#War Cleric for Lae’zel

[sophiasharp]

It’s probably because of how deeply tied to their identities the Tadfools’ backstories are (and also how the fuck does Tav fit into anything) but I’m kinda surprised by how I haven’t seen much, if any, role-swap stories for Baldur’s Gate yet. Which is a shame cause I think there could be a lot of potential there, cause none of these guys would respond to each other’s circumstances the exact same way.

Think of a noble-borne Astarion, who might not have been the best person but still would give anything to see the city he loves safe. This time, it is not infernal machinations that threatens Baldur’s Gate, but the long-standing rot of the Faewild that promises to bring about its ruin. The binding of his mortal soul is made all the more bitter by his family’s formal disowning of a child who conspires with the Fae. Making himself into a hero is not done out of a genuine selflessness but out of a necessity to try and reap SOME reward out of sacrifice, to make it MEAN something other than losing all he once knew.

Think of Lae’zel, stolen from Selune’s Tears during a Githyanki training mission and brought up in the Sharran cloister, damned to forget herself while always and forever remaining OTHER compared to the rest of the acolytes. Shar bids one live their lives in the shadow, but she figures one must sometimes bring the shadows forward more forcefully if they are to further their cause. As a war cleric, she promises to become the sword-arm to the Nightsinger that might one day banish the light for good. And yet, she still wonders some days where she comes from and why her hand sometimes burns so fiercely.

Think of a young, bright-eyed, and curious Karlach, raised on tales of swords and sorcery, who more than anything wants to become one of those heroes one day. She wants to be the next Elminster, or Tasha, or Mordenkainen- no, she wants to be BETTER than them, to outshine even the greatest of spellcasters and use her power to protect those she loves. Mystra sees her determination and feeds it, letting her enthusiasm grow to obsession as she gets older, leaving behind her friends and family in favor of her greatest passion incarnate. But it’s not enough. How could it ever be, when the woman who claims to love her, the one she’s built her life around, continues to hold true mastery of the arcane just out of her grasp? Surely there is some way she can prove her worth. Surely, with her Goddess’s favor and her own deft hand at Abjuration, she will be able to gift Mystra the one thing she wasn’t able to take on her own.

Think of a Gale, a scrappy young man with so much arcane potential and yet none of the money necessary to have it be honed properly. Still, mouths must be fed, and so he pushes himself to become stronger, strong enough to support his single mother in the City of Splendor. Indeed, he grows strong enough to catch the attention of an up-and-coming politician from Baldur’s Gate who may have some shady dealings on the side, but the money was good enough for him to look the other way. Just as long as he could keep sending money back to Waterdeep, he didn’t care much what his boss did. Until, one day, everything changed. He was sent to the hells, his heart ripped out of his own chest and replaced with a searing hot contraption that threatened to burn him from the inside out. Ten years he spends down there, fighting a war he never signed up for, and a rage begins to take form. Through his anger, the magic inside him finally finds a conduit, wild enough to let him survive through everything.

Think of Jenevelle, kidnapped during her Selunite rite of passage by mindflayers and later “saved” by Githyanki raiders. She is offered the chance to prove herself more than a slave, and grabs on with both hands. She trains among them, fighting not only to survive but to be the BEST at it, to justify her existence amongst their ranks. By the time she is grown, her past life is but a distant, painful memory. She earns the title of Shadowheart, her mettle as cold and furious as the dark side of the moon. For her own safety, she can never let herself stop fighting to be better. She will become Vlakith’s champion if that’s what it takes for her to finally, finally be enough.

Think of a Wyll Ravengard born two centuries earlier, nearly killed and left for dead by one of his father’s political rivals when a cold hand offers eternal salvation. Later, he wishes he had perished in the alley as intended. He spends years, decades hoping that his father and the rest of the flaming fist would find him, only to be crushed when rescue from his living hell never comes. He outlives all that would have known the face of Grand Duke Ravengard’s late son, becomes a ghost of himself as he learns how to lead countless to their deaths in the hopes of saving his own skin from more pain. And yet, somewhere deep inside him, there lays a part of him that still holds hope for the happily ever afters of the old stories he clings to despite everything he’s gone through. By day, he sharpens his claws, remembers his training from before his life was thrown away, re-teaches himself how to strike hard and fast before anyone can react, and bides his time. Maybe, just maybe, the gods would give him the chance to be his own hero. The monster and the hunter both.

[fkitwebhaal]

Anyway, here are my thoughts about what each of the companions would present on if they had to give the rest of the party a PowerPoint presentation:

Gale: A completely accurate and detailed lecture regarding the theories of teleportation magic, how it works, and the differences between it and plane shift. There are multiple charts and graphs.

Wyll: “Choosing your hero name: an adventurer’s guide” He does have suggestions for the entire party.

Karlach: “Ranking bars in the gate based on how much they remind me of Avernus.” She has provided illustrations that she made herself. Anything in the Upper City is ranked “like Avernus” because “occupied entirely by pricks.”

Shadowheart: “So I was wrong about Shar: a reluctant apology.” It’s mostly a debunk of Shar’s lies but the entire time it does look like she is pulling teeth. However, she cheers up considerably when she presents on some of the church’s secrets, including the weird ass code names for things that she always thought were a little silly.

Lae’zel: a very educational and complete history of her people’s war against the mind flayers. It’s all rather academic until the last slide which says “AND THIS IS WHY WE DON’T EAT THE WORMS” in all caps.

Astarion: “Ranking you by whose blood I’d want to drink most.” In order, it is as follows Gale (rancid), Karlach (spicy), Minthara (probably is poisonous after all the poison she’s been exposed to), Jaheria (that story about what she did to one of the spawn was memorable), Shadowheart (does cleric blood taste radiant?), Lae’zel (curious how Gith taste, doesn’t want to die), Minsc (large and has extra blood to spare), Halsin (can turn into a bear, think of all that real estate), Wyll (canon verified snack)

Halsin: “Foraging: what’s edible and what isn’t” Gale takes very dutiful notes given someone gave him a mushroom two ten days ago that gave the entire camp food poisoning. Astarion, the only one who did not get food poisoning, who has completely forgotten what he foraged was the culprit, takes 0 notes.

Minthara: Battle orders and tactics. All of these fools need to get whipped into shape.

Jaheria: “Get it Fucking Together: Stop Doing this Shit.” What follows is a callout of everyone’s worst habits and decisions. One slide just says “stop snitching.”

Minsc: it’s just pictures of Boo.

[calistozom]

SPOILER WARNING for one of the endings. And also, I may be exaggerating a little.

In my first run, I tried to reach the best possible ending. Even though I chose the Emperor (because he, at the very least, didn't try to kill me the first time I met him), in my personal canon, after the great final, my OС would try to resurrect the gith Prince. NOT just because I felt sorry for Orpheus, but also because I felt guilty for actually destroying Lae’zel's life… twice... my "lil angry war-frog" didn't deserve it! ＞︿＜

And I ALSO understand that most of those dramatic deaths are used purely for the sake of the plot and this is a REALLY GOOD plot in many ways ... HOWEVER, I still resent how quickly our rebel giths buried their Prince. Like WTF, Voss?! What the actual F….???

I may not know everything about resurrection mechanics in DnD, but I do know that THERE ARE a lot of ways to bring someone back from the dead. Like all my resurrection scrolls, or "Divine Intervention" (from clerics), or resurrection spells (from almost all mages/sorceress/warlocks/clerics/paladins/etc.), or the "Wish" spell (which Gale's "friend" Elminster is clearly capable of), or the "Reincarnation" spell (which druids are capable of), or you can ask Withers/Jergal to create a miracle for the last time (although he most likely would have refused and I don’t judge him). Just ask for help, you stupid kith’rak! * screams of rage *

P.S. – while I was drawing, my sister showed me THIS and I felt like it fits, so I’m leaving a link to you. Thank gods, that I’m not the only one who asks these questions.

[baldurs-simp]

Un-Holy (Astarion x Aasimar!Reader)

Summary: Your heritage comes out in the midst of a battle, leaving you to confess your past to Astarion, whom you have developed a strong relationship with.

Warnings: strong language, mild spoilers, aasimar!reader, fluff, written at the spur of the moment while slightly tired, a bunch of rambling in the beginning but shit goes down later on

MY MASTERLIST

You have gone years without a fight until you woke up on the Mind Flayer ship with a tadpole behind your eye. Now, you cannot go a day without fighting for your survival after the ship crashed somewhere near Baldur’s Gate. You are not alone in the fight, however, having met some companions along the way who all share the same affliction you do; the threat of becoming a Mind Flayer.

The first you met was a Gith, Lae’zel, on the ship before it fell, then a Cleric of Shar, Shadowheart. The two don’t see eye to eye, but they keep the peace well enough to not cause a fight within the camp at night. Then you meet the rogue, Astarion, whom you later find out is a vampire after he tried to drink your blood in your sleep. How he’s able to walk in the sun without burning to a crisp is a mystery to everyone, but you think you could be because of the tadpole lurking around in his head. Or perhaps it is the work of the Guardian that visits you in your dreams.

Then you met the wizard from Waterdeep stuck in his portal, Gale. He has his issues. An orb sits in his chest, waiting to explode if it is not sated with magical-infused objects. You normally allow him to consume items that would otherwise be of no use to you. Items that grant you spells that you can already cast. Items useless to you, but not to Gale. 

Wyll you had met after defeating a group of goblins that tried to enter the Emerald grove. Meeting him spurred your quest to help the Tieflings being kicked out by the druids. You plan on clearing the way for them, getting rid of goblins that might attack them west of the Blighted Village. Wyll had his quest to hunt down a devil, whom you found, Karlach. 

Karlach is nothing like what Wyll had described and they finally came to a consensus to not kill each other. The tiefling that fought in the Blood Wars was only enlisted against her will. And she now joins your party in search of a cure for the Mind Flayer tadpoles.

You feel as if you know everyone in your party, and know somewhat about their past from what they shared with you after bunking down for nights while on the road. Yet, they don’t know a thing about your past. They don’t know who you truly are, or what you really are. But sometimes you think it’s for the better.

Battling the Hobgoblin leader, Dror Ragzlin proves to be a difficult fight. With the majority of your companions looking rough and the fight still raging on, you can’t help the necrotic energy bubbling up inside of you. You have to let it out. 

Planting your feet firmly into the ground beneath you, you let out a fierce cry as ghostly skeletal wings sprout out from your back. A necrotic shroud falls over you, turning foes close to you around in fear. Your eyes turn into black pools as your gaze falls on Ragzlin, letting him know that he is your target. 

The fight is quickly won after that and you drop your celestial facade, helping up Gale and healing him of his wounds. “Well, I didn’t know we had an Aasimar in our party,” Shadowheart mentions, causing you to turn your head towards her and see that everyone else stands behind her, staring at you in awe and curiosity. 

“Let’s just find Halsin and get out of here,” you quickly say, walking past them without so much as making eye contact with them. 

“Woah, woah, we’re not gonna talk about how fucking cool that was?” Karlach mentions as the party follows you, stepping over goblin corpses as you briskly walk toward the exit. 

“There’s nothing to talk about so let’s not mention it. This is just something I can do just as you can go into a rage,” you say over your shoulder, pushing the heavy oak door open, shoving the piercing gazes you feel on your back from your companions. You sigh, knowing that they will pester you if you don’t tell them what they want to hear. “Look, it's a long story, okay. I come from a celestial background. It’s no different than Lae’zel coming from a Githyanki background. We all come from somewhere and none of us has pestered anyone about it, so why should it be different with me?” you question, turning around to face them. So, can we please leave it at that, find the druid, and get out of this place?”

From the tone of your voice, they can tell that your heritage is a sensitive topic. And they know you’re right. Everyone has their past and they are free to disclose as much as they want. It prevents tension from rising in camp. So, they suck it up, leaving your story to their imagination. Until you’re comfortable telling them.

Astarion, on the other hand, is not one to let things go. He thinks that he deserves to hear your story after he told you what happened to him and how he became a vampire spawn. Not to mention that you and him have become somewhat close. After all, you do allow him to feed off of you at night when he needs to. That creates quite a bond if he must say so himself. 

As night draws near, everyone tends to themself to rest after a long day of slaying foes in the desecrated temple of Selune. You keep to yourself, not wanting to be involved in conversation as you fear that someone will bring up what happened to you in the fight. It’s a conversation you don’t wish to have. 

You sit by the edge of the lake, looking up at the stars, lost in thought and memory. You don’t even hear the footsteps approaching you from behind as you stare at the twinkling lights illuminating the sky. 

“There you are,” Astarion’s voice calls, pulling you out of your thoughts and back down to earth as he sits beside you on the ground. “I had thought that perhaps you had flown off.”

It was meant to be a joke and you know that. But it does not make you laugh or smile. Instead, you sigh heavily and glance down at your feet. “If only. Unfortunately, my wings are incapable of flight,” you state, looking back up at the water lapping at the shore. “They never used to be, you know. Gods, I used to be so fast, flying between clouds like a blur. Now, I can remember what it’s like,” you say, smiling to yourself as you recall a memory of being in the sky. 

