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Imogen waved a hand over the geometrically embroidered front of Laudna’s dress, magically whisking away the blood and goo that had dirtied it. It had become somewhat of a routine after two years of traveling together: Imogen prestidigitating the grime off and Laudna mending their clothes post-battle.
The ritual always brought Imogen back to their first scuffle together. “Best not to stroll into town looking like a bunch of murderers,” Laudna had joked, smiling in her usual exaggerated way. She had begun tidying up so casually, automatically, and Imogen had suddenly realized how imperative it was to her survival. Being an ooey-gooey nightmare lady would always land her in trouble, but even a tiny splatter of blood would be a death sentence. The thought had made Imogen’s still-racing heart ache and she vowed, in that moment, to be Laudna’s protection always and forever.
The two of them stood huddled in the corner, at the threshold of what could have been a bedroom. Though, Imogen seriously doubted—or maybe hoped?—that this filth wasn’t Dugger’s real home. Laudna was hunched over, face hardened in concentration as she adeptly repaired the shredded fabric of Imogen’s dress. Her spell could only make one repair at a time, but she made nimble work of selecting a pair of torn ends and mending them together, selecting and mending, selecting and mending. Imogen smiled weakly in subtle amusement as Laudna worked on her comically complex project with totally committed fervor, fingers darting over Imogen’s chest.
The healing potion’s reassuring warmth still coated her throat and filled a pleasant weight in her belly, reminding her that she was lucky to be alive. So too, did the low burn in her chest where curing magic had mended her shredded flesh. Imogen welcomed the soothing heat while it lasted, knowing all too well how her new wounds would bruise and ache in due time. A dull headache began to take root in her temple, as if invited by the thought of future suffering.
Imogen scanned the reshuffled landscape of Dugger’s lair, turning away from Laudna’s skilled hands. The two of them weren't the only ones who had retreated to familiar company. She watched as Ashton sat forward on a nearby crate, elbows resting on their knees while Fresh Cut Grass finished tending to their wounds. Dorian was on the other side of the room, animatedly recounting the dramatic killing blow to his friends. Orym leaned up against the wall, clearly invested, and Fearne sat on the floor beside him, combing her fingers through her hair as she listened. (Or didn’t, Imogen chuckled to herself, Who knows what that faun is thinkin’ half the time).
All done, my love, Laudna’s familiar chorus of whispers interrupted.
Their melancholy tone heavily contrasted the pleased expression Imogen found when she turned to face her. Cold hands gently held her shoulders and suddenly, Imogen realized that Laudna’s mending had cured her more substantially than any healing spell ever would: the pure-hearted gesture of fixing her torn pieces one by one.
What little bit of composure Imogen had regained post-battle shattered and she nearly wept at the thought. Her hands pulled Laudna in at their own accord, bringing their foreheads together.
“Thank you,” she managed to force aloud.
---
The walk to the Spyre by Fire was, fortunately, uneventful. Laudna slowed her pace to remain at Imogen’s side; she kept her away from the party’s active minds and passively frightened the passerby into keeping their distance too. Imogen had explored the expanse of Laudna’s mind plenty and knew that while Laudna’s nightmarish visage caused her grief sometimes, she now considered it an asset in a worthy cause: protecting her girl. The pair meandered in comfortable silence, arms looped together, with Laudna pressing reassuring circles into the flesh of Imogen’s forearm.
Finally, the party found respite in a booth on the balcony overlooking the main tavern floor. Imogen slumped in her seat, head leaning back against the cushioned wall. Thank the gods she was sitting up and away from the near-hundred patrons on the floor below; with her migraine beginning to radiate out into the hemisphere of her brain, all her senses were heightened. The typical low buzz of her friends’ thoughts reached a feverish pitch. She barely overheard as Ashton ordered a bottle of the tavern’s cheapest liquor for the table.
Great, she thought sarcastically, chewing her lip. A bit of booze is just what I need.
