Chapter Text
“STAY AWAY FROM ME!!!” Toval bloodcurdlingly screamed, his eyes flying open and hands latching onto whatever was gently but painfully prodding at his stomach. The vestigial memory of Priestess Gut bearing down with her outreached hand encased in flame as his eyelids - weighing heavier than a loaded chest - closed against his will.
A set of paradoxically small yet heavy quickly shifted from torso to shoulders, forcefully attempting to pin him in place.
“Easy Toval!! You’re safe now!” A familiar, friendly feminine voice loudly commanded above frantic chittering, chirping and fluttering.
Faint marks adorned on her tanned skin under jaw-length raven hair. Deep concern etched on her soft, graceful features and in her mud-like brown eyes.
“Ne…Net…Nettie??” Toval stuttered, his heartbeat thudding hard, just like the goblin drums as things were going to shit. Gulping down air despite his raggedy breathing, his whole body caught up with itself, revolting aggrievedly at the action. White hot shots of pain ran throughout his entire torso, making him cough involuntarily and exacerbating the pain. Fervently glancing around, he quickly took stock of what he has awoken to. Rather than the decrepit goblin-infested Selunite ruins, the stony cave - lined with shelves of books and medicinal plants – was a far cry from his potential final resting place. Above, several birds animatedly moving in the roof recesses and screeching from their tiny lungs. A nest of squirrels and other small creatures hiding in various cubby holes. All staring at him, as though silently judging him for loudly disturbing them.
On himself, his usual leather armour and tunic had been removed, exposing his somewhat scarred torso from a life of mercenary adventuring. Bandages mixed with leaves wrapped taut around his midriff, shoulder and right arm; tickling the sensitive skin underneath whenever he jostled.
“Relax, please! I need to check your wounds.”” Nettie reassuringly instructed.
Heartrate and breathing back under a modicum of control, Toval did as instructed. Letting out a languid groan whilst collapsing wearily onto the stone plinth, he relaxed entirely. His body gratefully accepted the action. Letting the tenseness ebb away, leaving a deeper ache in its place; every muscle and bone weighing heavier than stone. Nettie’s hands and attention turned back to his stomach, tenderly unfurling the bandage. He winced slightly from the shooting pain overriding the dull aching. Locking eyes with her, she held an apologetic look and continued more softly.
“How are you feeling, Toval?” She quietly asked.
“Everything…hurts. Even my toes…somehow.”
Nettie coughed out a coarse laugh. “That isn’t a surprise. You had an extremely virulent poison coursing through your veins.”
That prompted him to remember. The wet feeling from the arrow he pulled out his gut, only hitting due to narrowly missing the shield edge. Any adventurer worth their salt knows that that goblin poison is not something to be trifled with. So how in the hells was he not dead?
“Then…how?”
She stopped her ministrations, satisfied that the primary wound was recovering sufficiently. Levelling her gaze, she looked at Toval.
“If not for Master Halsin and your cleric, you would have perished before the hour was out,” Nettie explained. “By Sylvanus, even for their efforts you were near death’s door when you were brought to me.”
The mention of that name reminded him why they had gone into the goblin’s nest to root out the darkness. A mad endeavour. All to merely find a way to deal with the wriggling parasites of death hiding in the folds of their brain, haunting both their dreams and waking moments.
“Where are the others? Is Halsin…”
She held up a hand, silencing his questioning. Lowering it, Nettie continued. “Your companions are all fine as they admittedly had less grievous wounds.” Nettie then gratefully smiled, looking years younger. “And Master Halsin is in extremely good health, thanks to you all. We owe you a debt that can never be fully repaid.”
A surge of intense relief flowed throughout his entire being. They had survived, against overwhelming odds both internally and externally. Something that seemed impossible, given the grand scheme of things.
Wanting to release the tension, he joked. “Well, saving my life is a good start.”
She coughed out another laugh. GoIng to retort, the stone door behind her suddenly activated. Grinding their conversation to a halt as it grinded open upwards, Nettie glanced over and somehow realising who was about to enter, quickly threw the thin cover coiled up at his feet cover over him. Toval gratefully flashed her a wan but sincere smile.
As soon as the door opened fully and the individuals entered, Toval reflexively smiled and went to sit up despite his body’s protestations. Again held in place by Nettie with a feigned look of disapproval. He quickly relented, the smile only momentarily weakening.
Drinking in the sight of his approaching companions from his prone angle – for all intents and purposes, a ragtag group of random strangers united with a common cause – Toval sighed. They had gone through so much in the last 6 days, somehow feeling like a lifetime already, and together facing the threat of cere….ceremo…gods, what was that word Gale kept saying?
