Chapter Text
The first time that Lae’zel cannot shake off her injuries, Shadowheart does not notice. In all honesty, she wouldn't have cared to notice.
Their days as a group… They have been long days.
The battle is raging. The duplicating, exploding mephits were no mere jaunt, as it turns out. Shadowheart has never resented their leader's stupid wills and whims very much, but it is still early days. That could still change. It could change today.
They didn't need to be here; Hells, she would rather have just walked straight to the damned gith crèche that two of them keep raving about than be struggling through thick mud trying to get Gale back on his feet. Again. Another blast from behind sends her down to her knees, the ringing in her ears dulling Tav’s yells, but she still makes it to Gale. Her magic forces his wounds closed. It's not much, but she doesn't have much left to give.
Struggling to find her bearings, Shadowheart turns her back on Gale and ignores his pithy thanks. She has maybe one more heal in her, and the exhaustion is starting to weigh on her shield arm. Another enemy swipes towards them, and Gale is still trying to uncork his damn potion- Shadowheart hits back with a bash from her left, and braces herself against the blast, her boots lodged so deep she doesn't think she could move even if she wanted to.
“Shadowheart! Where are you?”
“Here!” She shouts. It comes out quite weakly, exertion slicing through her vocal cords. Her right eye is swelling.
Tav materialises out of thin air at her side, “Lae'zel is down.” He says, and Shadowheart just glares at him. He has potions to spare. She saw him squirrelling them away, but this is likely some sort of test. These two already paint her as the enemy, and it is true that Shadowheart rarely spends her magic on Lae'zel- not for lack of knowledge, but because she does not want to, and Lae'zel despises accepting help from an istik anyway. Stupid gith.
Lae'zel is dead before she can find her. She feels it happen with a squirm behind her eyes; the tadpole crying out for help while its host expires. There is no need to tell Tav, but she does anyway.
“It's no use, she's already gone.”
“Not Lae'zel.” Gale cries, his genuine upset more irritating than usual considering how close they all are to joining her, to being buried somewhere in all that mud.
Tav does not seem as bothered as Shadowheart thought he might be. This little githyanki alliance in camp appears to mean little in combat and Shadowheart shouldn't be surprised, considering what she knows about their culture. It's likely she is the most studied in their group on the subject, besides the two themselves. It has not served her well so far.
They manage through the skin of their teeth to cut down the last of the mephits. To her credit, Lae'zel had taken many with her, and the swamp finally lulls back to quiet around them what feels like lifetimes later. The relief is as if the hag's mirage never faded- a dull beach has never been so breathtaking.
Shadowheart is exhausted. Gale immediately finds a rock to sit on. Tav cleans his blades.
Their little gang have reached an understanding where silence no longer seems like a threat, and Shadowheart is grateful. There is little she has to say to these people, and less she wants to do with them, but travelling alone is suicide and she is not risking her mission. Gith or no.
“I'm not looking for her in that.” Shadowheart says, out of the blue and surprising even herself. The men both frown at her, but Tav has more sense than to argue.
“Withers it is then.” He says, and urges Gale back up. It's still early, but definitely time to get back to camp. It is a long and quiet trek, even Gale’s meandering facts of the local fauna being dulled by the day. Good thing too; Shadowheart had not been looking forward to entertaining his whimsy when her shield feels so heavy.
Withers revives Lae'zel for a ludicrous two hundred gold. It is not as impressive as it was the first time, for Wyll the very first day they had met him, after Tav had sent Shadowheart back to camp and led the rest of them promptly into a fight with a flock of harpies. Shadowheart happens to be facing that way when Tav wanders over, trying to enjoy her dinner when she just wants to sleep. Despite his strangeness, he must have some loyalty to his fellow gith. He does not allow for it to be a show this time.
They're sleeping together, which is just another irritation to contend with. Neither speak about it aloud, but everyone at camp has ears so it's an open secret. It makes Shadowheart nervous. Justifiably so.
Shadowheart has not died before (as far as her memory serves her) but she imagines it is not conducive to a healthy appetite. The newly risen goes right to her tent and loudly tends to her sword. No one is brave enough to ask her to stop when it is time for sleep.
Lae'zel does not join them that night for dinner and it is a peaceful reprieve. They tell stories around the campfire, and even Tav is laughing. It's satisfying to know that gith can laugh, and that Lae’zel is just like that. It is satisfying to Shadowheart anyway. She makes sure to meet her glare for glare across camp until the moment her tent flat closes behind her.
*
Travelling with two gith leads to many bloody altercations. Circumstances that Shadowheart knows she could have found her way out of if she were alone. More that never would have been started in the first place.
They do not come to her directly for healing like the others - their stubborn belief in their own ability at its worst - and mostly wait for her to come to them. Shadowheart finds herself mostly chasing after them both as they lord over their kills, one upping each other in their brutality. It is like watching children play more than warriors posturing.
Neither speak to her during either. Tav appears almost angry to have his wounds closed, allowing it for logic's sake, while Lae’zel… Lae’zel is angry, but the reason is likely more personal than cultural. Shadowheart has come to expect the tensing of muscles when she gets too close; the bared teeth and spitting insults no one understands, and a pure apparent determination to die.
When the day finally comes and Lae’zel is bleeding too heavily to fight it off, Shadowheart revives her personally for the first time. If she had any say it would have been the last, but she does not have a say. Not really.
Wyll laughs a cheeky laugh at the face she must be pulling when that leathery skin heats with vigour, and that sort of makes up for Tav’s insistence in this, but it feels pointed. He knows they don’t get along, but still believes people can be more than themselves and likely sees this as a sign. Surely that will not last.
Lae’zel is furious when she wakes to Shadowheart’s hands on her, and slaps them away before the spell's magic fades with a tirade of githyanki bullshit. Wyll does not laugh at that.
“Do not lay your paws on me!” Lae’zel finally spits out something in Common, incomprehensible even in a shared tongue. She pushes back against the wall and she is still very hurt. Flesh dangles from her jaw like rags. The beasts that had surprised them had worked as a pack, and knew how to overwhelm. Lae’zel, so often in front, was a natural first target.
“Keep still.” Shadowheart ignores her claws and snapping teeth and tries to get a look at the somewhat closed gash that had ended her life, opening her neck. Blood thumps wildly underneath the fragile, new skin. It could be nicked and spilled with no effort, with a slip of a finger. So easily…
“Lae’zel-”
Shadowheart fights not to smirk. Wyll is a good man- the kind of man who could get himself killed foolishly speaking with such care. Lae’zel pays him no heed.
“Unhand me.” Lae’zel pushes forward, wobbly as any undead and twice as likely to pass out. Shadowheart moves on instinct to catch her, but the weight does not come. Instead, Lae’zel just seems to freeze once she's on her feet, eyes unfocused but still sturdy. Likely putting everything she has into it too. It would be amusing, if it wasn’t so irritating.
Taking the moment for all it is worth, Shadowheart wills as much power as she can muster for such a creature, and pushes it all into Lae’zel through her calf. She does this knowing she is more likely to get a knife in the collar in place of thanks, but at least no one can call her petty. At least Wyll is nearby to see it.
The truth is that it comes much slower than a strike. Lae’zel is stunned back to full consciousness in an instant, and turns to look down on her - neck and cheek replenished into its usual yellowish filth - and her lips peel over her teeth in a familiar sneer.
“So you do know your place.” She leers down at her, and Shadowheart feels her lesser self lurch forward towards the bait. Heat flushes down her neck.
