Archive of Our Own ^beta

It's a secret he really should have opened up about sooner- and honestly, he meant to do that- but then one night he wakes up screaming himself hoarse and it's too late.

___

Despite the circumstances, the others don't react to this outburst with as much vigor as he would have assumed- especially given the whole tadpole-thing going on. If he were in their places, Renée might have jumped to the suspicion of a transformation in progress. Then again, maybe some of his companions did jump there first and were talked down by the others. The first couple of minutes coming out of this familiar nightmare are always a blur, always narrowed down to the taste of old blood in his mouth and phantom pains across his face. 

By the time he's mostly gotten ahold of his surroundings, Renée is well-aware that he's backed himself against a tree and that the entire camp is watching him like they would a cornered, feral creature. The dagger clutched, white-knuckled in front of him isn't exactly a welcoming sight. Neither is his face, he guesses, from the way most eyes are fixed on it. It doesn't take a lot of thought to realize that his disguise must have slipped in the panic; that his companions are seeing his true face for the first time and it isn't a pretty sight. Wounds tracing his neck and up over his chin and left eye. That the eye is permanently squinted, a glassy-pink thing that can discern nothing but the vaguest of colors.

Paranoia still thrums in his veins and it's hard to wrangle control of his breathing. None of his companions do so much as twitch a finger- maybe he's already lashed out once at someone trying to calm him. The shame rushes in like a flood and suddenly Renée is gripping the weapon with an entirely different instinct. It wouldn't be the first time he's run a blade over the wounds just to feel like he has a real reason to be plagued by their pain once more. He doesn't need to do that, though- not in front of the others.

Somewhere to his left, Astarion has the gall to scoff, “Does no one in our little band of misfits know how to be honest?”

If this were a different scenario and he was saying that about one of the others, Renée would have half a mind to smack him upside the head for it. As it stands now, no one defends him. Laez'el looks like she might even agree with the sentiment. There is a tiny part of him, nestled somewhere deep in his heaving chest, that aches over this scenario. He didn't want to grow close to his companions, but it was becoming undeniable that he had . And yet there are no words in his defense, no hands outstretched to comfort him should he be rational enough to accept them. Naive of you to think they'd trust a thief , a mocking voice whispers in his ear, nobody has before . 

Before he can spiral any further, Karlach speaks up, “You're back! I can see it in your eyes-...uh, eye? You look like you again.”

“His face is wrong, still.” Lae’zel points out bluntly.

The fragile sense of peace between them threatens to shatter again, as everyone's eyes trace his scars- whether they mean them to or not. Renée has half a mind to hide them again, but his magic is still slippery and out of reach. The panic has subsided, the paranoia hasn't. Deep down he knows that he trusts his companions, but the animal in him still feels cornered. He is a woman who is nothing if not persuasive, though, and he takes a few more deep breaths.

“Can you all please return to the campfire? I can…explain in a moment.” His voice still comes out as a whisper.

(It always does, when the mask is down. He doesn't intend to let them learn that fact, though)

For a few precious moments, nobody moves and the frightened rabbit that is his heart tenses in preparation of flight. Renée is faster than most of them, he could probably get somewhere secluded and hide before anyone caught up. But then they spring to life; Astarion wanders away like all the fun is gone, Lae’zel and Gale and Shadowheart leave with a smidge more briskness, Karlach and Wyll watch him sympathetically before joining the others. Renée doesn't miss the glances tossed over shoulders in ways they must assume are conspicuous. Still, it's enough to let his muscles begin to untense and the ringing in his ears to subside.

He's safe. He's not waking back up in that hellish dungeon. His face isn't dripping with blood and pulsing with agony. The woman he loved more than life itself is not a casualty laying somewhere beside him. 

He's safe . 

And once Renée can convince himself he's safe, all of the apprehension seeps back into his bones. Each of his companions is still in sight, and even if they've given him the decency of not watching while he gathers himself together again, it's not something that instills confidence. There was a reason that Renée had kept this secret and hid his true face from the world; this is his burden. But most of all, it's the only thing he has left of the person he would have died for. If he shares that, then he is sharing her and he- he can't-

It doesn't even occur to him that he has turned into the inky darkness of the forest and started to run, not until he's curled up against a tree heaving air back into his lungs, far enough away that nothing is familiar. If it wasn't for his acute nightvision, Renée probably would have tripped and ate shit several times in this half-aware escape. Finding his way back will be another story- but that's one for later .

