Chapter Text
Lost In The Light
Chapter 1 - Octavia
Octavia de Arnise followed the Harpers through the twisted woods of the Shadow-Cursed Lands with an increasing sense of dread and an even deeper sense of disquiet. Tugging absently at her tabard and fiddling with the straps of her shield, she wracked her brain for some reference to the Shadow-Cursed Lands. This blighted land was too big, too foreboding, too much a menace to free navigation for her not to of at least heard of it. It should have at least been mentioned in her briefing before she left Athkatla. Shouldn’t it have been? Maybe it had been but she was just one of many junior knights riding north to Baldur’s Gate and Rickon had been looking exceptionally attractive in his new and exquisitely tailored tunic. So it was possible it just slipped between his broad pectorals and bright smile.
The possibility could not be discounted, Octavia knew that. She knew full well she was not the best of students. There was nothing wrong with the quality of her mind – no daughter of Keldorn de Arnise could fail to at least approximate the great mage’s mental acuity – only the differential quality of her attention. Her mind slipped from the dull to fascinating like iron shavings to a lodestone. Lessons in history and geography, while nominally important, lit pale candles to fieldcraft, swordplay and horseback riding. Blades trumped books every day. That burden only worsened once she discovered the other uses for a young and athletic body beside sport and fighting.
Not that she considered herself an unserious person. She took her oaths to follow the paths of Justice and uphold the ways of Tyr very seriously. She thought of them often, especially of late with the increasingly complex relationships in the party she traveled with, especially with the now openly pledged Sharran cleric Shadowheart. She knew the other woman was not as fully committed to the Dark Lady’s path as she seemed – there was too much kindness in her heart. She knew her most famous ancestor would approve of her efforts to free Shadowheart from the clutches of the Lady of Secrets. After all, what greater win for Justice than bringing someone back from the path of Darkness to the way of Light?
That Shadowheart was distressingly attractive did give her pause, forcing her to search her heart to ensure it was more than just passionate justifications instead of personal truth. So far she believed herself true and at each morning’s prayer she’d felt no disapproval from her patron. She took that as at least tacit approval to keep on her path, provided she kept a wary eye on the potentially dangerous territory it passed through. Much as she continued on the broken path of cobble and dirt before her.
It had been a road. There had been a town. As she mined her memory, she could swear that she’d seen a town right here on the maps her mother kept of her adventures northward and on those of the Order Hall in Athkatla. There should be a town here, she knew it. Not a century old shadow blasted wasteland.
Yet here it was. Everyone around her, every member of her traveling party saw nothing wrong with it. She’d buttonholed Gale as soon as they’d left the Underdark and the ‘great wizard’ assured her that yes, the Shadow-Cursed Lands were here and had been here for a long time despite the efforts to dispel it from a number of sources.
There was no doubt that it was real. She was physically, painfully here. She’d slammed The Blood of Lathandervinto the face of it and watched it burn. Yet in her soul, it felt unreal. But perhaps that was just another element of the tadpole’s curse and the Dreamweaver’s machinations. No one that beautiful who showed up in one’s dreams could be trusted.
“We’re almost there,” the lead Harper, Lassandra said as she led the way, torch aloft. As they rounded the next tree, there suddenly bloomed out of the darkness. A shining dome of opaline light sprung out of the ground before them. She couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath and the stuttered step. She wasn’t the only one. She heard Karlach’s softly cursed ‘wow’ and Gale gasp with excitement.
“By Tyr…”
“Come. This shield holds off the shadow. More will be explained inside. Where it is safer.”
“Safer sounds better to me.”
One by one they passed through the shield. Octavia took a deep breath and stepped forward. She expected resistance, some pressure or something but nothing met her but cool, still air. Air and the distinct feeling of pressure being lifted. Her shoulders squared and back straightened as weight lifted off her shoulders. As it disappeared, she realized how heavy the weight had been, how deep it had worn on them. She wasn’t the only one who felt that way either. Karlach sighed with relief, Lae’zel let out a little chk of a cough and Gale blew out a sigh. The only one who seemed discomfited was Shadowheart who gasped softly and clutched her hand in that familiar way. Shadowheart studiously did not look at her when she looked back. She wasn’t surprised. Whatever pained her was not something she was yet ready to talk about. It must be linked to the shield, something obviously interrupting Shar’s power here.
While she didn’t wish Shadowheart any pain, in this case, she also couldn’t regret it. Being free of the darkness was worth it. She didn’t want to suffer the same fate as that druid...
The party crossed an old, somewhat decrepit bridge and headed towards a large three story inn, ringed with a stout low wall and surrounded by the usual outbuildings. All of the buildings were battered but for the most part intact. Any further assessment would have to wait as she caught sight of the armed men and women appearing at the gate, behind the wall and pouring out of the main inn building. They were differently armed and armored, a veritable hodgepodge of militia looking fighters but even the most cursory glances spoke to the training. The archers in the back stood clear of their front rankers. A man who had to be a mage had two surprisingly burly friends standing by him and was well behind a makeshift barricade of a broken wagon. No doubt this was a strong point, as fortified as one could make a base without actual fieldworks being erected.
Well, her parents always said Harpers knew their business.
Lassandra spoke to the gate contingent, explaining how they had come to their aid. The glances were hostile and suspicious but she couldn’t blame them. She would have a hard time trusting much that was going on in the stygian darkness they just emerged from. A stygian darkness she could barely see into past the shield keeping it out. After a short argument that had the feeling of ‘we’re kicking this to the commander’ they were all let in.