Laudna’s touch cut through the noise as she squeezed Imogen’s hand under the table, grounding her. Imogen met her eye with a warm smile.
“I want to play a game,” she caught Ashton declaring, whipping her head around to find them.
They were smiling, an atypical display, and Imogen caught a glimpse of mischief behind it. It didn’t take long for Ashton to reveal his hand himself, however, as he proceeded to excitedly explain the rules to a game fondly dubbed “What the Fuck is Up with That.”
Between hearing her friends answer invasive questions out loud and hearing that plus the unfiltered details in their heads, Imogen opted to spend her energy shielding herself from the latter. She settled her gaze on Laudna, who wouldn't be weirded out by a straight-up mind-reader staring at her, not to mention how Imogen didn’t find her such a sore sight to behold in the first place.
They were perfect for each other, she mused. Both equally unbothered by the other’s strangeness. Imogen cataloged every one of Laudna’s details, using the distraction to drown out the world around her. She admired the angles of her face, as bold and unapologetic as she was, and her eyes that always twinkled with mischief. Her pale complexion, though ghastly to some, almost glowed in the ambient tavern light. Imogen chuckled at her exaggerated mannerisms, absurdly over-the-top yet full of life, matching the sing-songy inflection of her voice that never failed to make Imogen smile. Laudna was so much to take in, but Imogen couldn’t tear her eyes away from one detail in particular: the signature purple pigment upon her lips…
Not too many rounds later, a rather exciting topic piqued Imogen’s subconscious interest and she failed to block out a conversation about love. Now that was certainly something she wanted to listen in on; a few years of adventuring certainly hadn’t jaded her enough to laugh in the face of tender connection and the ever-juicy gossip that accompanied it.
Fearne was asking Ashton if they'd ever been in love and they quickly betrayed their own rules, much to Imogen’s dismay, opting for an evasive answer and too little detail for anyone’s liking. Disappointed, she began to recede back into her own head—until Laudna piped up.
Imogen surprised herself with how much she apparently cared about Laudna’s love inclinations. She wouldn’t deny the way her unbridled admiration made her feel, the way Laudna was interested in her abilities more so than afraid of them; and how for every bit that she was fascinated, she truly cared about the woman behind it all, dozens of times over.
Imogen’s heartbeat quickened as she recalled their countless nights together, sometimes with nothing more than a quickly-fashioned thatched roof over their heads in the destitute isolation of the woods. It would be cold and Laudna would be colder, but laying under one blanket, bodies pressed together, Imogen would feel warmer than any fire could hope to provide.
But, Laudna was agreeing with Ashton that she hadn’t ever been in love.
Oh.
Imogen’s heart sank and she chastised herself for kindling hope that Laudna unknowingly snuffed—
“Well, that’s not entirely true. I deeply love Imogen…”
Imogen snapped back to attention immediately, collapsing her already shaky hold on her mental barrier. Heat shot up the back of her neck and spilled over her cheeks, her feelings exposed for all to see save the sliver of a chance that they would attribute her rosy flush to the alcohol. Concentration pitifully broken, her friends’ thoughts came crashing into her mind.
No shit!—
That’s so sweet—
I knew they were gay!—
Their thoughts buzzed louder and louder with their newfound excitement until Laudna’s thoughts, racing just as erratically as her own, hummed louder, more assertively above the noise:
My gods, am I in love with Imogen?
Imogen’s instinct was to bury her face in Laudna’s neck for protection from the discord but this time, her only method of solace would betray her. She so desperately wanted to haul Laudna away to a private room and kiss the truth out of her—gods had she lost her composure. Her migraine pounded away at her weakened mind. She swallowed hard, cutting her thoughts off before they got further out of hand. It was time to retreat and rebuild her mental wall from scratch, and it was going to be a long and painful process, to say the least.
