Chapter Text
The pain is so intense, Shadowheart can’t think— and yet, she can hear Lady Shar’s voice with crystal clarity. Nothing– outcast– marked.
“Do you believe the Selûnite’s lies? That you have served and I have given nothing, only taken? But you will see now, you will see the secrets I have held so carefully for you. The world will know what you are. The truth of you will be laid bare. You will be alone.”
But pretty swiftly after that, there were quite a lot of other things to be getting on with. Busy turning over and over in her head the moment when she threw the spear aside, Shadowheart didn’t think much of those final words, and soon had all but forgotten them.
§
Shadowheart wakes with bloodied hands. She does find it a bit ridiculous, later, that she noticed that before noticing that she was also naked. But as she wakes, her hands are right there in front of her, a bloody pillow for her cheek. She wakes the rest of the way with a start and jerks back, as if she can escape her own limbs.
Then she notices the nakedness, that she’s sprawled on the ground, filthy, amidst some trees. It must be the forest that borders Rivington, unless she’s been taken somewhere. Taken and abandoned? That would make no sense. Well, none of this makes sense.
Act, don’t panic. She looks around for her clothes, but sees no sign of them in the immediate area. Hesitantly, she stands. She can feel that her hair has come entirely loose from its plait and in a half-hearted gesture towards modesty, she pulls it over her shoulder to–
It’s white.
She drops the strands in shock and they spill over her shoulder, silvery-pale in the dim morning light.
What in the hells is going on?
She can feel the encroaching, paralysing panic and she forces herself to shake it off. Focus on what needs doing: figure out where she is, look for signs of what happened. There doesn’t seem to be anything in the immediate area, no weapons or spell components.
She tentatively widens her search, though it’s painful to shuffle barefoot across the forest floor. Not far away, she finds the remains of a deer, and some bloodied leaves between it and where she woke. Is that the source of the blood? Was she doing some kind of ritual? In her sleep..? She kneels down, trying to find some sort of hint. The killing was messy, no ritual patterning or precision at all.
The sudden sound of a voice rings through the early morning quiet and she nearly faceplants in the deer carcass in surprise.
“Fringe! Where are you!?”
Shadowheart momentarily considers hiding. Just until she can figure out what’s going on, because Karlach is sure to ask questions she can’t answer. But, well, she is naked and filthy. She doesn’t exactly want to keep wandering the woods like this.
“Karlach? I’m over here… I’m alright.”
Karlach comes crashing towards her, bursting through the trees to envelop her in a hug before Shadowheart can protest. Rather like Shadowheart upon waking, the fact that she has no clothes only seems to be the second thing Karlach notices.
“What happened to your hair?! Oh– uh– right, I should have thought of that…” She pulls off her cloak and Shadowheart carefully wraps it around herself. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I just woke up with it like this. The blood isn’t mine,” she says. “I’m going to get it all over this, though…”
“Psh, don’t worry about that. I’m just glad you’re okay.” Karlach glances over her shoulder, in what must be the direction of camp. “Everyone’s out looking for you, we should get back.”
“Is everyone else alright?” Shadowheart asks. “This isn’t some sort of… I don’t know, did someone come into camp? Or…”
“Everyone’s fine,” Karlach says quickly. “Just worried about you. Well, you know how they all are. They might not show it, but they’re worried. But what, um. What’s the last thing you remember?”
Shadowheart frowns, trying to recall. “I went to my tent early.” But that has become a habit, since the Shadowfell. She has had no appetite for conversations around the fire—for any conversation at all. “Oh, I… yes, I remember now. I wasn’t feeling well, so I went to sleep.”
Panic shoots through her, ice in her veins. She brings a hand to her hair, frantically paging through her mental catalogue of poisons and their effects. “Was I drugged? Poisoned? It’s the sort of thing my fellow disciples would do…”
“Shit. Maybe? Are there… no, I’m not going to try to guess.” She shakes her head and wraps an arm around Shadowheart’s shoulders, ready to steer her back towards camp. “We need to get back to camp, talk to Halsin and Jaheira about this.”
