Chapter Text
For an instant, Lae’zel thought she could live in this moment infinitely and be content.
She lay in the grass, half-shaded under a tree, propped up on her elbows, bare legs crossed. Shadowheart sat just a few feet in front of her, wine glass in hand, telling her a story.
It was perfect.
The afternoon sunlight was just beginning to think about taking a bow for the day, and her keen eyes had come to know the skyline of Baldur’s Gate so well that she could pinpoint where the first tears of evening would appear. They’d found a grassy, isolated little place in the peaks of the upper city. Shadowheart brought wine, Lae’zel saw to the other comforts, a blanket (that Scratch had run off with and shred to pieces in the bushes, like the magnificent war beast that he was) and a few whistling stones to warn them if anyone was planning to interrupt their rendezvous.
Their time together, by necessity, had always been these frantic, passionate collection of stolen moments. Today felt different, and she wasn’t sure why. Shadowheart wasn’t working herself up, anticipating the moment she had to leave, and didn’t seem weighed down by what awaited her once they parted company either. She was there. She was talkative even, especially for her. From what Lae’zel could gather, it had been an exciting few days at the Sharran Enclave. More exciting still, she could actually talk about it. Nothing that had happened had anything to do with Shar or her dealings.
Shadowheart did love to gossip, Lae’zel had observed her enthusiasm for it over the roughly five and half years that they’d known one another. Because of her nature as a Chosen of Shar, she wasn’t often afforded the opportunity to indulge. It was a rather inconvenient hobby for Shadowheart to have.
And that made it all the more a thing to be appreciated. So, though it wasn’t really that interesting, Lae’zel tried to listen, and failed to do so diligently. It was too easy to get lost in her own thoughts as she watched her, zhak vo'n'ash duj, bright and alive and feeling, animated between sips of wine. It had been too long.
“What I gathered happened, really ,” Shadowheart sighed, “is that the night before, he’d marched into the enclave and said he needed a cleric to come with him to Lord Astarion’s palace. He knew my name, and said that the lord was invoking a favor, which rather provoked them. Assumptions were made—admittedly, some of them based off of the fact that the only acolyte who remembered that I sometimes go to his revels, didn’t remember enough. The man guessed where he was and was foolish enough to say something outloud, and my dear sweet, stupid acolytes decided to interrogate him. All night. All the next day. No one considered for even a moment to bother me about it.”
Lae’zel tried to catch up with what Shadowheart had been saying while she had been daydreaming about that long plait of black hair hanging over her shoulder. Remembering how it felt to unwind it from its chain and the soft little noises of satisfaction that Shadowheart made when she let Lae’zel massage her scalp.
What were they talking about? Astarion. Lae’zel hadn’t spoken to him in five years. Had barely thought about him. She resisted the urge to express surprise that he hadn’t inspired anyone to kill him yet. “You attend revels at Astarion’s palace?” That was an interesting detail. She thought a lot about what Shadowheart must do while living in Baldur’s Gate, but she hadn’t imagined her enjoying many parties. It was a refreshing image actually, but an ache thumped in her chest at the acknowledgement of what a small part of her life Lae’zel truly was.
“It’s an excellent venue to find… potential.”
Ah. That made sense and soured Lae’zel’s momentarily charming idea of Shadowheart actually enjoying herself. Even without Lae’zel.
The palace of a vampire lord did seem like it would serve as a veritable beacon to draw in lost souls, people Shar could consume entirely.
A nearby bark caught her attention and Lae’zel looked up to see Scratch momentarily calling her attention to a squirrel that darted up another tree. The wardog’s glittering githyanki accessories were a little overkill when it came to a hunt as simple as a squirrel in an upper city park, but Scratch didn’t seem intent on killing the beast, in any case. Just practice.
He hadn’t come near Shadowheart today, something that Lae’zel had taken note of, but that Shadowheart seemed to ignore. Perhaps actively.
The dog had always loved Shadowheart, but the mantle of the Dark Lady could be oppressive indeed, and it seemed that Scratch’s way of dealing with it was to keep his distance.
Lae’zel pinched her tongue with the points of her teeth ever so slightly. Her skills of interplanar diplomacy would not serve her here. She could not say anything good about Shadowheart’s goddess, so if she didn’t want a fight, she wouldn’t say anything at all.
They had so little time together. They should just enjoy it. Lae’zel tried not to let her eyes betray any rage.
