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Chapter Text

Almost the worst part, Shadowheart thought, was that Tav hadn’t even had to encourage her. She could at least blame them, if they’d talked her into it with that silver tongue; tricked her, somehow, like that Orthon in the Gauntlet. But no, Tav had stood there, implicitly trusting Shadowheart’s judgement with a quiet “do what you think is best,” and letting her make an apostate of herself. When had they gotten to know her better than she knew herself, she wondered.

The sun sank low over Moonrise, pink-streaked sky all the more beautiful for being the first sunset Shadowheart had seen in nearly a tenday since they’d arrived in the shadow-cursed lands. From her ridge, far above the valley, Shadowheart could still make out the village, the Towers, Last Light - and the mausoleum that housed the Gauntlet of Shar.

She’d done what no acolyte had done in a century and bested the Gauntlet, only to fall at the final hurdle, under the gaze of the goddess she’d devoted her life to. Hells, she’d not only fallen, she’d taken a dive; freed Aylin, reunited her with Isobel, dispelled Shar’s sacred darkness over the land.

And now she was walking towards Baldur’s Gate, where Mother was waiting. Shadowheart couldn’t remember, not consciously, but a patchwork of scars across her body ached at the thought of facing her as a failure.

The wound in her hand flared, purple glare bright in the twilight gloom. Pain tore through her, as if a dagger had been plunged through the meat of her palm. She couldn’t help but yelp, clutching the injured paw to her chest like a puppy with a splinter.

The pain passed as quickly as it had come, as it always did, leaving her heart pounding and palms sweaty. She blew a breath out through her teeth, rubbing at the wound ruefully.

A twig snapped in the woods behind her, from the direction of the camp she’d slinked away from maybe ten minutes ago. She’d wondered how long it’d take Tav to notice. “I’m not in the mood for a pep talk right now,” she said, without turning. “Can it wait until the morning?”

“Ch’k,” an unexpected voice said. “I do not give talks, and if I did they certainly would not be peppy. I merely came to ensure you were not devoured by the native fauna.”

Shadowheart sucked her teeth and scowled. “We just killed an avatar of Myrkul. I think I can handle some boars.”

“Boars, perhaps,” Lae’zel mused. “You have become better with your weapon, no doubt through observing me. But I have watched you face wolves, and I do not rate your chances against a ravenous pack.”

“Alright,” Shadowheart said, going to stand. “If I wasn’t in the mood for a pep talk, you can imagine how much less I’m in the mood for what I’m sure passes as intelligent conversation amongst Gith. Goodnight, Lae’zel.”

“My people consider me a traitor,” Lae’zel said, suddenly. “My kin call for my blood. I know what it is to be branded hshar’lak.”

Shadowheart stopped, mid-way rising from her perch on the ridge overlooking the valley, and looked up at Lae’zel instead. She was an imposing figure in the twilight - all sinew and lean muscle, leather harness and silver sword. Her gaze didn’t meet Shadowheart’s, instead sweeping across the valley below them.

“We finally have something in common,” Shadowheart offered. “Well, besides the tadpoles in our heads.”

Lae’zel drove her silver sword into the dirt and dropped to her haunches beside her, swinging her legs out over the ridge. “Ch’k. We have much in common. As distasteful as I find you - as weak and undisciplined as you are, as decadent and wanton -” Shadowheart nearly shoved her off the ridge. Would anyone have believed her if she’d told them the proud and mighty Lae’zel had tripped and fallen down the cliff? It was pretty dark out. 

Maybe not, but it was really starting to seem worth it.

But when she turned towards Lae’zel, she saw the faintest glimmer of a teasing grin, a sparkle in those catlike eyes. “We share a warrior’s bond, Shadowheart,” Lae’zel said. “There are few I would trust to stand beside me in battle with the avatar of a god. You are my sword-sister now, whether or not either of us wishes it so.”

Shadowheart’s brain short-circuited on hearing something nice from the lips of a Githyanki - and not just any Githyanki, but Lae’zel, who had tried to kill her on at least two occasions, and still made sneering eye contact with her across the battlefield whenever she missed a cantrip (they were hard to aim in the heat of the moment, okay? Not that a Gith whose repertoire consisted entirely of hitting things would know.)