In the moment, Renée half-takes in his surroundings enough to find a more suitable hiding place. There's some sort of shrubbery beside him, one he dimly recognizes as harmless and thornless, and uses it as a barrier between him and the real world. It's a ridiculous impulse, but one that is hard to push away when his mind is still a jumbled mess of stale fear and phantom pain. He feels not unlike a child cowering under a blanket, as if a barrier that flimsy is actually protection straight from the divine. 

( It doesn't escape him, that in many ways he is still that child, so desperate to believe that pretending his problems have ceased to exist will make it true)

He's not sure how long he sits like that, knees to his heaving chest and skin alive with prickling nerves that might as well be thorns, with how much they sting. The sound of footsteps is an unwelcome interruption to this safety net. Renée freezes, breath held tight in his throat as they approach. The closer the steps get, the more they slow- cautious and deliberate. Someone who is both looking for him and well aware that he doesn't want to be found. It doesn't take a master sleuth to figure out which of his companions has been tasked with dragging Renée back. Within a few more moments, Shadowheart emerges from the trees and confirms his conclusion. 

She looks nearly as apprehensive about the situation as Renée feels, brow furrowed and movements tense. For a second, he really thinks that keeping still and quiet and hidden will be enough. Shadowheart is the last person he wants a confrontation with like this, because it's been abundantly clear that she is getting harder and harder to lie to. But the Gods have never looked kindly upon him before and they must not intend to now- because despite his stillness, those sharp, green eyes find him regardless. He should have known better than to hide from the night itself- Shadowheart is more at home here than even a rogue such as him. To Renée this is his element, but to her it is faith . For a moment they eye one another warily, a couple of stray cats debating the merits of posturing or a real fight. 

“Are you going to make me crawl in there after you?” She asks at last.

Posturing it is , he thinks dimly. 

“No one's forcing you to fetch me home.” He says, soft enough that Shadowheart leans closer to understand, “Saying you couldn't find a thief in the dark is hardly a suspicious lie.”

“I opened up about which deity I served, because of your prodding I might add, I'm not about to let them think I'm not even a proper Sharran.”

“I didn't prod.” 

The so don't think you have leverage over me right now goes unsaid. While he might prefer to get straight to the point when it comes to their shared quest, Renée is not above veiled threats. He can play these games far better than even the most silver-tongued devils- whether he prefers to play them is an entirely different story. If she thinks him unable to navigate a verbal snare just because it's not his first choice, then she's going to learn that lesson very quickly. With eyes like chips of broken glass, Shadowheart stares him down just as stubbornly. It would be attractive if it wasn't so damn infuriating at the moment. 

“Rather hypocritical of you to lecture the rest of us about truthfulness, only to run when it comes your turn.”

Renée bares his teeth weakly, “I only lecture when it puts our party in danger to be kept in the dark. Never once did I suggest that you had to reveal your faith.”

“Who are you to judge whether your own issues put us in danger?” She counters, “Surely Astarion thought it in his best interest to hide his vampirism, just as Wyll couldn't be honest about his patron. That didn't stop you from voicing disappointment in them.” 

“This is different.”

“Really? Enlighten me, then. What makes you the exception to your own ridiculous rules?”

A painful, searing anger strikes at his heart and he knows that he's being goaded into talking. In a more level-headed moment, Renée would be smart enough to avoid that bait- but right now his chest still aches and the urge to drag someone else down with him is hard to ignore. He crawls from the bushes with a measured slowness and glares up at Shadowheart once he's finished. She has several inches on him, which makes the intimidation perhaps a tad less effective, but what matters is that she understands this is not a victory for her. More than anything, Renée wishes he had the gall to be callous to her in turn. To remind her that out of everyone that kept secrets, she was the only one he didn't express disappointment in, so how dare she think she has a leg to stand on in this debate? But that's a point she can argue on- something closer to the truth will push her back into a snare of his own.

“I'm the exception because everyone that is tied to this nightmare is dead .” He spits with enough venom that, despite her obvious effort to remain impassive, Shadowheart takes a step back. “My tortured past can't come back to bite anyone else.”

When she doesn't respond, he continues with a sneer, “No witty retort? No more prodding ? I thought you Sharrans adored that kind of tragedy.”