“Keeping you alive is more a chore than a vocation. You’re welcome, by the way.” She spits, and it is enough. Lae’zel bristles, and makes that annoying little scoffing sound she likes to do. Shadowheart ties down her smile just in time.
Rarely given the last word, Shadowheart can only bask in it for a while. If Lae’zel is loud and authoritative as a general, Tav is like a war drum. There really isn’t any ignoring that roar.
*
Unfortunately but undeniable - for all his glaring faults - Tav is incredible.
Shadowheart does not trust him exactly, but his actions are sound and his leadership unquestionable. He speaks for the group and she agrees with enough of it to nod along. Things could be much worse than they are. He saved her aboard the Nautiloid, after all. He had left her to sweat, but not to die.
And he is not like other gith. Lae'zel seems as baffled by him as anyone else, but her need to impress is almost on par with Shadowheart’s regardless of this, so she falls in line. One can visibly see her hackles raise when he agrees with Astarion or Gale or anyone who isn't her, but she does not leave. Shadowheart does not understand why she does not just leave.
“The crèche is near. Why do you insist on wasting our time with frivolous distractions?”
She spits this at him across the campfire one night, while the rest of them sit quietly and watch, trying to enjoy their dinner. Tav is bigger than Lae’zel, but she is more dedicated to her craft. Shadowheart does not think she is the only one curious to see how a fight may play out. It certainly would be nice to get rid of one of them.
“I have no memory of this zaith’isk .” He always speaks so calmly. It is strange that their similar accents can ring so differently on the ear, but one can visibly see Gale relax as Tav continues his meal. This does not last for long.
“You have no memory of anything. ” Lae’zel speaks to them all like they are idiots, and her most natural ally is not spared from that wrath. “How you survived for this long with such a fragile mind is beyond me.”
“I do not believe your machine can cure us.” He does not look at her to match his challenge, and it makes Shadowheart nervous. She can feel Lae’zel’s fury like psychic waves, oddly pleasing despite their origin- Shadowheart forces herself to eat forkfuls of bland meat and thanks Shar that it was not another apple-only day.
Lae’zel stands. “Then you are a fool.” She does not wait for him to respond, and stalks away with long strides and what Shadowheart can only assume is cursing. Tav does not respond at all.
Karlach is their newest addition, and she meets Shadowheart’s gaze for a moment to pull an awkward face, eyes darting the distance between Tav and the darkness Lae’zel disappeared into. A question.
Shadowheart does not like using the tadpole - it squirms grossly behind her eyes and usually leaves her with a slight headache - but it is the easiest way. Karlach’s voice booms into her mind like an explosive the moment the wall comes down, hot and fast.
“Shit, are they always like this?”
“Worse.”
Shadowheart smiles, looks down so that they aren't too obvious. She isn't so certain how these lines of communication work, or if Wyll’s equally wide eyes means he is in on this too, but it doesn't matter. Tav does not react.
“Gods, Lae’zel seems to know what she's talking about though. I’d give her some chance if I were him. Since he doesn't have his memories-” She doesn't notice Shadowheart react or when she stops paying attention in favour of hiding the pain suddenly pinning her hand to her leg. She's too busy glancing at Tav, something strange in her eyes, but Shadowheart does not know her very well yet, and cannot decipher it.
“I think it's just a gith thing.”
“Don't get like that, fringe. I’ve only known you guys for a few days, and you aren't slow to start either.”
Shadowheart rolls her eyes and hopes it is hidden by the existing tension. Karlach is referring to their last altercation, mere moments after picking her up and one that had nearly led to blows between her and Lae’zel. Shadowheart knows that this is a common occurrence, but Karlach does not.
“Just a bit of friction. I don't really believe in the zaith’isk either. Besides, I don't think she likes me very much.”
The slight sigh in the mental connection does as intended, and Karlach softens.
“Aw, don't worry about that, Shadowheart. I'm sure she's just getting settled, she's been nice enough to me so far! Maybe I can help?”
The tadpole connection allows them to share more than just their thoughts. Karlach’s enthusiasm is sweet, and a rush of memory - Lae’zel explaining quite rudely that Karlach’s form could be improved by keeping her feet planted slightly further apart - comes at her fast. Shadowheart isn't sure if this was on purpose, but it does nothing to instil confidence. It is a good thing that she doesn't actually want to get close to the gith. She smiles weakly.
“We’re fine.” She says aloud, and hopes it sounds as amused as she is trying to make it. Karlach lets it drop, so she supposes it did.
*
Shadowheart is on high alert that first week and a half. She has good reason to be, but the others seem to spot her attempts to balance her odds quicker than she can formulate plans to fix them. She is clearly getting nowhere with Tav, and the others are so interested in him that there is no getting around that.
She wonders about leaving them. Wonders about it enough to wander to the edge of camp with the artefact in her hands, far enough to feel it vibrate and pull against her, to pull her back towards the fire. To them.
But why? Why would it leave her, when it came so willingly once before. Shadowheart knows little of this object or its purpose, but she knows where it had come from, and it is trying to find its way back. It cannot find its way back. Shadowheart gingerly makes her way back towards the others, and eventually, the shaking stops.
She understands then and there that there will be no clean escape. That this relic she has lost everything to gain is not hers to hold. Shadowheart is trapped, but she is a Sharran. She can twist this to her favour.
*
Despite their odds, they work well together as a party. As individuals, it is a mixed bag, but Shadowheart’s first impressions appear to have been accurate. The gith are trouble, but only one keeps her attention.
Tav has not taken much interest in her, favouring to demand answers and leave when she does not offer them, but Lae’zel… Lae’zel does not allow her to get a word in, lie or otherwise. She is all critique, and Shadowheart finds she is not very receptive to that, which makes her wonder if she ever was which pisses her off-
(She has no right to know.)
Still, she is a cleric, and they are a team, and she finds herself in Lae’zel’s company more than she would like. This one makes her nervous, and not like the others do. This one watches her like she knows more than she does, like she can see through her when Shadowheart knows that is not the case. Lae’zel is one of the more naive people she remembers knowing. After she learns of the prism’s source, Shadowheart does not allow her out of her sight for a minute.
Watching Lae’zel had been a pastime since their grouping for survival’s sake, but it is with purpose now, and Shadowheart picks up a lot of her routine. It is quite a simple one- she wakes early and sleeps only when the moment is right. She eats when the rest of them do and only then, and spends the majority of her free time half naked, mindlessly going over her equipment; polishing and sharpening and generally making a racket. Naturally, the only one who poses any real threat is also the most annoying, as a rule.
Tav does not give either of them much free time to spend. It is as if he senses Shadowheart’s fear and believes it sharpens her, because neither of them are given many days at camp. He is forcing Shadowheart’s hand, and each healing touch is reassurance of that power. He is right of course. Shadowheart knows she is needed.
Every day she spends time patching them both up, and every day she wonders when Lae’zel will finally snap. Watching for the signs. More often than not, Lae’zel doesn't notice her observations, but what she learns is anything but useful.
Lae’zel is fierce in battle, but easy to incapacitate with magic. Her armour is oddly revealing to attackers and she carries her wounds like trophies- marking survival and shameful defeat both as equals. She is fast as she is focused, and she does not care for the pain of her enemies. Only death. Shadowheart accepts this with some level of relief.
At least, if worst comes to worst and Lae’zel strikes when her guard is down, it will be swift. Shadowheart does not plan on letting that happen, but she takes some solace in that.
*
She lays traps. Lots of them.