“And so…” Lae’zel was continuing, heedless of Shadowheart’s confusion. “It is, in many respects - I bear the responsibility of ensuring - you must be ready for - ch’k.” She hissed in frustration, shaking her head as if to clear it. “Talk is important to your people. If you require… discussion… I am best suited among our group to aid you.”

“Did Tav put you up to this?” Shadowheart narrowed her eyes. Her friend could be overbearing, good intentions or no. “Hm. Never mind. They’d be too afraid of us killing each other.”

“They have not forgotten your attempt to kill me whilst I slept,” Lae’zel agreed, with no hint of malice - in fact, Shadowheart suspected that was grudging respect in her voice. “When I announced my intention to follow you, they wished for me to leave my sword with them. Tsk’va! As if any Githyanki would be parted from their blade. And I would be a poor warrior indeed if I did not possess the restraint necessary to not kill you for a ten minute conversation.”

Shadowheart said, “presumptuous, to think I could bare my soul entire to you in just ten minutes.”

“Do not bare anything to me, istik,” Lae’zel sniffed. “I do not care if you tell me everything, or nothing at all. If you wish it, I will speak no further on the matter. I simply know that nobody should be alone after an act such as you undertook in the Shadowfell. You were brave, Shadowheart. I was proud to witness it.”

Shadowheart was dumbstruck. A pair of compliments, this time - making a full hat trick, three in as many minutes from a Gith whom she had truly believed wished her dead until ten minutes prior. Maybe Lae’zel had really meant it about the warrior’s bond. She half-turned to look at her as the sun finally inched below the horizon. Lae’zel was watching it intently - almost too intently, as if she were simply avoiding Shadowheart’s gaze. She had her knees tucked up beneath her chin, her arms wrapped around herself. It made her look surprisingly vulnerable, for a woman Shadowheart had watched decapitate an ogre.

“I have known many to ascend,” Lae’zel said eventually, an air of admission to her words. Her gaze remained fixed on the valley below them. “Githyanki whom I respected. My sa’varsh - my teacher. Once, I believed she had gone to serve at our queen’s right hand, to ride a red dragon across the Astral Plane and slaughter ghaik .” She paused, swallowed hard, and when she spoke again her voice was thick. “When I learned of - of Vlaakith’s betrayal - I thought of Ben’ryl. If ascension is a lie - if we are but livestock…”

Hells. Time to do the unthinkable.

Shadowheart reached out and put her hand on Lae’zel’s arm. The Gith flinched, but gradually relaxed without making any move to remove her hand.

“I’m sorry about your shitty goddess,” Shadowheart said.

Lae’zel snorted. “And I am sorry about yours.”

It took a minute for Shadowheart to compose her thoughts. The moon had risen over Moonrise for the first time in gods knew how long, and in its silver light she and Lae’zel sat, only inches apart, her hand on Lae’zel’s forearm. Far below, the wind whistled through the pines. A distant wolf howled, and Shadowheart shuddered.

“I don’t even know exactly how old I am,” she confessed, eventually. “It feels ridiculous that that is what I’m concerned about, after everything Shar took from me, but…” She trailed off.

“It is not ridiculous to rue the loss of your very self,” Lae’zel said. “And that is indeed what Shar has taken from you. Even the fundamentals of your own life have been obscured.”

Shadowheart let out a little sigh. She hadn't expected Lae’zel to cut right to the heart of what she was feeling. But, she supposed, she had always been insightful, if not particularly rich in tact.

Lae’zel was staring at her now, those yellow eyes narrowed in an intense stare. “We will recover your lost memory together, just as we will free the Prince of the Comet. None can stand against us together.” A brief pause, a slightly rushed correction. “ All of us.”

Hearing it laid out like that, like it was so straightforward, was indeed comforting. Lae’zel always spoke with such surety that it was hard not to believe her - and Shadowheart had never known her to make empty promises before.

Once, those words had been full of piety, of devotion, and Shadowheart had sneered at the Gith’s blind and stupid loyalty to a tyrannical goddess, without recognising the same in herself. Now, under the moonlight, both of them could see clearly, the blinkers removed - but were they any better off? Lae’zel had united her people against her. Her best hope was open rebellion, civil war, challenging the immortal Lich Queen and hoping somehow to win. And Shadowheart - well, she wasn't planning to sail to the Astral Plane. But facing the Mother Superior and her cloister seemed equally insurmountable.

