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Light rain powdered the darkened streets of Baldur’s Gate when Ilyana and her group emerged from the city sewers. By the time they reached Elfsong, night had well and truly fallen. Once inside their suite, the issue of Ulder Ravengard’s erased memories of Gortash’s plots and schemes became once more the topic of a hushed, yet heated discussion. Whilst rescuing the Duke they had not had the time to fill him in, as they had been running against the clock before the place would be blown apart. It had been too close for Ilyana’s tastes. Only her signal to Wyll had halted the son from spilling everything to his father.
Now he held no reservation on confronting her. They argued, him wanting to inform his father now and she was staunchly against it being now. Not to mention that the Duke’s visible disgust at his son’s new form had left a bitter taste in her mouth. How could she trust him to do what was necessary? Frankly, there were far more pressing concerns than overthrowing a tyrant who did hold the same goal as them: control or destroy the Netherbrain. After the dust had settled, they would have plenty of time to dispose of him. First, they had to ensure there was a world left where one could topple a corrupt politician. Though, given how the man shook from rage as he informed them that their alliance was null and void, she would have to hurry to reach Gortash to renegotiate.
And she would have to be the one to go to confront the Archduke. More importantly, it had to be her alone. It was her whom he regarded as his true equal. Anyone else accompanying her would only complicate her getting to him and would be an insult in the man’s mind. She needed to placate him: they needed his Steel Watch for the upcoming fight and he needed her to fight it. If only she could maybe focus for more than one minute without being interrupted by Wyll’s incessant need of arguing every other moment. Her teeth were clenching when she saw him take another breath, about to launch in another string of arguments. Her thoughts were pre-occupied in how to spin this in a favourable way to the Archduke and Wyll sorely tested her patience in this very moment. Yet no matter what she said, he didn’t seem to grasp that she was with him, she only wanted to do it later.
By the moon’s mercy it was Halsin who finally intervened on her behalf, having most likely sensed her fraying temper. Shadowheart jumped in then, reminding Wyll that the cards were stacked against them and they needed every edge they could get. Throughout all of this Karlach had remained in her corner, obviously in a foul mood, ignoring the situation they all had found themselves in. Once more, she reiterated to Wyll that they needed the Duke to fight alongside them and not have him storm Wyrm’s Rock when the true battle began.
Finally, Wyll relented, cursing them all out. It had finally sunk in, they were out of time and out of options. She wanted to hit him over his thick skull. The clock was ticking and they had yet to find the temple of Bhaal. Not to mention that there was a shapechanger masquerading as one of theirs. Orin had her nose and ears where Ilyana did not want them. If the Duke remained with them, she was certain he would not make it through the night. Especially if they let him in on the entirety of the Absolute Plot.
So, the Duke left them none the wiser about the larger plot afoot. Come morning the news of his return to the Fist’s citadel would have reached every corner of the city. No doubt, Gortash would be one of the first to know. She had to reach him before, if not in the immediate aftermath.
Not much effort was needed to slip unnoticed from their suite. Whilst she was glad for the relative ease right now, it was concerning. Just because they were in disagreement, they could not just turn their backs on each other. It was most likely how Orin managed to infiltrate their camp. The mere fact that any one of them could morph into Orin had put a strain on everyone’s nerves. Admittedly, she found herself tensing up when one of her companions approached her in the late evenings. But she would have noticed if someone in their group went missing. A headache threatened to start pounding against her temples. These issues had been boiling for the last couple of days. Once they put Orin down for good, they ought to be able to breathe easier. Maybe even sort out their differences before the fight for their very lives began. Until then she would do what she had always done: keep them all alive by any means necessary. The oath she had uttered when they emerged from the Nautiloid was the only thing tethering her sanity. She’d fulfill it and if it meant dragging them screaming and crying there, she would not hesitate. There could be no room for regrets.
But why did her heart war with itself? Why did it hurt?
