nightsong, you forgetting the basics is the real reason Shar’s mad."

"Maybe she shouldn’t have taken my memories in the first place," she mutters bitterly.

Sensing the tension, Tav stops, eyes widening slightly.

"I’ve put my foot in it, haven’t I? The last thing you want to do is to talk about is Shar right now."

With a shake of her head, Shadowheart looks at him again, though her eyes remain a tad distant - as though deep in thought. "No, it’s okay." She allows a tenuous smile. "It’s a little gratifying to hear that you think I’ve always been a bit rebellious."

"Shadowheart rebelling by being a good person, the audacity!"

She lets out a shallow breath, looking down at his chest as she runs her hands over him idly. "I spoke to Withers. I want to divert my power more to my healing talents than illusionary magics."

"Your evocation power did seem more intense recently."

"Thank the skeleton." Her expression changes. "You know, he said the strangest thing to me. He… scolded me for being with you?"

Tav scoffs. "You as well? What did you say to him?"

"I told him my love life was none of that pile of bone's business."

——

Another half hour in the water is spent with Tavik teaching Shadowheart various swimming styles and strokes since, of course, that is why they were here. Before they decide to get out lest they succumb to becoming permanently more wrinkled than Withers himself.

Shadowheart is ahead, back to him, halfway toward the shore when all of a sudden she's swept up off her feet into strong, warm arms. She yelps loudly, wet hands springing out to cling to him out of fright but struggle to find purchase, slipping off his glistening skin.

"I'm going to kill you," she grumbles once she realises she isn't in any danger, curling her arms around his neck instead. "But... it's about time you carried me like a princess, you've known I wanted it."

One of his arms is secured firmly beneath her knees, the other just below her shoulders, holding her against his chest.

"I offered a long time ago, you could've taken me up on that at any stage," he drawls smugly.

"Hrm."

"Hrm," he echoes, mimicking her, to which she snorts in mingled surprise and amusement.

Shadowheart gazes up at him as he carries her to shore, the few remaining water droplets slowly beading down his face from his snow white hair. His soft pretty eyes shining when he smiles down at her. Shadowheart inhales sharply, wondering if Tav's heart is beating quite as fiercely as hers.

'Gods, I love you,' she thinks.

"You're an idiot," she says.

He laughs.

Most of herself, nearly fifty years of lived experience, is lost to the ether. Perhaps time and bitterness have coloured her perception further on things, but even before the Shadowfell, as long as she can remember - there's been this... unsettled emptiness inside her. She's always carried this nagging uncertainty of herself. Like she never truly fit within the confines of her Sharran mantle inside the Grotto. It didn't help that the Mother Superior insisted to remind her at every turn of her unworthiness. The others... she doesn't remember them in any detail but she has faint traces of their constant torment, the overwhelming scrutiny placed upon her.

She's so tired of feeling like she's not enough.

And now... that fear has manifested into something more visceral. If she does not belong under Shar... then where does she?

With him... well, Tav knows her better than anyone ever has. With him, she feels understood. Shadowheart looks at him and for once, feels like everything is going to be okay. Like she's exactly where she's meant to be.

Tav had told her he thinks she would’ve been fine on her own… but even if she could have made it this far without him, she doesn't think she'd have wanted to.

His steps are determined as he trudges onto the sandy bank. He looks around briefly, eyes landing on their scattered abandoned clothing strewn about. He twirls the hand that'd been curled against her knee and a small pouch on his trousers elevates into the air.

Shadowheart watches in confusion as he telekinetically opens the bag of holding and a large picnic mat emerges from its depths, the scene almost comical.

He lets both drop to the sand, walking over with her to smooth out the crinkles in the mat with his foot by dragging the corners out. Then, he carefully lowers her down onto it, making sure to place her somewhere devoid of any sand residue.

Once he's satisfied, he grins and sits beside her, keeping his sand-covered feet hanging off the mat as he leans back on his hands behind him.

Shadowheart lets out the snicker she'd been suppressing from that whole display. "That was elaborate, you could've just put me down."

"You're suggesting I just drop you like a sack of potatoes? Who do you think I am?" He waves a hand at her flippantly. "Perish the thought."

With a thoughtful hum, Shadowheart returns her attentions to the sea. The calm, flat surface they'd been wading about in for the last hour twinkling under the light of the waning gibbous moon.

"You know," she muses, "I used to think the moon was overrated. Even disregarding the Selûne connection."

In her periphery, she sees him incline his head to watch her. "Really? And your opinion's changed now?"

She nods mutely. "Mellowed, perhaps… the moon and stars, they’ve always been there, haven't they? Nearly every night was spent beneath them."

"Did you know that you glow?"

"What?" she asks incredulously, unsure if she misheard him.

"In moonlight." He motions at her with a slow wave of his index finger. "There’s an aura about you, a pale sliver shimmer to your skin and hair. Granted, you’re bright in the sun but, I don’t know, at night under the moon and stars there’s an otherworldly… ethereal aspect to you."

"Are you sure you’re not hallucinating?"

"My hallucinations are not the pretty kind."

Wistful, Shadowheart shifts in place, looking down to her outstretched legs. "Do you mean since the Shadowfell? I suppose Selûne is grateful I freed her daughter, what parent wouldn’t be?"

"It’s more intense since the Shadowfell, certainly, but… I think it’s been there all along." He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully - after some time, he tentatively asks, "Do you think this is the guidance you mentioned praying for earlier?"

"I'm still figuring it out."

"I understand."

Shadowheart twines her fingers with his, pleased when he raises her hand to place a tender kiss across her knuckles.

They sit there a while in silence, enjoying the ambiance. Faint sounds of the water brushing the shore, insects chirping in the bushes and shrubbery from somewhere behind them, thistles rustling gently in the breeze. Everything is still, tranquil.

This whirlwind getaway date idea had succeeded both in soothing and making her forget her woes.

"Thank you, I needed that. I needed to know that I can face things without Shar."

But Shadowheart is still thoroughly... titillated from their earlier water activities, and also, may have been planning this next part from the very beginning.

"I don’t want to go back," she murmurs. She scoots closer to him. "Not just yet."

In the very next instant, she's grabbed him by the back of the head and pulled him in for another kiss. She knows he likes it when she's rougher, because he makes these delighted sounds and smiles against her lips.

A thrill runs down her spine as she slowly lays back, coaxing him down with her, and he positions himself above her.

Suddenly, she gasps. A sharp cold pain jabbing into her shoulder blade and she rears up a bit to twist and fish around for the source with her hand.

"Just a pebble," she observes, holding it up between them with a slight smile.

Tav's look of surprise and concern cools into soft amusement and she flings the rock away soon after.

He's still looking for it as it lands somewhere out of sight so she grabs his face and turns his head toward hers.

"Now don’t you dare stop."

Tav presses the length of himself down onto her slowly, allowing her to accustom to the weight of him, and she can feel the heat rising off his body. His lips are so soft as she opens her mouth and encourages him to take her. But the rest of him, so hard.

As one hand comes up and around his head, gently raking through his damp hair, her free hand trails along his arm, his side, enjoying the feel of his taut muscles and the way he’s responding to her touch.

One of his hands is clasped on her waist, grip firm, while the other he's using to brace himself beside her head on his forearm as their long, languid kisses grow more insistent, tongues more explorative. Then, his grasp on her loosens and he's running his fingers slowly down her side to her hip then back up along her ribcage, the light graze of his blunt nails an agony.

Tav lifts himself slightly onto both palms flat, trapping her between his forearms as he delves around to nip behind her pointed ear, leaving a string of hot, light kisses as he goes.

Shadowheart settles back into the plush mat as Tav's mouth makes its way down across the curve of her neck, tongue laving a sure path toward her naked, arcing chest.

Breathing a little heavier in anticipation, she watches as he trails further, taking his time sliding down her body to press kisses to her lower abdomen. She uses the hand she has still twined in his head of white curls to give him a small impatient tug, and he looks up ever so briefly to shoot her a cocky smirk before returning to his ministrations.

Just as he makes it to her hip with his lips, he suddenly pulls all the way up, kneeling between her knees. As if to admire his handiwork. So abrupt that she feels a whoosh of cold air between them.

It takes everything in her not to cry out in frustration. Her breath shudders, straining for him.

Tav grabs hold of her ankle and, as he leans backward onto his heels, gently tugs until her long silky leg is raised up against his chest. He begins rubbing her skin in long strokes, she sighs and stretches her calf under his touch.

Only to tip her head back and groan when he presses a kiss to the underside of her bare foot, then trailing around to her ankle and along her shin. So slowly she can't stand it, the caress of his lips travels higher and higher up her thigh. She gasps and writhes beneath him, willing him to move faster.

He gently drops her leg to hike up against his hip as he leans down over her once more. The chiseled lines of his throat, his collar, beckon for her to touch... to taste...

But Tav speaks instead, his eyes are hot with raw desire, but the flex of his muscles exercises his restraint.

The dulcet tone of his voice comes a rough whisper, as he says, closer to her face, "You really want to do this with a Bhaalspawn?"

Shadowheart nearly whines. "A fire is a fire and I’m cold."

Tav's multicoloured eyes widen by a fraction in surprise. Then, he laughs hard.

When he shakes his head, some of his loose, unkempt hair falls down across his forehead. "Shadowheart," he sighs in amusement, "And you call me impossible?" He drops one of his arms down to support himself, palm splayed just below her armpit on the mat. "You really need to raise your standards, that’s a terrible outlook."

Is this why he were so hesitant back in the water? Shadowheart runs her hand up his straight arm, from his wrist to his shoulder delicately.

"Tav... There's not a single doubt in my mind."

"You sure you can handle me?"

"No, you’re right, I probably couldn’t. But some chains and shackles might."

Returning the smirk she's giving him, Tav shrugs his shoulders, nods. "If you say so. This may be self indulgent of me, but I’ll make sure you don’t come to regret it."

"You’d better." Shadowheart's heart is still racing, she's a powder keg waiting to blow, but she smiles wider conspiratorially with her next words, "I’ve always wanted to ride a dragon."

It takes him a moment to catch her meaning. "Ride a-?" He laughs again, quiet and warm, and she chuckles. "You’re filthy. What am I going to do with you?"

She reaches out her free hand to palm his staunch abdomen. Eager fingertips tracing the lines of his muscle.

"I have a few ideas."

Tav’s eyes glitter darkly as he absorbs her answer. "Oh?"

"But I’m beginning to wonder whether you’re just all talk."

Fiercely, Tav shakes his head, leaning down over her even closer.

"No, I can definitely back it up. Come here."

——

Some time later...

The Sorcerer Cleric pair return to camp late into the night. Shadowheart is half-asleep curled in his arms, face buried in his neck, breathing evenly, as he carried her all this way. They'd redressed themselves before leaving the beachside.

Tav carries her to her tent. Already open, as they'd left it upon their initial departure hours prior.

With some awkward effort, he slowly kneels in the threshold and tentatively lays her limp form down onto her bedroll.

He looks down at her in the darkness, his expression soft, warm with affection. He brushes his lips to her cheek, then, with some reluctance, pulls back and turns to go.

Just as he does, Shadowheart's hand juts out to snatch his wrist. Grip surprisingly strong.

He glances backward, down at her, blinking owlishly in mild, tired confusion.

"Stay with me?" he hears her murmur, so soft he almost missed it.

An ache shanks his heart something fierce at those simple three words. "You have no idea how much physical pain turning that down is causing me, but... I shouldn’t."

"I don’t want to be alone after that," she whispers. "Let me hold you, a little longer, just for tonight?"

He falters. Unsure how to proceed.

At his long silence, she offers, "I’ll sedate you if you start spasming."

Unwilling and unable to fight that, her...

"All right, you win. Move over, I’m coming in."

Tav gingerly crawls inside the cramped space for the second time and after twirling a hand and casting a spell to close the tent behind him, settles himself on his side, facing her. Mere inches between them. He drops his head onto the pillow base. His eyes meet hers, he relaxes, offering her a smile that he knows she can see with her darkvision. One she returns.

Shadowheart, first of his heart, when she looks at him it silences all the noise inside his head. And when she speaks it’s the only thing he can hear.

She reaches a hand out slowly, close enough to graze two knuckles against his cheek. One of his he uses to pull her closer by the waist, and moving himself to meet her halfway.

With that, she sighs contentedly and curls herself into his chest, tucks her head beneath his chin, intwining their legs. The hand she'd had to his face drops down and he takes it into his own, holds it to his heart. There's a deep, comfortable warmth between them he's starkly aware of.

He doesn't even realise it when it happens, but he's fast asleep not a second sooner.

Chapter Text

Act 1: Nautiloid Crash Site/Ravaged Beach

The Cleric of Shar had been on the run for some time since they'd swiped the artefact from the githyanki's clutches. None of the others made it. She's the last one left standing.

Shadowheart was sure she was done for when the mind flayers kidnapped her. Between her containment pod being jammed and the Red Dragons chasing the ship through Avernus, the crash, her falling to a certain death.

She'd only made it out by the skin of her teeth.

In her hand, the strange prism, the purpose of her holy mission, remains inert. As she eyes it, an unsettled twinge of discomfort roils in her empty gut. The Githyanki and their dragon mounts only pursued the ship, her, with such a fervour because they want it back. But she pushes the thought down and stows the object back into a pouch on her belt at her hip.

She's safe, for now.

At that moment, her attention returns to this 'Tav'. The High Elf Sorcerer who'd freed her aboard the nautiloid and she'd fought beside him as they made a desperate push for the helm. He's knelt down on one knee, busy examining a corpse, another passenger who clearly did not share their luck. From the violent blood and gore splatter beneath the body, the man died from the impact of the fall - Shadowheart surmises as she draws nearer.

He's leaning over it for a tad too long and Shadowheart is uncertain whether she should be concerned or not.

"Somebody you recognise?" she asks finally, one eyebrow steadily raising.

Tav's shoulders shudder for a single second, but it passes quickly as he shoots a startled look at her, as if he had entirely forgotten she were there. He leaps to his feet, faces her.

"No," he says brusquely, then he clears his throat and continues in his more level, husky voice, "I thought I did, but no, not someone I know."

Shadowheart doesn't say anything further.

At her silence, Tav turns, stepping away from the corpse and marching onwards along the beach.

She follows.

So the man was odd.

She'd keep an eye on him, but she'd rather be amid the company of an eccentric yet altruistic stranger than caught alone in a strange unfamiliar place. Afterall, he could've left her to fend for herself both on the ship and while she were unconscious. Be it gratitude for him saving her or relief that he's not that Githyanki he was with, she sticks close.

Shadowheart didn’t know it then but this were her first glimpse at the haunting that lived in his eyes, the early blooms of a madness that had yet to fully flower.

The bright hot sun blares down on them as they plod across the sand, bypassing scraps of wreckage and checking crates, barrels, and satchels for supplies.

It was the middle of the night when the ship hurtled through the portal back to Faerûn and crashed here. From the position of the sun in the sky, it had to be close to midday now so they must’ve been comatose here for nearly twelve hours.

Tav scoops up a pouch floating in a shallow puddle of water, opens it and peers inside. As his hand scrabbles about, plunged within for its drenched contents, he looks at her and his blank expression morphs into something close to curious.

"So, Shadowheart, strange name."

The Sharran glowers. "We can ponder my name when we've gotten somewhere safe, as far away from this crash site as possible ideally."

Undeterred, he drops his gaze to cast a perfunctory glance at the waterlogged letter he'd found, but still persists with the questions, "Is it a pseudonym or did your parents name you that?"

"Like 'Tav' is so much better." She eyerolls, crossing her arms.

"It's, uh, short for Tavik."

"Right."

Tavik drops the pouch in his hand back into the puddle he'd found it in but folds the letter in half, stashes it in a satchel he'd picked up and had been carrying with him.

They approach a half-submerged jetty. A stray chunk of mind flayer ship chiton had struck the middle and caused the two halves to sink inward.

Shadowheart is still somewhat put off by his bluntness, and unable to just let it go, finds herself responding in kind.

"So what happened to your face?"

That seems to evoke a reaction from him as he looks over in surprise. Then, his eyebrows draw together. "What do you mean?" He touches his cheek with his fingers. "What's wrong with it?"

Whirling a hand midair, she gesticulates vaguely at the left side of her own face to mirror where she means. "The black wisp markings? The red devil eye? The giant scar?"

Expression still scrunched up in complete bemusement, he abruptly spins and scrambles over to the water to gawp at his reflection. Hunkering down, he turns his head this way and that, enraptured by his own appearance staring back at him.

"You didn't know? Did it happen while we were careening through the Hells?" she inquires.

"I'm... not entirely sure, to tell you the truth," he admits, frowning to himself.

He pulls away from the edge of the jetty to look at her and she takes him in once again. The dark indelible pigment resembles a tattoo but in conjunction with that red iris and black sclera of his left eye, Shadowheart would speculate both were Infernal in origin. Perhaps he'd ran afoul of the wrong devil.

As an awkward tension descends, Shadowheart averts her gaze and they both decide to keep moving in mutual silence.

Resuming their scavenging along the shore until they come across a tall stone wall of an overgrown crypt. Before them, wooden double doors with twin looped handles.

Tav approaches, ascending the couple of steps to try the door. It rumbles at his jostling but refuses to budge.

He turns his face upward as if in frustration then looks over at her.

"Locked."

"Maybe there's another way in somewhere else but-"

Tav throws himself shoulder-first into the door. When it still won't open, he then slams the underside of his boot forward into it.

So the man was not the sharpest tool in the blacksmith’s forge either.

"Will you quit that? You're going to attract all sorts of unwanted attention with all the racket you're making," Shadowheart chides, glancing around in mild alarm. "I do not fancy spelunking some dank tomb and waking up Hells knows what's lurking inside."

"Fine," he grumbles. "Navigating the ship wreckage, it is."

They circle back around a large wall of rock, coming across more abandoned barrels. Tav pries the lid off one and withdraws a blue glass bottle which he opens by yanking the cork off.

"Thank the Gods, my throat is drier than the Anauroch desert!"

Before he can go to drink, he sharply turns his head and glances her way.

"Thirsty?"

Shadowheart hesitates.

"It’s water." He offers the bottle in an outstretched hand, gripping the neck. "Cold too."

But her mouth is just as dry. She presses her tongue flat to her palate, suddenly all too aware of the lack of moisture, and she concedes easily. Their fingertips brush as she takes it, though he seems unfazed, she has to school her features into something impassive.

Carefully, she brings the opening above her face and tilts her chin up as she pours some of the liquid into her mouth without the rim touching her parched lips.

At first, she sees Tav's watching her out the corner of her eye but his gaze flits away rapidly soon after.

"So where are you from?"

Expression dour and body stiff, she curls her lip as she swipes away some of the water that'd dribbled down her chin with the back of her hand. "We can skip the small talk."

"You were asking me questions earlier."

Shadowheart abruptly shoves the glass bottle back into his chest, and he grabs it with both hands, looking surprised.

"And now I’m done talking."

"All right, then."

As he drinks deeply from the water as well, copying her action of not lipping the brim, she wonders if it's intentional in case the need to share once more arises. Some of the tension leaves her shoulders and she sighs.

"… I’m from Baldur’s Gate and I need to get back there as soon as possible. That’s all."

Replacing the cork to seal it, Tav tucks the half empty bottle into his satchel, a small smile reaching his face.

"Thanks for sharing."

Tav skips over some waterweed, boots landing with a small splash in some damp sand.

"Well? Aren’t you going to tell me where you’re from?"

Only acknowledging her with a quick sidelong glance at first, Tav's brow lifts, and he's smirking a little out the corner of his mouth. "What happened to 'I’m done talking'?"

"Ugh."

"I think I’m from Baldur’s Gate as well," he says as they walk side by side. "We must run in different circles."

"We most certainly do."

They grow quiet again. In the suspension, her thoughts harken back to their earlier conversation. His reaction makes her wonder if he thinks she just called him ugly. Truth be told, well, Shadowheart thought he was rather.... beguiling. The strapping build, pale hair, strong squared jaw, boyish smile, combined with the scars and facial markings make his appearance attractive in a sort of rakish way. Idiosyncrasies and all, he looks every bit the fallen angel. She was not about to voice any of this to him any time soon though, or ever.

As they near an open section of smouldering Nautiloid, the pair hear a scuttling of claws scraping across the ground ahead. They share a look then creep closer to peer over the ridge inside. Intellect Devourers, figures they'd survive too.

Shadowheart spies an elevated platform they can reach via a sloped fallen piece of floor. She moves toward it, Tav follows her lead and together, they climb to the second level. Doing their best to stay out of sight.

Perched on their vantage point, Shadowheart shrugs her shield off her back into her left hand and withdraws her blunt mace, coiling her right around the grip. Tavik was at her side, quarterstaff drawn, his magic hissing, aching to be unleashed.

As one of the legged brains skitters below, the Sorcerer's magic cracks from his fingertips - lightning lances through the creature and its entire body seizes, nerves sizzling to a crisp, before tipping over sideways dead.

The other Intellect Devourers, now clued in to their presence, charge across the floor on all fours, then, to the pair's utter horror, latch onto the wall beneath them and climb.

One launches itself at her and Shadowheart bats it away with her shield and a nauseating squelching sound, sending it flying back down.

"Ardē!" Tav's hands are splayed and outstretched as a cone of roaring fire sears from his palms, incinerating the others caught within as they scale the platform and clamber over the edge where they stand.

The Sharran Cleric kicks the nearest aberration with the instep of her booted foot into the other. Both tumble over.

All three remaining Intellect Devourers had landed in a pile upside down, struggling to flip back over, grotesque legs kicking and squirming in the air like giant dying cockroaches.

In her mace hand, Shadowheart lifts it high above her head and summons a sphere of radiant energy. She fires it down with a shout, "Flagra!"

The aberrations combined shrill screams fill the air as they burn together from both sunfire and flame.

Dropping down, mace ready, Shadowheart lunges powerfully and slams the head of her weapon dead centre into a half-fried brain, putting the abomination out of its misery.

Acid brain juice spurts up at her from the strike and she rears backward in disgust at both sight and stench.

"Ugh, that is foul." Her nose wrinkles at the smell of charred illithid slime wafting beneath her nostrils. "Mind flayers and their pets were not part of the plan."

Tav's spearing the last two for good measure with one end of his staff when he remarks, "Mind flayers shouldn’t be part of anyone’s plan."

Shadowheart takes a moment to consider him. She'd seen him in action on the nautiloid but she'd been more concerned about saving her own arse in the fray.

"You fight well, perhaps our survival isn’t such a distant prospect after all," she says, honestly impressed that neither of them had borne a single scratch from the encounter.

As he tucks his staff over his back, he grins back at her, then puts his hands on his hips.

"You’re not too bad yourself. Your… combat prowess, that is," he sees fit to clarify and her eyebrow quirks. "Jury is still out on everything else."

The Cleric shakes her head, sheathing her circular studded shield across her back. "If you’re going to be a fool, at least you’re a useful fool."

"Happy to help."

Flinging the brain ooze off her mace head with a quick flick, she frowns at his frivolity. "You're fortunate you have more to contribute than your personality."

“Yes, I’m sure you more than make up for my lack thereof in that department.”

"Wonderful, a mage comedian." Shadowheart turns away from him, surveying their exit options, as she slides her mace back into place with her shield. "Thought your type died young."

"If these parasites have anything to say about it, we will both be dying young," he shrugs behind her, "or losing our minds together."

"How about you just shut up so we can get out of here?"

————

Act 3: Gortash's Inauguration/Wyrm's Rock Fortress

Lord Enver Gortash's coronation as Archduke was being held on the second floor of Wrym's Rock Fortress. The band of True Souls, Jaheira, and Halsin had snuck in after 'acquiring' some invitations. Mizora, Wyll's cambion patron was lurking before the stairwell and had some sly remarks to make before they entered. Tav elected to ignore her, planning to crash the party and get some answers from the Banite.

The second floor was a grand open audience hall hosting a crowd of well-dressed wealthy-looking people, likely city Dukes and Patriars, standing in the pews on either side of a wide red carpet rolled out down the centre. Patrolled by armed Flaming Fist soldiers and several giant Steel Watchers. At the very end, on the posterior wall, sits an opulent throne where Tav spots Gortash stood beside Duke Ravengard.

Gortash were the Chosen of Bane - god of tyranny, oppression, terror, and hate. He himself, a middle-aged human man with short, messy coal-black hair that looks as though it's leaden with grease. He wears an expensive, to the point of gaudy, dark open-cut coat embroidered with gilded imagery of dragons and other flashy swooped designs along its lapels. And he's in the middle of a speech as they enter.

"Kinspeople, Baldurians, friends. Thank you for joining me on this momentous day."

Confident, dominant, commanding.

Karlach appears at Tavik's right side, already fuming. "It's him. Gortash. This is it. I can practically taste his blood from here."

"My father's here, Karlach," Wyll protests from Tav's left. "Cool your fires - he must not come to harm."

"Wyll's right. We attack Gortash, and Ravengard falls too." The Sorcerer begins walking forward as he speaks, towards Bane's Chosen. "We can't risk a confrontation here."

Karlach huffs. "Fine - I'll wait for now. But that prick is going to pay."

The three lead the way down the red mat, and the rest follow some paces behind.

Gortash grins as he spies them approach and he spreads his arms wide as if in welcome. "What a surprise this is! My favourite assassin, back from his bloody disgrace, joined by my old bodyguard?"

Despite the questioning lilt to his words, he does not appear one bit surprised to see them together.

Both Tavik and Karlach exchange confused glances. The latter's anger wilting at the shock.

"You know me as well as Karlach?"

"Hang on... what? You two know each other?!"

With another smile that can only be described as serpentine, Gortash says, eyes locked on Tav's, "Oh, I'd forgotten - your memories are quite lost, aren't they? Orin told me she'd made a fool of you. To think you and Karlach travelled together all this time, and she hadn't the faintest you were one of my nearest and dearest. Let me clear up some mysteries then, it's about time."

It seems the more Tavik opens his scars and learns of his past, The Dark Urge's history, the more his shame mounts. And this were perhaps the worst case so far.

"You and I initiated this plot," Enver Gortash starts, pointing between Tav and himself, matter-of-fact. "We discussed in-depth the failures of our predecessors and how to avoid them. We understood that if we were to unite, no one could stand in the way of the Dead Three. So unite we did. First we obtained the crown; then we enslaved the brain. From there, it was but a small step to the most successful religious hoax ever perpetrated."

Tav can only stare.

"Is he telling the truth?" he thinks, communicating telepathically to the Emperor.

The mind flayer's response comes slowly but he does confirm, "It seems so."

"In Bhaal's name, you set your bloody daggers to cause panic in the streets, killing in the Absolute's name. You would have carried out that part of the plan, had Orin not ruined your hard work. Next, the threat of the Absolute's monstrous armies formed by Myrkul's general, Ketheric Thorm. In such circumstances, people crave strong leaders. Leaders that bring law, order, and protection. Leaders like me, Bane's unyielding hand, author of justice. You are soon to witness the people of Baldur's Gate granting me complete power over them. All out fear of the Absolute. The faithful will do anything in the name of their god."

There's a pause as Gortash allows his words to sink in, he sighs regretfully, looking down to one side as he remembers.

"It was all going so well - until you vanished. Orin informed us that henceforth she would speak for the temple of Bhaal, and act on their behalf. But she made a mess of things. Unlike you, she cannot control herself."

Behind him, Tav can hear some of his companions whispering amongst themselves.

Karlach is looking between the two men, brow furrowed in mingled fury and uncertainty. "Hold on - what the fuck is going on here?!"

Absorbing the enormity of what he's saying, Tav takes stock of this reveal. He knew he were once Bhaal's Chosen, but somehow he hadn't connected those last two dots until now. An orchestrator of the Absolute, the cult, the parasites... until Orin deposed him. How could he be so blind? But he can't afford to show weakness in front of his supposed former-conspirer. He folds his arms across his chest, keeps his face unexpressive.

"You're wrong if you think I can control myself."

To that, Gortash looks genuinely intrigued, one bushy brow raised and his onyx gaze sweeping him up and down. "Have you gone soft? I find that hard to believe, one's true nature always rises to the top."

Straightening, the Banite continues, "When Ketheric fell, I feared the worst. That our plans would fail like so many before. Because of discord among ourselves. Now you've returned, we can achieve all of our dreams still. You brought his Netherstone."

For a moment, Tav thinks Gortash might make a play to snatch the Thorm Netherstone back but instead, he just lifts his gold gauntleted forearm into the air - haughtily displaying a matching purple Netherstone that's shining, encased in gold on the back of his fist.

"You know, it takes all three to control the brain. Without Thorm's, it's become vexingly willful. The quakes are a clear warning. If nobody steps in soon, it'll free itself from the authority of the crown. I expect it'll start with turning the Sword Coast's infected - you among them. That Prism of yours won't last indefinitely. Next, the Grand Design. The mind flayer empire reborn. If we're lucky, we'll become slaves. If we're unlucky, well - a bleak prospect. But it's a fate that can be avoided if you and I renew our old partnership. Together we can still restore authority over the brain."

The shorter man certainly did like to talk.

"Why is the crown failing?"

"It's not. But it will not follow new orders unless the Netherstones are united to give the command. When it finishes executing its current orders, it will be free to do as it wishes. That would be bad for everyone. The crown's magic turned the brain into something the world had never seen - a Netherbrain. Its power is immense. Once it is free from its shackles, I doubt we'll ever be able to bring it under control again."

Refusing to glance behind him for fear of what his companions might be thinking, Tav continues with his questions for now. "What kind of partnership did you have in mind exactly?"

"There is an old wisdom: a brittle alliance can never be mended - it can only break. With Ketheric gone, Orin proves treacherous. She wants the Netherstones for herself. She only cares for blood. And your blood and mine are of particular interest to her."

The promise of Orin threatening him has that inner wrath he'd felt back in Rivington seething and when next Tav speaks, he doesn't think the words are truly his, "I will bring her to heel."

"Her assassins hunt you even now. They are very efficient killers. Even someone of your talents should take heed. Orin changes shape faster than you or I change clothes. She might be anywhere. She's targeted me as well. I'm well protected, but she's extremely good at what she does. If Orin obtains all three Netherstones, she'll plunge the Coast into chaos and paint the city in blood. I can't let that happen. I want to lead this city to glory - not scorch its earth."

Gortash regards him, waving an open hand to gesture him.

"So I turn to you, the former ruler of the cult of Bhaal."

"And just how am I supposed to trust you?"

"Let's make our pact anew," Gortash answers, holding his clenched fist out, dark eyes determined. "A divine oath, sworn upon spirit and flesh. I do no harm to you, nor you to me. Furthermore, you'll have nothing to fear from my Steel Watch while our pact stands. Thorm's stone is yours to keep. When you slay Orin and take her stone, you bring it here, so the three are united once again. Together we rule Faerûn as kings. No, more than kings - gods. We rule as the Absolute."

"And... my father?" Wyll asks, voice unsure.

All of a sudden, Tav seizes up as a flare of another headache sets in. The Urge, the deplorably brutal Urge sickening within him. When he levels the world over, that dead world must be his alone. But first he will rule, then he will ruin.

Completely ignoring the horned Warlock's question, Gortash is still staring intently at Tav with slightly wide eyes, and he's smiling again. "What do you say? Shall we be allies?"

"'Let's be allies,' said the viper to the frog," Karlach mocks.

"I can detect no deceit," The Emperor's voice croons from inside Tav's head, replacing the pound of the Urge. "This alliance could serve us well. And if it does not... well, we need not honour it."

The last several minutes have barely caught up to him, it's a lot to take in. But he takes a moment to process the request, examining Gortash's body language, his expression. The Banite is blinking in a consistent rhythm. He stands calm, confident. Tav's had a pretty good read on people so far, and his instincts tell him that the human man is telling the truth. He fully intends to share his 'kingdom' with him. With Tavik only... anyway, he suspects.

"Orin betrayed me, and you did nothing to help me then. What's changed?"

Unfazed, Gortash responds promptly, explaining, "We would not meddle in each other's affairs - this was our agreement. She came to me as Bhaal's Chosen. We are but servants to our lords. Your presence here means your lord sees a purpose for you yet. I tolerated Orin, but I liked you."

Tav's brow quirks at that last part and Gortash's intense gaze seems afire with renewed interest as if something just occurred to him.

"And you liked me, I believe." The Banite points at the left half of Tavik's face. "Ever wonder how you got that Infernal brand? You stepped between myself and some devil's spell whilst we were in the Hells retrieving the crown."

There's many appalling things he'd learned about himself in recent times, but him taking a shot for Gortash of all people? Tav's skin crawls.

"Luckily, it only seems to show itself on this form of yours." Gortash's constant smiling scrutiny, as if he's scanning him to memory over and over or can't believe his eyes that he's here before him, is starting to make the Sorcerer deeply uncomfortable. "Have you dropped the dragonborn visage? It was a personal favourite of mine," he claims, holding a hand to his heart and grinning wickedly. "The brutality, that murderous glint in your eyes, second to none."

"So I trusted you once," Tav says gruffly, "and it ruined me. I'm not about to repeat that mistake."

"I am not Orin; I know the value of an alliance. Bane teaches his followers to reward those who support his Chosen, not to betray them. You and I always knew we could only stand against the world united. Orin's blind ambition failed us. She compromised you, just when success seemed certain. Ketheric? His obsession with his daughter made him lose all hold on reason. They floundered, even as they tried to rise above us. We will not, can not make that mistake if we come together in trust."

On one hand, part of him wants to be done with Gortash altogether and tell him to hells with this 'pact'. On the other, with Gortash's iron-clad grip on Baldur's Gate at current, perhaps remaining neutral for the time being were the better course. At least this way, he'd be able to hunt Orin without having to worry about Gortash on his back. This, all of this, was not what he expected when he decided to come here.

"I'll think about it. No promises."

Something flickers in the shorter man's eyes then, but he quickly masks it.

"Perhaps a demonstration of why you need my help will motivate you to make the right decision." Gortash leans in closer, looking side to side over Tav's shoulders and says in a quieter voice, "Your camp is compromised. One among you is an imposter. A Faceless. Who, I can't say. I'd suggest a thorough investigation - you'll find I speak the truth."

"An imposter?" Wyll repeats, perking up, "But who in the hells..."

Beside Wyll, Tav hears Shadowheart's voice as she mutters, "That sounds all too likely..."

"The faceless in your camp is like a knife at your throat. Remove it, quickly, or any alliance between us would be exceedingly short-lived."

"How are we supposed to find Orin if she can change form so quickly?" Shadowheart asks, chin lifted, coming up to stand closer to Tav.

Gortash's eyes briefly flit to her then return to Tav but he answers her all the same. "Even horror has a home. Find her nest, slay her there. The Bhaal temple, your old haunt, now reeks of her ichors." He pauses. "Hm. Do you even remember how to find it?"

"No."

"A shame. It's a secret even to me. You're resourceful - I trust you'll sniff it out. If the trail goes cold, follow the bodies."

"Surely your Steel Watch can handle Orin," Tav says, jabbing a thumb at one at his flank. "Why do you need me?"

"Orin is... elusive, shall we say. The grip of the Steel Watch may be tight but sand still slips through its fingers," he explains, curling his fingers and tilting his hand as if to mime holding a fistful of sand himself. "Some conflicts are best resolved quietly. The people are cattle: obedient until panicked. You carry the stone plucked from Myrkul's Chosen, besides. Why call you 'enemy' when I could repair an old friendship?"

At that, Gortash has them bear witness to the rest of his sham ceremony. The group moves off to the side near the pews to make room.

Duke Ravengard, who'd been standing rigid as a statue at the foot of the throne behind finally moves. As if being manipulated by invisible strings, he mindlessly descends the steps, whirling his greatsword in a two-fisted grip so that its tip points to the ground to meet a kneeling Gortash. The Chosen of Bane swears to defend Baldur's Gate and its citizens and a whole manner of other promises Tav knows he has no real intention to actually abide.

Tav just watches unimpressed when Ravengard appoints him Archduke and Gortash stands.

"My friends. The Steel Watch stands ready. Let its blades fall on any who would diminish our city! And you, honoured guest, will find me in my office when you return. Do not come empty-handed."

Before he can react, the Sorcerer feels a strong hand latch onto his bicep, grip tight and unyielding, and he turns to see Karlach glowering at him.

"We are going to have a little chat."

——

Dragged down back to the stairwell where they first stepped inside the audience hall, Karlach lets him go at last. The hulking tiefling is a few inches shorter than him but when she was mad, even though incredibly rarely directed toward anyone in their party, she were very intimidating. And right now, she's furious. There's steam rising off her skin and her hair-fire is simmering brighter than normal.

"There we have it," she starts, with a bitter, empty laugh. "You were working with Gortash. You were a Chosen of Bhaal. I guess you still are. I want to say it doesn't make sense - but it makes perfect sense, doesn't it?" she asks rhetorically and Tav feels himself deflate. "I should've seen it earlier. All the signs were there."

Her golden eyes flash.

"You know what he did to me and... all this time, you... I-I..." Karlach looks like she wants to lash out further but something in her falters and she just glances down instead, shoulders bowed. "Actually, I don't want to talk now. Give me time. A lot of it."

Tav had told them all the day before that he were Bhaalspawn. But perhaps he'd neglected to mention the 'Chosen' aspect...

The others slowly approach, the party forming their own little circle as they throw uncertain glances at each other.

Jaheira is first, she points at Tav so close she's nearly touching him. "I'll not trust a word that slithers out of Gortash's mouth. I need to hear it from you. Is it true?"

"I swear I didn't know, Jaheira, but yes, I believe it is true."

Jaheira stops, shakes her head while grinding her jaw.

Gale speaks next before she can say anything, and he looks, sounds devastated when he turns to Tavik. "The tadpoles, the Absolute... it was all because of you? I think you've said and done more than enough. Leave me be as well."

The Wizard ducks his head, face disappearing beneath his wide-brim pointed hat.

Wyll's shaking his, but seems more concerned about his father, shooting worried looks down the other end of the hall.

"For so long, we have fought the Absolute... only to now learn you were one of its masterminds?" Halsin mutters slowly, disappointment palpable. "There is nothing we can take for granted."

Startling them all, Astarion suddenly laughs. "Am I the only one who sees the bigger picture here?" he asks, receiving many incredulous looks. "Our friend Tavik here's villainy is the reason we're all alive and not dead or enslaved."

He points at the Barbarian. "Karlach, the mind flayer ship scooped you from the Hells and out from under Zariel's heel. Without all this, you'd still be her captive attack dog."

Next, the Warlock. "Wyll, you'd be still collared to Mizora's leash. And the two of you might've killed each other in Avernus."

The Cleric had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the ordeal but the vampire turns his attention to her then. "Shadowheart, you'd still be Shar's biggest arse-licker, or worse, impaled on the end of a githyanki greatsword."

The Fighter hadn't said anything yet either, and seems on the less perturbed side, standing stoic with her arms crossed.

"Lae'zel, you'd be just another of Vlaakith's forgotten little puppets."

"Gale, you'd have literally exploded."

"Halsin, you might've been all well and alive but you owe him for Thaniel and Oliver and the whole lifting-the-Shadow-Curse business which you would've otherwise sat lamenting about in the Emerald Grove for another hundred years, give or take."

Finally, Astarion plants his fists on his hips, fixing his red eyes on Tav. "And if it wasn't for you, I'd still be stuck in Cazador's kennels. So, thank you. From the bottom of my heart. For being that evil bastard. The creator of the Absolute. I won't lie, I'm a little impressed."

Honestly, Tav's stunned that Astarion came to his defense, but he ultimately just runs a hand down his face. "Astarion, I appreciate what you're trying to do but everyone has a right to be upset with me-"

"I agree with the Fledgling Spawn," Minthara cuts in. "We believed we were all victims of the cult of the Absolute, but now we learn that one of us was an architect of this grand religious hoax. You helped create this conspiracy. That means you may be the best person to help us control it, and the key to our victory."

"Destroy it, you mean," Jaheira clarifies, glaring at the drow - to which Minthara returns, but she does opt to hold her tongue on the matter. The Harper sighs deeply, already exhausted and Tav can't blame her. "No. Doubt between us only serves Gortash - only serves the Absolute. I need time to think."

Numbly, Tav finds himself replaying everything Gortash said to him over and over again in his mind. What Orin had said back in Rivington. They knew him back when he was still in one piece. It were him who contrived the plot of the Absolute. As the greatest Bhaalian assassin in his prime, he were due to bring devastation to the mortal planes with the Absolute's legions. Not only did he receive the Urges, he embraced them, revelled in them. Gods, he really is worse than everyone else. A filthy hierophant of the broken and the damned.

The entire journey since the nautiloid, all this time spent charading as a good man, and he’d had this hanging over him throughout…

Before he can wallow any further in self-pity and self-disgust, Wyll speaking interrupts him, "Unthinkable to see my own father name Gortash as sole ruler of Baldur's Gate. Please, we need to speak with him. Maybe - maybe he can see reason..."

——

They're leaving Wrym's Rock behind them, about to head into the Lower City of Baldur's Gate, when Tavik slows to walk in stride with Shadowheart whose hard gaze is locked on the stone path before her. She hadn't spoken a word since the inauguration.

"Please, Shadowheart... say something."

The Cleric's jade eyes level with him with such an air of utter contempt that he regrets he ever opened his mouth. "It's just one thing after another with you, isn't it? I thought I was the one most burdened with secrets - seems I was very mistaken. All this time we've been fighting and fleeing from the Absolute, and we've had one of their figureheads in our midst."

Tav feels like he's just been slapped.

Then, just as he's contemplating flinging himself off the bridge, Shadowheart sighs and the fury seems to flow out of her. She gives him a rueful look, brow slanted and mouth downturned but more out of sadness than anger.

"But I can hardly hold that against you - you seemed as surprised as I was. If you're able to resist your urges, then surely you can resist the lure of past allegiances also."

"I want nothing to do with Gortash, or my old life. I swear it."

"Karlach was right, perhaps we should've seen this coming."