“Lovely little fortress we’ve found,” Octavia said as her companions fanned into a loose skirmishing line as they entered what was obviously the first killing zone.
“The magic holding the shadow at bay is frankly fascinating,” Gale mused, less than half his attention on the world around him as he stared into the sky.
“It… it is divine in nature,” Octavia remarked, the sense getting stronger the further inside the shield they went.
“Yes. It is.” Shadowheart said curtly, her mouth thinning into a line that said she would say no more.
“The commander will have questions for you,” Lassandra said as she headed for the wide porch that once would have looked welcoming before the woodwork had been bleached gray.
“Of course…” Octavia’s voice trailed off as the door opened once again.
A lithe figure emerged from the warm light within. Rangy and wiry the woman was, her hair pulled back in tight cornrows, silver bright in the light. The backlight of the light and fire within shadowed her face, but with the indomitable stride and the slight cock of the head it could be no one else. It couldn’t be.
Heavy chains of fear and doubt started to slide off of Octavia’s shoulders. The now familiar knot of uncertainty that had been twisting her guts since she woke on the illithid ship unwound so quickly her head started to spin and her heart started to race. Without even thinking, she started walking towards the other woman, wanting – no needing to see her face.
People gasped around her. She heard one of her companions shout her name. Challenges were shouted by the other Harpers. Bows were raised. Shields braced. She knew she should care. This was a dangerous time. A dangerous place. A heavily armed, unknown woman rushing towards their commander should be a concern. But there was nothing to worry about. There couldn’t be.
The woman, undaunted, stepped away from the door and porch and fully into the torch light of the interior of the camp. The elfin ears, the sharp eyebrows, the aquiline nose and the sharply pointed chin bloomed out of the darkness. Slanted green eyes looked out from silvered brows, eyes narrowing at her.
She was just as surprised. Of course she was. They had no reason to expect to meet here of all places.
Octavia was only a few feet away when the ground suddenly exploded underneath her. Vines tore out of the broken ground, wrapping around her feet and ankles like steel cables. The vines yanked her up short, her legs complaining as she pitched forward, nearly toppling to the ground. The only thing that stopped her was how far up her hips the vines now reached. She snapped back, eyes wide.
“Auntie Jaheira?” she asked, her voice cracking with surprise and shock. When she met Jaheira’s eyes, her mouth fell open.
She was staring at Jaheira. At the face that smiled down at her as a young girl. Who sparred with her even as a child barely big enough to hold a training sword. Who listened seriously when she spoke of wanting to follow in the footsteps of so many of her family and become a paladin with true understanding and even deeper sigh. The woman who tried so valiantly not to look on with pride when she finally took her oath as a member of the Radiant Heart.
It was that face. It was Jaheira’s face. But her eyes, her eyes were narrowed with suspicion, not recognition. Of course...
Ripping her right hand free of its vine wrapped gauntlet, she yanked open the straps of her helmet and tore it from her head. As the metal clanged unceremoniously on the cobbles, she shook out the wild, sweat tangled pile of auburn hair underneath. She scrubbed her hand at her face, smiling brightly. Broadly. Wildly. Desperately.
“It’s me Auntie Jaheira”
“Tav.”
“Octavia.”
“Octavia de Arnise. Keldorn and Melinda’s youngest daughter?” She leaned forward, thrusting her face more into the light. “It’s me!”
Jaheira took one and then a second step closer, leaning into the light, her bright green eyes narrowed and searching. The half-elf peered intently, head turning to the side in that way she did when she was trying to fit some piece of information in that made no sense to her. After a moment, her mouth thinned, her neck straightened and her hand drifted to her scimitar.
“I do not know you,” she said, her voice flat as stone. “I do not know what True Soul game you are playing with long forgotten names, but be assured…” Her voice snapped like a winter storm raging down the slopes of the Cloud Peaks. “I will find out.”
“But… but…” Octavia’s mouth moved helplessly as words slammed into a logjam of confusion in her throat. Explanations, justifications, cries of anguish all piled on top of each, each straining to get out. Her hand flexed, her arms shook as she tried to summon up a way of explaining to one of the pillars of her family that she was in fact part of her family. Had been forever, since the Bhaalspawn crisis itself. As she tried to sort it out, as her mind rebelled, her eyes finally had a moment to see. To truly see as expectations failed and reality swam.
A terrible moment of clarity struck.
The woman standing six feet away was absolutely, positively Jaheira. There was absolutely no doubt about it. None. The mannerisms, the voice, the stance, all of it was undoubtedly Jaheira. And yet it wasn’t. The thin scar on the bridge of nose was in the wrong place. The silvered heart ring that she’d never seen her without did not hang from the lobe of her left ear. The amulet hanging from heavy silver chain she was always wearing was still there but the stone was not blue but green. Little things. Subtle things. Wrong things.
The telltales of her Jaheira, the one who blew in and out of her life like a summer storm were missing. So was any sign of recognition.
The world swam.
Her vision splintered as her heart raced uncontrollably. Every wrong detail, every inconsistency, every wrong feeling and impression, every inconsistency in the lands she had traveled through since the illithid ship crashed into the beach sleeted down on her. Built. Swelled. Then all of it crashed down on her like storm waves during a winter tempest along the Coast. The unreality of it all poured down on her and over her in a torrent. The waves caught her, dragged her away from shore and into the inky, storm wracked sea. She struggled desperately, gasping for air that would not come until finally, blessedly, her mind simply gave up and the madness swallowed her whole.