Now outside, the rain had let up. Her boots splashed through dark puddles as she hurried towards Wyrm’s Rock. The shadow of the fortress loomed over the roofs. A short ways off the drawbridge she came to a skittering halt. At its entry now stood a whole squadron composed of Fists and hulking Steel Watchers. Any attempt to sneak around was now effectively cut off. With a curse muttered under her breath, she slid into an off branching alley. Invisibility would not get her that far. It would suffice for the Fists, but the automatons were capable of seeing invisible beings. One other route would be trying to traverse the chasm separating the city from the fortress. With no guarantee of having an access point, she would be taking a stab in the dark. Still, bar of sneaking on a supply caravan into the fortress, this would be the only option left to her. What she would give right now to have Astarion with her. Alas, she had to do this alone.
She had gotten them into this mess. And she will be the one to get them out of it.
Quickly she rounded another corner down a narrow passageway between two houses that hugged the steep cliffs. In the distance, she saw a small window illuminated by low candle light. Narrowing her eyes, she could make out the movement of a curtain behind it. It must be ajar for the wind to get through. Furrowing her brows, she leaned over the wooden rail to glance back to the drawbridge. At this point, she would have to fly across. At the thought her skin started to prickle, as the storm imbuing her blood called on her to be released. To call upon the spirit of the wind to imbue her so she might fly across.
For this plan to work, she needed the guards on the drawbridge to be distracted, however. Long enough to not notice the brief flare of light when she communed with the storm brewing in her soul. Judging by the distance, it would take more than a few seconds to fly across. The distraction had to be substantial enough, she lifted a finger to her mouth to gnaw on the little that was left of her nail. Time was running out. While the plan was not ideal – it was horrendous to be honest – she could not dawdle too long on an infiltration tactic.
By the gods, once this was all done, she would be in dire need of sleep. Sleep until it physically hurt to stay in bed. They’d have to understand… They had to understand.
What would she do if they rejected her? What if they turned their backs in the face of her actions? They’d be justified too. Karlach would never forgive her. Wyll would just up and leave to run to his sire’s side. And she would do it all over again. Just so she would know that they would live through this.
So she waited with bated breath. Waited and waited in the chilly night air. By the time she saw a caravan pull up to the bridge, her fingers had grown numb from the cold. She watched as the Fists bade the wagon handlers to stop and then convened around the wagon, Steel Watchers in tow. Now they would conduct a thorough inspection looking for stow-away. For someone like her.
Her lips moved, commanding the wind in her lungs and the storm in her blood to imbue her.
She flung herself from the railing. Arms spread, she plummeted towards the inky blackness of the sea below. Wind rushed through her body causing her heart to soar into the sky. Then, her arms glowed. Ethereal wings manifested and lifted off her skin.
No longer was she falling. She flew.
Heart now pounding in her chest, even as the joy of being free of gravity lifted her spirits. Briefly her worries had been left behind on the ground. She glid through the air, like a bird would. All the while she kept glancing towards the drawbridge. The guards, nor the Steel Watch turned around as they continued their inspection. So they missed the faintly glowing figure flying towards the more private area of the fortress.
Any other time, her flights felt like mere seconds, heartbeats interrupted. Now, it stretched into an eternity. Her gut seized at every move she saw the guards make. But they never turned around. The illuminated window in front of her grew closer.
Finally, her fingers closed around the window’s edge. She slowly pulled it open, as not to provoke any squeaking hinges. When she felt like she had enough space, she slipped through, her wings disappearing into thin whisps that dissipated soon after. With the lightness gone from her limbs, she fell gracelessly onto the carpeted floor landing on her knees. Gulping in a few breaths, she looked around trying to regain her bearings. Disbelief at how she had flown across without being noticed rooted her to her spot. After several deep breaths, her thundering heart finally calmed down. The first hurdle was crossed: she was inside without having been spotted.
What was left to do was to find Gortash. A task easier said than done. She had no idea where she was. Although, she must be close by, judging by the rough recollection of his office’s location from her last visit.
Head clearer she realized she had not fallen into a room but a deserted corridor. A single candelabrum illuminated the hall in a dim glow. There was no guard either.