Chapter Text

Act 1: Underdark/Camp

Tavik awakens one night in the subterranean caverns of the Underdark to a scuffling sound from outside his tent. When he crawls out to investigate, he spots a mass of tawny feathers squabbling with its beak buried in an upturned crate of supplies. It squawks in alarm at the sound of Tav's approaching footsteps, furiously wresting the crate from side to side as it tries to pry its face free with its paws. 

He recognises the feathered creature - it's the owlbear cub they'd freed from the Goblin Camp. He somehow must’ve followed them down here unnoticed. 

Tav moves around and gently yanks the wooden crate off his head and sets it down to one side as the owlbear blinks up at him with a pair of large round eyes. Spiked feathered ears perked out of caution or curiosity. 

"Hoo. Hoo-hoot."

The owlbear with his downy, fluffy face and inquisitive noises are just about the cutest thing the Sorcerer has ever seen and heard.

He glances over to the crate. Full of an assortment of packed food items. 

"Hungry, are you, little fella?" 

Beckoning him closer, Tav crouches down and fetches a chunk of beef jerky from the crate and holds it out ahead of him. 

The cub's eyes lock onto the food in his palm, taking a few tentative steps closer. 

At a certain distance, he just opts to toss it and the cub snatches it out of the air all too eagerly. 

The creature gulps the food down - it seems he hasn't eaten in some time. 

"Hoo-hoot," it chirps, as if in gratitude. 

"Careful. Once that thing’s eaten through the camp, it might start looking at you hungrily." 

Both Tav and the owlbear jerk with a start toward Shadowheart, who's suddenly stood behind the Sorcerer watching everything unfold as if she'd appeared out of thin air. The Cleric and Rogue had far too much fun sneaking around the camp like wraiths in the shadows. Poor Tav was sure he'd have a heart attack one of these days. 

The skittish cub screeches and scuttles off on four clawed feet, diving into and disappearing in a patch of mushrooms. 

Tav gives Shadowheart an unimpressed look, folding his arms. 

"I'm not chasing after it, if that's what you're thinking."

“I’ll chase after you.”

——

Shadowheart awakens one night below within the Underdark to something or someone pawing at the side of her tent. 

Grabbing her knife, she quickly pries her opening aside and comes face to face with that owlbear cub again. Staring back at her with big sad eyes.

"Hoo-hoo.”

The cub holds out his leg, revealing a ragged wound. His paw bloodied and raw. 

Realising that he’s asking for help, and that he somehow knew to come to her - Shadowheart is equal parts impressed and surprised, but she obliges. She sets her knife aside, in her tent, and comes outside. 

Bent down, she creeps closer to inspect the wound, and the cub allows her to take his paw in her hands. 

"Taking on prey twice your size, are you, beastie?"

The cub hoots again as if to confirm. 

The wound was superficial, the edges torn and jagged - probably a gnoll's crude blade. 

Shadowheart murmurs her healing incantation and her hands erupt in light as magic aura radiates from the pads of her fingertips and into the cub’s feathered foot. 

As the injury closes, she lets go, and the cub begins testing his weight on the leg.

"Hoo!" he chirps. 

She smiles. 

"Aha!"

Shadowheart glances up, to her side, at the sound of Tav’s voice. She takes one look at his face and groans.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're determined to rub it in."

"I am determined.” He plants his hands on his hips, grinning ear to ear. "Caught healing-handed!"

The owlbear gazes up at her adoringly and nuzzles his feathered face against her leg, hooting contentedly and her resolve to play the role of indifferent fractures. 

She pets his head. 

"The little beast's quite charming once you get accustomed to the smell of rotting flesh." 

————

Act 3: Baldur's Gate/Lower City

The next two days see them chasing the Stone Lord, better known as Minsc of Rashemen, Jaheira's old friend, across Baldur's Gate's Lower City. From the Counting House vaults to the city sewers in the first. Then today, they'd secured rented rooms at the Elfsong Tavern, caught up with Dammon at his new forge, and been 'book shopping' with Gale. 

Outside Sorcerous Sundries lies the Stormshore Armoury along the Lower City Central Wall where Tav stands.

"Better to don some armour than learn to swing a sword - if you can manage the extra weight, that is," the cheery armour salesman says to him.

But Tav's not really listening, his attention fixed on an armour mannequin displaying a shiny set of plate that would fit perfectly on a certain cleric he happens to know. 

There's a brief exchange of coin.

Their Elfsong rooms consisted of a large parlour complete with a fireplace, a decorative centrepiece carpet, and plenty of sumptuous furniture wrapped around by a mahogany balustrade that separates it from the three adjoining large spaces where everyone had their own recesses. Each with a bed, bedside table, and dresser, all partitioned off with wooden screens for the added privacy. 

When Tav and the rest return that night, he carries the crate and its contents over to Shadowheart's bed nook. She'd arranged herself in line with Wyll and Halsin's on the end nearest the doorway. She's affixing her preserved night orchid flower in a slim vase on her nightstand when he arrives. He sets it down on a chair while she watches with a questioning quirk of her brow. 

"This is for you," he offers in explanation, smile tight-lipped out of sheepishness. 

Shadowheart remains perplexed, but she does lean over to peek inside. Her expression easing as she delicately withdraws a single polished steel-plated gauntlet and turns it over in her hands. "You got me an entire new set of armour?"

"Now that we know where the House of Grief is," Tav starts, looking down sideways as he scratches at the back of his head, but their gazes level again when he continues, "Well, we don't know what we'll face once we're inside come tomorrow. I'd rest a little easier knowing you'll be well-protected." 

"How much did this put you out of pocket?"

"Hey, I can charm the pants off any merchant, we won't be needing to get Minsc to rob any more banks any time soon, trust me."

"I'll take your word for it."  

A few beats of silence passes, and Tav's about to turn to leave her to her own devices when she speaks again. 

"Well, aren't you going to help me fit it on?" she asks, lips pursed to just barely suppress a small smirk.  

"You want me to-?" Tav shakes his head, he's seen her naked for Gods' sake, and he smiles at her instead. "Of course. Though, you might need to walk me through it." 

Tavik helps her shrug into the first layer - a royal blue long-sleeved gambeson that reaches just down past her hips. Not too thick that it's overbearing and impedes movement, but not too thin that it provides no protection from slashes at all. Their eyes meet as he's fastening the leather straps that run down the middle of her front, her expression a mix between amused and curious as she watches him work and he goes to scoff but it ends with him chuckling a little too.

Next, a thin but lustrous shirt of chainmail that's parted at the hem in the centre. 

He prolongs their eye contact as he slides a belt around her waist, loops it through, and tightens with a precision and all without looking down. 

"Not too tight?"

Shadowheart shakes her head. 

The first bits of plating is the cuirass and pauldrons. Comprised of layered sheets of smelted, shaped and smithed steel that are etched with sweetly luminous silver swirled designs that vaguely resemble a wreathing of leaves or vines. 

Tav has to get down on one knee to fit the steel cuisses onto her upper legs, and she's more than obliging when he softly asks her to lift one of them to plant her foot onto his bent knee as he adjusts more straps under her thigh. Gods, why are there so many straps? It takes every ounce of concentration doing up the remaining fasteners, trying to ignore her lush body and the way each piece of armour fits to her supple curves and tone muscle.

While he's there, Shadowheart slides both the gauntlets on herself. One after the other. 

As she steps into the plated boots and greaves, he remains knelt down to assist her, letting her support herself with a hand on his shoulder.

Once they're both on snug, Tav smiles and glances up at her.

With a slightly lifted chin, she's wearing that vulpine little smirk she makes when she knows she can get away with anything with him. And she's absolutely correct. 

"Good boy."

Tav raises an eyebrow up at her, but an unnamed thrill runs through him, and its most unexpected. He refuses to give her the satisfaction of letting her know just how much the tease affects him on his face though.

"Careful..." he warns.

Fully armoured, Shadowheart takes a single step backward. She looks down at herself and does a slow spin in her full-length mirror. 

Eyes dancing down the expanse of her body in her matching ensemble of their own accord, the ever-enticing elegant shape of her, Tav can't help but admire.

"You look magnificent," he says, before she can speak, "Every bit a knighted princess in shining armour to ride in on her noble steed."

"I can’t help that everything looks good on me."

Tav's sure there's a double entendre in there, and a hidden meaning in her smug look, but decides not to press his luck with the flirting, as Shadowheart continues. 

"It looks heavy from the outside, but it's so light," she remarks, springing a little bit on the balls of her feet and loosening her armoured shoulders with a few shrugs as she watches herself in her reflection. "Like lifting a bag of shrunken leaves."

"The armour provides ample protection without compromising your agility. I didn't want to get something that hinders your spell casting." 

Shadowheart hums. "You thought of everything. Thank you."

Tav's eyes lose their humour for a moment, and he merely gazes at her, swallowing hard. The strain in their relationship pushed to the forefront of his mind and he can't move past it without discussion. 

"Shadowheart... are we okay?"

The concern in hers at his sudden solemness disperses and she nods simply. Knowing what he's referring to. 

"Yes, we’re okay." She offers a rueful smile and nods in the direction of the exit to their rooms. "Let’s have this conversation on the rooftop pavilion where it's a little more private." 

The pair wander into the hallway and ascend the ladder to the roofs. It opens to a hatch inside of a gazebo terrace that grants a grand view of the surrounding buildings and winding streets below. 

The balmy air of the evening stirring the rooftop flowerbeds and the sun slowly setting down by the waterfront on the horizon. 

Shadowheart stops to lean her hip on the stone parapet. 

"I suppose I should've realised sooner you were probably sent as cosmic punishment for every wrongdoing I've ever committed in my life." 

"You must've done something truly terrible to deserve me."

He means it as nothing more than mere jest, but Shadowheart's expression sobers as he comes to a stop opposite her beside the balustrade.

"I'm not proud of it..." she says, a faraway look in her eye as she stares off toward the Central Wall in the distance.

And Tav thinks he knows the words she left unsaid in that sentiment;

'Not anymore.' 

"But that's another reason I can't exactly fault you for your past misdeeds, when I were no saint either." 

The Sharran faithful were an insular bunch, notorious for their clandestine nature. Tav had always known this. Shadowheart had alluded to before some of her... less than favourable actions undertaken in the name of her former faith, but never outright unravelled that particular thread of her history to him in any detail. He supposes he'd never asked, and now, its an old wound that probably does not need to be picked at.

None of this changes the fact that there's nothing she could have ever done that comes close to the atrocities he'd perpetrated as Bhaal's Chosen. 

"If this is too much, if you ever feel the need to… end things, just say the word. No hard feelings. I’d understand."

Head lifting to stare back at him, Shadowheart takes a moment before asking, "Is that what you want?"

"I want you to be happy. Safe. Even if that’s without me."

Tavik takes a step forward, already reaching for her, but when he hesitates, she meets him halfway, taking his hands in her gauntleted ones. 

"I appreciate what you're trying to say, Tav. But I feel safest with you, not without. And you make me more than happy."

"You’re not disconcerted with my past?"

Sighing, the Cleric glances down. "Part of me feels like I should be angry about it, but I’m not. I know you." She pauses. "Tell me something, Tav. If our roles were reversed, and I were the loathsome Chosen of Bhaal - do you think you could forgive me? Still see me the same way you do now?"

"Absolutely. No question."

She nods, smiling to herself.

"Then that’s all I needed to hear."

"Hmm, perhaps you are perfect for me after all."

"Perfect for each other," she amends. Her shoulders lift as she shrugs and their eyes meet. Her gaze surprisingly tender. "I saw you in those first few days, navigating like it was your first time on Faerûn. Not unlike Lae’zel. You'd lost your memories and I’d like to think I can spot another amnesiac when I see one. None of that was fake."

A few long moments pass, Tav looking down at her, her up at him in earnest.

"And… I can see why you lied about your name."

A stab of guilt wells in the pit of his stomach at the mention.

"We were strangers and you had no frame of reference for yourself. You panicked and said the first thing that came to mind, but honestly, I think Tav suits you. Your identity is your own to craft."

He lets out a shuddering breath of relief, appreciative of her empathy toward him, even if he's not sure he deserves it. For it feels like such a flimsy excuse, even if it is the truth. "I suppose you’d know best in that regard."

"Yes, I would. I do. Besides, you've always had my back every step of the way, I'm not about to abandon yours." She smiles again. "Not that easily."

Choked by her devotion, he runs her fingers through his. And she curls hers around his, gives a small squeeze. 

"I promise, I’ll never keep something like that from you again."

Shadowheart’s responding smile has a tinge of sadness, but the look in her eyes suggests she believes him, at least. 

"May I have a kiss?" 

"Just the one?"

Despite the question, she doesn't wait for an answer, and with a grin, she tilts her face toward his, twining her arms around his neck. In a second, the distance between them vanishes and they melt into a warm, lingering kiss. Her lips full and soft beneath his. He pulls her closer, arms tightening around her armoured waist. 

It feels so good to know he’s back on solid ground with her, and that she understands how he’s been feeling. 

"If words exist to say how much your presence, your faith in me, means to me..." Tav murmurs as they part for air, a hair’s breadth between them, "I regret that I'm not clever enough to find them."

Shadowheart lifts simmering eyes to his, and she draws back enough to cradle his face - the cold metal of her touch like ice on his skin - as if she's holding the world in her hands. 

"It seems the others have mostly forgiven you by now."

"Jaheira’s grateful for getting Minsc back. Karlach seems to just be happy to see the city again. And then Minthara, for instance, oddly I think she respects me more for it.” 

"Yes, she wasn’t your biggest fan at first."

"It's worse for Gale, she can barely spare him the time of day. I almost feel bad since he's quite oblivious to it but, I must admit, I derive a deep satisfaction listening to her spit the term ‘wizard’ out like it’s a vile pejorative." Tav laughs but it teeters off with his next words. "Gale’s upset stung a lot, I didn’t expect that." 

Shadowheart lets him go, but remains close. 

"It seems he’s made amends with Mystra. Good for him." Her smile wavers. "Though I don’t see any such reconciliation between myself and Shar any time soon."

"Fuck her. You don’t need her. Not after all she did to you."

"I know that in my head, but I spent my whole life worshipping her. It's silly, I know." 

"It's not."

Huffing a light chuckle, Shadowheart eyes him curiously. "I can see what you're doing, you know. Subtly is not your strong suit."

Sincerely confused, "What am I doing?" he asks. 

Shadowheart taps her chin with a finger, pretending to think. "You've nudged Lae'zel onto her crusade against Vlaakith in the name of Orpheus. You reunited Jaheira and Minsc, encouraged Gale to mend his relationship with his goddess, and even negotiated Wyll out of his pact with Mizora. Though... I do hope giving up his father's life is worth it to him."

"Duke Ravengard is still alive, we can rescue him without Mizora's 'help'."

"And you were a big reason for what I did in the Shadowfell." 

"No, I wasn't. You all made these decisions all on your own, or would have, either way." 

"I'm not sure that's true, Tav," she replies drolly, "you've been trying to coax us into being better people all along." 

Tav scoffs, rolls his eyes, but looks away. "I haven’t the faintest inkling of what you're talking about."

"Don’t lie to me. You’re better than that."

He scratches the back of his neck, oddly nervous. "Well… you’re my friends, I want to see you all win and get your happy endings."

"Endings sounds a bit final… but that’s really touching."

"You know what I mean. I realise how insipid that sounds, but it's the truth." 

Shadowheart turns, leaning her forearms on the parapet and gazing out at the streets below once more. “You know, ever since we arrived in the city, I can’t help but feel a little… anxious. But I’m not sure I know why.” 

Tav cocks his head at her, but moves closer, mirroring her posture alongside her.

"How can I help?"

"I don’t think it’s what happens if we fail that concerns me - we’ll be beyond our worries at that point." The Cleric's eyes drift down. "I think what bothers me is what happens if we succeed… I’ve never been able to write my own future." Then, she's looking at him, open and vulnerable. "I wouldn’t even know where to begin." 

"I don’t think it has to be a daunting prospect. Just dream about what you’d like."

Shadowheart takes a moment to consider, nods. 

"Well I want to save my parents, of course. Take them away, far from Shar’s influence. Someplace peaceful - away from the city, perhaps."

"Go on."

Shadowheart starts to smile. 

"I’d like room for animals. Lots of them - all shapes and sizes. So long as they appreciate a warm fire and more affection than they know what to do with."

"Don’t stop now. What else?"

Shadowheart uses her hand to motion the rooftop gardens encompassing them, abound with beautiful spring blooms. 

"I want to grow flowers. I want to be surrounded by colours, every day. I’m tired of darkness."

Tav grins too. Eyes adoring as he gazes at her, only her. 

"Anything else?"

"Yes…" Shadowheart briefly glances down, at his collar, smiling. Her eyelashes flutter as she blinks. Then, slowly, she turns, her eyes flitting back up to his face and she's giving him the softest look he's ever seen on her. "And I want to share it all with you. If you’re willing."

At her words, his entire body is suffused with an aching, burning hope...

"Hmm. Let’s see how we fare. Perhaps I’ll get a better offer."

At his, she makes a mock sound of offence. She gives him a slight shove off his chest. 

"A better offer? You’re lucky you’re handsome and that I know you’re joking."

Tav's still grinning at her, he grabs her hand as she pulls it away. Holds it in both his. 

"Of course, I’m willing." 

Shadowheart smiles in answer, tugging him to her with that same hand. "Then it sounds like I have everything I need. More of life than I ever imagined possible - without Shar."

The Sorcerer wraps an arm around her steel-plated shoulders, the Cleric circling hers around his waist, as they stand side by side watching the warm colours of the sunset gradually fade and disappear beyond the city rooftops. 

On the other side of all this, there’s normal life to get to. It’s not exactly like Shadowheart can show him how to do that. But maybe they can find out together.

After near two months of adventuring - settling down, retiring to a quiet, mundane existence was an idea not without charm. As long as it's with her, there's nothing he wants more. 

Shadowheart leans her head on his shoulder, inhaling deeply, and she closes her eyes. "I'm looking forward to sleeping in a real bed tonight."

"As am I, hopefully my spinal curvature recovers from the tendays on stiff ground. Though, I had the best sleep of my life a couple nights ago..."

"Did you? What a coincidence, so did I." She giggles. "And at least I now know of a couple other uses for that smart mouth of yours."

"This smart mouth of mine is only a necessary evil to keep up with yours, Shadowheart," he counters dryly. "But feel free to take me up on any of those 'other uses' anytime."

"You're helping peel this armour off when we go back down, by the way."

"Anything for you." There’s a pause as something occurs to him. "Since you want to adopt pets, can we adopt Myshka?"

"Who?"

"This adorable little albino street cat I found in some alleyway today. I may have convinced him that I am his mommy."

"You what? I can’t leave you alone for a second, can I?"

"And I’d much rather you didn’t, if you couldn’t already tell."

————

The next day, early morning, the party is travelling towards the northern corner where the House of Grief supposedly lies. Shadowheart's old cloister, the Grotto, her past, and her parents. Shadowheart is resolved to put on a brave face, but inwardly, there's a tight ball of anxiety spurring in her chest. 

They're passing through the square where a tall statue of Balduran, the famous seafaring explorer whom had founded Baldur's Gate, is erected in the centre - facing the direction of the Grey Harbour Docks with one hand propped at its brow as if to block out the glare of the sun from its stone eyes. There's various storefronts and stalls along the main street, a few paperboy urchins shouting their latest headlines and waving a copy of the daily Baldur's Mouth Gazette newspaper above their heads. 

Behind the nearest urchin, on the wall of a large house on the corner, is a scrap of graffiti that strikes Shadowheart as hauntingly familiar and before she knows it, she's left the group to amble towards it. 

Upon closer inspection, its image is a juvenile depiction of a skull and crossbones with two 'x's for the eye sockets. Drawn hastily in red ink. Beside it, almost hidden beneath some overgrown foliage snaking down from the eaves of the roof, is a small scrawl that she can barely make out...

"SH was here."

...It almost looks like it was done in her hand. Did she do this? 

"Everything okay?" she hears Tav say from behind, having followed her. 

"This graffiti... I never thought I'd see it again." 

He spares a half-second glance at it on the wall.

"Why did it stand out?"

"Well, because I think I was the one who did it," she explains, almost laughing at the end of her sentence. "I can recognise my own handwriting..." Shadowheart traces the outline with two gauntleted fingers, marvelling as the memory of her in her youth returns to her. "How long ago was this? Years?"

Tav nocks his head to the side, studying it alongside her. 

"All the time I spent training, hidden away from the world. I think... I think I must have wanted to leave my mark somewhere - just to prove I existed. Even to myself..."

A message carved from a younger version of her for a future self.

"So young Shadowheart is an artist too. We should collaborate on something sometime." 

At that, she does laugh. Shakes her head. "I'd hardly call this 'art'. And it's already bad enough that your handwriting is neater than mine."

"It's still legible." 

"Did I hear you two correctly?" The pair turn with a start to find Jaheira staring at them both, hands on her hips, frowning. "Shadowheart, you're the one who graffitied my house all those years ago?"

Tav balks. "Your house?"

There’s a stunned silence for a few beats as the Druid realises her mistake and the new information registers in Cleric and Sorcerer’s minds. 

Then, Tav is darting off toward the front stoop of the building, leaving Shadowheart alone with Jaheira who is still glaring at her. Stern and disapproving.

"I want to ask why you never had this cleaned off… but this might be an inopportune time for that," Shadowheart began, sheepish, wringing her hands together. "However, you might want to follow him in case he throws a brick through your window to break in." 

"Stand on your liver!"

"No, no, it is 'stand and deliver', little Fig," Minsc corrects, grinning, miming holding an invisible blade aloft. "Though... I think I like your version better. You bellow like a true Berserker!" 

"Commander says I'm only supposed to keep out the bad ones, so you may pass-" The little blonde girl brandishing a wooden practice sword suddenly gasps in delight as her eyes land on Jaheira and widen in recognition as she strides up the porch with Shadowheart in tow. "Commander!"

Fig jumps up and down on the spot, excited. "YOU’RE IN TROUBLE!"

Then, she spins on her heel and zips off inside the house through the open front door. 

Once inside, Shadowheart and the rest bear witness to Jaheira being ambushed and scolded by her own adoptive wards - particularly the head of the household, Rion. (Tav makes sure to chime in saying he assumed the Druid Harper lived in a cave. Alone.) Mostly their biggest gripe seemed to be that Jaheira had neglected to send word of her well-being since the Shadow-Cursed Lands and her last message was curt and cryptic at best. Albeit, it’s clear her children adore her, even with their merciless teasing about her elder age. 

Jaheira was adept at keeping secrets, it seemed. And wise to try and keep her family safe. Shadowheart wishes she could've done the same.

As Tav and Jaheira move off to speak with another of the Harper's children, a young girl dressed in green. Shadowheart and their remaining companions linger awkwardly near the doorway. 

Shadowheart is able to overhear their following conversation. 

"A fine day to you, saer," the little girl says ceremoniously, as though imitating the speech inflection and enunciation of a noble, "Are you known to this court?"

Tavik smiles down at her, and playing along, replies whilst holding a hand over his heart, "One of such fine breeding as I, of House Fluffington, needs no formal announcement." 

That blasted name again. 'Daisy Dewdrop Fluffington.' Tav's go-to fake alias, ready to whip out of his back pocket at a moment's notice. It wasn't that funny the first time, and it still isn't the eleventh. Shadowheart sighs. 

The girl's face lights up. "Saer Fluffington! An honour to host you in my manor."

"Jhessem discovered an old family tree in my study," Jaheira says to his side. "We haven't had a moment's peace since." 

"Tethyrian nobility!" Jhessem objects, "You might be royalty, Jaheira." 

Whatever else she said afterwards, Shadowheart doesn't catch as Minsc approaches her, the bald man looking uncharacteristically stern. And she can guess as to what it might be about. 

"It was you who plucked Boo from my pocket when you thought nobody was watching, Shadowheart," he says, and it isn't a question.

She presses her mouth into a thin line. Doesn't answer. 

"It pleases you to hold him? And you have truly cleansed yourself of Shar?" 

With a soft sigh at having been caught, Shadowheart presents the tiny miniature giant space hamster in her palm. He'd been curled up asleep inside a gap between her overlapping shoulder pauldrons all morning since she'd swiped him from the Ranger. Now, he stands up on his stocky hind legs, nose twitching endearingly between his puffed cheek pouches. 

"I suppose you're right, on both counts." 

If Scratch or the owlbear cub were small enough, she'd carry them around like Minsc does with Boo as well. 

"I was going to give him back... eventually."

"Hmmm."

There's a pause. Minsc's expression lifts. 

"Then for one day only, you may carry him in your pocket. So long as it is clean, padded, well-aired, and full of nuts!" With each descriptive, Minsc points his forefinger higher and higher into the air. 

Shadowheart smiles, relieved, and gingerly strokes the fuzzy familiar in her hand's head with her thumb. Boo squeaks, chirrups under the petting, pleased. 

Halsin is regarding her for a while before he asks, "You stole Boo from Minsc? How?"

Lae'zel makes some githyanki variation of a 'tsk' sound. "She has always been a thief." 

Shadowheart shoots a slightly chagrined face at her but the gith just smirks back. 

"Halsin," she starts, turning to the burly wood elf, "If I were a druid, what animal do you think I’d be?"

"Given your memory issues, perhaps a goldfish?" 

With a dejected hum, "I did hope for something a bit more exotic," she says, then quirks a curious eyebrow at him, "but... would you carry around my fishbowl? Feed me flakes of food?"

"Only the finest, of course," he replies with a hearty chuckle. 

For a moment, the pair simply smile at one another. Then Halsin speaks once more. 

"I say that in part also because I heard you learned how to swim, Shadowheart." Halsin plants his fists on his hips as he grins at her, a common mannerism he shares with Tav and Shadowheart is momentarily distracted by both his bare biceps and the comparison. "Well done." Then, his voice lowers to something more suggestive, "You know, if you and your love ever wished to enjoy the waters with me, I could attempt a kelpie or even a porpoise."

The flirting from the Druid is not one bit shocking. 

"Hmm, depends, are you buoyant?" Shadowheart glances back down at Boo whom she's still petting in hand. "I may need a life preserver if I get in over my head."

"Oh! I heard about that too!" Karlach chimes in. She gives a drawn out sigh of envy. "It must be lovely to have a swim without boiling all the fishes alive."

"Sounds pleasant to swim with you. At a distance," the Cleric clarifies. "It was so freezing." 

The Barbarian points at her then over her shoulder at Tav who is returning to the group. "Don't ask me to make a hot spring for you two. It might work. But I also might cook you like lobsters."

"What are we talking about?" Tav asks.

"Your water misadventures," Halsin answers with a knowing grin.

Brow pinched at first in confusion, then suspicion, Tav scoffs. "How do you all even know about that?"

"Do you think we have anything better to do than to gossip about you?" Wyll says with a laugh. "Because we don't." 

Chapter Text

Act 3: Baldur's Gate/House of Grief

The House of Grief was tucked away in a secluded corner of Baldur’s Gate’s Lower City district. Across a short bridge running above the dug out storm sewer passageway. 

As they approach closer, Tav starts to notice people catching his eye then looking away. It was so apparent that he, at first, thought there might be something on his face. These individuals were distinct in that they lingered nearby, unmoving and in stony silence, adorned in dark colours - purples and blacks, in civilian clothing but not discreet enough that they did not stand out if one looked closer.

Expressions blank if not for a subtle hint of disdain, an almost imperceptible brow furrow and downturn at the corner of their mouths, especially when their gazes would wash over his cleric companion at his side. 

Nevertheless, they deign to allow the group through. 

Shadowheart seems to notice the same, as she shoots an almost worried glance over at him. 

"Don’t look at me," Tav tells her through their parasite connection so as not to be overheard, emphasising their need to appear undaunted in the face of these agents, but he smiles at her - small but encouraging. "Your coven, your parents, you’re captain of this ship today - so best get steering, Shadowheart."

Shadowheart's reply comes evenly, "The helmsman steers the ship. Rarely, if ever, the captain."

"Oh, you’re right," Tav rubs his chin as they walk, "This is why I’m not a seafarer."

“And maybe I’m looking at you to admire the view, not seeking direction.”

Intrigued, he returns the smirk she's giving him. “In that case - admire away.”

Like a self-aggrandising peacock strutting its train of elaborate tail feathers - the Sorcerer flashes a grin of pearly whites, puffs out his chest, plants one of his fists to his hip, curls the bicep of his other arm high, and turns his head to a downward sideways angle that accentuates the slope of his jaw. 

"I’m going to push you into the sewer."

Despite the remark, a reluctant smile spreads across Shadowheart’s lips at his antics and he's pleased to have successfully eased her tension somewhat, however temporary. 

They're travelling in a smaller group as Shadowheart sincerely doubted they'd allow all eleven of their circus troupe through. Behind them, Jaheira, Minsc, and Karlach follow at a brisk pace. Halsin is wild-shaped into a fuzzy mouse hidden within Tav’s robes to smuggle him inside. Astarion is tailing them somewhere covertly using his invisibility cloak. The rest, Gale had come up with a paired conjuration spell using a complex iteration of Dimension Door and a portable waypoint he’d infused to a rune for Tav to carry inside and summon them all to its location from.

"It is nothing any adept wizard can’t handle," he had said, much to an over-exaggerated eyeroll of the Sorcerer. 

They briefly speak to a befuddled man leaving the building who stares off at some random slender tree, absentmindedly entranced. By his attire, he must be a merchant or junior city council member. After a few short exchanges it’s clear that he’s suffering no mere confusion, rather his memory had been tampered with. An ominous sign. 

Outwardly, the building itself is otherwise unassuming. The same overgrown verdure snaking up and down the brick walls. Ascending the steps, the wooden railings are coiled with green vines, and there’s a flower garden outskirt on the opposite side surrounding a small grassed area, blooming with poppies and lavender. 

Tav enters the front door beside Shadowheart.

A blond wood-elf woman is stationed at a desk in the entryway, she rises from her seat to 'greet' them, for lack of better term. Eyes roving over them all for a cursory beat before settling on Shadowheart. 

"Welcome to the House of Grief..." she says, but her kindly demeanour drops fast as a glare forms, her tone turns snide with detest, "Or perhaps 'welcome' is the wrong word, Shadowheart. There's been some debate about whether you'd even show up to face the consequences of your actions. I assumed you'd try to flee, like a craven." 

Whatever apprehension had befallen Shadowheart earlier, she is great at hiding it, or perhaps had shaken it off entirely now because she lifts her chin, holds her head high and returns the death glare with a defiant scowl. 

"Spare me your venom, I'm sure the Mother Superior will have plenty of her own."

The attendant leads them inside the ‘Mapping Room’ - a squared space lit up by tall candelabras in every corner, and there’s incense burning atop some inbuilt bookshelves stretched across three of four walls, wafting the air with sage and lavender. Hung above which are several intricate tapestries outlined by tied-aside blue curtains. Empty of any real furniture, save for a small granite bench placed slightly off-centre facing an empty stone altar. She leaves quickly, right after she tells Shadowheart to sit, promising someone will be with them soon. 

The half-elf Cleric glances at him warily and he nods to her. Even as his stomach churns, the unease of the situation finally catching up to him as well. 

Tav doesn’t like this, any of it, not one bit. Every instinct tells him to make a break for the exit, that Shadowheart is in danger. They’d known this was a trap from day one but he’d still much rather scoop her up and sprint out of here like his ass was on fire than subject her to whatever awaits them. Alas, they can’t leave without her parents, they have to see this chapter of Shadowheart’s story through to the end.  

Taking a deep breath, she skirts round to the front of the bench and sits to one side. Tav and their companions stand just out of the way in the same corner. 

In a burst of misty shadow, a woman in dark black and gold hooded robes appears and takes a seat on the opposite side diagonally, the two women's backs to each other. Her head is ducked, the top half of her face obscured by her cowl, but her nose and chin protrude outward enough to glimpse the violet shade of her skin; Tav discerns that she must be a drow.

"Do you know why you are here?" the Inquirer of Grief asks of Shadowheart.

"There is something I lost…" Shadowheart says, her expression hardens, "No, had taken from me. My family. My life. I want it all back-"

"Loss is a gift, girl. Do you still not understand that?" the drow hisses. "Now give me the true answer - what is your purpose in being here?" 

"The artefact. I was sent to retrieve it. At any cost."

"And who tasked you with this mission?"

Shadowheart looks down, the muscles in her jaw clench. "The Mother Superior, of Shar's..." She sucks in a sharp breath before she can finish her sentence, her head swivels toward the woman. "It's you."

"Give me the honour of my name. In full."

With a frustrated shudder, Shadowheart stammers, "I... I can't. My memories-"

"I know what's in that head of yours better than you do, girl." The Mother Superior stands, paces forward, and turns slowly as she pulls her hood back with two hands. Shadowheart pivots ninety degrees on the spot to take her in as she looks down at her, expectant. "My name."

Tav, who'd been watching the entire exchange with his fists balled in a white-knuckled grip, was right. A pure-blooded drow woman, mature, slightly weathered features, and white hair that reaches and pools at her shoulders. She looks older than Minthara, he'd guess she were middle aged, around three hundred to four hundred years old. Shadowheart definitely recognises her, as something stirs in her eyes as they widen. 

"Mother Superior... Viconia DeVir."

"You still have the wits to recognise your betters. Good."

Though the air of authority Viconia exudes is undeniable, Tav sneers at the overtly condescending way she talks down to Shadowheart, and the way Shadowheart in turn seems to shrink in on herself under her flinty stare. Bitch. 

Apparently others recognise her as well, as Jaheira suddenly speaks. Dry and sarcastic, as usual.

"Viconia. If only Shar would bless me with the forgetting of your face." 

"You! Boo would have recognised your foul scent, if not for all this evil Sharran incense," Minsc says, swiping his hand in front of his face as if to swat away the smell. 

Viconia only briefly acknowledges them. "Always a pleasure to see old acquaintances. But you would be wise to not interfere in what is to come."

There’s a pregnant pause as her gaze lands on Tavik. He catches the slight crease of her brow but she quickly masks it. 

Her attention snaps back to Shadowheart, glaring. "Now descend - you have much to answer for."

Washed in purple light, Viconia's figure vanishes as swiftly and abruptly as she had appeared. 

"An astral projection. Very clever," Karlach says. "Stay on your toes around this one."

——

Descend they do, the altar had given way to a wide set of creaky wooden stairs that lead further down into some kind of hidden basement. At the bottom, they find themselves inside an empty chamber with three sets of double doors on both the left and right side, and just ahead.

Astarion emerges from the shadows, commenting as he looks around, "This place is miserable, even for the house of a god."

Indeed, there’s a solemn, foreboding atmosphere to the place. The Gauntlet of Shar had struck him as cold and empty, and that same frosty chill shivers between them now but there’s something else filling the air, a deeper darkness to the shadows, something simultaneously depressive and oppressive that almost weighs you down… 

Tav grimaces. He can’t seem to finish his thought. 

"This is it… our Cloister of Sombre Embrace…" Shadowheart mutters, observing the room where they stand, wide-eyed and breathless, "… where I was raised, trained." She turns sharply to Tav. "Hells, it’s strange to be back."

"A sad thing, to raise a child down in the darkness," Minsc muses quietly from behind, then he leans closer to Jaheira, and furtively whispers behind a gloved hand, "Small wonder Shadowheart is so pale. And smelling of damp."

If Shadowheart overheard that too, she doesn't acknowledge it, busy wandering over to the doors on the right as though in a trance. 

"I sometimes wondered if Viconia had returned to the Underdark." Jaheira lets out a sigh. "But instead she brought her sordid little patch of darkness to the city with her."

Just then, Halsin, in mouse form, wriggles free from where he'd been tucked inside the folds of Tav's pushed back mage hood at the base of his neck. He crawls up onto Tav's shoulder and the Sorcerer raises his palm for him to spring onto, slowly lowering him to the floor so that he can transform back into his usual elf self.

"Even with the Shadow-Curse gone, Shar's presence blooms everywhere," the Druid says gruffly, smoothing out his pants with a few scrubs of his hands, "No doubt her teachings have found a strong purchase amongst the city's populace."

Shadowheart tries the door she's stood at but it must be locked as it only rattles.  

Acquiescing to her unsaid request, Astarion drops down to one knee and produces his lockpicking tools to open it for her. In only a matter of seconds, he's cracked it with a satisfying 'click'.

Astarion titters. "Easy."

This first room is small, a storage of cupboards, mannequins, and shelves of various articles of clothing. An assortment of hats, masquerade masks, shoes, and other accessories. On the other side is a set of different types of chests and locks, with a desk of tools pushed against the wall.   

"The Infiltration Training room," Shadowheart explains, "A cunning disguise can serve a warrior of the Dark Lady better than any armour. That's what they always told us... I think this was my favourite part - putting these on, pretending to be someone else. I suppose that's been my whole life."

Tav looks at her thoughtfully. Silently wondering again about her life down here. He can't help but notice how bleak, how lonely it sounded. 

Oblivious to his eyes on her, Shadowheart is examining a reddish-brown stylishly foppish garment on one of the mannequins, embroidered with gold trim. Something a lute-boy might wear. 

"This tunic... I'm sure I wore it," she says, then her expression shifts, the colour drains from her face and she looks distinctly horrified, "Did I have to disguise myself as a bard? Hells, did i have to sing? The things they made me do..." 

That seems to catch Karlach's attention. "You sing?"

"I've heard her sing," Tav says with a tiny smirk, speaking without thinking. 

Both women's heads snap to him. Karlach surprised, Shadowheart confused. Until his meaning catches up to them, and the one-horned tiefling makes a disgusted sound before erupting in laughter. Cleric scoffs, and Sorcerer and Barbarian cough awkwardly when they realise she does not share their humour.

Shadowheart moves on to an elegant ball gown of forest green, black, and gold. "This fabric - I think I attended a ball, once. Infiltrated it, rather. What was the mission? Espionage? Blackmail? A honey trap...? I can't even remember. Not sure I want to."

The colour would suit her well, Tav thinks, but he's a little perturbed by her last guess. He hadn't ever envisioned Shadowheart as a seductress, but she certainly had the looks for it. 

Across the other side of the chamber, Astarion has unlocked the other set of doors that open to an 'interrogation' dungeon. 

Shadowheart enters the dreary space ahead of him, everyone else opting to wait in the main hall. 

As she circles the room, her voice comes low but thick with dread, "I... I think I might have hurt people here. Learned how to break their bodies, their spirits..."

Tav looks around, it's a larger area than the infiltration training room and equipped with many torture devices. All splattered with dried blood, and the air is heavy and stale with its powerful odour. A chair with wrist and ankle clamps, benches of metal instruments and bloodied rags, a torture rack, and a board across the back wall displaying an etching of a nude humanoid in anatomical position with the major nerves and arteries labelled. Another of a humanoid head with half of its face missing the dermal layers to display the facial muscles beneath. 

"Quiet in here now. But it wasn't always so. Screams rang off these walls. I swear I can almost hear them." 

She stops at the imposing torture rack. Designed to hold a victim in place with rope attached to the arms and legs, wrapped around cylinders that when turned would pull and stretch until ligaments and bones snap. It looms tall over her as she stares up at it, her throat works as she swallows. "How many people did I help break upon this thing...?"

Tav remains silent as she steps away from it.

"There's so much I can't remember, yet if I picked up these implements... I'd know exactly what to do," she murmurs, standing over one of the torture benches laden with crude tools to poke, prod, and cut, and bludgeon. 

Tav takes a book left out on a table, flips through with a small frown. Titled: 'Interrogation in Three Levels'. A manual for Sharran interrogators describing three levels of induced stress: Emotional, Physical, and Lethal. It emphasises eliciting information over punishment, and cautions the interrogator against becoming emotionally involved in the process, either sympathetically or sadistically.  

Slowly, he places it back down where he found it, glancing up again at Shadowheart who is breathing shallowly with a vacant stare, unmoving from where he'd last seen her. 

He can see that she's horrified at what she must've done. A past of inflicting cruelty. But under the thrall of a wicked deity, you don’t get a choice. You do what you’re told, what’s expected of you. And Shar's particular brand of spite involved pain, lots of it, and brainwashing. 

Typical cult modus operandi. Followers are taught to be ignorant instead of valuing critical thinking. They want them to have a particular, narrow view of the world. So they can control their thinking patterns and therefore their lives. For what do the sheep and cattle need with all that pesky free will and independent thought?

The mind tends to safeguard any belief one is already heavily invested in. She'd used to justify the dubious aspects of her faith with Shar's affection for her, striving for her eternal embrace. He sees her again now, back in the Shadowfell, when Nightsong's life hung in the balance and as did Shadowheart's fate. The visceral fear in her eyes, the fear of everything being taken away. Not just materially, but her purpose. 

But the hand that feeds, was also the one that had snatched everything away from her. And her from her parents.  

There's nothing he can say that would change this, that would reassure her. But he hopes she knows that he is there. 

"Let's go," he says instead.

And they do. 

——

"I remember this place now. A whole stolen childhood, spent in these halls. The Mother Superior must be close. Soon this will all be over." 

The further down they go, the stronger the ambient draining presence of the Shadow Weave becomes. 

A long stretch of purple stone bridgeway through an open cave chasm leads them into the main chamber. The temple is built directly into the rock, with many tapering stalactites and stalagmites spiking through the roof and floor. On either side of them are more statues of Shar, each holding discs propped with candles aloft with one hand, and short swords aimed at the waxy lengths with the other. Tav makes a mental note to blow them sky high when he gets the chance. Fire braziers hung by chains to the ceiling bask them all in light as they enter.

Viconia seems to have decided now was the perfect timing for a Sharran sermon, as she could probably be heard preaching from a mile away.

"We shall be robed in black satin, and embraced by Lady Shar, beneath an extinguished sun. All burdens shall be lifted. All pains forgotten. We shall be free."

With some of her followers occasionally chiming in.

"Free from light. Free from pain. Free from all burdens."

"Lady Shar shall restore us to our purest form."

The chanting gets louder the closer they draw.