Astarion has his eyes fixed on your face, taking in your smile, something that rarely comes across your face since he’s met you. “What happened?” he asks, tentatively and in a whisper. 

“I fell in love with someone I wasn’t supposed to,” you say, shaking your head in shame. “I fell in love with a devil. He was charming and cunning and I was cast out from my people because of it only to find out that he was toying with me because he wanted to see me stripped of my radiant power. He wanted to see me fall,” you explain, turning to meet Astarion’s gaze finally. “There is no pride in being a Fallen. Only shame.”

He understands now. If anyone, he knows all about shame and it explains more than you know to him why you never told anyone what you are. He wants to reach out and touch you, lay a hand on your wrist as a way to tell you that you are not alone in this. But he doesn’t know if you will allow him to touch you. He knows that if the roles were switched and he told you in extensive detail what Cazador had done to him, he might not know what to do with a friendly touch. 

“I wandered around on my own, living off the land, too ashamed to show my face to others, fearing that they would know what I had done and how far I had fallen from grace,” you say, looking back out to the lake. “I was on my own for so long, until I was taken by those Mind Flayers. It seems fitting now, being a Fallen Aasimar with a tadpole behind my eye.”

“You are not alone in this, you know,” he simply says, leaning slightly forward so that he can hold your gaze. “No matter how far you have fallen from grace, you are not alone, little angel.”

You chuckle at his words, your shoulders relaxing as you shift in your seated position. “I’m glad to have met you, Astarion. I only wish that we had met sooner,” you say, smiling sweetly at him as you cross your legs under you. “Perhaps things would have been better.”

Astarion laughs, throwing his head back slightly as he follows your gaze out to the water. “I do not think you would have liked me all that much. I would most likely have led you like a lamb to the slaughter for Cazador to feast on. And he would have reveled in the taste of your blood,” he says, a low growl in his voice at the mention of your blood. 

You two had talked about what the others might taste like to him, talking - theoretically - how different people’s blood would taste like. You’re sure that yours must taste different than those he had bitten in battle for a bit of extra strength. 

“And I would have tried to kill you if you did,” you tease him, looking at him, your eyes meeting his and you two stare into each other’s eyes. 

“May I see them?” he asks, his eyes shifting to your back.

You know he means to see your wings, even in their dismal state. You feel comfortable showing them to him just as he had felt comfortable telling you that he is a vampire. Giving a small nod, you close your eyes to focus on conjuring your spectral wings, revealing their skeletal form with minimal feathers covering parts of them, some looking as though they are ready to fall off. 

His mouth falls slightly open as he stares at them, shifting himself on the sand of the shore so that he can kneel behind you. You can almost feel his breath on your next as he shifts closer, his fingers reaching out to touch the exposed bone. 

A breath catches in your throat, your head perking up as a shiver runs through your spine, making your wings slightly perk up. Your heart skips a beat, something you’re sure Astarion can hear, and you turn your head slightly over your shoulder to look at him.

You don’t have the heart to tell him that his actions are considered something intimate between your people. Taking another’s wings is something only lovers do. You’ve never had anyone touch them, even when they are in their original, glorious form.

You close your eyes at the sensation, taking in it because you are not sure when you will experience it again. When you feel Astarion moving away, you look at him again and smile. “Thank you. For letting me myself around you,” you whisper, standing up off the ground and dusting off the sand from your hands and legs. 

“No. I think I should be the one thanking you for trusting me,” he speaks, standing up with you as he gazes at your features illuminated in the moonlight. Gods, he wishes he could see you in your full glory. He knows you’re still holding back what you could be. Still, he thinks it could be absolutely glorious to see you as the angel you truly are.

You bid him good night and walk to return to your tent. As you leave him, he casts his eyes to the ground to spot a black feather that has fallen from your wings. He bends down to pick it up, twirling it in his finger as she smiles to himself. 

He’s going to keep this feather so he remembers this moment forever. 

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[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

COLLISION

Astarion x Y/N - Chapter 2 - 2.5K WC

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 (you are here!)

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 NSFW 18+

Chapter 6 NSFW 18+

Chapter 7 NSFW 18+

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Magic was tougher than it looked. It felt like the most grueling full body workout. “Well, you’ve got enough to get you through a very short… heavily aided battle.” Shadowheart said, it sounded like the best backhanded compliment. 

“Can we be done for the day?” You asked, cracking your neck and stretching your back. “Please?”

Gale smiled and waved you off, “Just for today, we’ll need you in battle soon enough. Best you have a few tricks up your sleeve to survive… A word of advice, seek out Lae’zel, have her show you combat training. The Githyanke are -”

“Excellent warriors, I know.” you stated without thinking.

Gale’s face faltered for a moment before relaxing “Precisely, she’s the best to learn from.” he clapped his hand on your shoulder before walking back to his tent.

Shadowheart was walking back to her tent but gave you a smile and mouthed “good luck” towards you. 

You took a deep breath and walked to Lae’zel’s tent. Feet practically made of lead the way the anxiety made them drag. You stopped in front of her not looking up.

“Speak” was all she said.

“I’d like to spar with you… have you teach me how to fight… so I’m not just a useless cleric.” Your lip twitched up at the end of your sentence. Finally raising your gaze, Lae’zel looked at you and crossed her arms. 

“Fine. I suppose you can use this.” She said handing you what you recognized as “The Cruel Sting” sword from the drider, Kar’niss. 

You clutched the sword and followed Lae’zel to the center of the camp where she unceremoniously body checked you, knocking you onto your back with a groan.

“The Hell was that for?!” you yelled at her.

“Your enemy will not fight fair, you need to know brutality if you wish to fight.” she said as she unsheathed her sword.

You stood and held your sword. Nothing had ever felt more out of place. This wasn't a Renaissance Festival, this was real and you had to learn this to survive. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and praying a collective prayer to any deity listening. You opened your eyes, the first strike of many clanged against your sword.

Shit.

________________________ 

Metal collides well past sundown. Lae’zel had run you ragged. You were currently trying to shove her back. She put her foot behind yours and shoved, sending you crashing onto your back.

“Have you learned nothing?!” she yelled so loudly everyone else in the camp was watching now. “Your enemy will not hesitate to kill you. You shall offer them no such mercy either!” she continued to yell.

That's it. That’s what broke the camel's back. Rage consumes you after being beaten down for hours. Your hand reached slowly for the small blade tucked into your breast pocket. Lae’zel put her sword to your neck to demand your surrender. You raised your hands. Lae’zel began putting her sword away and that's when you struck. You kicked her closest ankle and sent her falling. Dagger in your hand, you rolled on top of Lae’zel, straddling her hips and pressing the blade to her throat. She gawked at you, she was speechless. 

“Never assume the war is over because the battle was lost.” you said with hate in your voice but a proud smile on your face. 

Lae’zel gave the faintest smirk before taping the handle of the blade, signifying she surrendered. Both of you got up slowly. Lae’zel extended her arm. You stared at it in disbelief but your arm went to hers. Holding each other's forearms she shook it once firmly before saying, “Cleric, you may survive us yet.” she let go of your arm, walking to the bonfire as the meat roasting smelled as if it was almost done. 

Karlach walked over to you, “That’s as close as you’ll ever get to her saying you’re friends now.” she laughed. “You’ve improved a lot in one day. It’s going to be nice having you around soldier.” she patted your back before she herself walked to the campfire. 

You smiled watching her walk away. Glancing at Gale and Wyll they both gave you smiles, Gale giving a soft clap and Wyll a thumbs up. You walked back to your new tent that Karlach had set up for you while you were in the weave. It wrapped around the tree you slept on last night. A bedroll, some candles, and a small table with a lamp softly flickering. The flamed danced shadows across your tent, you laid on your bedroll momentarily, watching the shadows. Quickly, before you got too comfortable, you stood and began your walk to the stream. Your body ached but in a satisfactory way. Maybe you could be an adventurer. At least until you got back home. You shed your camp clothes at the shore, looking back and making sure everyone was at camp. You could hear them eating and telling stories  around the fire. You waded into the stream until it reached your ribs. You sat against a boulder in the stream. The water rushing around you felt calming, as if the water was trying to massage the ache out of you. You brushed water over your face and hair before leaning your head back and closing your eyes. Trying to connect to the earth around you, searching for a blissful escape in the elements even if only for a moment. 

---------------------

Astarion watched you from behind a tree near the shore and his tent. He didn’t mean to spy on you. He honestly thought he saw a fae or siren wade into the water, your body enchanting him. He watched you wade to the boulder finding some sort of solace in it. You leaned there unmoving for what felt like hours. 

Sad

That's what rang out in Astarion’s mind. The tadpole saying what your mind must have been screaming. He felt that unfamiliar pang in his chest again. He wanted to… comfort you? He didn’t even know what that would look like. Was it like seduction just… less? He both wanted to know and despised the thought of knowing.

Without realizing it, he had drifted off and he refocused on your form trudging back to the shore. He knew what he had to do to get rid of the pang in his chest. Crush it. Crush you. The very thought hurt him somehow but he knew it had to be done. He walked out from behind the tree heading towards the shore. Your back was facing him, your shirt and underwear on but nothing else. He adored the way the moonlight made your shirt cast a shadow of your body. He noticed every curve, dimple, freckle… he noticed them all. 

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“Oh! Astarion…” you jumped when you heard the rocks behind you shift. Your hands flew all over your body trying to cover up but not sure what exactly to cover. He grabbed your hip when you started to move backwards. You glanced at his hand before looking at his face, your eyebrows scrunched together. Astarion hadn’t exactly been the most welcoming in the camp so what was this? Hand still on your hip he possessively pulled you to his chest, his opposite hand tilting your chin up so your lips were a breath away from each other. Your whole body felt like cement and lava at the same time. Your eyes watched his every move. 

“A bath with no invite? Darling, you wound me.” he whispered onto your lips. You sucked in an unintentionally sharp breath when he leaned forwards and smashed his lips to yours. He was rough despite his gentle grasp on your chin. He continued to kiss you, nipping at your lower lip.

“Ouch!” you yipped, pushing his chest away. 

“Come now darling you cannot be so delicate…” he said seductively.

You backed up and held your arm out in front of you to put a physical barrier between you. “Astarion, stop.” You said as your finger smoothed over the nip on your lip that had drawn the smallest bit of blood. 

Now it was his turn to freeze, “What? Why? Is something wrong?” He asked. He almost sounded… annoyed? Instead of concern which you would expect from a lover. 

You knew enough about Astarion from your progress in Baldur's Gate III that he was trying to manipulate you by sleeping with you. It saddened you. He might not like you much in reality but you would still protect him like everyone else in your party. Your face gave a painful squeeze before you swallowed it all down. You put your arm down, picking up your pants, boots, and vest. “Astarion… you don’t truly want this. I’ll umm… I’ll see you at camp.” You whispered out. 

-----------------------

The world seemed to be so still and quiet down by the stream. Astarion heard every syllable. He watched you leave quickly and did he detect… a quiver in your voice? Why would you be upset about him trying to fuck you? Why did you say “you don’t truly want this”? He didn’t want it, but how did you know that? He walked back to his tent glumly. After seeing you take down Lae’zel he thought you might not be so bad to have under his thumb. Why would you reject him? He saw himself for the first time in 200 years that morning so he knew for a fact he was still beautiful, fangs and all. He wracked his brain but couldn’t come up with an answer to why his plan didn’t work on you. It works on everyone else. 

A bitter seed was planted inside him. He watched your form move around camp for the rest of the night. Eyes never meeting his. He watched you talk with the others. Sing with Wyll. attempt to dance with Karlach. Everyone wore soft smiles, even Lae’zel which was rare. A warmth was spread around the camp. As if the air was made of warm honey. Suffocating you in the best way possible. Rested and comfortable is what it was.

He wanted so desperately to be a part of it. And yet, that bitter seed took root and every thought of you suddenly felt like rot and decay. Finding the bad and none of the good. Making you the cause of such ire. He wanted to be rid of you. He thought of the item you had, the “mirror” he used. Had you told the others about that? What would they think of it? He could twist it to make you look like the villain, he was sure of it. 

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“”Y/N darling…” 

Your head snapped to Astarion who had silently managed to sit across from you at the bonfire. Your head swirled a bit, whatever Karlach was drinking had some twang to it that's for sure. You were drunk and the warm glow of the fire made you feel like a cat in a sunbeam.

“Astarion darling…” you giggled back.

“Have you told our dear friends about your powerful little tool?” he batted his eyelashes at you but a devious smirk laid across his lips. 

Everyone's eyes slowly drifted to you and lord did you feel them on you.

“I… I showed Gale.” you rushed out. You weren’t hiding it. Not truly. You just didn’t know how to tell them what a phone was without having to tell them about your… well… life? And how to you, they were a mere video game. That they didn’t actually exist. That's a little tough to deliver. Especially while drunk. 

