Work Text:
Filtering through the rustling leaves dancing in the gentle breeze, the first light of the day shimmers upon the river’s surface. Some animals in the Emerald Grove’s wildlife awake and seek sunlight to bathe in, even if warmth has yet to reach them, shaking off their numb limbs after a less-than-peaceful night.
Horrendous singing and plucked strings have disturbed their rest for hours on end. The continuous clinks of cups and the merry cheers of newfound friends gave a new rhythm to the Grove’s heartbeat, long bereft of such conviviality. Peace has returned, and many hope it shall remain in their home from this day forth.
As most lay fast asleep and snoring, their heads still buzzing from the ales, wines and meads served during the Tiefling Party, Tav rises to their feet and tiptoes between the bedrolls and less picky choices for a place of rest. Careful not to make a sound and clenching their teeth, they hop over entwined bodies and outstretched limbs. From where they stand, the rug of spent lovers sprawled in the mud appears worthy of the most complex painting compositions.
Once at the edge of the encampment, Tav glances over their shoulder and sighs. Without a sound, they follow the path back to the Emerald Grove, stretching their shoulders after tossing and turning all night. Sleep has not been their greatest ally, cutting its visit short. Thoughts, and not the cheerful kind, have been racing in their mind ever since, creating quite the cacophony and leaving them restless. What use is there to remain by the extinguished campfire? Rest is not to return today.
Upon their arrival at the Grove, Tav witnesses the comings and goings of the few druids who declined the company’s invitation to the party as they prepare their daily rituals. Two grant them a short but friendly nod as a greeting, while the others either eye them with contempt or ignore them. Such displays no longer hurt Tav. They have become such a common occurrence outside the Underdark.
Silvanus overlooks the arrangement of altars at the foot of his idol, lending an ear to the harmonious songs flowing from the druids’ lips as they chant their prayers and thanks to the Oak Father. They gather around the statue perched up on its rocky stand, waving herbs in the air and sprinkling dry flower petals upon his feet. Birds flock to the ritual, a moving manifestation of nature and living creatures around their mediator.
Tav sits on a nearby bench and observes the ritual, awkwardly bowing to the idol when it begins, unaware of what proper etiquette is required in such instances. They tilt their head, trying to translate the chants but not recognising a single word. If only Gale were there — he probably has enough knowledge on the topic to give them a short lecture.
Short by Gale’s standards, that is.
Even if they do not utter a word, one of the druids aggressively shoos Tav away. Not wanting to stir trouble, especially on their own, they stand up and leave, heading towards the woods. Between a few lofty trees, they sit and bring their knees to their chest, enfolding their shins with their arms.
What should have been a chance at a brand-new day bitterly feels identical to the previous night. Restless, haunted. There is no respite for their wandering soul, stuck between a rock and a hard place.
As tears brim their amber eyes, threatening to spill, a vivid pain shoots through their limbs, pricking their fingertips. Rubbing them together, Tav stares at them. That is a new feeling. Perhaps their mother was right; leaving the Underdark is no good for anybody of their kind.
Footsteps grace the green grass of the woods nearby, pulling them out of their trance. As they hasten to wipe the tears away, expecting to be expelled from this place, too, they catch a friendly silhouette from the corner of their eyes.
Halsin. The kind archdruid who is possibly the only person around here not to mind their presence and existence.
‘Oak Father preserve you, Tav,’ he chimes with a beaming smile and a fist over his heart as his typical greeting. ‘I did not expect to find you awake at this hour.’
‘Morning, Halsin. Couldn’t sleep anymore.’
Tav pats the spot beside them, and Halsin graciously accepts the invitation by sitting beside them with a soft sigh as he lowers himself onto the ground. Since the drow does not utter a word, Halsin grins and sparks a conversation.
‘Unlike a good portion of our friends, it seems that you did not partake in pleasures of the flesh last night,’ he remarks. ‘Nobody to warm up your bed.’
‘Neither did you,’ Tav grins in return, although the smile is short-lived.