"Those who cling to light are destined to lose it. Candles will gutter. Hearths will burn low. Stars will dim. Shed no tears for such fools. They are unworthy of Lady Shar's truth, and doom themselves. We shall leave them behind. The Nightsinger shall lead us to our reward."

"There can be no reward without loss. No salvation without sacrifice."

"Lady Shar smiles upon our endeavors."

Until they're stood at the edge of the main chamber where Viconia is alone in the centre platform as she addresses her church. This seems to be where everyone has gathered to bear witness to Shadowheart's judgement as about two or three dozen Sharrans in either robes or armour are perched upon the elevated steps of a semi-circular amphithreatre and Tav feels the weight of all those eyes as they alight upon their party, many red-rimmed with zeal. He spies one individual to the far right corner as they spot Shadowheart with a stricken expression and swiftly turn on their heel and march out of the congregation. Nobody else seems to bat an eye at this.

"Each of you has suffered in your own way and sought out the Nightsinger. The gift of loss will soothe all woes, but only for those who deserve it. Assure your place at her side. Serve her to your last breath, and you shall have no fear of death."

"There is no fear but the fear of failing the Nightsinger."

Shadowheart seems to have had reached the end of her patience as she steps forward, rearing straight into Viconia's line of sight with a steady, malcontent stare. An unpleasant smirk twitches around the corners of the drow woman's mouth and she turns her body to face the younger cleric. 

"They already heard how you disgraced yourself before Lady Shar. How she marked you as the enemy. But it is quite another thing for them to see it for themselves." Viconia speaks all her words emphatically, loudly, for everyone present to hear clear as day. Some kind of demonstration. "I am very glad you decided to return. A cautionary tale such as yours will be studied by Lady Shar's initiates for years to come." Then, she pauses, raises a hand thoughtfully. "But perhaps I can make a case for some small measure of mercy. Give me the artefact, and I can at least make this quick." 

"Enough," Shadowheart asserts, her voice booms like thunder, louder than ever, it echoes and reverberates around the huge hollow room. She stands firm with one foot ahead of the other. "I don't answer to you. Not anymore. I'm here for my family."

Viconia pins her with a glare that could wither flowers. 

Shadowheart looks satisfied by it. "That's right. I know what you did." Her returning glare is as sharp as the point of her spear as she growls, "And it's not going to be quick - not for you."

His love is no meek little lamb, the fierce formidable warrior he fell for on full display. 

"This is your family," Viconia gestures the throngs of Sharrans watching on, then, in a dismissing manner, waves one of her hands at Shadowheart, "and you have turned your back on it. The artefact was your last chance to prove yourself - and you squandered it."

He's had enough too, he stows his questions about her interest in the Astral Prism to snipe, "Shadowheart has nothing to prove to the likes of you." 

Viconia's sneer travels from Shadowheart to Tav. Her shrewd eyes take him in and narrow down to a letterbox slit squint. "Such misplaced camaraderie," she mocks. She glances to Shadowheart momentarily as she says, "You should pick your pets more carefully." Then she flits back to Tav, "How about this - surrender this one to me, now, and you can leave freely, and consider Lady Shar's forces your allies in the battles to come."

He’s not sure why she thinks that appeal would work. But he chalks it up to the conniving, self-serving nature of Shar worshippers. 

"Never," he spits. 

"As you like." The woman straightens her spine and squares her shoulders as she raises her hands into the air to shout, "L'il Alurl! For Shar!" 

As soon as the battle-cry tears from her mouth, every man and woman in the room is reaching for their weapons and chaos ensues.

Tav produces the stone slab rune from his clothing and quickly casts his summons to transport the rest of their True Soul companions to the very spot. 

All around, spells are being slung and weapons clash. 

Astarion is firing arrows, Minsc crossbow bolts as the group collectively back up toward the stairs they’d entered from. 

“Tremē!” both Druids shout in unison as they conjure a maelstrom of ice shards that clatters down upon the crowd of hostile Sharrans and slathers the expansive floor in a sleet of ice to slow them down. Halsin then quickly wild-shapes into bear form, Jaheira into a black panther. 

Viconia is advancing on them with a huge golden shield and a gaudy mace. 

She casts some kind of hex on Shadowheart that he doesn’t get the chance to counter in the middle of his summoning. 

But Shadowheart bends her knees, and Selûne's symbol - those mystic eyes and twinkling stars - flashes in gold light between her gauntleted hands as she quickly casts her own spell in retaliation. 

"Ferrum Obice!" 

A great towering barrier of hundreds of spears and halberds erects from the floor with a frightening speed, walling off the choke-point between the two thick pillars either side of the stairwell. Anyone unlucky enough to be caught within is impaled from below and their incapacitated bodies shoot up into the air upon the spiked tips in a gruesome bloody massacre. 

Screams rip through the air over the din of shouting and magic-casting. 

Tavik has never seen such a ruthless display of mass violence at her hands... His breath stalls. As morbid as it seems, her brutality gets his blood pumping wild in a way like no other, unadulterated heat spreading through him with every beat of his quickening heart. 

Finally, the rune in his vice-like grip flares bright and Gale, Lae'zel, Minthara, and Wyll exit a torrenting portal. Weapons drawn and magic hissing, entering the fray. 

They watch as a puddle of shadow forms and swirls just ahead of Shadowheart's blade wall, the visage of Viconia melts out of it, soaking out of the ground until she's stood before them. 

And Tav swears he can feel the onslaught of her words before she speaks them. 

"I know your fears, girl - the unknown father, offering an embrace of fang and claw."

Then, suddenly, two violet apparitions of large dire wolves leap over the barbed projections of the top of the barrier and land at either of her sides. Growling and snapping jaws.

Recovering quick, Tav circles a palm outward and casts twin-spell Haste upon himself and Shadowheart, "Citius!"

Whom uses the sudden spur of energy to project Mirror Image."Fronto da Protegat!" 

Three copies of her form a triangle around her, with matching plate mail armour, wielding Ketheric Thorm's shield, and Selûne's Spear of Night. 

The wolves pounce, maws open wide, drooling from sharp canines, only to be deflected by her mirrors with their shields when she raises her own. Tav steps forward, blasts them both with Disintegrate. Two Sharrans stagger out of the illusion and wail in fear as their bodies crumple to ash from the gaping holes in their chests that spreads like a festering disease and engulfs them without mercy. 

Viconia charges, slamming her mace at Shadowheart who blocks again. She swipes the shield at her and Viconia stumbles backward. 

Spear glowing with golden light, Shadowheart thrusts it forward - but before blade can meet flesh, caught in the backwash of her own enchantment, a retorting burst of force sends Shadowheart flying backwards into a nearby Shar statue and she drops to the ground in a heap. Some of the marble crumbles from where her back struck it, falling atop her motionless form. 

Her blade barrier falls away as her concentration holding it up shatters. The dead and dying corpses that'd been impaled upon it flop to the floor with several consecutive wet thuds.

"Shadowheart! It can't be!" 

Horror-stricken, Tav shoots the drow with his own beams of crackling force energy, propelling her smirking self skidding away backward several yards as he rushes back to his cleric's side. He crouches slightly, conjuring a magical spherical shield ahead of them both with two raised hands to ward off the barrage of green necromantic coils being hurled in their direction like soaring serpents.  

"Shadowheart, please tell me you're alright." 

Groaning, she uses the butt of her spear to prop herself up onto one knee. "I'm fine," she assures, but she's got her other arm crossed over her middle and her face is screwed up in a pained wince. 

Disoriented, she blinks, shaking the dust from her hair as she takes in the rest of the battle raging around them. 

Through a mist of shadows, Karlach can be seen fighting back to back with Minthara, the Barbarian is on fire with a Sharran mage lifted over her head in two hands and she hurls his helpless writhing body at another advancing on her up the steps. Both tumble down it and disappear in the murk. 

Lae'zel skewers them both with her greatsword as they try to push to their feet before she dodges a sudden mace swing from behind, and slides her blade clean through a woman's thorax with one powerful spin. The githyanki takes a moment to grip her side, blood leaking through her fingers from some wound, she spares it only a single glance before snarling and moving on. 

As a panther, Jaheira is tearing into another Sharran who she has pinned down to the floor, massive teeth shred through his jugular with ease. A spear shanks her in the flank and she lets out a startled animalistic whimper, skittering sideways. Halsin charges in as a bear, one clawed paw swiping away the attacker with an intimidating growl as he places his large form between them. 

Wyll defends Gale from a halfling with both his rapier and Eldritch Blast. 

Upon the high ground of the entry staircase, Astarion and Minsc remain, raining a hail of arrows and bolts. 

Everyone is still standing, the same can't be said for the Sharrans, but many of his companions have taken hits from blade and spell alike. 

Want to know why Tav holds Shadowheart in such high esteem beyond his affection for her and his captivation of her self? Shadowheart was virtually one of the most powerful healers in the realm. Life is a curse, fragile as anything, and many can take it with little effort, but the ability to preserve it was one few and far between. Especially to the degree that she can. He'd sensed early on her power, some of it she'd unleashed often in battle, but he had known there was a great well of possibility untapped within her that she had only begun to scratch the surface of. If Tav was the force that brought them together, Shadowheart is the glue that keeps them together, alive. Without her, there's no doubt in his mind that they'd have succumb one by one to grievous injury, illness, poisoning, and whole manner of other bodily damage. She's invaluable. But he could wax poetic about her substantial sterling talents and attributes all day and all night. 

Shadowheart pushes to a stand. As she does, she raises her free palm upwards, and speaks an incantation he'd heard often to defy death.

"Corpora Sana!"

A flood of healing energy erupts outward from her in waves, bathing the temple chamber serving as their battlefield in blue light and washing every single one of their party in her rejuvenating magic aura. Including herself. 

Invigorated, she collects her shield, and storms back toward an awaiting, taunting Viconia. 

"I am Lady Shar's instrument. You cannot win."

This time, Shadowheart refrains from using radiant magic, her spear-tip all she needs, as teacher and student meet head on once again. 

The lake of ice across the tile has begun to melt, Tav hurries the process along with a brush of fire quickly followed by a blaze of lightning - the electric discharge traversing the now watery floor and shooting up the legs of any Sharrans stood within. Gale helps, using Destructive Wave to send a ripple of thunder that knocks the few remaining prone inside the confines of its terrain in one fell swoop - electrocuting all, whom convulse uncontrollably before dropping dead. 

Viconia, locked in single combat with her former protégé, seems to take notice that her entire cloister of followers has fallen and she's the last. For the first time, she looks genuinely frightened. 

"Go for the eyes, Boo!" Minsc yells from the far back. 

Boo springs out from a gap in Shadowheart's armour, the giant miniature space hamster launching himself at Viconia's face with an angry squeak. He lashes out with tiny claws and teeth with a vengeance (if it's even possible for a hamster to have a vendetta against someone). Viconia drops her shield in the confusion to reach her hand up and pry him off, but he manages to escape her grasp just in time with one retreating jump back towards the younger cleric's shoulder. 

Shadowheart takes advantage of her distraction to duck low and thrust her spear into the older woman's exposed thigh. 

The drow cries out in pain and collapses to the floor, her mace clatters out of her hand and she scrambles backward into the nearest wall. Chest heaving, she drops a hand onto her abdomen and clutches her upper leg in the other where blood is pooling from deep wounds and staining her robes. Bearing the gouges of Boo's thrashing all over her face, and a split lower lip. 

"My parents, where are they?!" Shadowheart demands, striding up to loom over her. 

The Sharran priestess seems to accept her defeat, as she stays down, the fight leaving her eyes.

"So blunt," Viconia laughs breathlessly, but the movement must pain her as she grimaces, "Have you forgotten all the interrogation techniques I taught you? Where is the finesse?"

"Answer me!"

Still staring down at her former Mother Superior, Shadowheart answers, "I want to see my parents. And I don't care what happens to this one. She's been inside my head long enough already." She lifts her chin, turns to look at him. "Do what you like. I know you'll choose well." 

With that, she moves to leave, turning her back on Viconia one final time. 

In irate confusion, Viconia shouts after her, "What are you doing? Come back and finish this yourself! You owe me that!"

"Let go, Mother," the Cleric says without looking at her, "Embrace loss."

Shadowheart ambles off through the corpses of dead and dying Sharran lackies strewn about as Jaheira and Minsc approach their old companion. 

"Are you sore, Mother Superior? You brought her to the same crossroads you yourself once stood at - but you cannot force her to follow." 

"There was a time when you would flirt with goodness and justice, Viconia," the Ranger adds, "Let Minsc and Boo be last to reject your advances."

Shadowheart might not care what happens to Viconia hereon out, but Tavik did. To show mercy would be to invite a blade to their throats and after all she had done to her, well, he couldn't just let it go. He did not often allow himself to revel in the deaths he wrought since waking up in this shell, but there were certain characters he did take a sadistic pleasure in ridding the world of. 

From the sheath on the back of his belt, he slides his dagger free, sways forward slowly, his brow slanted and a cruel sneer on his face. 

Viconia sees the expression, a spark of fear in her eyes which she screws shut. "I draw near, my Lady..."

Tav sinks his cold blade into her cold heart, brimming with sickly sweet satisfaction when she slumps against the wall and the life ebbs out of her. 

——

When Tavik catches up to Shadowheart, he finds her speaking to another Sharran inside the dormitories. A tiefling woman with short horns and purple hair. His eyes narrow at her but he glances to Shadowheart for reassurance and his skepticism cools when he reads her face. She hadn't known what to expect coming back to this place, but it certainly wasn't someone who would still call her 'friend'.

"This is Nocturne," she smiles, "the friend I remembered when we ate the Noblestalk."

The two introduce themselves briefly before Shadowheart resumes their conversation. 

"There's still so much I can't remember... Can you share anything else with me? From when we were young?"

Nocturne takes a moment to think, her violet eyes sparkle when she spots Boo wriggling out of her shoulder guards into view to perch on his hind legs and sniff the air. "Well... you had a pet mouse for a while. It was against the rules, of course. You used to hide him under your robes and feed him from your rations. I'm not surprised you found another furry rodent friend."

"Did he have a name?"

She laughs behind her hand. "Nibbles. I suggested Brie, but you were having none of it." Her expression changes, turns solemn. "She caught you with him. Forced you to get rid of him... in front of everyone to make an example. You always loved animals, but you never let yourself get too close after that."

Shadowheart looks down.

"I'm sorry. Not the sort of thing you want to hear, I'm sure."

"I don't suppose there are any pleasant memories you could share?"

Brushing some loose hair off her brow to tuck behind a pointed ear, Nocturne considers, says, "Well... you know that little scar on your elbow?"

"You know about that?" Shadowheart asks, eyes wide, "It's barely the size of a pea."

"I was there when you picked it up!" she exclaims, holding a finger up in the air. "It was years ago, when we were initiates. Some of the others were intent on tormenting us... until you showed them the error of their ways. I think it was six against two, and most of them were bigger than us, to boot. But you saw them off, all of them. There was bruised lips and black eyes at the mess hall that night. From then on, they left us alone. Or at least, bothered us less."

"We weren't punished for fighting?"

"Not at all - if anything, they seemed pleased your training was paying off. I never saw the Mother Superior smile very often, but she did then. I think she was proud of you." She pauses a moment for her words to sink in. "As for the scar, that was from a collision between your elbow and the teeth of a girl called Buddug." She mimes elbowing someone to her side as she explains with a small grin. "She was on the same mission as you. I suppose she won't be coming back..."

Everyone else had died to the Githyanki...

"Anything else?" 

Nocturne sighs, wistful. "Just small things, silly things... the sort you'd scarcely recall even if your memories were left intact. You had a little hiding place that you went to when you needed to get away - you brought me there sometimes. We'd talk, play, read, do each other's hair..." she trails off, her cheeks colouring bashfully, and she looks away quick.

"So, my hair... that was you?"

Shadowheart remembers Lae'zel inquiring after it once, but her memory of where she learned the technique had been lost to her until now. Tav often still helped her braid it now while they chatted late into the nights. 

"The plait and fringe? Yes - on your instructions, of course. You were very intent on a bold look, I think you said. My hands were cramped by the time I finished, but you were very pleased. I like the new look as well though, you always did like a dramatic touch." 

Looking around, Shadowheart then asks, "The hideout you mentioned, where is it?"

"Hidden at the back of the storage area. Luckily enough, as quartermaster, I was able to keep it hidden back there. It should be, well, if not how you remember it, exactly as you left it."

"What will you do now?"

"With the Mother Superior... everyone, gone, I'll have to leave." Nocturne's gaze falls to the floor but she tries to sound assured. "Maybe there's another enclave out there somewhere." 

"You don't need Shar," Shadowheart asserts.

"You don't, perhaps. Not everyone is as brave."

The Cleric realises there that she can't force her old friend one way or another. How hard it was to come to terms with her own estrangement from Shar, and so she holds her tongue. Gives a small reluctant nod. They bid farewell as Shadowheart moves to investigate further inside the dormitory chamber. The Chamber of Loss was locked up tight, and a way to open it must be within Viconia's possessions.

At the very end is where she recalls Viconia's rooms being located. 

Behind her, she hears Tav's voice. 

"Here. If you ever wish to get in contact with Shadowheart, this will shoot a Sending Spell to her no matter where she is." She turns to see him handing a rolled up scroll to Nocturne who is looking down at it in her hands. "Shadowheart could always use another friend, and I think you could too."

Nocturne clutches it to her chest as though it were a treasured belonging.

"I... Thank you. I'm glad to see she made new friends. Take care of her for me."

"She can take care of herself, but I will."

——

Within the Mother Superior's chamber, Tav and Shadowheart peruse a bookshelf, comparing notes with no small amount of dismay. 

Cleric risks a glance at the journal in his hand as he angles it toward her for her to read, expression troubled. 

"These are all about me... Forty years of my life, documented like I was some sort of specimen."

They swap books, and she scans the contents of the one he'd handed over.

"Years have passed, and still she refuses to be easily moulded into what Lady Shar wishes her to be. She questions my teachings, hesitates when she should be pitiless, and longs to venture the world like some guileless animal. 

So often, her behaviour makes a mockery of the name she adopted - Shadowheart. That Lady Shar believes that she will one day become the perfect embodiment of her will makes my gorge rise. Have I not proven myself worthy? Did I not sacrifice everything in order to please the Nightsinger? I had built something great in her honour, in Waterdeep. All gone now. Those who followed me have been embraced, and I am left with honing a child of the Moon Bitch's followers into Lady Shar's right hand.

I will not give up. I will remake her, or I will break her. The Nightsinger shall know who is her most loyal servant, one way or another." 

——

They find her hideout exactly where Nocturne had described it being. Behind a boarded up wall within the armoury and up a small ladder. A Night Orchid cave, dotted with several of the flowers among patches of grass, with thick tree roots protruding from the rocky walls and ceiling. In the middle, adjacent to a small pond of water, is a circular purple mat with a stack of books and abandoned picnic basket. The space illuminated by a small skylight hole in the roof directly above where a stream of daylight shines through. For a second, she's struck by the calm that descends over her. 

"My old haunt." She glances up, around, taking everything in. Her voice echoes. "Strange, I don't remember it, but it's comforting to be here."

At the foot of the mat, she spies a loose bit of parchment and collects it to read.

"She is going to make me look in the mirror. She is going to take my memories. I do not want to forget who I am. I like flowers, I like animals, my name is-"

The writing breaks off with a jagged scrawl, as if interrupted.

Shadowheart knows she must've written it, that's her handwriting. "This speaks of a mirror that steals memories. Is that how they did this to me?"

"Like the one in the Gauntlet?" Tav wonders. 

"I'd almost forgotten about that."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Not funny."

"Apologies."

Folding the note in her hand, she tucks it into her pack, taking a thoughtful moment to herself. Then, she looks at him again. 

"This place, it's like I've found a piece of my childhood. A childhood I don't truly remember. But remember or not... I feel right at home here, surrounded by books and night orchids."

"Want to come back and spend some time here?"

She chuckles, some of the tension leaving her. "Don't tempt me. I might find it hard to leave." She crouches to brush her fingertips along the petals of a night orchid at her feet. "Can you imagine what it would have been like, growing up in this place? Endless training, no privacy, facing scorn wherever I looked... I can very easily imagine I needed somewhere to escape to, if I was to survive." She glances up. "Nocturne and I must've come here a lot. We probably had plenty we wanted to hide from."

Shadowheart stands, adjusting the hem of her chainmail, and takes one final look around.

"Anyway, I think it helped shape who I am, as much as any sermon or training did. Funny the things that influence you..."

——

Shadowheart had spent her whole life under Shar believing herself an orphan, always looking and searching for the parent she sought for love and guidance. It made her wonder; why were her parents not in her life? Did they not love her? Why was she unwanted? 

Gods, they’d used her desperation for love and approval against her… 

The stark realisation coupled with the sight of them strung up like sacrifices on two identical polished discs before her here in the Chamber of Loss has her sick to her very stomach. 

"It can't be. Another cruel trick..." the man who must be her father says. She'd seen him before, once, in her memory of the wolf in the woods reframed by Dame Aylin. When he'd transformed back to into an elf, reaching for her as a circle of masked Sharran agents enclosed on him and held him at spearpoint. The lycanthrope father she'd mistakenly thought was a predator, hunting her.

A journal listing the captives of Shar named him Arnell Hallowleaf. 

He is cut off as dark magic swarms around his wrists, his bindings, making him jolt and hiss in pain, and her hand flares in response.

"No... there is no trick," the human woman, her mother, Emmeline Hallowleaf, says, "It's her. Jenevelle. Jen. Our little girl."

Jenevelle...

"Moonmaiden's grace. It is you..."

Both her parents are in rags, caked in dirt, with dark rings around their eyes. Shadowheart grinds her teeth, clenches her fists, and steps forward. 

"I'm here to get you out of here. They're all gone, it's over-"

Before she can finish, her incurable wound scalds her with an intensity that rivals the Shadowfell, shooting down the nerves in her arm and burning her up inside. Her hand claws as she clutches its wrist with her other. She refuses to give Shar the satisfaction of seeing her cry out but that doesn't mean it's not enough to bring her to her knees. 

Then, the world around them goes dark. A pitch-black blanket of shadow that blots out everything until it's only herself, Tav, and her parents. The pain abates and Shadowheart rises to her feet as she scans the darkness. Tav's at her side, a hand on her upper back and the look on his face asks, 'Are you okay?'

A cold knot forms in the pit of her gut, she has no time to answer, as Shar's colossal obsidian form materialises before them all. 

"It is not over," she says, biting off each word. "You see, it matters not if you raze this place, if you slay every one of your brothers and sisters. That was never where my power resided. Every time you try to step away from me, every time you try to reach for Selûne, my hold on you bites deeper. If you had learned, if you had obeyed, there would be no pain. But you struggle on. You make things worse for yourself. And for them." 

Tav pushes himself sideways, just ahead of her, as though to partially block her from both Shar's reach and view. No matter how futile. She wonders if he even realises he's doing it, trying to protect her. 

"Haven't you done enough to them?" His voice is hard, demanding. "You're no goddess, just another monster."

Shar's countenance, top half concealed beneath her elaborate headdress, betrays no reaction to his derision.

"I am neither. I am nothing. I am the empty room. The dreamless sleep. The shadow's shadow. There was no pain before my sister set the sun aflame. Now you exist to suffer, until you find your way back to my embrace." 

"Enough!" Shadowheart shouts at her. "I'm taking my parents away from here. I'm taking them away from you."

"You cannot," her father says. "We are still bound to you. You cannot both free us and free yourself from her curse. The Moonmaiden needs you more than she needs us. You are the future - you must return to the fold. We are the past. And our duty is almost done."

"Eloquently put," Shar agrees. "His mind stood up well to his time here. The same cannot be said for your mother - such brief, fragile lives humans lead. This is my final lesson. I leave you now, to dwell on your mistakes and make your choice." 

Mind still reeling, Shar vanishes and her shadows evaporate, Shadowheart glances around in confusion as the Chamber of Loss reforms around her once more. 

"She's gone. I-I don't understand."

Arnell grunts in discomfort, gazing down at her sadly. "Shar will never admit defeat - not until she has stolen one last thing from you. We cannot allow your future to be her last prize - not after all your mother and I have endured to see you again." His eyes, the same colour as her own, drift across to Tav. "Your companion understands, I think. Help her, please. Help her see what must be done."

Distraught, Shadowheart turns to him. He was looking down, but his despondent stare levels with her when she does. "You have to choose, Shadowheart. Free your parents, or free yourself from Shar's curse."

Her flesh crawls. The choice is unspeakable -

"No, I can't. I came here for them!"

"And you did. You found us. All these years, that dream kept us going, that you would break free. No matter what they made you do to us, we knew you were still in there." 

"I knew the dark woods wouldn't frighten you," her mother adds, greyed eyes shining, "You were always such a brave girl."

"She was. And still is. You've saved us. Now save yourself. You'll be out of Shar's reach, and we'll be at peace."

"But I only just found you again," she protests, the corners of her eyes prick with tears and a sharp anguished pain forms in her chest, "after all this time. I can't lose you again."

"We'll still be with you. By the Moonmaiden's grace, we'll never be far. Please, Jenevelle."

Her father's beseeching makes her pause. She wants to cry. She wants to scream. Instead, all she can do is stand there, shuddering with barely restrained sobs.

Sometimes it feels like the hits just keep coming with no end in sight. No break and no relief. 

Beside her, Tav moves, laying a hand delicately on her upper arm. 

"You don't have to lose your parents, not again," he says. "The pain can be handled."

"But the curse," she shakes her head, there's a shift in her expression, a flicker of doubt, "We'll just have to go on like this... suffering." 

"You can endure it together, as a family. The wound might continue to hurt from time to time, but losing them now will hurt more. We'll find another way to get rid of it. I swear to you, I'll never stop trying. But Shadowheart, you don't have to let Shar take anything else from you, and you don't need to say goodbye here."

It's as though he'd thrown her a lifeline, lit another path at the cross-section of a dark tunnel. 

Shadowheart sets her shoulders, determined, and faces her parents once more. 

"I didn't come this far just to give up at the final hurdle. We're leaving this place together. I'm going to take care of you." 

Arnell opens his mouth to argue, "Our time has passed, Jenevelle. You must not let us burden you." 

Shadowheart lets out a choked sob of relief. "You're no burden. You're my strength. I think I know where my wilful side comes from now."

"But-"

"Hush, Arnell," Emmeline interrupts, "Jen wants her family. Jen shall have her family. How can we help, dear?"

Lifting her wound hand, Shadowheart looks down at it. 

White light flares inside of her palm and a sobering realisation comes to her - that she knows what to do. At the edge of her consciousness, she gets the sense of unfathomable power, waiting to be called.

The weaved shadow magic, the crux of their bindings, comes undone at her beckoning. The amethyst glow becomes alabaster. Her parents slowly lower to the floor on shaky legs. Her mother comes forward first, Shadowheart ducks her head but her mother's gentle hands are soon cradling her face, lifting with barely any force at all, and her eyes take her in in wonder - as though she can hardly believe she's real. Then, she's hugging her, and Shadowheart can't hold back the floodgates as her eyes well with more tears that roll down her cheeks. She glances between both her parents and is hugging her mother back just as fast. 

Her father wraps his arms around the both of them. 

When they step away, Shadowheart nods once, grim-faced. 

"We're getting out of this place. We'll take you to our camp - you'll be safe there." 

————

Late that night, outside in the courtyard of the Stormshore Tabernacle, Shadowheart stares up at a statue of Selûne. Her placid stone face was once that of the enemy, but no longer…

Now she sees a benevolent stranger. An unasked-for patron. And a guiding light for her parents.  

Since the Lady of Silver had taken over in Shar's stead, the new source of Shadowheart's divine magic, she'd been conflicted. She'd spent nigh on forty years being taught to hate the Moonmaiden and her followers. Caught in the middle of the divine sister's perpetual feud. When all along, Selûne worship may have been her future without Shar and Viconia's interference. She can admit that she hadn't been all too keen to throw herself at the next goddess, not after how badly it went with the last one. Now, though...

Tav, who’d been looming a few paces behind, she hears his footsteps as he slowly approaches her. She'd woken him half an hour earlier, asked if he'd accompany her, and he'd said, 'Of course'. 

"It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a while. Perhaps people lost faith… or forgot about it," she says softly as she spins around to face him.

"Just because you've turned from Shar, doesn't necessarily oblige you to embrace Selûne." 

His voice is also just above a whisper, his words reserved for her ears only.

"True. But too much freedom can be frightening... lonely. There's a reason why so many are eager to bow." She pauses, casts another glance at the statue over her shoulder. "I wanted to come here. To see if I felt anything I hadn’t done before. Now that I know what I know. Now that I know who I am."

For a moment, Tav just regards her carefully. 

"And do you feel anything?"

"I… I don’t know. For so long I only felt what she wanted me to. Now I have to do it for myself and I feel like I’m drowning."

In her own ears, she can hear the raw emotion soaring through her voice. The brokenness. 

He gives her a tenuous smile. 

"Good thing we taught you how to swim then."

Shadowheart sniffs at his attempt to lighten her spirits. "A very good thing. I don’t know what I did to trick you into thinking I was worthy of you, but I’m glad it worked," she says, with a rueful half-laugh. 

"You don’t earn love, remember?" He tilts his head at her, his smile suggests he’s amused, but there’s a sorrow in his multicoloured eyes that she doesn’t miss. Because it’s reflective of her own. "It simply is." 

"Yeah." She sniffles again, shakes her head twice, looking down now. "Cheeky bastard."

"I'm no expert, but from what I know of Selûne, her guidance is more discreet in nature." The Sorcerer gestures between the statue at her back and the moon glowing above them. "I think whether you choose to embrace her or not, you can afford yourself as much time as you need." 

"So much time's been lost already. Most of it, I can't even remember. And what I do remember... it would've been so much easier to just become a monster."

She’d succeeded, but at what cost? Her pain endures. Her past is lost - save for the very worst memories. How can her parents even bear to look at her, never mind love her?

"I have my family back, and I can’t even look them in the eye. I don’t deserve to be anyone’s daughter."

Shame, joy, regret, relief, and a host of other emotions jostle for her attention. It’s too much. She feels hot tears flood her eyes.

Face falling, he stares back at her in pity for a moment before he speaks. He hasn’t seen her cry before, she can’t remember the last time she did either. Perhaps it were a long time coming. 

"Come here."

Tav closes the distance between them and she buries her face in his broad chest as his strong arms slide around her. His embrace is protective, secure, warm, yet blessedly tender. Gripping onto him via his tunic on his back, she lets the rest of herself slacken into him completely as the grief of her guilty conscious finally overwhelms her, sure that without his support she'd have crumpled to the floor then and there. He's leaning his chin down so that his cheek is pressed to the top side of her head as he anchors her against his body.

"I’ve got you. Let it out."

She can feel her tears stain his nightclothes but he is perfectly unbothered, using a hand to rub soothingly at her back. 

"I’m sorry, Tav."

"For what? Having emotions? Limits? Blasted tear ducts that secrete, oh no, tears?! Blasphemous!" 

She huffs a half laugh, half sob at his jest. Feels him squeeze her a tad tighter. 

"I am not very good at comforting, I think," he murmurs after some time. "I can't promise to solve all your problems, but I can promise that you'll never have to face them alone."

The old her may once have found this - her breaking down, in front of someone - awfully pathetic at best, a dangerous display of weakness at worst. A weakness she’d spent so long trying to stamp out in herself. 

But he’s the only one who could understand. She knows what he sees when he looks at her - that within her coincides a great darkness, but also great beauty. For she sees the same things in him. The same coexistence. 

These precious impossible moments of comfort are few and far between, but always with him. That she never has to fear judgment, condemnation, or ridicule, and can simply abandon herself in his arms is everything. 

"I don't deserve them, not after everything I did to them."

"Banish those thoughts, you deserve a lifetime of happiness that was taken from you."

It's not him who said that. They break apart slowly, turning to find her mother, her father had followed them here. 

"Jenevelle. Jen." 

Shadowheart quickly rubs her forearm across her eyes to brush away any lingering wetness. Her bare arm now stained with her eyeshadow from where it must be running down her face. She dips her head to hide the mess, shakes it. 

"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to see me like this."

Her mother steps close, takes her face in her hands for the second time. Her thumbs stroking her cheeks to clean her tears away. "Alive? Free? Feeling? I've dreamt of seeing you like this for years. My darling girl. The last time I saw you cry, you cut your knee while chasing a frog."

To that, Shadowheart's lower lip wobbles. She can't help it, she feels so godsdamned fragile. She lets her chin rest on her mother's shoulder, her eyes flutter shut, returns her embrace. 

"Seeing you as yourself again, Jen," her father says, smiling. "It kept us going, all this time."

The name, hearing it strikes a chord. She pulls away. 

"I can't be your Jenevelle. Not as you remember her."

"Of course you can..."

"No. I'd be turning my back on too much. Shadowheart is as much a part of who I am as Jenevelle, I can't just forget her - that's not what I do anymore." Her shoulders lift ever so slightly. "Besides, Shadowheart still suits me - even better than before, perhaps. You can't cast a shadow without some light. Don't worry, I'm still your daughter... if you want me to be." 

"I'll call you whatever you like, so long as you're happy. Arnell?"

"The Moonmaiden guides, and helps us find our true selves." Her father smiles, nods. "Shadowheart. Daughter."

Shadowheart opens her arms wide and circles them around her mother, holds tight, as her father's settle around both their shoulders. There, she allows herself to break down completely. And they stand, under Selûne's watchful eyes perhaps for an unknown, but extended, duration. Together, at last. 

On the way back, Tav slips his hand gently into hers. Warm, slightly rough skin of his palm against hers. He gives her a wordless smile, and in the moonlight, she can see that his eyes too are glassy from unshed tears. 

Chapter Text

Act 1: Camp 

It is one of their first few nights, and they'd just learned earlier in the day that Halsin, the Archdruid of the Emerald Grove, was supposed to be some master healer who may have the means to extract the tadpoles from their skulls. Druidic magic was among a more unconventional channel of Weave manipulation. One both he, Gale, and Shadowheart weren't very well versed in. But perhaps their unfamiliarity with it, and his apparent thorough study of illithids, meant he'd know something they didn't. Tav won't set his heart on it, but there's promise, and that's more than they had to start with. Soon, this nightmare could be over, and they could all go back to their normal lives. If Tavik could figure out what his even was, that is...

Alas, Halsin wasn't available to help, that'd be too easy, as some mercenaries had abandoned him while on an expedition amongst a camp of goblins in some ruined temple somewhere further into the wilderness. 

Tav, doing his rounds shortly after dinner, greets Shadowheart who is ruminating outside her tent. With a thousand yard stare, she's looking across toward the river, mind seemingly elsewhere, and she doesn't even notice his arrival until he strikes up conversation. 

"The leader of the pack comes to chat," she says to him as she stands from her knelt position, and though her words seem snide, her tone and her smile are not. "Finally, some good fortune. Come morning, we know what to do. The sooner we find the druid Halsin, the better. I can't wait to get rid of this thing in my head." 

"How're you feeling?" 

Her mouth twists into a small, thoughtful frown. "The same. These parasites are proving suspiciously benign." Then, she cocks her head, curious, eyeing him sideways as she asks, "But suppose I turn... what would you do?"

Tav shrugs. "Maybe I could leave you tied up while I hunted for a cure."

Shadowheart raises a skeptical brow, retorting back, "Really? I'd just kill you."

"By devouring my brain?" Tav huffs out a short laugh.

"Pretty sure you'd have to have one for me to do that." 

That has him dragging a hand down his face. "I walked right into that."

"You did," she agrees, all too readily.  

"You never miss an opportunity, I'll give you that." He sighs, planting his hands on his hips. "Then I suppose I’d just run away screaming.' 

Shadowheart chuckles, genuinely amused. "While I chase you as fast as my tentacles would allow."

"I don’t relish the idea of that, mind you," he replies, lifting a bemused eyebrow in turn. "Let’s just cure this thing and be done with it."

They’re quiet for a beat. 

Then, Tav asks, "Why do your questions always sound like you’re testing me?" 

"Perhaps I am."

"Do I pass your tests?"

"That’s for me to know."

"Suit yourself. So, what comes next for you?"

"Head to Baldur's Gate. Someone's waiting for me."

For a moment, he's vividly aware of the fact that she's revealed a tidbit of information about herself. She'd been so tight-fisted, or tight-lipped rather, about her background since he'd met her that he can't help himself, and, interest piqued, he leans forward a few degrees. 

"Oh, yes? Who?"

Shadowheart leans back, wearing a mysterious smile, her brow furrowed slightly. "Let a girl have some secrets."

He finds a current of hope flowing through her thoughts. She believes they have a real chance. Additionally, she's anxious to find this person in the city. Whoever it is has a strong hold over her, and can give her something she desperately wants...

He straightens, scanning her face. 

"This person must be very important to you."

He's... not sure why he cares about this. 

The Cleric is regarding him with the same level of scrutiny. "Yes, vastly so." Her green eyes dart away. "But I don't want to talk about her. Not right now." She glances around, behind him, above him, at the camp and the sky. "It's a beautiful night, I think I'll stay up and enjoy it while I still can."

Sorcerer twists his body to follow her eye line. Spotting their new addition, Wyll, chatting with Gale by the fire, Astarion's missing again, and Lae'zel's patrolling the border of their campsite. If they can find Halsin tomorrow...

"You know," he says, thinking aloud, "this could be our last night together." 

With a small hum, "I hadn't considered that," she says. He turns to see her gazing up at him, attentive, with a barely-there smirk that he's uncertain of the meaning behind. "What do you have in mind?"

Is he imagining it or did that sound flirtatious? Is she serious?

Somehow, he just knows that she is serious. And that even she seems surprised by it. She's attracted to him... but he senses more - a warm swell of embarrassment.

Wide-eyed at the prospect, he doesn’t say anything, and Shadowheart scratches the back of her neck. Her eyes flit away. She’s blushing. 

Tav hadn’t considered this before either. Between her many snarky wisecracks about his dull lack of intellect and her occasional peppery disposition when caught in a bad mood, he was almost - on the subconscious level anyway - positive she would've had no interest in him that way. Hells, did he have interest in her that way?

Even a blind man would notice Shadowheart was nice to look at, but he hadn't really thought much of it up until now. She had a certain smug sense of humour that he appreciated, in spite of being her most favoured target of ridicule it seemed. Sharp instincts, an even sharper tongue, and a keen edge. He’d technically known her the longest of anyone else and he’d like to believe they got along well. Notwithstanding her reticence about her personal life, she actually spoke to him more than anyone else did and that was saying something since Gale never shuts up. 

And it's like the strike of a match, a shock to his system, as a thought he weren't prior cognisant of comes to him - how in the world did he know what she was feeling? 

Inside his mangled skull, the worm wriggles. That psionic supernatural power it exudes, straining his synapses and making his head throb and his skin tingle, was becoming more familiar by the day. But sometimes they couldn't quite control it and these accidental mind intrusions occur almost of their own volition.  

Now he’s embarrassed. 

Tav didn’t want to admit he’d seen what their parasitic connection had shown him. Probing her mind, threading their streams of thought together for him to read like a book. He felt like a trespasser. He doesn’t know what to do with this information. 

They can’t have been standing there, unspeaking for very long, but it feels like too long to not be awkward. 

Whatever dopey look is on his face, he tries to school it, clears his throat. 

"When this is over, perhaps we could find a nice tavern and celebrate properly," he suggests.  

As if in relief, her shoulders droop, and she smiles slightly. "Heh. A little comfort and company doesn't sound so bad..." Her expression evens and it seems the moment had come and gone. "But let's take care of our problem first."

Ready to leave now, Tav backs away from her, running a hand through his hair with a lopsided, sheepish grin. "Right. Ignore me." 

Shadowheart watches him slowly retreat, and she quirks an eyebrow, folds her arms. "I've been trying my utmost to do just that."

He stops.

Oh.

Pondering her peculiar behaviour towards him further, her tendency to blow hot and cold, he dips his chin down, sideways, the hand at his head he uses to scratch behind his ear. "May I ask if I've done something to upset you?" he says, unable to quite look her in the eye. "If I've been bothering you, you can simply tell me to go away and I will." 

"If I said 'yes', how would you make it up to me?"

She doesn't sound upset, rather amused actually. 

"I-I'm not sure, I suppose it would depend on what I did to earn your ire."

Shadowheart chuckles. "Relax, I'm joking. Mostly." She waves a hand at him dismissively. "You can quit fretting, you've done nothing wrong, yet. The teasing means I like you."

"You do?"

As though she didn't hear him, she bends to retrieve her dinner bowl from where she'd left it atop her stool. "Do me a favour?" She uses it to gesture towards the campfire. "Could you check if there's any more of this stew left over?"

"You wanted seconds?"

"I'm not usually big on stews but this was quite decadent. I've never tasted anything like it before." She looks up to meet his gaze. "Did Gale make it?"

"No, I did."

"... I take it back." She shrugs, pointedly avoiding further eye contact. "It's adequate."

"Nope, you can't take it back," Tav affirms, pointing at her, "the damage has already been done." He laughs. "I'm glad you like it, but I've got to say - I'm a little concerned, it's just venison and vegetables with some herbs, garlic, and a bit of spice. Do you not season your food back in the city?" 

Shadowheart fiddles with the metal bowl in her hands, still not looking at him. "I, er, don't know how to cook. Somebody else in my... family usually does it."

"Big family, is it? If you never had to learn," he points out.

"Bigger than this, yes," she nods. Now she finally glances back over, to fix him with one of her signature glares. "So I’m not some scullion, why is that such a surprise?"

"Ooh I see, you’re above that, are you? You could always starve, if you’d prefer."

"No."

"That’s what I thought."

"Oh, get lost, would you?"

With a triumphant grin, he outstretches a hand toward her. "Give me your bowl, I'll get you some more of that middling stew."

Eyerolling as she passes it across, she smirks with her next words. "Then you can go 'bother' someone else."

Sparing it a single downward glance, he finds the dish pretty much sparkling, as if she’d all but licked it clean. That knowledge, combined with what he’d learned earlier has him feeling bold, and maybe a little sly.