“Yes! She had me repower it.” Gale chimed in. 

“Oh it needs magic to power itself? Sounds dangerous if you ask me…” 

Now everyone's eyes were not only looking at you but focused on you, scanning you over for any potential danger. You slowly reached into your bedroll. Your phone lit up and everyone kept a strong hold on their weapons. 

“I… it is a power source… but it only powers itself. It’s not dangerous I swear…. It’s used to communicate where I’m from.” you quickly defended yourself.

“And where is that exactly?” Astarion hummed.

Your skin was crawling, you felt how unsteady your stomach was, a cold sweat coating your back, your hands shaking, and dear god you were fighting the urge to spill tears. All out of sheer anxiety. You didn’t want to lie, but you didn’t know how to tell the truth either. 

“I… I’m… not from here. Or Baldur’s Gate. Or Faerûn. I’m… I’m from somewhere far away. I’m not sure how to explain it.” you choked out. The tears slipped out but you quickly wiped them away and looked at your new friends, hoping they’d believe you but not push for more answers either. 

“How mysterious.” Astarion jested. “Care to show up what it does so we know it isn’t dangerous?” 

You looked down at the phone before looking at everyone around you. You had no idea if this would have some sort of butterfly effect or alter reality but you didn’t really care. These people were your best hope, you needed them and were in no position to test their patience. You looked down, defeated. You agreed, turning the phone on you opened the camera app. 

“I can use it to see people… and take portraits of them instantly.” you softly explained before taking a picture of yourself and then showing them all the picture. They looked impressed, borderline shocked. 

“Anything else?” Astarion asked, sounding unamused. 

You opened your music app and clicked on classical music, thinking that would be somewhat close to the music they know. Playing strauss II - voices of spring you turned the volume up and watched them become entranced. Karlach started swaying and humming with the melody. Everyone’s tense appearance faded and they all seemed pleased with the music. 

“Portrait machine and a music box, how delightful!” Gale spoke before drinking more wine. 

“If you all don’t mind I will retire early this evening.” you spoke softly as you got up and walked away leaving your phone as it began the classical music playlist you had saved for when you would study. Some of the group gave you nods, some were too deep in drink or conversation to notice. But Astarion did.

He saw how tightly you clasped your hands as you walked away. How your eyes were so big and full of fright. How your heartbeat sounded. Terrified.

Shit.

---------------------

He watched you from his tent as you threw rocks from the river bank into the riverbed. He could still hear your heartbeat. How strained it sounded. Like it was fighting itself. He felt wretched. He was doing what he needed to. Right? Then why did it hurt so damn bad? Why did the way the tears skimmed down your face feel like a wound to his heart? Why did he want nothing more than to go to you and whisper sweet apologies. He hates you. He has to because it is the only control he can feel at this moment. So why does the final sob he hears escaping you on the shore bring him right back to where he doesn’t want to be. He digs in his supply pack before pulling out the vile of angelic slumber. If he couldn’t meditate this away he was not above drugging himself to sleep for the night. Anything to not feel what he felt when it came to you.

Hello angels! You all were so sweet leaving me comments, likes, and reblogs. Thank you soooooo much! All that support went into overdrive so here is chapter 2! I'll be working on other chapters this week. Thank you again for all the love, I love interacting with ya'll! <3

[littlejuicebox]

Midnight Chimes 4 / Ringleader

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader Warlock.

Word Count: 2,415

Summary/Setting: You and Astarion have met before, though you think it meant more to you than it did to him. You are an apothecary shop owner that has recently gained some mysterious Warlock powers; Astarion is, in your eyes, a rake that you wouldn’t trust as far as you can throw him. You two run into one another again after the nautiloid crash.

Preview:

It hadn’t really been you that found the three new party members, after all. It had been your patron. The blasted thing seemed to alternate between completely ignoring you and positively strong arming you into submission.  And it seemed unfortunately hellbent on collecting every straggler along the way of this little adventure. Though you supposed the cleric, the githyanki, and the Blade would likely prove to be more useful additions than the pale elf sitting nearby.  But how could you explain the connection to the celestial being to Gale or anyone else if you did not truly understand the connection yourself? How could you explain they were putting their trust in the wrong person for the job? Gods, you needed to get back to Baldur’s Gate and head to Sorcerous Sundries. Surely they would have some information about this unwilling bond. And speaking of unwilling bonds…

Warnings: eventual smut and gore 18+ / in game spoilers / angst, trauma, fluff

A/N: Finally feeling (almost) 100% back to my normal, healthy self! Thank you for the good vibes and well wishes! &lt;3

The warlock, the wizard, and the rogue.

This little group started off with the makings of some ridiculous fairytale your parents would have read to you before bed.

Though, despite your parents wishes, you hadn’t really been a child interested in fairytales and make believe. Your penchant for pragmatics had developed early on, and before long mama and papa had all but given up on their dreams of a perfect princess daughter. In her place stood some sort of mad scientist… at least in their eyes.

You hadn’t actually been mad. Not then, at least. Though you were starting to worry that between the parasite and your patron, you might truly be going crazy now. No doubt the two were at war, trying to determine who would wrestle ultimate control of your mind.

Should you simply choose between the lesser of two evils, when your fate already feels sealed as it is? 

Gale and Astarion had blindly followed your lead the first day, and remained silent every time you decided to stop and change course, prodded in another direction by the celestial being playing with your psyche. This abrupt switch in traveling plans led you all to Lae’zel, where you convinced the tieflings to let her go, and Shadowheart, as she desperately tried to break open the door of some abandoned ruins. 

Astarion had simply picked the lock of the ruins, earning him some clout among the others for his skill set and further suspicion from you. After all, why exactly did a man like Astarion have any need for a skill like that? 

Subsequently, the five of you explored the dank, dilapidated building. After downing a handful of humanoids and some reanimated corpses, the group happened upon a strange, skeletal being named Withers. He said he would see you again soon.

After a relatively restless night in camp, you all happened upon the Grove on the second day of exploration. Some druid named Halsin is missing, though it turns out he may be the answer to your little predicament, Nettie tried to poison you (stupid, really, to try to poison an apothecary with one of the most basic tricks in the book), you saved a little tiefling thief from death, and then you met Wyll… all in a couple of hours.

The Blade of Frontiers is looking for some devil he’s supposed to kill; he’s also got a tadpole in his head, and like Gale, seems in relatively good spirits for such a grim situation. Those two seem suspiciously well-adjusted. 

The entire journey thus far had only been two days long and exceedingly… well, odd. 

It was certainly a much different experience from your day to day of brewing potions and tending the shop. You wanted nothing more than to return to the comforts of city life. But instead, you were forced to be the unwilling ringleader of this circus, despite your protests on the matter.

You are discussing your concerns about leadership with Gale as the group takes a short rest not far from the Grove. Wyll is gathering the last of his supplies and will meet up with all of you in mere moments. 

“Oh, but you’re doing a fantastic job, Demetria!” Gale exclaims, somehow unfailingly supportive of a woman he barely knew. 

Oh, how you wished to trust anyone half as much. 

“You have such remarkable intuition. We wouldn’t have found Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Wyll, or all this great loot without you!” He continues, before gesturing to a handful of gold and scrolls while positively beaming.

The wizard clasps a friendly hand on your back and then scans the surrounding area. He smiles at you once more, “Now I plan to make myself useful and harvest some flora! If you plan to make use of that newly procured cauldron, I best give you materials to work with.” 

You smile softly and nod at the wizard before he disappears into the shrubbery. Brewing potions was easy; you could craft all the basic ones by memory alone. But leading a group of people through the wilds based on some sort of fabled intuition and instinct? You weren’t so sure about that. 

It hadn’t really been you that found the three new party members, after all. It had been your patron. The blasted thing seemed to alternate between completely ignoring you and positively strong arming you into submission. 

And it seemed unfortunately hellbent on collecting every straggler along the way of this little adventure. Though you supposed the cleric, the githyanki, and the Blade would likely prove to be more useful additions than the pale elf sitting nearby. 

But how could you explain the connection to the celestial being to Gale or anyone else if you did not truly understand the connection yourself? How could you explain they were putting their trust in the wrong person for the job?

Gods, you needed to get back to Baldur’s Gate and head to Sorcerous Sundries. Surely they would have some information about this unwilling bond. And speaking of unwilling bonds…

Astarion is perched on a fallen log, basking in the midday sun’s rays. He’s the picture of relaxation, as if this entire sordid affair is a holiday away from Baldur’s Gate.

Sure, the pale elf had been helpful in battle, and he seemed to have a strange knack for opening locks, but as far as participating in camp efforts went, he certainly left a lot to be desired. You should have guessed as much. With the princely attitude and haughty confidence, it was likely he was merely another spoiled, rich elf. He reminded you of…

Nevermind.

You look to Shadowheart, hoping to pursue a conversation with the woman, but she is a few feet away, resting on her knees in prayer. Lae’zel is also preoccupied as she meticulously sharpens her already deathly blade. You’ve spent almost all day trying to intentionally avoid Astarion and keep any conversation with him to a minimum. But as everyone else seems busy doing their own thing, you’re left with no choice but to take a few minutes of reprieve near the rogue. 

You sigh and nestle yourself on the ground, unwilling to take the empty spot on the log next to Astarion; sitting like an animal in the dirt seemed the better option for your pride. As you lean back to stretch your aching muscles, the warm country breeze picks up, swirling around the elf’s silver curls. You are sitting downwind from the rogue, and the gust pushes a whiff of bergamot and rosemary in your direction. 

You can’t help it. The fragrance angers you. Astarion hadn’t even written to you once, even to send a simple rejection or at least compliment your sample. He’d wasted your time on your last few hours of vacation three years ago. All for what, exactly? 

He hadn’t even gotten to bed you, which had surely been his goal, in the end. 

You glare at him, in all his world-endingly beautiful privilege, as he simply lounges about in the sun as if nothing is wrong.

“It seems you liked my perfume sample enough to procure a rip off of it, but not enough to write.” You state coolly, watching the pale elf as he snaps his eyes open to study you. You notice him thinking, no doubt calculating some sort of smooth response.

“You can save the piss-poor excuses, Astarion.” You sigh, now reaching into your pack, trying to find the small vial of perfume oil you’d had inside your robes when that ship snatched you up. You open the vial and take a deep breath, basking in the comfort of familiarity.

It smelled like home. Like your quaint little townhome, in Waterdeep. Too bad scents can’t transport you back in time… at least not literally. 

There are a few beats of silence as Astarion watches you.

“I do apologize for not recognizing you before, and for not writing…” He begins, slowly, as if trying to soothe a wild animal, “I lost your card. I have a tendency to be… forgetful. And I lose things a lot. But, I did quite like the scent, as you can tell.”

You nod, acknowledging the apology but not willing to acquiesce any further. You cannot decipher if Astarion’s words are the truth or if they are simply honeyed lines meant to subdue you. Your pinky finger presses against the perfume bottle’s rim and you rub a bit of the fragranced liquid behind your ears.

The wind shifts, blowing your thick, dark hair forward around your face, obscuring your vision. You cap the small vial and then quickly tie your hair back. When you are able to see again, Astarion is almost gawking at you, scarlet eyes blown wide in surprise. 

He shifts and recovers quickly, jerking his gaze away and running a hand through his windswept curls. When he speaks, his voice has a manufactured, airy nonchalance to it, “It is quite windy out here, isn’t it?”

You don’t respond, and he turns to face you once again. His jaw tenses for a moment, and then he leans back, assessing you once more. He tries another tactic.

“That is… another lovely scent that you’re wearing.” He murmurs, and this time, the genuine, hesitant intrigue in his voice catches you off guard.

“Thank you,” You begin, and despite yourself, you are flattered by his statement. You truly love when others notice and compliment the artistry of your craft. You shrug and offer the vial to Astarion. Perhaps a small olive branch is due, if the two of you are stuck tethered together for who knows how long. 

The rogue takes the bottle and inhales the fragrance, and then he emits a noise that sounds something like a soft moan or groan. It’s a deep, uninhibited sound from the back of his throat, almost as if he’s absolutely losing himself in the scent. When he focuses on you again, there’s a relaxed look in his eyes paired with a soft, unguarded smile. It reminds you of the way he looked at you in your parent’s tavern. 

“Delicious…” He murmurs, his tone dropping into that salacious one he’d used on you at the tavern all those years ago, when asking if you planned to murder someone with poisons. Something about the way he said the word while staring directly into your eyes, his pupils blown from the fragrance he’d just inhaled, made your face grow hot.

You aren’t interested in a rake, and you won’t be fooled again, you remind yourself. No matter how beautiful the bastard truly is. 

You extend your hand out, motioning for the vial and he obliges with a disappointed tut.

“It’s a combination of lavender, sage, and vanilla.” You explain, tucking the precious vial back into your pack.

“And what else? There’s something else, isn’t there? It’s the same thing that was in the sample you gave me.” He responds, eyebrow cocked in curiosity.