“I - what if I'm -”

Lae’zel did not speak. She watched Shadowheart as if she were the most interesting creature alive, simply waiting for her to continue.

Shadowheart couldn't. Lae’zel's gaze was too sharp, like it was peeling off a layer of skin and finding what was underneath fascinating. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, her eyes wet.

She scrubbed at her eyes with the heel of her palm, and said, in as normal a voice as she could muster, “what was your childhood like? In the crèche?”

Lae’zel’s gaze stayed fixed on her for a moment longer before she finally blinked. Those froglike eyes turned back to the valley, and Shadowheart could breathe again.

“Almost from the moment of spawning, we are drilled,” she said. “I was given my first blade - a short knife, dulled to the point of uselessness, hardly a warrior’s weapon - when K’liir had circled its star but three times since my hatching. Within a tenday, I had sharpened it to a razor's edge.” A smile slipped across her face. “I fancied it as mighty as any kith’rak’ s silver sword. I rode on a mighty dragon, slaughtered countless ghaik, stood before my Queen a hero - flights of childish fantasy.”

“You played?” Shadowheart asked, amused at the notion. “It's hard to imagine that. I thought you'd come out of the egg all serious and stoic.”

Lae’zel smirked. “Among Githyanki, I am considered positively whimsical.”

Shadowheart couldn't help but smile. “That's only just above friendly  in my list of words I'd use to describe you.”

“Many of my people have called me such, yes,” she drawled, the glint in her eyes the only hint at her joke. “Of course we played, Shadowheart. Even Githyanki were children once.”

The lump in Shadowheart’s throat seemed to return all at once. “I don't know if I - I mean, I must have played. Once. But - did I have friends, in the cloister? What games did we play? Did I - I mean -”

“You would have to ask Tav,” Lae’zel murmured. “I do not know the games Faerun’s children engage in.”

“What if I'm different?” Shadowheart blurted. Lae’zel didn't answer, furrowing her brow in confusion, so she swallowed down the hesitation she'd been feeling all night and said, “what if, when I regain my memories, I'm a different person? Everything I've done with you - with the group, with Tav,” she hastily amended, “everything I've done has changed me. For the better. Aylin standing back at camp with Isobel proves that. What if regaining my memories… what if it changes me back? What if I'm worse? I don’t -”

I don’t know who I am.

Crickets chirped. The wind whistled through the pines. An owl hooted. Shadowheart’s chest heaved, and she ground her teeth to keep from sobbing.

“You may not know who you are, Shadowheart,” Lae’zel said, eventually, as if reading her mind. Her speech was slow, considered. “But I do. You are the woman who helped save the tieflings, when I would have turned a blind eye to their plight in my myopic quest to find a crèche. You are the woman who insisted we save that pathetic girl from the hag. You, and you alone, saved Aylin, in spite of the cost to yourself.” Her words were coming faster now, gathering steam like a runaway engine, impassioned and fervent. “I played, yes. I swung a dagger, rusted and pitted, and imagined it a mighty greatsword; I slaughtered imaginary illithid from atop a dreamed-up dragon. And yet I also killed many of my peers, my kin, for no crime except that of weakness. Because Vlaakith told us we must cull the weak, that only the strong could survive.

“I have changed. I am enlightened by my Prince’s teachings; that the Githyanki race is empowered by all of us, standing together, wordsmith and warrior alike. Knowing my past is the first step towards reckoning with it. Towards rectifying it. My past, the abuses I suffered - that the whole Githyanki race suffered - they are why I shall become kith’rak, find my red dragon, and why together we shall scorch a path to the Lich Queen’s doors ourselves. My past fuels the engine of my fury, and I will burn her.”

She paused, her chest heaving and her eyes burning with a righteous fury. Backlit by the moon, her shoulders and mouth set, Shadowheart believed every word. “You must not fear your past, Shadowheart,” she said, suddenly gentle. “Revile it if you must. Rectify it if you can. But fearing it - ch’k.”

Shadowheart was beginning to feel that not knowing what to say was becoming her default state. But, really, that was the longest speech she’d ever heard from Lae’zel that wasn’t about how horny she was for blood and honour. And, she supposed, there was a good point there. An excellent one, she begrudgingly admitted in the (much reduced) privacy of her own skull. Sharran cults weren’t so easy to walk away from. Her past was going to come after her, like a bloodhound with the scent, if bloodhounds could be trained as assassins and worshipped an evil goddess. Her only hope of survival was to embrace the jagged edges of her past and learn to wield them - or they'd cut her to ribbons.