A flicker of anger passes over her face, but it's gone just as quickly as he recognizes it. His own rage is still simmering and that means he struggles even more to decipher the look that has settled on Shadowheart's features. Renée, for all his successful pursuits in the world of deception, has never particularly understood how to read another's face. Body language he can parse in the same way one can read an animal's movements before they make them. Reasoning based on one's past- well, he's rather adept at making risky predictions that pay off in the end. But faces? Renée doesn't even like making eye contact most of the time. 

So, Shadowheart watches him with an expression that is clearly screaming something , he just isn't sure what it means. It's almost enough to make his confidence waver. But it's been long enough that Renée can feel his magic skittering back into reach and it's second nature to slip the mask of indifference back on along with hiding his scars. If her bizarre new expression was meant to give her the upper hand again, then he's not allowing Shadowheart the opportunity to take it. The second his face changes, a frown splits her stormy features.

“If your secrets aren't dangerous, why hide your true face?” 

“Danger isn't the only reason to hide.” He says, soft and sharp as kitten claws, “Why let your goddess take your memories?”

It's her turn to glare, “I don't like what you're insinuating. Giving my memories up- that was an act of trust in the divine. It has nothing to do with hiding .”

“You understand, then. There are parts of your being that you decided were only fit to be seen by the person you hold in the highest regard.”

A glimmer of recognition sparks behind Shadowheart's eyes, “And who do you hold in the highest regard?”

Renée looks off into the middlespace for a few moments and considers ignoring the question. Or lying, he's always been exceptionally good at lacing his every word with false sincerity. Despite her beliefs, he's fairly certain that even Shadowheart would fall for a well-considered trick if he put his all into it. Lies are easier to miss if one prefaces them with a little bit of honesty; a skill that most other con artists fail to utilize, in Renée's experience. But when he looks back and sees his own exhaustion reflected in forest green, he knows that his tongue will betray him. Damn him, he's always been weak for women with dark hair and dark eyes and a hint of mystery. 

“Her name was Lethe and my heart died along with her.” 

“That's a tad overdramatic, don't you think?”

There's humor in her words, light enough that he can tell it isn't meant to be truly mocking. Shadowheart takes a step back and looks around, before settling her gaze on a fallen log nearby. She moves to sit and then gestures for Renée to join her. The lack of instinctive distrust surprises him- given his earlier flight, he should be wanting to put as much distance between them as he can now that her guard is down. Instead he follows after her, feeling not unlike a starving dog desperate for an owner to follow, and leans against the decaying wood. Being able to stare into the darkness rather than Shadowheart will make this whole ordeal easier, at the very least. He'll take anything that makes him feel more in control, even if he knows it isn't true in the back of his mind.

“So, who was this ‘Lethe’?”

“The fiancée to a very powerful name in the world of crime, when I met her. Although, we didn't meet on technical terms- rather we got into contact when I was…” He pauses to search for the right words, “Do you remember when I mentioned working in espionage?”

“Was espionage before or after professional jailbreaking?”

“Before. The jailbreaking was an on-and-off gig, though, but spywork started long before I delved into that. Uh, anyways- I was put into contact with Lethe because of a clerical mishap during that time. We became…I guess pen pals would be the most accurate term for the beginning.

“Of course, this communication went on for years. We talked about anything and everything…it was like having a secret diary that was another person. I'm not sure when things changed on Lethe's side, but I fell pretty fast just for the way she wrote about things and talked about her life. I knew I was done for the first time she confided that she hated her fiancé, though, and that she was beginning to wish she had a way out of our lifestyle- crime, that is. It wasn't wise, but I told her how I felt and promised I'd find a way for both of us to escape.”

“All of that without ever laying eyes on this woman?” Shadowheart asks, a little incredulously.

He smiles softly, “Don't sound so shocked. It's…I know these sorts of romances might as well be fairytales, but you must remember how long it took to develop. You spend years getting to read someone's every innermost thought, and give all of yours in turn, and then tell me whether or not it's unrealistic. I'd never seen her to that point, but I loved her with every bone in my body.”

“There wasn't a fairytale ending, though.”

