Chapter Text
“Do you believe in love at first sight, Shadowheart?”
Isobel’s words echoed around her brain as they entered Rivington, dusk floating down around them as they set up their camp in the carcass of a long-abandoned farm. Below them the torches belonging to refugees and Baldurians alike lit up the dark night.
Her tent was still sparse, but she began to pick up small creature comforts as she journeyed with her companions: an extra blanket for her bedroll from Jaheira; Selûne’s emblem hung from one of the wooden poles holding the thin canvas up, a gift from Aylin; she had a colorful kerchief from Wyll, a githyanki medallion from Lae’zel, and a stack of books from Gale, all carefully placed near her bed.
And yet she could not help but feel alone , a deep isolation creeping up into her heart. Her head suffered a near-constant, pounding ache ever since she cast away Shar, cast away Her spear, cast away what felt like her dignity. Less than a full tenday since she spurned her goddess and she was listless, guideless. It felt like a millennia. And she was scared.
Because now… who was she? Who was Shadowheart if not grasping for the slippery tendrils of Shar’s favor? Who was she if not bleeding benefaction and kneeling her head down to the cold ground for her Lady, waiting for her penance and her instruction? Who was she if not in pain?
Her tent was cold and the old wine she drank greedily felt like ash on her tongue, only making her headache worse. She wished, not for the first time, for company.
Well… She shook her head. That was only one time, what felt like long ago. And when she tried to remember the way he looked at her, the way his cold hands felt on her skin, it was like wading through deep, brackish water. Her head only pounded faster when she persisted to recall the memory, and each time she felt like she remembered it a bit different than the last, until she wasn’t certain if he had looked at her at all.
Maybe he took her offer of some much-needed pleasure as it was, and that was that.
It would be worse, wouldn’t it, to tell him she didn’t remember?
After that, as they all slithered back into the maw of the shadow-curse, her mind became fuzzier. He propositioned her, but she turned him down? Or perhaps he turned her away, his mind focused on Mystra. But either way it did not matter to her, not then, because she was only interested in her Lady - how to prove herself, and how to call on Her miasma so she could find Her temple.
And so she did.
And then Gale saw the Crown atop its eldritch wielder, and his eyes drifted far away and had not come back since then, not fully.
She took a swig of the bad wine to wash the belly of Moonrise Towers from her mind.
So did she believe in love at first sight?
Still she thought of deep brown eyes, erratic magic, and the brief touch of hands when he was teaching her how to summon the Weave. She thought of his hands on her, in her, touching her and tasting her like she meant something. The way he held her was soft and sweet; foreign and aching, too. Even if it was mere hallucination, it was beautiful .
Yes, she did believe in love at first sight, but that didn’t mean love chose her.
“Oh, Shadowheart,” Astarion sang from somewhere outside her tent, poking his head in and smirking at her without waiting for her to respond.
She frowned, but the spawn either didn’t notice or simply didn’t care, “Come, the Circus of the Last Days is in town, and it would be remiss of us to not visit. It has simply been ages since I’ve been.”
She blinked in annoyance, “I’m tired, Astarion, we’ve had a long day and more to come.”
She wanted nothing more than to sink into the deep oblivion of sleep, and let it try and wash away the pain slowly tangling itself in her heart. It was a different pain than the one Shar bestowed on her. It scared her.
“Now don’t be ridiculous,” he chided, pulling her up and out of her tent swiftly, her grunt of protest lost in his ecstatic giggling.
Before she could reprimand him she saw the rest of their companions dressed down from their armor, all crowded and ready to head down towards Rivington and the Circus. Halsin and Jaheira were chattering about the shadow-curse, Jaheira pulling stories out of the druid about Thaniel and Oliver to better understand what it was her Harpers stumbled upon in that bleak darkness. Wyll, Karlach, and Lae’zel shared a drink between them from an old bottle of ale they found on the farm. Karlach cursed as she drank some of the bitter liquid, shaking her head furiously as it slithered down her throat. Aylin and Isobel were ready to join them too, hands locked together firmly, Aylin’s chin resting on the top of Isobel’s head with the moon watching guard over them behind Aylin’s towering form.
And Gale. He stood stoically apart from the rest, though his eyes wandered among the crowd, as if observing and noting them. Withers, the mummified skeleton hunched over and eyes clouded, said something to him and he smiled at whatever it was.
Her mind swirled like soup within her head. Everything felt too bright, fuzzy and distant and out of reach. She could not tell if it was Shar’s influence or not.
Either way, she took too long staring at Gale as his eyes wandered over to her, meeting for just a moment. Hot, deep embarrassment rushed over her and she looked away, hoping he did not see her blush in the moonlight.
“So, it’s decided, we’re all going!”
Astarion clapped his hands together, swiftly taking Lae’zel’s arm in his own and leading the strange group of them down into the village, the gith tsking at him but not pulling away all the same.
Karlach clapped Shadowheart on her back, pulling her forward to start moving with the rest of their ragtag group, “Oh c’mon Shadowheart, it’ll be fun. The uh - the cloister… well, you’re from Baldur’s Gate too, yeah? Haven’t ya heard of the Circus before? It’s absolutely grand , I tell ya what.”
Her mind flashed to pain and isolation, locked away in Shar’s temple. She rubbed at the back of her hand, where Her dark touch still hurt her, its touch sporadic. It left her on edge, afraid that the moment she would relax it would pin her with its blinding ire.
“No, I never had the chance.”
Karlach was quiet, watching over her face, as if not sure what to say.
“All the more exciting, then!”
Karlach swiftly ran ahead to join Wyll, playfully smacking him on the ass. He yelped, and Karlach and Halsin laughed into the night.
And as quickly as Karlach’s warmth seeped pleasantly into her skin she was left on her own again, slowly wandering down the old dirt road to Rivington. She watched blankly as everyone around her danced and laughed and shared in each other’s company. An outsider looking in, despite her knowing better; although she was a part of them, she could not help but feel she did not belong.
Someone cleared their throat, sounding distant though they were close beside her.
“I, uh, enjoy your new hair, Shadowheart,” it was Gale, and she flinched involuntarily. Either he did not notice - unlikely - or did not betray what he thought, “I know we have not had the chance to speak since Ketheric’s demise but, uh, it is nice to see you embracing yourself for who you truly are. Shadowed in name but not in spirit. It suits you well… You shine brightly in the dark.”
“Thank you.”
“And thank you. For saving me. For convincing me to not blow myself - and no doubt the rest of us - up. Seeing this Netherese magic now… I’m sure there will be a way for us to stop this Absolute.”
She looked away, her stomach settling into a dark, heavy thing. Compliments shrouded in obligations and recompense. Honeyed words with hidden meanings. An exchange for an exchange for an exchange -
“There’s no need to thank me. And you don’t owe me anything for it,” her voice was harsher than she meant, and she turned from him as the hot embarrassment overcame her again, like a mawing void.
“I… thank you, Shadowheart. Ah, my apologies! But truly… thank you.”
She waited for him to leave, but he kept his stride beside her.
“Are you alright?”
“You should catch up with the others.”
“I -”
She huffed. He visibly sagged.
“My apologies. Again. I shall leave you to your night.”
His footsteps were quiet as he caught up with the rest of the group, his shoulders drooping. She hugged herself, curling into her own arms, straying behind the rest.