Despite her efforts, something in Shadowheart’s demeanor shifted noticeably, as she swept her eyes across Lae’zel. It was like she knew what she was feeling, even if she couldn’t hear her thoughts—and that wasn’t a guarantee—even if they only had a few days together, maybe twice a year, if they were very lucky—she still knew her. Could still feel what she was feeling, in just a razorsharp glance.
Bitterly, Lae’zel had to remind herself that it probably had something to do with being Chosen.
In any case, Shadowheart resisted any temptation to call her out, or to draw attention to her barely disguised contempt for the Dark Lady. She looked down into her wine glass, drained it and then went on with the rest of her story like she hadn’t just read her soul, if not her thoughts. “So, once Astarion noticed his servant hadn’t returned—he came looking for him, personally .”
“Oh dear,” Lae’zel carefully cultivated brand of sarcasm had been honed in no small measure from conversation with both her lover, and from the vampire featured in her lover’s story. “How enterprising. I wouldn’t expect that of him .”
“He was furious—nearly killed four of my acolytes. It was just lucky I was alerted to the breach in time.”
“What did Astarion want with a cleric? Surely he has someone nearer by who can manage a sending. Was he just trying to get you to come there personally?”
“I don’t know,” Shadowheart admitted. “He wasn’t in a mood to discuss it. He took his man and left. He said it was just to heal someone, and that they didn’t need it any longer.”
“Because they made due with other means, or because the patient died ?”
“He refused to tell me,” Shadowheart poured the last of the wine into her glass. That this bothered Shadowheart was apparent, and again, Lae’zel had to hide her feelings. There was something amusing about how adamantly Sharrans insisted on learning every little secret while never offering up any of their own in return. “You’re smirking,” Shadowheart didn’t turn her head, but held Lae’zel in the corner of her gaze, even as she refused to turn away from the view of the low sun in the city skyline.
Lae’zel forced her mouth back into its usual relaxed pout. From one angle, it was very amusing that Shadowheart was the type of person to always take and never give, by nature of her faith and her devolution to a goddess who’s creed was nothingness, and who’s practice was consummate consumption. On the other side of things though, it was just another thing that bothered Lae’zel. Shadowheart longed, deep down, to give as much as she received, in secrets, in idle gossip, in emotion and affection. But she couldn’t. To give would be to offend her goddess.
“There are many things about your Faerûn that I will never appreciate,” Lae’zel admitted, speaking in an exhale that almost threatened to become a sigh. “But it is here that I first observed a wide-spread practice of a certain reciprocity.”
“Your people lack reciprocity?” Shadowheart finally did tear her eyes away, flashing them in Lae’zel’s direction with one raised eyebrow. “And you admit this?”
“My people lack nothing ,” Lae’zel corrected her. “There is no concept we could learn that we would not already have records and analogue for in our own annals, traditions and precious treasures. We simply discard what is not efficient, worthy, and nearing perfection.”
“I see,” said Shadowheart flatly, but she was smiling, and her eyes were wandering down Lae’zel’s outstretched legs, which was usually a good sign that she could get away with saying anything on her mind without the half-elf taking unnecessary offense.
“But, perhaps, there are things we discard too hastily. Things we discount without justification,” Lae’zel did sigh now, “and it is in Faerûn that I see the practice of reciprocity in its pure and faithful form. Unquestioned.”
“Oh, people question it,” Shadowheart finally set the wine down. It was mostly gone anyway and had been growing warmer for hours while they lay in the grass together, under the sun and then the inadequate stretching shade of an old tree.
“You don’t. Not when I have you to myself.”
At that, Shadowheart’s lightness ruptured and pain bloomed through her features. Lae’zel knew her mistake instantly, but held fast. On this, she would not budge. Shar wanted all of Shadowheart, and their arrangement was such that only a small part was left to her, and only temporarily, and only to deepen Shadowheart’s loss. Their mutual loss.
That was the only reason they were allowed these stolen days. Because they both knew it was something set aside to be taken away from them at whatever moment in the future was deemed the most painful, the most potent. To the delight of Shar. If they could accept that inevitable end, they could hang onto each other, just one more time. And one more time again.
Lae’zel could never truly have Shadowheart to herself. Not even temporarily. It was always for Shar.
But, Shadhowheart didn’t take the time to remind her of this. Enough of their time was already consecrated away from them, and perhaps that was why she merely gazed at Lae'zel, and said, “come closer to me, will you?”