The hair on her neck prickled. Surely the Archduke would have shored up his defenses after his most important prisoners were freed? Rattled, she scrambled to her feet, tasting electricity on her tongue. It felt off.
Several doors lined the wall in front of her. To her right was a door that stood slightly ajar. No light came from it. Yet, the invitation still beckoned her, luring her in. As if in a sudden trance, her feet moved her towards the door. Perhaps… the suspicion flitted into her mind as she reached out with her fingers to push the door open, he was anticipating her visit. Her fingers hung in the air, barely brushing the wood. At this very moment, she could be walking right into his trap. Fingers curling back, she took a step back. There was yet time to turn and disappear. Damn the consequences.
If she did, she would doom them all.
Sucking in a deep breath, she summoned all the courage still left to her. Whatever scrap her strained resolve would grant her. No turning back. Her oath bade her to see them all through this. And she would, no matter the price. If it meant that she had to cavort with the enemy, she would pay it gladly. She was left with no choice…
Uncurling her fingers, she reached for the door and gently pushed it open. It swung open revealing the dark and…
… unoccupied chamber.
A lavish bedchamber at that. One befitting for an Archduke…. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe. Of all possible places to stumble into. Her face burned the longer she stood there. This was where Gortash slept. She had flown right into his personal quarters. Every fibre of her being started to scream at her, strain against the paralysis gripping her still, that she had to get out of here. Get to his office, but not here. Anywhere but here…
Finally she regained control of her limbs. As she was about to turn around to leave, a quiet click of a lock thundered through the heavy silence. Panicked, she glanced behind her. The decision was made for her: out of time and out of options.
As fast as lightning she pulled the door close, leaving it ajar like before. In case a mere guard came to make their patrol rounds, they would find nothing amiss. The darkest spot in the entire chamber appeared to be where a dressing screen stood. A dark mass of fabric hung over it. Once she was close, she could see the embellishments and embroidery that would be golden under the daylight. Not hesitating, she stepped behind it and went into a crouch so not even a mere hint of a shadow would betray her presence.
It grew silent once more. Blood hammered in her ears, her ragged breathing were so loud that she was almost sure that everyone in this fortress would hear her. On instinct she pressed a hand over her mouth and nose. It stifled most of the noise. Her lungs protested, trying to suck in more air as a light headedness took over. She would not be able to hold this for long without choking.
The silence stretched out. Each heartbeat that passed under its weight was agonizing.
Footsteps, softened by the carpet, clicked steadily closer. They were not heavy like those heavy armoured ones the Fist wore. No guard was approaching. Her gut sank as the confrontation she had come for came to her.
Footsteps stopped. Her heart ceased beating.
A beam of light flooded the floor beyond the screen in front. It grew revealing a man’s shadow. Then it shrunk before snuffed out completely as the door clicked closed. Enveloped in the relative safety of the night’s darkness, she waited.
Nothing happened. No sound of him moving. Not even him breathing.
Did he stand there motionless? Could he sense her presence as acutely as she felt his? Skin prickled and for a moment she swore that she could feel his breath on her neck.
She merely had to speak up, let herself be known. This was what she had come for. To talk. Yet her throat seized up, not letting a sound escape. Terror had gripped her and she remained frozen.
An all too familiar caress brushed over the back of her mind. Courtesy of a tadpole wriggling there. Every nerve along her spine screamed at her to run.
His voice disrupted the silence. It came out as a low growl, similar to a thunder heralding an oncoming storm.
“You have a lot of nerve to show your face. Show yourself, Ilyana.”
Trembling at the underlying threat in his command, she stood up to walk around the screen. As soon as she rounded it, she came face to face with the enraged Archduke. Hands were curled into fists at his side. Even in the darkness, she could feel the weight of his dark eyes boring into her. A shiver ran down her back. He was contemplating on killing her.
Startled with how close he had gotten, she raised up her hands so that the palms faced him. A sign of peace, that she was unarmed. Her intentions were not to inflict harm… as of yet.