With Karlach, with Wyll, with Gale; anyone she expects to intervene should that line be crossed. She flirts with Karlach until she is sure she has some of that fealty that the tiefling lays down easily for Tav.
She even tries talking to Lae’zel a bit. Gauging her interest in flaying her alive. Engaging a softer hand when healing her. Lae’zel slaps her away before she can get too close, but even Shadowheart is not too selfish as to misunderstand that. Lae’zel likes space. She leaves her alone to focus on Karlach, a much more agreeable attention sink.
If she tries anything, Shadowheart will be ready for it. She will strike first.
*
“I do enjoy wasting scrolls, Lae’zel.”
Shadowheart does not give her time to get her bearings, or even enough to blink the blood out of her eyes. Lae’zel does not need it. She flies straight into a rage at the sound of her voice alone.
“Far be it to expect prompt healing from a cleric.”
(Shadowheart doesn't know why they expect her to do all the revivals too. It's likely the same reason she tells Karlach that she chops wood the best; objectively untrue, but the benefits of the lie outweigh the action itself. She still doesn’t like it. Shadowheart likes watching Karlach chop wood. No one wants to deal with Lae’zel when she is this worked up.)
She scrambles to her feet, avoiding Shadowheart’s quick and instinctual reach to stop her. She should stay down a bit longer- for the sake of not wasting more resources. Lae’zel has only died twice but that is more than most, and she should go easy on her, but Shadowheart is tired and Lae’zel is a pain.
“There's really only so much I can do. Do you know how many arrows we had to pull out of you before we even bothered calling you back?” Shadowheart hadn’t done that work. “I don’t enjoy wasting my time either.”
Lae’zel has taken stock and is staring at her now, looking too bored for someone so freshly alive. If Shadowheart were not a cleric, she would have fallen for it, but alas she is, and the exhaustion and pain lingering in the shake of Lae’zel knee and the slump of her shoulders gives her pause. It is just enough to allow Lae’zel her balance.
“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Lae’zel might be smiling at her through the accusation, but all Shadowheart sees is teeth.
“Should it be?” She certainly sees teeth now. Lae’zel gives her a once over, and Shadowheart realises suddenly how stiff her posture has become. Better to keep it that way, in case any change is read as a weakness. Lae’zel sees everything as weakness. Shadowheart watches her ears pin back and then relax in one quick motion. The tension leaves her as fast as it builds.
“You do not speak to Karlach like this for her faults. She has been nothing but a sink for resources in that regard.”
Shadowheart bristles. So what, if she does spend more time on the tiefling? Karlach does not wear armour like Lae’zel. She flies into battle with less consideration for herself than anyone Shadowheart has ever known. She needs support. And besides-
“Maybe I just like Karlach more than you.” She does not expect this to disarm, and it doesn't. Lae’zel brushes her aside as if they weren't in the middle of conversation, strides right past her and reaches into her pack for a potion, swallowing it all like a bird gulps a worm. Shadowheart despises her.
“Yet here you remain. Are you expecting grovelling thanks for your service?” Lae’zel cocks her head and narrows her eyes. Shadowheart wonders how easy it would be to pluck them out.
“A pragmatic decision. Believe me, if it had been up to me… well, you should consider yourself lucky we are allied by force.”
Shadowheart wishes they had just paid for the resurrection later, but it's so early in the day. Going without another sword could be disastrous. Shadowheart doesn't mind danger in times like these, but Tav likes to fight. He wouldn't consider the optics, so leaving their strongest dead in a corner hadn't really been an option. Lae’zel sneers at her.
“ Tsk’va, I may have heeded your call to return, but I do not ally myself with you.” Lae’zel tilts her head back, and Shadowheart realises with sudden childish superiority that she is taller than her. Just a little. “Do not think my kin’s mercy extends to me. The relic you carry is not yours to wield.”
Shadowheart follows her eyeline to where the others are watching, where Tav is watching. Where he allows Lae’zel’s words to stand. Where he watches for her reaction. Shadowheart knows that kind of gaze. Her skin crawls with it.
“Tav understands the weight of this mission, and it's a lot less black and white than that.” Shadowheart wars with her better judgement, and forces herself to let it win. Coming to blows with Lae’zel will only weaken them. Weaken her. “Can’t you be happy just helping?”
Well, she can’t help poking a little. Lae’zel only seems confused.
“Help you deliver a githyanki artefact to your mysterious benefactor? Are you sure your amnesia is not the result of a blow to the head?” Lae’zel does not tease like Shadowheart. Lae’zel only fights, and Shadowheart watches her hand curl into a fist with her words. Good. Let the others witness her step down against the gith’s clear violent tendencies. Who knows, Lae’zel could even kill her, and after Shadowheart had been so insistent that they wake her. It's perfect .
Sadly, Lae’zel seems satisfied by the threat alone, and Tav has grown bored of the wasted time.
“Enough.”
Simple and deadly, the point gets across well enough for Lae’zel to break their eye contact and give Shadowheart a moment to breathe. Tav is done cleaning the blood from his sword, though it is still splattered across his face. He is very different from other gith in his mannerisms, but in this he is the same. Standing beside each other, he and Lae’zel appear as a united force, and she knows when to fold.
Shadowheart huffs and moves to her leave, gathering her things and keeping the others firmly in her peripherals. Lae’zel is staring right back at her, and takes up the rear as they begin to move again, like a cat trying to hide a broken leg. Shadowheart hates that the thought softens her immediate joy at the notion of the gith’s pain back into unease. If she were anyone else, Shadowheart would offer more healing, but this is Lae’zel. She does not care for concern.
Unfortunately, the funny little ‘cat’zel’ in her mind is of little comfort when claws close around her wrist mid step. They haven't been walking for long, but it seems Lae’zel is still seething. Typical.
Tav glances back when they do not follow, his ears pricking to them. Shadowheart didn't know they could do that, but it makes sense. Lae’zel likely doesn’t have the capacity to listen so attentively to anyone without a silver sword in hand.
If Shadowheart were any less riled she might have moved with Lae’zel to keep distance, if only as a public show of submission- to balance her odds. Instead, she holds her ground. It only makes Lae’zel’s smirk more lascivious than before, if that were possible. Lae’zel lowers her voice to a growl, below the likes of Gale; something to keep between the three of them. Shadowheart understands the implications enough to keep still.
“If you truly think me so unobservant, you have set yourself up to be surprised by your enemy. Might it be true that some of your training was lost with the rest of your person?” Lae’zel shakes her head. “I was struck by five arrows. I am not a beast to be poked, istik .”
She pushes past her and Shadowheart does not watch her go, leaving her to her final word. Let Lae’zel think what she wants- if any one of them is blinded by emotion, is it her. That much is crystal clear. Who else worships a lich but a fool?
It isn't a win, but she can still wear it as one, let it bolster her as one. Let the chips fall as they may; Lae’zel has shown her hand. Shadowheart keeps hers to her chest.
*
Sometimes, after days that stretch too long into bloody evenings, Shadowheart wonders how long it would take for her gith companions to crumble.
It isn't a controlled thing. Just something she starts doing organically. Her body remembers her worth in ways her memory lacks. Between flashes of pain she recalls those who ended up strapped to her table- how quickly they fell to pleading. Shadowheart does not believe anything truly capable of bringing Lae’zel to heel, but it is as good as indulgence as anyone can ask for, even with a few creative liberties taken. More than a few. Shadowheart doesn't need to justify a fantasy.