He's presented with another moment that, under any other circumstances, Renée might have opted to stay silent. It's abundantly clear that this story doesn't end well and he certainly doesn't need to confirm so outloud for Shadowheart to understand that. But she was right in pointing out that, as of late, Renée has been rather hypocritical in his position as de facto leader to their group. It wasn't a role he would have picked normally and yet he's fallen into it all the same. They trust him to speak when needed, even if that means lying through his teeth like the rogue he will always be, and to make tactical decisions in the moments before battle. Perhaps studying the way others move through life so effortlessly has made that easier, becoming the mastermind to their quest. But he can't lead them and hold them at arm's length forever- not if he wants things to continue to flow as smoothly as they are now. 

“No, there wasn't.” He says at last, “It's…a long story, but the gist is that when her band of criminals went to sweep a particularly notorious dungeon, I was to meet her there and we'd disappear. She'd be written off as another casualty of the mission and no one would come looking for us.”

“What went wrong?”

Renée traces the scar across his throat, “I don't know. Some sort of fight broke out and I was nearly killed. Lethe was killed. My assumption is that I got the lovely gift of severe head trauma during said fight, because everything that happened inside the dungeon itself is lost to me.”

“And that's where you got your scars…?” Her voice is almost as soft as his own.

“Mhm, the nightmares too. Woke up in the dark, covered in blood and surrounded by the dead. The fact that I managed to drag myself out of there and to a healer before I bled out or infection set in is honestly a miracle.”

He doesn't add but most of the time I wish I hadn't, but he thinks it all the same. To rot away beside Lethe seems like a more fitting end then whatever these tadpoles will do to him, should their valiant efforts to remove it fail. Silence stretches between them for several minutes and Renée almost feels like it might have been worth opening up about his past. That maybe he's even going to start feeling better about it. But then something clicks in Shadowheart's mind and she turns to him suddenly. It takes a considerable effort not to flinch away from the sudden attention.

“Renée…you don't remember anything that happened in the dungeon?” She continues the very second that he nods in confirmation, “And your plan was to meet Lethe, for the first time, in the dungeon?”

He doesn't like where this is going, but he dips his head anyways.

“Then how do you know Lethe died there? You wouldn't have remembered which body was hers based on sight.”

“I just do.”

“But she could have-”

“Shadowheart.” He cuts in with that soft, dangerous edge to his tone again, “She's dead. I checked every body there, I memorized every face. Believe me, I wanted more anything to be wrong, even if I knew in my heart that I wasn't.”

She purses her lips, “And what confirmed it?”

She's too clever , that voice in the back of his mind hisses as Renée squeezes his eyes shut, she knows how to hear the words you purposefully aren't saying . His line of work builds up a certain set of survival skills- it makes it so that a cunning thief doesn't fall for the same tricks they employ on others. This conversation just makes it all the more clear that traveling with Shadowheart is dangerous . She's an ally built from necessity and now she knows how to see through his games. If there ever comes a time where Renée needs to hide something from the group for his own self preservation…it will be that much harder to do, so long as she's there to witness it. 

If he was smart, he wouldn't indulge her any further.

If he was smart, Renée never would have taken over as the leader of a group of strangers.

If he was smart, he would have known better than to court danger and Lethe would still be alive.

So instead he admits, “The visitor in our dreams. I don't know if she looks different for each of us, but in mine she looks like Lethe- I know because it's a face I saw in that dungeon.”

“And there's only one reason she would choose that particular face from your memories.” Shadowheart concludes, with a faraway frown.

“Funny, isn't it? That I've lost memories I would do anything to get back and strange beings can pick through them all they want.”

“But why even want them back?” She shakes her head disbelievingly, “I mean, you know Lethe is dead. You already have nightmares over it. Surely it's for the best that you can't recall the worst of the details?”

Renée leans back and studies her, an action that she clearly isn't expecting- as she refuses to meet his gaze and tenses up like a taut bow. When she'd first explained how the bulk of her past had been locked away by Shar, he had considered that something of a bonding point. In his experience, amnesia had been the type of affliction that haunted him more than anything else. He obsessed over parts of his mind he may never get back, poured over old wounds time and time again, just in the vain hope it would bring something back. But Shadowheart…her relationship to amnesia was a wholly foreign concept to Renée. Even now, she looked upon his secret pain and asked a question he could hardly conceptualize; would knowing what happened that day fix how he felt or make it worse?

“I'm not sure you could ever understand why I want them back.” He says honestly, mindful of how it might sting, “Maybe I'd choose your way of living, if things had been different. But the reality is that I didn't get to choose whether or not I'd remember her. Our views of the situation just…aren't able to align.”