“You make it sound easy,” she murmured.

“It will not be easy,” Lae'zel said. “Nevertheless.”

They watched the valley in moonlit silence, before finally Lae’zel moved to stand. “You require rest. We have a long walk to Baldur’s Gate ahead of us, and I intend to keep a steady pace.” She paused, and her face did something new and complicated that Shadowheart had a horrible suspicion was a look of affection . “I cannot have my new sword-sister collapsing from sleep deprivation.”

She offered Shadowheart a hand up. After a beat, she took it, pulling herself upright - and then not quite letting go.

“When we go to the House of Grief,” Shadowheart said, quietly. “You’ll come?”

Tav had insisted on keeping their group small; normally four people. They’d said any more heavily-armed warriors than that would start to look like an invading army rather than a friendly group of adventurers, and so they rotated among themselves who’d stay at camp.

If someone had asked her fifteen minutes ago who she’d want by her side on her return to the cloister, Lae’zel would have been languishing at the bottom of the list. But now, Shadowheart couldn’t imagine facing Mother without her.

“I will delight in the slaughter of your enemies as if they were my own,” Lae’zel replied. “Their blood shall be as sweet, their screams as tender, their deaths as pleasurable. All the dragons of Vlaakith’s legion could not stop me from joining you. This I swear.”

“You could’ve just said yes,” Shadowheart said, but she couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face.

Lae’zel yanked her hand back, looking like she was trying very hard to scowl and not quite succeeding. “Kainyank.”

Chapter Text

On K’liir, a hatchling who did possess the discipline to rise before dawn’s first light was beaten soundly - a punishment Lae’zel herself had never suffered. Indeed, she was often awake before her instructors, and by the morning muster she would be already dripping with sweat from a ten kilometre run, even as her crèchemates blearily struggled to clamber from their bunks.

She had taken punishment on one occasion for being sa’varsh’inek - a teacher’s pet - which was still, even after Vlaakith’s betrayal, the greatest injustice of her life.

Now, on Faerun, she was always the first of their party to awaken, even before the elves rose from their trances. Once, she would have set to work on her grindstone, positioned close enough to Shadowheart’s tent that it was certain to wake her, but far enough that she had - what had Astarion termed it? - plausible deniability. There was no such phrase in the Gith language, but Lae’zel enjoyed the concept greatly.

But Shadowheart had been on watch last night, so she was already awake, somewhere; and besides, Lae’zel had - had recently come to the conclusion that Shadowheart was an ally worth indulging, rather than a lowly minion to be begrudgingly tolerated.

Instead, she watched the pink sky light up as the sun rose above the horizon, illuminating the unfurling sails of the fleet of fishing boats in the harbour of Baldur’s Gate as they set out for the morning. It was only the twentieth terrestrial sunrise she had witnessed, and Lae’zel was not above admitting the beauty to be found in it. While it was not comparable to the timeless iridescence of the Astral Plane, she supposed Faerun had its charms.

She forced her gaze away from Shadowheart’s tent, and back to the sunrise.

Shadowheart was… a capable ally. Without her divine magics to cure Lae’zel’s wounds, they would have fallen before even reaching the Grove. And although her mace was an inelegant weapon, Lae’zel had watched her fell many foes. Perhaps she could teach her to wield a sword, an armament more worthy of the sword-sister of Lae’zel of K’liir.

Images swam unbidden into her mind of Lae’zel standing close behind Shadowheart to rectify her technique, chin on her shoulder as she adjusted her grip on the pommel, hands on her hips to correct her stance - 

“Ch’k,” she huffed to herself. She was not some blushing maiden; it was witless to allow herself to be consumed with such thoughts! She had read of Sharrans on Tir’su slates; she knew the tactics they employed. Seduction was surely just another tool on Shadowheart’s belt. It was unclear as yet to what end Shadowheart was employing it against her, but the methods were unmistakable - ever since their talk on the ridge outside the shadow-cursed lands, Shadowheart had been - had been - had been beguiling her.

