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“What are you trying to do?” The incredulous voice spoke from behind, a bit too close for his comfort.
Isildin startled, the metal cutters on the verge of removing off a sizeable lock of unkempt hair. Looking up from the handheld mirror showing only his reflection, he met the curious narrowed gaze of the vampire spawn.
“What does it look like? I’m trying to cut my own hair. In peace.”
“Oh, darling...” Astarion sardoinically drawled with a thinly veiled smirk, as if taking pity on the druid. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re going to need something more robust than that thing you call a cutter. A longsword, or an axe perhaps. Karlach can offer hers.”
The druid hummed dissonantly then exasperatedly huffed as their fellow compatriots, sitting nearby around the campfire, began to laugh. As fun as their banter was (the word he used in secret, so as to not further encourage the rogue), he wanted to get this tedious chore over and done with.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be? Like being on watch so we don’t get beset by intruders?” Isildin pointedly replied, desiring to return to the place adjacent to peace. Given that total isolative peace wasn’t an option these days.
“Of course. I merely wanted to express my thoughts. Goodnight and good luck. You need it!”
Astarion waltzed off with his usual confident gait, laughter escaping from his lips. Passing by the grinning barbarian who had watched the verbal jousting with a vested interest, Astarion paused and said not so quietly. “Karlach, go sharpen your axe. Our leader needs it!”
“Ignore him, Karlach!”
“Oh, I usually do Soldier,” Karlach retorted, her grin widening to encompass her entire face.
“Good, that makes two of us!” Isildin concluded.
Prompting a round of guffaws that were quickly stifled from Wyll, Gale, Halsin and Shadowheart at the sudden pained expression Astarion developed, standing there with his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He quickly stalked off into the light evening, the laughter continuing until his presence became absent. Shaking his head mock-disapprovingly, Isildin glanced to his other compatriots. Knowing that the rogue will huff and puff for a while, before returning in the morning to blow their egos over with backhanded compliments all day.
Basically, his usual snarky self.
With traces of humour diminishing into the evening air, the others turned back to their conversation, with whatever mundane topic Gale had been waffling about. Probably from in his time in Waterdeep. Isildin tuned it - and him - out completely, as per usual. As much as the wizard had proved useful and they had gotten along moderately thus far, the guy could talk the hind legs off every mule in the region. Something that drove Isildin almost to tears the first time he had to endure a lecture.
As progress was made, he neared the time to deal with the back of his head - the most difficult part by far - when his focus was interrupted when everyone but Shadowheart suddenly stood up, loudly stating their goodnights and then split. Glancing between them as they headed off to their own tents, Isildin muttered a response in kind as his brows knitted together. It was a bit early to be heading to bed, wasn’t it?
Watching Shadowheart finish tidying up the remnants of the meal, some concoction made by Halsin that smelled odorous and tasted divine, he refocused on the task in literal hand. Now that he was almost alone, it would go a lot smoother without an audience.
Yet when she approached holding a cushion, that gave him sufficient pause.
“Let me guess Shadowheart, you want to get your two copper dragons in?” He queried, lowering the cutters but not turning. Choosing to look at her reflection instead.
Coming to a stop behind, Shadowheart put the free hand hand to her hip and adopted her classic humorous smile. An action that sparked a small surge of desire within, like every other time of late she did it.
“Too many comments to choose from, but I’ll stick with this. You look like a goblin trying to work out how to cut meat with silver cutlery.”
Her words dragged him straight back to reality. Almost choking on his surprise, which was subsumed by mild annoyance, Isildin was unsure what to take offense at first. Turning his head, he gawked at her humoured expression.
“Were you going somewhere with this?” He pointedly asked, glancing to the pillow. “I hope you’re not wanting a front row seat.”
The smile changed from humourous to sincere. “Astarion does have a point, Isildin. I know you've said several times you're a man of the wild, but you’re no longer living in a cave. You’re among civilised company."
“If you can call this ragtag bunch of misfits that, sure.”
She heartily laughed, before holding out her free hand.
Isildin bounced between confusion and bewilderment at the proffered limb. This had not been what he envisioned.