It used to be the both of them, but that got less fun with time. Tav dislikes her, but he spends that emotion mostly in ignoring her. Even her most lucid daydreams don’t do much for her when she can only imagine him rolling his eyes. Lae’zel on the other hand…
(Mother Superior used to have a gith. Shadowheart does not recall anything firm about her Mother, or her home or Baldur's Gate, but she recalls that fact with a sort of jealousy that tells more than it should. She had wanted to pry that information loose by her own hand even then.)
When she touches them - either of them - to heal rather than hurt, their skin is not familiar under her hands. Their jagged frame is almost tiefling-esque, but different enough to tell by touch. Different enough to know that Shadowheart yearns to know where the slightest touch of a blade could break them. Tieflings don't like anywhere around their tail- maybe the ears? It is unnerving to be so unaware.
The version of Lae’zel on her table rarely has much to say. She has less spots than Tav does, which only makes it easier to imagine slipping a knife under them, peeling them back. Shadowheart knows how to keep gith alive now, and in each death and each touch of her Lady Shar’s healing, she learns more.
It is best when she is drunk, and she is often drinking. When she is drunk, it is easier to let excitement take over, to plunge the blade straight into those stupid slitted eyes, open old wounds she knows as if they were her own. It is familiar territory but endlessly worthy of attention.
Lae’zel likes her scars. Shadowheart only wants to leave her with more. An even trade if the gith had anything but pride. Shadowheart wouldn't trust herself either, but that is besides the point. She herself knows that she would never stop, would carve her name down her back given half the chance, but gith are too thick headed to see clearly. But that isn't the point.
As difficult as Shadowheart believes it would be to interrogate either of them, she can't imagine a body more fun to play with. She is sitting in mock prayer to enjoy this indulgence tonight, only startled out of it ever so often by a snore, a reminder of the glass still half full at her side. She is ‘on watch’ but only in the barest sense. Astarion hardly sleeps, so she is free to do as she pleases and this is pleasing her greatly.
It is Gale that wakes her this time, but it is with a jerking shock that it happens. And just as she was working towards her neck-
Immediately and instinctively her eyes go to her tent. As if she expects to see her there, sword raised and teeth bared, ready to finally end this. That death fear instinct lurches her stomach up and-
There's nothing there. Lae’zel is asleep. Shadowheart has nothing to fear and doesn't have time to be embarrassed. A pang of fear is enough for a trickle of punishment. A quiet lance through her hand is enough to bring her back to reality, the damage done and suddenly Shadowheart has ruined her own good time. Pain focuses her mind, and she thanks her Lady for the blessing. Drinks more.
The Lae’zel on her table never screamed loud enough for her taste anyway.
*
She gives her one last chance. On the basis of their brief allyship. Another few days to let peace be. Lae’zel wastes it.
*
Shadowheart does not expect thanks for her healing. It is part of her, her faith made physical. It feels good to mend her allies in battle. She is happy to do it. That doesn't mean that thanks goes unappreciated. Karlach always thanks her.
Lae'zel acts as if her magic is dirty. She snarls when the others thank her, and grimaces when that same magic is stitching her own body back together. Shadowheart doesn't think there could be a more annoying person on Faerûn to be stuck with, and that isn't for lack of fantasising. She has put real thought into it.
When she holds a knife to her throat, it feels like control for the first time since she had woken in that pod, if only for a moment. Lae'zel does not struggle for long. She is a warrior, and she knows this game. While she glares up at her with the same stubborn sneer she always wears, Shadowheart feels her pulse quicken. A rush of adrenaline burns down her own limbs to have won, to be the one of them that survives.
“Don't make a sound.” She whispers. “Know that I could have done this in your sleep.”
(She could have. She doesn't know why she hadn’t. Call it a flare for the dramatic, a need to see the fear in slitted eyes before she closes them forever. They mulishly blow wide instead, as if to mock her wishes. She should have expected nothing less.)
It will be better this way. Lae'zel is not like Tav- she is a true githyanki warrior, and that makes her a threat. Such dedication to a creature like Vlaakith isn't something to be treated lightly, and Lae'zel is nothing if not dedicated to her Queen.
She raves constantly about her life's ambition - her silver sword and her red dragon, eternal in the Astral - and Shadowheart's skin crawls at the naivety. Tav had laughed in her face when she let slip her dedication to Shar- not even her own deeper ambition to serve her ultimately as a Dark Justiciar. He certainly wouldn't have time for that, and Shadowheart is vulnerable enough as it is. A part of her had hoped he would not be familiar, but that was foolish of her. He likes to read.
If she were to wave her own faith as Lae'zel does, she would be a pariah. Without the relic, she is trapped with these people. She will not fail in her mission.
Lae'zel's bears her teeth at the bite of the blade, and she never takes her eyes off her. It makes Shadowheart nervous; victims should search blindly for escape, should scream, should try-
The power of the sure kill is short lived, because they are not alone. Tav steps into the scene, and while he says nothing, Shadowheart feels the thread of her resolve break.
The artefact has left her for its own people. This is a terrifying reality, and Shadowheart cannot lose Tav's favour. She withdraws with what dignity she can, and does not rest that night. Spends it listening to Tav and Lae'zel instead, rutting together in the dark. They must take extra pleasure in lording this over her. It sounds like they do.
*
The others are worried the next morning - worried by Shadowheart's mental state and Lae'zel's inevitable retribution- but Shadowheart is quick to reassure them. It is easily done, when Lae'zel treats her more as an irritation than a threat, even now. Still, she's gotten her attention. She rarely lets Shadowheart out of her sight at all anymore and well, good. That makes two of them.
She will not get on Tav's bad side. No more than she already has. She will not fail her Lady Shar.
*
Lae'zel grumbles the next time she needs to be revived. She makes a big scene of it, anger on display to the point of parody. It is all rather embarrassing.
“You growl more than the damned dog.” Astarion tells her, and Shadowheart laughs, boisterous with wine. It is late, but difficult to tell in the underdark. Shadowheart is having too much fun poking the gith to go to bed anyway.
Tav had wandered off into the darkness for some untold reason some time ago, and the camp is different without him. Lighter. Nice. Shadowheart is not afraid of Lae'zel here, and feels foolish for ever trying to win Tav to her side. She can win the others' approval much easier.
“Well, I for one hope you learn from your mistakes this time. You're costing us more to keep alive than Gale at the rate.” She smiles at her, and Lae'zel sneers. Since their fight, she's been looking at her differently. Shadowheart isn't sure why she hasn't struck back yet.
“Excuse me!” Gale frowns. “An amulet of colour spray is hardly a fortune…”
Lae'zel rolls her eyes, and folds her arms. She's sitting on a log beside Karlach, looking ridiculously small beside the beefy barbarian, and her voice comes out so gravelly that Shadowheart swears she's doing it on purpose.
“Bah, the beast struck me from under the ground. There was nothing I could have done.” Lae'zel's forehead is creased, and she quickly pushes up and away when Astarion peels with laughter. Shadowheart isn't sure if he can get drunk or not, but he sure acts the part. Karlach looks embarrassed on everyone's behalf.
Lae'zel grabs Wyll on his way back from relieving himself, stomping off with his arm in her claws. She's been training with him, unable to focus herself when his stone eye leaves him so open on his right, but the jump in his step implies more than fear. Shadowheart scoffs.
“Oh, don't be so sour!” Astarion calls after them, and the barked gith likely-a-curse he gets back only makes him smile more. Shadowheart takes another sip of her drink - her fourth cup, but she doesn’t it feel it yet. Lae'zel is too easily goaded; it almost makes her feel sorry for the poor creature. She doesn't, but the thought is there.