You laugh in genuine surprise, “Good nose. Are you trying to steal my recipe so that when you return to Baldur’s Gate, you can have an exact duplication instead of the lesser version you have now, Astarion?”

You are partly joking, partly serious. 

The elf shakes his head, brows crinkling together in absent thought, “No… merely curious, I suppose. I’ve never smelt anything quite like your concoctions. I have to admit the memory of the scent from that night has… stayed with me. I would have written to you to tell you as much, if I could have. If I hadn’t… lost your card.”

You squint your eyes. There is something genuine in Astarion’s statement, despite the strange excuse about losing the card. Sure, he may have truly lost it. But then, he could have simply returned to the Drunken Dragon and asked your cousin for your address.

The next time you visited your family on holiday, after your conversation with the rake, your cousin indicated the elf hadn’t been by since that night. When you asked about Astarion every year, feigning nonchalance, your family always indicated he hadn’t been seen. 

It was almost as if he were avoiding the Drunken Dragon altogether for those three years.

You’d ultimately assumed he moved away… or perhaps died, murdered by one of his jealous lovers.

“It’s dragonsblood… just a drop.” You admit, eyeing the silver-haired elf with suspicious curiosity.

A sudden bark of laughter escapes Astarion’s lips. And then his head tips back and he positively cackles in a mixture of amusement and delight. He seems to find this information exceptionally hilarious. Your brows stitch together in confusion as you watch the rogue chortle.

Sure, it was an unusual additive. But it wasn’t exactly hilarious, was it? 

“Dragonsblood!” He exclaims, clapping his hands together in front of him as his eyes crinkle with mirth, “How… unique. You are quite the artist, Demetria.”

You feel the flush rise in your cheeks at the compliment while you murmur another thank you. Surely he’s flattering you, trying to ingratiate himself and hoping you’ll forgive his slight against you, isn’t he? 

Astarion’s eyes flit between yours now, and he hums in thought, “You look… different. From my memory at the tavern.”

“Really? Well you didn’t actually remember me at all until the parasite helped you, so I’m not quite sure how reliable your memory of me is. You look the same as I remember.” You deadpan, instantly trying to deflect from his observation. 

You know what he means… the ring hadn’t just affected your mind. It has permanently altered the color of your eyes into a strange purple, reminiscent of the cosmos itself. But you aren’t ready to share anything about your patron or the damn ring with anyone else just yet.

Astarion cocks his head, and he is about to say something more, but then Gale is bursting back through the brush. His eyes are wide with apprehension as he looks between you and the rogue. The concerned expression on your otherwise affable campmate causes everyone in the vicinity to quickly rise to their feet.

Gale grimaces as he addresses his new traveling companions with some level of unease, “I think you all might want to see this.”

And then he disappears back into the brush without another word. Part of you thinks you shouldn’t follow him, but you do anyway. After all, how could this possibly get stranger than it already is? 

Your patron is laughing again. Poor little apothecary, you have no idea.

[gryphonlover]

I’m in a yapping mood so I’ve come to bother you (I’m so sorry), anyways here’s how I think the chain would play BG3:

Time- he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. He falls for every trap and he accidentally kills characters he shouldn’t have because he trusted the wrong people. He definitely played the dark urge because he thought “that one looks interesting” but didn’t fully think that choice through, and he was TRYING to be a good person but he’s absolutely given into the evil thoughts by act 2. Doesn’t even realize romancing the characters is an OPTION until Lae’zel comes up to him like “i want you” and then he screams

Wars- He’s still stuck in character creator /j Fr tho he put HOURS into designing his tav and his created like, the most conventionally attractive mf out there (it’s definitely a paladin half high elf with that ONE specific face). He’d romance Wyll (best man in existence) or Lae’zel (terrifying lady). I’d say he plays it for the dating sim but he’s also INSANE and likes attacking people

Twi- He’d play a sweet little tiefling druid. He’s just there for the vibes, he just wants to pet the owlbear cub the rest of the game stresses him out (he’s a stardew valley kinda guy). He stays in the safety of act 1 and just runs around

Sky- he takes his bg3 incredibly seriously, he has over 700 hours. I think he’d be a cleric, every single time. He’s GOOD at combat, he’d good at building the characters, he loves exploring

Hyrule- Ranger. Romanced the emperor because he thought it was funny and then had a LOT of explaining to do when Legend saw he got a trophy for that. He just makes whatever he thinks the funniest choice would be

Legend- He’s one of the few who has the strength to play a different character every play through. He loves exploring the game and he’s romanced all the characters just to see how different they all are and he loves all their lore. Has more hours than Sky but pretends he doesn’t so he doesn’t get judged for being insane

Wild- Wizard or Sorcerer, either way he blows everything up. Pickpockets all the npcs for cash because he thinks its funny, makes HORRIBLE decisions because he’s curious to see what happens. Definitely doesn’t know you can pay Withers to revive people after they die-

Four- plays the exact same dragonborn fighter every single time, but each play through he does gets crazier and crazier until he’s making INSANE decisions and everyone gets the WORST possible endings, but he’s having fun and he likes being evil

Wind- he picked to be a sorcerer, but other than that he randomized everything else and ended up playing a hot pink gnome he named “Ronald”. He’s having the time of his life

-crazylittlejester

This is the best thing I've heard ALL DAY. I'm not kidding. (And you can bother me anytime. That's why the ask ox is open. 👍)

I have to admit, I had the same reaction as Time when I discovered the dating part, and I've never even played the game. 😅

11/10, totally agree. They would love D&D so much, my goodness. Someone needs to make an LU version of that one episode of VLD where all the paladins play a one-session campaign. It would be complete chaos.

[britishassistant]

Gale’s Excellent Adventure (2)

Gale thinks that things are going well so far!

They’ve met and recruited a githyanki warrior—the first Gale’s ever seen outside of illuminations in scholarly texts!—and a rather dashing warlock who answers to the moniker “The Blade of the Frontiers”.

The fellow was hunting a war-devil, who turned out to be an unaccountably lovely tiefling with an infernal engine in her chest as well as a mindflayer tadpole on the brain.

He is looking forward to learning more about this exotic trio over the course of their travels together. And he’s learned so much more about his current companions too!

He now knows that Shadowheart is a cleric of a deity she will not name, but one that prizes secrecy and an intimate knowledge of torture and interrogation tactics among its followers.

(He’s relatively certain it’s not Mystra. Relatively. Almost probably.)

That Astarion channels the innate cruelty and ruthlessness of his profession into being very skilled at stabbing people in the vitals and relieving them of any valuables they possessed.

(Also he contains a puckish glee for “odd” names. He was in stitches over “Wyll-with-a-Y” for hours.)

That Yuu has yet to receive any formal training as a bard or a combatant, but improvises with what few cantrips they do know to devastating effect.

(They’re trading him magical items for lessons on the Weave. Gale’s surprised at how he enjoys it.)

There’s been a few…fractious moments between certain individuals who shall remain nameless, but he’s certain everyone will be fast friends soon enough! They’re all in this together, bonded over getting rid of the mindflayer tadpoles.

And best of all, no one’s noticed a thing.

He’s been patient, and observant, and has learned enough by now to mimic the spasms the others get when their tadpoles are…tadpoling. Their mental communications are harder to fake, but nothing a sneaky “detect thoughts” can’t fix.

Yes, he’s blended in splendidly, if he does say so himself.

***

“Gale? Can I have a word?”

“Hm?” He looks round, drawn out of his musings by one of his new friends. “Ah, Shadowheart! How can I be of help?”

She glances around, taking in Karlach debating with Lae’zel, Astarion needling Yuu while they’re trying to hold a conversation with Wyll.

“It’s a bit of a…personal matter.” She leans in. “Would you mind if we took this somewhere more private?”

Oh. Oh!

Well, this is a little awkward. Gale knows he’s handsome man and a capable wizard. It’s only natural that, in such close proximity for so long, someone would fall in love with him sooner or later.

Still, he reflects as they arrive in the ruins behind the camp. His dedicated monogamy to Mystra does mean that he has little to no idea how to let someone down gently or ask if he can get to know them a little better first before committing fully. She certainly provided no example—swept in with power and a whirlwind romance only to just vanish into the night and never respond to his sendings or prayers. Oh hells, how is he going to—

“I know you don’t have a tadpole, Gale.” Shadowheart announces gravely.

Gale promptly chokes on his own spit.

“Wh-wh-what?!” He splutters. “What are you—how—that’s—!”

“Really?” She tilts her head at him, a cross between sardonic and pitying. “That’s all it takes for you to break? Gale, I made one statement. Do I need to teach you how to lie so the others don’t unmask you so easily?”

“I don’t know what—?” He tries to lie, but she folds her arms, stare growing even more unimpressed. “Alright, alright, but not so loud! How in Mystra’s name did you find out?”

“It really wasn’t that difficult.” She shrugs.

He lets out a little snort, kicking a twig. “Spare my feelings, why don’t you.”

Shadowheart sighs, taking pity on his pouting. “Fine. It started in the Druid sanctum. When we happened upon the druidess menacing the tiefling child, the rest of us were treated to a…rather unpleasant vision. Involving a much smaller Yuu, an elven beauty, and attempted horn removal.”

He feels as though he cricks something in his neck, whipping around to face her. “I’m sorry, there was what?”

“It doesn’t matter,” She dismisses, far too casually in his humble opinion. “What matters is that, given that Astarion and myself were both effectively deaf, dumb, and blind thanks to the tadpoles forcing us to view that charming little scene, how were you able to remain aware enough to keep Yuu from impulsively murdering that druid?”

He thinks of how he’d had to lunge when he noticed the tailless tiefling tugging free the spear they’d scavenged, the way the teenager had turned to him with glassy-eyed incomprehension before they shuddered back into themselves as if shaking off lingering night terrors.

“The pieces fell into place from there easily enough.” Shadowheart continues, meandering as she talks. “You react a moment too late if something the tadpoles do affects us physically. And you respond like a normal person ought to when confronted with other instances of the parasite that we’ve come across.”

“I see.” Gale mutters. Then, fiddling at his sleeves slightly. “A normal person, as opposed to…?”

Shadowheart’s face creases into a disgusted grimace. “An abiding compulsion from our guests to find more of the little monsters and slurp them down as if they’re a bowl of your fine stew.”

“Ah. Urgh.” Gale can’t keep his own nose from wrinkling.

The two of them marinate in companionably disgusted silence for a few moments.

“…And now?” Gale asks, unable to bear the silence any longer. “Is this where you announce to hither, thither and yon that I’m a fraud? Or did you have some personal retribution planned for my disseminations before proceeding with my banishment?”

A soft, sweet smile curves Shadowheart’s lips. Even with the mischievous twinkle in her eyes, it’s one of Gale’s favorite expressions of hers.

“Well, I wouldn’t say we need to go as far as all that. You’ve been a fine companion, Gale, even without the tadpole. I feel the tenor of this group would drop dramatically if you left us. The quality of our meals certainly would.”

A single ember of hope sparks into a quivering flame in his chest. “So then—!”

“But,” She holds up a finger to interrupt him. “I will require something in return. A guarantee, of sorts. I’m hardly Lady Popularity, after all, and if the others discover I’ve been lying for you then things could get quite sticky for me, you understand?”

He dithers for a moment, before letting himself nod. “Anything. I’ll do anything—ah, short of harming or endangering our fellow companions. Or myself. Or you.”

She tosses him a sardonic look. “Gale, would I ever?”

He elects not to answer that.

“I need you to keep an eye out for something.” Shadowheart says. “It’s a…keepsake of mine. I had it with me on the Nautiloid, but when I woke up afterwards, it was gone.”

“Oh. Oh dear.” Gale frowns, considering. “Well, I’m happy to aid however I can. What does it look like?”

She kneels down and, picking up a twig, sketches a vague dodecahedron with strange, angular characters decorating its surface. “It’s a little smaller than a fist, and black with orange markings. It is vital I get it back, it—! It means a lot to someone very important to me. Someone I’d hoped to reunite with in Baldur’s Gate.”

And call him a soft touch, but Gale’s always been partial to grand romantic gestures of devotion. “Alright. I’ll keep a keen eye out for it, don’t you worry. Might even dust off some of the old divination textbooks to see if scrying would be of any use!”

“Thank you, Gale.” Shadowheart smiles, verdant eyes sparkling with warmth like sunlight dappled through tree leaves. “You’re an excellent friend.”

It may be a little embarrassing, but that praise warms the cockles of Gale’s heart for the rest of the evening and well past noon the next day.

That warmth quickly goes tepid when it turns out the keepsake is in the custody of their intrepid leader, so revealed when the teenager pulls it out, bold as brass, to ask him if he can identify whether or not it is some form of communication device.

They at least heed his urging to return it to Shadowheart, even if they grumble slightly about the spies for the Order of the Companion as they do so. Shadowheart is rightfully indignant, but willing to forgive. His secret is safe. Gale is content that all is right with the world.