"Fine, I will. Be sure not to miss me too much." 

Shadowheart splutters, "What? Why the hells-" She shakes her head once. "That won't be much of a problem, at all."

"You'd be bereft of this darling charm and dazzling smile in my absence, that's all."

With a scoff, Shadowheart fires back, "You have about as much charm as an old muddy boot some hapless fisherman dislodged from the bottom of a lake." Then, she crosses her arms, her brow slanted, but she's almost smiling. "Quite presumptive of you, though, Tav. How do you know that you're not barking up the wrong tree?"

"You tell me," he counters. "Am I?"

The Cleric opens her mouth, as though quick on the draw for her denial, but no sound comes out. Her eyes narrow, then drop to the floor. 

This is kind of fun, messing with her like she messes with him. Pleased at having rendered her speechless for once, and hells, about the interesting development on the whole too, he smirks. However, he doesn't want to push her too far as she'd more likely try to kick his teeth in than find it amusing. 

"I'll win you over eventually, I'm sure." Tav lifts the empty bowl she'd handed him, making sure she can see it. "Starting with this."

As he’s backing away, facing her, he flashes another smile. "While you stay there looking pretty."

"I’m good at that!" she calls over in response, her voice carrying a little louder. 

"I’m beginning to get that impression!"

The Sorcerer returns to her a minute or so later, her second helping of their dinner steaming in hand. 

As he's moving to leave, she speaks.

"Tav."

"Mm?"

"Thank you." 

"You're welcome, Shadowheart."

That dark-haired half-elf looks at him, hard.

"Enjoy your rest tonight," she says, coy, and he's halfway to wondering if she means that as a threat when she adds, "Try not to dream about tying me up."

"Wha-" This time, he's spluttering, but manages to recover enough as she's quietly chuckling to herself to say, "I'll, uh, do my best, but I make no guarantees."

————

Act 3: Baldur's Gate Lower City/Elfsong Tavern

Tavik finds Shadowheart in her usual spot within their Elfsong rooms later one night, dressed in her dark form-fitting camp garments propped on the edge of her bed reading some new novel she’d started days prior, one leg crossed over the other. It’d been a day or so since their visit to the House of Grief.

He raps his knuckles lightly on the wooden partition to announce his arrival and she glances up, beaming when she sees him there.

"Good," she says warmly, marking her page and placing her book on her nightstand. "I was just starting to miss the sound of your voice."

Matching her smile, he steps inside the small space of her bed nook, bends down and presses a kiss to her temple.

"Being deprived of the melody of yours for just over an hour had me beginning to lose hearing in my left eye and smell in my right."

Shadowheart chuckles at his usual dramatics, she pats the space beside her on her bed. "Oh, how much you suffer."

"Any amount of suffering is worth it for a moment with you, my love," he replies, grinning, as he takes a seat next to her.

"You flirt."

Then, he hands her a hefty pouch and she can probably tell by the sound and shape of it that it’s full of coins.

Eyebrow raised, she says, confused, "Thanks… Why are you giving me this?"

"It’s for your parents." He nods, wrings his hands together between his bent knees, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. "Thought you might want to go out tomorrow and get them some new clothes and other essentials together."

With a short huffed laugh, she asks, having to hold it in two hands to lift it closer to eye level, "With this? It’s enough to buy a house."

"I’d build you a house by hand but you can buy one if you’d like, certainly. Let me know if you need more, gold is no object."

The Sorcerer hadn’t done an honest day’s work in his life for all the coin he was carrying, but the dead had no need of it in the afterlife - that was for damn sure. Absolutist and Zhentarim wealth was better off in their hands. His hands, really, but semantics.

"Okay, Mister Money-Bags…" she drawls, giving him a very skeptical, wry look. Then, she startles, "Wait, you’re not coming?"

"I don’t want to intrude…" he murmurs, humour dissolving. "I imagine you have a lot to talk about. Thought you might want some family bonding time to yourselves."

He hadn’t been looking at her, but his head whips around toward her when she drops her hand onto his forearm and leans into him.

"Tav, you are part of my family."

Tav is momentarily stunned. "Oh…"

Then he sniffs and dabs at his eyes using his shoulder.

Shadowheart shifts closer, her hand slides up his arm as she goes to wrap hers around his bicep. "Are you… crying?"

"It’s just dusty in here," he says, voice a little broken, his eyes are indeed misty. "Someone should really open up a window or something."

He sighs, blinks.

"Okay, yes… I am. Didn’t expect to get all sentimental." He holds his hands up in surrender. "But really, I don’t have to be there."

"I want you there," Shadowheart insists, tone firm, she squeezes his arm. "This was a thoughtful idea, so thank you, Tav."

"Of course. Let me know if you or they need anything."

"I will." She nods, gives a small smile. But it fades when she looks down to the floor. "Besides, I can hardly bring myself to face them alone."

"You know they don’t blame you for what happened." Tav turns his body toward her, looping the arm she'd been holding around her waist in lieu to pull her into him. "And you shouldn’t either. It wasn’t your fault. None of it was."

Frowning, she crosses her arms against her chest, sighs, but leans into his side. "I should’ve done something sooner. I should’ve broken free-"

"How could you? Anytime you tried, they punished you with that fucking mark and erased your memories. Your actions weren't yours, but the ones you take now are."

For a while neither of them says anything. 

"I don't know..." she mutters, gathering her thoughts. "I just can't help but feel I shouldn't toss all the onus on Shar when there was much I was complicit in. I liked doing it. She made me in her image." 

In a slow, careful movement, she lifts her head, turns to him and he senses their minds melding as her piercing eyes lock onto his. Their thoughts become one, and he understands her meaning in that exchange. Maybe someday she could be free of the guilt she carried over some of the things she'd done. She'd never hurt anyone she considered innocent, undeserving, but that didn't mean she hadn't before. She didn't want to minimise the role of her own agency, abdicate responsibility by acting in bad faith pretending she were much less free than she actually was. 

Tav would argue that she’d never have found herself embroiled in that cult if not for Shar, but stops short when he realises she’d say the same of him and Bhaal and the Urge in his blood. He claims no moral high ground, and he knows the feeling all too well. 

"Give it time," he verbalises. "After the Elder Brain is dealt with, we can put all this nasty business behind us and you can start to try to make amends if that's your wish, however, I still believe they'd disagree on the necessity of it."

"I know."

Still looking at him, soft jade eyes searching, she brings a hand to his cheek and lets it rest there. 

"Distract me from my brooding?"

"Something tells me you don’t mean you want me to read you a bedtime story."

She sniffs, her gaze drops to his mouth, she draws nearer, slow and tentative. "Not tonight."

The air between them seems to grow dense, heavy with anticipation and he becomes tinglingly aware of how close she is, her lips inches from his…

His lips part, attention split between her proximity and the sudden diversion from their previous conversation. But he doesn’t pull away. 

Shadowheart kisses him softly at first, but it rapidly turns heady. She brings her other hand up to the other side of his face, holding him in place. 

Since he’d met her, he can’t refuse her a single thing and even as he’s unsure she’s in the right headspace for this, some part of his brain decides to shut off the overthinking and follow the pull - if she wanted something to take her mind off her troubles, she’d get it.

Then, she leans back by a breadth, her own breathing shallow, to whisper, "Any chance I could entice you to stay?"

Tav swallows. "I probably shouldn’t."

In one fluid movement, she swings a leg over his lap to straddle him. He jolts a bit at how the warmth of her both comforts him and sets his body on fire. A stark contrast to her hands that drift upward along his arms, their coolness a balm on his overheated skin.

"I’ll make it worth your while."

"You’re very determined," he observes, eyes never leaving hers as his hands find her hips to steady her. 

"I am."

Tav blows out a long breath, a smile playing about his lips seeing the lust stealing into her gaze. Her eyes scan his face, as if to gauge how far she can go.

"And I suppose there’s no point in denying you."

Shadowheart smirks in victory. 

"No point at all."

Without another word, her mouth is upon his in an instant once more, erasing the distance between them. Warm, plush lips cover his own, and he can feel himself respond, surging against her. 

Her fingers drop to the hem of his tunic and she tugs at it insistently, Tav draws back to help her yank it over his head and he lets it fall to the floor at the foot of her bed. Soon, she's at his throat, nipping newly exposed flesh in a way that has him nearly audibly groan. He bends his neck to allow her better access. All while her hands roam up his sides, his back.

She points behind herself with an extended arm and without otherwise turning or relenting. "Close that," she commands, indicating the opening in the wooden screens that he'd entered from. 

His eyes blow wide as he realises what they've been doing within full view of anyone who might happen to walk by. He manages to get a hold of himself enough to encircle one of his hands around her waist and focus on telekinetically sliding it shut with his other. 

"We’ll have to be quiet," he says, relaxing into her ravishing, "Halsin is just over there."

"He won’t mind," she murmurs against his skin, her warm breath fanning across him, before resuming.

"Not sure what you mean by that, but all right." He straightens, whispers, "Actually, I have a solution; Silencio."

A partially translucent sphere of magic forms around the two like a protective shell, enclosing them inside a soundproof space all of their own for them to be as loud as they please without disturbing their neighbouring companions. 

Shadowheart doesn't need to look up to know what he'd just cast, as she giggles softly, mutters snarkily, "Hope you can maintain concentration on that."

As her tongue paints a teasing stripe behind his ear, he presses up against her, his grip on her tightening almost possessively. Unable to think straight enough to give her a verbal reply.

Grasping his shoulders firmly, she pushes him down into the mattress and he goes willingly, angling him so that his head drops against her pillow and she's still looming over him. Her weight settled atop his pelvis. 

The sight of her above him has his pulse leap, his heart's beating a mile a minute. Tav doesn’t even know what gods he prayed to to win her affection, but he’d consider becoming devout if it weren’t for the fact that she looks like a goddess herself. With the face of an angel and the smirk of a devil. And he’ll spend the rest of his life worshipping her. 

As his eyes linger hungrily over the lithe, stunning lines of her still-clothed physique, Shadowheart rocks against him and he lets out a grunted groan. With a low growl, he sits up enough to grab her by the waist and pull her down to him, crashing her lips to his. 

Next, he's kissing a searing trail down her neck, pleased to hear her soft hums in his ear, to feel her press herself against him more insistently, as his mouth makes its way toward her cleavage.

"You know, I realised how everyone figured out what we were up to at the beach that night," he murmurs without glancing up. 

"Mmm?"

"My neck was covered in your love bites but I didn’t notice any on you despite how much attention I lavished here," he says, sucking gently as if to punctuate his point, then soothing the spot with a flick of his tongue. "You healed yourself of your own and left me to wander around with them bare and brazen, didn’t you?"

Shadowheart curses as his teeth scrape against her skin, she half-nods. "I might’ve." 

Tav lets himself fall back into her pillow to fix her with a sarcastic smile that barely hides his amusement. 

"I hope you’re proud of yourself."

The green-eyed enchantress sits more upright, cheeks beautifully flushed, silver curtain bangs falling forward, gazing down at him with a lopsided little grin of her own. Both her hands pressed flat against his pectorals to support herself. 

"I am."

He sighs. "You’re too adorable to even pretend to be mad at."

Smile persisting, she maintains their eye contact as she drags her nails down his naked chest. He feels his muscles contract involuntarily beneath her touch. 

Trailing his hands up her strong quadriceps, they reach her hips again. His thumbs brushing beneath her grey corset to graze her skin, softer than the sheets he’s laying upon. 

"I like it when you hold me there."

He squeezes once, watching her reaction; her smile grow, her eyes darken.

"Mmm? What else do you like?"

Shadowheart leans back down to brush her lips to the corner of his mouth. 

"I like it when you whisper in my ear."

Tav tilts his head to press a kiss to her pointed ear. "Like this?"

"Yes." She shivers. "And I like it when you touch me."

She doesn't hesitate before grabbing and moving his hands to her ass. He sucks in a sharp breath, but tentatively kneads with his fingertips. Dazed by the answering heat in her eyes, her breathing that comes in short pants, and the raw passion of her kisses when she dives back for more. 

Her hands cup his jaw, the sensation reverent, even protective, though the movement of her mouth against his, the roll of her hips against his, is possessive, claiming. He writhes beneath her, matching her fervour, her hunger.

It must be hours they spend, kissing, touching, exploring each other. Though they've been intimate before, it's done nothing to lessen the longing. Their becoming increasingly familiarised with one another's bodies was more sensual than sexual this time, however. 

Some hours later, Shadowheart had gone still, her face buried in the crook of his neck. The brush of her lips replaced with steady, even breathing. Still lying supine, he dips his chin to glance down at her, only to find she's fast asleep. He sighs a little dreamily, a little humorously, and shifts so that he can wind his arms around her torso. Bringing a hand to the nape of her neck, he massages gently with his fingertips, staring up at the ceiling for a long while, until he too follows her into Reverie's blissful oblivion.

The 'dark dreams' do not find him when he sleeps with her. Just as the dark thoughts tend to stay at bay in her presence at wake. Curious, but Tavik's ruthless inclinations have not bothered him much for some time - ever since that night in Rivington, when he'd learned just who he was. 

Come sunrise, as he rouses, he becomes aware of a feather-light touch tracing down the bridge of to the tip of his nose. Then, below his left eye, drawing delicate strokes along the swirled patterns of his Infernal facial markings. 

He doesn't open his eyes when he speaks, says with a barely restrained smile, "Having fun there?"

Shadowheart startles, letting out a gasp and jolting above him. To which he chuckles.

"Sorry."

Tav blinks his eyes open, sees her retracting an abashed hand and he grabs it by the wrist halfway. 

"No, you can touch. Just tickles a bit."

With a smile, she relaxes, brings that same hand back to his cheek to swipe some loose hair behind his ear. 

"You have pretty eyelashes."

"Do I?"

"Yes, you look… majestic. My handsome prince."

"Are you trying to make me blush?"

She giggles. "I wasn't, but you are so cute when flustered."

He takes in the mussiness of her hair, her relaxed brow, her easy smile, the soft, half-lidded, sleepy gaze. She's perfect.

"I apologise for falling asleep on you last night."

Tentatively, he traces the curve of her cheek with two knuckles. "It was my pleasure, enacting my pillow duties for you."

"I meant that we didn’t get to finish."

Tav shakes his head once. "Do not ever apologise for that, I am not complaining in the slightest. I enjoyed myself, though, I feel like a teenager sneaking around."

Shadowheart waggles her eyebrows at him in her humour, folding her arms below her chin across his chest. "It's kind of fun, right?"

In response, he raises his at her. "Get up to that a lot in your Sharran days?"

"Jealous?" she asks. "You needn't be, even if I could remember any of them, none could withstand comparison to you."

The turn in conversation reminds him of something.

"I didn't want to say this while we were there, but I saw those stone beds with the singular blanket in the Grotto dormitories. Roughing it in the wilds with naught but a bedroll and tent tarp must've been something of an improvement for you. It's no wonder you were so prickly when we first met, I too would want to stab the nearest person in the vicinity if I had to sleep on that."

Shadowheart scoffs, then laughs. "Oh, shut it. You want to stab people anyway."

A laugh he returns. "You got me there. Is that why you enjoyed that beach back massage so much?"

The Cleric looks momentarily surprised by the question. "I... maybe. I hadn't thought about that before now."

And Sorcerer grins. "Here," he says as he moves his hands to the small of her back, massaging gently upwards.

It has her groan in delight and she relaxes atop him, dropping her cheek onto her own crossed arms. "Mmm."

He indulges her for a few minutes, pleased to please her. 

"We should get up, got a family outing to attend."

"No," she grumbles, "I want to stay here a little longer."

Tav chuckles again. 

"Stop tensing, you’re hard as rock!"

"Stop making me laugh!"

Chapter Text

Act 3: Baldur's Gate Lower City

Later that morning, Tav and Shadowheart escort her parents downstairs to the first floor which housed the main area of the tavern; its bar, dining, and kitchens. They'd been staying upstairs for the better half of a tenday and still hadn't eaten here yet, better time than any. 

Tav strolls ahead, in search of an empty table large enough for the four while Shadowheart helps her father, Arnell, aid her mother, Emmeline, down the last of the steps on unsteady legs. The two of her parents had spent their first days of their freedom resting, but Emmeline was left a lot more feeble by the ordeal as a human than Arnell as an elf.

A halfling woman appears at the Sorcerer's side as he makes his way through the crowded floor, hands clasped unsurely, but she manages to catch his attention before he unwittingly stumbles over her. 

“Pardon me, saer. You look... prosperous,” she began, gazing up at him with hopeful eyes, “I'll bet you have someone who'd like a nice piece of jewellery. At a discount price. For... for a good cause.”

For a moment, Tav is too surprised to answer. Most people did not approach him directly. 

Her expression flickers between despondence and worry before she holds up a glittering bronze chain necklace, encrusted wth flawlessly cut gems. Easily worth a few hundred gold or more, but he was no expert jewellery appraiser. 

“It - it belonged to my grandmother. I'll give it to you for a bit of coin.”

He folds his arms. “What's this good cause?”

“Escape. Escape from Baldur's Gate for my husband, and me. Lord Gortash wants Maryk's head, so we have to get out. There's a smuggler's sloop leaving for Waterdeep with two berths left, but the captain wants a fortune for them.” She hands him a slip of paper that’s scrawled in looped script the asking price of the berths she mentioned. “This necklace is all I have.”

Though he’s not sure why anyone would flee to Waterdeep lest you run across a filthy wizard there - there’s only one thing worse; as soon as he heard the name ‘Gortash’, he’d already made up his mind.

“Keep your jewellery.” He produces a purse of coins, more than enough to pay the due. “Here - for your troubles.” 

The halfling woman looks shocked, her hand trembling as she takes his offer but her face lights up soon after. 

“I don't know what to say! Except thank you. Thank you so much. You're a generous man."

"Sometimes."

They bid farewell and she races out of the tavern as he spots an open booth near the entry for them to sit.

"What was that about?" Shadowheart asks, beside him now with her parents in tow. 

"Nothing to worry about, I’ll fill you in later."

Shadowheart seems satisfied by that answer and follows him to the booth in the corner. 

They make small talk with her parents while perusing the menu. He notices Shadowheart struggling to meet their eyes for very long, and her smiles are fixed and reserved. If Shadowheart's parents noticed the tension, they did not comment. 

A server arrives to take their orders and when Tav glances up he's surprised to see Lakrissa there. A tiefling they'd met in the Emerald Grove and subsequently freed from the Moonrise Towers' prison. 

Lakrissa shifts her weight to one leg and props her notepad hand on her hip. "Well, well, look what the bugbear dragged in. Can't believe we both made it to the city - and with our limbs attached."

Looking her up and down, at the brown waitstaff uniform and apron she'd exchanged for her old leathers, Tav quirks his brow. 

"Never pictured you as a barmaid."

"Well, I'd pick this over Moonrise - as delightful as that was," Lakrissa shrugs, then jabs a thumb over her shoulder at the bar and the stout man serving drinks to a couple of patrons. "Alan is short on coppers - the Counting House is screwing him over. He was willing to hire anyone who'd work for cheap. And I'm nothing if not cheap."

Tav folds his arms on the table, leans forward, and grins. "Never call yourself cheap, Lakrissa. You are priceless."

At that, Lakrissa looks genuinely pleased, and she tips her head back as she laughs. "Oh, you are smooth, hero - I knew there was a reason I missed you." She straightens, reverting to work mode as she whisks out a quill and holds it to the top of a blank page ready to jot down their order. "What can I get you? Make it as easy as possible and leave a big tip - thanks."

Both Shadowheart's parents only request something small. Their appetites must've shrunken across the decades and Tav feels another pang of sympathy at the thought. Shadowheart orders last, a breakfast omelette. 

"Hold the mushrooms, please, on that," Tav amends, shooting the Cleric a sweet smile. "They're not her favourite."

Shadowheart raises her eyebrows at him then eyerolls, her own smile spreading as she looks away. 

Sometime later, Lakrissa returns with their food, balancing impossible trays across her forearms and in her hands. 

"Didn't we make a bet in the druids' grove?" Tav asks the tiefling. "You didn't think you'd survive, yet here you are."

Lakrissa sighs in a way that suggests she was hoping he’d forgotten or neglect to bring it up. "We did, didn't we? Never thought I'd begrudge being alive. Alas, I've got nothing in my pockets but lint and disappointment."

"You owe me nothing, don't worry about it."

"How are you both humble and attractive? It's just not fair, nor will my honour allow it. So how about this: Alan puts swill in the bottles, but I know where he keeps the good stuff. Any requests?"

"Your finest wine, for the lady and her parents."

With a nod, Lakrissa skirts away, dodging around another waitress and heading back toward the bar. 

Shadowheart nudges him, follows up by saying in a hushed tone, "Tav, I can hardly get merry this early and in front of my parents."

Giving a small shrug, "Who said anything about drinking it now?" he replies. 

Returning quick, Lakrissa casts a hasty look around and sets a brown glass bottle down in the middle of their table. "Here - you saw nothing. You heard nothing." Then she spreads her hands. "I need to get back to work, but stick around - you brighten the place up."

"We're actually all staying upstairs." Tav's gaze flits around the tavern, surveying the other patrons. "Where is Alfira? Where there's one of you, the other is usually not far away."

"Funny you should say that, as I see you two stayed together." She flicks her pointer finger between him and Shadowheart. Lakrissa's smile softens, and she speaks behind her hand, "Check the rooftop in the early evening."

Tavik thanks her for their food and the pilfered wine, hands her a hefty tip to which she nods appreciatively before leaving them to their conversation. 

Across the table, Arnell places a weathered hand over his wife's and shifts forward in his seat. "Tell us, how did the two of you meet?"

Shadowheart perks up. She exchanges a brief glance and a small grin with Tav, before she delves into their story. 

——

Spending the day amongst the restored Hallowleaf family was a privilege, Tav finds, and a nice change considering how hectic things had been. 

They'd had a long discussion at Elfsong on all manner of subjects; from their journey since the Nautiloid crash, some gossip about their companions, what Shadowheart were like as a child, to Arnell's lycanthropy.

The latter of which went something as follows;

"If you're a lycanthrope, does that mean I am also?" Shadowheart had asked. 

They hadn't spoken much about Shadowheart's potential werewolf inheritance. Though Tav could tell she were curious about it, he couldn't exactly discern whether she were hoping she was one or not. 

Arnell had spread his arms, and replied with some amusement, "Well it depends - do you find yourself more hirsute at certain times, craving warm flesh?" Then he looked across at Tav, his brow furrowed, and he seemed to come to some fast realisation. "Actually no, spare your father the answer to that." 

The conversation had Tavik, halfway through a sip of his water, devolve into a choking fit. He should've foreseen getting to know her birth giver's would be a mortifying experience, but he couldn't complain because she didn't know them either. It didn't take her long to warm to them, both were more than eager to make up for lost time and Shadowheart shared the sentiment wholeheartedly herself. 

Between visits to a few shops along the market, purchasing more clothing and supplies for the elder couple, a few hours had passed and they now find themselves at a small bakery. Arnell and Emmeline are inspecting a glass display on the other side of the floor, speaking to one of the bakers, when Sorcerer sidles up to Cleric.

"Shadowheart!" he exclaims, excitedly presenting a paper bag with the treat he'd just bought to her, "Have you tried these tiny cakes?" 

When she replies saying she had not, Tav smiles softly, peels one side and holds it out by the paper wrap around the bottom for her to take a bite. She chews, thoughtful, brushes her lip with a swipe of a thumb.

"Should I get into baking-?"

"Yes."

Tav snickers as he carefully hands the cupcake over to her. "That was fast. Have a sweet tooth, do you?"

"Well, I like you, don’t I?"

"Are you calling me sweet?" he coos. 

"I will get down on one knee and propose to you if you get good at baking," she deadpans. 

The way she'd said that so uninhibited has him pause in mild astonishment. "That’s quite serious," he says slowly, "Hold on, you only want me for my hypothetical baking skills?"

Shadowheart smiles out the corner of her mouth, says, "No, I want you for your body- everything else," she remedies, smirks wider, "Your baking skills will make you husband-worthy."

The thought brings about more warmth than he'd have expected. "That’s fair."

The pair move to a corner a bit out of the way as some more customers enter the door and begin browsing the kiosks. 

"You know," Tav starts, "Halsin actually propositioned me the other day." 

When Shadowheart only ducks her chin and stares up at him with a questioning lift of her brow, he just shrugs haphazardly back.

"You had a chance to climb Mount Halsin?" she clarifies, "And you turned him down?"

"Yes?" Bewildered, both by how unfazed she appears and her bafflement at his answer, he continues, "I’m spoken for. Though, he did - does - seem interested in both of us."

"Why didn’t you come to me with this?"

"You… You’re interested in Halsin, as well?" Tav’s uncertain if he should be offended that they’d slept together a grand total of once and her eye was already wandering. "Do I not satisfy you enough, madam?"

"Who says I can't have both of you?" Shadowheart chuckles. "And don't pretend he's never caught your eye either."

That were true. If his serendipitous dalliance with Shadowheart had never happened or panned out the way it had, perhaps he'd have been more open to exploring his attraction to the other elf. In all honesty, since their little date above the waterfall at the celebration with the Elturel tieflings, he'd not entertained the thought of anyone else at all. She'd held his whole heart thereafter. 

"You want two men at once?" he asks.

"You’re both large, granted, but I think you’ll find that I can squeeze in any number of tight places."

"Shadowheart," Tav belts out an uproarious laugh at her remark that makes his stomach ache right after, "Oh, Gods. You're something else... A freak."

"Why deny it?" She only shrugs one shoulder, wry smile lingering. "You told me to take what I want, I am."

Ah, so she is thinking about that wine date at the party too... It seemed like so long ago now. 

"I did say that..."

"You aren't jealous?"

"Hardly. I know where your heart lies. Mine is in the same place."

Shadowheart sniffs, and her eyes glimmer when her gaze catches and holds his, as if in agreement. 

It takes him a minute, Tav strokes his chin as he considers her and mulls over this development. "All right, I will speak with him again. Or maybe you should come with me this time." His mouth twitches. "If you're sure you can bear the both of us baring it all…”

"Don't start." She crosses her arms, fixing him with her best unamused expression. "Or I'll throttle you with my bear hands."

“What a grizzly prospect!”

The two chuckle in their mingled mirth. 

“Sorry,” he says, with another laugh, “I’ve been holding these in for a while.” 

“I can tell.” In a moment of sobering lucidity, Shadowheart's wide jade eyes dart over his shoulder. "Just don’t tell my parents about this."

Tavik's expression drops with matched dread and he remembers where they are and who they're with. This was scarcely a bakery-appropriate discussion. "I’m not going to blast our sex life to your parents!" he hisses under his breath. "I’m crazy, but not that kind of crazy. And I’m here to disappoint my father, not yours."

——

Their exploration of the Lower City leads them down to the Grey Harbour docks. With the ocean stretched out ahead, the sun at its crest casting sparklingly rays across the waves. Sailors and other labourers disembarking the many docked ships with their furled sails carrying crates and other cargo down below. The briny air filled with their shouts and the occasional bell toll. The last time Tav had been here, he and the others had, well, 'overheard' was not the right term because the two loons had spoken in the middle of their party. Loudly. Without an ounce of consideration for the rest of them and their sensitive, innocent ears. 

"I'm reminded of a book father kept hidden in a drawer," Wyll had said, "'The Salty Mermaid'. Do you know of it, Shadowheart?"

Without missing a beat, the Cleric launched right into quoting an excerpt, "'Fabian ran his calloused fingers along Allura's scales. Her tail quivered in response.'"

And Warlock continued, tittering as he recited, "'"Taste me," Allura pleaded. Fabian smashed his lips against hers and their tongues twisted together like two eels in the Sword Sea.'"

Shadowheart chuckled as she said, "The pinnacle of good trash - even I can't forget that one too easily. Your father is a man of fine taste."

Apparently, Shadowheart, Wyll, and Gale had started something of a book club. Though Gale reads more non-fiction, he was a romantic at heart, and thus some of his tastes aligned with the former two. Astarion had been invited also but he'd turned his nose up at the offer with the claim that modern literature could not hold a candle to the classics. Tav is only slightly indignant about not receiving an invitation himself. But he supposes he and she did not need to suffocate each other smothering themselves all over each other all of the time, just most of the time.

When Tav sarkily mentions this to her now, he swears he sees the tapered points of Shadowheart's ears prick. 

"That reminds me, I need to visit the library," she mutters to herself. She spares a sidelong glance at Arnell and Emmeline who are busy admiring the view of the dockside while they nibble on their baked treats. "Could you watch my parents for twenty minutes tops?"

Tav, surprised, asks, "You don't want me to come with you?"

"No, I want to do this by myself. I'll fill you in later." 

He nods slowly. "Okay, I'll take care of them. Go run your errand."

She gives him a grateful smile, one he'd do just about anything to see. Rising on the tips of her toes, she grasps him by the shoulders and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."

“Just don’t keep me waiting too long.” 

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Then, she's gone. 

Tav approaches the pair with a smile he hopes doesn't look as awkward as it feels.

They turn to him as he comes within earshot.

"Shadowheart has something she needed to do at the library, so you'll have to suffer my company alone for the time being, unfortunately." 

"Do not speak that way about yourself, young man," Arnell says, his eyes are tired but endlessly warm, and Tav is struck by the resemblance of their colour to his daughter's, "You took care of Jen- Shadowheart when we could not, and we are forever thankful. Consider yourself family, son." 

It takes near infinite willpower for Tav to not cry upon hearing that sentiment echoed. He couldn’t have predicted just how much it'd mean to him to be accepted so unconditionally. 

"My girl. For so long I had to imagine what she was like - what she'd grown up to be," Emmeline says, holding a hand to her heart, "She surpassed those daydreams in every way."

Without warning, Emmeline sways off balance and stumbles sideways. Tav reacts lightning-fast, steps forward and catches her from behind by her arms, soon steadying her with her husband's help. 

Before Tav even knows what's happening next, Shadowheart's mother has taken one of his hands in her two smaller ones. Studying the back of it intently as she rights herself. 

"You and Shadowheart wear matching rings," she observes, "Did the two of you marry?" It doesn’t elude him how exhausted she seems nor does her determination to hide it. Something that reminds him of Shadowheart. 

The elven Sorcerer glances down at it, allowing the woman to hold onto him like a support pillar and examine him like a marble statue (He had erected a statue he'd commissioned of himself naked but he'd had to quickly hide it out of sight per their guests arrival). He answers plainly, "Oh no, these are enchanted with a paired ward spell." He wiggles the finger the gold band encircles. "As long as we both wear the rings, it allows me to absorb half of any incoming magical or physical damage towards her." Tav shrugs under the weight of the two sets of eyes upon him. "And provides her a general resistance overall."

They’d found the two rings while rummaging through the House of Healing in the ruins of Reithwin. The story behind them was beyond fucked up, partially why he’d nearly forgotten about them until recent, but the idea had sprung to mind shortly after they’d returned from the Cloister of Sombre Embrace. He’d had to toy around with the enchantment to reduce the potential lethality (at Shadowheart’s behest).

Arnell casts a glance at Emmeline and stalks closer. "Does it include the cursed Sharran wound on her hand?"

In a perfect world, they could’ve freed her captive parents and neutralised the curse in one fell swoop, but for now…    

Tav nods, with a bittersweet smile. "It does. Any relief I can offer Shadowheart, I would give it."

Their collective freedom was a knife his love now held by the blade. For him, pain was a constant, as natural as breathing, at this point. It had been since he’d awoken. It were no skin off his back to lighten the burden of hers this way. That blade would be one she held alone no longer.

"You didn't have to do this, dear," Emmeline squeezes his hand still in her grasp, grip weak and fragile, looking up at him with eyes shining. "But I’m so glad my little girl found you."

Suddenly shy, Tav bows his head a little, "I’m glad I found her."

——

As the day bleeds by into the afternoon, Shadowheart's mother grows weary and they decide to head back towards the Elfsong Tavern to reunite with the half-elf Cleric along the way. 

Tav spots her coming, making a beeline for them, first. And he says, while grinning ear to ear at her, "Alas, I absconded with her shadowed heart when she saw me cast fireball twice in one day."

Shadowheart makes her way over, staring at him funny. 

"What kind of nonsense are you spewing to my parents?"

"It’s not nonsense!" he protests, "I am regaling them with the epic tale of our love."

"Nonsense is the only language you speak."

"Well, you are also fluent in it so what does that say?"

The frown she makes at him says, ‘I should’ve left you at home today,’ but it only has him smiling even wider somehow. Shadowheart then lets out an exasperated huff, turns to her parents, and asks, "Do you see what I have to deal with?" 

Emmeline is leaning on Arnell’s shoulder with her arms looped around his bicep, but they’re both staring at the younger couple with a pair of fond smiles that make Cleric and Sorcerer tandem blush. 

Along the way home, they come to a stop when Emmeline becomes enthralled by a display of wizardry near the Central Wall courtyard's water fountain, outside the front entrance to Sorcerous Sundries. A common sight during the day - some students are practicing spell incantations; creating exploding light shows, miasmas of colour and sound, and polymorphing some poor street cat into an array of different small animals. It's all rather novice really, but the novelty for Emmeline has her rooted to the spot like a tree stump to watch along with a crowd of onlookers.

Arnell and Shadowheart join her, talk for a while. Arnell wraps either of his arms around his wife and daughter's shoulder's as they laugh about something he doesn't hear. 

And Tav stares, wondering what it'd be like to... 

"Tav, you are part of my family..."

"Consider yourself family, son..."

He smiles a small smile. Doesn't even register when Shadowheart materialises before him, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Tav?"

"Lost myself there a moment." He shakes his head to clear his mind, glances down at her. "How're you feeling? Any better since...?"

Shadowheart nods, casts a brief wistful look at her parents. "I feel whole, at last. I never thought I could have a true family..." She tilts her head at him, blows out a breath that billows the hair framing her face all as she reaches for his hand. Takes it in her own and intertwines their fingers. "Or a true love."

"Do you think Jaheira is accepting any more adoptions?"

At the question, Shadowheart blinks in surprise, like she'd been snapped out of a daze. She snorts. "Hasn’t she started calling you 'cub'? I’d say you’re unofficially adopted already."

"Is that what she meant by that?" Tav ponders aloud, "I thought it was another one of her bleak jests referencing her age."

"No, she’s taken a shine to you, Tav." She gives his hand a small squeeze. "It’s hard not to."

"Good." He smiles, holds their joined hands up between them. "Because I need her to walk me down the aisle when we get married."

"What? Who said anything about- Oh."

Tav leans down to press heir foreheads together gently, and he says in a low, playful tone, "I need to steal your last name somehow, Hallowleaf. I don’t have one of my own."

"Tavik Hallowleaf," she tries, thinking, ultimately grins. "I like the sound of that." 

"As do I."

They notice Arnell and Emmeline moving off, and Tav and Shadowheart follow at a short distance behind. 

The Cleric swings their arms between them idly as they walk, there's such a spring in her step that she's almost skipping. 

"You know, I never pictured myself as a wife."

His eyes dart across to her, he looks her giddy self up and down with the merest hint of a coy smile on his lips. "That's fine. I can be your wife, you can be my handsome husband."

"Not what I mean, but..." She laughs at the blithe mental image it conjures. After a brief pause, she meets his gaze, hers turns curious. "You said you’d build me a house…?"

"Yes, or renovate one," he says, "I’ve been thinking more about what you said, about what you wanted from your future, especially now that we have your parents back. I could learn carpentry or rope Halsin into it too since we're adding him to the mix. I’m picturing that we could implement you your own library tower with ceiling high bookshelves along every wall and a little reading nook against the window with plush cushions and blankets and a nice view of the garden outside," he holds a hand out and waves it in front of himself as if brushing that imagery into being ahead of them both, "Perhaps opposite a fireplace, facing a grand armchair so you can stay up there a little longer at night."

"Heh," she giggles, holding a fist to her mouth, "While you bake apple pies all day with a little flower in your hair."

"You'd love that."

"I would."

"That you plucked from your flower garden and tucked behind my ear yourself, I'd wager?"

Eager and playful, she nods several times at him. 

Remembering, he produces his journal from his bag of holding and flips to one of the latest pages. He lifts it up with a single hand clutching the top where the spine bends to show her a sketch he'd completed of, well, her. In it, a side profile of Shadowheart is lounging with her back to the corner of the reading nook, one leg bent, and the other outstretched languidly along the rectangular seat cushion. Framed by the window behind her, she's reading a book propped in one hand, supported by her bent knee. A wine goblet elegantly cradled in her other, her three-finger grip around the stem, with the others resting comfortably at the base. 

Oblivious to her astoundment, Tav continues rambling, "Then, of course, we’d have to fit you in a wine cellar somewhere. Not sure how you’d survive without your beloved fine wine."

Shadowheart is giving him a peculiar, intense look. 

"Are you… trying to seduce me?"

Tav straightens, clears his throat.

"Well, it wasn't my intention, but... is it working?"

Shadowheart chews her lip, her eyes seem to smoulder as they trail down the length of him then back up to his face.  

"All too well."

Carefully, she takes his journal in two hands, studying the portrait of her likeness, as she murmurs, "I can't believe you drew me."

"I did get the gist that you were disappointed I hadn't," he teases, "To be candid, you are what inspired me to try my hand at art in the first place. There is an unmatched serenity to you when you're idle and relaxed, and you make the most endearing expression when you're concentrating on something. This little eyebrow scrunch, with your lips pursed. I had to capture it, you. Though, of course, I prefer the real thing."

There was one final thing, his best kept secret, that he would take to the grave. You couldn’t waterboard it out of him. But Tavik was not very fond of wine. Yes, very scandalous opinion for an elf to hold - maybe it’s his Dragonborn side speaking here. It typically tastes of sour rotten grape juice to his tongue. The acidity doesn’t agree with him but he can keep from making a face at each sip. The only reprieve is its high alcohol content if he sought to get sloshed quickly. He’ll drink it because she shares it, perhaps she’d like more of it to herself without it going to waste on his unrefined palate. But the way her eyes gleam and the smile that outstretches her face when he partakes with her. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her and he never will.

It’s a smile she’s smiling right now, so full of warmth that it’d tide him by in the harshest of winters. Her eyes gleaming at him in the glow of sunlight, and in it he can see those mesmeric flecks of gold in her irises. 

He’d let Volo stick a needle in his eye to fish around for a Netherese tadpole if he thought it’d make her smile like this, but thankfully, she was not that callous. 

“Is it conceited of me for wanting to keep this?” she asks, looking down at his journal again now. 

“I knew you were envious of Astarion!” 

“No,” she scoffs, looks away, “Maybe.”

“I’ll draw you whatever you like.” 

Chapter Text

Act 1: Campsite/Tiefling Party

Shadowheart is lingering nearby her tent. One arm crossed limply under her chest, hand resting in the crook of her other arm that’s holding a wine goblet inches from her face as she watches the celebrations underway all around her.

Adorned with her silver chain circlet and its obsidian disc at the crest resting comfortably in the middle of her forehead, a subtle note of distinction to embellish her proud face and slightly upturned nose - she looked close to nobility. But Tavik now knew she was really a Priestess of Shar, Mistress of the Night and the Lady of Loss.

It explained much. Between her secrecy and suspicion, to the way she presented herself with her dark hair, makeup, clothing and armour.

Now they’d grown… close. From reluctant allies to friends, confidants. Maybe even something more if the occasional yet mutual flirting was anything to go by.

She notices him, gives him a meaningful look. Then, she juts her head at him as if to beckon him over. "Tav, come here."

Before he can say anything, as soon as he nears, she closes the distance, Tav’s eyes go wide and his breath catches in his throat because she’s suddenly got her hand holding onto his shoulder to steady herself on her tip-toes. Her other is adjusting the collar of his tunic with her fingers. He must not have noticed it was rumpled when he threw his clothes on in his haste this evening. 

Once satisfied, she smooths his tunic with a brush of her hand on his chest and steps backward.

"You’ve got no one to do that for you?"

Her smile is small, playful, and dangerous. Oh, like it always is when she aims it at him. Like she knows the power she holds. 

It is maddening the effect this one woman has on him. The way he hangs on her every word, lives for every coy smirk she makes. Why does he like it so much? There's something in the way she looks at him, pokes fun at him, that makes him feel like a complete buffoon. Like he's stripped himself bare before her, awaiting her judgement. And he was pretty confident in his nude self just as much as his clothed self. He thought it might be that nigh on regal elegance she exudes, but he's met a few posh tossers even here in the wilderness and been left more or less unimpressed. Bar Wyll, of course, being the son of a duke. She was made of sterner stuff than any of them, undaunted in the face of battle and unafraid of a little grit, and besides, she doesn't complain far as often about this expedition lacking earthly comforts as Astarion or Gale do. The... depraved part of him also relishes the sight of her splattered in the blood of her foes like she had been today bashing goblin skulls in. All of it, it draws him in like a moth to a flame. He's not afraid of being burned - if anything, he almost craves it. His saving grace in all this, is that she seems to enjoy his company as much as he does hers, despite his alleged bone-headedness.

Tav thinks he might blurt out something insane like; “I think I just envisioned my future with you.”

So he says instead, with a small grunt, “Thank you. Enjoying yourself, I hope?”

"Yes, it’s quite a party. Everyone seems to be in high spirits." She bends to retrieve her chalice again. A sturdy silver, polished to the point it reflects both its rose red contents and Shadowheart's comely features. She fiddles with the stem with her free hand, looks down, and seems contemplative as her smile fades away. "Strange, you know who I never thought I’d find myself caring for?"

Tav raises his eyebrows. "Me?"

Shadowheart makes an undignified snort sound. 

“Your words, not mine.” She eyes him funny again, in that teasing sort of way she’s started to in recent times that has all sorts of delusions spurring to mind. Though, she shakes her head. "But not what I meant. I mean desperate people...” she clarifies, thinking, her eyes drifting down again to the goblet. “Like those refugees. Never gave them much thought. Certainly not that bunch in the grove.” Her gaze flits up, a delicate little smile on her face. "Yet we came through for them. We saved their lives. Odd."