“Why them specifically? If any of our companions know more than they should about curses and poisons, it’s probably Gale. Or me,” she adds after a moment. “Only I can’t remember any of it. But nevermind that,” she presses on. She can’t dwell, she can’t think. Just keep moving forward. “While we’re here, we should try to find some kind of clue as to what happened, what I did.”
Pressed right up against her, she can feel Karlach shift uncomfortably. Shadowheart narrows her eyes.
“Oh, we don’t have to worry about that…”
She pulls away from Karlach. “You know something. What is it?”
Karlach looks miserable, but also like she knows she’s run out of evasion tactics. She taps her temple, and Shadowheat realises what she’s about to say an instant before she says, “Tadpole. We call could… we know what happened.”
It’s funny how the old training kicks in when she’s least trying. The instinct to stop, to breathe, to not let herself feel– or at least, not be seen to feel. Shutter herself. Give nothing away. Honour the Lady of Secrecy with your silence.
But then there’s Karlach.
“Fringe. You’ve gone all– Dark Lady.”
Shadowheart laughs in spite of herself, then drops her face into her hands, the feelings all crashing over her the moment her flimsy defences fall. Karlach’s arm is back around her shoulder in an instant, pulling Shadowheart close against her side.
“I’m just–” She drags her hands down her face. She isn’t crying, not yet, but she suspects it’s only a matter of time. “I’m so tired of everyone but me knowing all about what I’ve done.”
“I know,” Karlach says gently. “These little fuckers are so– I know how you feel. I mean, sort of. You think I liked having everyone get a front row view of the Blood War the second we all met? It probably saved me from Wyll, sure, but– buy a girl a drink first, right?”
Unbidden, Shadowheart’s actual first impression of Karlach leaps into her mind: the pleasant mental image of this bloodied, battle-axe wielding tiefling hoisting Shadowheart over her shoulder, carrying her across the river– well, it’s a useful distraction from everything else, snapping her out of her useless self-pity long enough to say, “Thank you.”
“Let’s get back to camp, get word to the others. You know what kind of mood Astarion will be in if he finds out he was tramping through the woods a second longer than he needed to be.”
She almost asks Karlach to carry her. Just to see what she’d say, of course. But she doesn’t.
§
Camp isn’t nearly as empty as she hoped it would be. For one thing, surely they should all still be out looking for her. But that momentary indignation is immediately supplanted by the discomfort of being looked at. Astarion’s there, peering intently at her, and Gale is clearly only pretending to be distracted casting some spell. And there’s Isobel’s searching, worried gaze. Why have they let so many damn people hang around this camp anyway? She breaks free of Karlach’s arm as soon as they’ve reached the edge of the abandoned farmyard at the border of Rivington that they’ve taken over for the present, rushing with her head bowed back to her tent to at least put on some clothes and wash her hands.
At least there’s no blood or obvious signs of destruction here. Her bedroll is a mess, kicked around like she was having some kind of violent nightmare, but that’s it.
She’s better prepared than some of their number when it comes to things like spare clothes and provisions. She was actually out on a mission after all, and suitably supplied. Astarion was perfectly happy to take what he needed off of corpses, but at a certain point, a concerted effort had to be made to find Gale something else to wear. Spare underthings are easy enough to find, but surely she had some other clothes besides her armour? It takes some pawing around in her pack before she grabs something that feels like a shirt.
She pulls it out– and starts back as if it had bitten her. The silvery-grey robe drops harmlessly to the ground. A Selûnite robe they’d found in one of the nooks and crannies of Reithwin. She’d complained loudly about bothering to take it, before conceding that it could be used for rags or bandages. Someone– surely Astarion– must have stuffed it into her pack as a joke.
Should she… wear it?