Which is when they all discover that Yuu literally, physically cannot give up the artefact.

***

“Wizard.”

“Gah!” He can’t help jumping.

“Ah, Lae, Lae’zel! You startled me. Can I help with anything?”

She scowls at him. Or possibly just looks at him neutrally. Perhaps even favorably! He’s never quite been able to tell.

Being too intimidated to maintain eye contact may have something to do with it.

“Follow me.” Lae’zel orders.

As with most of her orders, Gale obeys mostly without question.

Mostly.

“Rather, rather unusual for you to summon me, isn’t it? Not that I don’t enjoy conversing with you, far from it! I’ve always found it highly, ah, enlightening to learn more about githyanki philosophy and custom, particularly in matters of—!”

He finds himself transfixed by a pair of golden eyes staring into his soul and by a finger pressing to his lips.

“Cease this prattle.” She snaps. “You are no yank begging for mercy from a varsh. I have matters of import to discuss, so be silent and listen.”

Despite his usual difficulties with the task, Gale finds himself shrinking mutely back into the tree she has him effectively pinioned against.

A gleam of approval enters her gaze.

He chooses to interpret the removal of her finger as a proverbial carrot to incentivize his behavior.

“I know of your deception, wizard.” Lae’zel pronounces. “That you merely pretend to be afflicted with the parasite the rest of us suffer.”

His blood turns to ice.

“Ha. Hahaha!” He laughs, nonchalantly, like Shadowheart’s taught him. “That is. That is a. Funny joke, Lae’zel! Truly, you are the comedic backbone of this camp!”

Her expression does not change.

Gale tries desperately to concentrate on maintaining the illusion of mirth.

He fails.

“What gave it away?” He asks wearily, recognizing a thorough routing when he sees it.

“It was simple for one such as I.” She declares. “Of all who fell sweating and diminished under the tadpole’s machinations, you alone were flush with health. The gi even used this a proof to keep me from purging the camp.”

“Gi?”

Lae’zel rolls her eyes. “Gi, student in Common. The tailless one requested my instruction in combat, so they would not perish as they almost did aboard the Nautiloid. But that is irrelevant to the matter at hand. Which is that the next morn, you again were the sole member of this sorry band who did not immediately come forward with talk of a figure in golden armor in your dreams, telling us to utilize the tadpole.”

“Ah.” Gale had personally thought his improvisation when Yuu had consulted him, cobbled together from elements he’d overheard from the others, had been rather inspired all things considered. “Might there be anything I could do to convince you to not evict me from camp?”

Lae’zel crosses her arms. “And risk losing what is a blessing from Vlaa’kith herself? Do not be foolish!”

“Erm?” Says Gale.

“I would make you my ally, wizard.” She announces. “As the only one free of ghaik infection, you alone are free of their trickery and deceptions. You alone see things as they truly are, instead of what the parasite would have us believe them be.”

He considers this with a sense that is not quite dread, but is not far off in how it looms over him, makes his breath short under its scale. The anticipation of a burden to bear, perhaps.

“I…suppose so.”

“Do not suppose, know. That is what wizards claim to be their domain, is it not?” She challenges, a cocky bent to her smirk that makes Gale want dearly to rise to it. To prove himself worthy, somehow.

“Very well. And what would this alliance entail?” He queries.

“I would have you as my touchstone. To assure me of what is real and what is mere fabrication.” Lae’zel asserts, in the manner of a commander dispensing orders. “And, should the ghaik infection progress beyond this, aid me in ending the misery of the others and myself.”

Gale does not choke this time, but it’s a near thing.

“You what?!” He squawks. “Lae’zel, you can’t be serious!”

“And why not?!” She fires back. “You, above all others, know the danger of the ghaik! You know what will happen if we are allowed to transform! I will not permit it!!”

“Yes, well, but—! Lae’zel, you asked me to act as touchstone for you.” He implores, seeking out her gaze. “Then let me. This is madness speaking, Lae’zel, the purest folly. Losing you, or any of the others, that could in no way make the world a safer place. If anything—!”

He pounces on this new line of reasoning that has just dawned on him. “If anything, isn’t it far more likely that this is one of the tadpole’s insidious commands?”

Her eyes snap to him, alert as any bird of prey. “Explain.”

“Well, consider it,” Gale proposes, warming to his topic. “When we came upon those Absolute fellows with tadpoles in their heads, we didn’t join up with their cause, did we? In fact, Yuu deliberately orchestrated their demise while fighting that owlbear, so even their corpses couldn’t give a clear account of their killers. Maybe the tadpoles have realized you all have far more, erm, vigor and vim than they can contend with? Thus leading to them attempting to encourage you to terminate yourselves or each other to keep you from growing too powerful, opposing whatever their plans may be?”

He can see the cogs turning in her head as she gives his words due consideration. “Hrm…that would explain why Shadowheart is so irascible, and unwilling to allow the gi to return the aretfact to my people.”

He privately considers that this may have more to do with the fact that Shadowheart is still very determined to gift the artefact to her beloved in Baldur’s Gate and that she just greatly dislikes Lae’zel, but decides discretion is the better part of valor in this case.

“To think that the tadpole could even use the training of crèche K’llir against me…” Lae’zel shakes her head, disquieted. “Already this alliance bears fruit. I will keep your secret, wizard, and keep you appraised of when the parasite attempts its trickery again.”

Gale sags as the tension he’s amassed over the course of this conversation escapes him all at once. “R-right, erm, of course. Please, please do.”

She nods to him and strides off back to camp.

He waits until she’s out of sight before letting himself sink against the base of the tree in exhaustion.

Well all’s well that ends well, he supposes. And if that means Lae’zel occasionally comes to him to complain about certain habits of their companions that inspire murderous rage in her, and it turns into a bit of a gossip session…

Well, it’s certainly better than the alternative.

***

“Care for a drink, Gale?”

It’s late, and most of the camp is curled up in their bedrolls and tucked away in their tents. He had presumed that the only ones left awake were himself, pouring over a rather interesting volume of Fringe Philosophy, and that dog which followed Yuu back from goodness knows where in the woods.

The frowsy canine has been eyeing his boots with intent, he just knows it.

He finds himself for once welcomely mistaken when he looks up to see Wyll proffering one of the bottles of Ithbank that also returned with the scouting party.

“Ooh, don’t mind if I do.” He puts the book to the side, scooching to make space for his new companion in libations on the log.

Wyll takes a seat next to him, muscled thigh bulging where it presses against Gale’s own.

Gale tries in vain to focus instead on the gratifyingly full cup the Blade of Frontiers passes him. The wine itself tastes tart and dry as it goes down.

“Oh, that hits the spot.” Gale sighs happily. “My deepest thanks, good sir. I must admit I did not realize how sorely I needed this.”

“Ah, think nothing of it.” Wyll replies modestly.

The pair of them sup together in convivial silence.

It’s when Gale is refilling Wyll’s cup for the third time that he ventures, tentatively, “Gale? You would consider us friends, correct?”

A horrible, prickling feeling starts up the back of Gale’s neck.

“Of course. I hardly know of a situation where somebody could fight alongside you and not look upon our relationship with a considerable degree of amicability.” He responds, wetting his lips. Then, with a slight undertone of suspicion, “Why?”

“As if we are friends, like you and I have agreed.” Wyll goes on doggedly, somehow managing to give an entreating gaze with one eye hell-red-on-black and the other made of stone. “Then it would be right and proper of me to let you know of certain deductions I have made about your person. Correct?”

Oh, for the love of Mystra—!

“Out with it, then.” He mutters gloomily, seizing the bottle for a generous pour. “What, when, where, why, how?”

Wyll takes the bottle with a measure of trepidation, lips softly pursed in deliberation before he sets it down in the grass between them.

“Well, you remember the phase spiders. In the well?”

Gale lets out a piteous moan. “Please don’t remind me.”

“You were trying to cast magic missile on one of them, but its vermin-riddled servant was coming up behind you.” Wyll continues, “And no matter how Yuu and I tried to connect with your tadpole to warn you, it was as though we couldn’t reach it. As though it wasn’t there in the first place. And then Karlach shoved you.”

“And then Karlach shoved me.” He repeats numbly. The burn where her elbow got his ribs healed without a trace after one potion.

The memory of her horrified screaming when the arachnids swarmed her and somehow didn’t immediately meet a fiery demise will take a much heavier draught to recover from.

He groans, taking a too big swig from his goblet.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting something then, in exchange for not running me out of camp at first light.” He states, the wine making his inhibitions loose and speech spill freely. “Some arcane knowledge your patron has failed to provide? The retrieval of a family heirloom? Counsel from a former archmage?”

“What? No, I—!”

A muffled snort interrupts Wyll’s passionate rebuke. After watching the dog settle itself again by the fire with bated breath, Gale is drawn back to his drinking partner’s earnestness.

“I require counsel for…” Wyll pauses, considering. “A lot of things in my life right now. But. But more than that, I would be forever grateful for a friendly ear. Someone to commiserate with, without needing to plan and solve things that are beyond help.”

Gale swirls his cup and watches the small whirlpool of red.

“Hm. They are a bit of a doer, aren’t they?”

Wyll does not even ask who he means, just groans in a way Gale can sympathize with. “I—Yuu’s very capable, and Helm preserve me but I like them, but do they ever switch off?!“

“I”, Gale confides in his most conspiratorial tones, “Once saw them pull out that journal of theirs after speaking with Lae’zel and begin scribbling down a detailed synopsis of the conversation they’d just held. While we were inside the hag’s lair.”

Wyll stares at him, eyes bulging. He lets slip a bark of laughter he instantly muffles by clapping a hand over his mouth.

Gale can’t help the surge of pleased satisfaction that courses through him.

“Gods above, but that cannot be healthy. Leading every excursion out of camp, acting as arbiter within it, recording everything, concocting alchemicals, training with you and Lae’zel…” Wyll scrubs a hand over his head, frowning in annoyance when he bumps the horns sprouting from his brow. “I’m growing worried that we’ll wake one morning to find them expired in their bedroll from exhaustion.”

“They’re young.” Gale soothes, taking perhaps a larger gulp of his Ithbank than he originally intended. “Driven. I was much the same at their age, impatient to prove myself worthy to those who equaled me in skill but surpassed me in age. I think with some time and guidance from those in our company they ought to calm down somewhat, mark my words.”

Wyll sighs heavily and lists gently into Gale’s side, solid and warm. “I hope so, for all our sakes. But by the gods, I’m twenty four. I’m too young to be feeling old.”

Gale, in his mid thirties, does not comment on how old that particular comment makes him feel.

“Ah, be that as it may…” He trails off, scratching at the rim of the cup with his nail. “I hate to press, but can I be assured of your discretion in this matter?”

The fond smile that rewards this query near takes his breath away.

“Don’t worry, my friend.” Wyll squeezes his shoulder firmly. “I won’t tell a soul, I swear on mine and my father’s lives.”

Gale is unable to do much more than nod dumbly, soon deciding to turn in before he does anything too daring for sobriety.

It doesn’t keep Wyll from sharing that soft, secretly fond smile with him as they journey onwards, or share conversation in the evenings.

He’s certain it can’t be good for his heart.

***

“Oh, Gale darling~”

It’s almost pavlovian, how Gale’s shoulders hunch guiltily at the affectionate address.

“Astarion. How can I help you?”

“I’ve a sudden and uncontrollable craving for your company. Quite irresistable, I’m afraid. Come,” The pale elf beckons. “Won’t you walk with me?”

It’s a trap. It’s so obviously a trap that Gale would be fool to fall for it.

Astarion tilts his head, peering up at him from under his eyelashes.

Gale falls into step with the weary resignation of a sentenced man making his way to the gallows. Still, the walk is almost nice, getting to gaze upon nature in all its splendor as Astarion somehow manages to make nattering on about everything and nothing sound compelling and engaging.

Right up until he says, “…though that pales in comparison to what I heard you and Wyll talking about the other night, darling.”

All of the muscles in his body lock up like someone had enchanted him by mistake in place of their chest of valuables.

He sighs. “I don’t supposed I could convince you that I’ve no worldly clue what you’re talking about?”

“Hmm, maybe.” Astarion hums. “But then I began thinking about you seemed blissfully unburdened with flashbacks from the Descent when the little bard was conversing with our devil friend. Also the incident with the grease—”

“Yes, well, we don’t need to get into that.” Gale grumbles, wishing he knew how to craft a draught that represses those memories of his early tactical errors.

“Of course, I’m never one to kiss and tell.” Astarion places a hand on his chest, faux innocence practically leaking from every fiber of his being. “But, I might need to ask for a small favour in return. To ensure it stays just between us.”

Gale nods for him to divulge his demand.

“Well, first things first.” The pale elf backs him up against a tree in embrace that has blood rushing furiously to his cheeks. “I should probably let you in on my little secret. I just so happen to be what some colloquially refer to as a vampire.”

“Oh. You’re a vampire?” Gale repeats dumbly. Then, as several key details suddenly slot into place. “Oh fuck, you’re a vampire.”