“I know a thing or two about caring for hair," she explained, flicking her head to reinforce it. The action sent the chained ponytail of midnight-black hair clinking back and forth. Much different to his natural oak brown.
He sputtered on his surprise again. Other than his own parents as a child, no one touched his hair. Not that he had any one to ever since being exiled that fateful day three years ago.
“Uh...wh...why?” He stammered, unable to formulate a proper response.
“Because I want to. Do I really need a reason?”
The seconds passed, as he tried to plumb the depths of existence to try and fathom an ulterior motive. With the mysteriousness aura she presented to the rest of Faerun, that was an abyss too deep to measure.
“I’m, um, used to doing my own hair,” he offered as a weak defence.
A mock gasp, and her hand went to her heart, as if his words broke it in twain. "I trust you with my life, but you can't trust me with your hair?”
The pained tone, despite being clearly feigned, made him quickly rethink his course of action. He weakly sighed and semi-reluctantly handed over the instrument, which was gratuitously taken.
Dropping the the cushion behind, she knelt down then patted on it invitingly. Taking position, he sat cross-legged with arms resting on his knees, preparing for the inevitable. Even so, he still squirmed ever so slightly as Shadowheart appraised the work done so far, running a hand through a few tangled locks, tutting once then twice. The fire continued to permeate the sound and smell between them, but a distinct edge appeared in both. Incense and lavender, mixed with her measured breathing, hung loosely in the still-moving air.
"How in all that is holy do you manage to do this by yourself? It’s a mess!" She admonished. "At least you had the foresight to wash it."
"I’ve managed so far. As for the latter point, even a man of the wild knows that," he retorted with a wiggle of his brows and ears. Both earning a light chuckle from his companion.
Massaging her dextrous fingers running through the strands, untangling the few knots that remained. The tugs soon became smoother. Once done, she began her ministrations. Turning his head every so often for better lighting, the raspy sound of the metal clippers punctuated the crackling of the nearby fire. The trimmed edges and curls fell like leaves in the autumnal months, as she dutifully cleared them from his shoulders and loose fitting tunic.
The minutes seemed to dance by, but he wasn't going to complain. Closing his eyes, Isildin hummed quietly to himself. The tenseness melted away, leaving Isildin to find a mote of tranquility. One that soon began to stretch and multiply.
Hells, how could something so mundane and simple become so intimate. And with someone he desired intimately, although that was a threshold yet to cross given the myriad of obstacles both overcome and standing in their way. Despite all that, including what had happened with the Shadowdruids and her almost unyielding devotion to the Lady of Loss versus his former faith to the Moonmaiden, he had manage to pierce through the hard exterior. Unveiling, much to his surprise, a kindred spirit underneath.
A mild slap on his cheek woke him right up. Looking into the mirror and seeing her arched brow, he adopted a guilty expression.
"Guessing you've never had a woman cut your hair?" she jested, her eyes alight with mirth.
“Something like that, Shadowheart,” He quietly murmured.
“Anyway, I’m done," she stated, leaning back and stretching. Picking up the mirror, he turned his head appraising the work done. Hardpressed to admit that nothing short of a wonderful job had been performed, much better than by his lonesome.
Isildin made to leave, but Shadowheart promptly pinned him back onto the cushion.
“Oh no, don't you dare go anywhere. In for a copper, in for a platinum. I'll be back,” Shadowheart instructed. Standing up herself, she oddly headed in the direction of Gale’s tent with deadly purpose.
Isildin sat there, curious at this turn of event. An inkling of what was about to happen started to form, and it actualised the instant she returned a minute later.
"Hey, hey! I like my beard!" He quickly said, motioning to back away from the implement of beard destruction.
"Sure, if you want to continue having an overgrown bush on your face," she airily replied. "I promise not to cut it all to the very root, merely tidy it up."
Settling back down, his breathing flatlined as she took pride of place right in front, less than a foot away. Taking in every detail, even though he had them memorised at this point.
"Ready?"
Leaning his head upwards, he shut his eyes and waited, despite knowing what she could do with a knife and her practiced hands. Whilst Astarion was in a whole other league, she too was deft when it came to sharp pointed objects, given the score of eviscerated throats left after battle with the goblins.