Lae'zel's precision with a one handed weapon is strangely graceful. Wyll isn't learning a thing watching her dance around like that. Shadowheart certainly doesn't. She will need to heal him afterwards.
Lae'zel always gets to have the last laugh, and they all pay for Astarion's fun the next day when she decides that sunrise is an appropriate hour for her whetstone to be at work. Shadowheart would have found it funny, if she weren't seriously considering ceremorphosis as a hangover cure. Maybe next time she can convince the others to let Lae'zel's soul be at peace until morning. They could all do with the rest.
*
Lae'zel accepts healing with fewer complaints after that. Maybe she's a bit more cautious since all that training has failed her repeatedly, since death has claimed her more than a few times. Maybe Shadowheart has earned some semblance of her respect. This thought is eradicated fast.
In truth, it is likely Tav's influence. He doesn't want them fighting, and with the artefact in his speckled hands, Lae’zel is sated. It's something of a shame; Shadowheart had come to look forward to arguing with Lae'zel in the evenings- now that violence was off the table. If she is to be believed, and Lae'zel really is the image of githyanki excellence she claims to be, then the githyanki have a lot to answer for. Shadowheart had made riling her up into something of a sport.
Lae’zel is determined to follow Tav's advice in her own way, just to ruin her fun. She keeps Shadowheart in mind when she fights - few enemies even get close enough to attack her now - and her comments seem less pointed, her answers militant and overly detailed.
Shadowheart kind of hates it. At least in an argument, there was some sense of purpose to be found. Now, her interactions with Lae'zel are catty at worst and that just isn't enough to release her frustrations. She gets more of a reaction out of Astarion with the right words but it just isn't as fun. Astarion’s issues run to deep to play for long.
Shadowheart is trying, but despite herself she knows she can trust Lae'zel for now. She has not betrayed them yet, and if they get to the crèche… Shadowheart thinks that Tav might actually be the one to watch. Tav does not care for his gith God-Queen the way the rest do, but he cares for power. He cares a deep deal for power.
Lae'zel also cares for power, in that she submits to it. If it comes from the right place, she submits. That keeps Shadowheart's attention.
*
Lae'zel needs that attention. She is not reckless, but does not agree with wasting resources when she believes herself capable without them. Lae'zel doesn't seem to think herself incapable of anything.
Shadowheart is not a god. She can only do so much, so when a day comes when she is in need of rest, she is not surprised to see Karlach awkwardly dragging a makeshift cart behind her when the group returns that evening, poorly attached with a smoking rope to her axe. They really need to find a way to fix that engine of hers.
“We forgot that you have all the scrolls!” Karlach yells, and Shadowheart laughs because it is funny, and there is still a spirit to call back. It isn't a big deal, and yet-
Lae'zel gasps back to life with a string of spluttered curses, and seems confused when they aren't where she remembers being. Her ears pin back, tinged dark with what Shadowheart assumes must be embarrassment. It looks good on her, but she is paid little attention in kind.
“The drow-” Lae’zel demands, looking straight past Shadowheart as if she were not even there. Karlach shakes her head.
“We got her, but don't worry, we saved Dror Ragzlin for you! We can go back tomorrow.”
Lae’zel curses again, spits blood on the ground and takes Gale's offer of a potion without complaint. She likes the wizard, as stubborn as she is to admit it. Shadowheart meets Karlach’s eyes with a raised brow and gets the awkward smile she expects before she takes her leave.
Straight to Tav. She doesn't know what overcomes her, but this is ridiculous. No one else had died more than once, and she's getting sick of dodging Lae’zel’s claws.
“You shouldn't have gone in there without me.” She corners Tav the moment she spots him, wandering around the edges of camp like an animal. “That was a waste of a scroll.”
Tav folds his arms across his chest. “The drow is dead.”
Githyanki are so irritating.
“Yes, but-”
“We may soon rid ourselves of our ghaik tadpoles, thanks to our efforts. You would have us delay another day for you?”
Shadowheart frowns. “No. But you could have shared your plan with us, your lowly minions. Have you even found Halsin-” Tav rolls his eyes and turns back to the trees.
Rage bubbles fast and hot under Shadowheart's skin, but he isn’t going to admit his mistake and she cannot find the will to argue all night. It doesn't matter anyway. She finds Scratch for comfort instead, running her fingers through his fur.
Lae'zel is tearing into a raw carrot by the fire, chewing with her mouth open- so normal for someone who was curled up dead in some sacks less than an hour ago. Gale is cooking stew tonight, and trying to teach her the names of all the ingredients as he goes, but Lae'zel seems equally as interested in stealing them while his back is turned. Death begets hunger, it seems.
Scratch pushes his head into Shadowheart's hands, and it is easy to stem the flow of guilt when there is a dog to fuss over. There is nothing to feel guilty about anyway; she shouldn't care at all, but it is a slight to her ability, the power granted to her and shared with their troop.
She should have been there. Tav is too reckless to go without a healer. She makes sure to give scrolls to each of them. Just one. Just in case.
*
Tav sneaks away after the hobgoblin falls, disappearing into the shadows without a signal, and leaving the rest of them to loot the bodies.
It turns out that Halsin was already dead anyway, by the time they find him. A waste of time. There is nothing else for it.
They need to find a crèche.
*
The tieflings throw them a party for their efforts. While now exactly the goal, the wine is a worthy reward as far as Shadowheart is concerned, company notwithstanding. Tav isn't very into any of it.
He waits by the water, speaking softly with Wyll and bearing his teeth at their guests, but there is no issue. Githyanki probably don't really have parties, and he doesn't seem to enjoy crowds that he can't wave his sword at, so Shadowheart gives him space and tries to enjoy the night for what it is. Hiding back in her enclave with a few choice bottles that Astarion hadn’t stolen is as much a treat as a real bed might be.
Their other gith is similarly avoidant, but at least she bears witness, even if she refuses to actually talk to anyone. Lae’zel drinks large, gas inducing mouthfuls of beer and watches the tieflings sing and dance and be merry- calm and curious as she has surely ever been seen. It takes Shadowheart a second to spot her even when she tries, and Lae’zel has never blended in with a crowd before. It's unnerving, to say the least.
She hasn't so much as looked at Shadowheart for anything but healing in days, but she catches her staring now, and immediately falls into bad habits. Shadowheart fights the immediate urge to avert her eyes, but she's already been caught. Of course she has. They are both hanging by the sidelines.
Rather than be left seeming overly curious, Shadowheart downs the last of her glass, and moves to refill it. Lae’zel’s expression morphs into its typical sneer, but when Shadowheart takes a step forward, she moves to match her.
“Lae’zel.” She greets her with a nod, both of them finding their way to the quickly dwindling alcohol pile. Shadowheart has her own stash of course, but she wouldn't be caught dead offering it up in front of prying eyes, to strangers. Those were hard won bottles, chosen and carried on her own back. Shadowheart is glad they saved the refugees… but not that gracious.
Lae’zel gives her little in return, just a nod as she finds something to suit her own tastes amongst the dregs. Shadowheart had never seen her drink before. She can't help but speak, even as she wishes she could pull it back. The wine had made her loose-lipped, and she does not remember if that was always the case.
“I didn't know you partook.” It comes out less teasing and more accusatory, and Lae’zel’s eyes slide over to her, less alarmed and more irritated. Shadowheart suddenly feels hot under the collar, and for the moment Lae’zel leaves her hanging, idly considers reading her mind.