His gaze follows hers, down to her graceful, capable fingers. Those healing hands he'd watched as she'd aided Halsin and the other druids tend to the wounded tieflings in the aftermath of the battle today. Nightwarden Minthara's army outnumbered them five to one, but Tav's party had managed to make it back to the Grove in time to warn everyone before the assault began. Between the buried traps and explosives, their superior positioning upon the high ground of the ramparts, and the gate shut tight, they'd fought the lot of them off. At the battle's conclusion, he'd found her already using her magical talents to treat the injuries suffered from various goblin arrows and burns. He wondered if she realised it herself, that her indifference appeared to only be an act. 

"I said we would, didn't I?" Tav crosses his arms, fixes her with a smirk, rocking back on his heels. "Never doubt me."

To that, Shadowheart actually laughs. "Cocky shit, you are, aren't you?"

A few days prior, Tav remembers overhearing Shadowheart tell Wyll she'd always had a soft spot for the confident ones, lamenting that they always disappoint though. Some competitive edge in him is determined to prove her wrong… or, at least, prove himself her exception. 

"Sure," he says, smirk widening into a fully fledged grin, "but you like that about me."

The Sharran looks away to one side, but she raises her cup as though in toast. "I don't like anything except good wine."

"And Night Orchids."

She cocks an eyebrow at him. "Clearly I talk too much." 

Quick with it, he adds, "And I like that about you." 

Another small laugh and it feels like another sweet victory.

When it teeters off, her smile drops again slowly as she swirls her wine in an idle, distracted manner. He thinks he knows what might be wrong. 

"Are you worried Shar won't approve?"

Eyes downcast, "Something like that..." she admits. "I was taught to reject anything that distracted from Lady Shar."

Tav glances around again, attention drawn to Rolan and his siblings, Cal and Lia, cheering for him as he casts a simple coloured light cantrip like explodes outward like tiny magic fireworks for them. To Lakrissa and Alfira discussing animatedly about writing a new sonnet about the day’s siege defense. 

His chest feels lighter than it had ever before in recent memory. His only memory, really. 

These are people and they were all fending for themselves. 

She sighs, shrugs. "But there'll be time for penance later."

For a second, he considers teasing her about her heroism again. A notion she’d want to scoff at or vehemently deny or deflect from. But something has him refrain. 

She looks him in the eye, hers soft, a hint of mirth, of hope entering them. "If you want to listen to me talk some more, would you share a bottle with me? I liberated one of the finer vintages earlier."

She nods at a tall, thick brown glass bottle tucked away amongst some of her other belongings at the front of her tent. 

There it is, the invitation, confirmation that she might feel the same way. It has his heart sing, his stomach flutter. 

"Be glad to," he replies. 

"We should wait a little while. Until the others have drifted off."

"I'll find you after everyone's turned in for the night."

"Best not keep me waiting. I'd prefer not to entertain myself." 

In his anxiousness awaiting her, Tavik would proceed to get tipsy and embarrass himself making a pass at Halsin. 

———— 

Act 3: Baldur's Gate Lower City

Just as Lakrissa had promised, in the early evening, Tavik found the horned songbird Alfira upon the rooftop gardens of Elfsong. The two were now performing a duet of Down by the River. The tiefling bard provides the main vocals, and Tav the occasional supporting harmony where appropriate. Both strumming their lutes gently across from one another on some bar stools they'd nicked from the ground floor. 

Upon the song's completion, Alfira carefully props her instrument against her seat legs and springs to her feet with a gasp.

"You’ve improved so much!" She claps her hands. "I can see you’ve been practicing, hero."

"I have. But I had a wonderful teacher." 

"No need to be modest!" she says, but her grin of delight is closed-eyed and open-mouthed. "Though since you brought it up, now that Lakrissa and I are in the city, I’ve thought about doing some busking or getting a job as an entertainer in the tavern! I want to save up enough to start a school to teach music to others like Lihala did for me." 

Though Tav thinks a college full of bards sounds like his personal nightmare, only one step above a college of wizards, he’s happy for her. Truly. 

"That sounds wonderful, you should go for it." 

—— 

"Where is your fine paramour?"

Shadowheart spins in place in her seat by the hearth, slightly startled, to see her father standing behind her. "I'm not sure, but I'm not his keeper," she says with a small chuckle. "Why?"

They'd been back at Elfsong for a couple of hours. Many of their companions had returned from their day of outings as well by now. An exasperated Astarion strode in first loudly complaining about Lae'zel trying to sell him to a gnome hag? And how he'd be taking this up with Tav as soon as the Sorcerer showed. Lae'zel behind him grumbling that Wyll vomited on her. Shadowheart isn't sure she wants to know just what in the fresh Hells any of that is supposed to mean. 

Carrying a tray of two ceramic mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits, he circles her, places his offering down between them on the table and takes a seat in another chair beside her.

"Ah, I just get the impression you two don't like to let each other out of your sights." 

Her mouth hangs open in mock-offense. She recovers enough to close it and clear her throat. “He’d probably bemoan about how he couldn’t stand to live without me,” Shadowheart starts, helping herself to a biscuit which she promptly dips into her tea, “But if he lacked his dramaturgical essence, he wouldn’t be my Tav.”

"Not like you need it," Arnell prefaces as he holds a hand up in surrender, "but the young man has your father's seal of approval."

Shadowheart softens, she makes a quick mental note of her page number and places her book closed on the table too. She's still looking down at it as she answers, "Maybe it's strange, but I wasn't worried you wouldn't get along." She glances up. “The day wasn’t too strenuous for you and mother, I hope?” 

"Your mother is resting right now, but it was nice to stretch the legs, see the sun, and get to know you a little better, my daughter." Arnell leans forward on the table with an elbow propped on it. "Don’t count on either of us being able to keep up for a while, however. I think we’ll both need another half a tenday’s rest before we can repeat it."

When Shadowheart had first learned her parents were alive, held captive under her very nose all this time, she hadn't known what they'd be like. 

They embodied the virtues of The Lady of Silver and her teachings in every way. A lot of Shadowheart's Sharran education might've been a lie, but she knew of Selûnite practices - the faithful are bade to exemplify acceptance, equality, compassion, and tolerance. Ones she once dismissed both as nonsensical naive idealism and more blatant mendacity drivelled to obfuscate Selûne's betrayal of her sister. Propaganda she'd happily ate and swallowed, it would seem. Reflected in her family, something about them, her father staring at her now with a kind smile, draws her in. Calm and ease. Comfort and quiet. 

She wasn't used to being cared about, cared for. To the magnitude that she had come to amongst this pack of loveable tadpole-infested fools especially. Neither did she much care for anyone else, besides Nocturne. In the Grotto, many of her fellow Sharrans she'd seen as competitors, bullies at her back, years spent always looking over her shoulder, never able to let her guard down, approval from her betters a concept she'd always fall short of, but she'd been led to believe this was the best she could expect from 'family'. Now she had known kindness, acceptance, love. 

"We’re almost done, I promise," Shadowheart says. "All goes well, in half a tenday we’ll be free to start over as a real family and make up for lost time."

“You’ve become quite a formidable warrior, haven’t you, young lady?” he says, not quite a question, more an observation. He chuckles a bit. "I've seen you donning your silver armour, trudging around carrying a spear and that enormous golden shield."

Shadowheart goes warm in the face. 

"Would you believe me if I said I got that spear from the daughter of Selûne herself?"

His brow pinches as he looks upon her, but he's smiling. He nods once. "I would. I've gleaned enough from word around your camp to know how capable you and your friends are. I'd say the world is in good hands."

Shadowheart takes a sip of then lowers her tea back down to the table.

"Combat training was one of the things I enjoyed most. Putting it to use to do good… well, Tav’s always been proactive about helping people. And we have. We’ve helped a lot of people." She dithers for a few moments, only to add as she looks up to meet her father’s eyes, "I think you’d be proud."

"Prouder than I already am?"

Shadowheart didn’t anticipate the swell of emotion that suddenly surged inside her at his reply. Nor the tears glistening in her eyes. But she smiles as he reaches across the table to give her hand a tiny squeeze.

The Sharran Church was more often than not matriarchal in nature, as such, she'd never had a paternal figure in her life. Never thought she'd needed one. Maybe she wanted one. Deep down. 

They speak one on one for some time, enjoying the tea and biscuits. 

—— 

Nightfall came quickly, Shadowheart pulled Tav aside and urged him to throw on a cloak. Confused, yet obliging, he does. Matching her. 

The Sorcerer is strapping his leather boots on when he quips, "It's starting to seem like we're getting up to something illicit when we drag each other out and disappear every other night."

"I couldn't care less if anyone has a problem with you and I spending alone time together." Shadowheart shrugs as he stands. "We don't have the time during the day... and, besides, I was taught to act in shadow, not hide from it." 

"You sure Shar won't have something to say about you continuing that?"

"Gods," she sighs, turns dramatically toward some of their companions loitering in the foyer of their rooms to say a little louder, "does anyone need a new pet talking donkey-reptile? I'm selling mine." 

Gale and Jaheira, across from one another playing lanceboard at a table, glance over at her voice. 

Tav snorts. "You can't sell me!"

"Watch me." 

The pair begin making their way towards the back exit of their rooms to bypass the tavern bar floor. 

"Who's going to feed you if you cut me loose?" he challenges. 

"Gale."

Wizard whips his head around at them again as they pass, eyebrows raised likely at hearing his name. 

Pointing at the bearded man in question, "Oh no," Tav replies, "If I have to go, I'm banishing him to the Shadow Realm before I do." 

"So petty." Cleric smirks, eyerolls. "I don't know who told you the key to my heart was feeding me because even I didn't know that." 

"You did."

They exit out into the side exterior perron and into the nightlife of Baldur's Gate's Lower City. A cool breeze coils around the exposed skin at his neck and face, and he's glad he listened to her about the cloak. 

"Curse your observant eye," she says, looping her arm through his to rest her hand in the crook of the bent elbow he offers her. "You are the most smug man I know." 

"You are the most smug woman I know." Tav laughs as they make their way down the steps to the street. "Find a new book to read?"

"Huh?"

"You ducked out on us today, thought you were picking up-"

Shadowheart shakes her head. "Oh, no. I’ve only just started my current book and Gale lends me from his library in Waterdeep."

Tav frowns, a little puzzled. "Ah, so…?"

"It's about where I'm taking you now, but I needed to do a bit of research first in the public archives, that’s all."

"Now, I’m even more curious," he mutters, shooting a quick look down at her. 

"It’s a surprise!" she insists. "You'll have to wait till we get there."

Sighing dramatically, Tav says, "Truly you remain a mistress of torment. Goddess of mystery, beauty, and grace, yet she likes to see me suffer so."

"You like a good mystery, and so do I." She squeezes his arm. They take a right turn. "The current book I’m reading is actually about a detective unravelling a chain of murders, but the prime suspect might be her lover." 

"Sounds familiar." He coughs. "Can I read it when you’re done?"

"The protagonist and her love interest are both women."

"Ooh, I’d definitely like to read it." 

With a dubious expression, "It’s not explicit in that way if that’s what you’re thinking," she says.  

"What? You always think the worst of me. I genuinely believe it sounds like an interesting plot! I have half a mind to-"

"You have half a mind, full stop." With a start, Shadowheart suddenly jerks away from him, wide-eyed for a split second, then quickly looks down at her feet. "You’re right, I’m sorry, I don’t know why my knee-jerk reaction is to level insults at you. I don’t think you’re stupid, at all."

Stopped now in the middle of an empty street, Tav scans the darkness between the street lamps, then looks back at her. Dumbfounded by her shift in mood. 

"No," he begins slowly, gesticulating vaguely in the air, "I’ve been called worse than a bumbling imbecile overdosing on stupid juice or whatever it is."

Instead of finding the humour in that, Shadowheart's eyebrows shoot upward and as do her hands as she holds them up. "Woah, I’ve never gone that far, I think." Her eyes lower once more. "You aren’t one and I need to work on being kinder to you."

'This is what's been bothering her?' he thinks.

"You are far kinder to me than I deserve," he says.  

She lets out a breath, murmurs, "You have a point." But her gaze is still trained firmly at the ground as she fiddles with the hood of her cloak between her fingertips. 

Tav does somewhat feel like an imbecile right now, because he didn't see this coming. But he smiles softly at her, steps forward and gently slides his fingers below her jaw to lift her chin. Her breath hitches. Eyes that look emerald in the darkness dart up to meet his own.  

"Perhaps you haven’t noticed, Shadowheart, but your snark is one of the things I love about you."

Her hand encloses around the back of his, to bring it to her cheek so that he's cupping the side of her face. "Ah, so you have some kind of humiliation fantasy?"

"I don’t think so," he snickers. "I simply like that you aren’t afraid to challenge me, or afraid of me at all really."

"Should I be?"

"Probably." 

For a few moments, she merely gazes at him, searching. "Hmm, I’ve seen too much of your sweet side to know better."

"And I’ve seen too much of yours to know when you mean it and when you don’t." He leans in to give her a small kiss that he hopes reassures her. "You can cease your jibes if you’d like, but you needn’t."

That seems to relax her, she exhales, her tense shoulders fall. "You know me far too well."

"Yes, but you not-so-secretly love that."

"Mayhaps."

Gods, he’s so enamoured with her. 

"Besides, I'll never deny my foolishness." Tav props his hands on his hips, stands straight. "I'd like to believe that only a fool doesn't know he is a fool."

Shadowheart shakes her head again.

"Please, you can hide behind the laughing moron act all you want, it’s a thin enough veneer as it is. There’s an evil genius hidden behind it, and he’s got me wrapped around his little finger." She points up with her pinky, the rest of her fingers curled, wiggles it. 

Tav makes a half scoff, half laugh sound at her antics and uses his pinky to link with hers between the two of them. 

It makes her laugh a little again. "Fine, you’re a fool," she says, then points at him with her next sentence, "but not as much as you think. Neither are you as much a fiend as you think."

He was a fool. Such a fool. For her. For love.

But for the life of him he cannot find fault in it. He has many things to feel ashamed about, loving her is not one of them. She's wonderful, effervescent, witty, and it is so ironic that she sees fit to name herself after her heart of shadow when she has brought so much light into his life in his short-memory worth of existence. The brightest star in the sky with a glow he'd never want to see dulled. 

They resume their walk. Tav wraps an arm around her waist and holds her close as they do.

"What makes you think you would get along with evil me?"

"You make an excellent argument. Perhaps we'd be at each other's throats and one of us would end up somewhere like here," she says that last part as she motions ahead of herself to an archway in the wall that he now recognises. It leads into the cemetery. 

A late night graveyard rendezvous. She’s so romantic. 

"Shadowheart...?"

"Follow me." 

Shadowheart strides in front and he trails behind her, eyes narrowed and alert as he takes in the moonlit surroundings of the Gate’s expansive cemetery. They'd been here before, during daylight hours, earlier that tenday. Karlach's folks were buried here, and Shadowheart happened to recognise a tombstone of one of her former Sharran tutors. 

The Cleric fishes out a slip of paper from her pocket, scans it, then turns her head this way and that, as she searches for something. 

They turn down a row at the very far back when she finally speaks once more.

"I turned every stone, pardon the pun, but I think I found, well..." Shadowheart stops, facing a set of three tombstones. Two larger ones on either side, with a small one in between. "Your parents."

Tavik thinks his heart just about stopped for good. He can't find the words to say anything. 

Instead, he hesitantly reads the name inscribed on the left one. 

'Lilya Thorne'

The one on the right...

'Rúna Thorne'

And there, on the old stone in the middle of both, it says. 

'Tavik Thorne' 

The ground itself feels as though it just shifted beneath his feet.

"What in the Hells...?" Tav whispers. He sinks to his knees. Confusion, fear, anguish, swarm him all at once. "H-How did you find out about this?"

Sensing his hesitency, Shadowheart answers in a lower tone, "I’ve been asking around at the taverns we visited. It was Alan who pointed me towards the Guild. They keep a record of most of the major crimes committed in the city dating back to the Bhaalspawn Crisis. The fire that burned down the Thorne tavern occurred about a hundred years ago. There was only the one owned by a same sex couple with an adopted son and once I discovered he had your name, it wasn’t hard to piece the rest together. But I had to visit the public library to find out where the family was buried.” 

"Alan? How did you get anything out of that weasel? I’ve been avoiding him since we scammed the free upstairs rooms out of him." 

"It wasn’t hard, I just flashed a smile, maybe batted my eyelashes a bit."

The Urge within stirs at that. Tells him to ‘kill Alan’. A suggestion more tempting than most. 

"Of course, men are simple creatures."

"It works on some women too."

"I’ll have to start imploring people to hide their husbands and their wives from you whenever you’re about to enter a room," he jokes, but it lacks his usual spark and his words sound hollow even to his own ears. 

"Are you all right, Tav?" Shadowheart probes, a gentle hand landing on his shoulder to give a small squeeze, "You said you wanted to learn more about your history but perhaps I should’ve asked you first." 

Immediately, he places his own hand atop hers to reassure, "No, I appreciate that you went through all this effort on my behalf…" he falters, hangs his head. "I, just, I’m not sure how to feel about this. I killed them, Shadowheart. They must’ve took me in off the street and I repaid their kindness with murder." 

"Maybe you didn’t kill them. Maybe the fire did, and you escaped somehow." 

There'd been much ambiguity about his provenance to leave him wondering, all he’d really had before this was suppositions. 

He gives his head a short, slow shake. 

"No. I did it. I don’t remember it, or them, but I just know I murdered them. The fire was a cover up." 

"There’s something I want to try," Shadowheart says, and when Tav risks glancing up at her, he sees her already looking down at him, expression thoughtful. 

The hand she'd had firmly locked on his shoulder, she brings up to the side of his face as she crouches down beside him. There, Shadowheart stares intently into his eyes. 

"There’s a spell I’ve been practicing on but it requires quite a lot of magical energy," she explains. Her hand ignites to life in blue flame-like essence. "Focus on their names, try to concentrate on remembering."

Tav nods at her, swallowing down any protest. "All right." 

There's a dense, heavy pause. In it, Tav lets his mind wander. The memories in this mind, of his past life, they are difficult to see. Only a few to draw from. Trapped in this dismal husk of a body. Who were they? How did he end up in their care? Who arranged their burials? Was there anyone left behind to mourn them? Or did he not only erase them from existence, but memory too. Lilya sounds elven, as does Thorne. But Rúna and Tavik are dwarven. Seems he did recall his name after all. Or the one his foster parents bestowed on him anyway. Small comfort. 

Suddenly, Shadowheart's magic seems to expand outward, pulsates inside of her palm - which she presses flat against his temple - then it's flooding into him all at once. 

With a start, the spell knits the gaping knife-hole in his mind together - long enough for several images to flash behind his eyes in rapid succession. 

Children darting their way through the city streets of the Gate, chasing one another. While he hunts like a lion, his tag-touch is gentle. Play. Friends. Fun. A time before Bhaal.

Dwarf woman with short fiery red hair, barely any taller than he is, hands him the mixing bowl and wooden spoon she'd had hugged to her chest, mimes stirring at him and he copies her movements. Then her hand reaches forward to ruffle his hair. Joyful, boyish laughter rings out. 

A lute being strummed by dexterous fingers, and when he looks up, there's an elf woman with thick curly jet-black hair and sparkly eyes playing. She sings to him and he listens, he stares, sitting cross-legged at her feet, her captive audience. 

And finally... A little Urge - not even an adolescent - stands atop a bloody heap, with a tiny dripping dagger in his right hand, a primed fire bolt cantrip blazing in his left. Both women, parents, dead and gone. Two bedroom upstairs a tavern. Relative squalor. Poor part of the city. Indiscriminate whole family kill. Baby’s first murder spree. A precocious talent for causing harm.

As the images fade away, he shudders. His skin crawls and the backs of his eyes burn. Nausea rising within his gut again. That’s when he hears Sceleritas Fel’s unmistakable voice calling to him, distantly, as though inside of his own head. 

"Young Master, precious fledgling, follow ever your heart. In time, your true family will find you." 

Another memory? With no vision to accompany it. Only those words that have another chill running down his spine. 

Before being drawn to the Bhaal temple, who was he? Raised by loving foster parents who cared for a lost Bhaalspawn or a normal elven child? Did he have dreams of his own future, before the awakening of the Urge? How many loved ones died?

Was it fair to say that there was a moment in his lifetime when he wasn't a callous murderer...? For a brisk time, he were not dead flesh walking, he was alive and free and his heart was pure. Until Bhaal would claim his due.

"Tav?"

"I saw them," he answers, in mild shock. 

"You did?"

"That old coot in Wyrm's Crossing was right," he mutters, attention drifting from her to the tombstones. "I was their son. Their son and their killer." 

Shadowheart frowns, but doesn't seem surprised, more disappointed. At him, or not, he can't tell. "The tavern wasn't restored after it burned down. They rebuilt more housing on top of the land instead. Though we could still go visit the area," she offers, "I found out where it was located."

Tav shakes his head as he pushes to a slow stand. "It won't do any good."

"Of course," she agrees, her tone betraying her doubt. 

"This was enough, thank you, Shad-"

A sudden high-pitched ear-splitting scream tears through the graveyard. 

Tav spins in the direction it came from, steps close, just ahead of Shadowheart who also bolts upright. They wait, silent for a few beats. 

Footsteps. Tiny, running towards them. Frantic, panting breathing can be heard as whoever it is draws near. 

Bursting out from behind a short obelisk, dashes a small child. One they both recognise. 

Yenna? 

"Help!" she cries as she sprints over to them, throwing a terrified glance over her shoulder. 

Tav approaches the ginger-haired little girl, she all but throws herself at his leg, clings onto him as she chokes on her own sobs. Shaking like a leaf. 

"Yenna? What's wrong? What are you doing here?"

"She's coming! Don't let her catch me!" she pleads, tears streaming down her face. 

"Who's coming?" he asks. He gently grasps her by the shoulders to try and calm her as he squats down before her.  

"A scary lady. She-she said her name was O-Orin." Yenna checks back behind her again, eyes wide with fear. "She found me and my cat Grub, snatched us off the street and - and - She made me eat him!" The tears flood back and Tav exchanges a horrified look with Shadowheart beside him. "Then she told me to start running. She said when she catches me she's going to - to eat me too. She's coming! Oh please, please - don't let her take me!"

"I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

Inwardly, he curses his own stupidity. Allowing a child he couldn’t guarantee to safeguard properly to follow them into the city with a predator like Orin prowling about. He is a godsdamned fool. 

Yenna nods mutely, wiping across her eyes with her sleeve. 

"There's people hiding in the undergrowth," Shadowheart's familiar presence settles in his mind through their telepathic link. His gaze sweeps toward where she's looking and he sees it too. "And I don't think they're relieving themselves."

"If people have started pissing in the bushes where people bury their deceased, the Gods have truly forsaken Baldur's Gate."

The figures Shadowheart had spotted rise from their hiding spots among the shrubbery along the outskirts of the courtyard. Five of them by his count. Wearing mismatched scraps of leather and cloth, hooded, wielding daggers in either hand that all glint menacingly in the moonlight. Telltale intimations of Bhaal worshippers. They’d fought many in their pursuit of Minsc. 

Without turning his head, Tav coaxes Yenna behind him with one hand, eyes keenly scanning the Bhaalist assassins closing in on them, as he weighs his options. 

"Yenna, I'm going to need you to find somewhere to hide. Keep your head down and try not to look," he hears Shadowheart tell her and she does scurry away somewhere out of sight. Thankfully, the Bhaalists seem more interested in Sorcerer and Cleric to pay her any heed. 

"False prophet, pretender!" one at the head of the pack shouts, his voice like gravel, aiming the point of a blade right at him. "Your fall will be hard indeed." 

There's a unyielding coldness in their eyes, yellow-ringed with jaundice most likely. Lips pulled back into perpetual snarls to reveal several sets of blackened teeth. 

"You speak as though you are familiar with me," Tav replies. "But were that true, you'd know what I am, and what I am capable of."

Before any one assassin can strike, Tavik lifts his hands, his magical reach becomes pure force as he takes control of the leader's arms and telekinetically uses them to slam the assassin's two blades down into both the man's own thighs. He howls in pain, dropping to his hands and knees on the dirt path just ahead. 

Behind him, Shadowheart fires a duo of radiant bolts of energy at one woman who screams as the sunfire eats away at her torso flesh. Tav spots another assassin over her shoulder, a knife propped aloft ready to stab into her. Tav's kinetic magic flings the blade from his grip, it spins midair only to curve in an arc to double back and impale the fool through the neck from behind. He chokes, gurgles, collapses. Dead in an instant. 

Shadowheart nods at him in thanks and he conjures a spectral spear and shield for her. They formulate already in her grasp, in the faint blue glowing translucent visage of Viconia's Walking Fortress and Selûne's Spear of Night. Which she uses to turn and bunker down so that they were back to back, fending off the woman she'd burned earlier. They were both spellcasters, but he knew full well the Cleric was more comfortable in full body armour with a weapon and shield in either hand. The spear shanks through her attacker's heart with perfect precision, Shadowheart then plants her boot beneath it and kicks the second foe's corpse clean off her weapon's tip.

One blast of Disintegrate from his pointer finger into the next man has panicked screams ripping through his throat. Dark green coils of energy pierce his chest, visibly shooting through surface veins and arteries, and spreading like a sickness across his entire body. The man clutches his breast, then collapses to the floor sideways, gasping for air. Three down. 

With one mighty bash of her shield, Bhaalist number four is slammed into a nearby crypt entrance and Shadowheart finishes him off with several quick jabs of the spectral spear. Groin, gut, liver. 

"Kill them!" their leader yells, scrambling to his feet, rage evident.

Seeing as his initial wounds weren't enough to quieten such a loud mouth, Sorcerer waves his fingers through the air then clenches tight. Telekinesis reestablishes grasp on the first Bhaalist assassin's arms and those two daggers he'd just recovered jut themselves into his own belly and slice him open with two deep incisions. Guts spill to the ground, and so does the rest of his corpse to follow. 

Under the pale shine of the moon, Tav sees movement, a flicker in the air, just ahead. He reaches forward with his bare hands and grabs someone's head on either side, spins himself one-eighty degrees and yanks. Another Bhaalist flips over his shoulder to the dirt, where Tav stomps his boot onto his throat and pins him there. Charging a lethal dose of lightning, it surges through his planted leg and has the fool convulsing beneath him as his nerves fry to a crisp. Six dead. But it means there may be more. 

Sure enough, a throwing knife is hurtled at Shadowheart, clanking off her shield and landing in the soft soil at their feet.

Then another, and another. A volley of them.

Shadowheart lunges ahead to shield him before he can cast off his magic ward and one hits its mark, slicing across her bare upper arm and she flinches upon contact but remains stalwart. 

‘Rotten bastards.’

His blood sets to a boil. He’s had just about enough of these coward degenerates creeping around every corner, ambushing from stealth. How he ever associated with such freaks of nature is one of Faerûn’s greatest mysteries and the revolt of it sparks a white hot desire to butcher every single member to extinction. 

His magic, like his anger, flares with raw, unfettered energy. He reaches for the Wild, his Draconic blood, and the Heart of the Storm simultaneously. 

He feels the thermal heat of the remaining Bhaalists invisible presences and clutches tight via Telekinesis. Every single body of them, four alive, and six dead, levitate into the air. Those uncloaked from their invisibility flail helplessly. The corpses flop lifelessly.

Thrusting his hands downward suddenly, Tav’s magic forces the ten to slam hard into the ground before he lifts them high once more. 

Next, the Sorcerer crams every body together, into a tight gigantic ball of mangled flesh - he swirls his hands, crafting a diamond-shaped arcane sphere around them all to seal them within. There lightning and flame both crack and sear inside the magic resilient sphere. Baths of blood, chunks of flesh splatter the inner walls as the corpses explode like bulbs of torchstalk from the sheer magnitude of the heat and energy currents blasting inside his impromptu electrical storm furnace. 

Ten down. How many left? Fifty? A hundred? 

"You'll trouble us no longer," he says coldly, "And here your ashes can fertilise my parent's graves. Far more useful in death than you reprobates ever were in your miserable lives."

The bottom end of the arcane dome opens, and the charred remains, naught but cremated ashes flutters out and wafts across the rows of graves on either side of them. 

"That was... brutal," Shadowheart murmurs, slowly stepping up beside him. 

"No less than they deserved." He turns to her as his magic dissipates. All around them cinders, ashes rain like grey snowfall. "Are you all right?" 

"No worse for wear," Shadowheart replies, then she pivots as she searches the shadows of the cemetery. "Yenna? You can come out, they're gone."

From a behind nearby tombstone, Yenna approaches the pair, still trembling. 

"Are you sure you got all of them?" she sobs, wiping her eyes with the back of her small hand. 

"Stay with us," Tav says, softening his voice for her, "We'll get you home, Yenna." 

To that, Yenna shakes her head slow. A wide, unfriendly grin spreads across her face. "Silly, silly, making promises you can't keep..."

All of a sudden, Yenna's neck snaps and twists backward, her arms bend unnaturally of place, her whole body seizes. Her entire being bursts into a cloud of familiar red that Tav has to shield his eyes from. Only to open them and find Orin the Red leering at them both. 

"Look at it, brain battered and broken. Have you forgotten the way home, sibling?" She cackles, a crazed, loud, and unpleasant sound. Then, with no prior warning, her ruby blade arcs outward from her side and she thrusts it a hairs-breadth from Shadowheart's stomach, just below her ribcage. Cleric freezes in place and her eyes blow wide with fear. "Should I set your lapdog to screaming? That should help you find the way."

Seething, Tav's flexed fingers crackle with lightning at his sides, primed and ready. "You dare touch her and you'll be begging me to kill you," he growls. "No Hell awaiting you will be as bleak and unending." 

Orin's lecherous black-lipped smile splits wider, her head tilts to an odd angle, but she does withdraw her blade some. Enough for Shadowheart to breathe and back away. Tav steps inside the space to obstruct her. "There you are," Orin drawls, nodding, and she continues, cooing with more feigned sympathy, "I feared you'd gone soft in the head, slaughter-kin, the way you hide from me."

"What have you done with Yenna?" he demands. 

"Nothing, no not a thing!" She shrugs in innocence, her twin blades clutched loosely in either hand. "Still gasping and gagging on the foul airs of Bhaal's temple. I will save her for you. We can peel her corpse together, once the Banite is dead." Her deranged playfulness falls away, her expression hardening. "Gortash betrays us, blood kin. He sets a leash to our slaughter, uses us to drive the herd towards his tin men's oppression. You must kill the tyrant, smear him across his rock-rotten halls, and pluck the Netherstone from his carcass." She shudders, giggling maniacally. "Then we duel, sweet slaughter-kin. The winner claims the stones - Bhaal's true Chosen. The loser rots on his altar. Agree, and I will bring the rest of my assassins to heel. They watch you always, longing to spray crimson from your veins. Refuse me, and you'll learn what happens to those who defy Bhaal's doctrine."

With a start, Orin's grey-white eyes dart to Shadowheart. Narrowed, brimming with an intense hatred. 

"So will your friend." Then she smirks, looks back to him. "And the child."

So, this was Orin's intention. A combat against a fellow scion of Bhaal, witnessed by the Lord of Murder himself. Accept, and he must kill Gortash. Refuse, and the child's life may be forfeit. As might his own - Orin's assassins will hunt them forever like prey for slaughter. 

"I will not be Bhaal's Chosen. He cannot claim me."

Orin stops twitching, goes rigid. She glares. "His blood cannot be denied, slaughter kin. Neither can I."

With her blade bearing her Netherstone, the changeling points toward Wyrms Rock - peeking up and over, beyond Basilisk Gate.

"But first, first you must make gutspill of the tyrant. Do not underestimate his Steel Watch. Seek their cradle in the Lower City and skewer their skull meat. Make them rust and blood. Then you can gore the lordling again and again and again - But listen. Listen close, Bone-Killer. Come to my temple before you turn Gortash to carrion, and I will ready the child's corpse to greet you. Like I did your darling here." She holds her fist up, fingers of her other hand on her ring. "Bhaal is waiting, slaughter kin. Do not disappoint him."

Then, in a plume of red mist, she's vanished before their very eyes once more.

"I'll take her head," Tavik snarls, but the rage has drained out of him, in its place - an overwhelming fatigue. He drops to one knee, some sourceless pain blazing in his abdomen, screaming for his attention. He presses a hand to it, only to draw it away and find it covered in blood. His own.

When did he get stabbed? 

The wound is quite deep, judging by the sheer amount of blood streaming out of it. 

"Tav?! What happened?" 

He almost doesn't hear her as he notices another gash across his bicep, just below his deltoid. Bleeding profusely as well. 

Circling him, Shadowheart drops down to her knees to examine him, face panicked as she takes in the extent of his phantom injuries. Then, with some alarm, she glances downward on herself, at her own abdomen, and her arm where the throwing knife had nicked her. Her skin is flawless, in pristine condition. 

"The rings," she breathes, holding her right hand up. 

Catching her meaning, Tav grunts in discomfort, another douse of anger radiating off him. "Orin did stab you? I'll flay her alive."

"Well, no, she stabbed you... thanks to these." The Warding Bond rings, hers; True Love's Caress. His; True Love's Embrace. Shadowheart shakes her head, expression hard as stone, but her voice comes with a soft reassurance, "Don't worry, I'll patch you up." 

Green eyes beam into blue as her healing magic erupts inside of her hands, which she uses to cover his arm and stomach. Her spell cools the pain, and he can only watch, exhausted, as his wounds close under her gentle care.

When she's done, she sighs in relief and collapses beside him, breathing hard. "I knew this was a bad idea," she says, and she lifts her hand again, about to yank the gold band off. 

Jutting his own hand out, he grabs hers to halt her. "No, now we know they work."

"I'll not have you dying for my sake, Tav, these were only intended to alleviate my curse."

Tavik grows quiet but he doesn't look away from her. 

Her face falls. "You knew." She glowers at him. "What the Hells were you thinking?!"

"If anything happened to you, I couldn't bear it." Tav shifts himself so that he's kneeling before her, he uses his clean left hand to cradle her face. Even with her furious glare, she allows his touch, leans into it. "You have found something to live for, Shadowheart, my love. I have found someone I'd die a thousand deaths for."

The sincerity of the words fills the scant space between them.

Shadowheart chokes on a sob but she clamps her eyes shut, shakes her head in refusal. "I don't want to see you hurt either."

"I have thick skin. Scales."

Squaring her shoulders, Shadowheart pushes upright into a stand. Staring down at him, face an unreadable mask. "Thick head, more like." Despite her remark, she offers her hand to him. He takes it. 

He smiles, rises to join her. "I have my guardian angel to nurse me back to health, besides."

"We're both going to live. Together. You hear?" She cuts her open palm through the air ahead of her. "No grand sacrifices. No foolish heroics. No one is dying." 

"I can't promise that I won't do anything I can to ensure your safety. Nor will I apologise for it." 

"You are so damn stubborn." Shadowheart turns slightly, shaking her head at the ground, still soaked in Bhaalist blood, sprinkled with incinerated Bhaalist remains. She sighs, the argument, the fight, has tired her just as well. "We have more pressing matters at hand to worry about right now, Orin's made off with Yenna. Either we mount a rescue... or we win her freedom with Gortash's life."

"Orin will die for this. We head back to Elfsong, fetch the others, and hunt her down in her lair today."

The spawn is so desperate, clamouring for his attention? Now, she has it. 

"We don't know where the Bhaal temple even is." 

She's right. There's still so much he doesn't know. He needs to know. The missing pieces. 

His eyes flit towards the Thorne graves once more. There's someone who might know. The scrote who were never far away, always watching. He need only think of him and he'd appear...

"You called, my liege?"

Startled, Shadowheart jumps, spins toward the voice. Tav's grown accustomed to Sceleritas Fel's surprise visits at this stage, that his sudden arrivals barely faze him anymore. 

Tavik the Sorcerer storms toward him. The low rumble of his voice thick with his impatience, his disdain. 

"I have questions, you have answers."

Chapter Text

Act ??: Gortash Masquerade Soirée

Amidst a sea of other masked revelers, Shadowheart breezes through like a singular stray leaf in the wind. The dark greens and blacks of the skirts and the train of her dress billowing out behind her. While all around, the banquet hall - of a fourteen-foot ceiling that'd been converted into a ballroom - radiates energy. Guests dancing to the music of the orchestra on stage. Servants swirl about, carrying trays loaded with drink and appetisers, tending to every mingling noble's whim.

Taking her time, getting the lay of the land…

That is, until someone drunkenly stumbles into her path. A human man in a gold lion mask. He smiles at her, leans in far too close for her liking, breath wafting strongly of ale.

"Well, aren’t you one delicate flower," he says, his dark eyes roving up the length of her in a way that makes her skin crawl. "Looking for some company, honey-pie? I’m always available for riveting conversations with fine women."

"I’ll rivet you to the floor if you call me that again."

The threat does not deter him. If anything, his lascivious grin only broadens. "I like a woman who’s all business."

She resists the urge to scoff but does roll her eyes.

Men. So eager to believe any woman that breathes nearby is attracted to him.

The man goes to reach for her, eyes narrowed appreciatively, when someone snatches his wrist and rips him away from her.

She doesn’t see his face as he steps in between her and the first man, but he’s tall and burly. Has him by the collar of his shirt as he mutters something angrily at him that, even straining, she isn’t quite able to overhear.

Using the distraction, she slips away further into the crowd of people, trying to put as much distance between that whole disaster waiting to happen. She needed to remain anonymous and could not risk drawing attention to herself.                                                               

—— 

The Dark Urge had been watching the night unfold with a bored indifference. Leant against a tall round table by the elbow beside an untouched goblet of wine Gortash had left him with nearly an hour ago.

That is, until he catches sight of one particular woman whom stands out from the crowd in a way that is almost unbeknownst even to him.

Dark raven-black hair tied into a flawless braided updo, a blunt fringe with sweeping bangs that reach just below her jaw on either side of her face, just before her ears - the size of a human’s but pointed on the ends. A half-elf. She wears a colombina mask covering the bridge of her nose and her cheekbones. It’s decorated with patterns of forest greens and blacks, trimmed in gold, in match with her long gorgeous gown that hugs her curves from the waist up, framing piercing eyes of a slightly lighter shade of emerald that look darker when she passes under the shadows in the dimly lit ballroom.

He’s absolutely mesmerised watching her stride across the floor like she owns the place, chin lifted, head turned straight ahead and never wavering.

Uncertain how long she’s been here, but ever since his gaze first landed on her, it had not left.

Suddenly, a slimy man he’d noticed earlier on harassing various women at the party steps in, blocking her way and she halts in place at the obstruction. Unlike the others, however, she is unaccompanied. 

The woman casts a glance around as though looking for an exit.

A surge of some intense emotion courses through him, and before he knows it, he’s stormed his way through and closed the distance just as that man goes to reach for her - and Dark Urge intercepts halfway before he can touch her. Grabs his wrist roughly and yanks him around. Putting himself in between them.

He uses his other hand to grasp the collar of his suit as the man struggles to push him off.

"Leave her the Hells alone," he growls, faces inches away, staring him down through hard eyes, expression like stone.

Eyes wide with fear behind his animal mask as his grip on him tightens, knuckles whitening with exertion, the man nods profusely, mumbling some kind of apology.

Just as he turns to demand he apologise to that dark haired woman instead, he realises she’s vanished. He looks around in mild confusion but she’s well and truly gone.

He shoves the man away from him, who staggers backward into some onlookers who’d stopped to witness the confrontation.

If they were anywhere else, he’d have killed the trifling man and been done with it. Too many people around for that.

—— 

A servant offers a tray stacked with fancy goblets of wine to her, and Shadowheart accepts one with a grateful nod. She'd slunk into a small gathering of people socialising, making small talk discussing the latest news in the Baldur's Mouth Gazette and other courtly intrigue the Cleric is not all too familiar with as she doesn't get out enough to stay in touch with any of it - but she feigns interest, giving polite smiles at all the correct intervals. 

Shadowheart may have been sent to infiltrate this party for a specific purpose, but that didn't mean she didn't relish the opportunity to play a role. A slice of normalcy, albeit among aristocrisy, where nobody knew her and nobody would ever see her again. Tonight, she was not Shadowheart, Cleric of Shar, putting up with ceaseless training, poring over boring book-work, all the rituals and prayer. She was a noblewoman associating with peers in the upper echelon. 

As the music changes, some of the people in the circle she were in move away to line up on the dance floor, leaving her alone again. She finishes off the last appreciative gulp of her wine, an elegant Marsember Ice Wine with the perfect chilled intensity. One of the perks of attending the elite's celebrations is indulging their generosity with the expensive alcohol. Nocturne tries her best to source the rare stocks and set them aside for her as quartermaster, but there was still plenty she was unable to get her hands on. 

Nocturne… She’d almost forgotten about her.

She goes to return her empty goblet onto another passing server's tray when she collides into someone behind her. Shadowheart was on the taller side of average for a woman, but this man towered over her nearly by a foot in height. She fixes him with a painstaking smile, calling back to her training. Of how to greet guests at galas and soirées.

"My apologies, good sir, I didn't see you there," she says in a soft lilt, bringing a hand to her chest in a delicate manner. 

White-haired, sharp pointed ears of a High-Elf, with strong regal features and a pair of intense eyes peering back at her. All hidden beneath a black and scarlet sun mask. His mask matches the rest of his ensemble, a tight-fitting long-sleeved doublet, the colour seemingly made of obsidian itself, and the red velvet undershirt. All etched with gold embroidery and reflective gems - making him almost sparkle beneath the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling up above. 

He's oddly familiar...

"Oh, it's you."

Hand over heart, he salutes her with a bob of the head - more than a nod, though less than a bow. "Good evening, my lady. You dipped away so quickly, I didn't catch your name. I can't say I've ever seen you at court before."

The stranger who'd stepped in moments earlier. Had he followed her?

"If you’re expecting thanks," Shadowheart says, tone laced with her suspicion, "I think you’ll find yourself sorely disappointed, I had that handled."