The newly outed vampire has the audacity to roll his eyes. “Please, I’m a spawn, darling. No need to fret about my turning you. And while I’ve been getting by on animals, I need something more…potent to unleash my full potential.”

His nose, oddly cool now Gale takes note of it, skims over his carotid artery. “And you, my dear, have them all beat for potency.”

The proximity and near-intimacy of it is making Gale’s head spin, which is why he doesn’t think about any potential downsides, until Astarion’s pleased hum after his fangs sink in turns to a muffled sound of incredulity.

“Gale.” It takes him a moment to blink back into himself to register he’s being spoken to. “What the fuck is wrong with your blood?”

“Ah. Well.” He scuffs some of the leaves underfoot with the toe of his boot. “You recall the camp meeting I called last week about the orb of dread Netherese magic in my chest?”

“The what—?!”

“..re you there? Astari—!”

Gale jolts as Astarion springs away from him, the pair of them staring wildly at the unofficial leader of their merry troupe, who looks as mortified as Gale feels. “—Oookay, I did. Not mean to walk in on. You two?”

“You could sound less surprised, darling.” Astarion pouts silkily, not an errant drop of red to be seen.

“I’ll admit it wasn’t who my gold was on,” Yuu mumbles, almost too softly to hear. Gale can’t help but wonder what they mean by that as they raise their voice with a little cough.

“Look, I don’t care if you two want to sneak off and, and give each other hickeys—”

He can feel his cheeks warm violently at the implication. “That’s—!”

“I know, I know, completely none of my business, but.” Yuu comes to an abrupt stop. “Wait. Gale, are you—are you bleeding?”

Gale suddenly realizes the warm slide down his neck that he’d taken for nervous sweat is in fact a substance of the more sanguine variety.

“Erm.” He tries. “No?”

Astarion stares at him, eyes round with disbelief.

“Are you fucking joking?!” He demands, in the same breath as Yuu exhales, “Oh fuck, you’re a vampire. How the fuck did I miss that?!”

“Now, now hold on a moment!” Gale, sensing imminent disaster, steps between them. “Yes, he may be a vampire, but he’s hardly some, some bloodthirsty beast like the tawdry excuses for literature we’ve been scavenging would have us believe! It isn’t like we’ve been waking up to any one of us drunk dry during the night, is it? All five of us, yet Astarion has had the near, near deific self control to hold out until this very evening before requesting—quite politely, if I may add!—if I would find sympathy for his plight and contribute to his welfare so that he can continue to aid us to the best of his ability. As he has done thus far without acknowledgement of his sacrifices.”

Yuu raises an eyebrow at him. “And you agreed?”

He spreads his arms helplessly. “I—How could I not?”

Yuu glances warily between him and the vampire. They pinch the bridge of their nose and let out a sigh.

“If we arrange a voluntary feeding schedule, would that help, Astarion?”

For a moment, the vampire just stares at the two of them, mouth agape.

Slowly, he nods.

“We’ll go over exact amounts and who’ll be participating later.” Yuu announces brusquely. “I need to gently break the news to the others first. Give me an hour, and I should have everyone on the same page.”

“Thank you,” Gale clasps his hands in their direction. “Your foresight is invaluable, as always. You won’t regret this, I promise.”

The would-be bard raises a blithe hand in acknowledgement as they crunch through the leaves back to camp.

“I’m genuinely unsure whether I should kiss you or kill you.”

He blinks at Astarion. “Erm? W-Well, I’d rather. Rather the former than the latter if it’s on the table. Though please don’t take it as an obligation of some kind! I never had any intentions of indebting you to me.”

“Please.” Astarion drawls as he slinks over, looping his arms once more around Gale’s neck. “How could I let such a…gallant defense go unrewarded? And our little bard did say we have an hour, after all…”

“Oh!” Gale says. Then. “O-ohh…”

And, as a gentleman of discretion and valor, he will draw the curtain on the scene there.

***

“Hey, soldier!”

Karlach falls into step next to him as they trudge through the Underdark. Up ahead, he can faintly make out Astarion and Yuu quietly conferring about whether their crossbow or his bow would be more suitable for removing the red glowing mushrooms that litter their path to the wizard’s tower.

“So,” She says, waggling her eyebrows at him saucily. “You and Fangs, eh?”

“Fangs?” He repeats, confused.

“Astarion,” She clarifies. “Even with the donation system and all that, he seems to be sweetest on you. You two a thing at all?”

“Ha! Ah, I’m not sure.” Gale demurs. “On the one hand, even if I have to disagree with your definition of “sweetest”, he has been the perfect gentleman when he’s not busy driving me round the bend. On the other, he apparently managed to tune out all of my explanations about the Netherese orb currently residing in my chest. Claims he was too distracted by my boots, of all things.”

“They are nice boots,” Karlach observes, which does make Gale preen. “Was a bit more taken with you kneeling while pressing Yuu’s hand to your chest, m’self.”

“That was for practical demonstration.” He stresses, cheeks flushing with the belated embarrassment that’s dogged him since about fifteen minutes afterwards. “I could hardly expect you all to take me seriously without proof.”

“Right, and your proof usually involves you getting on your knees, does it?” At his indignant splutter, Karlach lets out a laugh that’s no less lovely for how it resembles a bray rather than bells tinkling. “Joking, I’m joking Gale. Though, if you’re not with Fangs, would you instead say that you’d been involved with Shadowheart? Since the tenday before last? Loudly?”

“Shadowheart? What in—” Gale suddenly notices how his conversation partner’s eyes keep darting to the tailless tiefling a few meters away from them, recalls their comment from the evening Astarion’s secret had been revealed. It all clicks.

“Wait. You aren’t—are you betting on my love life?!” He demands, scandalized.

Karlach shrugs, tip of her tongue caught between the teeth of her unrepentant grin.

“Well, we’ve gotta do something for entertainment, don’t we? The others keep circling around you like they’re wargs and you’re a set of deep rothé ribs! And who can blame them? You’re a catch.”

Gale is for once extremely glad he can blame Karlach’s ambient temperature for the way his face suddenly and inexplicably feels burning hot.

“That’s—! I’m afraid you’ve the entirely wrong end of the staff if that’s your line of thinking.” He says stiffly. “None of them have any truly amorous interest in me, just discussing something. Something private.”

“Oh.” Karlach frowns for a moment.

Then she says, “What, did they work out you don’t have a tadpole as well?”

You’d think, after the fifth time such a revelation was made, Gale would be sufficiently prepared to not have a physical reaction to it.

You would be wrong.

“How?!” The words, meant to sound dignified if resigned, emerge with more of a trimming of petulant whine.

“Known ever since I met you.” She devastates cheerfully. “Got prowling around the Gate from Fangs, dragon’s fire from Lae’zel, training in the dark from Shadowheart, talking down mercs from Yuu, hunting me from Wyll, but from you? Nothing.”

“Ah.” He acknowledges. Then, “So, is that what happens every time you all meet someone new with a tadpole? You get a concentrated history of their past exploits through communication between the parasites?”

Karlach’s mouth twists as she considers. “Hm, I don’t think so? You can still keep secrets, else we’d have all known about Astarion a lot sooner. And the cult leaders woulda had us all killed the moment we walked in. It’s more like…snippets of that person? I’m not sure if it’s bits and bobs about them that are more like you or just what they think about themselves.”

“Fascinating,” Gale breathes. He’ll admit, given all the subterfuge he’s had to go through, he’s only been able to glean piecemeal information about the affliction.

After all, it’s hardly like he could just wander up to the others and ask them about it off-hand. Could he?

“Probably for the best you don’t have it, on the whole.” She stretches, toned muscles standing in stark relief with every movement. “Aside from the whole mindflayer-y thing, you at least didn’t have to deal with Yuu’s hangover in your head.”

Gale winces in commiseration. A lot of people had been plying their erstwhile leader with alcohol at the tiefling party, to the point where they ended up passed out in their bedroll halfway through the evening. From the way they still looked bleary after Shadowheart and Halsin cast Lesser Restoration on them the next morn, Gale would bet all his gold and then some that they’ve very little experience drinking so heavily, if any.

Still, he drums his fingers against his leg as he considers how best to broach this next bit.

“Although…you do understand if I ask that you not repeat this, please? Given that not quite everyone is…aware.”

“Course.” Karlach says, tapping the side of her nose. “Mum’s the word, eh?”

“Quite.” Gale wrings his hands together. He opens and closes his mouth. “And you don’t…want anything?”

Karlach tilts her head. “How’d you mean?”

“You know.” Gale makes a frittering notion with his hands. “Something to buy your silence, or what have you?”

“What?!” She looks askance at him, snorting in a way he finds unreasonably attractive. “What’s the point in that? You don’t want me to tell, so I won’t. Simple as that.”

He can’t help smiling broadly at her, at the way the flames licking off her skin reflect in the vents protruding from her shoulder, off the dancing humor in her eyes.

They both turn to observe their companions are taking potshots at the mushrooms and cheering when one of their projectiles manages to set off a chain reaction.

“Actually, there is something.”

Ah. Damn.

He tenses despite himself. “And what would that be?”

“When I get Dammon to fix my engine proper so I don’t burn anymore,” She decrees with the regality of a queen. “You’ve got to give me a big hug. A proper one. If you want to, ‘course.”

The sudden release of nerves is almost euphoric.

“I’ll hold you to that.” He vows.

[adaptacy]

A Found Flame {Pt.14}

Pairing: Mentor!Gale Dekarios x Apprentice!GN!Reader

(Previous Chapter) ➔ (AO3)

Word Count: 3.2k

“You seem distracted, Gale,” Shadowheart comments, picking a bit of fuzz off of her chainmail and flicking it into the grass. The wizard she speaks to doesn’t reply, simply idly walking alongside the rest of the group, and it takes a nudge from Astarion to earn his attention.

“Hm?” His head lifts, drawn out of his thoughts as he looks between the group, whose eyes are all on him aside from Lae’zel, who stares confidently at the road ahead. 

“Something on your mind, darling?” Astarion hums, leaning towards him with a knowing smirk – one that only serves to confuse (and slightly unsettle) his target. 

“Me? Oh, no. Well, aside from our unwarranted brain pilots, that is. Though… perhaps too literal of an interpretation,” he jokes back, though it falls mostly flat, save for a quick chuckle from Halsin. 

“Still suffering the effects of last night’s fun?” The cleric asks, a hint of teasing in her voice. 

“Must be. I wonder – do the tadpoles feel the effects as well? I believe mine has been positively tamed since drowning it out so literally,” Gale replies, attempting to draw the topic of conversation away from his drifting mind. 

“If only we were so fortunate. If that were the case, I would have subjected myself to wasting away in the reserves as the two of you did. Alas, one of us needed to keep their wits about them,” Lae’zel hisses, cutting into the conversation as if it were yet another meal, her tone a freshly sharpened blade. 

“Right. Because you have such endless wits to begin with,” Shadowheart snaps, and the two share an angry glare. It comes as a surprise that they’re capable of maintaining their pace and don’t jump into an all-out war on the spot, but by no means is the tension any weaker. “Refusing to indulge does not make you any better than the rest of us, gith.” 

“Perhaps it does not. But sustaining self-control certainly does, elf. You are lucky we were not attacked. You would make fine bait for predators,” Lae’zel growls, forcing Halsin to physically step between the two women, making for a large and hefty barrier. 

“Let us remain focused on the journey ahead. I do not believe it will be an easy one. Moonrise towers may prove quite the threat, and it’s best that we do not allow our minds to stray,” he reminds, his tone gentle, almost guiding, and he even goes so far as to place a hand on each of their shoulders.

That plan backfires immediately, as both of them simultaneously bark out “Don’t touch me,” which both makes Halsin retract his palms and earns grumbles from the arguing parties. 

“We are plenty focused,” Shadowheart defends, keeping a slightly cooler head than Lae’zel – at least on the surface. 

“Focused on ripping one another’s throats out,” Astarion mumbles, and Halsin frowns at him in some attempt to scold the pale elf, though it doesn’t seem successful by any means. “All I’m saying is, if the two of you do get into a bloody tussle… My bets are on Lae’zel winning.”

“Hah,” Lae’zel chuckles, and Shadowheart’s cooler head is quickly set aflame. “A wise choice, Astarion. Shadowheart would prove no more difficult to defeat than those measly goblins. Not much better looking, either. Such a distracting nose – best it may be that I slice it off,” she threatens, and Halsin seems more intimidated than Shadowheart. 

“Best indeed. Better off I would be, free from the curse of having to smell you in the vicinity. It would be the ultimate mercy. Take my eyes, while you’re at it, so I may be obliged the avoidance of seeing you,” She shoots back, her scowl intensifying. 

“A wise choice, to submit. It is unfortunate that I care too deeply for my blade to stain it with blood from the likes of you. Were I lent Astarion’s daggers, the circumstances may change,” Lae’zel answers, finally breaking her gaze away from the cleric to investigate the surroundings, and she begrudgingly comes to a halt when she spots Halsin a few feet behind the trio, appearing most confused as he kneels in the dirt, inspecting something.