Lae’zel shuffled across the grass until they sat parallel to one another. Shadowheart wore a long black dress with slits up the skirt that ended in silver fastenings at her hips, which made for a very convenient point of access for Lae’zel’s fingertips. She slid just under the hem gently caressing her way up Shadowheart’s knee and onto her thigh, warmed by the sun. She lifted her long nails as they neared the thin, more sensitive stretched of skin on the inside and around her legs, just ghosting and grazing her with the tips of her nails.
“Reciprocity,” Shadowheart whispered, “why yes, actually, I may know what you mean.” There was one way in which Shadowheart was allowed to give and not just received. It was small enough that Shar hadn’t yet taken it from them. Shadowheart grinned into the kiss that she pressed, first into the side of Lae’zel’s mouth, and then against her lips as she guided her face around with the blade of her thumb.
Shar will take this too . It was almost a voice, the idea struck Lae’zel’s mind so suddenly and violently that she actually faltered, then tried to force her way through it, even as she slid her tongue past Shadowheart’s teeth, skating against the roof of her mouth. She felt Shadowheart tremble, and knew that unfortunately, it was likely because she’d felt it too.
As a Chosen of the Lady of Loss, Shadowheart had gradually developed a mantle. For Shar’s purposes, and, Lae’zel supposed, Shadowheart’s by extension, it was an invaluable tool.
For all other purposes it was a damned nuisance.
It is all for the Darkness, and Darkness will shroud all.
Shadowheart’s breath hitched, and she stopped, hand firm at Lae’zel’s jaw.
Gritting her teeth, Lae’zel held very still. It would just take a moment. They just needed to let it wash over them.
There was nothing else that could be done, so Lae’zel focused on Shadowheart, on her heartbeat and her breathing. They fell in sync with each other, on reflex, their pulses dancing as each pressure point on their entwined bodies found a match, and wove a rhythm together. Lae’zel didn’t know what this dance was like on Shadowheart’s side of things, but for Lae’zel, it was all a matter of countering Shar’s every attempt at draining them of all life and feeling with more than she could take. They just needed to keep living, keep feeling.
Lae’zel nuzzled against Shadowheart’s throat with her lips, feeling Shadowheart’s tension released and climb again as her touch grew more insistent. Five and a half years, and they’d barely managed a dozen such afternoons together. Each one was full, however. They never took anything for granted. They couldn’t.
But in the back of her mind, Lae’zel could hear Shar’s whispered reminders that there was simply nothing in existence that couldn’t be drawn into a void. She bent, broke and devoured light itself.
And Shadowheart’s movements were slack and lifeless after a few more desperate moments of passion. Lae’zel leaned back and saw the very essence of absence in her eyes. Her face was serene, but not at peace. Just. Empty.
She’d had nightmares about this happening before. During the long stretches of time away from Baldur’s Gate, usually from this very plane of existence, Lae’zel would think about all the things that could be either so full, or utterly meaningless. She used to regard sex as little more than good exercise and ephemeral relief, but it had never been like that with Shadowheart. Good exercise, sometimes, but ephemeral it was not. And it was barely relieved if she was honest; their time together was too overwhelming, too overwrought with everything they couldn’t have and desperately wanted. Shadowheart had taught her many things, including the agony of being with someone, and still longing for them with the sweet, sickening knowledge that you could never really have them.
“Shadowheart?” Lae’zel looked at her blank expression, afraid that they had perhaps, already had their last real moments together, and neither of them had known it. Her dread deepened when Shadowheart didn’t respond right away.
“It’s fine if we don’t,” she didn’t sound present any longer. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”
Lae’zel realized she didn’t even feel disappointment, because besides the dread, she wasn’t feeling anything.
It didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered.
“Perhaps you’re right,” and it didn’t hurt to say it, because nothing hurt.
Nearby, Scratch whined, seemingly unwilling to approach them. His ears drooped. His silver-adorned claws flashed in the lowering light, as he seemed anxious to be going away. “I should take him back,” Lae’zel said vaguely. They hadn’t made plans to see each other again, but as she rose up and left everything she’d brought with her on the hill, Lae’zel didn’t know why she’d care.
It wasn’t until half a mile later when her feet hit paved road that she started to come back to herself. Shar had momentarily wiped her of all feeling, successfully. And she’d used Shadowheart to do it.
But, it only took this realization, and an affectionate lick on Lae’zel’s palm from a concerned Scratch for her to understand in full, what had been taken from them, not just that afternoon, but in the long stretch of days that came before and that would come after.
The best way to combat Shar was to feel.
And Lae’zel felt rage.