“Why have you come?” The question was spat out. “Our alliance is forfeit.”
He took one step forward.
She stepped backward.
“I have come to negotiate.”
He kept advancing. She kept retreating.
Until her back hit the hard panel of a wardrobe. A key dug painfully into the curve of her lower back. Now he stood in the moonlight. An angry snarl curled his lips.
“What is left to negotiate? Don’t you realise what you have done by releasing the Duke?”
“I… I,” she stuttered, her eyes flying involuntarily towards the window for a possible escape route.
She flinched, when a gauntleted hand slammed down on the wood, a mere gasp away from her lashes. Then he was upon her. Too close... His smell overwhelmed her nose. Oil, ink and the distinct scent of olive soap threatened to cloud her senses. She tried to jerk away. Clawed fingers shot up to grip her chin, rooting her in place. The cold metal dug into her skin, dispelling the heat there, but not the one pooling in her chest.
“Speak.” His sharp command rattled her. Distantly, through the fog of his presence around her, she wondered how she still stood. Her knees were all but water.
“I needed the Duke,” she finally rasped out. “Who is better suited than the Duke to lead the Fist into the Battle for the whole of Faerun?”
“You would risk the city being torn apart mere days before that?” He hissed down on her. His warm breath hit her face.
“We need all the forces we can get to defeat the Netherbrain. Think about how that would bolster the Fist’s resolve!” She hastily continued on. The urge to squeeze her eyes shut and turn her head away from the glare he leveled her with grew overwhelming. Yet, she found herself captivated, incapable of tearing herself away.
Her eyes drifted down to take the man in who had her cornered. Gone was the ostentatious robe and he was left in a black shirt. Its collar was not laced up giving her a generous view of the top of his chest. Black hair peeked through. Swallowing the sudden knot in her throat, she grasped at his hand gripping her chin. To alleviate the pressure he put on her jaw, but to no avail. Tension coiled in her chest, reaching down as far as her stomach. Its heat sent her head whirling.
“I have no interest in an alliance with someone who takes my generosity and throws it back in my face.”
At that he mercilessly crowded her into the wardrobe. She hissed in pain when the key in her back dug further. Now she was utterly trapped between his bulk and the furniture to her back. If she slipped with her hands she would touch his bare chest. Her addled mind briefly wondered how the hair would feel under her fingertips. The feel of his legs beside hers made the tension in her core tighten.
Too close … But why did it feel so good?
“Was it his pathetic son who yapped long enough for you to cave in? For a father who scorned him?” Venom dripped from his words directly into her ears. They send shivers down her body. “And I thought you would have enough backbone to reign in your foolish companions.”
“The Duke could be your biggest asset.” Finally she found her voice again and the clarity to formulate a sentence. Mind still in the heated haze of their closeness, she squirmed in his hold. The drag of her legs against his elicited a gasp from her mouth. “He –“ she drew in a sharp breath as his breath hit her sensitive ear. “He could have given you more legitimacy to your rule! And you squandered it!”
Gortash withdrew his head from next to hers.
“He would ruin what I so carefully built! This is a man who will plunge this city into chaos no matter if there is a larger looming threat!” His teeth glinted in the low moonlight.
“His memories are wiped and we did not inform him of anything!” She snapped. “By now he should be with the Fist whipping them into shape for the oncoming fight.”
The snarl was the only warning she got. Her head slammed sharply into the unyielding wood behind her. Stars exploded behind her eyelids. Choking out a pained cry, felt her head jerk forward and her hands grasped at the collar of his shirt. The fabric strained under her grip, close to tearing.
“Give me one good reason not to kill you here and now.” He rasped out over her pounding head.
“You would have already,” she whispered lifting her head to face his scowl. “If you had so desired.”
“I am still undecided. Whilst you are capable, you are proving yourself to be a weak willed leader. So desperate –“
A loud resounding slap cracked through the quiet night. Her right hand, that had been clutching at the open collar, had flown up to his face. At the contact, he let go of her stumbling to the side. Holding her stinging palm, she stared wide eyed at the Archduke. His head had been whipped to the side. For a moment they both were frozen.