---
Imogen barely scraped through the remaining rounds of Ashton’s drinking game, so desperately wishing to flee. She was drowning in the overwhelming din but stuck in place, not wanting to disappoint her friends and Laudna especially, who was enthralled by everyone’s stories. The alcohol sloshed inside her stomach; her body felt warm and relaxed but this migraine was rattling her brain.
She knew she couldn’t hold out any longer when Dorian’s whole memory drifted into her mind accidentally. She saw him sitting with his mother on some ornate poofs, listening to a bard play traditional genasi songs. Imogen knew he wouldn’t be wanting her to spy on such a personal memory. One hand was now clutching the side of her face and the other tugged on Laudna’s sleeve.
“Okay, Laudna, time to go,” she strained, unable to muster the energy for a mental message.
Her companion wasted no time in getting them the fuck out of there, immediately excusing them from the table and wrapping Imogen in a side-embrace. She led them up the ten extra flights of stairs, each additional story eroding the tenacity of the noise inside Imogen’s head. Imogen was endlessly relieved that Laudna knew not to drag her through the possibly thousands more people between the tavern and their room at Zhudanna’s. She held Laudna tighter, hoping she understood her thanks.
They reached the top floor at last, clinging to each other for stability. Ashton insisted that a strong wind would knock Lauda over but apparently a few flights of stairs would take them both out of commission. The pair of them staggered over to the final room tucked in the shadows. Imogen kicked the door open weakly and it swung ajar just enough to accommodate their entrance. She promptly let go of Laudna and collapsed onto the bed, landing with a small thud as the thin mattress failed to soften her fall.
Imogen’s head was still throbbing as she curled up on her side, but the turbulent sea of strangers’ thoughts had thankfully receded into a rhythmic tide.
Launda. Just Laudna.
Her thoughts were unlike anything Imogen had experienced before: not only tolerable, but soothing. Their pleasant melodic hum made a song of Laudna’s inner workings, a song to perfectly frame each passing moment. A song that spared Imogen from the deafening silence of isolation.
The woman with music in her mind was preparing to join Imogen in bed. Her lanky body floated across the room as she placed Pâté on the dresser and unclasped the multiple belts on her corset, which she discarded to the floor. The sharp knobs of her spine caught the moonlight as she pulled her dress over her head. Her thoughts flowed serenely. A sheepish smile and warm blush spread across Imogen’s face as she watched her from afar.
Imogen cringed at the profound soreness that pierced her chest when she finally pushed herself upright to begin unlacing her boots. The pads of her fingers earned a slight incidental burn with how quickly she pulled them undone. She struggled to yank them off, pushing through the total body ache. Suddenly, a pang of sorrow hit her heart. She realized: she almost lost Laudna’s song today. Imogen clasped her hands over her mouth, unable to stifle the grievous sob that now echoed in the pitifully furnished tavern room.
She couldn't bear the thought: her mind finally at ease, totally blank, but her one saving grace, the one mind she longed to hear, torn from her consciousness. She rejected the thought with all her might, pushing it to the limits of her brain; her vision turned white-hot with the effort. No, she didn't want peace, she decided. She wanted Laudna.
“Imogen…? What’s wrong, darling?”
Laudna was kneeling on the floor in front of her now, changed into the plain white nightgown whose hems had begun to fray with use. She took Imogen’s hands in her own, grazing little circles over their backs. Tears flowed like a river down her cheeks and she drew in ragged breaths. Her whole body shuddered with grief.
“I-I’m alright, Laudna. I’m okay,” Imogen croaked.
Laudna’s wide, dilated eyes peered up at her ruthfully, searching Imogen’s face for the source of her pain. Laudna barely shook her head in defeat; not at Imogen, but at her sadness at her inability to siphon the pain away. It was rare for her to be this quiet and her thoughts were now a despondent hymn. Ultimately, Laudna opted to join her on the bed, her joints popping awfully as she stood. She wrapped her girl in a protective embrace, resting her bony cheek against the top of her head. She chuckled mournfully and the sound reverberated through her body into Imogen’s.