(Not with the tadpole, but the way she is accustomed to, with magic. Lae’zel likely wouldn't notice that. She takes a deep swig of her drink and buries the thought before it can manifest further. Now is not the time to break their fragile truce.)
Lae’zel glances down at her own cup and frowns, as if shocked that there is indeed something there. “I have.” She says, and there is a beat in which Shadowheart becomes sure that that is all she will say.
She feels exposed in the centre of camp, but the moment she goes to move away, Lae’zel stops her with another oddly lightly worded statement.
“You have forgotten the night Tav offered us only inebriation for our evening meal?”
Shadowheart does not clock straight away that this strange tone that she has never heard before is concern of all things. It appears more like confusion or maybe even a joke - paired with those wide eyes and that furrowed brow - but the truth is that she had forgotten. Not for the reason that Lae’zel is referencing, but the answer is still the same. It all comes together embarrassingly slowly in her mind, and she is already speaking before the deed is done.
“Oh! I had actually. I don't often black out like that, but when the opportunity offers itself it can be a pleasant way to pass the time.”
She rounds the ring of her cup with her finger, and watches Lae’zel trace the motion with her eyes. Yeah... she would never notice Shadowheart taking a quick glimpse at those inner thoughts. She tucks this away, drunkenly, and wills it to stay. And then she realises, and is defensive immediately.
“It's normal to forget things after drinking three bottles of wine. How well do you remember that night?”
Lae’zel is looking down at her beer again, and Shadowheart’s irritation knows no bounds. Even without her armour and her sneer and her attitude, Lae’zel gets under her skin.
“Understood.” She says, ignoring the question and nods again, seemingly unaware of the tightness in Shadowheart’s grip. “It seems you do have some knowledge to share after all, and I will not turn down the opportunity to learn. In crèche K’llir, any inebriations were strictly ceremonial, so I will admit I am not as familiar as you may be.”
Is there a judgement there, or is it just the way Lae’zel’s voice grates on her ears? Shadowheart cannot focus enough to discern it, but she feels eyes on her and decides to play nice. The others can enjoy the show.
“Well, if you ever have any questions, I’m happy to answer them.”
Shadowheart has been well trained in this. While she does not remember the process, what has been taught sticks in her body, in her bones. The tension holds but melts from her externally, and she swirls the wine around her cup with a disinterested flick of the wrist. Lae’zel just stares at her.
She really is quite something. Shadowheart has seem more gith than most, and Lae’zel is small for her kind. It's one of the first things she noted about her - besides the sword on her back and the simple fact that she was yet another githyanki in Shadowheart’s way - but either she herself does not know this (unlikely), or Shadowheart simply cannot comprehend her as such. Lae’zel often looms quite large in her mind; inhuman like Tav, deadly like Karlach, and hateful in a way that is all her own.
That is why it is so strange when something in her expression changes, and Lae’zel takes a step forward. Shadowheart almost backs away, but holds her ground and tries to determine what it is that is making Lae’zel seem so small again.
“Why?” She asks. Quick. Paranoid.
“What?” Shadowheart has already forgotten what they were talking about.
“Why are you suddenly offering support? You have been a subpar healer and nothing but a hindrance to our chances of survival.” She tosses her head like a horse, with eyes just as empty. “Unless you consider becoming ghaik as life worth living.”
Shadowheart isn't so sure anymore, but her pride chomps at the bit.
“Excuse me? Do you genuinely think you would be alive without me? Or that you will remain that way? I think you should rethink this course, Lae’zel.” Shadowheart cannot help the venom that floods her mouth, and swallows it back down with a mighty effort.
Lae’zel frowns, blinking. “You revive me for Tav’s approval and heal me for your own benefit. Even you cannot be ignorant to that truth.”
Shadowheart is a little taken aback. “That's not true.” She says, buying time when she realises she is about to scramble. Lae’zel’s eyebrows shoot up.
“We owe each other nothing but our strengths, Sharran. I would appreciate your honesty, if you are capable.”
With that, Lae’zel quickly clinks their glasses together, awkward and sharp enough to send genuine pain rippling up Shadowheart’s forearm, and takes her leave back towards the water. Tieflings jump from her path like parting reeds. Whoever told her about this custom owes Shadowheart a potion, at least.
Shadowheart ends the night feeling very off kilter, but drinks her private supply and does not dwell longer than needs be. That Lae’zel goes on to lure Tav back to her tent for more of those carnal pleasures she enjoys so much - making it everyone’s business - really doesn't help. Shadowheart is sure that she is not the only one kept awake with their racket.
They are both bruised and lighthearted for it the next day, while Shadowheart feels like a wet rag. That much wine with that little sleep makes her quiet, snapping at anyone who tries to speak with her, but the two gith are happy so everyone else is too. Shadowheart glares at them across the fire from dark ringed eyes and tries to eat.
(Gith don’t do romance. Lae’zel had told Wyll as much once, but watching them exist in such companionable silence, Shadowheart thinks they and their ilk might just be too thick for it to take root. Even dogs feel love, but then dogs are worthy of it. Scratch comes to her more often than Lae’zel ever approaches Tav.)
Lae’zel has left traces of herself in claw marks around Tav’s neck and shoulders; barely visible under his armour, but Shadowheart is well accustomed to spotting injuries between spots. She on the other hand is stubbornly still wearing her gith armour, and her bruised legs and kiss bitten lips feel obscene even to walk beside. She could heal herself of those if she wanted. She should heal herself.
Sex between these two must be more battle than coupling, because she wears his markings like she wears her scars. Proud. Wickedly, Shadowheart obsesses over this.
She could wipe it all away in a moment if she wished to, and she does only moments into a fight Tav finds for them. These gith end up so badly hurt all the time; how is she to know which of their precious wounds they would leave to fester? If they notice, neither comments.
*
A day later, Astarion complains privately to her of a bloodied scent in the air. It is a play towards Shadowheart’s poor mood, a rude comment at most but it sticks with her. She takes notice. Because Astarion is right.
Something in camp is wrong. Something sticks in the back of her throat. It makes Scratch keen and hide for hours. Everyone seems to have taken note of it, but no one else says a word. There is no reason too.
*
Lae’zel catches her staring more often than not now, rendering her research at its natural end. It is no matter - Shadowheart knows enough - but she resents her for it anyway.
Her Lady Shar also has an opinion, and directs her gaze elsewhere each time it meets Lae’zel’s with the speed of a whip crack, until ichor drips down her wrist like blood. Her redemption lies in secrecy, but Shadowheart has always found it difficult to keep her devotion quiet. With the strength of such a blessing, she only just manages to keep her head down and eyes forward.
If Lae’zel keeps up their game, she is not a part of it.
*
Shadowheart has little love for the githyanki in general, and given her history, that seems like an appropriate reaction. It is strange; most people seem perfectly capable of living their whole lives without ever encountering the alien race, but she seems unable to take a single step without seeing spots.
They find a group of them, and a high ranking officer accompanied by a red dragon, and Lae'zel is immediately enthralled. Tav does not remember his protocols, but he is aware of his own skin and the decision is final. They march onward until the sun sets.
Shadowheart's first time fighting gith had been a mess. Her team had all underestimated what a lifetime spent in training would lend itself too, and Shadowheart - the healer - had found herself drained and alone before she knew it. Holding the relic in her bloody hands, hiding in a dark corner and willing the soldiers not to turn their heads in her direction, to search the darkness- it had been the longest night of her life. Or, at least what she remembers of her life.
