Work Text:
A Second Darkness
Setting: camp.
Tonight the weather is calm and warm, and camp is a clearing fringed with forest, open to a view of mountains in the north.
You spent the day out and about with the vampire, the wizard and the blade, following up some info you’d received the day before (sorted out a haunted shop, with a surprise in the basement, but apart from the book Astarion is now avidly reading there wasn’t much reward). It was a hard fight, especially when you broke through the wall into that den of giant spiders. Astarion had to be abandoned and revived later (and he hasn’t shut up about it since). A bad tactical decision – you know it was your fault – but you tell yourself it worked out and that’s all that really matters.
It was an accident he’d ended up with the tome from the secret alcove beneath the shop. He’d put all his rogue skills to work disarming traps and picking locks, and when the chest sprang open it was the matter of a moment for him to reach in and pick up the book,
That was your fault too. You don’t wish to complain (no, actually, you do wish to complain because you feel like hell!) but letting Astarion feast on you whenever he needs it; keeping Gale fed with magic to calm the beast in his chest; managing your concerns about Wyll’s taciturn politeness, and wondering where in the heck Lae’zel has got to is exhausting. And there’s no end in sight.
You’d put your hand out for the book, and Astarion actually took a step backward. “I’ll keep it safe for you,” he’d said, stowing it swiftly in his pack. At Gale’s raised eyebrow (that man has the most expressive eyebrows in Faerûn) he bridled. “It’s heavy. She’s got enough to carry.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong about that.
And now he's standing in front of his tent reading it. You were sure it was locked. But that's his power: dexterity, cunning, and sheer blatant luck, all cranked up to maximum by the blood coursing through his veins – your blood, as it happens. No wonder you’re tired all the time.
You think about confronting him, but then what would you do about the book? If things were different, maybe Gale would be the logical person to investigate its magic. But given what he’s already carrying, it would seem reckless to put him within arm’s reach of a second dark power (or third, if you count the mind worms telepathically linking you all). And it does have power, there for the taking, if Astarion can just figure out the script. But you don’t want it. Even thinking about touching the book makes your skin crawl. So you turn your mind to your other big worry. Shadowheart.
It started a few days ago after a throwaway line from Gale about “dark powers, and people who keep secrets.” Instead of brushing it off, she immediately reacted. She took your arm and turned you to face her, right there in the open, where you might have been surrounded by enemies. And then she told you it all, the words pouring out of her, released by the floodgates of her heart.
And now she’s not speaking to anyone. And you can’t get her words out of your head.
“Dark Justiciar,” she says, and it sounds like a noble title, and if she longs to see herself as some kind of cleric-paladin for her beloved Lady Shar, then what harm? She says the knowledge only surfaced recently from the wreckage of her memory, supposedly destroyed in the service of her frankly scary goddess to prevent her from revealing the cult’s secrets. But she let some secrets out that day.
She can be waspish, your Shadowheart. Sharp and impatient, suffering all of you as a necessary evil, staying with the group mostly because she perceives that you may be able to help her on her journey to Baldur’s Gate. To complete her mysterious mission. And she’s a good companion. She’s healed or revived all of you more than once, struck some critical blows, offered impatient but essentially sound advice. But she’s well named. She carries a shadow none of you can penetrate.
She’s in pain. You’ve seen it. And beneath her cloudy, conscious mind the pain is emotional as much as physical. She believes that she does her best for her beloved goddess, but secretly she fears that she’s let her down in some way she can’t quite remember. And now this new obsession. Seeking advancement in a role of prowess and renown is perfectly in character for someone so determined and focused. But you’re concerned at the implications. At what this dark path may mean, especially as you propose to head beneath the mountains into the Underdark, a place rumoured to have a powerful association with Shar worship and the Dark Justiciars.
Most of all, you dread the details you’ve gleaned from her revelations about Shar’s ultimate aim: to end all light, all life; to cover all the world with a second darkness. A return to primeval beginnings. The end of everything you hold dear. How can you reconcile this with the laughing girl, so full of life, who saved your very souls from the Absolute at the gates of the goblin camp, with her precious artefact.
You can’t lock her up and keep her safe when you're travelling every day. But can she ever be safe moving through lands where Shar worshippers held power and left gods-knows-what traps and protections behind?