‘Mh. I had other concerns; such lightness felt inappropriate at the time.’
‘How odd. You have a reputation, you know?’
‘Is that so?’
Halsin chuckles and tilts his head back to enjoy the sunrays upon his natural sun-kissed complexion. Tav mirrors his demeanour but finds no solace in it. If anything, their breath quickens, and their heart races until they are dizzy. Flattening their clammy palms against their thighs, they press discreetly yet as hard as they are able to ground themself, praying that this overwhelming sensation will cease. They are on the verge of bursting, and they know it. Any more of this insane rhythm in their heartbeat, and they will drop dead.
But what if they do?
All companions would be doomed.
Gale would have no one to talk him out of using the orb and killing himself and all in his path.
Astarion would starve, and since the others were less than willing to let him near Cazador, he would never break his shackles.
Shadowheart and Lae’zel would be at each other’s throats over who gets to keep the artefact.
Wyll would go to his father’s rescue unaided, with Mizora looming over him, counting his every breath.
Karlach would have nobody to collect infernal iron for her when the engine's heat would prove too much for her to bear.
Tav cannot do that.
Tav cannot die.
Must.
Fight.
It.
Clenching their teeth to keep themself from groaning from the physical pain that their mental toll was causing, Tav digs their fingernails into the fabric of their trousers, drawing blood under the garment.
‘Tav,’ Halsin’s voice calls out softly, ‘I could tell that something was troubling your mind, but it seems you are agonising. Talk to me. What do you need?’
Tears spill onto their cheeks as they open their mouth to speak but find themself unable to produce a single sound. They shake their head, helpless and panting, clutching the fabric of their shirt in a tight grip of their fist as though it was a lifeline so desperately needed. But the rope has been severed. It will not drag them to safety. This will not help.
What do they even need? They have no single clue. Never has pain caused such anguish. It all feels rather foolish. They should have been celebrating like the others instead of tormenting themself to this point. How ridiculous.
As they emit a whimper, Halsin shifts and hovers his large hands over the drow’s arms.
‘May I touch you?’
‘Y-Yes.’
The archdruid places his hands around Tav’s arms, gently drawing them closer to him. In the face of such panic, he remains calm. Tav cannot help but be impressed by his composure, but again, they have never seen Halsin lose his temper and snap. At times, he can grow impatient, especially when he feels that his companions undermined the urgency of a situation, but he is not one to hold grudges. Not Halsin.
Halsin presses Tav’s back to his chest, hooking his arms through theirs and arching his spine.
‘Breathe with me.’
As the taller elf draws in a slow, deep breath, his chest presses against their back, urging them to do the same. They synchronise their breathing, although with difficulty at first. Tav tilts their head back until it rests on the druid’s shoulder, shutting their eyes to focus on inhaling and exhaling in the right rhythm. Slowly, the tightness in their chest subsides, alleviating the weight upon their shoulder.
Yet the anguish remains. Powerful, gnawing at their bones. The relief of the heart is fragile, ready to succumb to the pain and fear yet again. But then, Halsin rests a hand below their collarbone.
‘Just a little longer, Tav,’ he intones, keeping a quiet tone to his voice to soothe their anxiety. ‘You are doing well. Breathe against my hand. Push it.’
Tav obeys and continues to concentrate on their breathing, doing their best to inhale deeply enough to press against Halsin’s palm. In no time, it takes them little effort to do so. The druid loosens his grip around them and reaches out to catch a falling oak leaf swirling in the air as it detaches from its branch. It lands between his fingers as he tightens his knuckles around it, gently bringing it to Tav’s attention.
‘Feel the leaf,’ he says, placing it into their palm. ‘Let your fingers touch every part of it. Feel the texture. What is it like?’
With a curious glance, Tav runs their fingers against the leaf, sensing the smoothness of the deep green leaf. It is cold at first, having spent such a long time vulnerable to the wind before it overcame it. But the longer they interact with it, the warmer it becomes. They perceive the temperature change by the second, focusing on it and realising how fast it shifts.