It’s the last straw. It’s too much. Even if she has been cursed or poisoned, she could fix it easily, but who is giving her the power to do so? What is she to make of a blessing she hasn’t earned, from a goddess she’s despised her entire life? But then again, how can she speak for anything about her life, when she remembers nothing of it? A Selûnite rite of passage, Isobel said, to send a child alone into the woods…
There, that’s another use for the robe. To muffle the sound of her tears. It’s pathetic, but if disciples of Shar learn nothing else, it’s how to hide when they are crying. The ones who can’t don’t last long.
“Ah, I’ve always been bad at this part.”
Shadowheart doesn’t have the energy left to be startled. She just wipes her face and turns to Jaheira, resigned.
“The great High Harper afraid of crying?” she says. “I would never have guessed.”
“Then you don’t know me well enough yet,” Jaheira says. “I have an allergy to deep feeling of any kind. I thought you might need some clothes– though I’m afraid I don’t have anything in black.” She holds out a tidy stack of clothes, dark forest green. Shadowheart takes the pile. She isn’t as wiry as Jaheira, but they’re about the same height– it’ll probably do.
“Whereas you know more about me than I do,” she says, quickly pulling the tunic on. It’s nice, actually, the fit and quality good– not what one would expect from a druid, or a Harper. “Are you here to tell me what happened last night?”
“I didn’t see what the rest of them did.” She spreads her now-empty hands. “No tadpole, remember? Lucky me. However, Halsin and I did get a different kind of front-row view.”
Shadowheart wonders whose idea it was, to send someone who hadn’t seen into her mind to explain. She suspects it was Jaheira’s herself. She’s pathetically grateful for it.
“I suppose I’ll want trousers on for this.”
Jaheira waits, her eyes politely averted, until Shadowheart turns back to her, arms folded. “Well?”
“Shall I fix your hair for you?”
Shadowheart blinks, startled. “What?”
“I’ve noticed what care you take of it, and truth be told, it’s a mess. Though I have to say, silver is not so bad a look. Here, sit down, and I’ll tell you what we saw.”
If nothing else, it’s a very good excuse not to have to look at Jaheira while she explains whatever happened. Despite her protests, Shadowheart thinks, Jaheira is actually very good at this. She sits down, and feels Jaheria kneel behind her a moment later, feels her take up her hair and start carefully working a comb through the tangles.
“Last night, not too late, but after everyone had retired to bed, your friends were awakened by your little parasite passengers. The rest of us were woken by Karlach shouting that something was wrong with you– which is when we discovered the rest of them had felt it, too. She’d gone to your tent to check on you and found you missing.”
Jaheira’s hands are steady and practised. It stirs something in Shadowheart, almost like a memory– someone else combing and carefully plaiting her hair– but then it’s gone. She shakes the thought away and forces herself to keep listening.
“Luckily, whatever had happened to you had forced you to lower your defences– there was nothing to stop their tadpoles communicating with yours, which meant they could see that you hadn’t gone far.”
“Is that lucky?” Shadowheart asks bitterly. “Everyone there, in my head…”
“I don’t think it was exactly your head they were in,” Jaheira replies, her tone wry. “It was clear something very strange was going on, but– well, let’s just say, a pair of old druids had their guesses. Halsin and I followed you, he the bear and I the panther, and found you prowling not far from camp. You had been turned into a wolf. But not the way Halsin and I wildshape: it was clear your mind was not your own. We followed you most of the night. Halsin’s big enough and I am fast enough, we kept you out of trouble. We only lost you just before morning.”
Shadowheart shudders, closing her fists around the bottom of her borrowed tunic. “This must be a trick from the Mother Superior. A punishment.”
“What makes you say so?”
“I’m… afraid of wolves. I was being chased by a wolf in the woods the night she found me. It’s my earliest memory.”