Gale, Wyll, Lae’zel, Astarion…all were a welcoming sight. But one face in particular was who he was most happy to see. Shadowheart. Two deep wells of shadowy darkness almost hiding untold secrets within – framed by raven hair and a crowning circlet. A faded scar under her right eye and the bridge of her nose. Clad in figure hugging ornately decorated silver-looking armour with flared shoulder guards, donning a circular shield on her left hand which practically never left her side.
“It appears rumours of your demise are false.” Gale cordially stated. “Thank Mystra. And our very own Shadowheart, of course.” Turning to slap her on the shoulder.
“You’re an idiot, Toval.” She sternly commented. That voice, one that he hadn’t heard until just over a week ago but had become sweeter than honey and a sound he wished to hear for the rest of his (hopefully not limited) days.
“I second that sentiment.” Astarion commented. “And I’ve been dying to tell you that you’re a damned bull-headed buffoon for what you did with that goblin.” A knowing glint suddenly appeared in his dark brown eyes as he stressed two words. Recollecting his idiotic action of how the duo had haphazardly dispatched the patrol whilst the others waited to advance, and had precipitated the fight for their lives surged. Oh gods. Toval lightly coughed, aggravating his stomach wound.
“You owe me two now.” Astarion smugly added.
The others had a brief look of confusion at the former part, staring at each other then Toval for answers. But Toval knew. And Toval humorously scoffed. How he wished he could wipe off Astarion’s smug smirk, although he didn’t have the strength to do so. That damn count. A running joke between the two. He’d managed to save the elf from a Gnoll, bringing the count down.
“It’s nice to see you too, Astarion. And what makes you say that? The last I recall, it was one.”
“I took down that goblin priestess before she could kill you.”
Looked to the others with a questioning expression. The nods affirmed it. Damn.
“Agreed. I owe you two now.” He assented.
“As if there was any doubt.” Astarion concluded, crossing arms in front in proud acknowledgement of the new count.
“And me?” Shadowheart interjected, arching a brow. “Although now I think of it, I guess that means we’re even now. After you saved me from that pod.”
He stared up at her. Her demeanour offering nothing of substance.
Seeing her frantically pound the lid of the pod, pleading to be let out. Despite the githyanki’s protestations and ship exploding all around them, Toval managed to fumble it open. Offering a hand, she swiped it away. An odd way to say thank you, but one that was resolved after they somehow survived the crash.
“It does. And probably a good thing. Owing two people means I may not be able to cover my debts.” He bantered.
“Hmm, that’s a shame.” She teased.
Toval’s eyebrows almost flew off his face. That’s new. She never teased like that.
Before anyone could comment beyond awkward coughing, Toval queried. “Please could someone tell me what in the hells happened after I took a nap. Everything after we killed that drow Minthara is a blur.”
Prompting a weak chuckle from most. They filled him in on what had transpired. That fight was a clusterfuck once the patrol Astarion and he tried to take out alerted the camp to Minthara’s death. Beset from every angle, thankfully the narrow entrance acted as an artificial chokepoint. During the retelling, Toval couldn’t help but admit that without Gale’s help and his litany of destructive spells, they would have likely met their untimely demise. The memory of how he incinerated the incoming horde of goblins with a fireball as his other rolling fireball corralled them into the killzone was borderline brutal. As for their charge, Halsin was currently ripping Kagha a brand new one for attempting to lock down the grove and also sacrifice a child, hence his absence. But they conveyed his gratitude and a message that he will speak with all of them soon. Nettie eventually interjected, stating Toval needed to rest further.
Saying their respective farewells, Gale added. “Oh, there’s talk of a grand celebration tonight. With the goblin threat gone, the tieflings want to celebrate in style. This should surely be an interesting set of festivities.”
“Save me a bottle?” Toval asked. Wanted nothing more than to settle down with a bottle of something strong.
Nettie spoke up. “You can attend Toval, as long as you take it easy and don’t drink too much.”
“No promises.” Her immediate stern glower made him quickly clarify. “I’m kidding, Nettie. One near death is enough for today.”
A polite chuckle came out of everyone, and they all turned around to depart talking amongst themselves about the upcoming festivities. Toval followed them briefly and then turned to look up, missing a furtive glance back by a certain half elf.
Soon finding himself alone, with Nettie tending to the desk nearby, Toval sighed. Against the odds, they’d all survived. Well, just about. Talk about divine luck. It was about gods-be-damned time they had a stroke of it. And now that Halsin was saved, he owed them a solid and therefore should be able to help with the overarching problem that sat behind his left eye.
Remembering the argument they had over the camp shortly after entering the grove, he sighed again. Yes, they could have turned a blind eye. But he argued that saving the tieflings was a secondary benefit to trying to find Halsin to try and find a way to deal with the mind parasite.
Through that, he somehow become a de-facto leader.