But Lae’zel was a warrior. Her thoughts were of dragons and silver, of vengeance and fury, of fire and blood. It would take rather more than the flash of bellyflesh Lae’zel had glimpsed when Shadowheart had hefted her breastplate over her head last night to seduce her.

Her tongue flickered out over parched lips. Gah. She would have to draft a report on how insidious Sharrans could be when she became kith’rak. Other Githyanki with wills less silvered than her own could easily become… distracted.

The Sharran seductress in question moved into Lae’zel’s sightline from around one of the corners of the dock they had monopolised, heading back towards her own tent. She picked her way carefully around the sleeping and trancing bodies of their allies, squatting down to pet Scratch when the dog sleepily looked up to see who had awoken him. His tail thumped against the cobbles, and Shadowheart smiled.

Lae’zel - to her horror - found herself smiling too.

Her previous dalliances had been spur-of-the-moment. A battle honourably won, the iron tang of blood and the musk of sweat in the air, blood running hot, passions needing release - too often she had taken and been taken of surrounded by corpses, still drenched in the lifeblood of her fallen foes, no connection except that of the mutual and shared pleasures of the flesh. Lae’zel had always considered plate to be the most attractive apparel a creature could don; what could be more alluring than readiness to fight?

Shadowheart stood up. Scratch laid his head back on his paws, eyes closing again even as his tail continued wagging sleepily.

She was wearing her camp underclothes. They were absurdly impractical. Githyanki undergarments were designed to have armour hitched atop them at a moment’s notice; Lae’zel could be fully armoured within a minute, if necessary. Shadowheart had to first remove her camp clothes before she could don her armour. It was a process that could take five minutes or more. If they were attacked at their camp, she would be at the mercy of blades and bows and magic. A warrior should despise indulgence, should spurn aesthetics; Shadowheart’s clothing should fill Lae’zel with disgust at her ally’s choice to prioritise comfort over caution. But instead her soft, plush, luxurious underclothes were somehow far more alluring than the breastplate she wore to battle.

Lae’zel was unused to being confused. Life was uncomplicated for a Githyanki warrior. Her allies had been clear - her kin beside her, the red dragons overhead, her Queen waiting for her to ascend. Her enemies had been even clearer - they’d had tentacles. Now Lae’zel talked often with illithids, and she had the blood of Vlaakith’s honoured warriors on her blade. But this was not the most bewildering thing about her situation.

For one thing, Shadowheart was pink. After a battle, Lae’zel’s own cheeks flushed a dark pine green with exertion. Shadowheart simply turned bright red, the same colour as Karlach, almost draconic in hue. Lae’zel did not have a name for the emotion this inspired in her, but she was - for a reason unclear to her - filled with a desire to pinch Shadowheart’s cheeks. A side-effect of the Sharran hypnotism Shadowheart was attempting to deploy on her, surely.

She wondered how easy it would be to inspire that blush herself.

“Tsk’va!” She snapped aloud. Sharran magic was relentless. She clambered to her feet and headed down to the harbour. She needed to cool off.

“There is no shame to be found in love,” Minthara said to her, entirely casually.

Lae’zel gaped - utterly unbecoming of a Githyanki warrior - and almost took a blade to the gut, which, she reprimanded herself, she would have richly deserved for allowing herself to become distracted. Minthara’s hammer glowed with radiant power and came crashing down; her assailant was pulped before he could even shriek. Lae’zel did not appreciate the artistry of the kill as she might under normal circumstances.

The battle raged on, but Minthara had earned them a little space. She lowered her stance, examined the gore on her hammer and gave the corpse a chastising look as if to ask how dare you get your blood all over my nice clean hammer, and then continued, “love is not a weakness. Finding an equal, a confederate - a partner. Two allies working in concert are often more than the sum of their parts.” She paused, and chuckled drily. “Be thankful at least that your chosen mate is not a male. I have seen that happen to good Drow, and it is never pretty.”

This was exactly the kind of tsk’va these Faerunians were always springing on her, Lae’zel thought. “What is this - this chatter?” She snapped. “I have no chosen mate, and I am not in love.”

Minthara tilted her head and raised a dubious eyebrow. “As you say,” she agreed, in a tone that did not agree. She stepped forward, sweeping the legs out from someone who was about to stab Tav in the back, and was lost once more in the melee.