A wicked gleam appears in his eyes at her reply. He leans in a little, his sonorous voice dropping lower than it already is, "Oh, I must admit, I didn't do it for any altruistic reason. I had hoped to steal a moment of your time." 

She takes a second to regard him again, trying to discern what his angle might be. He seems to take the chance to size her up as well. Eyes of blue-silver give her a quick up and down, taking her in, but then rest on hers again. 

"Hm, well, at least you're honest." 

"Honesty might be just about my only virtue."

A handsome man, and from the forward confidence of him, he strikes her as someone who is all too aware of that fact about himself. Accustomed to the attentions of admiring women. But this cleric knows the hearts of men, and hers does not stir so easily. Traditional High-Elves tend to be shallow in their attraction, and Shadowheart's human features derived from that half of her heritage make her less appealing to most. Maybe not so to a cad simply seeking to stroke his own ego, however. 

"It is not one of mine." 

"A woman after mine own heart." Without breaking their eye contact once, he gently takes the empty chalice from her hand and places it on the next circulating servant's tray. The slightest brush of their fingers sends sparks of electricity shooting down her arm and she jolts at the shock, though he doesn't seem to notice. He's a conduit of pure, dangerous, energy - she gleans. A magic wielder. A powerful one. Charging the very air between them. "What was it John Baldur back there called you? A 'delicate flower'."

"Even the prettiest flowers can have thorns." Her eyes narrow a mite. "Mind you don’t prick yourself."

"Duly noted. What should I call you?"

"Who wants to know?"

"I asked first."

"Isn’t the mystery the point of the masks?" she counters. Allows a tenuous, wry smile as she brings her pointer finger to her cheek to brush the one disguising her to illustrate her point. "Wouldn’t want to ruin the allure, would you?"

"Perhaps." He pauses. Another grin creeps onto his face. "Though, I’d suspect there’s very little that could sully the allure of such a beautiful woman."

"So you have a pair of working eyeballs. Congratulations to you."

The stranger gives a short, half-suppressed chuckle. "You’re funny."

Just as Shadowheart opens her mouth to speak, his expression suddenly goes blank, and he continues, "But something tells me you don’t belong here."

The accusation hangs in the air, and Shadowheart is determined not to let it show just how rattled it has her - keeping her smile firmly plastered. 

"You've caught me, this is my debut," she says, spreading her hands in innocence. "So, I'm a little out of my element. If you must know, I am Ara, here on behalf of House Silverleaf." 

His eyebrows raise. He folds his arms. 

"The Silverleafs? I’d heard your family couldn’t make it this evening. Is Aster doing well?"

Cursing her rotten luck, she quickly thinks back to what she knows of her forged identity. The Silverleafs were a family relatively newly arisen to nobility after amassing land and wealth and the favour of several important dukes. This also meant they were a relatively unknown quantity, and a perfect cover to boot. The hope being it were plausible enough for no-one to second-guess even if she were asked. Thankfully, the Mother Superior had done her research and prepared her well. Aster Silverleaf was the head of the household, a young dowager now that her husband had passed away, and she herself had come down with a bad case of pneumonia of late, thus her absence.  

"Yes, well, they sent me in her stead while she is indisposed. I’m a distant cousin. Must keep up appearances and all that," she shrugs with one limp wrist in a dainty fashion, "you know how nobles are."

The masked stranger's eyes finally leave her as his gaze sweeps the party and its guests. "I’m afraid mingling with high society is still rather novel for me. I grew up among commoners, see."

That comes as more of a surprise than she'd have anticipated. As far as she could tell, this elf did not lack the grandeur of a conventional noble, in fact, she'd go as far as to say he exuded an almost royal charm - that of a third or fourth prince of some faraway kingdom, like Neverwinter. His suit must've cost a small fortune. In addition, he seemed to know more about the happenings here than he'd let on. 

"Oh? Could’ve fooled me." She tilts her head to one side, and gestures him. "So, what's your name, stranger? It's only fair."

"I have no name, I simply am."

"Ooh, mysterious," she teases, "Is that supposed to be some kind of metaphor?"

"No metaphor. But if you insist, I go by Daisy Dewdrop Fluffington," he says, with a short bow again.

That name sounds more false than hers is. Despite that, Shadowheart snorts, then brings her hand to her mouth to hide her smile. "Your name is Daisy?"

His countenance betrays no reaction. "There a problem?"

"Not at all." Index finger pressed to her lips, she pauses a moment to give him a scrutinising gander. "Just, it would seem our lecher friend found the wrong 'flower'." 

There, this frosty-haired elven man smiles too, and for the first time, it seems genuine. 

"Please, forgive the third degree. I’d just heard rumours of people sneaking in."

Shadowheart feigns surprise. "Oh? I don’t blame them, if that’s true." She glances away, pretending to admire the splendour. "This event is lovely, even for my first. Counsellor Gortash certainly pulled out all the stops."

Inwardly, her stomach churns in her unease again. She were not the only agent sent tonight, had someone been discovered? And why was this man investigating? A lowborn, perhaps he were some type of guard? 

Another server passes by, and Mister Fluffington here swipes two goblets of some drink, offers one to her. 

Skeptical, Shadowheart cocks an eyebrow as she carefully takes it from his outstretched hand. "Trying to get me drunk so early in the evening?"

He smiles a little again from over the rim of his cup. "It's a non-alcoholic spirit. Go on, try it."

She does, eyeing him down all the while. He wasn't lying, it neither smells nor tastes like alcohol, has a strong refreshing citrus flavour with a delicate buzz.

"Enver wants this soirée to go off without a hitch," he says, continuing their prior line of conversation, "anything to convince the lords and patriars to open their purses and donate."

That divulgence piques her intrigue. "What is he fundraising for?"

"The man is an inventor, with a vested interest in something the Gondians are currently manufacturing." 

"Does this have anything to do with that foundry being built by the dockside?" she asks.

He nods, looks impressed. "It does."

"You are... remarkably well-informed."

"I am."

"I'd heard Gortash was a black market arms dealer before becoming a counsellor and 'Military Consultant' for the city's aristocracy."

"You heard right." He takes a small sip from his drink, staring down at it as he swirls the remainder. "Enver is a very ambitious man and has his hands in many pies, runs all sorts of business ventures in Baldur’s Gate and beyond."

Very interesting. Seems Gortash was most likely the one pulling the strings, after all. She'd have to investigate further. 

With a start, she realises she's spent far too long conversing with this stranger than she ever intended. Suddenly aware of how close they’re standing, and how much she likes it, she forces herself to take a wide step back.

Fiddling with the sleeve of her fingerless glove, "Well, it was nice meeting you, Sear Daisy Fluffington," she starts courteously, though a hint of mirth does enter her voice at his surely fabricated alias, "But I've taken up so much of your time already, I should be on my way."

"Leaving so soon?" Straightening, he cocks his head, and uses an open hand to motion the ballroom floor. "If I may be so bold, I was just about to ask you if you'd care for a dance."

For a beat, she's stunned speechless, but she shakes her head. "As flattered as I am by your interest, I'm not seeking courtship, now or ever, I'm afraid."

"I merely ask for your hand for a single dance, it needn't be more." He brings his gesturing hand toward her in offer. "Are you so averse to the idea that you'd deny me that?"

She chews her lip. She should really go… She’s wasted enough time as it is. 

At her hesitancy, he probes further, staring down at her with a keen smile almost reminiscent of a smirk, "The dance floor is a perfect excuse to get closer... to overhear gossiping nobles and politicians, learn their secrets directly from their drunken loose lips, if you can master the art. Perhaps I’ll even let you in on a few more myself."

A strategic suggestion... This man seeks to be her ally? Perhaps she could use that. This might be a more worthwhile opportunity than she'd first thought. 

"What a compelling pitch." She glances to one side and lets out a long sigh, as though reluctantly conceding. "Very well, one dance."

—— 

There exists a male fear of becoming so ensnared by the beauty and power of a woman that it leads you to your doom and destruction. Sailors who hear the voices of sirens and are lured to their deaths when they steer their ships onto the rocks, only to be smashed to smithereens. That is your fate if you're not careful. 

A fear he cannot say he fully understood... until now. He'd never been one to become bewitched by feminine wiles. His time was not spent chasing skirts and drinking wine. 

With a firm yet gentle grip, he guides her further into the clouds of ballgowns and suits.

Her hand in his is cool to the touch, and the pads of her fingers sport calluses that suggest regular tool usage or weapon practice. From the stride of her gait, it's the latter. A confident, slightly widened yet light stance and set shoulders, perfected for stable balance and mobility in a fight. Combat training among noble-born isn't unheard of, but less common. The wealthy tend to see it as barbaric, below their station, suited better for soldiers and vagrant adventuring types. Their attentions usually directed toward politics, or the arts, or magic and academia. 

This raven-haired woman may present herself a dove, but The Dark Urge could spot a manipulation when he saw one, she’s a red-tailed hawk underneath. 

As he finds a suitable place in the centre of the ballroom, another crucial aspect from his quick inspection of her hand is that...

"I see no ring on your finger," he observes, leading her in front of him so that they are now face to face, "no one at your side tonight. You are unmarried and do not seek to be?" 

"There is no future wherein I am ever bound in matrimony," she answers, her gaze on their joined hands between them. "I was given to a church clergy at a young age."

"Ah, you've taken vows?"

Even as he says it, he carefully slides his other arm around her waist, bringing them closer together. Her free hand settles on his shoulder. 

"Something like that." Her eyes flit upward, meet his. He inhales sharply. "And what of the gentleman? An eligible bachelor like yourself must have many suitors." 

The Dark Urge leads her into a simple box step, and soon, the two of them weave gracefully around the other pairs of dancers. 

"I have far less freedom than you’d believe," he confesses, unthinking. "Love is not in the cards for one like me."

A smirk lights up her face. "I never mentioned love."

The fingers he has brushing the small of her back flex unconsciously. "You didn’t. Still, I serve my father, no other, not even myself." 

He glides with her along the dance floor, her following his steps in time with the music.

"Your father does not wish for you to sire heirs? Carry on the family legacy?"

"Frankly, the thought had never crossed my mind until now - you’re frightening me."

The two laugh. Him, despite himself. Hers, a light airy sound that sets his pulse racing. 

True to his word, he dances them near important guests, pointing them out, both craning to eavesdrop on mid-dance conversations. Much of it is tripe, but 'Ara Silverleaf' seems fascinated by it all, and her enthusiasm is infectious. 

Next, Grand Duke Ravengard. Commander of the Flaming Fist, the city guard. He's not dancing but he's stood at the edge of the floor, flanked by an attaché of his soldiers, arms-crossed as he assesses the crowd, speaking to an elven woman with an ornate feathered purple mask at his side. When Sorcerer squints, he realises she must be his wizard advisor, Counsellor Florrick. Dark Urge has never met the woman and does not intend to, from what Gortash tells him and word from his own spies - she's a bit of a blood-hound for sniffing out trouble and he does not need her sticking her nose into his business. 

Duke Stelmane, another member of the Council of Four, dawdles nearby, leaning on her cane with a vacant stare. A stroke survivor but never the same thereafter. Gortash seems determined to investigate her, convinced she's hiding something in spite of her zombie-like state. 

Beside them, some ladies whisper, and the name ‘Cazador’ pricks his ears up. Tuning in to their conversation, he overhears them discussing how an invitation to this event had been extended to the patriarch of the Szarr family but still neither hide nor hair has been seen of him in years. Gortash has made the joke that the man could be dead and rotting inside that palace of his built directly into the Central Wall into the Upper City, but Dark Urge has unearthed rumours of exclusive ‘parties’ being hosted there. Reports of people going missing, bodies never found. But murder is commonplace in Baldur’s Gate, if you weren’t noteworthy enough, if your corpse not displayed publicly, nobody blinks. 

As the music swells, he twirls Ara under his arm once, slow, and she finishes the spin in his embrace. 

And as he lets her go, the Sorcerer swallows thickly, feeling oddly bereft without her heat pressed close.

He nods towards where Enver Gortash himself has made an appearance, decked out in his signature onyx coat. Dancing with a human woman with a mane of ginger hair, one he recognises as Lady Firelia Wisteria Jannath. He's leant in, telling her a joke that earns an indulgent giggle. Gortash had had an affair with the very same woman in his younger days. All this he relays to Ara.

Falling in step with him once more, she follows his gaze, and covers her mouth, gleefully scandalised.

Suddenly, Gortash looks up, and Dark Urge quickly twists them both so that his back is to his co-conspirator. He's far less recognisable in this elven form, a giant albino dragonborn with flaming red eyes tends to stand out in a crowd of humanoids like a sore thumb. And, not like he'd ever particularly cared before now, but the visage also had a propensity to scare people off. 

The song draws to a closing, and he snaps Miss Silverleaf out to arms-length with a flair. 

She lets out an effusive yet surprised giggle as she looks across at him, and he puts on his most dazzling smile for her. Only to twirl her back toward him, she does another few little spins, the momentum with which he uses to sweep her off her feet. He dips her low, his grip on both her back and hand remains secure. 

There, he takes a moment, studies her face. The depth of something he cannot name darkens her eyes behind her mask. The exact expression she’s wearing, the slight flush in her cheeks, an alluring combination of embarrassment and insatiable curiosity.

"Well, I think I'm dizzy," she murmurs with a short pant. 

"Don't worry, I'd never let you fall."

There’s a smatter of polite applause from gaggles of masqueraders on the outskirts clapping for the dancers, and carefully, he helps her upright. As she stands, she's still trying to catch her breath. She smooths out her dress, touches up her hair, corrects her mask back into place. 

"Would you like some air?"

She shoots him a relieved look.

"Please."

—— 

The masked stranger, her dance partner, spirits her away from the ballroom floor. Leading her through the mansion and she's whisked outside onto the balcony with him. It's empty, praise Shar, and the gust of chill night air is indeed as refreshing as she'd have prayed for. The faint echo of the ballroom music can still be heard from down the hall. 

Shadowheart strides forward to clutch the balustrade, taking a deep breath, and taking in the sight of the Upper City in all its glory illuminated by a canopy of glittering stars. There's some beautiful lush green gardens, a hedge maze with an ostentatious water fountain, in the courtyard down below. She feels a strange twinge of regret for she'll never get the chance to explore it but deigns to savour the scene from her vantage point in the moment while she's here in it. 

Alongside her, the elf approaches, leans his hip on the stone barrier. 

Gather more information on the whispers stirring of this cult arising from the bowels of the Undercity bleeding its way into the government. All the major players would be here. Do not make waves. These were her orders. 

"Enjoying your first ball?" 

She can admit she'd leapt at the chance to leave the confines of the Grotto, a pretence wherein she takes charge of her life. Even if only for one night.

But she hadn't counted on this...

"I won't lie, I think this has been the most fun I've had in years." 

“It gladdens me to hear that. I tend to find most of these events and people insufferable, myself.” 

If one grew up poor, it’s not hard to see why they might resent those born in the lap of luxury. Still, he’s here now… What a strange man. Clearly unhappy, yet even that doesn’t seem to be the whole truth. 

“You do strike me as a cynic.” 

“Oh?”

“This is the part where you assure me I was at least tolerable company by comparison, lest you wish to insult a lady and wound my pride?”

A small smile. “Never. I confess, your company has been most agreeable, most welcome. You are… unlike anyone I have ever met.”

The lies have been slipping off her tongue easily enough all night, albeit with some kernel of truth embedded in the falsehoods, that she’s sure she’d be able to detect any ingratiating deceit on his part. Yet there’s none. 

“Perhaps you’ve spent too long among entitled gentry, you need to lower yourself back down to us regular folk.”

“There’s no shortage of fools, scoundrels, and undesirables in every strata of society,” he says with a chuckle. “You can’t duck through a side alley in the Lower City without being mugged.”  

Shadowheart purses her lips to restrain her amused smile. “I can’t argue with you there.”

Daring closer, his body hovers inches away from hers. "I take it the dance satisfied your curiosity?"

The fluttering anticipation in her stomach doesn’t settle, but she pushes it down as she turns toward him, holding his gaze.

"Some."

"The hour grows late, my lady." He lifts a finger to her cheek, just below her mask, waits a few seconds for any protest or sign of discomfort, then runs it slowly along its lower curve. "I fear I would be left in anguish if I never laid eyes upon your enrapturing face."

Thoughts in a whirl, she opens her mouth and closes it again. Her face burning beneath her mask. Of its own volition, her gaze falls to his mouth, the soft shape of his lips. She imagines him placing his hands at the sides of and tenderly sliding her mask upward… But as soon as the picture forms, she banishes it.

Forcing herself past the charged moment, she finally clears her throat. 

"I'm afraid I can't soothe your anguish this time."

At her reply, his hand falls away, he nods. 

"Well, I must send my regards to your family for they sent such a delightful woman to grace this event." 

"Oh, there is no need for that."

"Please, I insist."

In the silence that follows, a sudden cheer rings out from the ballroom, a sound that both turn their heads toward. 

"You were right, it is late. I have urgent business to attend to, but it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Daisy." 

"The pleasure is all mine. It was an honour to share a dance with you, Ara," he says, and though it’s not her real name, it still rolls off his tongue like honey. "Enjoy the rest of your night."

—— 

The Dark Urge watches her as she strides away, into the manor down the hall they came from. When she disappears, he turns back toward the night sky. 

There was a time when he tried to cling to his 'humanity'. Oh, how hard he tried. But it never ended well.

Shortly after he’d dispatched of the Thorne’s, he ran the streets - an urchin still - stealing food and coin to get by with cunning and his wild simple magics. In his adolescence, he’d taken jobs in taverns and restaurants, improving culinary skills his adoptive mother once passed on to him. Staying in one place became dangerous, both to those around him, and himself when his crimes would begin catching up to him. He moved to mercenary work, honing his grasp on the Weave as a sorcerer, quickly proving himself a savant in matters of arcana. An innate talent and source of great pride. One he once sought to use for good. There were friends along the way, that he’d try to do right by. All dead now.

It weren’t his will back then, but it were his hands still that paved those trails of blood wherever he went. Hands that were created for destruction. 

There was no denying the Urge, no denying Father, Lord Bhaal. 

For if the Urge is not sated, it takes over, and he completely dissociates when he kills. The last modicum of empathy sleeps while The Dark Urge murders. 

That’s all he was. Bhaal’s mortal vessel, crafted from a chunk of his divine Father’s dead flesh, with an instinct woven directly into his rancid blood to kill, kill, kill. The world, and everyone, everything, in it. 

His son. His scion. His instrument. 

There is no other choice. No other option but to embrace his dark nature. He learned this lesson many times over and eventually it sunk in. It’s murder, or be made to murder. And he did. Descending further into the horror he had become, slipping deeper and deeper under Bhaal’s thrall. The lure of blood-spill, the promise of power, proved too great a temptation. 

Bhaal looked favourably on those who submit to and enact his will. And Dark Urge was born to be his favourite. The one to ruin, the last to die. 

He must’ve been between twenty and thirty when he found his way to the Bhaal temple. Very young for a pure blood elf, but he wasn’t any regular elf. Perhaps the elven body were to better assimilate into his adoptive family, or perhaps a way to extend his lifespan - he never got the full story. As soon as he arrived, Bhaal showed him his true form. Father always did have an affinity for draconic kind. 

With it, he reestablished Bhaal worship within the underbelly of Baldur’s Gate. The temple was left in ruin in the aftermath of Sarevok’s defeat, and Dark Urge restored it. 

Eighty years later, here he is. 

Ever pursuing decadence and power, basking in the glorious bloody glow of Father Bhaal's love, on the cusp of achieving greatness in His name. With his partnership with Enver and Ketheric instated, everything has been set in motion. 

He thinks about that woman whom just walked out on him. Those deep green eyes Dark Urge would quite happily have died in. He won’t be forgetting her in a hurry…

A snide voice accosts him from behind. 

"Dear Brother!"

"Orin. Didn’t I tell you to stay put?"

Orin trots over, her steps soundless on the stone. 

"And I told you I would not be babysitting that smarmy pest of yours you call a ‘butler’." 

The other Bhaalspawn is disguised in a gothic gown and mask of matching colour to his own attire, as if that were the intention. Her skin tinged to something closer to his, a slightly sun-kissed porcelain. Though apart from his ears being pointed and hers rounded, though hidden behind her thick plaited hair - a hay blonde to his stark white, they do appear like they could be siblings at a glance. 

Orin believes they are, that he is her older brother, but she is more like his niece. A changeling like her mother before her, but her sperm donor is not Bhaal, like she mistakenly believes, it is Sarevok - her own grandfather. She’d been dropped at his doorstep at infancy. Her mother, Helena, too busy worshipping Sarevok’s boots to bother taking care of the child they created. And him too driven mad by his own obsession with the taint in his blood and spreading it through his lineage. 

The Bhaal temple was no place for a child, but Dark Urge raised her best he could given the circumstances. Taught her everything she knows. She’d have never survived otherwise, especially the attempt on her life at the hands of her own mother at age seven. Seeking to use her daughter's death as a sacrifice to Bhaal in some vain hope of becoming his Chosen. Fool. 

All the followers of The Dark Urge fear him, most revere him as much as they do Lord Bhaal. Once Orin shared the same admiration, but that has since dissolved. Now she questions more, challenges Bhaal’s doctrine, and strives for the approval of Sarevok above all else. But decades spent surrounded by the sycophants and parasites of the rabid-dog ridden murder congregation he'd cultivated make her impudence almost a breath of fresh air sometimes. At the very least, she has the good sense not to display her insubordination by undermining his authority in front of anyone. 

"Who was she?" 

"None of your business." 

Behind him, Orin huffs. "I’ll find out."

Dark Urge spins around, he's furious at her suggestion but has to contain his anger. 

"You'll do nothing of the sort if you know what’s good for you."

At first, the changeling's surprised by his growl, but her mouth quickly twists into a knowing grin. Her eyes flare as she engages her shifting abilities but it lasts only a second - as, soon, she shrieks in pain. Body convulsing on the spot with seething, swirling wisps of black smog sizzling off of every shred of her skin, and she stumbles sideways into the parapet. 

Stepping forward, he goes to reach for her, an instinct born after years of acting as her caretaker. 

"I can’t take her shape," Orin wheezes, her chest heaving as she catches his forearm for support. 

Any concern he had melts away, he grunts indifferently. "Serves you right. She’s a priestess, whatever magic repelled you is likely a protective enchantment courtesy of her patron deity." 

Orin scowls, hisses, "That magic is unlike any prissy cleric’s I’ve encountered! It felt like pure shadow." 

"Leave her be. I’m lenient on you, Orin, it’s true. But do not try my patience. Return to the temple at once, Gortash did not want you here." 

"I don’t trust him."

"You don’t have to. Now, go." 

——

It was considerably louder back inside the main ballroom than it was when she’d left, as the orchestra strikes up a fanfare and the guests were all faced expectantly toward the stage they were on. 

One of her first observations upon arrival here was the vigilance of the guards on duty, discreetly but continually attentive. The only ones besides the Flaming Fist entourage clad in armour, a distinctive brass and steel plate mail underneath a red, black, and yellow surcoat with strange dark splotchy insignias that she doesn’t recognise from so far away - she'd been keeping her distance. 

Using the distraction of the musical performance, she covertly scuttles along the back wall while the nearest guard’s head is turned and ducks into another empty corridor. 

Following a silk carpet to its end, she peers behind the corner to see there’s a patrolling guard coming her way. 

Channelling the divinity of her Lady Shar, Cloak of Shadows activates, Shadowheart’s form becomes invisible to the naked eye and the guard doesn’t notice her as he passes by when he rounds the bend. 

Not wasting a single second, Shadowheart creeps down the hallway where he’d come from, the carpet muffling her footfalls. 

At the other end is a tall set of double doors, and the Sharran cracks it open enough to dip inside, grimacing at the awful groaning of the hinges. 

Perfect, the room is a grand study. A wide desk, several bookcases lining the walls with various decorative ornaments displayed on shelves in between. Right above the desk is an enormous portrait of a tall shadowed figure wielding a ruby spiked crystal-like sword at his side on a completely satin background. 

Hold on… she knows this depiction. It’s of Bane. God of Tyranny. 

Her mind reels. Enver Gortash worships Bane. One of the Dead Three.

Shadowheart rushes toward the desk, circling it. It’s tidy, neatly organised, with a lockbox pushed into one corner that she pulls toward herself. Fishing her lockpicks and knife out, she manages to crack it using only two. Not bad for a cleric, but she's always had a steady hand.

Inside are letters. Some addressed to the counsellor, some unsent replies he’d composed himself.

Trying to make sense of any of it is no easy feat. She recognises a name; ‘Ketheric Thorm’, a Sharran general whom fell in battle a century ago. She reads a bit further, ‘Moonrise Towers’ sticks out at her. It couldn’t be the same man, that’s impossible. Could it? 

References to ‘The Grand Design’ and some kind of plan for a visit to the Hells. A mention of Mephistopheles, an archdevil ruler of the eighth level of Hell. Whoever Gortash is corresponding with, they both need a considerable wealth of coin to fund this trip, paid to a diabolist right here in the city somewhere. 

"Find what you’re looking for?"

Shadowheart glances up, shocked to see someone had snuck through the gap she’d left in the doors. Their features are obscured in darkness, the only light comes from behind them, but she can see the silhouette of their shape. A tall, imposing figure with several sharp horns jutting out at the back of their head. Two hellish flaming eyes glare across at her, heated and intense, like twin suns. 

A dragonborn.

She knows not his face, but that voice… it’s familiar. 

"You're the elf from earlier..." Her eyes narrow. "What are you? Who are you really?"

She would have sensed the magic of a Disguise Self spell, she knows the school of illusion well. 

The dragonborn stalks closer, slow and deliberate, like a predator sure its prey isn’t going anywhere, and into the candelabras' firelight where she sees him proper. White iridescent scales spread across blood-red leathery skin, more exposed at his neck, the same rippling musculature in that same black-scarlet formal attire adorning him earlier. A long spiked tail swishes out behind him with a clawed tip like the stinger of a scorpion. 

"I've borne many appellations in my time," he answers, voice slightly distorted into a hiss from his reptilian snout but the deep tone is the same. "Ghost Dragon, Harbinger of Death, Child of the End. I usually just say 'The Dark Urge', but I've been workshopping 'The Sleepless Knife' and 'The Death Dream'."

Unable to distinguish whether he's serious or assuming some twisted air of levity, she asks, frowning, hand inching down to her thigh, "What in the hells is wrong with you?"

"Many, many things."

Those eyes of pure flame glow unblinking like embers in ash, hypnotic, yet they chill her to the bone. 

"So you found where Enver conducts his business," he continues, edging ever closer on the other side of the desk, he scrapes his thumb across the surface, then inspects the appendage as if checking for dust residue, "Just know he doesn't enjoy people meddling in it."

"You work for him."

"Not for, with." 

Explains the intel he had on him. 

Shadowheart replaces the missives back into the lockbox and closes it. She didn’t need to keep copies, Lady Shar and the Mother Superior would be able to sieve through her memories to pinpoint any details she missed, and hopefully, if she leaves empty-handed the dragonborn-shifter would let her walk. 

Shrugging her shoulders in faux innocence, Shadowheart skirts the desk, intent on exiting.

"Well, seeing as I didn’t find what I was looking for, I’ll just-" 

"Not so fast."

In a blur, he’s upon her, cornering her against the desk on his side and he’s so much bigger that she’s completely caged between two muscular arms. The very ones she danced in earlier... although scalier now.

She glares up at him in challenge.

"You’re going to turn me in?"

He’s not touching her. Hasn’t. The threat of his towering form in such close quarters is enough. 

A mile-long shark smile spreads across his scaled face that displays rows of sharp pearlescent teeth. "I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with you yet." 

It makes her blood run cold. Her throat dries.

The bestial nature of him, the unsettling way he’s looking at her - like he wants to devour her whole - the warning is clear. He very well could chew her face clean off with one snap of that powerful maw, and for the first time this evening, she realises the danger she's landed herself in.

Shadowheart freezes, if she had any shot at surviving this encounter, she had to think. 

Unable to formulate an immediate reply, Shadowheart swallows convulsively, caught in his fiery gaze like a rabbit in a snare.

Such an important task was entrusted to her and she'd been treating it like some frivolous night out to dance with beautiful strangers. She can already hear the Mother Superior's voice in her ear, calling her a fool, and what a fool she is, and now she might not even make it back to give her the chance. 

"There you are, my blood-thirsty friend, I-"

A cough sounds from the other side of the room. The dragonborn turns enough so that they can both glance over his shoulder - only to see Counsellor Gortash himself there in the doorway staring expectantly at them.

"Oh, you have company... I didn't know you enjoyed pleasures of the flesh."

She'd never seen the man up close before. Coal-black hair in a greasy mop. A thick, dark, and stern brow. Even darker eyes, almost like staring into pits of oblivion. With a six o'clock shadow dusting his chin and jaw. Maybe he was handsome once, but with the lines of age creasing his face, Shadowheart thinks those days have long since passed. Now, he looks like the shifty sort of character you'd find peddling terazul and silkroot powder down a seedy alley in the Outer City. Or like someone had freshly dug him out of a grave. 

The dragonborn stranger exhales, nostrils flaring as if in frustration. “All my pleasures are of the flesh, Enver.”

Gortash scans the dimly lit room. "And I see you deign to christen my study for this..." 

"Did you need something? Otherwise I could do without the audience."  

"A matter of utmost urgency as it so happens, I need to speak with you privately."

"Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of us both."

"Very well, I'll trust that your trollop won't be repeating anything."

Though Shadowheart balks at being called a ‘trollop’, this wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to let something like this go for the sake of a mission. Even in her distress, the tension between the stranger and Counsellor Gortash is obvious. She detects a note of jealousy in the human man’s voice and stamped on his face as he scowls at her. A note that she recognises - this wouldn’t be the first time someone had been envious of her either. Albeit, indeed, from him of all people is quite unexpected and he doesn’t even bother to hide it. But she’s not sure how useful that observation is to her or how she could leverage it.

"I've put the mansion under lockdown, the guests are being rounded up in the banquet hall as we speak," Gortash continues, explaining as if she were no longer there at all, "One of my guards caught a Sharran spy infiltrating the masquerade, and I'm of no doubt there's more of them lurking about. I thought you'd like to do the honours of interrogating him, that's more the forte of someone of your particular talents than mine. Sharrans are trickier than most, but I'm sure it won't take much for you to make him squeal -  you can use him to smoke the rest of his associates out." 

The mission is compromised… 

The dread that had been slowly clawing its way up inside wraps itself around her heart like a vice, grasps hold, and squeezes tight. She gulps, torn between her desire to hear more and the dawning realisation that she’s in way over her head.

“I'll be there soon,” the dragonborn dismisses, “just give me a few minutes.”

"I've had him brought to the dungeons, be quick."

She had to leave. Now. 

Chapter Text

Act ??: Gortash Masquerade Soirée

He'd cornered his siren here inside Enver's study. Knowing that if he left her alone long enough - she would take the bait. 

The Dark Urge lives to inspire fear. But why, when he sees it fill her eyes - those dancing with mischief all night - does it give him pause? What is this? Does he pity her? He hasn't pitied anyone in a long time. Why now? Had he really forgotten how to feel?

It took all his willpower to redirect his attention to Enver Gortash, but the one thing he prides himself on most, is his control. 

"Just give me a few minutes."

When he turns back to her, he notices her silhouette flicker in the candlelight. Reaching toward her experimentally, it disperses into mist upon contact. An illusion. Crafty. 

"Looks like your nighttime amusement has slipped away," Gortash makes comment, and Dark Urge swivels enough to catch the wry look on his face.

"Relax, Enver, you know where my loyalties lie," the dragonborn says, spreading his hands placatingly as he comes in close to the man. Closer than he'd allow any other. Holding his gaze, he gently strokes the tip of his tail up the Banite's leg as he passes him by. "I was merely distracting her."

"You mean, she's one of them?" Gortash trembles slightly beneath his touch but keeps his expression steady, his brow lowered. "You let her in here and doubly let her run off?"

"She can't have gone far. Not in a dress."

——

Down an empty corridor, Shadowheart darts, sparing only a half-second glance over her shoulder. Nobody there. But it wouldn’t take the dragonborn and Gortash long to realise her absence. Invoke Duplicity and Pass Without a Trace were niche spells but they’d gotten her out of more than a few binds.

"You there! Where do you think you’re going?"

One of Gortash’s guards points directly at her from the direction she’s running in at the other end of the hallway and she skids to a halt.

There’s two of them, marching over. A human and a dwarf. The human man grabs her by the forearm and yanks her roughly. 

"Unhand me!" she demands in her best outraged noblewoman impression. 

"Don’t try me," he sneers at her. "What are you doing skulking about in the private wing?" 

Suddenly tongue-tied, Shadowheart splutters some pathetic excuse about searching for a powder room to touch up her makeup but the guards don’t buy it. 

Her bluff only angers them further, especially the one holding her as he slams her front first unceremoniously into the nearest wall and pins her arm behind her back. 

"She might be one of the spies," the dwarven guard says. "Bring her to the dungeon where she can join the rest of her associates." 

She didn’t have time to get arrested. 

In a flash, she draws her concealed dagger from the sheathe on her thigh with her free hand and swings that elbow backwards into the guard’s neck. 

He grunts on impact and staggers back enough for her to break free from his hold. 

"You even know how to use that, little lady?" he mocks, grinning through charcoal teeth. 

"Why don’t I show you?" 

In retaliation, Shadowheart thrusts her blade beneath his armpit in the gap of his breastplate and he stumbles away from her with a gasp. If the wound isn’t enough to end him, the poison working its way through his system will. 

'Having trouble?' she thinks snidely.

Initial shock gone, "You’ll pay for that, bitch!" the second guard seethes. 

Shadowheart dodges the dwarf's clumsy strike with the glaive and glides behind him, where she slides her blade clean across his throat. He drops his weapon and it clatters to the floor as he reaches for his neck, gurgling as a geyser of blood gushes through scrabbling fingers. Both guards collapse. 

Upon closer inspection, she finally sees in full clarity that strange insignia upon their uniforms that she'd only glimpsed earlier. A paint handprint, Bane's symbol. Of course.

Footsteps. She hears them before she sees him, but she spins toward the sound with her blade aimed aloft. 

Seems she couldn't shake her tail after all. The dragonborn-shifter. But he’s back in his High-Elf form donning his masquerade mask. 

"You again," she spits. "Not a step closer or you'll bleed for me just as they did."

He doesn’t even look at her as he melts out of the shadows. He’s staring at the floor, at the corpses of her two attackers. When he finally does meet her narrowed eyes, he’s smiling. It’s most unnerving. 

"Do you promise?"

Shadowheart sneers. Her blade hand erupts with the sickly green energy of necromantic magic. "Better yet, I'll kill you then reanimate your corpse and make it dance for me."

"And here I thought we were getting along so well!" He chuckles, a low and dark sound. "Even if you did, you’ll never escape alive."

As much as she loath to admit it, she feared he might be right. Still, if she was going down, she was going down fighting. Her grip on the hilt tightens and the magic contained within crackles, loud and menacing, as she glares at him. 

For a moment, he merely tilts his head at her - not just out of mere curiosity, but cold calculation. But then he jerks upright at the sudden thudding of boots on stone behind her. 

It’s a risk, but she takes her eyes off him to check. Two more guards come barrelling out into view from the other end of the corridor. They spot the bodies at Shadowheart's feet and begin shouting. The first charges with their weapon drawn, the second levels a crossbow at her. 

She’s trapped.

In the blink of an eye, and with inhuman speed, the white-haired elf swoops in front of her with an arm raised as though he's holding up a shield. A transparent ward blocks the single crossbow bolt fired - deflecting it into the wall she’d been shoved against earlier. 

In his palms brims scintillating red globes of magic which he releases it with a whirl of his hands, and a single haunting command, "Morieris!"

Dual beams of that same ominous crimson hue spear the guards from the top of the head down. Both are stopped dead in their tracks as their bodies convulse, they crumble to the floor, spasming uncontrollably for a few seconds longer. Then, as if frozen, they still.

The blood pooling beneath the corpses smoulders in a strange rune symbol, but dims too quickly for her to make out its meaning. 

A dozen questions race through her mind rapid fire as she gapes at him.

He appears unruffled by the attack, shrugging one careless shoulder. A scarlet glow lingers in his eyes. The gems embedded to his attire catch the light, refracting into mesmerising patterns across his face. Where, if she’s not mistaken, white scales have burgeoned upon his cheeks and forehead. Peeking out from beneath the mask. And there’s two matching horns protruding out from the back of his head. Leaving no doubt that elf and dragonborn are one and the same.

What she does know, is that whatever that magic was, it is foul. A spell that could rend the life from a person in a single utterance. A good dancer, veteran of formal parties, confident, wearing a unique mask. She’d clocked early on that he must be important.

But who the hells is he really?

——

"Now that we got that out of the way-"

A flash of movement in his periphery - the raven-haired woman springs toward him, raises her arm high, and slashes downwards. Quick, but not quick enough. He catches her arm just above her elbow - suspending the strike of her dagger inches from his right eye.

"Noli Moverē," he incants.

Fear floods into her, reflected on her now drawn face. She stops struggling, immobilised like a deer caught in the lamplight of a racing carriage.

It's there only a moment, as a flicker of defiance disguises it. "Are you going to compel my death too, Sorcerer?"

"Don’t feel bad, nobody lives forever," he teases, unable to help himself. He lets go of her arm, it remains locked in place in the air. "If I wanted to kill you, don't you think I'd have done so by now?"

"You'd kill your own kin," she refutes.

"They're not my kin," The Dark Urge replies, waving away the concern. "But even if they were, in my family, that kind of blood-spill is expected if not outright encouraged."

It doesn't take her long to slot the pieces together.

"You're Bhaalspawn. I should've guessed."

It’s not as though he’d been hiding that particular facet of his identity all too keenly, but he’s impressed nonetheless. 

"I knew you were clever."

"And you, just another unstable megalomaniacal despot. No wonder you're in bed with Gortash."

Dark Urge opens his mouth to retort, but her assessment is rather accurate, so he just smirks instead. Something that makes her scowl deepen. She's dropped her blushing Belle of the ball act entirely. If he wasn't already attracted to her before, her tenacity on full display now would've done him in for sure.

"If you’d have let me finish," he drawls, pinching the tip of her stiletto between two fingers, sliding it out of her grip. "I was about to offer you my help."

He takes a single step backwards and releases her from his Hold Person spell.

Fear turns to confusion, then suspicion.

With the tiny pout of a wounded puppy, she rubs her arm even though he left no mark, eyes squinted at him in agitation. How she has the gall to be offended when she’s the one who attacked him, he doesn’t know. Though he can respect an instinct for violence.

"Help?" 

"I can get you out of here."

"How can I trust you?" she sibilates, voice emerging with a waver - more scared than she wanted to let on. "You’ve lied to me from the start." 

"To a Sharran trickster. I’d say I’m in good company." 

"I-I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Oh, I think you know full well."

She makes no further claim to deny it. 

More shouting echoes down the hall, making both their ears twitch. The source unseen but not unknown. 

Dark Urge twirls her dagger once before offering the pommel end toward her. "I'd say you have about fifteen seconds to decide." 

It takes her five to weigh the options she does not have. 

"Fine, lead the way," she says sharply, snatching her blade from his grip so abruptly she slices his digit open. "Betray me, and I will still happily gut you with this."

Vicious. He liked that.

"I'd expect nothing less," he remarks, giving her a sly grin as he sticks his bloody finger into his mouth and sucks. 

Through the windowed double doors mid-way down the corridor they'd been standing in, the Sorcerer shepherds her outside to the balcony. Barely missing the Banite officers who swarm inside to replace them. The pair hide behind the wall as they pass to investigate the corpses of their fallen brethren. 

Though the Dark Urge can certainly take them with or without the Sharran agent’s help, more fighting would only slow them down. 

Below them, more guards patrol the garden grounds. They wouldn’t be able to scale the wall down without being spotted and alerting every one outside. 

Instead, they remain undetected as they scoot along the long stretch of balcony until reaching the next adjoining room.

He opens the door to a parlour and they step inside. Opulent couches and a coffee table are arranged in the centre, and the pair stride by toward the doors leading further into the mansion. 

Cracking one open, he pokes his head out to check the corridor and finds it empty. He motions for her to follow once more, she does so in stony silence, and they make their way to the next room to avoid standing out in the open. 

One he’s more than acquainted with, the trophy room. A museum lined with glass display cases of various rare monster parts - horns, teeth, hide. Others with statuettes, weapons, or baubles. Enver oh-so-loved to parade guests through here to gawp at his collection. 

The staircase in the posterior corner leads to the first floor, which they hurry down. 

"If you're not one of Gortash's enforcers, how is it that you are so familiar with the layout of his mansion?"

Her sudden question almost surprises him. But he answers her all the same. "You're not the only one who can sneak around. It's important to know your allies just as well as your enemies."

"I'm sure he'd be delighted to hear about you murdering his men."

"That I can just blame on you and your ilk, Sharran." He grins. "Enver would forgive me, anyhow. He’s aware of my ‘urges’."

He glances back in time to see the disgust written on her face. 

The bottom floor is a grand library, though from the dusty state of some of the bookshelves and their tomes, it doesn't appear to get much use. Gortash spends most of his time at home holed up inside his study, and his underlings are probably illiterate. 

In the next corridor, the Banites are out in droves patrolling. A trio has a wizard at the head casting Arcane Lock on each of the doors at the other end. Another duo are dragging a masked man with his head hung, one of the party guests, by the arms on either side across the floor. By the blood trail his body is leaving, he's not merely unconscious but perhaps dead. 

Behind, he hears the Sharran woman let out a tiny gasp. Reacting fast, he hooks an arm around her and flings them both into a nearby closet before the guards can turn around and catch them.

——

Pressed up against one another, nearly chest to chest, in the cramped, unlit space. They allow a few moments as boots plod closer, pass them by, and recede from hearing range.

"I recognise him. He's another agent, from my coven," she whispers in offer of explanation. 

"Hm, seems like they aren't content with just taking prisoners."