“Whether or not I think it's the logical choice has no bearing on my ability to understand the mindset.”

“Of course.” Renée responds with enough false-placation that she pulls a face.

Shadowheart sniffs and looks away, “Fine, keep mocking me. See if I try being nice to you again.”

He bumps their knees together lightly in lieu of answering. Despite the heaviness that lingers in his chest still, Renée can't deny that there is a part of him that feels better for sharing this story. It hasn't been easy to travel with the group and listen to others flirt or rib one another over their taste in partners, only to know that he would have nothing to say if the attention switched to him. Renée swore to himself early on that he wasn't going to love someone like that ever again- not only would it be painful if he lost them again, he's not sure if he could ever be with someone and not hold them up to Lethe for comparison. It wouldn't be fair to ask a new partner to live in the shadow of what he lost forever. These sorts of conversations would be a quick way to kill the mood and their party has enough seriousness to focus on already.

But it was… freeing to finally have someone else who knew what he'd gone through. Renée had spent so long hoarding those last, terrible few memories like a lifeline that he'd become oblivious to how much weight they crushed upon his shoulders. He glances over at Shadowheart, glad to see that she seems to have picked up on his quiet apology- enough so that her expression has softened. The fact that she's the companion he's the most fond of will remain his secret, for Shadowheart certainly doesn't need anymore compliments to her ego, but Renée has a feeling she might be close to figuring it out regardless. Hells, even the rest of the camp must have an inkling. Why else would they have sent her out here after him in the first place? 

Fuck , he needs to think about something else before that rabbit-hole-of-a-thought makes his nerves skittery and anxious again. The last thing he needs after all of this is for people to assume he's willing to catch feelings for someone else after everything he's been through.

“Can I ask you something?”

Shadowheart glances sidelong at him, “The need for permission beforehand is off-putting, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. What do you want to know?”

“It's nothing serious.” Renée insists quietly, “I just…am not always the best at reading faces and I'd like to get better. When I was…kind of antagonizing you, before I hid my scars again, you had this look that I couldn't figure out. What was it?”

She watches him for a long few moments, looking almost stricken, if he was interpreting things correctly. This in and of itself becomes another confusing moment for him- Shadowheart is not a shy person. In fact, she's rather abrasive and unflinching, if Renée is being honest with himself. But this reaction certainly borders on embarrassment, or even discomfort. Eventually, though, Shadowheart puffs out a quiet sigh and looks away. Her expression is somewhere between a fond annoyance and sheepishness.

“This might sound a bit ridiculous, full disclosure.”

“I won't laugh if it is.” Renée says seriously.

“You know, I wasn't worried about that before, given I can probably count the times I've seen you laugh on one hand. But the assurances have me a bit concerned now.” She snipes, seemingly more out of habit than malice, “Regardless…let's just say I was…intrigued by your letting loose. I was beginning to wonder if you had any bite to you at all, with how much you try to make us all get along.”

“Bickering doesn't make for a quick or seamless quest, Shadowheart. The rest of you are so ready to waste time arguing, it's kind of unreal. We're on a time limit-”

She sighs again, “Save the lecture for another night. That wasn't the point of this conversation.”

“Right...so, your expression was just…interest?”

“Not exactly, if you're about to get your hopes up. I'm just pleasantly surprised to learn our peace-making leader can get mean when he needs to.”

Renée pulls a face, “You just listened to the terribly sad ending of my last relationship. I'm not about to be getting my hopes up over anyone's interest, ideally, for as long as I can manage. That wasn't the type of interest I meant.”

“That was a joke.” Shadowheart says with an exaggerated slowness, “You don't need to get all twisted up over it and you don't have to explain yourself to me. The simple truth is that I liked seeing you angry- I think it's something you should do more often. Maybe more to the others than to me, though. I like getting my way too much to encourage that .”

“I don't think the others would handle me being angry very well. It might give them pause, but you're all quite content with arguing until you're blue in the face.”

“If you don't fight back, how do you even manage to lead us?”

“Oh, it's quite easy, really.” Renée can't fight the way the corners of his mouth pull into a grin, “I'm very well-versed in tricking the lot of you into believing you had my ideas first. A few well-placed comments throughout the day and you'll arrive at the conclusion I want by the time it's needed- and then no one even thinks to argue with me.”