Her shock gave way to fury.
“Don’t talk to me about leadership –“ She began to yell.
He pounced. Whirled around, she clutched at his shoulders so not to lose her balance. Nails dug through the fabric of his shirt to find purchase. Then, she was pushed away. She stumbled backwards, struggling to find her balance. The window came into view. Her way out! Twisting her upper body around she tried to launch herself for it.
Too late she saw Gortash charge towards her. The impact drove all air out of her lungs. She flew backwards. Hands clutched at her shoulders, clawed metal fingers pierced through the cloth of her robe. With a loud yelp, they toppled backwards. One of her knees flew up. It met the soft part of his abdomen, just below his navel.
He let out a pained groan.
Her back hit something soft. He doubled over her. Above them she recognized the canopy of a bed. She gasped for air. No air drew into her. Cold metal fingers wrapped around her throat, a thumb pressing down in the soft space between her clavicles and neck. They had landed in his bed. At the realization, she started to writhe and wriggle underneath his grip. Her other knee slammed into his side, just above his hip bone. He wheezed.
His free hand wrangled her knees away from his middle. Just as she pried his fingers away from her throat. Finally she drew in desperate gulps of much needed air.
“Gortash, for all that his holy, think!” She implored straining against his strength. “What better way –“
His chest was heaving. In the moonlight, she barely caught the glint of metal. Sparks trailed behind her hand that shot out to his exposed chest. Her blood crackled with electricity.
Just as her fingers settled right above his heart the cold touch of a sharp blade kissed the top of her throat. Both of them froze. One wrong move and they’d end each other. Breathing heavily Ilyana stared up to Gortash’s face. Her other hand had gripped the open collar, exposing more of his chest for easier access. He hovered mere inches above her panting. Their breaths mingled. Glancing around, she took in the position she had found herself in. Him on top of her, his legs framing her hips while one hand held the dagger to her throat and the other arm curled under her head. Fingers tangled in her hair, scraping along her scalp.
They now were at an impasse. Equals, as he said when he proposed the alliance. That fact doomed them to be frozen in this deadly dance. So she did the only thing she could think of: talk.
“Gortash, please… listen.”
His lips curled in disgust. “Resorting to begging? Perhaps I misjudged you.”
At that, she rolled her eyes. To remind him that she was not without power, she curled her fingers further into his chest. The chest hair tickled underneath the electricity building up between the pads and his skin.
“This is a fight we do not have to continue.”
“Why should I?” He blurted out incredulously. “You jeopardise my life’s work and then waltz in expecting to sweet talk your way out of it?”
“I was hoping to get you to see reason!” She glared up at him.
If she were able to lift her chin without the blade slicing into her skin, she would have done that as well.
He huffed, now amused.
“What did your mind conjure up? Go on. Amuse me.” He whispered and leaned down further.
Her eyelids fluttered when his breath hit them. The tension from before returned. Heat pooled swiftly in her chest, flooding her limbs, then lower and lower…
Shifting under the added weight, she tried to readjust her position, rubbing her legs together to ease the heat settling there. But, as she did, her lower abdomen pressed into his. A liquid shock raced up her spine, causing her mouth to fall open letting a strangled whimper escape. Her entire body was flushed, her toes curling in her boots.
“Stop squirming!” But his voice was hoarse.
She swore she could feel his lips moving against her skin despite not touching. Sweat droplets formed on her brow and in her lower back. The heat in her grew. If she stayed longer underneath him, it would become unbearable.
“If Duke Ravengard fights at your side,” she whispered, her voice trembling at the effort. “You would stand to affirm your rule as Archduke? What better way is there to demonstrate the Duke’s faith in your abilities if he fought for you?”
His lips parted. Quiet pants filled the space between them.
“Fought for the city in your name.”