‘It is soft.’
‘Be more specific,’ Halsin smiles. ‘What does the texture remind you of?’
‘It reminds me of…’
Tav furrows their brow as they consider it, observing the ridges upon its surface and those sprouting from its stem. The lines serpent and split into smaller ones, almost like veins. The pattern has no logic, yet it appears so beautifully natural.
‘Leather,’ they say at last with the hint of a smile playing upon their lips. ‘It reminds me of the surface of worn-out leather boots. Or a satchel.’
‘I see. What about the back?’
Their fingertips venture to the other side of the blade, feeling the sharper midrib and the veins sprouting from the spine. The smaller lines they felt on the front are nowhere to be found or perhaps so thin that the pads of his fingers cannot discern them. There is beauty to it; beauty in its simplicity, but also beauty in its complexity. Two sides of the same coin.
‘It feels different, but no less pleasant to the touch,’ Tav chuckles before sniffling. Without their noticing, Halsin has successfully redirected their attention to something more pleasant, something much less frightful. ‘And the outline is just as nice. Not the perfect shape that artists paint. It has its own will, its own curves and asymmetrical edges. I like it.’
Halsin grins and observes the leaf above their shoulder, taking in every detail. How often has he observed stray leaves in autumn when gusts would dot the air with orange and red hues? At that time of year, he usually sits in the heart of it, his chin up and his eyes wrinkling at the corners from smiling so much in awe at the sight. He likes to believe that the wrinkles he gained were autumn lines. Traces and remnants of these shed coats baring the trees for the winter. Of the sheer glee that their dances on the wind bring him. If his age ever catches up with him, he is glad that it manifests through how much he has smiled. To him, there exists no better way of growing older.
A breeze rises, carrying the warm scent of fresh broth and pastries. It tickles their nostrils, making them both hum and pat their stomachs. The archdruid’s gaze softens when it meets Tav’s, whose tears have long dried.
‘How do you feel, my friend?’ he asks, maintaining this ever-calming tone.
‘Better,’ Tav admits with a flush, still fidgeting with the leaf. ‘Thank you.’
‘Think nothing of it.’
He leans back against the tree behind them and sighs softly, his eyes not leaving them for a second.
‘My ears are yours, should you feel the need to vent. There is no judgment between us. Whatever burdens you is not to be diminished.’
Tav bites their lower lip, rolling it between their teeth until it nearly hurts. They sigh and gently place the leaf on the ground, where it was always meant to fall.
‘Everyone was so cheerful yesterday, but I could not bring myself to share the sentiment. All I could think about were the faces of those I killed to save the Grove. I know that it is a stupid thought; if we had not done it, we would have been the ones slaughtered, but there is not a single face that does not haunt me.’
Gathering their knees against their chest, Tav rests their chin on them, frowning in recollection.
‘And I know that despite all I did, all the trouble I went through to rescue you from the Goblins’ Camp, all the Tieflings and your druids saw in me was the evil drow that would need to be slain in their sleep one day. For everyone’s sake.’
Halsin instinctively sits up straight, seeking the drow’s eyes. Surely, nobody thinks that. Kagha, maybe. But the rest?
‘Give me their names, and I will hold them accountable for it,’ he finds himself saying, indignation bubbling inside him.
‘No need, Halsin, really.’
Tav sighs again and tilts their head until their cheek rests against the suede trousers.
‘I cannot blame them. My kind has caused much harm to the Sword Coast and beyond. I just wish that, sometimes, people realised that I am not like them. I am fighting to not be like them or fall into the same patterns. I fight my instincts every single day. But even if I do good, if I save and protect the needy, people will not give me a chance. They see me as a killing machine. I refuse to be just that. Ever since the nautiloid, I have been yearning for a new life, away from the harmful ways of my upbringing. I want to break free from that, but how can I even resist the temptation of evil when others still show me disdain no matter what I do?’
