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“Please, Shads,” Rhian’s heart was breaking, watching her cleric step up near the soul cage, spear held aloft, ready to strike down the trapped aasimar, “Don’t do this.”
With a snarl, Shadowheart turned on her, spear clenched tight in her hand.
“If I have to step over your corpse to fulfill what Lady Shar asks of me, so be it,” she ground out, staring Rhian down, “Your choice.”
Rhian recoiled as though she’d been physically struck, eyes flashing wide at her threat. Worst of all, despite everything, she could tell Shadowheart meant it. If she pushed her, if she forced this choice… Rhian’s hair whipped around her head with the wind of the Shadowfell, the turmoil of their environment mirroring the torment in her heart.
Next to her, she could hear the unmistakable sound of Lae’zel baring her githyanki blade, a flash of silver in her periphery. Karlach hefted her axe, shifting closer to Rhian. She could feel their gazes on her; whatever she chose, Rhian knew they’d follow her.
Keeping her eyes locked firmly on Shadowheart, they stared each other down, waiting for the other to make a move. Shadowheart’s fingers curled tighter around the shaft of the spear, her knuckles going white.
Rhian’s chest ached, Shadowheart’s words burning a hollow where her heart was. Slowly, Rhian reached back, drawing her shortsword, watching Shadowheart’s face twist into a scowl, lifting her spear.
But Rhian dropped to a knee, driving the point of her sword into the ground in front of her.
Trust, something was screaming at her as she bowed her head, closing her eyes tight against the reality of her position. She knew Shadowheart, probably better than anyone. With a steadying breath, she turned her gaze back up to Shadowheart. Behind all of her anger, all the Sharran doctrines and dogma, she saw her friend. Under the cruel silhouette of the Justiciar armor, she knew there was a woman there longing to love and be loved. This wasn’t her.
“You know this is wrong,” Rhian pleaded, meeting her dark gaze.
Shadowheart seemed unsure, backing up a step at Rhian’s refusal to fight, at her immediate surrender. Rhian hoped she was getting through to her, but the truth was… Even if she wasn’t, even if Shadowheart chose to tread this dark path, to take the Nightsong’s life, to fully devote herself to Shar… Rhian wouldn’t leave. She couldn’t. She’d destroy herself, break her own heart, over and over and over again, following her into the dark.
For Rhian to find love, to have fallen so quickly, so unexpectedly, was rare. No matter what happened, she wouldn’t give up on her. No matter what.
“I won’t lose you,” Rhian continued, defeated, knowing that even if her cleric- for what else was she if not hers- made this choice, she couldn’t walk away, “Do what you must.”
Shadowheart’s eyes darted between Rhian’s face and her sword. She stepped back, grip relaxing every so slightly on the spear, and Rhian hoped it was enough. Her attention returned to Nightsong, casting one final glance back over her shoulder to where Rhian knelt.
Nightsong stared at Rhian, her expression inscrutable. Rhian lifted her chin, meeting the challenge of her gaze. I trust her,she wanted to say, She won’t do this.
She hoped she was right.
