#bg3 shadowheart | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rahuratna · 1 day ago

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Synopsis: When a battle with some Gith hunters leaves your appearance in a deplorable state, it's up to your loyal companions to fix a bad hair day ...

Genres: Humour, fluff, crack.

Written as a gift for the wonderfully talented @radish-breath. Thank you for putting up with (and encouraging) my endless BG3 brain rot, lol.

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

The chaos of the battle was beyond anything you'd known thus far. Vlaakith's hunters were both swift and dexterous, their bodies flickering out of your perception almost every time you tried to land an attack.

It was frustrating, and somewhat terrifying. You'd never encountered foes who had challenged you quite like this before.

Gaining the higher ground, on top of a stone bridge that formed an arch, you ducked down, another arrow nocked and ready. Fingers dancing along the fletching, you closed your eyes for a second, gathering your frazzled thoughts.

This had to be done. You could do it. You'd faced stronger foes, returning from the brink of annihilation with your cunning, strength and the ever-present support of your companions. You could -

"Watch out!"

Lae'zel's scream echoed across the courtyard, a note of rare panic in her voice. Your eyes snapped open, body reacting before the mind had time to process the visual signal, a primal, animal reflex.

It saved your life.

The leader of Vlaakith's team of bounty hunters swung a shining axe down toward your head, narrowly missing his intended target. The blade came down on your hair instead, lopping it off against the rough stone of the bridge balustrade.

Tearing yourself free, the muscles of your neck screaming in protest, you flung yourself away from him, loosing your arrow into the sinewy meat of his thigh. He grunted in pain, and advanced on you.

You had no choice but to stand and fight him directly, a tall order considering the arrows still zinging up like deadly zephyrs from his lieutenants below.

You had to think, you had to -

With a cry that rivaled a frenzied barbarian, Lae-zel vaulted the stone railing, her gith psionics propelling her forward with inhuman athleticism. Her blade came down against the Gith Leader's, striking up sparks with every fierce blow.

She was driving him back. He snarled at her, attempting to quail her in the face of seniority, but Lae'zel was well beyond the point of intended insurrection. She was fighting for her life, and yours.

A few devastating blows later, the Leader's arm was almost severed and, from somewhere in the shadows, Astarion's bolts struck true through his chest, bringing him to his knees.

With the tide of battle turned, your group managed to pick off the remaining members of the hunting party. You had all seen enough battle by now to never let your guards down for even a moment, and this rule bore hard-won fruit.

Afterwards, you all took the much needed respite at camp. Lying on your bedroll, you winced as you stretched over-taxed muscles and applied salve and bandages to your remaining wounds, the odd healing potion (and Gale's cooking) providing a coveted sustenance.

It was then that you noticed how everyone was looking at you. Some would meet your eyes and hurriedly glance away, while others were regarding you with open pity and gentle concern.

What on earth was this about?

You'd been injured quite severely in that unexpected skirmish, but it was nothing you hadn't been able to handle. Hells, each and every of your companions who'd been present had undergone similar harm. So why -

It was Karlach, in all her straightforward kindness, who approached you first, plopping herself cross-legged beside you on your bedroll.

"Hey, soldier. Hanging in there?"

You nodded, distracted by the glances you were still receiving, before edging closer to her, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss.

"Karlach ... why is everyone - "

"Ah, well, that's why I came over here."

She scratched at her cheek, uncomfortable.

"So ... it's your hair."

"My hair?"

"Have you taken a look in the mirror since you got back?"

"No, I've been a little busy surviving."

She raised both hands placatingly.

"Right. Well, when you get a chance, or you feel up to it, just know that we've had a little chat amongst ourselves and we'll help you fix it."

Curiosity was really eating at you now, and at the first opportunity, you hurried over to the mirror in the corner of the camp.

You stopped short.

Gods. It was small wonder that everyone had been looking at you with sympathy. You'd had no idea that the Gith Leader's axe had done quite so much damage.

Your hair had been chopped through lop-sidedly, uneven tufts sticking out like last season's bedraggled straw where you'd wrenched yourself free. The damaged ends swept over your shoulders like an old broom, and you'd never seen your hair look this dreadful.

A hand came down on your shoulder, startling you out of your reverie.

It was Lae'zel.

"I don't set much store by appearance, but you look like you've been dragged backward through all the wards in a githyanki crèche."

Shadowheart's acidic rebuke came swiftly.

"Not that different from how you look everyday then, Lae'zel."

Karlach pushed them both apart, striding towards you.