The irony had occurred to Lae’zel that she had been stranded on this foreign plane with the most alien of all possible aliens; even by the standards of Faerun, their group was one of misfits, freaks, and Gale Dekarios. Minthara had been the sole guiding light of normalcy, almost Githyanki in outlook and opinion. Had been.

Lae’zel found herself suddenly concerned that whatever it was that was wrong with Tav and the others was infectious.

The raven landed beside her, preened, and then exploded. Jaheira erupted from it, brushed herself down, and said, “you know, I have been in love many times.”

Lae’zel narrowed her eyes at her. “What has this to do with your mission?”

Jaheira waved a hand dismissively. “Orin is nowhere to be found. What do we expect, she is a shapechanger.”

“Then Halsin must wait another day for rescue,” Lae’zel said through gritted teeth, reluctant to leave an ally as stalwart as Halsin in the clutches of Orin for even a moment longer.

“Ah, Halsin, he will be fine,” Jaheira said, breezily. “He is a big strong man, no? As I was saying. I think my children could tell you I am bad at love. Any affair I have is necessarily ill-advised by virtue of my involvement.”

Lae’zel’s instincts were trained for combat, not for etiquette. But even she was sensing an ambush, surely as if she’d spotted a tripwire. Jaheira had about her the unmistakable air of someone failing to appear casual, like a heavily-armed man watching Lae’zel’s every move from the corner of his eye.

“You have been conspiring,” Lae’zel said, slowly, “with Minthara.”

“And with Tav, and Karlach,” the old woman admitted easily, without a shred of contrition. “But we each of us have eyes. We see for ourselves what is right in front of us. And what we see… is you and Shadowheart.”

“Shadowheart is not -!” A warrior should have perfect control over her temperament; her voice should not be a full octave higher than usual when discussing girls. Lae’zel huffed, adjusted her tone, and started over. “Shadowheart is a capable ally. But there is nothing between us to - to prattle about like children!”

Jaheira smiled. “I said I had been in love many times. But maybe this was false. I have been smitten, besotted, hundreds of times. I am an adventurer, after all, and an old woman besides. I have had a very long time to make mistakes.

“I have been in love but once. And, hear it from someone who knows - it does not matter how long you get with the one. You will always wish you had more.” She fixed Lae’zel with a piercing look. “Adventuring is dangerous work, even more so when you have in such a short time made as many enemies as we have. If Shadowheart - gods forbid - were killed tomorrow, would you feel that you had said all there was to say?”

And with that, Jaheira turned back into a raven and launched herself skyward - a coward’s exit, Lae’zel thought, except no rebuttal was presenting itself anyway.

When Karlach sidled up to her, Lae’zel already knew what to expect. The tiefling was as subtle as a red dragon in a hatchery, and the same hue besides; stealth did not come naturally to a woman who changed the very temperature of the air with her presence. She sat down on the log Lae’zel was using as a bench, and looked at her out of the corner of her eye.

“If you mention Shadowheart, I will gut you,” Lae’zel said, just as Karlach opened her mouth. She closed it again guiltily. “Is this how courtship works on Faerun?” She demanded. “I did nought but curse her name for a tenday; we attempted to kill each other for a month, and now you - all of you - believe us to be compatible? This plane is insufferable!”

Karlach tilted her head curiously. “I honestly figured that was just how Gith romance worked,” she said. “We thought that was you flirting.”

“Ch’k.”

“Do Gith, y’know… Do you flirt? Do you know what aftercare is? Do Gith cuddle? Or is it, like, fully armoured, clanking plate on plate sex, wham bam thank you ma’am?”

Karlach didn’t wither under Lae’zel’s gaze, which had to have taken a tremendous force of will. “Armour is removed prior to copulation,” Lae’zel ground out. Most of the time, she did not elaborate.

“And leave yourself vulnerable to attack?” Karlach mock-gasped, but then she grinned. “Bet Shadowheart likes the leather harness. She seems like a gal who’d be into that kind of - hey, woah, wait, I’m sorry!”

Lae’zel - lacking any other recourse against this bawdy gossip - had gone for her sword, fully intending to make good on her earlier promise. The grin never faded from Karlach’s face as she leapt to her feet and danced away outside of the range of Lae’zel’s broadsword. “Can I sit back down if I promise not to mention Sh… she who shall not be named?”

“No,” Lae’zel said, laying her sword back down - but maintaining a grip on the hilt. Karlach sat anyway.