‘Tav, as much as it pains me to hear of this, I must say that you should not strive to reap prizes and accolades for all your good deeds. Do not let your mind be clouded by such vanities when the intention is all that matters.’
The drow grunts and scratches dry mud from the tip of their boot.
‘That is not what I am saying. All I want is for others to give me a chance and look beyond the colour of my skin and my hair. And that applies to my companions, too.’
Halsin raises an eyebrow and leans forward.
‘Yet they are all happy to be travelling with you. Such different souls, temperaments and alignments are rallied under your banner. That is something you can be proud of. It is not always easy to gather people who share the same thoughts; I cannot begin to imagine the pain you must have endured persuading this lot to stick together in the worst situation of all.’
‘It was a hassle for sure,’ they confess with a chuckle. ‘I stopped counting how often we nearly killed one another.’
The archdruid laughs and admires the Grove as it stirs awake past the edge of the woods. A sight he has seen countless times yet never tires of.
‘But what do you mean when you say that your companions do not see past what you are?’ he enquires. ‘I would figure that they are tolerant since they travel with you.’
‘Well… it seems that my being a drow repels them in other situations.’
Halsin blinks, and something clicks in his mind.
‘I see. None of them agreed to warm your bed yesterday, am I correct? It is not necessarily that you disengaged from such… activities. But they would not indulge you.’
‘Spot on.’
Tav groans and runs a hand through their hair.
‘It is silly, I know it.’
‘It is not. After experiencing such frustrations, it is only natural to feel defeated if even those you thought would accept you end up hurting your feelings.’
With his gaze lost before him, Halsin furrows his brow and scratches the underside of his chin in deep contemplation.
‘You know, I am prejudiced against the drow myself. I am not proud of it. Not in the slightest,’ he hisses. ‘I have had negative experiences with them, and I have allowed these memories to overcome my better judgment. But now that you have come along, you remind me of what I am supposed to stand for. All forms of life are worth defending and protecting. That includes you and your kin.’
The drow’s eyes meet the archdruid’s amber irises. Regret and remorse are shimmering into them, nearly tangible. Tav understands that something awful must have happened to him for him to think in such ways. Halsin is the last person they would expect to develop such an attitude towards another race. So, whatever the negative past experiences have been, they must have cut him so profoundly that he no longer could bear to even eye a drow.
‘I like to think that you are teaching me how to become a better person, Tav,’ Halsin smiles. ‘I love that you are proving me wrong with your existence. Know that I no longer see the drow when I look at you. I see the friend who has gone out of their way to rescue children, refugees, animals, and this old druid when you had no reason to and when they were nothing but strangers to you. You gave us all another chance at life, and anyone unwilling to recognise the beauty of this gesture is a fool.’
As their heart skips a beat at these words, Tav throws their arms around Halsin, nearly weeping on his shoulder. The archdruid smiles and draws them nearer, rubbing their back with fondness. They remain in this embrace much longer than expected, finding solace and exchanging gratitude for each other’s help.
When Halsin finally pulls away, Tav’s face has gained new hues. But the older man thinks nothing of it. Instead, he pats their shoulder with a smile.
‘Once this madness is over and we have rid you of your tadpoles, and, hopefully, everybody makes it out alive, I assume you will not return to the Underdark?’
Tav vehemently shakes their head.
‘Never in a million years.’
‘Then, if you have nowhere to go, know that the Grove’s gate is wide open. You can settle here as a retreat for as long as you like or make it your home. Whatever you decide, I will be happy to see you thrive away from the claws of those who once harmed you.’
‘I might take you up on that,’ Tav laughs. ‘I think I would like that.’
‘We have plenty of time to figure it out.’
Halsin pats their shoulder again and stands up, straightening his clothes and extending his helping hand.
‘How about we offer our expertise in pastry-tasting for now?’
The drow chuckles and slips their hand into the archdruid’s, rising to their feet and walking away with the Elf, patting off dirt and dust from their clothes before stepping out of the grove towards promising treats.