His head is turned toward the shut door, and she can see his features in full detail this close with her darkvision. She wonders if he covets the same trait since he assumes the forms of two different races. Might he be a changeling? A favourite of Bhaal’s followers, especially during the Bhaalspawn Crisis. There are no dragonborn amidst her cloister, she remembers that, and she doesn’t remember meeting any if she has. Do they all share this faint scent of fire and steel? 

Her thoughts are interrupted when he tilts his chin to look down at her. And her cheeks flame at having been caught staring. 

"They won’t have much luck interrogating us. We all had our memories suppressed so as not to betray Shar’s secrets."

"That…" he says, eyebrows raised slightly, "Sounds extreme." 

"Maybe, but it’s a necessary precaution for this very reason."

An image flashes into mind - herself, tied down by restraints, Banite torturers leering over her. It makes her skin prickle. Sharrans were no stranger to such techniques, but there was an art, a precision, to them. A Bane cultist would have no issue with deriving as much pleasure from her pain as possible. 

Then, she remembers what Counsellor Gortash had said and where she is. Who she's with. It is baffling how disarming he can be for a Bhaalspawn. He's unlike anything she'd have expected such a creature to be. Suddenly overcome with irritation, she shoves him away from her and shimmies out of the room. 

Only to run right into a Banite mage.

Thankfully, she's alone. Both of them are just as surprised to see each other, but Shadowheart recovers first. In an instant, her dagger is in hand. In the next, its plunged through the woman's neck. 

Striding off to the opposite end from where they'd spotted the officers, Shadowheart doesn’t wait for him. 

After tossing the body back inside the closet, the dragonborn-shifting sorcerer lopes up from behind her just as she pushes inside into another room. 

"You fight with such ferocity, kill with such savagery. It's beautiful," he says, closer to her ear, voice a murmur. It makes her shiver. But she stands her ground as he circles her until they're facing one another. "You have talent, I could use someone like you."

"I'd never serve you."

"That so? Disappointing but not unexpected. We could’ve had such fun together, accomplished much." A slow, controlled smile lifts the corners of his mouth. He has such a devilish smile. It’s evil, like he knows how you will die, but there’s something so enthralling about it. She can’t look away. "Still, I sense the darkness inside of your heart. We are more alike than you'd care to admit." 

What was all that back there? A ruse to earn her trust? But why? She’s not sure whether she’s more frustrated that she was deceived, and may still be, or frustrated that he is the one who deceived her. 

"I kill to defend myself. Your kind are nothing but ruthless butchers."

"You expect me to believe Shar worship affords you the luxury of principles? Because I don't. You're no better than I, admit it."

"If you are who I think you are - Bhaal's little murder-minion who's made an alliance with Banites - then you are reprehensible."

He scoffs, mocking. "Please. Isn't 'loss' your whole shtick? I am merely contributing to 'loss' of lives."

"Shar embraces us and through loss we are cleansed," she seethes, fists clenched, "you degenerate."

"Oh gods, spare me your rhetoric."

Shadowheart opens her mouth to make another equally cutting retort but he suddenly leans closer and she stiffens.

An illicit thrill runs through her when his fingers poise over the side of her face. Like he wants to touch her, remove her mask, but once again something stops him. Instead, he tilts his head and watches her with an intensity that sets her pulse fluttering. Terror mingled with something else. Anticipation? She wants to jerk away but she's rooted in place. She wonders if he can sense it, the way her own body betrays her. 

"What a shame it is, the blood of a wolf trapped inside the body of one of Shar's sorry little sheep."

The insult brings her back. A surge of anger overtakes her. "Your barbs mean nothing, my faith shields me."

"Oh, yes? Does it shield you from magic? Weapons?"

She’s well aware that he’s just trying to rile her up. He's been toying with her all night. But it’s working. She jabs her thumb into his chest. "This might all be some sick and twisted game to you, but my life is on the line here!" 

Something in his expression changes, softens almost. 

"Looks like you took a nasty blow to your face here. It’s starting to swell."

Shadowheart brings two fingers to her cheek automatically, steps away from him, looking down. The slightest press has her gritting her teeth, she hadn’t even noticed the pain until now.

"One of those brutes slammed my head into a wall before you arrived."

"Well, he got what he deserved." 

Her fingertips ignite with blue magic as she casts a benign level Cure Wounds upon herself. 

"How do you fare?"

"Don't pretend to care," she snaps. Then sighs. "Right as rain."

He moves away from her, towards the windows leading outside and lifts one high enough to squeeze through.

"Come, there's a back gate on this side of the gardens. It might be locked but won't be heavily guarded."

Outside, in the mansion courtyard, he extends her a hand as she climbs out after him. A struggle in her attire. She makes a point of ignoring him.

A dank breeze whispers across her neck, icy and cold, as if she’d just entered a cave to the heart of winter. The sky is painted in deep indigo and the moonlight streaming down upon them lights the way. 

Into the hedge maze she'd been admiring a mere hour earlier. 

She allows him to guide her through. He steps with purpose, alert and focused. They manage to avoid another patrol of guards and make it to the fountain in the centre that she had spotted. 

Just when she thinks they're in the clear, a lone Banite rounds a bend in the hedges, carrying a torch. Spots them, cups a hand to his mouth and yells, "Interlopers-!" 

Before he can finish, the Sorcerer has already closed the gap, he'd zipped toward him so quickly Shadowheart's sure she didn't see his boots meet the pavement once. No, she's right, he'd flown - because in the next second he's levitating, clutching the guard by the faceplate of his helm and holding his dangling body high up into the air all with the strength of a single arm. Nice to know the muscles aren’t just for show.

His hand erupts in molten flame, melting the man’s helmet as sparks of electricity crackle within and every synapse of his brain is fried.

Then, Sorcerer drops his corpse with a thud. Landing a beat later beside it with a disinterested glance. 

"No telling how many heard that. The gate is just this way, I’d suggest you run."

She agrees.

It doesn’t take long for them to reach it. An unassuming single gate of black iron bars. Padlocked shut but he makes quick work of it with a Knock spell. 

"There," he says simply. Then turns to face her. 

Behind him, the dark streets of Baldur’s Gate Upper City. Freedom is within her grasp.

She should flee while she has the chance. To hells with this Bhaalist. 

But there’s something she doesn’t understand.

"Why did you help me?"

It’s only now that she realises how his eyes have grown cold and flat. Not one hint of his earlier cavalier attitude. Not a shred of mirth.

"I shall relinquish you because you’re going to return to your coven beneath the House of Grief bearing a message."

Her eyes flash. It doesn’t escape his notice. 

"That's right, I know where you live," he confirms, with a nod. "Tell your superiors that I will tolerate no further interference from your kind, little Sharran. Or my assassins will raise your temple to the ground - burying every one of you beneath a mountain of rubble. Stay out of my way, and I'll leave you be. Carry this message home."

"How do I know that you'll keep your word?"

"You're not entitled to guarantees. You don't have a choice here. You can't stop what's coming, nothing can."

There’s a heavy pause. Her heartbeat thunders inside of her eardrums.

"I won't say thank you."

"You have fire, I wonder how long it will keep you alive. Perhaps we'll meet again, at the end of everything, when I conquer this world over."

"On the contrary, I hope to never see your face again."

Shadowheart is gone then. Disappearing into the darkness from whence she came. Doesn’t look back.

Indeed, she does make it home that night to deliver his warning. Exhausted in every meaning of the word. Her beautiful, fancy ballgown stained in Banite blood. She’s the only Sharran that did. 

Is it a sweet mercy that after grilling her for hours about the masquerade, what she had learned, her escape - that she was dragged before the Mirror of Loss, a huge, looming, polished disc, one used to plunder memories from the minds of others, and had hers of the entire ordeal erased? 

That she never knew this stranger whom held her captivation for nigh on the entire ball was the Chosen of the Dread Lord, Prophet of the End. 

Chapter Text

Act 3: Temple of Bhaal

The forgotten halls of the Bhaal Temple were a site consecrated in the blood of thousands of sacrificed victims. Echoing with the rabid indistinct chanting of madmen, the hissing of the standing torches which flames cast long shadows on the crimson drapes hanging along the walls, and permeating with the kind of cruelty that masquerades as fun. The atmosphere here thick with an ungodly amalgamated sour stench of rot, sweat, both raw and burnt meat (she’s afraid to guess at to what kind), wax, and old stone. They'd had to traverse the sewers once again to reach this place, and it was still more pungent here than there. Half the reason these people are such loopy death-worshipping creeps is probably due to these fumes they're inhaling. 

The Dead Three are all so obvious and ugly with their decor. Blood and bones. Bones and blood. Pointy nonsense, Shadowheart thinks. At least Shar had some panache.

... For so long, she had sought to count herself among Shar's Chosen. 

It had taken some time since the Shadowfell for Shadowheart to come to terms with the new direction her life had taken now. Mourning the loss of the future she’d always thought she was going to have, thought she wanted, was such a helpless sort of grief. Beyond simple disappointment. She’d made her choice, but if you’d asked her right after whether she thought she’d made the right one? She may have said no.

There she decided who she was, and here, amidst the stale fetid airs of the Murder Lord’s temple, Tavik was about to make that decision himself.

Return to Bhaal’s thrall and doom the world or defy him and doom himself.

But first, Orin.

Tavik is alone, facing off with the other Bhaalspawn.

"What have you done with Yenna? Where is she?" he demands, voice barely above a growl yet it rang firm throughout the hall. "If you’ve hurt her, so help me, Orin, I will unleash the agonies of Bhaal upon you."

Shadowheart had never seen him so angry before. His back is to her, but she knows him well enough to recognise how tense he is, not out of any fear but because his sister seemed to know how to strike every chord he had. She swears she can hear his heart beating with rage. Feel the sharpness of his icy glare as it follows Orin's cat-like movements.

Orin is perched upon the central altar across from him, one leg bent supporting her weight, the other extended out to the side of her.

"Yes, yes, give me agony. Pluck me bone from bone. Stroke me with a jagged edge until my skin shreds wet and red." She barks out an empty laugh at the sky. "Foolish Blood-kin, there is no girl," she sneers. "I’ve been watching you since the moment you arrived. I see you, how you play pretend, a gallivanting White Knight. You deny yourself your true purpose but you cannot deny what you truly are. You are a mangled blood-brain, thinking Bhaal can be refused."

When she’d met him, she’d had no idea who he was. Tavik the titan of a man, yet so unassuming it belied his true nature. But it weren't his former identity that concerned her most - it were the sheer magnitude of trust she’d placed on him.

After Gortash had unveiled it all, there'd been a few days where they did not speak. Tav had given her some much needed space to think and that is exactly what she did. She'd thought back on their time together, revisiting every interaction - were it plausible it were all an act? How long could someone maintain such a pretence for? Wearing two faces at once.

Shadowheart still gets nightmares that she’s back in those woods. Fleeing a beast who was really her protector. Was it just loneliness that drove her into his arms? The right attention at the right time? Did the feelings of liberation that had eluded her for so long cinch the deal? Had love blinded her to the warning signs? She’d been fooled once in such matters. It’s entirely within the realm of possibility that her judgement of character is pretty poor.

Would her heart really lie to her?

If something seemed too good to be true, it usually is.

Though... Tav wasn't exclusively invested in her. He extended the same kindness to near everyone they met, and to none more than their party. She's not entirely sure why they all dubbed him leader - perhaps it were because she followed him first, all the way back there at the beach, and by her example the rest followed suit. Certainly, it was difficult to picture anyone else at the head of them, especially in those early days. They'd poke fun at him like they all did with each other, but he'd earned their respect and admiration. Not only for his competence but because he cared. He remembered every little detail about their lives, catered to their needs and preferences like it was his sworn duty. He was in charge without being domineering. The last thing she needed was another voice in her ear telling her what to do. And even if everything was one big manipulation, what did he stand to gain from it? He never asked anything of her or them. Always gave far more than he took. 

"Orin, we were close once, I can recall some of it. If you believe I failed you somewhere along the way-"

"Youuu," she spits, pointing a crooked finger. "You think everything is about you. You thought you were invincible. Untouchable. And I showed everyone how you weren’t."

His fists clench at his sides, but then he unfurls them. 

Orin the Red's laughter rings out. 

"Did it think it could protect? Did it think it could save?" The changeling licks a long stripe along the dagger in her hand. "Only the blades can offer salvation."

There’s always been something peculiar about him. He never really hid that. Part of the reason the curse didn't perturb her as much as it should've was, well, because it meant that all the cards were laid out on the table. She had all the facts. The guise of the sanctimonious champion of the downtrodden was just that, a guise.

As she'd said, they all had their issues to grapple with. And he'd let her see behind the curtain to his. She'd read his journal entries, his private thoughts documented. She'd been inside his head. Any elaborate hidden agenda, there was no certain way he could conceal that, and, more simply, she doesn't believe he has. Or would.

And just like that, any lingering doubt melted away one by one. 

"Like the salvation your birth-giver offered? Attacked by mother dearest on Sarevok's orders. That must've hurt."

Maybe he’s terrible. But maybe everyone is. 

Indubitably, she were no exception.

This time, Shadowheart trusts the beast. Shadowheart trusts him. She supposes the real question was - could she trust him to do the right thing?

Orin flies to her feet. For all her bluster, she was just as easily provoked by him as he was her. 

"No no NO NO NO! He didn't. He didn't... Filthy, pig-mouthed little liar!" 

Tav had always been his own worst enemy. Happiness might be a shore she's still swimming towards but, godsdammit, she wants him swimming right there beside her. If he screwed her over, she was going to swear off romance forever. She knew that much. It was him or no one at this point. She was in too deep. All nine layers of Hell would need to freeze over before she ever considered something as imbecilic as falling in love ever again. 

"You think I hurt from such meaningless vapours? Do you forget what I did to you?"

Before she even knows why, a wave of apprehension washes over Shadowheart as she watches on from afar.

Orin jerkily cocks her head, her smile sinister, as she steps down from the empty altar and saunters toward a motionless Tavik. 

In another grotesque display of her shape-changing abilities, she transforms. This time, into Tavik himself. His perfect mirror - body, clothing, face - even that infernal brand across the left half of it - all if not for both eyes the colour of molten lava. They smoulder, alive and unforgiving, with a ferocity akin to the flames of the Hells. 

"How you screamed as my knife split your skull," Orin, in Tav's form, with Tav's voice, taunts, coming closer - right in his face, contemptuous smile on hers. "Your brain juices sticky and sweet." She raises her palm as she speaks next, miming holding something small within. "A little hole, big enough for the worm." Then she pseudo-crushes it when she tightens her fingers into a fist at eye level. "Your body a blood sack to feed it."

It is unbelievably eerie to watch a Tav doppler circle the real like prey. Nothing but his head moves as Orin turns about to the side of him. Then she shifts form once more - her skin erupts into red flesh, an array of thick horns spike outward from the back of Orin's skull, her jaw elongates into a protruding draconic snout, alabaster scales proliferate in diamond-shaped patterns across her face and neck. As the flash of it subsides, Shadowheart realises they're all looking at an albino dragonborn. 

It passes behind a stunned Tav's back.

"The favourite of Bhaal turned meat-puppet, strung up by the sinews and plucked by my hands."

Most disquieting of all... Is that Shadowheart recognises that reptilian face. And all the blood drains from hers as a torrent of long buried memories flood back. 

——

A straggling memory rises: the day his tyranny should have engulfed this world, it was he who were first to be enslaved. Orin's smile was the last thing he saw, her bright blade glinting as she chiselled into his skull. Her reckless digging left his mind shattered. She robbed him of his bloody birthright, reduced him to nothing. Nothing but pure hate, and now it burns, yearning for vengeance.

The target of his unquenchable thirst for revenge, Orin transforms back as she returns to face him.

"Husk. Maggot," she spits. "A Bhaalspawn, slip-sliding in the filth with these pigs. You don't deserve the Murder Lord's blessing."

All of it. His brain-death. That parasite burrowing into what remains. The lunatic Myrkulite's vivisections beneath Moonrise. His ruined memory. Forcing him to slink across the Sword Coast as this shell of his former self while she pranced around his kingdom, botching his carefully crafted plans. Her fault. Her fault. Her.

Betrayer. Usurper. Coward.

Sorcerer inhales deep. Every muscle vibrating with the urge to strangle, maim, kill.

"Insolent worm," he growls upon exhale. "I deserve it more than you."

So it is envy that drove her to this. What an insufferably myopic motivation and so very predictable. Pitiful creature. Misguided and weak. And still... she had succeeded. The great Chosen of Bhaal caught unawares by his own underling. How long had she hated him and how long did he fail to notice?

"Sarevok ordered your mother to kill you," he continues, "you were never even meant to survive."

Trembling. She still fears him. Good. 

"Grandfather loved me. He worshipped me. These petty smearings will not save you."

"Bhaal rejoices in such cruel betrayals." He barks out a pitiless, condescending laugh himself at her naivety. "You really believed you were the exception? Don't be a fool. Sarevok loved nobody but himself. He's your father, Orin. He abused your mother. He abused you."

Unable to mask the distress in her wild clouded eyes, the Dark Urge knows he hit his mark when her fury returns in full force. 

"No, not him. Not him!" Orin, stricken, shudders, erratically she throws her hands up as she turns left and right in a frantic, desperate semi-circle on the spot. "I did all of this for him! Everything... everything..."

On the back wall of the temple, an Avatar of Bhaal embodies the skull symbol's eye sockets - they illuminate to life with twin incandescent blood globes and bathe the entire chamber in their glow. 

"No, Orin," it says in a voice the Dark Urge knows all too well. "You did this for me."

Tears stream down Orin's cheeks as she lets out an anguished wail, "Bhaal, Father, they lie to me. They lie!"

"Hush, child. No more doubts, no more fears, no more Orin. Become murder."

Orin screams in sheer agony as some unseen force seizes hold of her in her entirety. A blood red rune of Bhaal's symbol, surrounded by circlets of Abyssal script flashes below her, signalling impending doom.

A stately thirty-foot bipedal behemoth of reddish-brown hide and rippling muscle, a fearsome sight of claws and fangs and horns, bursts forth as Orin transforms seemingly against her will. 

It spreads all four of its arms and deafens him with its roar to the heavens. Then its hulking form hunches down, ichor eyes locked on the Dark Urge. 

Bhaal has possessed her... Truly had given her The Slayer form. 

The form lacks the beauty to be called majestic compared to the likes of the magnificence of the Waiting Storm, Ansur. More of a monstrosity, a shape Bhaal himself once took when he walked the planes as a mortal. 

The Dark Urge sought to push her to the brink of her fragile sanity. Break her. But he hadn't anticipated this.

If Father has a new favourite… So be it. 

Across his back, Markoheshkir and his Staff of Spellpower he retrieves. Twirling both in his hands as he glowers back up at the beast before him. 

"And you, return to your true form."

Something takes hold of him this time. The Dark Urge's incapacitated body wracked with tremors, all his muscles cramped, every blood vessel courses with a searing power, his flesh crawls, an endless pain shooting down his spine and through all four of his limbs. 

Then, it is over. But something has shifted. 

Holding his hands out, staring down at clawed fingers, fills him with a profound sense of dread. The protrusions feel like knives edges cutting into his fingertips. He feels heavier if such a thing were possible.

A strange weight on his lower lumbar; a thick, scaled tail swishes behind him. 

He has no further time to consider any of it as the Slayer shrieks like a banshee and lunges for him. 

The Dark Urge blocks just in time. Twin staves forming an X when crossed together and the beast’s claws are repelled by a concussive force he projects on impact. But the blow was still enough to send shockwaves through the Dark Urge’s body. 

It’s strong. He doesn’t know how many attacks he has the stamina to deflect and he’s sure he doesn't want to test the limit. 

The Slayer does not relent, thrashing with wild lashing swings that the Sorcerer dodges or parries. Until one he does not see coming as the beast spins and that massive tail whips out from behind it, catching him square in the chest and sending him flying backwards across the impromptu stadium. 

That might've broken a few ribs, as a sharp pain blooms below his armpit and spikes to a crescendo when he groans.

His eyes blink open in time to see the Slayer launching itself through the air towards him and he bursts away with a sudden speed. 

It lands where he had been left sprawled moments earlier, the entire temple quakes from the aftershock. It howls again, as though angry, raking its bony fingers across the stone, creating an unholy screeching from both sources that makes his eardrums ring. 

The Dark Urge was the greatest sorcerer this city has ever seen, and would be cowed by none, especially daddy Bhaal's mindless flesh monster. 

Sharp tongue flickering out to taste the air, he bares his own fangs and imbues himself with every buffing spell he knows. Then he ascends upward toward the rocky ceiling where it will be far easier to stay out of the Slayer’s reach. 

It tries to strike him with its many arms but he whooshes by above and the claws pass him harmlessly.

All as he hurls powerful combinations of lightning and fire, staffs spinning. 

"Arde!"

"Peruré!"

The Slayer roars but its hide is too thick to penetrate. 

Its underbelly, it looks like a softer tissue than the hide of its back.

The Dark Urge needs to get in closer, so he does. He darts in and the beast swipes at him with its upper left arm.

"Dolo!" A blast of energy, aimed at its meaty forearm, cracking bone and repelling its attack. 

An equally quick follow up slash from the lower right arm, it swings, and the Sorcerer glides inward, catches this arm between his own against his chest then slams the appendage across his knee. Snap. 

The monster howls in the throes of pain and recoils away from him. 

Dark Urge follows, creeping forward as it backs up toward the altar. 

Another roar, a challenge in the sound, and one of those monstrous legs kicks forward toward him before he can dodge. He tries to catch its foot but the beast leans into it, shoves him down to the ground with superior strength, pinning him by chest to stone beneath its immense weight. Its gaping maw, opened wide, tilts down - gobs of its vile slobber flying out through huge tusks as it growls right into his face. 

Grunting through gritted teeth, the dragonborn reaches a scrabbling hand out to cast off Magic Missile. A favourite of Gale's.

"Tormentum!" 

Firing an onslaught of successive darts of pure force directly into one side of its horned head. 

The Slayer screeches as each magical punch connects. It won't do much damage but the distraction is enough for the Dark Urge to wiggle out from beneath that giant paw. 

He flies upward again, returning airborne and assessing the battle in the momentary lapse. 

The beast seems to sneer up at him. He's broken two of its limbs and it barely seems fazed. If anything, he's only made it angrier. 

With a feral snarl, the Slayer drops to all sixes and leaps into the air towards him. It reaches his height but he has enough time to avoid and it alights on the other side of the altar with a thunderous boom. 

Its back to him, now was his chance. In a rush of wind, he closes in. A run and a jump, he grasps ahold of those spines lining its back and climbs atop just below its hunched shoulders. It flounders wildly like a beached fish, trying to shake him loose, and he stubs the blade end of one staff just above its left clavicle to use as a foothold - plunging it as deep as it will go.

Fingers flexing, he charges a deadly burst of pure lightning - using his embedded staff as a conduit - electrocuting the Slayer he's mounted upon. The Dark Urge doesn't give it time to recover - he lunges, sinking rows of fangs into the beast's other shoulder and ripping and tearing muscle. Its blood tastes foul but victory will taste sweeter. It convulses, tipping backwards with the momentum and the Dark Urge yanks his staff back as he leaps off before it can crush him beneath. 

The Slayer crashes to the ground on its back, but is soon pushing itself to its feet. 

As the Dark Urge advances once more, the Slayer backhand swings and he ducks low beneath it. They trade blow after blow, of quarterstaffs and claws. The Sorcerer spins with his duel weapons - chaining more cracks of lightning and fire behind each parry. 

In one powerful blast, he slams the butt ends of his staves into the stone at his feet and they erupt with an enormous burning wave of pure flame so bright its nearly white that washes across his foe. 

Screaming, the Slayer then swipes at him low through the glare and slices his upper left leg deep with three parallel gashes, and knocking his Staff of Spellpower from his grasp in the process. 

The Dark Urge drops to one knee, huffing with exertion as he watches it clatter across the amphitheatre for a second, then has to dodge another giant set of claws by diving into a forward shoulder roll. 

And the Slayer gives chase, clawing at his back - making him gasp and stumble away. 

"Argh!"

He palms his wound, drawing it back to find it stained with dark fresh blood. 

Suddenly, quicker than thought, arm-length claws thrust through his abdomen and he's lifted into the air, held high above its head until the Dark Urge and the Slayer are looking each other square in the eyes.

He refuses to give it the satisfaction of his screams, he digs his own claws into the arm he's impaled upon, his hands igniting with fire and branding the creature with his prints. It doesn't let up, yanking him closer to itself to shriek its fury into his face, spiked teeth gnashing. 

Lightning sparks from somewhere in the back of his throat and the Dark Urge roars right back. The sound follows a thunderous breath of raw electrical discharge that he howls across the small gap between them. 

Then Dark Urge's claws snap forward, latching onto the Slayer's upper and lower jaw and he rips its mouth open in a hideous display of strength. Its mandible is yanked from all attachment joints in its skull until it hangs unhinged by muscle tissue alone. 

He's tossed to the floor, rolling until his back impacts the central altar. 

The Slayer, busy screaming its high-pitched agony at the ceiling above. 

Power ebbs and surges within, sparks flicker at his claw-tips, and in one last burst of energy, the Dark Urge shoots forward. Markoheshkir gripped in two hands and he slashes with the blade end in a whirl, gouging a long deep cut into the softer flesh of its exposed underbelly from bladder to diaphragm. Blood and guts spills atop him but he showers in it - calling forth one last clap of sizzling lightning, a beam of brilliant blue bolts that engulfs them both within its radius. 

Dragonborn dives out from below as Slayer's mass of flesh lurches and slams forward into the floor. 

Stands there, still if not for his heaving chest, slouched from countless wounds, scowling as Bhaal's Deathbringer seems to melt into liquid as it crawls towards him. A metallic tang fills the air as the Slayer's form is drained of life, flesh strips first, deteriorating into a humanoid skeleton. Until nothing but a rapidly growing puddle of gore is all that remains.

Ashes to ashes. Blood to blood.

——

"I expected the other... But you live and her blood is returned to me."

At the hands of his own protégé, the Dark Urge finally got his comeuppance. But it freed him where Orin were still trapped. She'd seen him as an obstacle. Now she is gone. 

There's part of him that detests her for it... and another that pities her. Turns out they were both played for fools in this gods-awful family. Standing here now, bathed in both their blood, as his strength wanes and the anger that had consumed him drains - he wonders if perhaps he deserved his fate. Wrested from his bloody throne at the height of his arrogance.

In the grand scheme of things, she was the best friend he'd ever had. Brought him back from death but, still, left him stuck half-alive. He swings between intense gratitude and hating her with every fibre of his being.

"You are my Chosen. I have a gift for you, child. You will use it to lacerate this world."

A gift from his god, his Father. An offering of his affection for him... or confirmation that he owns him. 

But Bhaal only loved him as long as he obeyed, as far as his usefulness extended. He knew he was a tool. All that suffering wrought, chaos sowed, venerating savagery, to appease an evil deity. And still, when Orin turned her blade on him, left him for dead, and deposed him - Bhaal rewarded her treachery.

Why was he brought back? Because she could never live up to him? She misunderstood the Murder Lord's true will? She could not control herself.

Now he, what, expects him to come crawling back under his yoke like some sad prodigal son? No, he'd rather demolish his empire himself than ever watch it fall under someone else's shoddy leadership. What an embarrassment.

Mortal affairs were mere theatrics to the Gods. None of this matters. 

When he died, his faith died with him. Unlike Orin, the ties that bind him won't be the ties that break him.

"I refuse," the Dark Urge tells him. He tires of Bhaal warping his mind, perverting his thoughts, tires of living this constant struggle trapped in an endless nightmare teetering on the edge of insanity, completely and utterly at the mercy of the Urge. "I will be free of you."

Bhaal's gravelly voice speaks through Sceleritas Fel's levitating boneless corpse, his image in the reflection cast in the pool of blood beneath.

"You refuse me?! You are my spawn! Your veins course with my unholy blood. Your life is mine. Accept your inheritance or I will reclaim it."

Is this why he submit to his Father the first time? All those decades ago. Because Bhaal could cut the thread of his life as easily as he could to others? 

A tightness seizes his heart. He falls silent as he tries and fails to process this.

The Dark Urge; murderer, assassin, prolific killer, fears death himself. The prematurity. The finality. The inevitability. For all his power, he was not indestructible, and this frightened him. The bitter irony is not lost on him. How laughably hypocritical. 

At first, he convinced himself he was redirecting the worst of his danger away - if he could maintain control, keep himself on a short leash - rather than becoming a feral lawless beast. But that was just an excuse, wasn’t it? His cruelty became more apparent as the years went on. A morose misanthrope, wallowing in his own misery and self-loathing, yet resigned himself to never changing. 

And when he did die... nobody cared. When he fell, there was none who dared catch him. 

The brine-pool of his mind clears. To die: to rest, save the world from himself. To accept: to become his prophet - in any disobedience, subject to his inescapable lash.

The dragonborn turns, his gaze finding her in the crowd. Stood in the middle amongst all his companions, surrounded by his old congregation of Bhaal cultists. She's already staring at him. Everyone is.

Is this how she felt when she stood before her destiny, with the voice of her goddess filling her ears, terrified of incurring her Lady's divine wrath? Or just the old stale fear of disappointment?

Those eyes... he knows those eyes. The disguised debutante from Enver Gortash's party... He remembers. It were her all along? 

The life to his death, the rebirth to his destruction, the good to his ill, saint to his sinner. Taken from the light, she found it again. He shouldn't love her, but he does. 

For he was happier in this fantasy with Shadowheart than he ever was as the Dark Urge.

Pathetic.

As the thought occurs to him, another part of him, much stronger, rebels against it. The person he used to be isn’t dead. Two sides vying for control, his monstrous side colliding with this current wretch. For this, they were in concordance; her love was a prison he never wants to escape from. 

"Shadowheart…" He nods slowly once at her as their minds connect through their tadpoles one final time. "You mean everything to me, and you always will. I want you to go live, reconnect with your family again, travel, see everything and experience the joy that is life. We’ll meet again in the beyond and you can tell me all about what it was like."

His life is forfeit. Somehow, he had always known that. People like him did not get to run with and settle down with the woman of their dreams. They did not get a family. They did not get a happy ending. Not when they lived a hundred years of debauchery. Not when they murdered a thousand or more.

"Tav..." Her response comes tinged with panic. "What are you doing?"

Tavik turns back to Fel's awaiting corpse.

There were some things, he had learned, that were greater than fear.

"I don't need you or this, Father. The only family I know are those who fight at my side. I'd rather die than ever bow to you again."

"You were beloved in my sight and this is what you’ve become. An abomination who has forgotten who he is. I made you in my image. You were made to conquer. To devour. You reject my blood and so I will reclaim it." In the bloody reflection, Bhaal's Avatar's hand raises then clenches into a fist. "I will make another who is worthy."

He knew it was coming and still nothing could've prepared him for the magnitude of pain that envelopes him then. Blood gushes from his nose, then his mouth. Cold seeps under his skin, as shiny mists of blood seems to diffuse from it. His entire body throbs and aches like he's being trampled by a horde of Deep Rothé. 

Head spinning, his legs like jelly, the ground slips from beneath his feet and he's no longer in control as he floats upward parallel to Fel.

And then... the darkness takes him.  

————

Act ??: Moonrise Towers Mind Flayer Colony

The restraints dug into his wrists until his flesh split, and still he fights them. Fighting was all he could conjure the thought to do. Reduced to nothing but that one primal instinct and inconsolable rage. But fighting made the cruel woman smirk. 

She stands over him now, dark eyes gleaming as she watches him struggle, fingers buried in her work.

With a sharp tug, she yanks at his exposed intestines as though testing rope. "Fascinating, you still hold together despite everything I do to you and despite that tadpole in your brain," she mutters with a clinical chill. She waits, as if thinking he will respond. "You understand me, don't you, my pet?"

Pain ripples through him but his glare burns hotter than the ache. The necromancer didn't care. She never did. To her, he wasn't alive - just an experiment to test her tools upon. 

Behind her, a fleshy sphincter opens to admit a bugbear clad in loincloth. His footsteps break the rhythm of her motions. 

His eyes linger. His jaw tightens. 

"That's enough," he says, gruff voice low and firm. "He's already torn apart. You need to get rid of him, what happens when Ketheric or Balthazar finds him here?"

"They're far too busy with the Absolute's armies to be concerned with what I do here. I need to discover why this one is different, his will is intact, husband!"

"Yes. You've given me this speech before-"

"Rrgahhhhh!"

From the operating table, he rips free of his restraints and hoists his own intestines around the necromancer's neck, pulling her down and strangling her with them. Hell is not hot enough, but he hopes she burns there anyway.

"Ack!"

The bugbear rushes forward, grasping hold of his arms and slamming him back down.

He growls and thrashes as the woman, now free, coughs and splutters, gasping for air. 

"Sedate him! I can't hold him for long!"

A needle is plunged into his neck, his vision blurs, darkens into blackness and the frantic voices fade away into nothingness once again. 

————

Act ??: Baldur’s Gate Outer City/Squalid Tavern

Life had barely begun for him when the darkness first came creeping.

The Flaming Fist soldier exits the dining room, spots little Urge perched upon the top of the rickety wooden stairs. 

Beneath his helm, his expression tightens into a scowl. He places a hand on the hilt of his sword and he jabs his forefinger at him with his other. 

"Watch yourself, kid," he warns. "Or you and I will be seeing a lot more of each other."

Then, he is gone. Metal boots stomping out into the street. 

The boy pulls his knees up to his chest, shuddering though not cold. Sullen, his glower dims as he stares at his small bruised knuckles. Listening to the conversation between his mothers in the room below. He did that a lot. Eavesdropping. The wood panel walls were thin. He was a curious little thing.

"He nearly beat that boy to death, Lilya! It took three clerics at the chapel to save him, if his parents hadn't gotten him there in time-"

"Tav was only defending that little girl, that kid hit her with a rock the size of your fist. I don't care if he's the guard captain's son."

Footsteps. Back and forth. Someone's pacing.

"And what about those dead animals he's been killing and dissecting in the backyard?"

A scoff. "We don't know if he's the one who killed them, they could've been dead when he found them."

"So the cutting up their corpses part is fine?"

"No!" An exasperated huff. A pause. "We've spoken to him. He said he wouldn't do it again and I believe him."

"I want to believe that too but after today..." A long sigh.

"Look, dear, I understand your concerns and where you're coming from... but he's just a boy."

"A rapidly growing boy who has started showing signs of magic sensitivity like you." Something thuds onto the table. "All I'm saying is, how long until he does something to either of us? What happens the next time he goes too far?"

"Tav wouldn't do that! Don't say things like that."

"You don't know that for sure."

"He's our son, Rúna!" Mama sobs, the sound muffled by something. 

Tears flood his eyes as he listens. He sniffles, wipes his wet nose with his sleeve. What will happen to him? Will they send him away? 

He's different from the other children. Everybody knows it. He can see it in their eyes when they look at him. His own parents fear him.

An evil growing inside. And it was only a matter of time.

————

Act 3: Temple of Bhaal 

For the first time in over a century, silence falls over the Bhaal Temple. No chants, no screams, no prayers. 

Tavik collapsed to the floor before the altar and a strangled cry escaped her throat at the sight. 

Shadowheart drops down the steps and sprints across the chamber toward him. Nobody else moves a muscle.

"Tav...?"

Kneeling down beside his body, her eyes glimmering with tears as her lips move in silent prayer. 

She presses her ear close to his draconic snout, he's not breathing. He has no pulse when she checks. 

In desperation, she splays her hands above his sprawled lifeless form. She's brought others back from the brink before, she can do it again. With a firm shout, Shadowheart casts Revivify.

... Nothing. 

His soul departed. He's not there. No, no, no...

"No, please... Tav!" 

Shadowheart chokes on a sob, but her hands ignite with more magic. She slams every healing spell she knows into him, one after another. His body glows golden with each hit but he never moves. Not even so much as a twitch. 

"Selûne! Please. Anyone!"

Frustrated and distraught by her own powerlessness, Shadowheart clenches her gauntleted fist and strikes the ground beside him. Her vision blurring with the full onslaught of her tears. 

"I need you, Tav, you don't get to die. Godsdamnit all!"  

Behind her, she hears some of the others approach but none come as close as she. 

Shadowheart grasps his limp shoulders, hefting his head into her lap as she cries. She crumples above him as the sobs wrack her body. Cradling his face in her shaky hands. This wasn't the face of Tavik's she had come to know, it was someone else's. Someone she had met in a past life. Someone she'd forgotten. His warmth. His scent. His touch. It’s were like she already knows them. Seems she owed him her life one additional time. What cruel irony. 

Stumbled upon each other, her a devotee of Shar, him the vessel of Bhaal's bidding. And still it were in he, how so much love and hope endured amidst all the pandemonium of the last few months of this journey, that had inspired her to follow in his footsteps and stand on the side of light as long as the faintest glimmer remained. Where would she be without him? Dead herself, or still blindly wedged beneath Shar's heel. 

Their story had only just begun and now it was already over. How can she go on without him…?

"I can’t lose you…"

It wasn't fair. They didn't get enough time. 

Shadowheart pulls him closer to her chest as she venomously glares up at the now dormant skull graving on the back wall. Willing the Murder Lord to choke on his own malevolence. Was he satisfied? Entertained? She'd never wished for the power to fell a god before but the desire blazes brighter than her holy light inside at that moment.

But then her head drops again, she presses her forehead to Tav’s. Damp eyes screwed shut, and it’s all she can do to stave off some of the wetness dribbling down her face. Her anger outweighed by the enormity of her grief. She does not want to kill, she just wants her Tav back.

His skin is unnaturally and unusually cold, and the discovery makes her weeping come harder. 

Everything else melts away. The Cleric knows she should be accustomed to loss, yet its icy sting is staggering and overwhelming all the same. 

...

...

...

"Rise, Challenger of Gods, and prepare for battle once more. Death will not claim thee whilst I endure."

Chapter Text

Act 1: Tiefling Party/Shadowheart's Wine Date

"Do you think all our tadpoles would be friends too?"

The question tumbles out before she can think twice and Tavik's head whips toward her, eyebrows raised. She must know what he's thinking because her cheeks bloom a bright shade of red and she turns her head back toward the night sky above them - that she's being surprisingly ridiculous and silly for someone usually so poised and collected. Embarrassed she may have fractured that illusion she tried so hard to keep intact. 

"Your mind goes to the strangest places sometimes," he says with a small warm chuckle. "I don't dislike it, though." Her playfulness wasn't something he ever wanted to quash. "They'd be siblings, wouldn't they? Or cousins, perhaps?"

"Oh yes! From the same spawn."

Shadowheart looks over at him again. The smile that springs onto her face is reflexive and he's a little caught off guard both by the remarkable fondness in that expression and at being the recipient of it. Making his heart stutter. But she soon turns away again to hide it.

There's a long, yet comfortable pause, and then she sighs, half-dramatic, half-sincere. 

Until Cleric adds in a quieter voice, low and wistful, "I think ours are best of friends, though."

Stargazing here, side by side, flat on their backs embraced by the coolness of night.

Their teasing dynamic, something he cherishes.

"Aww," he coos. "I think so too."

Shadowheart dips her forehead against his shoulder momentarily. Peeks up at him shyly through her dark lashes. 

"Or maybe I'm just drunk."

"Both can be true."

Groaning, undignified in her tipsy stupor, she pleads, "I beg you, no more talk about tadpoles, githyanki, or the Absolute."

———— 

Act 3: Rivington/Camp/Morning After...

Morning light filters in through the tiny gaps in her tent opening, painting stripes of gold across tangled limbs, discarded clothes, rumpled blankets. 

Shadowheart stirs first, slow, groggy. Muscles protesting. Blinking, bleary-eyed, she takes stock of her surroundings - and freezes. 

Soft breaths tickle the back of her neck, warm and steady. Strong arms band around her middle, holding her flush against a solid familiar body. One she had become much, much more intimately acquainted with last night than ever before. Everywhere they touch burns with a renewed awareness, memories of each stolen kiss, whispered plea, murmured praise, filthy promise, flashes behind her eyelids. 

Careful not to rouse him, she twists in his embrace until they're nose to nose. This close, she can count every faint freckle dusting his cheeks, trace the curve of his lashes against sun-kissed skin. Her breath catches at the raw vulnerability etched into Tavik's features deep in Reverie - no mask, no defenses.

Warmth blooms in her chest, overwhelming and pure. Before she can second-guess herself, Shadowheart presses her lips to his cheekbone. 

She watches as his eyelashes flutter in response. 

Drowsy multicoloured eyes crack open, unfocused at first. Then recognition sparks and they widen at her. For a single heartbeat, panic flashes across his face - before melting into something tender. Something hopeful. 

"Good morning, gorgeous," he says, voice rough with sleep. His arms tighten around her, as if afraid she might vanish. 

Shadowheart beams. "Morning... Sleep well?"

"I did." He yawns behind his fist. "And you?"

She hums in thought. 

"Hmm?" Tav echoes the sound in mock offence. "You have to think about it?"

A giggle escapes her before she can stop it. Jubilant in a way she only ever was with him. 

Tav grunts in amusement and drops his head back down onto her pillow. His fingertips tracing idle circles along the curve of her hip. 

"After last night, my spirits are... thoroughly lifted," she confesses, with a lilt in her voice, stretching like a cat in his arms. 

It's the truth. Their outing marked the first time in ages she slept deeply, untroubled by restless thoughts and lingering doubts. Just peace, contentment, rightness. 

Shadowheart felt lighter. Not fixed, not over it. But less like someone who had been left behind, and more like someone who had left something behind.

Instead of any anticipated humour, his expression turns serious and an anxiousness bubbles inside her at the sight. "I did want to talk to you about that, as it so happens..."

"Oh?" She blinks, her stomach twists nervously. Perhaps she misread the situation. Perhaps he- "Not feeling any regrets, I hope?"

He catches the uncertainty in her voice and his fingers flex on her hip as he shakes his head vehemently. "Not in the slightest, it was wonderful."