“So, is it safe to say you’ve never had a relationship before?” Karlach asked, after a beat. “Not just for sex, I mean. For… y’know, emotions.”

“Personal attachment is discouraged among warriors,” Lae’zel said. “Sex is permitted. Cuddling is not.”

“Whaaaat?” Karlach whined. “Cuddling rules! I love cuddling. It doesn’t even count as sex if you don’t cuddle afterwards.”

“I can assure you it does,” Lae’zel said, against her better judgement, and Karlach grinned.

“Yeah? Now I want to hear about Gith sex!” But then her grin faded and she shook her head. “Wait, hold on.” She intently examined her hand, where some chickenscratch scrawl had been written on her palm. “Encourage… open… about feelings,” she read out loud. “Lae-Lae, I just think you should be open about your feelings.”

Lae’zel’s glare communicated exactly what she was feeling, and Karlach finally wilted. “Okay, okay, okay, I get it, fine!”

Until a moment ago, the camp had been bustling. Gale had been turning a spit, Minthara sharpening a dagger, Karlach performing what Lae’zel had, on arrival in Faerun, believed to be a seizure, but now understood to be some kind of mating ritual called a dance . Now, suddenly, everything was quiet and still.

Lae’zel narrowed her eyes and turned on the spot. Something was afoot. For a second, she suspected an ambush; something stealthily picking off her companions, with her next. Her eyes darted to her tent, her sword foolishly left out of reach, propped against a chest near the flap. She considered a dash for it, hoping to beat whatever unseen assailant had picked off the camp… But since Orin (and Voss, and Astarion’s siblings, and Orpheus’ honour guard…) Gale had warded the camp tightly, promising that nothing could get in or out without his knowledge.

Her mind moved to the next possibility - an ambush of a different kind.

Shadowheart’s tent flaps opened, and she stepped out into the courtyard, stretching her arms above her head with a yawn before coming to sit opposite Lae’zel at the fire.

There was only one person who could organise all the divas of their camp into a simultaneous stealthy retreat, and Tav had been having hushed conversations with Minthara, Karlach, and Jaheira all day. Lae’zel cursed herself for not seeing this coming.

Shadowheart sat opposite her at the fire, seeming for all the world not to notice the solitude. “Good evening, Lae’zel,” she said.

Lae’zel was engaged in as fierce a battle as any she'd ever fought. The battlefield, her skull; the foe, her treacherous eyeballs. She was employing every tactic she knew, and still losing ground in the war to maintain eye contact. It was hardly a fair fight, though; the enemy had brought out the big guns in the form of Shadowheart’s plunging neckline. Belatedly, she remembered that Shadowheart had said something, and grunted acknowledgement.

“How’s that gut wound treating you?” Shadowheart continued. “I can spare another spell slot, if it’s still sore.”

“It is not sore,” Lae’zel said. It was, but no more than a Githyanki warrior could handle. And this Githyanki warrior was frankly unsure she could handle Shadowheart putting her hands on her stomach at this moment.

Shadowheart glanced up at her, expression unreadable. “Fine.”

Silence descended, the only sound that of the crackling fire and the chirping insects, the occasional owl hooting. Lae’zel’s eyes scanned the camp for signs of her allies - former allies, after setting her up like this - but she suspected the use of an invisibility spell. And probably a silence spell too, or her keen ears would have detected Karlach tripping over something by now.

“Do you think they know how obvious what they’re doing is?” Shadowheart asked, finally breaking the silence.

Lae’zel turned back to her from where she’d been staring into the darkness, trying to work out whether that shape was just a pile of masonry or Tav standing in the gloom watching them. “... Who? What?”

“The camp,” Shadowheart said. “I can barely hear myself think, normally, much less get a moment alone. Did Tav think we wouldn’t notice them all disappearing?”

Lae’zel, for some reason, hadn’t considered that it may not have been just her who had been on the receiving end of speeches from their allies. “You have been - lectured to, as well?”

Shadowheart smiled faintly. “You could say that. Say what you will about our friends, they are not subtle.”

“I was accosted in the middle of a fight!” Lae’zel imparted. “Minthara telling me about the wonders of - of -”

The word love stuck in her throat, and her cheeks felt suddenly warm.

“It’s ridiculous,” Shadowheart said. “Utterly absurd. We've only recently stopped trying to kill each other, they could at least wait a few weeks before bandying about the - the L-word.”