Feeling tiredness surge again, he resigned to leave such thoughts and reflections for later. Wearily closing his eyelids, Toval ignored the approaching footfall and jangling armour until it got loud enough to no longer ignore. He opened his eyes and leaned over.
To his surprise, Shadowheart stopped by Nettie and spoke in hushed tones. The druid glanced back to Toval with an unreadable expression, then turned back and nodded. He stared in confusion. What could she want?
“You alright, Shadowheart?” He asked, watching Shadowheart approach with her own unreadable expression.
“Better than you will be after this conversation, Toval!” She quickly consternated; eyes dangerously narrowed even further. The obvious bite and her blunt abruptness made him wince. Ah, she’s in one of her moods.
Nettie loudly and pointedly cleared her throat. Shadowheart quickly took a visible mental step back.
“Astarion was right. You are a buffoon, Toval.” She said, in a not-so-slighty softer tone.
“That’s a given, but what do you mean?”
In a lower tone conveying authority, she closed her eyes and stated. “I know you took that arrow for me. And that’s not the first time either.”
Opening them. “Why? I demand to know.”
His stomach cratered instantly. Gods, not this. Not now.
“Call it an occupational hazard,” he quipped. Seeing her eyes somehow narrow even further, Toval relented. Keeping a straight face, he replied. “You had your back turned. Besides, I got unlucky. I simply didn’t catch it with the shield in time.”
A half-truth, but better than the alternative full truth.
“And the other times?” She challenged. “The lightning spell, the spear, the…”
He cut her off. “I refer to my earlier comment. Besides, we protect each other, right?”
Her facial expression contorted, displaying her intense disbelief. “You’re deflecting.”
He scoffed. "You're the master of that. Why are you being so pushy all of a sudden?” He replied, not wanting to be having this conversation right now.
Shadowheart wearily sighed and closed her eyes again. An uncomfortable silence filled the gap between them. In the depths of his mind, a small sudden pressure appeared. Searching.
“No using that tadpole, you hear?!” Toval hissed under his breath, furtively glancing to the druid. Thankfully Nettie was looking away, oblivious to what was silently transpiring.
The pressure didn’t let up. An anger welled up within. Fine, two can play this game.
Despite his tiredness, Toval summoned every ounce of strength and pushed into her mind, trying to fathom why she was doing this. Various blurred memories passed by, right up until the tadpole unexpectedly quivered within, tickling his brain. Toval’s breath hitched as a surge of intense emotion – not his own - coupled that action.
Bullseye. As he suspected, there was more to why she was pushy and suspicious. But much more. At the surface, there was gladness. Then immense relief. Then mild anger. And another feeling, deeper. One he was shocked to find. He couldn’t decipher it in time though. As quickly as the sensation appeared, it disappeared as Shadowheart closed off her mind.
Opening his eyes to meet hers, now on the verge of popping out her skull, Shadowheart visibly floundered. Her skin visibly drained of blood.
The subdued comfortableness immediately became stiflingly uncomfortable.
Adopting a blank expression, she sputtered out "Rest well, Toval." then quieter as she quickly turned and strided away. "Damned tadpole!"
“Shadowheart, wait!!” Toval exclaimed, reaching out a second too late. His fingers clasped nothing but air. Laying down on ones back was not conducive for trying to restrain someone.
She rapidly disappeared from the room, her footfall receding to nothingness seconds later. Leaving Toval alone with a myriad of thoughts as Nettie started to fuss over him.
Thoughts ran abound, replaying the revealed sensation over and over again, until it hit like a troll's club. Almost winded underneath its overpowering truth. His breathing flatlined. He knew what that feeling was, because he had it himself. The truth he wanted to avoid revealing.
Attraction. Longing. Desire.
Toval couldn't believe it. She felt the same for him as he did her. Before now, she had given no inclination of feeling this way. Yes, she had teased and acted playful, but whilst her words said one thing, her expression conveyed another meaning. Not to mention the whole Shar-worshipping deal and that weird artefact in her possession. Those put a hell of a dampener on the candle burning within, but not enough to stifle it entirely. Besides, her guarded demeanour and ability to keep everyone and everything at more than an arm’s length away meant it was merely one-sided. He simply buried it within, given the more concerning issue buried behind their eyes.
Despite everything though, Toval couldn’t help it. There was something provoking and captivating about her mysteriousness. The more Toval observed Shadowheart, the more Toval liked Shadowheart. He had interacted with a wide range of interesting individuals during his four years of a mercenary stroke adventurer for hire, and none of them were like her. For she had made a lasting impression. The way she confidently carried herself, how she spoke, what she had done for the group despite her background. Their few talks over meals, as terse as they were, gave indications to an intelligence underneath. Not to mention her physical attractiveness.
Hopefully she would be at the night’s festivities. Because one more thing was certain: they needed to talk.