Jaheira snorts. “Then it does indeed sound like something a Sharran would do. With the change come and gone, I think it will be hard to find signs of how, but perhaps your wizard will have a way. However, there is one question I must ask. You haven’t been, ah, bitten by anything lately, have you?”
“What counts as lately?” she asks as another image floods, unbidden and unwilling into her mind: Karlach, engine newly cooled, so eager to explore her new capacity for touch and Shadowheart– despite her better intentions, despite the distraction of being in the midst of Lady Shar’s curse with a nagging sense of purpose she still couldn’t direct– only too willing to indulge. Karlach, nipping at her earlobes; Karlach leaving a bruise on her neck that was mercifully mostly covered by her hair. If anyone noticed, they didn’t say.
“Within the past month, say? Bah. I know it is a foolish question. But last night was a full moon– so it bears asking.”
“I think I’d have noticed if I were bitten by a werewolf!” Shadowheart cries, feeling a bit silly for being too distracted to notice the obvious implication sooner.
“Well, I had to ask it!” Jaheira laughs. “I am inclined to trust your intuition on this matter. If you think there is nothing more to worry about, then we will leave it be.”
“No more than before,” Shadowheart says. “I was warned that the followers of Shar would be coming for me, and I suppose now we have proof. I just… need to get to Baldur’s Gate. See the Mother Superior, find my parents, and end this.”
“Well said.” Jaheira claps her on the shoulders, and Shadowheart feels her stand. “And your hair is finished, too. Now, we have much too much to do for you to be sitting in here and sulking.”
Shadowheart turns as well, bringing a hand up to feel the plait. It’s tight and tidy, as good as Shadowheart’s own efforts. She runs her hand down it and pulls it over her shoulder. It looks so strange, so bright. Maybe it will grow back in black again?
“Tsk, stop fidgeting with it,” Jaheira says. “Come, we are overdue breakfast. If you are still embarrassed after that, I will tell you about the time I got myself cursed in Athkatla. Humiliating. But my companions forgave me.”
Just a few paces outside of Shadowheart’s tent, Karlach is waiting, and Lae’zel is pretending not to be. Karlach runs right over, looking like she might sweep Shadowheart into a hug, but stopping herself short. Lae’zel stalks over a pace behind.
“So someone found you. Good.”
“I thought you’d be relieved to finally be rid of me, Lae’zel.”
“Don’t you two start,” Karlach says, but there’s no heat to the words at all. “To celebrate getting Fringe back safe and sound, everybody has to get along today. Mama K’s orders.”
“How old are you?” Jaheira scoffs. Karlach is visibly torn between her instinct to defend herself, and her still-lingering awe whenever she’s in Jaheira’s presence.
“And who are you to go lording your lifespan over anyone, half-elf?” Astarion drawls, swooping in with his usual careless attitude. He wasn’t listening, he doesn’t care about what’s happening over here, he has just happened to arrive in time to join. Of course.
“Ah, don’t you know that archdruids hold the secrets to immortality, too? You may live to eat those words.”
“Those rituals are no more than a myth,” Gale chimes in. “Trust me, I’ve looked. Shadowheart, I wouldn’t dare compare myself to you when it comes to curse removal and healing– but if I can lend a hand, do let me know.”
“I’m fine now, Gale, thank you.”
“Are you quite sure?” Astarion asks. “I mean… no offence… look at you. Something happened, and I assume it isn’t that you decided you wanted to look more like me. I’d rather not have to go chasing after you every night.”
“He’s right, Shadowheart,” Wyll says, because of course the whole camp has wandered over by now. She’s just relieved that Aylin and Isobel seem to have the sense to keep to themselves. She still doesn’t know what to say to them, how to be with them. “We should make sure there are no lingering effects from this, or that it won’t be coming back every sunset. Everything was fine tonight, but we can’t exactly go letting wild animals loose in the streets of Baldur’s Gate.”