Shadowheart grumbles, somehow even more irritated. “You need not pull up every hunter’s trap. I’m well-aware you are ‘one with nature’, but you’re slowing us down,” she scolds. 

Halsin chuckles sheepishly at her critique, but shakes his head. “Not a hunter’s trap. As much as I would love to allow you two to continue bickering, I must bring to your attention the absence of a certain brown-haired wizard,” Halsin replies, and the group immediately looks around themselves, finding that he has, indeed, disappeared. 

“Chk. Your gods have seemed to bestow upon us a blessing at last. I can only hope that Shadowheart follows suit,” Lae’zel muses, though her comment goes unanswered by Shadowheart, who seems genuinely concerned at his leave. 

“He was just here, was he not?” She asks, and both Astarion and Halsin nod, her tone convincing enough for Lae’zel to remain quiet and temporarily stand down from the argument. “He wasn’t attacked – as talkative as he is, he surely would have made some verbal alert to us.” 

“Seems he was pushed away by your incessant arguing,” Astarion hums, as if he hadn’t been encouraging the two of them no more than moments ago. “Marvelous. Now we have to search for a wizard and a cure. Gods, this trip manages more hellish bounds than I knew possible,” he complains, unsheathing one of his daggers in case of lurking threats. 

“Footprints, in the dirt,” Halsin speaks from where he is crouched by the ground, running two large fingers over a firm print in the soil. “Seems to have left in a bit of a hurry. A wonder why he didn’t alert us as to what drew his attention.”

“Suppose we ought to follow him,” Shadowheart sighs, mildly irritated at the inconvenience, but she knows he wouldn’t have split up from the group without good reason – very good reason. 

So they follow, and it only takes a few steps and even fewer seconds to spot the wizard, his staff loosely hanging by his side, his grip on it barely enough to keep a hold. Only a few yards from where the group had been, he stands at the edge of a river, looking at the other side as if he expects the waves to part and allow him to cross. Alas, they do no such thing – while there are rocks that could serve as stepping stones to the other side, the water rushes quickly and roughly, permitting no traversal. He doesn’t quite detect the group’s presence behind him, not until Halsin clears his throat, and Gale looks over his shoulder, squeezing the staff and straightening it in an attempt to fix his posture.

“Ah– Apologies,” he says, sounding slightly conflicted. His head turns as he looks back at the opposing bay, watching it for a moment more before fully pivoting to address the group. “I believed I had… spotted movement on the other side,” he explains, glancing once more behind him, and the rest follow his gaze, though it is only an empty few ledges that they see, notably lacking any life. 

“Movement? Such as a deer? Frightened by your approach, likely,” Halsin suggests, shrugging his shoulders in a minor shift. 

Gale’s eyebrows slant inward, and he narrows his eyes, expressing his disbelief as he disagrees, “No, not an animal. It looked to be a pair of humanoids, or so I thought. It may be that my mind is playing tricks on me. Please, let us proceed.” He lifts his hand, motioning with a palm back towards the area that he’d initially left their side. 

“Becoming quite the hunter, are you?” Astarion teases, his tone purposefully mocking. “Maybe next time you’ll actually have prey, rather than a… belief.” 

“I’m sure he was only trying to watch out for us,” Shadowheart defends, growing increasingly annoyed with the elf’s constant taunting. 

Lae’zel snickers, angling her head scantily away from Shadowheart. “Absurd. Surely he does not doubt our capability in battle? Should we be ambushed, I advise that we welcome such boldness – the cowards will be quick to realize their mistake,” she scolds, looking back at Gale and leaning her head forward, attempting to intimidate during her ridicule. “It was fallacious of you to depart from the group. You lack the strength to act so boldly.”

Gale cringes, raising his hand and dipping his head in a quick apology. “Of course. Thank you, Lae’zel, I’d nearly forgotten,” he responds, rejoining the group with a few steps forward. 

“Do not make me remind you again,” she growls, not picking up on his sarcasm. The group turns back towards the path they’d been walking, heading again towards the goblin-raided village, but a quick, loud whine to their left yanks their attention away. 

“A wounded animal,” Halsin states, quick to discern the noise. He’s the first to step towards the sound, and the rest of them follow, allowing Halsin to lead them towards the source of the soft whimpering – a white dog, attempting to free one of its back legs from the confines of a net that tightly wraps around it, ensnaring the creature.

“Disgraceful. The creature must be utterly dense to have been caught in such a lazily concealed trap,” Lae’zel gripes, reaching to ready her blade, but Halsin raises his hand, instantly discouraging the violence. Instead, he approaches the animal, showing his palms as he lowers himself to the ground and extends a hand, allowing the dog to sniff him. 

“I suppose I could not ever disarm enough of the traps. It is horribly cruel – vile, to act with such cowardice towards the innocence of nature,” he sighs, looking behind himself and holding out his hand, his gaze on Astarion. “May I borrow one of your daggers?”

Astarion narrows his eyes, thinking about denying the request, but ultimately gives an exhale of contempt and unhooks one, holding the blade as he hands it to the druid. “I’m sure the hunter who has to fight for his food would argue otherwise. After all, not everyone is able to purchase food so readily.” 

“I have no quells with hunters. Trappers, however, are entirely craven folk. Should one wish to reap the benefits of nature’s grace, it is only just that they fight for their food in the same fashion fellow predators do,” Halsin explains, using his dagger to carefully clip the thin netting around the dog’s hind leg. Once it’s able to, it steps to the side, shaking the freed leg as if to check it over. 

“It has a collar,” Shadowheart mentions, pointing towards the creature’s neck, which bears a leather collar, engraved with faint purple lettering. There’s a small medallion hanging at the center, and Halsin peers closer, the dog letting him reach for the collar and lift it slightly, the light catching it better at a different angle, allowing for Halsin to read it. 

“Scratch,” he hums, and the dog gives a short whine, tilting his head curiously at the name. Halsin chuckles and rubs the animal’s head, making his ears flatten and his tail wag. 

“Great, you freed the mutt – I’d like my dagger back,” Astarion mumbles, his hand on his hip as he watches the scene, just short of scowling. “We’ve wasted enough time. Is it too much to ask that we please keep moving?” 

“Patience, Astarion,” Halsin muses, handing him his dagger and standing up, presenting his hand for the dog to sniff once more. “Seek us if you wish, Scratch. May the Oakfather protect you on your journey, wherever it may lead.” He gives the dog another gentle pat on the head, and Scratch barks in response, seeming to understand what the elf was offering. Finally returning his attention to the group, he merely smiles in response to the few judgmental glares he was faced with. “Let us carry on with our own journey. Moonrise Tower awaits, as do the perils on our path.”

“We have had enough distractions for one day. We proceed, and we proceed swiftly,” Lae’zel commands, and while three of her four companions nod in agreement, Shadowheart lets out a short huff of irritation. Nevertheless, she does follow the group as they continue moving, even if her gaze is tainted with her distaste, she stays silent about her misgivings. 

–   –   –

“Makes me killer in battle, which tracks, given Zariel’s purpose for me,” Karlach speaks through a mouthful of food, loosely motioning with the stick on which the freshly cooked boar meat was impaled. “Been runnin’ hotter than I’m used to, ever since I caught a ride outta the hells. Doesn’t change anything – I’ll happily take an overheated heart over being controlled by Zariel any day. Guess it wasn’t really made to operate outside of Avernus, though.”

You take a bite of your own kebab, only difference being that you fully chew and swallow before responding. “Does it hurt? I mean, all those flames, and inside of you no less? Surely it’s a little painful.”

Karlach shrugs, bringing a knee up and resting her arm on it. “Eh, at first. After ten years, you get pretty used to it. And anyways, I was pent up in the hells for long enough to get used to the heat,” she chuckles, and though her tone is light, you’re sure that the memories aren’t all too pleasant to reflect on. “I was fighting – all the time. Usually had worse, and more painful, wounds to bear than the ol’ furnace. Always been a fighter, though. Even as a kid. Your pain tolerance builds up pretty fast when you’re constantly on the wrong side of a weapon.”

“I can’t imagine what that’s like. At least you’re resistant to it, though,” you hum, not entirely sure whether you should attempt comforting her or not. 

Karlach smiles, nodding and taking another bite. “Beggars can’t be choosers, eh? Oughta take what I can get. I like stayin’ optimistic – lookin’ on the bright side, all that jazz. Even if the odds are pretty shit,” she explains, tearing off the last of the boar meat and snapping the stick in half, tossing it into the campfire between the two of you. “I don’t mind all the fighting n’ killing. Just prefer to do it on my own terms, and avoid violence against innocents and all that. Plus, all my experience means I can protect those who can’t protect themselves.” She gleams, pulling up an arm and flexing, laughing at her own expression of strength. “Got somethin’ to show for all the hell I’ve been through. Or, more specifically, all the hells I’ve been through.”

“Figure we’ll probably need it,” you tease, knowing damn well that she was a necessary companion if you wanted a real chance at survival. At least until you found Gale, though you didn’t have any intentions of ditching Karlach once you did – you just assume that surviving won’t be so dependent on her when you have an extra person to accompany you. 

“You said you’re lookin’ for someone, right? You think the nautiloids got somethin’ to do with him? Or, maybe he has something to do with the nautiloid?” Karlack asks, using a nail to pick out a stuck piece of meat between her teeth. 

As she flicks that piece of meat off into the distance, you finish off your own meal and contemplate her question. You’re not sure, really – but there’s always a chance, and things seem about as impossibly derailed as they could be. Nautiloids in Faerûn, something about new deities and everything that Elminster talked about? Hardly imaginable, yet they seemed plenty real. “Not sure, to be completely honest. I have no clue how he would’ve somehow wound up in such an ordeal, but… I also struggle to grasp that any of this is actually happening.”

Karlach chuckles in agreement. “You and me both, scout. Gods, I’ve missed the grass. Such a simple thing – oh, and the sky! The flames of Avernus ain’t got shit on the stars,” she sighs dreamily, laying back and folding an arm under her head, looking up at the sky. 

“My mentor’s obsessed with the stars. Sorry – Gale’s obsessed with the stars. Back home, where we live in Waterdeep, he has this balcony with a drop-dead gorgeous view,” you comment, imitating her movements and stargazing as well. “I guess obsessed is a strong word. He just has an odd affinity for them.”

“He’s your mentor?” Karlach asks, and you hum out a short affirmation. “I don’t blame him. If I could, I’d spend the rest of my years watching them. Never really know what you got ‘till it’s gone. Wasn’t always trapped in the hells, you see – I was a city kid, and I used to live in Baldur’s Gate. Born and raised Baldurian.” She speaks with pleasant recollection, and takes a pause to truly reflect. “Almost twenty years spent under the sky. Almost twenty years to really enjoy it, take it in, appreciate it. Never did. Not enough. Back in Avernus, there’s nothin’ like it. Missed it everyday. Might sound ridiculous, and maybe it is,” she lets out a mildly self-deprecating chuckle, “But damn, did I take it for granted.” 

“It’s not ridiculous,” you argue, hardly finding her struggle anything short of realistic. “I don’t think so, anyways.” You give yourself a moment to think through your next words, carefully tip-toeing into the subject of her servitude – she speaks calmly about it, and doesn’t appear particularly troubled or bothered by the topic, but you don’t know her very well at all, and don’t want to risk upsetting her. Still, you don’t want to avoid the conversation completely and risk seeming apathetic. A middle ground is foggy at best, but you’re willing to try and find it. “Can’t say I’ve ever been to hell myself,” you begin, your tone just light-hearted enough to keep the conversation gentle, “But I can at least imagine how different it probably is. I think the stars have a sort of reassurance about them.”

Karlach’s head turns to look at you, and she seems more curious than anything close to hurt, or offended. “A reassurance? What do you mean?” 

Squinting, you let out a short troubled exhale. “I mean, like – it’s the same everywhere, you know? Like it connects everyone,” you attempt to explain, and although you’re sure that you don’t sound entirely sure of yourself, Karlach is at least interested in further elaboration. “The stars never change,” you quote, “No matter what happens. No matter where you are. Everyone sees the same sky. They could be hundreds of miles away, but they’d still see the exact same stars. The exact same constellations.”

“Huh. Never thought about it like that. Guess they’re pretty strong, huh?” Karlach laughs, looking back up. “I always just missed it cause it was pretty, and reliable, in a way. Gave some routine, no matter how fucked-up life got. In hell, life just gets fucked-up. There’s no balancing acts, or calmness. But you’re right. It’s kinda weird to think about. Bunch’a different people, races, backgrounds, experiences – but everyone sees the same stars. Wild.” 

“It is wild,” you chuckle in response, tracing imaginary lines between the stars. No matter how far away, everyone saw the same sky. Gale was out there, somewhere. You didn’t know exactly how close, or how far, but you did know one thing – he was out there, and he saw the same stars you did. You were going to find him. You had to, and you would. But for now, you watch the stars, telling yourself that he was watching them as well. 