As the wetted blade made first contact, he involuntarily tensed.
“Relax, Isildin. Your life is in my very safe hands,” she said, pulling the blade safely away.
“It’s not my life I’m concerned about, Shadowheart,” he replied, peering down through a half-closed eyelid. "Like a shepherd and his flock, I've carefully tended to my beard."
Shadowheart quirked a brow and flitted down to his beard, inferring her intense disbelief at his words. He harumphed and rolled his shoulders then head, forcing himself to relax.
Putting blade back to skin, she started carefully trimming the edges.
The minutes passed by, but this time they slowly waltzed by. The level of attention given was more significant this time, given the promise made. After the first stroke however, an itch grew. Isildin continued to ignore it, until it grew too much. Taking a momentary reprieve when Shadowheart paused to wet the blade again, he scratched the area fiercely. A light chuckle reached his ears.
"Better?"
"Much."
She shook her head, before carrying on with the ministration. When his throat done, she pulled his head downward and began on his left sideburn, making him open both eyes wide. Now facing forward, it was hard to look anywhere but directly at her. In fact, no matter how hard he tried, Isildin couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. Not that he didn’t want to.
If he had to find a word to describe this moment, ‘perfect’ would be perfect.
“See something you like?” She casually prodded, her lip corners flicking upwards once again.
“More like someone.”
She laughed, before continuing with the endeavour. The silence becoming deafeningly comfortable again.
Eventually, she dabbed the towel along both cheeks. With the last wipe, he slowly blinked, bringing his mind back into the moment as she reached for the mirror again. Holding the mirror in front, Isildin could have gasped loudly had he not be so stunned. It was the most tidy it had been ever since his younger years. Almost as sharp as Gale’s own magnificent beard, given Halsin kept his facial hair non-existent.
"Your beard definitely looks better now, doesn't it?"
"Better than Gale's?"
She shrugged. "Debatable. Even if I was the best, I don't think I can take the wilderness fully out of a druid," she replied, placing the mirror to the side. With task finished, he made to get up. Only stopping when she didn't.
“Now, about payment...” She slowly drawled out the words, running a finger along his clean cut beard.
"Payment??"
"You didn't think I did this for free, did you?"
"With you, I can ne...never..." he struggle to finish the sentence, as her gaze invitingly drifted down to his lips, just like at the party several nights ago. His heart began thudding against his ribcage. You’d have to clonk him around the head as punishment if he didn't accept that invite. Leaning forward to do so, her hands suddenly clasped on his upper arms acted almost just as hard.
“I could do with some Lavender leaves, Basalm stalks and Daggerroot from your next walk."
He triple blinked.
“Uh....sure?” He replied, confusion rampant in his features and tone. He hadn't misinterpreted the signals she was giving off, right? "Whatever you want of me.”
“Good. And you may regret telling me that, Isildin,” Shadowheart breathily said, dipping her eyelids ever so slightly. "Now, here's your change..."
Putting both hands on his cheeks, coquettishly running her digits through the now tidy beard, she forcefully closed the distance. Locking lips, he lost himself in the sweet embrace. All too quickly though, she pulled back. Leaving the instantly sparked desire to fizzle out into nothingness, her once unadorned gaze was now masked by seriousness.
“I need to pray, so I'll leave you to clear up. I bid you goodnight, Issy.” Shadowheart said, playfully adding in the pet name she had started using. Turning then striding away, Isildin remained rooted in place.
Transfixed on both her and what had just happened, the sweet taste lingering on his lips. Scratching the itch that had formed again on his throat, he couldn’t help but admit one thing: he was beginning to become enamoured with her. A lot. Especially the little games that she played, trying to knock him off balance to capture his lips unawares. That he fell for it every time, including this time.
Maybe it was time to return the favour. Catch her offguard (which would be a feat unto itself).
He smiled to himself, remembering one of his mother’s lessons. Remember this, Isildin, if you ever find someone: flowers don’t tell, they show.
He’ll bring back more than her request. A whole lot more.