The true fear had not settled in until much later. Escaping one group of extraterrestrials only to be scooped up by another - the very same that subjugate the first, a tale so unfortunate a bard might not even bother to string it together - had not lent itself well to intense self reflection, but landing in a gith crèche certainly speeds up the process.
The monastery is beautiful even now in its ruin, but Shadowheart does not enjoy descending into its depths. The gith here do not seem so bothered having two istik in their midst, but flanked by Tav and Lae’zel it is unlikely that any one of them believe that they are anything but livestock. Astarion seems equally gleeful and irritated in their presence, spitting at the implications but enjoying the air of danger all the more for it. Shadowheart has two invisibility potions, and she keeps one close. Just in case.
Tav steals an egg. Shadowheart does not know why he does it, or why he hands it off to Lae’zel. It is clearly very heavy, and the acid eats through Lae’zel’s pack quicker than any attempt to salvage it. They find her a new one moments before Tav slices the throat of another youth, and maybe Shadowheart should have listened more closely to Lae’zel’s ramblings about gith culture.
She barely seems to note the death of her kin at all, still complaining about her pack and why she is being burdened with such a weight, but she does not drop it. She handles the egg with such care, for someone who is as likely to kill a child as cradle one. Astarion is already busy robbing the dead kid. Tav preens under the compliments to his kill, and none of them are dead yet. Well, the day is still young.
*
The infamous tadpole removing machine proves ultimately useless as a cure. It leaves Lae'zel with matching smoking burns on either side of her head, before promptly exploding.
Unfazed, she had stormed into battle, slaying her kin with a focused savagery unlike her usual stances. She cuts down the doctor faster than she deserves, and refuses to leave until the betrayal is reported. Tav seems too excited to listen to reason, bounding after her with his own greatsword in tow, glowing with divine magic of undetermined origin.
And now they stand before Vlaakith herself, and Shadowheart's palms are sweating under her gleaves. The Lich booms down at them with demands that Lae'zel grovels to accept. She is bleeding from one of her ears, and Tav does not lower himself to his knees alongside her to worship their Queen. He agrees to the terms she sets, and Shadowheart says nothing.
What could she say, that would not lead to her immediate end?
Astarion is no help either. He only offers an uncomfortable shrug when she dares to look. They will surely be the first to die, if this goes poorly. Maybe Tav and Lae'zel will do the job themselves. Suddenly this whole plan seems insanely foolish to have agreed to. She may as well have thrown herself off a cliff on the way in. At least there she might have had a view for her final resting place. Here, she may be ground up as rations.
Shadowheart knows that something very bad is about to happen, but there is no stopping Lae'zel. She does not allow Shadowheart to touch her and heal her wounds before they enter the prism; none of the other gith seem phased by her appearance at all.
Two weeks ago, Shadowheart would have been annoyed. Now, she understands what a weakness it would be to accept. It's still stupid, but she understands.
But then Lae’zel refuses her again , as they wait for Tav to finish the job in the privacy of the prism, and that is weakness. As foolish as she clearly is, the likelihood of some kind of brain damage seems to grow by the minute. Lae'zel’s frustration rolls off her so strongly Shadowheart could have believed it was psionic.
“There is no danger to return to and I am not in need of healing!” Lae'zel bellows, blazing with mania that Shadowheart hopes is just fear. “Your prejudice is insulting at best, and suicidal at worst.” Blood pools at the bottom of her eyes, but does not fall as tears. Not yet.
Shadowheart is about to bite back, because Lae'zel is being obtuse, but bites her tongue. Lae'zel is not the type of person to spare a messenger, but the writing is on the wall. The air was wrong back in the monastery. Astarion is sharpening his blades.
Tav appears back from the strange portal with a confused and sullen tale that Lae'zel still does not believe, but she doesn't strike. She does not accept healing.
At this point, Shadowheart gives up on her, and maybe on the concept of surviving this stupid endeavour altogether. When they emerge from the prism, it is to bloodshed.
The gith elder cleaves Lae'zel’s torso apart with a wet slice within moments, and does not stop until the last rumble of life is gone. Shadowheart was wrong; Vlaakith’s warriors go straight for their kin, and Shadowheart cannot save them both.
Tav is yelling, but beyond the blood and the teleporting and the psychic swords, there was never any hope of saving Lae'zel. What little healing Shadowheart managed to send her way would have been better suited to Astarion. Tav is only faring so well with distance- his magic keeps the ch'r'ai held in place until they can pick him off along with his lackies.
When the battle ends, it does so suddenly. It rings in Shadowheart's ears like church bells. Lae'zel is barely recognisable amongst her dead.
“Well, that was shit.” Astarion mutters. He is remarkably well put together considering, though there is a shake in his step when he begins to loot the corpses. Shadowheart does not bring it up, for fear of her own voice.
“Yes.” Tav is a much sorrier sight. His pale, usually yellowish skin is darkened with blood and burns, his sword dulled by a fight against such heavy armour. “But it is done. Astarion, where is that key you found-”
He does not let them go to camp, no matter how loud Astarion bitches. Not without this bloody weapon. He gives it to Shadowheart to weild, and does not care to see her grimace. They pass Lae'zel's body again on the way out, and something gives Shadowheart pause. It's pity, and she is made sick by it.
“We should revive her.” She says, and it might be the first thing she's said since the fight that actually registered in her own mind. She does not know why she said it until it comes to her, and rushes with excuses. “It's likely we’ll have to fight our way out of this place, and another sword can't hurt. Even a reckless one.”
Tav seems to weigh this against something, and Shadowheart stands quietly at Astarion's side. She does not know when these things became his decision alone. Shadowheart does not need to ask… but she does. Internally.
“You're right.” He finally settles on, and fishes a scroll out of his pack, hands it to her without another word. She takes it just as thoughtlessly.
She expects Lae'zel to come back furious, but it isn't the case. She comes back broken, her mind fractured by the zaith’isk and the betrayal and the reality of her situation finally registering through that thick skull. She cries out to her Queen in a display more pathetic than Shadowheart thought her capable of, and her wound flares for the first time in a while- Shar's disgust manifested on her skin as sure as it was her own.
Shadowheart might have had some sympathy after all, if Tav were not there. He doesn't seem to care about at all, and neither should she.
*
She spends all night trying to fix her. Nothing works.
Shadowheart does not remember if she has ever worked so hard to save someone before, or had a patient so resistant to her efforts, but she tries. Lae’zel spends the hours oscillating wildly between trying to attack and barely responding at all, no matter what Shadowheart does to provoke her. It is eerie - genuinely frightening - to see her cower like this.
The others take it even worse. Shadowheart’s training in medicine keeps her head straight, but the others are acting like Lae’zel is already dead. Tav only sharpens his weapons, and Shadowheart is reminded of what this kind of injury might mean between githyanki. There is something wrong inside her, a part of her mind; even her tadpole seems to scream when anyone gets too close.
Shadowheart pumps every spell and potion she can think of into her, but there is no real change. Anything clever Shadowheart throws at her is met with nothing but blank eyes and beared teeth.
“Shadowheart?” Karlach asks, and she was sleeping a moment ago. Shadowheart does not know how long she has been watching.
“Nothing yet.”
Lae’zel does not respond to them, even though Shaodwheart knows she can hear them. She isn’t actually dying. “It's just some light brain damage.”
“That might mean something different to you than it does to me. She looks pretty cooked.”