She watched his throat bop up and down. By now the heat roiling in her, now enveloped them. Mind swimming at the feel of his claws against her scalp, wondering how they’d feel against her bare skin. Something hard pressed against the space between her legs. A shudder, pleasurable and mind numbing, rushed through her. The urge to slide her hand along his chest pressed against her resolve. Chewing at her lower lip, she tried to suppress the moan working its way up her chest. But it escaped, a sound between a sigh and choked moan.
He stilled. Surely he was considering…
“We are on the precipice of fighting for whole of Faerun.” At her whisper, he felt him shudder through her hand on his heart. “I cannot do this without you, nor can you do this without me.”
“We are doomed without the other.” He finished for her. The sudden huskiness to his voice sent goosebumps up her arms and neck.
They were so close now. Parted lips separated by mere inches. She could not tell if she wanted him off her or to lean in closer. The haze had her wishing to be touched, to feel his hands run down her sides. It would be so easy to lift her head and their mouths would connect. Her tongue darted out wetting her lips. She sensed how his eyes, obscured in the night, followed its movements. The intensity of the eyes burned into her.
Her resolve broke. In that moment, she wanted, she craved… With half lidded eyes she unfurled her hand on his collar, the one over his heart splayed out. If this was how drowning felt like, she wanted to suspend the moment in time. Fingers slid up his neck, brushing over the skin causing small shocks shoot down her arms into her racing heart. She sought and sought, finger tips brushed over his ear. A gasp hit her brows. Then they tangled in his thick hair. She wanted to sink into the feel of his skin and hair underneath her hands.
A needy whimper escaped her, when the fingers along her scalp withdrew. Desperate for something she could not formulate, she slid her hand on his chest up to cup the side of his neck. The clatter of a dagger drifted through to her, the sound muffled as if underwater. Cool metal claws settled over the heated skin of her temple. Others settled on her waist, a thumb rubbing circles into the soft of her stomach. Then the heat of a bare palm cupped her cheek. She leaned into the touch, his skin surprisingly smooth to the touch. Its feel burned into her very marrow.
Now only the barest of whisper separated their lips from another. His nose rubbed against hers. Sighing into the touch, she dragged hers up. He moved with her, their noses never separating but their mouths never touched. Then he pressed into the skin of her cheek, inhaling her as his hand on her cheek tightened. Desperate to keep her.
They did not dare to cross the boundary. Lips ghosted over the other, apart and never connecting.
The fortress shook. Eyes shot open and she grasped his hair to steady herself. He lost his balance, fully crashing into her. The hand on her cheek disappeared. Now it was placed next to her head pushing some of his weight off her. His head had landed in the crook of her neck. The muscles on his shoulders strained under her touch.
They clung to each other through the quake.
“Shit.” Her frantic murmur ripped her out of her stupor.
His hand gripping the sheet tensed up. “It is getting worse by the day.”
“Need to find Orin,” she muttered more to herself.
His teeth grazed her ear. She shivered, mouth hanging open as a violent jolt made her body twitch.
“Find her. Kill her. Bring her Netherstone to me. Show her no mercy. Consider this your last chance.”
He ripped himself away from her. The cold spot he left had her ache in manners unfamiliar and dangerous in their implications.
Finally the last dredge of the fog lifted from her mind. The effect was akin to a bucket of cold water being dumped over her head. Horrified, she stared at her hands. What had she done? Not bothering to answer, she bolted towards the door.
“Our alliance still stands.” His voice halted her when she reached the door handle.
With a curt nod, she acknowledged him. Then she flung herself outside, fleeing from the memories lingering in that chamber. Shame brewed in her, tearing and screaming at her.
By the time she reached Elfsong she was close to tears. The question of what she had done – allowed – to happen echoed within her head. How could she even have let him do this to her?
Shadowheart was the only one left awake. Seemingly having waited for her to return. It took her one look to realise that Ilyana was close to crumbling. Her outstretched arms almost sent Ilyana to her knees, feeling filthy for what had transpired what felt like mere moments ago.
She crashed into the hug and let herself sob into Shadowheart’s nightclothes.
“I did it for you all,” she whispered, unsure if Shadowheart even heard her. “I swear, this is all for your sakes.