"Come on, you two. We're here to stage an intervention, not tear each other's hair out."

Your glance flicked between them.

"An intervention?"

Shadowheart sniffed.

"Well of course. You didn't think we'd leave you wandering around Faerûn with your hair in that state."

You gulped heavily, extremely thankful that you'd landed yourself such reliable friends. Lae'zel clicked her tongue irritably.

"Let's get on with it then. Shadowheart, I presume you're the one who's going to do the damage control."

"And you would be wrong, my sweet Gith poppet. I'm the one with the necessary skills here."

Astarion sauntered forward, looking particularly smug. You noted that he was wearing a leather apron, similar to the ones barber's favoured, the numerous pockets filled with instruments: scissors of varying sizes and shapes, fine razors, combs and brushes of all kinds.

You raised an eyebrow.

"So you're the expert at this?"

He scoffed, one hand waving in airy indignance.

"Of course I am. Have you seen my hair? It's a thing of most ethereal beauty ... or so I've been told."

You nod slowly.

"I suppose you're right. What are you thinking?"

He approached you, those deft, long-fingered hands fluffing out the hair on either side of your head, eyes taking in the damage with nothing short of professionalism. Quite suddenly, you felt a sense of reassurance. You were now in the capable care of your resident vampire, and there was no way he would leave any stone unturned when it came to fixing your appearance.

"Hmm. Hmm. I see something here ... a vision, if you will."

Lae'zel looked surprised.

"A vision? I thought you were just going to shave her head and be done with."

Karlach giggled.

"Now that you mention it, that might be a smashing look. Get a tattoo on your scalp and everything."

"Are you both mad?" came the snippy rejoinder from Shadowheart. "A short princess cut would be better."

Astarion shot them a disapproving look.

"I'm certainly glad that I'm the one handling this. No need for drastic measures if you have the skill. There's a style popular amongst some scholars in Baldur's Gate, the young edgy ones who think learning from tomes is so last year."

Gale's outraged exclamation at this news from across the camp was roundly ignored.

"And what does this cut look like?"

"It's an angled trim, high above the nape and coming down here. Asymmetric, like this."

His hands traced the shape in the air above your shoulders and you raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Well, I trust you, Astarion. Have at it then. Quite frankly, anything's better than this."

"My darling, you really need to raise your standards."

In spite of his sharp reply, you could see from the very slight flush at the tips of his ears and his ultra-stoic expression that Astarion was pleased that you'd placed your faith in him so wholly.

"Let's get to work then."

He spun you around to face the mirror, and Karlach carried over a stool to make the process easier. Astarion fussed about, setting up a basin with warm water, producing various solutions and oils from those bottomless pockets and setting up a tray with the combs and trimming implements.

Even Shadowheart looked taken aback now.

"What are ... all of these?"

"Sweetheart, this is how it's done in most of the best salons in the city, don't you know?"

"All right, but what are those?"

Astarion paused, clearing his throat.

"I take it you've all wondered, at some point, how my hair could possibly look this perfect."

Lae'zel stared at him.

"You look like a runty sheep."

Karlach stuffed a fist into her mouth as Astarion's glare scorched over them.

"I wouldn't expect the likes of you to know much about proper hair care, but if you must know, I distil and mix these potions and oils myself. Plants are a wonderful source of healthy extracts."

"Hear, hear," came Halsin's call from beside the fire. "The Oak Father provides for beauty too."

Astarion, somehow, refrained from rolling his eyes.

"If we're to fix this damage, then a cut won't be enough. We have to treat the hair, soften it, bring out its natural curl, and then we'll cover the damage."

Shadowheart nodded critically.

"Sound advice, Astarion. You're quite the expert."

Readying yourself for a true 'Baldur's Gate Salon Experience', you followed Astarion's brisk instructions, allowing him to wrap a cloth around you to prevent your clothes from absorbing water, the tension leaving your shoulders as he had you lean backwards, neck braced on another heavily folded cloth over the rim of the basin.

A comfortable silence descended over this corner of the camp as Astarion soaked your hair, massaging some of the soapy extract into the individual stands with care. It felt surprisingly good, the trickle of warm water and the steady motion of his fingers dragging you into a pleasurable haze.

"Gods, that looks relaxing."

Halsin had wandered over at some point, looking with interest through Astarion's collection of hair potions.

"You came up with these mixtures all by yourself?"

"Oh believe me, I've had time."