She reminds you of your younger sister, raised with you in the peace of a tiny grove far off on the edge of the mountains. Silivren bore a storied name, but she had no interest in the histories and tales of the grove: the books that had eventually led you to leave your home and travel across the breadth of Faerûn looking for more. She’d rebelled against the trees and the moon alike, taking instead the dark and secretive path inward, to the life of fungi, the invisible threads at the core of all life and death. The more you’d tried to talk to her, to show your concerns, the less she’d communicated with you, until in the end she chose to stop speaking at all. The last time you saw her before leaving, she was lying in the healer’s chambers, lost in the mushroom sleep – walking in mind down pathways of the deep earth, a journey almost incomprehensible to you. No-one knew when she might awaken.
You won’t lose another sister!
As you prepare to rise, you notice Astarion put down his book and walk up the path past your equipment chest to Shadowheart’s dwelling. At a word from him she rises, and they put their heads together in quiet conversation.
Interesting. Vampire spawn Astarion wouldn’t have been your first choice to intervene, but he’s spend the last two hundred years literally in the dark. His ability to walk in the light is a recent gift of the parasites you all carry in your brains. Perhaps, then, his insight will help. In company he and Shadowheart are the worst of all your companions for mutual criticism and outright bitching. You wouldn’t have thought him capable of real emotional support (don’t lie to yourself, darling. You’ve been on the receiving end. He may have learned it as a survival technique, but he’s really very good at making you feel better). And yes, she is smiling. Her shoulders, sharp with tension, have dropped and you realise just how tense she’s been.
He lays a hand on her shoulder and she permits it! Will wonders never cease? And now she's walking towards you. They seat themselves either side of you on the big log in front of the fire. Astarion slouches, his body settling with ease into the most relaxed position he can find. But Shadowheart sits bolt upright, knees together, hands resting on her thighs, outwardly calm but still wound up tight as a spring underneath.
“It will be all right.” She’s so young. That voice, earnest and determined, backed by the iron will that got her off the ship, kept her sane even when she was locked in that pod, dependent on the kindness of a random stranger. You meet her eyes, keeping your face still, but you don’t speak. She sighs.
“I know you fear my path. Lady Shar…” She stumbles to a halt. Behind your back you feel Astarion’s arm reach out, long fingers brushing her arm. She takes a breath.
“Lady Shar’s path is difficult. Especially now, when I am certain of nothing but the need to return my charge to Baldur’s Gate.” (She means the artefact, of course.) “But I value you, and the friendship you have offered me. Without you I would be dead, or worse, and the artefact might already have fallen to the Absolute. I owe you more than you can know. Please trust that I won’t do anything to endanger you. Or any of us.”
The symbol on her hand glows blue and she winces at the pain as its light waxes and wanes. You’ve never been able to work out whether it signifies that Shar approves her actions, or is displeased. The pain passes, and Shadowheart relaxes at last. Detecting the drop in tension with his usual impeccable timing, Gale arrives with mugs of hot tea, pungent and aromatic. Your druid senses stir, identifying all the plants he has used, but you detect nothing magical. Just hot water and a little flavour.
You hand one to your young companion. She and Gale are swapping glances across the fire, one of those exchanges that wordlessly says, “Don’t you start.” Astarion slides down to the ground, putting his back against the log, and as the light fades and crickets begin to chirp the bear wanders in from the wild thickets, ducking into his lair to change and haul on some pants before joining you all.
As soon as Halsin approaches the fire you feel his massive presence lapping you all in his confident aura, and suddenly you believe that, yes, all will be well. You acknowledge him with your body: a slight change in posture, briefly inclining your head. He’s sensitive to all of your companions, but you already have a special bond with him. Approval floods you, yes, and love. There’s so much more to the big man than herb lore and a fiercely protective alter-ego. Beside you, Shadowheart heaves a sigh and you feel all the tension melt out of her as Halsin seats himself on a slice of trunk opposite and reaches out to warm his hands at the fire.
'Little sister, I will save you if I can,' you think. But all you do is to meet her eyes, smile silently, and join the gentle conversation starting up around the fire. Crisis averted. At least for now.