Shadowheart has the grace to almost hide the look of half-impressed, half-dismayed surprise that takes over her expression. There are a precious few moments of silence where he can practically see the way she is going through the past few days internally with a new lens. Renée figures this reaction alone is likely worth the fact that she's going to be a bit more difficult to pull strings with now that she knows what sort of games he's playing.

“Forget any doubts I had about you, Renée. You may even be more wicked than I am- and I've been trained to do that sort of thing.”

He makes a noise of mock-offense, “You had doubts ? Please tell me you at least considered me more clever than Astarion.”

“I thought you a poor, soft-hearted excuse for a rogue.”

“Well, at least I can rest easy knowing that this tadpole hasn't interfered with my ability to bait a trap.” Renée says, “You all walked right into that one beautifully. Let's hope the others don't figure it out anytime soon or I'll lose all my leverage.”

“Speaking of- what are you going to tell the others? About your outburst, that is.”

Renée freezes for a moment and then heaves a sigh, “Fuck. I do not have it in me to recount all of that again tonight, but they won't leave it alone, huh?”

“You know…” She glances at him thoughtfully, “I could tell them.”

“Ah yes, Sharrans and their secrets. I didn't realize that applied to spreading gossip about said secrets as well as keeping them.”

“Look- that's not what I meant. I'm saying I can help you out here, so that it benefits both of us.” Shadowheart says in a way that makes it sound like they're scheming, “We go back to camp, you go right to your tent without saying a word. Put on the air of someone who's gone through hell. When they flock to me for answers, I get to tell them whatever bits and pieces of your story I see fit. The rest stays here, between the two of us.”

“And how does that benefit you ?”

She flashes a grin, “I get to keep some of your secrets to myself, like a true Sharran as you keep pointing out, and I get to hold something I know over everyone else's heads.”

“You're a little bit unbelievable, you know that?” Renée struggles to keep the laugh out of his voice, “Fine, I'll accept that deal. I have a request, though.”

“What's that?”

“Don't tell them Lethe's name. She's…I've spent a long time with her name and these scars being the only things I had left of her. I'd prefer it if I could hold onto the fact that her name rests only on my tongue for just a little longer, until I'm prepared to share her with others again.”

“I can do that.”

Shadowheart doesn't point out that she's said Lethe's name now too and that his logic here is faulty. It's something he appreciates more than he could hope to convey, so Renée opts to leave it unsaid just the same. In the following silence, he becomes acutely aware of the way she continues to study him from the corners of her vision. Something that is disturbingly reminiscent of the way a predator might try to convince its prey that it isn't planning on pouncing anytime soon. There are more observations incoming, of that much Renée is certain. People focus so much on insisting themselves above animal instinct, simply to convince themselves that a higher intelligence makes them immune to such things, but the behavior is there all the same. It would do their party some good for him to point this out to people like Shadowheart or Astarion, who excel at mind games more than brute strength. If someone other than Renée reads them half as well as he does, that could pose problems.

A job for future him, when his mind is sharper and everyone's focus is not on his animal instincts.

Shadowheart speaks up at last, “You speak rather differently when you're…debilitated.”

“I'm not debilitated right now.” He pulls a face, “This is- I'm not sure how to describe it in a way that makes sense. This is just… me . No games, no carefully choosing every word so that I can be understood.”

“Is there a particular reason you don't speak like this more in camp? I mean, it's not like you have to put up appearances if it's just us. We're stuck together regardless of what we think of each other.”

Renée considers this for a moment, “It's not that I'm trying to make everyone perceive me as something I'm not. Talking is just…hard. Bonding is hard. I don't like it and it's easier to play a role than it is to be myself. If I didn't keep this internal mask up, our quest would take longer- trust me.”

“Alright.”

The answer is short and curt, but not particularly affected. Shadowheart holds herself in such a way that he's inclined to believe there's more she wants to say on the matter. However, it is late and Renée thinks she's smart enough to realize that he was shutting the conversation down- in his own, quiet, precise way. Less about the words that were said and more about the words that weren't. Tonight they'll return to camp and he'll wordlessly retreat to the safety of his tent. Tomorrow they'll wake up and Renée will be back to short, concise responses with no flow and no heart. His tone will be deadpan, his face will be stone. This evening was an outlier. Shadowheart watches him with an expression that says she suspects this already. 

This evening was a reprieve, but it will not happen again if he is careful.

( It can't happen again , his heart whispers, nearly unheard, you don't escape fate twice )