“From the sounds of it, you didn’t do any chasing anyway, Astarion,” Shadowheart says, arching a brow. “But you’re both right. Here.” She murmurs the words to the spell, not thinking about where the magic behind them is coming from, and presses a hand to her own chest. The Remove Curse spell sparks and fizzles: there’s no curse to remove.
“Splendid!” Gale says heartily. “Well, now that that’s settled, shall we eat?”
§
Getting into Baldur’s Gate isn’t as straightforward as it seems. It only takes watching one person get looked over by one of Gortash’s steel monstrosity, feeling the strange tingle of the tadpole even from a distance as it does so, to know that that’s a risk they can’t take thoughtlessly.
Well, that’s clear to Shadowheart, anyway. But naturally, they all have to argue about it first. While Gale and Wyll are heatedly debating whether invisibility will fool one of the Steel Watchers, Astarion beckons Shadowheart aside.
“Jaheira tells me you think that your old friends from the cloister were behind last night’s escapade,” he says in Elvish, sprawling out on the ground a little distance from the fire. Shadowheart sits down next to him.
“I supposed I’m flattered that you were worried enough to inquire,” she replies dryly. It always surprises her a little, how easily the Elvish comes to her, given she has no real recollection of ever speaking it, and certainly not of learning it. Astarion just assumed she knew it and muttered some rude comment about one of their companions to her in Elvish on the road one day, and she surprised herself by replying in kind. Did someone in the cloister teach her, or one of her parents–
No. Her– her father. It would have been her father. Her father was– is– an elf. She can remember it now, that glimpse of his face, his hair raven-black just like hers. Or like it was. And he– in her memory he transformed–
“Hello? Another one of your little episodes, is it?”
“--oh. Um, yes.” Obviously, it’s just a trick of her memory. Her parents weren’t druids, surely. She needs to stop getting distracted by trying to wade through the soup of shadows that is her mind. Forward, forward. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
“Well, I just thought, given the two of us have less-than-loving reunions waiting for us in Baldur’s Gate, we ought to… discuss.”
“What about Karlach? I can’t imagine Gortash will be thrilled to see her.”
“If I am sure of anything, it is that Gortash hasn’t thought of Karlach once since he sold her,” Astarion says, and Shadowheart is very glad they aren’t speaking Common. “He ought to be afraid of her. But he isn’t, which is why she will have no trouble killing him when the time comes, edict of Bane–” He holds up his fist in a mockery of the Banite salute. “--or not. No, it’s you and I who may have traps waiting for us. Well, you’ve already sprung one, it seems.”
“What are you suggesting? Or is this just commiseration?”
He presses a hand to his chest, offended. “I would never offer commiseration without wine to go with it. No, I just think that… well, we understand better than the others what’s at stake for us. We ought to watch one another’s backs.”
“I must be mishearing– are you actually offering to help me?”
“Only in exchange for help from you,” he replies immediately. “But… well, yes. As vile as Cazador is, at least I don’t have a god after me.”
“I really must cut a pathetic figure these days,” Shadowheart says wryly. “Abandoned by my god, cursed in the night…”
“Oh, we do need the wine if you’re going to get self-pitying,” Astarion sighs. “You know perfectly well that standing up to Shar was terribly brave. Very stupid, but brave. And it does seem that courage is a trait this little group of ours values, for some reason. I’ve come to see the use, I suppose– we’ll need it to face Cazador, after all.”
Shadowheart rubs her thumb absentmindedly across the wound on her hand. “I suppose nobody ever freed themselves through cowardice. I just never thought of myself as needing to be freed. It feels…”
“Pathetic,” Astarion supplies. “Yes, I know. I can’t decide if I think you had it better– having everything taken from you, but not knowing it– or if at least there was some dignity in my understanding exactly what was happening to me. I would have said you, without hesitation, but– I can’t imagine discovering all this is pleasant.”
She laughs, a breathy and humourless sound. “You know, I can’t say that it is. The only feeling I can remember ever having was certainty. Faith.”