The words slice through her spiralling thoughts. She meets his eyes, only to lose herself in the swirling depths of his adoration. All the anxiety drains away, replaced by familiar butterflies. It shouldn't have felt as though her entire future hinged on his answer, but it had. Having something to lose, when she'd already lost everything, was terrifying. But, Gods help her, when the world spins - he's the one who steadies her.

"I'm glad," she says, soft. "I feel the same way." She presses her palm to his sternum, their hearts thrumming in sync. There's a pause, she tilts her chin, gazing at him from beneath her eyelashes. "Though, I think I'll be finding sand in my hair for next coming days - I wonder what the others will think of that..."

Tav's smile is so tender. He reaches toward her face, tucking some of her loose hair behind her ear. His fingers lingering at the curve of her jaw.

"They will naturally assume we snuck away to make sandcastles in the middle of the night."

She breathes out a short laugh. Shakes her head slightly in amused exasperation. "But of course they will. I hope we will have more opportunities to slip away... and make sandcastles."

"They're going to catch me crawling out of here, aren't they? What time is it? Did we sleep in?"

There's only the distant sound of birds’ warbling when Shadowheart checks behind her. "No, the sun has only just risen. I haven't heard anyone moving about out there just yet. You can dodge the walk of shame back to your tent this time."

Tav scoots slightly closer to her, still sprawled sideways on her bedroll. Looking thoroughly debauched, and the fact that it's because of her brings no small amount of exhilaration.

"It's only a walk of shame if you feel ashamed. And, to be perfectly clear, I do not."

Shadowheart groans then, burying her face in her pillow. 

"And this is the part where you kick me out of your bunk." Tav chuckles, rubbing her shoulder blade through her camp garments.

"Only because I need to change," she says, lifting her head, "and you take up far too much space in here for me to do that." Only rivaled by the space he takes up inside of her heart, but she'd rather carve out the Great Glacier of Pelvuria with a spoon than ever say that drivel aloud.

"A shame, I might've enjoyed the sight of that."

At his flirty smirk, she rolls her eyes in exaggeration.

"Save it for next time."

Tav leans in to kiss the top of her head, only to whisper in her ear, "I'll fix you breakfast. What are you craving?"

It should be a crime for his voice alone to send shivers down her spine like this, but she ignores it.

"Just eggs is fine. But if you really want to please me, perhaps those jam scones you made back at the mountain pass as well?"

"I do really want to please you. Forever and always."

Gods, what a sap. Why does she love it?

"I actually did not ‘make’ those scones, per se," he continues, averting his eyes. "I summoned them. An experiment, of sorts."

"Ah, of course, you little cheat." Shadowheart snaps her fingers in the air between them, like a demanding noble, as she says, "Well, summon them again!"

Tav gives her a tiny bow of his head. "If it pleases thee."

"Tav."

His grin grows sheepish. 

"Shadowheart. I'll see you later, my darling."

With that, he climbs over her with a delicacy that she'd have thought impossible from such a large man, soon pushing through her doorway with his forearm. 

As he leaves, she finds herself staring at his rear, the perfect shape and muscularity, just like the rest of him, before the view disappears behind the tent flap. Shadowheart rolls onto her tummy, sighing dreamily. Knowing she does not want to go back to sleeping alone, cuddling her pillow in her arms, wishing it were him instead. 

———— 

Act 3: Baldur’s Gate Lower City/Elfsong Tavern 

Back at Elfsong, late that evening, Tavik is searching their living space for Shadowheart. Nobody had seen her for an hour when he asked. She’s not with her parents. Not at her nook. 

Only to find her in the last place he looks. Reclined on his bed, long silver-white hair out, reading a book with Boo curled up dozing on her shoulder. 

Tavik takes a moment to admire the scene. And then promptly launches himself atop her. 

"Oof! Tav!"

Chuckling, he buries his face into the other side of her neck. His arms coiling underneath her as he settles between her legs. 

"I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not," he murmurs, peppering small soft kisses to her collarbone. "You're caught in my web, little butterfly."

There's the slightest hitch in her breath at the gentle pressure of his lips to her skin, but she keeps her composure. "I flew here on purpose."

"And what, pray tell, might that be?"

Shadowheart closes her book and slides it onto his bedside table. Then one hand threads through the hair at the back of his head, the other caressing between his shoulders. 

"Well, I figured," she muses, he can hear the cadence of her voice grow coy, "now that your curse is lifted, you have no further excuse not to be holding me every night."

The idea has him grinning wickedly. 

"You read my mind. I was about to lug you here over my shoulder if I had to but couldn't find you anywhere."

"Oh?" Shadowheart seems to perk up at that, even from beneath him. "I can go get up and wander around if you like?"

And Tav snickers. "Too late. You're stuck here and I'm not moving."

Shadowheart makes a disgruntled noise.

It's then that Boo chirps from beside his head and the elf glances up.

"What is the rodent doing in my bed?"

Chapter Text

Act 3: Atop the Netherbrain 

Spread out across the top of the Netherbrain's cerebrum, the site serving as their battlefield, the True Souls’ final confrontation comes to a head. Having fought through the full-scale assault to reach and climb the fleshy spinal cord just as the brain it's attached to took flight above the Upper City. The derelict district baptised in dragon fire crawls with illithids and Absolute cultist infantry down below, while githyanki dragon-riders and fleets of nautiloids swoop overhead. 

Once an Elder Brain, the Emperor had ascribed the gargantuan aberration's ascension into something even more fearsome to the Crown of Karsus it adorns. Located at the anterior end, framed by the thick spiked chiton encasing the outer circumference of its dome like a wreath. 

Blocked off by another horde of foes. 

The Emperor himself levitates before them, flanked by his mind-bent Red Dragon mount and every single iteration of Dream Guardian he'd impersonated to visit each of them during their sleep back when they wandered the Sword Coast wilderness. 

Tavik turned on him in favour of freeing Orpheus, the Prince of the Comet, son of Mother Gith - the true source of their immunity to the Netherbrain's control being harnessed by the mind flayer all along. Shadowheart's not one-hundred percent sure why Tav did so, but she found herself silently agreeing, as preposterous as allying with githyanki would've sounded to the old her. Though siding with a mind flayer would've had her balk just as well.

Indignant at the betrayal, the mind flayer chose to flee to submit to the Netherbrain's will rather than face death. 

At the Sorcerer's command, they'd fanned out to attack from all fronts. While the mages and archers fire from the backline high-ground. 

Swathes of thick purple tentacles sprout from the flesh-coloured gyri, the grooves protruding across the brain's surface. Snatching up various allies and incapacitating them in their tight grip. One such victim is Lae'zel when she charges forth, and she growls loudly at the obstruction. Karlach rushes over to cut her down. 

Leaving Shadowheart alone with the two mind flayers, Orpheus and the Emperor. 

She'd been following the longitudinal fissure that bisects the two hemispheres of the brain as it was the direct shot to the Crown, charged with escorting the gith prince there. No mere mortal could subdue it after its evolution, a Netherese mind flayer using the Netherstones on the ancient artefact was the only way to defeat the aberration. 

As though vexed with her specifically or somehow perceiving little ole her as the greater threat, the larger mind flayer's soulless eyes stay fixed on the Cleric as if she were the only enemy visible. She raises her shield in preparation even as she's uncertain how much protection it will lend when illithids do not fight by traditional physical or magical means. 

When the Netherbrain takes a sharp turn in the air, Shadowheart's feet nearly give out from beneath her at the sudden violent lurch. By nature of their flight ability, both mind flayers remain unaffected hovering in the air. 

Another tentacle erupts from the meningeal surface beside her which makes her gasp in fright, dodging away and nearly stumbling off balance once more. Her spear thrusts through the viscous growth and it writhes as though in agony before shooting down back into its burrow. Just as suspected, the Emperor takes advantage of her lapse - a conical wave of psychic energy spews forth from his forehead, blasting her in its range. 

Immediately, the battle, the world, swims around her and Shadowheart brings her shield hand to her head to steady herself. There's a whiteout flash of pain that scrambles her train of thought, the powerful ache scalds her mind and the throbbing only intensifies with each passing second. It spreads down her body, entailing a wave of nausea. 

"A little help, please?" she manages to entreat, but her fragile voice is lost over the wuthering winds and cacophony of shouting and fighting. 

Nearby, she's able to make out through the blur Minthara, Lae'zel, and Karlach fending off those golden paladins. Too busy to be of aid. Orpheus must've been caught in the stun himself as she never sees him. 

Everything happens too quick to react to. 

Dame Aylin lands with a thud before her, greatsword lifted high above her head, angel wings spread wide in intimidation as she blocks Shadowheart from the Emperor's view. 

Instead, Cleric watches, paralysed, as the Red Dragon roars and raises a humongous taloned foot high into the air before it swings down - and flies straight at her. 

Her silver armour absorbs much of the impact but the wind is knocked from her lungs and she's sent careening off the side of the brain by the sheer force of the strike. 

Falling, her cloak and braid whip about as the rushing salty air howls into her ears. The Netherbrain becomes smaller above and the crashing Sea of Swords gets closer below. 

Shadowheart learnt to swim but she's got no way of knowing how buoyant she'll be accoutred in her heavy plating. 

Still, fear does not take hold as she plummets. 

Maybe because she already knew. 

A whizz of movement as something dives toward her. Only to collide with her midair, making them both roll sideways into the momentum, then she's being gathered into someone's arms and hefted upward.

Shadowheart exhales shakily, heart pounding, and glances up at a familiar face. 

——

"Not sure where you're going, battle is this way."

Despite everything, Sorcerer cracks a smile down at her as he soars with her through the sky back toward the Netherbrain as it floats across the Grey Harbour. He'd caught her fallen shield and weapon via Telekinesis which follow the pair as if carried by unseen spectres. 

"Tav," Cleric wheezes out. "I've never been so glad to see you and hear your stupid ill-timed jokes."

"Yes, sorry, sometimes I click on the wrong dialogue option by mistake or morbid curiosity gets the better of me."

This was probably an inopportune moment to remind her the only dragon she’s permitted to fall for is him. So for once, he holds his tongue. 

"I’ve no clue what you’re talking about. Everything’s… spinning." Her head wobbles side to side and when he takes her in proper, he sees her pupils have dilated to two mismatched sizes, and there’s a thin stream of blood dribbling from one of her nostrils. "Hard to concentrate."

As her words teeter off, her eyelids droop, her body tenses and jerks like she’s in immense pain.

"Shadowheart?" 

Head collapsing against his shoulder, she goes limp in his arms. 

"No, no, no. Fuck! Jenevelle!" 

Gods, she was dying. He couldn't allow that.

If anything happened to her, he vows he will drive this oversized brain into the sun. 

Tav closes his fist to his chest, summoning his own life-force into his grip. Soon blood rivulets swirl and slither around it, gloving his appendage in a miniature maroon maelstrom. The illithid parasite squirms inside his head as he draws on its power and he grimaces through the pain of it. 

Then, he thrusts his hand in the small gap between them toward her fallen form laying helpless cradled within his arms, aiming the transfusion to her shadowed heart. 

At first, she shudders, but gradually comes to. Jolting awake, her jade eyes blink open, breathing hard. 

She feels so much heavier in his arms as sudden exhaustion overwhelms him. But at this moment? He's too relieved to care. 

"Thank the gods," Tav rasps, pressing his forehead to her temple.

"What happened?"

The thought crosses his mind to scold her for removing her bond band - she shouldn't have suffered a single injury whilst he still draws breath - but it dampens as rapidly as it had manifested. He can never be truly angry with her. 

There’s always been something about her that sparked a protective instinct in him, above any other. He knows she can handle herself, and watching her fight is bracing, but if he could ward off all immediate danger from her vicinity - he would. 

Fucking Balduran. The hubris to title himself something as vainglorious as 'The Emperor'. The cowardice that motivates his every selfish self-preserving action. The lies and the deceit. He thinks himself quite the puppet-master, but Tav's had enough of having his strings pulled. Hate is too gentle a word to describe his feelings toward the mind flayer. For his hatred of him is visceral.

It’d been his last visit to the Sorcerer’s dreams that’d cemented such. It was bad enough the mind flayer was privy to every intimate detail of their lives, an uninvited audience through the tadpoles in their skulls. Meaning he’s been a voyeur to Tav’s outings with Shadowheart, and yet still saw fit to try seduce him. His mask slipped at Tav’s immediate refusal, revealing how it’d been him all along who were cause of Duke Stelmane’s stroke symptoms. Not to mention his betrayal of Ansur and his all too convenient omission of his true identity.  

If Balduran hasn’t already choked to death on six pounds of Aylin’s steel, Tav will strangle him with his own tentacles and slice the rest into ribbons for what he's done.

The worst part about pissing on his grave will be running out of piss. 

——

As Tav flies them both higher, Shadowheart notes just how invigorated she's become. Her internal wounds heal, external cuts close as skin mends, her entire body regenerates almost instantaneously. At a speed that rivals that which even her most adept spells could muster. 

A newfound strength burning in her limbs - a rush of energy. She feels good. Powerful. Much more so than after a decent long rest. Like she could lift the dragon by its tail and swing it off the Netherbrain without breaking a sweat. 

They reach the top once more, hovering several dozen feet above it while Tav processes the scene and gives her some more time to recuperate.

Tavik's eyes glow azure as his gauntleted hand grasping her knee performs some sign and he invokes some spell. 

Carefully, his arms unfurl from around her but, much to her initial alarm, she does not immediately drop into another free-fall. She's hovering before him, a pair of white feathered wings beat the air at her back. He'd granted her temporary flight a second time. 

There was much she admired about him, like now, his pluck and resolve. The way he always seemed to know what he was doing. That every choice he made was the right one. Apparent as he nods at her, determined. 

"Get Orpheus to the Crown. I'll hold off that tentacled squid-freak and his pet lizard." 

Whilst he takes off ahead of her, Shadowheart glides down to return to the gith prince's side, who's locked in combat with more brain tendrils and the remaining two Dream Guardians. She taps his chitinous shoulder and, planning to warp them both directly to the foot of the Crown of Karsus, casts Dimension Door. 

"Quod dico face!"

————

Act 3: Mind of the Netherbrain

The brain is on the cusp of its final thought. And it's taking all of Orpheus' strength to keep it there. An opportunity perhaps? 

Tavik stands at the side of the gith prince. Chest puffing, beads of sweat dot his brow, evidence of his exertion. While the mind flayer strains with the effort of containing the Netherbrain’s power through the lashes of the three glittering Netherstones pulsing just ahead of his outstretched arm. 

In the next few moments he’ll command the brain to destroy all the tadpoles and then itself. 

Staring into the bright glare of the stones, Tav's life flashes before his eyes. Everything it had taken to get to this point. Years of planning and preparation, the domination of the brain, to begin the Grand Design. All in the name of Bhaal...

But Father is no longer in control. He is.

There'll never be another chance like this.

Dagger slipping free of its sheath at his belt, Sorcerer struts forward and swings his blade through Orpheus' mandibles. Right below his great maw of tentacles. Again. And again. He has nothing against the gith, but the fate of his people is none of Tav's immediate concern. The slashing is brutal, gruesome. His blood branded him a villain long ago but even with the Urge purged from his being, there's long been some part of him that revelled in the bloodshed beyond Bhaal's tether. This was all him.

It almost doesn't register when Shadowheart cries out, "No, stop!" 

Tearing his eyes away from the gurgling mind flayer sunken to his knees before him, flitting upward to his companions behind. 

Astarion's crouched down slightly in alarm, "What in all the sweet hells are you doing?!" he demands. 

"What I planned to from the beginning," Tav answers him, "taking control." The Netherstones tumble from Orpheus' compulsion as the prince slumps over sideways lifeless, seized into his own instead. In a concentric pattern, they spin, separated, before reconfiguring into one singular trilateral shape - suspended, thrumming with an ancient energy above his open palm. "Don't worry, you're all still part of my design."

The Netherbrain senses his intention and thus, their bond forged beneath Moonrise Towers all those months ago reignites. Together they would conquer, they would rule, they will command. Become Absolute.

In one powerful blaze of psionic discharge, all his companion's heads jerk backward as their pupils white-over with a smouldering orange tinge when the Netherbrain clutches ahold of their psyches with ease. 

He was made for dominion. He need answer no authority. Neither mortal, nor divine. So he wills it, so shall it be. 

——

Just on the periphery of her awareness, Shadowheart is acutely cognisant of Tavik's gaze hooked on her. Lingering. 

Then, his voice, carrying a grating edge that she hadn’t heard on him before as he speaks aloud, "Release her."

With a reverberating full-body quake, Shadowheart gasps for her breath as her autonomy is returned. Coming into full control of her faculties once more. She examines her hands, her arms, then turns about in place. Uncaring of Tav's silent watchfulness mere meters away, she rushes to the ledge of the chitinous platform where they stand. 

Taking in her surroundings. The storm of crimson ribbons painted across the skyline, streaked with looming nautiloids, Red Dragons being zapped out of the air as soon as they swing in too close. The sea is its own restless hurricane below - churning with wild, unruly waves, splattering against the docks of Baldur's Gate, where the city itself lies in half-ruin. Still burning, the Upper City completely destroyed beyond recognition, while the Lower City and outer reaches do not fare much better. The foreboding scene is a stark reality crash that this truly is the beginning of the end of everything. 

"No, we won!" she cries, then finally faces him. "We saved the world! ...And now you'd doom it again?"

There's a pleading note to her words, one that strikes him right in the heart. The impassive frigidity in his demeanor and plastering his expression crumbles. He steps forward. 

"I tire of playing pawn to the petty machinations of the gods," he says, spreading his hands before tightening them into fists. "With the Absolute, we can carve our own path, make even that of divinity tremble before us."

The explanation leaves her stunned. Then furious.

Voice rising alongside her anger, she shouts at him, "Have you completely lost your mind?!"

"I know it sounds crazy but think of the potential-"

Shadowheart cannot stop shaking her head, even as he inches closer. The lack of foresight is beyond rage-inducing.

"You wish to challenge the gods themselves? Have you even thought any of this through?"

"Gale was right, they will never care about us. Not really." Tav gestures from the Wizard to the heavens blanketing them from above, streaming red and black now - as though he'd invited the Hells here. "Mystra manipulated him with her false love, then demanded he detonate himself to earn her forgiveness. Look at what Shar did to you, made you do. Bhaal marionette myself in much the same way. But we can deny all of them their power, wield it for ourselves."

"Selûne-"

With a dismissive scoff, he retorts, "What use is she? She could not, or worse - would not, save her own daughter suffering a century of torment. Allowed you, a child under her protection, to be stolen by her wretched sister and bent to her wicked whims."

There's a wild, malevolent glint in his eyes, like a sinister puppet come to life. Completely unrecognisable to her. The ambient magic around him a tempestuous flare brighter than ever before. When he draws too near, she steps backward like a rejection and he halts in place. Her shoulders tense beneath her silver pauldrons, a shudder runs through her frame, her gaze flickering all across as she searches his face desperately.  

"Astarion, Karlach, Wyll. None of the gods ever answered their prayers. Look at us all - nobody ever came to save us. All we’ve ever had was each other."

A bitter laugh escapes her, sharp and painful in the thick caustic air. "You speak of our friends, yet look at what you’re doing to them!" She points toward where they stand motionless in a neat line at either side of his throne of chiton, mindless vassals to the Netherbrain. "For how long do you intend to enslave them to your will, Tavik?"

Following her direction, he glances their way for a brief second. Then looks down. "It will be difficult to convince the others of this path, but eventually I will. Minthara and Astarion would understand." Sorcerer shakes his head once, fingers combing through his dishevelled white curls, tugging in frustration as he turns to face her once again. "It doesn’t matter, we will stay together, all of us. I will take care of them, of you. We can bring your parents here safely. We can be a family."

Heart in her throat, she asks, "Was any of it real?" 

"What? Of course, our love is the most real thing to me."

In any other scenario, that reassurance might've been enough to assuage her but now the sentiment does nothing but sicken her. 

Tav closes the distance between them in two long strides, and this time she doesn't flinch away. Forcing herself to stay put, boots firmly planted, as if her own stillness will ground her somehow. He must take that as encouragement, as he waves a hand outward. Something electric crackles in the space between them, searing her skin with doubly a piercing chill and a singeing heat even through her layers and armour. It's not unbearable, no, the sensation is almost familiar to her.

Then - she's being thrust into a vivid connection through her parasite. Mental acuity charring at the fringes, her head pounds to an excruciating degree. But soon the fog clouding her thoughts lifts, as she becomes beholden to all knowledge of the brain, allowing her perception to expand exponentially. Shadowheart is suddenly hyperconscious of every nerve in her body, every thump of her own heart, the rush of her blood pulsing through her vessels. Through this great web of awareness, she can feel the currents of energies from every living thing in the vicinity; illithid, beast, humanoid - its reach extending across the entire city even. Overwhelming as much as it is astounding. 

"Do you feel it? You're connected to the hivemind."

More than that, she's in control. 

Shadowheart's attention drifts down to her body. Turning her arms over, fingers flexing as swells of power flow through her. A power she has felt before, as though the Absolute has magnified it to the extreme. Down her left arm, a shimmering white mist warps around it. Down her right, an opposite purple-blackish haze sizzles and toils. Both magical entities concentrated in the palms of her metal gauntlets. 

"You won’t need Shar or Selûne - you can be your own goddess," Tav tells her, his voice low and intense, and her gaze levels with his. "One you were always meant to be. Dark and light, two sides of the same coin - you are tethered to both, and you can command both."

It is seductive, this power he's been granted. That he wishes her to share in. Right at her fingertips.

"Shadowheart, join me, my love. Rule at my side. You and I, we were always meant for something greater. We can create a new empire. Become my Empress of Silver and Shadow, Goddess of the Eclipse."

This was difficult for her mortal mind to comprehend - chock full of godlike power, as though invulnerable. 

"Tav, I-I..." she murmurs, barely audible, giving another slow shake of her head.

One of his hands slides along one side of her jaw to cradle her face, so tender, even as it trembles. She used to yearn for his touch, and now, she's not sure what to feel. None of this seems real anymore. 

"Tell me you understand." He carefully takes one of her hands in his free one, places it flat to his chest. "Tell me you know that my heart, my very soul, belongs to you and you alone."

With a shaky nod, she manages to say, "Okay, I'll do it. Together."

"Together."

Tav smiles then. A smile she has memorised the curve of. 

Fingers fisting into his vest, Shadowheart grasps tight as she leans in, capturing his mouth in a kiss. For a split second, everything freezes - the world narrowing down to the soft, returning press of his lips to hers. He tilts his head to deepen it slightly. 

When she pulls back a little, Tav follows - chasing her taste, her warmth. 

Despite her early suspicions, Shadowheart never saw Tav as a true threat. He'd always proven himself her greatest ally. Perhaps he viewed her the same way. And perhaps that’s why… he never saw the length of her dagger she wedged into him coming. 

With a pained grunt, Tav breaks away from her, hobbles backward. All-consuming stare etched in so many shades of disbelief. 

"But... why?"

Spreading her feet, Cleric shifts into her fighting stance but doesn't yet draw her weapon or shield. She knows Tav would never lay hands on her in violence. But this isn't the Tav she knows, not anymore. So her surety of his reaction has waned.

"I made you a promise once," Shadowheart says, shoulders heaving. "That if you lost control, I'd end you. I'm fulfilling that promise."

Lodged all the way to the hilt in the left side of his abdomen. Already leaking his lifeblood aplenty. His hands hovers over the infliction, yet too hesitant to touch.

Something flickers on his face. Not anger. Not quite. "You think one measly stab wound can kill me now?" 

"No, but the sedative my blade was coated in will knock you cold." 

Chuckles dryly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Cunning."

Seeing this man she had grown to love most ardently wilt and try to cover his betrayed look, expression a mask of carefully controlled anguish, makes her resolve falter. 

"Why would you make me do this? I didn't want this. I never wanted this." 

Hunched over now, Tav's teeth clench. "I did this for you. For us. Everything I ever did since waking was for you, Shadowheart."

"That's a damn lie!" she snaps. "This wasn't for me, you did this for yourself. You alone. You and your pride. The fact you think I'd join you in some half-cocked suicide plot to take over the world? I'll not be accessory to that."

Frustrated, he refutes, "No, you would've been my equal!" 

He sways on his feet, and she steps into him to steady him. He slumps in her arms as the neurotoxin saps his strength.

Tavik Thorne was a fire she did wish to be engulfed by. But this? Her ambitions are not so great - Shadowheart is done with delusions of grandeur. She simply could not afford to think this way. Debase herself following him down a path of immorality in pursuit of unchecked power. Not when she had her parents to look after, not with the guilt devouring her whole for all the evil she has already wrought. She refused to be complicit in Shar's schemes, she will not allow herself to fall down that chasm again. Cannot shackle herself to that again. 

Worst of all, she thought they were in alignment - but this is not who she is. 

Fresh tears flood her eyes as she looks down at him. She can't watch this.

"I... I thought we were going to save each other."

Stammering weakly, he asks of her, "What is it with you Selûnite clerics and your deluded belief that there is good in the world? That there is good in…" 

Gripping his shoulders to help ease him down. She tucks her legs beneath herself, pulls his upper half into her lap. 

Tav's eyes glimmer wet but he blinks it back. Gazing up at her as if he were being pulled beneath those crashing waves below and she were about to pluck him out from the ocean's clutches. 

"I would’ve given you everything."

"I didn’t want that. You are all I wanted. I just wanted my family."

Their hands find each other, take hold. Right above his chest. It seems to soothe him. His other reaches for her face again, and this time she leans her cheek into it. 

"I’ve been a damn fool," he says, voice quiet, broken over a sob. "I am sorry, my love. I just wanted to be the man I wanted to be. The one you deserve."

"You already were! Why couldn’t you see that?" 

"I think… I always knew you’d be either my salvation or my ruin."

Shadowheart stares at the blade embedded in his gut. The profuse bleeding has stemmed somewhat, likely the tranquilizer has taken effect slowing his heart. The thought occurs to her that she could heal him.  

But Tav's grip on her hand tightens. "No," he says, as if knowing what she's thinking, and it shunts her back to reality. "You made your choice. It were probably the right one. Don't reverse it."

And he made his. 

The love of her life but too dangerous and evil to let live.

——

Like something not quite real, Shadowheart is bathed in a sourceless moonlight above him. Curtains of silver-white hair a waterfall of it, seeming almost translucent, framing features carved by heartache. 

Never could he resist the allure of the shiny, and the beautiful, and the powerful. 

"Take the stones," he urges, pressing them into her palm and closing her fingers over them. "Free the others. I'll try to repress the brain. Perhaps you can resurrect Orpheus. Go be the hero I always knew you were."

At least in this death, the face of his avenging angel gets to be the last thing he'll ever see. 

Chapter Text

Epilogue: Baldur's Gate Lower City/Cloister of Sombre Embrace

In the years following the events of the destruction of the Netherbrain, Tavik found himself wandering from place to place all across Faerûn as a vagabond. Putting his alchemical skills to work, he’d become something of a travelling potions salesman and on occasion he’d perform with his trusty lute, busking for the meagre coin offered by kind strangers. A peculiar yet welcome change of pace. He was, for the most part, anonymous. He does not think he could handle the adulation of those who knew of his good deeds, nor the scorn of those who knew his bad. 

Though he never stayed in one location too long, he did make sure to visit his old friends every few months. Most had scattered to the winds if not returned to their old lives. 

Karlach and Wyll remained a dynamic duo. The pair take on mercenary work between Avernus and Baldur’s Gate. Tav had gone to the Hells with them at first but eventually split off after Karlach’s engine was repaired at Zariel's forge through their in with Flo.

Halsin was in Reithwin. The town and surrounding area completely restored after the last of the Shadow-Curse was lifted, Thaniel's realm and the forests were given the chance to recover.

Gale returned to Waterdeep and always made space for the Sorcerer in his tower when Tav made the trip to that City of Splendour. 

Lae’zel’s war against her former lich queen Vlaakith was ongoing but he’d seen her in person once at their last yearly gathering. Tav had practically forcibly given her a sending stone so they could stay in contact, between Toril and the Astral Planes. 

Astarion, Tav never exactly sought him out. He didn’t have to, the other elf often found him first. As if he could track him by scent alone. The vampire spawn had become an adventurer himself, though he only travelled by night. He and Tav embarked on a few quests here and there together but whenever Tav invited him to visit one of their other friends elsewhere, Astarion always seemed reluctant and would disappear soon after. 

Tav was never close with Minthara since he was little more than an odious Dathiir to her but she’d summoned him to Menzoberranzan once after she’d retaken her old ancestral position as matriarch of House Baenre. Though he's half-certain that means she slaughtered her own mother, she probably had it coming so Tav hasn't asked and hasn't cast judgement. He’s not keen to see that unnerving Underdark capital again, not after seven consecutive poisoning attempts in the span of three days, but he and the drow got along better than they did initially so he’d stay open to the idea.

And finally, his boots that had seen everything always eventually returned him to the city of Baldur’s Gate. Jaheira and Minsc had all but adopted him as their own and he helped them out with their endeavours wherever he could. Which mostly consisted of political errands, Harper duties, and keeping the Ranger out of trouble at the Druid’s behest. 

Darling Shadowheart, Dark Justiciar, and now Mother Superior of Shar’s enclave in Baldur’s Gate - wherever and however far he trekked, he always made his way back to her. They stayed in touch via sending stone as well, and though the dark-haired woman liked to prolong their time apart until it physically ached like a hole in his chest, they still never went more than three weeks before she was calling for him back. And when she called, he always came running.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," she'd probably quip.

Beneath the House of Grief, the temple lies, Shadowheart's Cloister of Sombre Embrace. He knows these hallowed halls well by now. Where he finds himself often, even if only for those few fleeting moments, before they're over and like a sweet cruelty - she's sending him on his way again. 

Tavik doesn't bother speaking to any among her congregation. Their fickle loyalties put him at ill ease when he pictures them turning on Shadowheart as easily as they did Viconia, however wretched she may have been. Though their growth in number has plateaued of late, there was a surge of people left desperate and displaced in the wake of the Netherbrain’s invasion who’d flocked to her ranks. Her force larger than her predecessor’s now by such a great margin that it often appears crowded down here. They all keep their distance too. But they stare. Blatantly. Some sneer, most gossip amongst themselves. 

Their whispers reach his ears.

“Mother Superior’s plaything.”

What these dark-cloaked cretins think of him does not trouble him in the least. What does… is whether Shadowheart shares their opinions. Each visit, each day that passes, has the gnawing doubt corrode what’s left of his heart.

His intrusion upon their sacred ground a happenstance they tolerate for they have no other choice. Shadowheart's word is law here. 

He's observed some of her sermons, usually the tail ends when he arrives or the very beginnings as he's leaving. 

She’s changed, she carries herself differently. Exudes a confidence, elegance she once tried to emulate when he first met her, but it’s grown more natural for her, he finds himself thinking. Her laugh is the same, that warmth in her gorgeous green eyes is still there. Forever enshrined as the love of his life and the most beautiful person he's ever seen, dark and cold, made of midnight and shadows. Sharp, severe. Beneath all the layers of which lies a soft centre she only permits him to glimpse. 

At present, Shadowheart is curled up at his side. Half her naked body draped over him beneath the sheets of her bed, her soft exhales dusting the hollow of his throat. Basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking is the only time he ever sees her at peace anymore. She carried so much responsibility on her shoulders now, he ends up mostly helping with relieving her unending stress in the physical sense.

Tav ghosts his fingertips up and down, along her bare back. Eyes locked on the chandelier blazing with violet fire hanging from the ceiling above. 

Shadowheart got everything she wanted... and still he can't shake the knowledge that she’s sacrificed so much of who she was all for the sake of appeasing Shar. 

Two pivotal moments, his mind replays for him often. The Shadowfell, where she plunged the Spear of Night into Nightsong's heart. The Chamber of Loss, when she rend the lives of her own parents out of rage. 

Could he have done something? Said something? He failed her. The one who mattered most.

The gnawing bites deeper.

Still, he's convinced himself that he can’t derail her life just because he feels entitled to a place in it. 

When she stirs is when he knows she's awake. He pulls her closer. 

In one careful motion, Shadowheart props her head up on one elbow, exhibiting the bold inked lines contouring to the flex of her muscles. A smaller one, pointed streaks that sweep down the distal end of her forearm to wrap around her wrist, and a larger more prominent one patterned along her deltoid muscle above - both rendered in black and both framing the discoid shapes of Sharran iconography. 

Tav’s gaze darts up to hers - catches her studying him as well. Brow slanted, Tav stares back in silence for a stretch, much to her subtle amusement as she smiles slightly. Affectionate, but still so secretive. 

"If you're trying to compete with me, know that you'll always lose this war because I could stare into your eyes until the end of time."

With a gentle chuckle, she reaches toward him to comb her fingers through his already tousled white hair. Her leg settled across his - she slides higher, as her lips quirk upward more at one corner.

"I like how obsessed with me you are."

"I am, aren't I?"

As much as he yearned for this comfort of her presence, it's becoming increasingly apparent to him just how unsettled, how frangible it really was. Like standing in the sunshine and watching a sky-blackening thunderstorm draw in. 

There was no easy way to broach this so he just goes for it. 

"Have you been with anyone else in our time apart?"

Perplexed, Shadowheart tilts her head to look at him, really look at him, her own brow furrowing. But she knows what he's asking. 

——

"No, I haven’t." He makes a non-committal hum sound that makes her frown, all while staring at the ceiling. She traces the lines of his abdomen with her pointer finger. "There isn’t anyone here apart from Nocturne that I really trust. And besides, with you I don’t have to worry about anyone not following orders because they’ve seen me nude before."

Tav laughs a little at her joke, his eyes flitting down to meet hers again. "Is that the only reason?"

"No."

There’s a pause.

"Have you…? Been with anyone else?"

She probably shouldn’t ask, she might not like the answer.

"I haven’t."

"Even Halsin? I know you’ve visited him on occasion."

"It wouldn’t be the same without you. Halsin understands."

Shadowheart was so sure the two men kept it up in her absence. She couldn’t fault him for finding solace elsewhere. 

Still, to imagine Tav being with someone else? Not her. It’s unthinkable. Tav is hers. It’s selfish. So unbelievably selfish of her. To ask him to hang on and accept crumbs of affection and for it to be enough. Forever. Some part of her wants to slam her fist into his chest, demanding he summon some self-respect and leave her, find happiness. Find everything she can’t give him. But she knows that he won’t. And she knows that she would rue the day that he did.

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.

So terrified that maybe one day the magic would wear off. But Tav still looked at her the same. Like nothing had changed, she hadn’t, he hadn’t. But that’s not entirely true and she’s sure they both know it.

"Can I be honest with you, Shadowheart?" he continues, his fingers flex on her waist but then he lets go of her. "I feel as though our relationship has devolved into just intercourse."

A stab of something, unnamed but sharp, pierces her deeper than she'd have anticipated. 

"You don’t want to have sex?"

"I do, but I don’t want it to be the brunt of our relationship or what it boils down to."

Incredulity turns to understanding... then dread. Shadowheart sits up, pulling the blanket with her to cover her chest.

"Tav… We don’t have a relationship."

Behind her, he shifts until he is upright as well. "It may unconventional, but we do," he protests. "I value your friendship, your company, our conversations too. I miss when we used to talk. It feels like I hardly know what's going on with you anymore."

Perhaps she were mistaken, she thought he knew better than to prod at this sore spot. But she should've seen this coming, living in compromise... well, she'd lived long enough to know this was always likely going to end in tragedy. She's fortunate it lasted as long as it did.

One of his hands lands on her shoulder but she shrugs him off, refuses to look at him. 

"I can’t give you what you want. Not really. Maybe we should call it quits."

——

Wide-eyed, Tav shakes his head in defiance even though she doesn't see it. "No. That’s not what I want."

Bringing her knees up, Shadowheart hugs them to her chest around the sheets. 

"Maybe there isn’t room for anything besides Shar in my life," she murmurs, as if to herself. 

"No, wait, don’t do this," he pleads. "Don’t burn this bridge."

With a pained look, she shimmies away and swings her legs down from the bed. Bends to retrieve her strewn clothing. 

"You deserve to be with someone who can give you what you crave. I'm not that person and never will be."

Goes to reach for her hand as she stands, but intentional or not, her fingers slip Tav's grasp. "Shadowheart, I don’t care, it’s not about me. It never was," he says, imploring. "Whatever we can have, even if this is all it can ever be, it is enough." 

As he watches her hastily redress herself, he feels his heart constrict, seized by the claws of his own desperation. He wants to shout, "I’ll never love another like I love you." For he does not want to love if it’s not with her. It’s always been her. Nobody will ever compare.

"You say that, but therein lies the issue." For the first time since she'd gotten up, she glances back at him, albeit without fully facing him. She crosses her arms, expression carefully neutral. "You'll always want more from me."

Following her, Tav springs from her grand bed, rumpled from their earlier activities. Fetches his own undergarments and slides them on. 

"I know you’ve explicitly stated that you can’t say you love me. But the truth is, I love you. I have for a long time and I will until the day I die."

"Perhaps you haven't been paying attention, but I don't love you," she says, her words wedging between them, making damn certain to enunciate that fact. "I cannot and I've made that abundantly clear."

As much as it hurts to hear, it comes as no surprise. 

Only for her to add definitively, "Shar owns my heart."

But what she means is: “I will always choose her over you. Over myself.” 

Everything he'd been repressing. Every festering resentment comes shooting to the surface to burst like a champagne bottle at that moment and he explodes - surprising both of them. 

"Oh, enough about Shar!" he growls. "You are not stupid, when will you wake up?"  

The shock overlays the brutally cold annoyance on her face as Shadowheart's head whips around toward him, speechless. But he doesn't relent. 

"Even the tadpole couldn’t poison your mind as much as she does!" he says, pointing to the door as if the Goddess of Darkness herself were standing behind it. "If Shar loves you so dearly, tell me, what happens when she asks of you to abduct the next Jenevelle Hallowleaf? Indoctrinate a child into your ways? Could you do it, Shadowheart?"

Mouth hanging open, she closes it, mutters in a low voice, "What are you talking about?"

So she has forgotten. His heart sinks even further. He'd questioned her about her birthname, her parents, before. Probing for any scrap of recognition, one of their first and only arguments since she'd taken over as head of her church. He was sure she might snap out of this daze, that he could get through to her, but she'd only ended up kicking him to the curb. Which is why he was confused when she called for him back, right on schedule, a few weeks later. This was belated confirmation of his suspicions, she must've ran to mummy Shar and let her wipe her mind of the entire ordeal. 

Frustration has him grinding his teeth to keep from cursing out her goddess to her face within her own temple of worship. He clamps onto either side of his beltline with both hands, still bare from the waist up. 

"I know you know. Buried deep it may be but I know it’s there."

Tone taking on a dangerous edge, her sullen look has returned to climb back upon her countenance and she warns, "Tav… you’re treading thin ice here."

He knows. But he’s unable to surcease himself from unravelling. Tav paces back and forth afore her. 

"I can’t carry this anymore, I feel as though I am lying to you. She stole you from your family, brainwashes you, erases you-"

In a blur, Shadowheart's arm cracks out and slices the air ahead of her like a Sharran scimitar.

"That's enough!" she shouts.

"-tortured you with that mark on your hand that tethered you to your birth-givers for forty years. Then, to add insult to injury, had you kill them to prove your fealty. No, your submission."

A mute snarl pulls at her lips, flashing teeth. "Oh yes, Tav knows best. Tav knows everything," she mocks, narrowed eyes chips of emerald ice. "I lead a congregation of Shar's followers, I think I’m quite capable of thinking for myself." 

Tav was so sure she saw through Shar’s lies and manipulations, that she’d just given up on herself instead. Everyone else has given up on her as well. A disagreement breaking out over this very issue was why Tav left Wyll and Karlach’s sides in the first place. But he can’t. He won’t. 

Though not particularly adept at expressing his concerns on this matter in a manner that could be described as 'tactful' - (for how can he sugar-coat how much he detests a wicked entity intent on contorting the one most dearest to him) - by ye gods, someone needed to challenge her. Might as well be him. He may be the only one who can. He’s tarried in his faux indifference long enough. 

"Yes and you got to this position all on your own." 

A bitter, humourless laugh barks out her mouth. "Exactly. You helped get me here, and now, what? You’re resentful? Jealous?"

"For the last time, I’m not jealous of that evil hag!" Envy was more Her domain. "I’m worried about you. You’re so patently miserable here!"

The problem with choosing to love someone, is that you hand them the very power to hurt you the most. 

Glowering, Shadowheart ignores him, persists spewing malice richer than anything the likes of which he'd ever heard her target at him before. "That I've made it somewhere in my life and you're stuck a nobody?" 

That was a lash of her tongue Tav didn’t see coming. Half-bent collecting the last of his clothing, he goes still. 

"... What?"

"I’m not here to soothe your wounded ego, Tav."

"The hells? At least I'm free, not willfully possessed by a foul god." He gestures vaguely at the surroundings of her grand bedchamber. "You can decorate your cage as much as you like, it's still a cage."

"You've no right to stand there and judge me after all you were complicit in. This is my duty."

"And what of your duty to yourself?"

Shadowheart shakes her head with another sarcastic laugh. "You know, you're right! You were just a fun romp to carouse with." 

"You don’t mean that." 

"Don’t I?"

She might as well have slapped him across the face. That would've stung less.

Tav risks a step toward her but, abruptly, she turns away again. 

Despite her abrasiveness, he knows her better. That Shar's conditioning has not and will never fully extinguish her kindness. The reminder has his defenses crumble like sandcastles before the tide. 

"You can be... callous, but I know you’re just hurting," he reasons. "Please, let’s talk about this." 

"Don’t tell me how I feel!"

Shadowheart wipes across her eyes with her wrist, only to rip her hand away, and he spots some smudged dark makeup streaked across it when her arm falls to her side.

The sight of which makes Tav waver. He’s meant to be the one who dries her tears, not causes them. Did he press too hard? So many words rise to the tip of his tongue, but none of them are enough.