Glancing to your left, you noted that Karlach, Shadowheart and even Lae'zel were lying on the grass nearby, chins propped on palms, watching with lazy interest. It reminded you, somewhat, of nights gathered together with friends when you were very young.

Before long, Astarion raised you gently, patting your hair with a cloth to remove the excess moisture. Now came the application of more oils and potions, each exceptionally fragrant. Reaching up curiously, you gasped as you felt the soft, glossy texture of your hair.

"Astarion, this is amazing!"

"Isn't it? It works wonders for curls, I've found."

Shadowheart edged forward.

"And what about straight hair? What works well for that?"

"Sweet almond and green nut oil is best as far as I know."

"Braids," grunted Lae'zel.

"If you mean what works best for braided hair, I would say that cedarwood oil and the essence of peonies, combined and applied to the scalp, would prevent drying and damage."

"What about horns?"

"Karlach, do I look as if I know the first thing about horns?"

She cursed under her breath.

"Damn. Nobody knows shit about horn care. Guess I'll just have to flake my damaged horn debris all over your clothes and stuff - "

"I can look into it for you," came Astarion's hurried reply. "I'm sure there's something for all scalp adornments."

Transitioning into the crucial phase, Astarion began to turn your head this way and that, his touch feather-light. Watching him cut your hair was a surreal experience indeed. His reflection wasn't visible, of course, so it seemed as if a number of instruments had taken it upon themselves to lift, trim and comb your hair.

He divided your hair into sections and delivered neat little angled snips to each, transforming the butchered ends and stray tufts into something far more aesthetically pleasing.

When he was done, he shook your hair out and called across to Gale.

"Oh mighty and handsome wizard, we require your assistance."

The eagerness with which Gale came hurrying over roused a grin on Karlach's face. He stopped beside the basin, rubbing his palms together.

"All right, I'm here. What do you need? Some advice on the best way to enchant an item? Perhaps one of my custom made cantrips for repelling dust and moisture from surfaces on a molecular - "

"Just blow some hot air out of your finger or something, there's a dear."

" ... oh. That's it?"

"I've got everything else covered. I'm just so bad with atmospheric spells, you know. Never got the hang of them."

"Well, in that case ... "

With a beleaguered sigh, Gale raised a hand. A controlled steam of beautifully warm air, just the perfect temperature, skimmed across your scalp. Astarion hovered at the corner of your vision like a fluffy hummingbird with an expert eye, adjusting a lock of hair here, snipping off a stray portion there.

Before long, the finished product was ready.

With a flourish, Astarion whipped the cloth bib away from you and spun you around to face the mirror once more.

"What do you think?"

It was testament to how well you'd come to know his little tells that you immediately recognized the nervous anticipation behind his confident demeanour. He'd certainly done a sterling job.

Gone were the rough edges and uneven planes. On the side that had been more heavily savaged by the axe, the hair was shorn fairly close to the scalp. The other side sported a soft, vibrant tangle of curls that flowed down to your shoulder, the transition between the two giving you a certain rakish elegance.

"I love it!"

You beamed at him, capturing his hand between your own.

"I never thought my hair would look ... well, like this after that kind of damage!"

The companions who had slowly gathered round during the execution of this project were now offering their own input.

"Nice going, Fangs!"

"I'll be sure to come to you when my hair needs a trim."

"Hmm. The swashbuckling academic. A unique look to be sure. Remind me to lend you a book about the value of asymmetry in the Weave. A most insightful - "

"At least you don't look like a sheep."

"A veritable dryad. Nature has blessed you with lovely hair and a most talented friend indeed."

Astarion waved off the compliments with a self-aggrandizing chuckle, but he stayed by your side, casually leaving his hand in your excited grasp.

Later, while you rested in your bedroll, muscles now relaxed and free of the tightness that came after a hard battle, you heard the shift of Shadowheart's body a few feet away. Turning your head to her, you saw her slightly sleep-hazed glance taking in your hair.

"Trouble sleeping?"

"Not really. I was just thinking. I've ... never had things like this before. You know. Being together. Laughing. Doing silly, mundane activities. It's rather ... nice."

You gave a small smile, choosing to stay silent.

Shadowheart yawned, stretching one arm over her head.

"We should do it again sometime."

"What? Get my hair chopped off by a murderous gith hunter?"

"You know what I mean."

She turned over, settling further into her blankets.

"And next time, we do Astarion's nails and give my fringe a trim. And maybe polish Karlach's horns. And maybe get Gale to make that sweet brown drink of his, the one with the cinnamon sticks."

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