“Yes, I’ve seen how very far faith has gotten all of you true believers,” Astarion says dryly. “Though that does remind me of something I’ve been wondering about…”
Her heart clenches, knowing exactly what he is about to ask, and knowing that she has no answer that she wants to give.
“Wyll and I were discussing it,” Astarion goes on, because of course he can never just ask a question directly. Build up the dread, the anticipation of emotional pain. A good Sharran technique. She doesn’t think he’s doing it on purpose. “He said we shouldn’t ask, it’s too delicate. But you can imagine, given his situation, he’s terribly curious why it is you still have magic to spare when the goddess that gave it to you has thrown you out.”
Over by the campfire, Dame Aylin has somehow been pulled into the debate. In her booming voice, she seems to be suggesting they fly in, triumphant and unafraid–! And that’s the voice of Selûne: not serenity and moonlight, not cold silver lies like she was taught. Bravado and recklessness, and a gleaming sword. Whatever Shar calls her own, she said, Selûne has equal claim to. She’d been taught that was heresy.
“It’s Selûne,” she says. It’s hard to say. “I don’t know why. As thanks for saving her daughter, or… or to spite Shar, or… I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it.”
“Power is power,” Astarion says. “What’s given can be taken away, of course– just ask Wyll and Gale– but for now, I’m inclined to agree with you. Embrace what you have and don’t worry about trivialities. I rather think the gods like it better when we don’t understand what’s going on.”
“Yes,” Shadowheart agrees with a laugh. “Maybe they do. In any case, wherever my power comes from– yes, I will use it to watch your back. And even to help kill Cazador, eventually.”
“You’re too kind.” He lays a hand on her knee. “Really. Thank you. Your Sharran friends may think they’re sneaky, but they haven’t met me yet.”
He stretches and stands, looking over to the fire with a sigh. “I must go be the voice of reason once again, it seems. And I rather think someone is waiting to have a word with you.”
Shadowheart cocks her head, confused by his insinuating smirk– but he’s barely turned his back before Karlach has sidled over, looking bashful.
“Mind if I sit?” she asks. Shadowheart can’t help smiling.
“Of course not. I’d be glad if you did.”
Karlach plops happily down to the ground, sprawling out also, but with nothing like Astarion’s studied elegance. “I love hearing you all chat in Elvish. It’s such a pretty language, I always think it makes people sound so clever.”
“Then I shan’t disabuse you of that notion by telling you that we mostly use it for gossip.”
“Aw, man. Now I’m even more jealous.” She flops all the way back, arms folded behind her head. “How’re you doing?”
“I think one always leaves a conversation with Astarion wondering if you’ve actually had the same conversation. But I’m getting used to that.”
Karlach rolls over onto her side, elbow braced against the ground, so she can look up at Shadowheart. “That isn’t what I meant, and you know it.”
Shadowheart looks away. She considers refusing to answer, but Karlach deserves better than that. “I’m… overwhelmed. I feel like if I stop to think for even a second, I’ll just fall apart. And there’s so much we need to do.”
Karlach sighs, but the sound is somehow– empathetic. Like everything else Karlach does, it just brims with– love. Light. Warmth. Everything Shadowheart was supposed to sacrifice.
“Can I be honest, Fringe? I hated seeing how you were back in the shadow curse. Working so hard to figure out what Shar wanted from you, trying so hard to be what you thought she wanted you to be. I could tell you never stopped thinking about it. And don’t get me wrong, it was selfish, too. I hated that you’d barely talk to us, that you just went back to your tent and prayed every evening. I missed you. Even though you were right there. Ugh, what am I saying.” She rolls back onto her back. “I’m saying… I’m here for you. Whatever you need to get through this. Whatever weird curses your cloister throws at you. If you want to just fall apart.”
Shadowheart squeezes her eyes shut. “That’s very kind of you, but I can’t. We need to get to Baldur’s Gate. We need to– to stop Gortash and Orin, I need to find my parents, we apparently need to save the world–” With flawless timing, the pain flares from her wound, too suddenly for her to bite back her cry of pain.