They are in front of the fire, the three of them and Gale, while he chops up those weird gith ingredients. He has been quiet by her side, not offering his typical advice which only makes the situation seem more dire. Gale is probably following the exact same line of thought that Shadowheart is, and despite herself… she does not want Lae’zel to die. Moreover, she does not want Tav to kill her. Shadowheart knows how slippery that slope can become, in a party like theirs.
Lae'zel eventually - finally - sleeps, curled up like a dog by the fire. Or an egg, Shadowheart supposed. She leaves her there, and goes back to her own tent. She stopped the bleeding, got her to stop in general, and that is all that she can do.
Tav will be angry that she could not fix her. Whatever is wrong with Lae'zel is deeper than skin and more deadly than her pride. Shadowheart's own pride aches with the effort of keeping her head down. Reading by her light cantrip between doubts of checking on Lae'zel isn't the worst way to survive the night. She hasn't slept properly in some time anyway.
Lae'zel does not thank her, but she did not expect her to. She retreats to her own tent before the sun rises, and no one dares to bother her. Gale is screamed back up the hill before he gets close enough to leave food.
Tav does not suffer the same restrictions. Shadowheart watches him march straight down to her with something in his fist, entering her space with no concern for his own wellbeing. No one pays this much heed, even when Lae’zel barks, even when the fight turns audibly violent. Karlach is halfway through a story by the time the screaming starts.
Gale drops his spoon, and the noise clatters around in Shadowheart’s head, doing little to ease. Her tadpole squirms along with everyone else's, and she knows what is happening instantly. They all do. She does not dare move.
It seems that everyone else is similarly incapacitated with shock, and all eyes are on Tav when he emerges again. Karlach’s vents weeze harshly in the otherwise eerily quiet morning. Even the fire has stopped spitting.
“I have healed her.” Tav says, as if this is a miracle, but even he cannot ignore the silence and the stares. “This is a good thing.”
Later, Tav will confess that his dream visitor told him to do this, and that he had believed in her methods- another tadpole squirms around in Lae’zel’s head now, knitting it back together. Shadowheart has never even met the eyes of the woman who visits her at night, and the idea of taking advice - medical advice - from the apparition sends chills down her spine.
Shadowheart’s gut feels heavy and her heart races, but she does not know if these are her reactions or someone else's. There is no reaction from Lae’zel’s tent anymore, and the cleric in Shadowheart itches to go to her, to witness whatever damage might have been done to all her work. The previous night of no sleep seems wasted now. Beside her, Wyll’s fingers crackle with magic. He is a good man. This cannot last.
No one says anything and no one moves, but Tav presses on. There is always something that needs doing, and the githyanki are relentlessly efficient. Really, they should have seen this coming. Shadowheart’s head hurts, and this does not lessen with the tension. Maybe she just has a high bar for it- but there isn't time to dwell in fear.
Lae'zel is left to wane away the hours in camp while they clear the remainder of the monastery of its invaders, leaving the bodies strewn where they fall. They make a lot of coin that day, and it weighs heavier than it should. They eat fine food and sharpen new weapons but there is no drunken revelry tonight.
If Tav notices the looks, he does not address them. Lae’zel does not leave her tent, and does not eat what is left for her. Shadowheart does not see her again for days.
*
(He should have just killed her. In the end, that would have been the merciful thing to do. Lae’zel’s tent is so close to her own that Shadowheart knows she does not sleep, but can’t bring herself to listen.)
*
Shadowheart dies unceremoniously one day to a horde of undead.
It is embarrassing - she is embarrassed - to fall in such a way, with so much to her advantage. She is brought back while the fight still rages, her wounds still open and bleeding, and there is no time for thought. Everyone in need of healing. It also turns out that she was correct; being revived is not good for the stomach. The festering ghouls do not help.
No one comments when the fight is won. They pick up the pieces and store what they think is worth selling. Tav says they have quite the stockpile of gold now; likely the reason he chose to waste a scroll on her now. Shadowheart hasn't seen a coin of it.
They delay for a few days after that. To tie up loose ends, Tav says. Lae'zel stays in camp.
They kill a hag in hiding. A spider bigger than a forge. A giant construct that crawls out of an even bigger forge. Shadowheart starts wondering when she will die- when she will stay dead . The bloodstains in camp haven't washed away, no matter how many days of rain they get.
Tav is a force of nature. Shadowheart feels at ease fighting by his side, but there is no doubt that he is careless. She spends most of her time peeling someone else off the floor, because Tav charges into everything blindly. Stupidly. Like any gith, she supposes. They destroy the colony of myconids that they had spent so much time saving, and Shadowheart still does not understand why. They walk away with everything the creatures ever called their own. It isn’t worth the effort.
Lae'zel does not accompany them for any of it, and Tav does not disturb her. She spends her days in deep meditation, almost trancing it seems. Since her visit from the older gith warrior - since Tav's disgust had won out and they had slaughtered him for his treason, since Lae'zel took his silver sword for herself - she appears to be locked in a self centred war with herself. The others speak in hushed tones around the fire when Tav isn't there to listen in, and no one is happy. If the crèche has changed things, Voss sets that change in stone.
Lae'zel has much to think on. That's what the others say. Shadowheart just thinks her a fool, marching towards nothing and leaving nothing but death in her wake. Worse than Tav, in a way. She doesn't know what happened to the old general's body.
Still, Shadowheart finds this predicament the two gith have found themselves in endlessly fascinating. She dwells on it for hours, and bends this waste of time into worship of her own deity. Tav does not care for Vlaakith, but Lae'zel's world is shaking. Shadowheart’s will is steadfast and true. She prays herself to sleep at night.
*
When she does venture forth again, Lae'zel is defiant. It is as if she has become stronger by simply willing it so. Her fire is relit, and her burns are fading now.
She had refused to let Shadowheart heal them before they could scar, and is still adamant that she was right to. To Shadowheart, they are ugly and a sign of her own stupidity, but to each their own.
“They are a mark of survival.” She explains, one evening when Shadowheart finds herself stuck with her again. Things are different now, but she still doesn't enjoy her company. Shadowheart is on watch for a few hours tonight, and Lae’zel never seems to sleep much anymore.
Shadowheart thinks little of the concept. She thinks little of Lae’zel in general, but their conversations no longer crackle with violence. They aren't particularly pleasant, but Lae’zel is calm despite her bloodshot eyes. Shadowheart no longer fears a knife in her side. A boon from a wasted night trying to help her, she supposes.
“Hardly a marking of heroics.” She says and it comes out a little slurred. Shadowheart may be on watch, but she has been drinking.
Lae’zel still rolls her eyes at almost everything she says, but not this.
“No. A reminder. A lesson.”
(Loopy in her tent that night after the crèche, Lae’zel had told her she likes her scar. The one across her face. Shadowheart does not remember how she got it.)
Lae’zel is staring at the skies as she often does since her branding, since it became apparent to all but her that her likelihood to fly to the Astral was slim to none. Githyanki will hunt her to the edges of the universe, if she ever makes it off of Toril.
Turning to look at her now, there is much of the same childish faith that Shadowheart had identified from the start, but now it all just seems sad. She wants to look away. She studies the intricate webbing of scars instead.
They make her look older, but somehow less harsh at the same time, and Shadowheart understands then why she might have wanted to keep them. She traces the scars on her own body late that night, and wonders if they ever stood for something. Her hand flares through the night like a fever.
Soon, they will take the Mountain Pass and push on, and things will likely change again. There is nothing else to do.