As if reading her mind, Laudna whispered: “You almost died tonight.”
Normally Laudna would giggle insensibly about death, but now her voice and her body were heavy with sorrow. The absence of joy in her voice only made Imogen cry harder into her shoulder.
The two of them held each other for a moment, Laudna’s thoughts humming a low lullabye. Death wasn’t going anywhere; if anything, in their line of work, it was only drawing nearer. Imogen and Laudna couldn’t afford not to seize each and every moment to its fullest capacity, and it was with this sentiment in mind that Imogen decided to ask her burning question.
“I’ve heard glimpses of things- thoughts. I never said anything ‘cuz I didn't mean to be pryin,’ Imogen began, breaking the silence.
Laudna let out a breath Imogen didn’t realize she was holding in, hearing the evenness in her voice. A Laudna-length heartbeat passed. Imogen felt her shift above her in anticipation.
Here goes nothing, Imogen thought.
She pulled away from Laudna’s arms, flushing pink as she met her gaze. She wiped away a few half-dried tears with the back of her hand. Laudna was giving her a genuinely quizzical look now.
“I know you love me, Laudna. I know you love me, but hearin’ it out loud, in front of our friends? And now, right after I almost died?”
Fuck. Imogen started to panic.
She had started off strong, but now what? She struggled to find words: opening and closing her mouth, digging her nails into her thighs.
“I love you too,” She finally blurted out. “I love you and I’m in love with you.”
It took all the courage she could muster, but Imogen finally asked sheepishly: “Are you in love with me too?”
Then, Laudna was laughing, the freest and happiest sound she had ever heard. Imogen would have run away crying in embarrassment if she hadn’t realized Laudna was crying too: tears of joy. Real tears, not black ichor, flowed silently down her hollow cheeks.
“Imogen, I- Of course I’m in love with you. I’m rather astonished it took you so long to figure me out…”
Was she blushing? Imogen didn’t even know Laudna could do that.
“Although, I’m not sure I even figured myself out until today,” Laudna laughed, pressing her hand to her forehead in embarrassment.
“I think we were the only ones who didn’t know… Y’know, that we were... in love…” Imogen finished in a bewildered whisper.
The pair of them laughed at their obliviousness together; how could they have been so stupid?
---
Imogen finally finished readying for bed and they slunk down under the thin covers. She settled into her usual sleeping place, nestled against Laudna’s cool chest, her thin arms wrapped gently around her. Sleep wasn’t finding Imogen as easily as it should have. Between the near-death experience, migraine, and love confession, she couldn't have felt more physically and emotionally exhausted. She’d been laid bare today, in more ways than one, but her mind began to wander and settled upon one last thing she needed to do today.
“Hey Laudna?” she called.
“Yes, darling?”
Imogen’s cheeks burned. “Can I kiss you?”
A moment passed until she heard Laudna’s low giggling.
“I was hoping you'd ask,” she replied, giddy. Now there was the Laudna Imogen knew and loved.
Imogen shuffled north as Laudna pulled her closer. Her hand found Laudna’s bony cheek and she pressed their lips together without another moment’s hesitation. She kissed her softly at first, then more assuredly, brushing thick strands of black hair behind Laudna’s cheek. Kissing her felt so right, like coming home to a warm fire and a good meal; and Imogen did it again, and again, and again.
I love you. She projected into Laudna’s mind.
I love you too.
Finally, Laudna pulled back, a bit breathless. Her dark eyes caught the moonlight as they twinkled.
“You make me the luckiest woman alive,” she glowed. But, she could hard contain herself and Imogen thought she might know what was coming next:
“Or dead!”
The two erupted into a fit of refreshing laughter and Imogen buried her face in Laudna’s neck. They laughed themselves into exhaustion, clinging to each other in their exhilaration.
When they finally settled down, this time, sleep came easily and Imogen drifted off to a contented hum.