“We are sword-sisters,” Lae’zel agreed. “It is a sacred bond - your fight is my fight; my enemy is your enemy. But to suggest anything more than that -”

“We’re friends ,” Shadowheart agreed. “Just friends.”

“Githyanki do not - we do not fall in love.”

As soon as the word was out of Lae’zel’s mouth, the blood drained from her cheeks. They'd both been dancing around the word, but now it had fought its way from her throat it felt somehow more tangible, more real. She stole a glance at Shadowheart, who was single-mindedly stoking the fire, and got the distinct impression that she had felt the change in atmosphere too.

“Do you… really? Not fall in love, I mean?” Shadowheart murmured, eventually.

“Ch’k,” Lae’zel scoffed. “We are warriors. Such indulgences - softness, weakness. No.”

“Hm,” Shadowheart said. “Sounds like the cloisters.”

“Sharrans are forbidden from romance?” Lae’zel probed.

“Yes,” Shadowheart said. “As you might imagine, the Lady of Loss does not encourage attachments. Why don't Githyanki… is it biological? Or is it just Vlaakith’s orders?”

“It is the will of the Lich Queen,” Lae’zel said primly, before recalling she was sworn now to destroy that same queen.

“But… Orpheus allows romance?” Shadowheart very nearly managed to make the question sound like idle curiosity.

“The Prince encourages us to live,” Lae’zel said, considering. “To live beyond mere subsistence. To thrive. So… I believe he would encourage it.”

“Interesting,” Shadowheart said. “I'm not sure what Selune says about romance, honestly. I have a lot to learn… and a lot to un learn. But Aylin and Isobel certainly seem to be -”

“Loud,” Lae’zel grated. “They are loud.”

Shadowheart smirked. “They are.”

The two of them shared a brief smile.

“It's funny, isn't it?” Shadowheart said. “Two girls, each grew up in a cult, now we're free to do romance and… you know,” she waved a hand like she couldn't quite think of what else she was free to do. “And whatever else they desire. I don’t even know where to start.”

“I am not a girl,” Lae’zel snapped. “I am a Githyanki warrior.” She paused a few breaths. “But I also would not know where to begin. Especially not with a - with someone from this realm. Your kind revel in frivolity - as if all must be made unclear for you to express it!”

“And I suppose Githyanki are entirely straightforward, and not at all emotionally constipated?” Shadowheart smirked.

“I am always perfectly intelligible,” Lae’zel said. “It is not my fault that I refuse to engage in the ridiculous dance you istiks call etiquette.”

Shadowheart rolled her eyes almost audibly. “Of course.”

“Regardless,” Lae’zel said. “We simply have no time for - for courtship. Even if I could look past -” she indicated first Shadowheart, and then the world at large - “this. The inanity of the material plane. We slay underground dragons, we conduct underwater prison breaks, we fight a murder cult - I do not have time to woo y - anyone.”

Shadowheart looked at her for a long moment, and then said, “oh, well, you should’ve led with that. I understand if you’re too tired.”

Lae’zel blinked.

“As I recall it, I was right there beside you as we fought Ansur, and at the iron throne. But, well, I understand if you need to lie down after a long day, Lae’zel. And I wouldn’t want my sword-sister getting left behind the next day, too tired to -”

“I understand what you are doing,” Lae’zel interrupted. “You are wounding my pride, in an attempt to provoke me.”

“It’s called reverse psychology,” Shadowheart admitted. “Is it working?”

Lae’zel huffed. “We shall see,” she said, “who is tired.” And she stood and offered Shadowheart a hand. “Do not blame me tomorrow when you are exhausted.” 

“Promises promises,” Shadowheart smirked, taking the proffered hand with a smirk. “How are you going to wear me out?”

Lae’zel froze momentarily, her mind racing to come up with an answer applicable in the material plane. “We could… hunt and butcher a space hamster?” She nodded decisively. “We will share the tenderloin.”

“We could do that. Alternatively, Karlach rather unsubtly pointed out an old haunt earlier, if cow is an acceptable alternative?”

Lae’zel frowned. “I am sure it will not compare,” she said. “Space hamster is renowned for its flavour across the planes -”

“Oh, shut up,” Shadowheart said, and set off into the night.

Lae’zel shut up and hastened after her.