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

ROUND 2 MATCH 54

Lae'zel propaganda:

“Every single Baldur’s Gate companion is deeply lovable and romanceable but listen. Lae’zel is so strong and cool and powerful. She thinks you’re sexy faster than anyone else. She’s a gruff, standoffish character who you can win over. She’s so talented. She’s even an alien. Look at her pretty ears and war paint. Date Lae’zel.”

Mercedes propaganda:

"She's super doting and kind! She makes sweets for her friends and helps them overcome emotional hardship! She survived an abusive stepfather and in a lot of her endings she takes up tending to orphans so they can feel safe like she did when she ran to live in church. She's religious but still expresses sincere and respectful interest in other religions and doesn't think less of others. She's a bit scatterbrained but can suddenly destroy you with simple but brutal observations and politely refuses to take shit. Fantastic cleric. Honestly she has some of the best supports in the game I love her so much she's too good for this world. Married her on Azure Moon with no regrets.

(Oh also she's canon bisexual and lovely rep. 😊)"

[swordbisexual]

Ok ok it’s a lazy day off. I wanna finish the dang Vissenta/Lae’zel war cleric run. I can do it today.

[spacemonkeysalsa]

Her Embrace, Her Tears

(Angst and fluff and eventually smut, this is going to be very multi-chaptered)

Lae'zel probably didn't need a good excuse, or further motivation, to go to war with Shar. But, she is about to get it anyway.

Five years post game, Dark Justiciar/Mother Superior/Chosen of Shar Shadowheart and (with a few notable exceptions) everyone got their bad endings, in that everyone is still alive, but shitty. Lae'zel is thriving though, aside from her relationship.

Read Chapter One on Ao3

or read Chapter One below the cut

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. 

[the0verboss]

I can't believe the first piece of ficlet I'm gonna write for this is fricken Sad Gale Hours. I keep debating continuing this narrative from other companions view points

Gale POV angst/abandonment, Major character death(not Gale)

Gale/ Cleric Male!Gith Tav (it's Iss'tav'in let's be real but he's not named or described for the most part)

✨☀️💀🌙✨

His beloved leaves their home in Waterdeep so soon after they return from Wither’s party Gale can hardly mount a defense against it. He wonders if he should have expected this, if he’d missed signs of this on coming meteor amidst the revelry. When his mind cycles through the memory, it seems obvious. He and the others had sat around the table eating and feasting, Wyll and Astarion taking turns telling grand adventure stories while Shadowheart and Karlach heckled them. Gale’s darling husband had spent the night tucked away in a corner with Lae’zel after making the rounds. Gale hadn’t wanted to begrudge his githyanki love a chance to catch up with his kin, to hear how the war against Vlaakith was faring, to speak in his mother tongue with what might amount to his sister.

He is certainly begrudging him now.

They fight. Gale tries to argue from a logical stance at first. They have a life that requires they be present, responsibilities to the Academy and to the the Spires. His mother expects them both to be in attendance at her next soiree, newlyweds that they are. Gale’s continued research on the orb, dormant as it is, requires his attention. Surely they can take some time to prepare for a voyage of this magnitude.

He runs out of gentle patience quickly in light of his husband’s pre-arranged plans. The man has taken leave from the temple for now, and of course he doesn’t expect Gale to join him. Someone must stay and care for Xan.

It feels utterly patronizing and for the first time, since they shared a night in a conjured bed under false stars, Gale thinks back on his time with Mystra. The feeling is sickenly familiar. He thinks of his mother, her place in the Dekarios clan, noble as it is, but alone. He thinks how everyone always says he favors her, in looks and demeanor.

They do have a child he reminds his love, righteous and growing furious. Xan needs a good githyanki role model. He's still so young, and Gale has only a passable knowledge of tir’su.

And when even this pleading falls of deaf ears, then, there is anger.

He rages, throws things, yells, says things that he knows he'll regret later. While his husband continues to pack the last of his travel bag Gale can feel his composure unravel. It feels ugly. Worse than that even, he feels volatile,a yawning chasm where his breaking heart resides. Dark, desolate and afraid.

“Gale, I love you, but I'm going, my people need me. Lae'zel would not ask lightly.”

“You can't just abandon your family on a lark!”

But he does. The last Gale sees of him is a cape draped back, glowing Blood of Lathander in one hand, shimmering gold helmet tucked under the other. Then he's gone.

They don’t kiss good bye, though Gale imagines that would be difficult with the way he was snarling.

Gale stands in the open door of their, no, not theirs, not anymore. He stands in the door of his tower long after the love of his life has gone. Fists clenched, eyes wet, but silent save for the occasional sniffle. The sea is quiet, he can hear no gulls as the sun begins to dip beneath the waves.

He doesn’t hear the baby crying til Tara comes through her cat flap of displacement and bites him on the hand.

“Mister Dekarios, Gale, what's happened?”

“He left. He just….left us.”

“Well, I never…is he coming back?”

As Gale cradles the small githyanki baby in his arms, rocking and trying to soothe him, he chokes on the answer.

Yes. No. I don't know. He says he is.

The orb feels hungry again for the first time since they defeated the brain. But if his heart feels broken and consumed as he stands in his tower clutching the small body of his son then, it's nothing to what he feels months later.

It's nothing compared to the unexpected agony of seeing Lae’zel standing, blood drenched and solemn, on his balcony. She’s alone, a shroud wrapped bundle under one arm, glowing with divine light. Under the other a familiar shimmering gold helmet.

[breakerrhexis]

02. THE LIGHT IN DARK PLACES ❤︎‬

Psst... I'm on Ao3 if you're interested @breakerrhexis

“Karlach, dear, he’s passed out. You can stop screaming now.”

The scream fizzled out in Karlach’s throat. “Oh.” Her war ax dropped to her side and a breathy laugh left her mouth. "Hells, that was scary!"

“Someone get him!” Shadowheart hissed.

Astarion grimaced, shimming into his trousers. “Yeah, no, darling. Do not look at me.”

Placed in the cleric’s tent, you were lowered like a delicate princess onto pillows and blankets. The cleric wrinkled her nose. “Those are my favorite…” she muttered to herself, watching your dirty shoes touch them.

Karlach hadn’t broken a single sweat carrying the fully grown man back to camp. It was like lifting a sack of potatoes - even that comparison didn’t do her impressive strength any justice. She could’ve started doing some bicep curl-ups with your body... which she did before Shadowheart scolded her - but Shadowheart was most definetly eyeing the tiefling's muscles.

You were deathly still due to the spell which was unsightly to them. You were usually the one slitting throats and cutting off heads, standing over your enemies corspes grinning in the aftermath of slaughter. How peaceful you looked, even drenched in blood.

“What was all that about?” Karlach muttered, sitting cross-legged beside you.

“He has clearly lost it!" Astarion fumed, furious at the notion of being caught off-guard, half-dressed, and worried. How truly terrifying that was for him. Absolutely unacceptable. 

“Yeah, I don’t know. It looked like he’d seen a beholder or…” Karlach let out a low, horrendous gasp. “Badgers!”

Shadowheart sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’ll ask him when he wakes. No point in wondering what happened now.”

Wyll, Halsin and Lae’zel approached to ask what happened but Shadowheart raised a hand and shook her head. 

You assumed you’d be dreaming once unconscious, elusive to the details of the ongoing world, but you weren’t dreaming or completely unconscious for that matter. You fleeted between distant memories, the crackle of fire and soft voices.

Slowly, the spell thawed out. When everyone least expected it, even you, your scream wretched itself free from your throat and you flew up, battling the hands trying to soothe you.

“Hey! Hey! Soldier, it’s alright!” Karlach’s soft eyes did little to aid you. Her hands, warm and heavy, steadied your shoulders but you were scrambling back.

Again, it was Shadowheart that stopped you. She slapped you so hard your head almost spun off your shoulders and stars danced in your vision.

“Shadowheart, what the fuck!?” Karlach screamed. Astarion was giggling somewhere not far behind.

“What? He’s hysterical. A slap always works.”

“Doesn’t mean you go around slapping your friends!”

Astarion giggled. “Oh, no, please do. It’s positively funny.” He touched his chest with the delicate flick of his wrist. “Just not me though, of course.”

You weren’t hysterical anymore. Her slap worked. The sting of it snapped you out of your bubbling panic before it overspilled and drenched your vicinity in insanity.

“Soldier?” Karlach asked, her eyes wide and apprehensive.

Your hand rubbed your cheek. "Ow..."

"Look what you've done!" Karlach fussed, grasping your chin in her hand. She yanked your face toward Shadowheart, almost tearing your spine out in the process. She shook your head like a maraca. "Look!"

"You're not helping him by shaking him like a bag of bones, Karlach!"

The tiefling releaed your chin with a gasp. "I'm so sorry! Oh, hells! Are you o-"

Shadowheart pushed her aside. She crouched down to your eye-level and studied your face. Karlach peered curiously over her shoulder. "Are you okay?" the cleric asked. "Do you need healing?"

You shook your head. "I-I'm not supposed to be here," you said. 

"Oh, great. You broke him," Astarion mused. "Great job, Shadowheart."

"Shut up or I'll incinerate your pale ass."

"Ugh, how gauche. There's no fun to fire, darling."

Karlach shushed the older man and Astarion huffed. Shadowheart pressed the back of her hand to your forehead. "No fever..." She checked your body for wounds. She ran her hands up and over your arms, your legs, and your stomach.

Naturally after the mental fuck of falling into a video game without warning, you were quiet - not only drowning in the unbelievable reality of your situation but also watching Shadowheart. The cleric's hair wasn't in her usual up-do. Her black hair fell in long waves over her shoulder, no Shar circlet or hair ornaments in sight. Her concerned hazel eyes searched your face, asking for information you weren't so willingly to give. For a way to help you. There was a motherly and comforting demeanor about her, one that brought a wave of tears to your eyes.

"Adin?" Her eyebrows furrowed. "What's wrong?"

"Oh no..." Karlach whispered. "He's crying. He's fucking crying. Adin is crying. That's it. This is bad. Gale!"

"Darling, I don't think a wizard can help with this."

You were full on sobbing. A migraine threatened to split your head open. You were running on a single hour of sleep. Worst of all, you weren't in your bed next to your dog, reading a book under the comfort of your covers. You were in a land dead set on devoring you whole. And you felt something uncomfortable, something unfamiliar, whispering in your ear. Something that didn't belong to you, much like the body you inhabited.

Several feet stomped towards you. "What's wrong? What?"

"Adin..." Wyll said. His face appeared next to Shadowheart. "Hey man, it's okay. Just breathe... come on. Just like that." You couldn't see them well through the tears. Snot dripped down your nose, not letting you breath. You saw the digust on Astarion's face and you cried harder.

"We would've slit in his throat in my créche."

Shadowheart glared at the githyanki. "I'll slit your throat. I swear, I will."

They must've been thinking there was something wrong with Adin as you cried, your tears mixing with the blood on your face. Crimson droplets stained your white shirt.

If only they knew...

━━━━━✁┈┈┈┈┈┈

Author's Note: I'm sorry this scene is so long! Your panic is reasonable and important! Plus it's kind of fun. Will most definetly go back and edit this though. It's a bit rough since I just started the draft, but I'm content with it. Like I said, this story is cathartic and relaxing to me - maybe because I was the blubbering fool for the past few days too :,)

━☆・*。

　　・゜

　 °。+ * 。

　　　　　.・゜

　　　　　゜｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ。

　　　　　　ﾟ。　 　｡ﾟ

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[literallylaezelswife]

Art of my War Cleric of Vlaakith Tav.

Currently doing a speed run Lae’zel romance to see if being a Cleric of Vlaakith changes anything in her story. Unfortunately you don’t get any special cut scenes or dialogue for defying Vlaakith 😔 I hope they add something like that in the future where you need to choose a new god or change your class.

Still a fun Tav to play though. I had a man stab himself to death. 10/10 would recommend an evil cleric play through.

[hellokittystims]

I changed my Durge’s class so many times this playthrough because I couldn’t vibe with any of the ones I’d chosen. She went tempest cleric, storm sorcerer, necromancy wizard, evocation wizard, and back to war cleric.

My play style is reckless damage spamming and I didn’t have anyone with healing word or cure wounds for a while and I was dreading playing the game. I really wanted my Durge to be an evocation wizard as it’s really fun but I didn’t want Shadowheart on my team for this run so I was so demotivated to play. I changed my Durge to a war cleric which is more boring but she supports the reckless damage spamming of the rest of my team (Minthara, Astarion, Lae’zel).

I really want to utilize the evocation wizard and ranger on my third run but I’m not sure how to mix it in. I want my Tav to be a Gith ranger and I want to romance Lae’zel so I may reclass Lae’zel into evocation wizard? But I don’t know how to frame that lore wise for Lae’zel.