When she opens her eyes, Karlach is kneeling in front of her, eyes bright with concern.
“Can I hug you?” she asks, very seriously.
“Honestly,” Shadowheart says. “I’d much rather you kissed me.”
“Ha!” At the very centre of Karlach’s chest, her engine flickers a flash of superheated blue. “I guess that’s one way to stop thinking. And it was pretty good the last time, wasn’t it.”
“Pretty good is putting it mildly.”
“Ha. Well, it… it, uh, takes two to– whatever they say.” She clears her throat. “Uh, anyway. I’ll… once everyone’s asleep, I could… come find you?”
“Please do.”
Of course sex with Karlach isn’t going to solve all of her problems, or in fact, any of them. But as Karlach said: at least she will stop thinking about them for a night. And maybe, if she gets this out of her system, she can stop constantly thinking about Karlach, too.
§
Shadowheart has had sex before Karlach.
It’s just that, like so many things, it’s a bit complicated. She knows for certain she has done it, but she can’t actually remember doing it, or who with.
So to say that sex with Karlach is like nothing she can remember may not be saying much. But it’s not just the act itself, not exactly.
Sex with Karlach is, first and foremost, hot. Even with Dammon’s insulation, it’s not long before they’re both drenched in sweat, every kiss salty. Her fingers slide off of Karlach’s thighs when she tries to hold her, so she just has to hold tighter, her nails digging into the meat and muscle until Karlach groans.
Karlach’s beautiful body is tattooed and scarred, and someday– maybe someday she will go slowly and gently, trace those marks and those words. But that’s– not now. Now, she just wants to be fucked until her brain stops working, and she’s pretty sure she must have slept with a tiefling before because even the first time she felt not even momentary surprise when Karlach thrust her legs apart and went straight in with her mouth. The claws, of course– now digging exquisite pinpricks of pain into her thighs as Karlach’s deft and enthusiastic tongue sends pleasure coursing through her in rolling waves that make her cry out despite her attempts to stay quiet, and that leave her mind gloriously blank.
She is nothing but a body, and this is who she is, this is what she’s for— to just be pressed under Karlach’s sweat-slick weight, to be opened and caressed by her. Shar and Selûne and Shadowheart and the name she can’t recall all fall away and suddenly to be laid bare, as Shar threatened and promised, feels not like a thing to fear but a gift to deliver into Karlach’s ready hands. A gift to herself, to be herself, to just be—
It’s her last thought before the change.
§
Karlach can tell instantly that something strange is going on, it just takes her a little longer for her mind to register what exactly that something is. She feels the surge of magic that sets her engine whirring and instinctively pulls away from Shadowheart, who curls in strangely on herself, then throws her head back and lets out a roar.
Even knowing what happened last night—well, she didn’t see it, it was just a sort of an abstract idea, and so her brain can’t really catch up with her eyes, until a bear comes barrelling out of the darkness and bowls Shadowheart over, knocking her away from the still-stunned Karlach.
“Halsin, that had better be you!” she calls as she scrambles to her feet. The bear lets out a roar that she chooses to interpret in the affirmative.
“And here I was looking forward to a good night’s sleep,” comes Jaheira’s voice at her side and wow Karlach is still extremely naked and extremely sex-tousled, isn’t she. She dares to hope that Jaheira is too distracted by the crisis at hand to notice, but in the moment before she drops to all fours and transforms into a panther, she shoots Karlach a knowing sideways glance.
“Be careful! Don’t hurt her!” Karlach yells after them, because she doesn’t know what else to say. There aren’t two people less likely to hurt Shadowheart, but she can’t just… say nothing, in addition to doing nothing.
She watches their shapes disappear into the trees, and then just stands there: alone, naked, still weirdly aroused.
“Well… fuck.”
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