A Cold and Broken Hallelujah

Evening, Lower City Camp

Jessa walked stiffly from camp, foregoing the meagre bathing comforts available to them in pursuit of privacy. The several days had been exceedingly long. Turmoil and betrayal in the Harper ranks, Lae’zel had been granted an hour she had dreamed of all her life in the form of a shining silver greatsword, a priest murdered by cultists, she’d had to murder a clown in front of children, all while her every step was dogged by Orin. Orin, who called her kin, mocked her for memories lost. Orin, who by all accounts was the hand behind Jessa’s current state. 

And then there was Gortash. Today the party had made their way to Wyrm’s Rock with their stolen invitation to the coronation. Those horrid metal beasts stalked the halls with their insufferable noise, sending tremors through the floors with every step. They were almost as cartoonishly evil as their master, with his impractical gauntlet and over-the-top clothing. 

Forcing herself to be restrained had been no easy task, but the worst part. The worst part had been the way he had spoken to her. Overly familiar, almost cloying. Offering her a deal, a role in his plans. “We have so much history,” he had said. 

Jessa tore impatiently at her clothing, dropping the bathing supplies in a rough heap by the side of the small creek. This close to the city it probably wasn’t the cleanest water, but it was secluded and at the moment that was all that mattered. The water was cold, raising gooseflesh across her exposed skin as she waded in. 

His eyes on her, tracing the length of her body. Orin laughing, teeth bared in a facsimile of a grin while hatred and derision burned in her eyes. 

So much history. 

Her past unfolded before her, sticky, dark and red. She began to scrub herself, hard. Maybe if she pressed hard enough, used enough soap, Jessa could remove every flake of skin that had ever been touched by Enver Gortash. Her stomach cramped and turned and bile threatened to make itself known in her mouth. Jessa swallowed hard, forcing it back down with a ragged breath. He had put his hands on her. More than put his hands on her. And she had let him. 

She was not some unlucky victim, but a fool who had been betrayed by everyone she had ever known or valued and become a pawn on the board she herself had set. Memories, strength, identity had all been ripped from her. Jessa’s head swam. Why had Helm chosen her? She was a monster. A vicious dog on her father’s wretched leash, beaten and abandoned before being made a fucking plaything for a necromancer. And they had all known and left her there to rot– why not? What purpose could she have possibly served? What purpose could Helm have seen in the nearly empty corpse that had been too stupid to die when she was supposed to? 

Dread that had formed in the pit of her stomach at Moonrise burst forth like a many-limbed vine, choking her as a swirl of emotions threatened to shatter her from the inside out. Still, she couldn’t scrape the sensation, the ghost of a memory of his fucking hands on her skin. Of Orin’s, too, as she cut and bashed everything Jessa had been from her body. Of the necromancer beneath that awful place, testing her and guiding her about like a beloved pet. 

A scream ripped from her throat and Jessa grabbed the nearest rock and threw it as hard and she could against a nearby tree. A piece of bark flew off and left an ugly scar behind as the rock splashed loudly in the creek. She slapped her hands on the water impotently, serving only to sting her palms fiercely. Her fingers dug into the soil of the bank, whipping a clod of dirt and grass across the water. 

Jessa clutched her head – stupid, useless, broken – pulled at her hair and screamed again. The dull pain in her scalp did nothing to release the agony, the fury coursing through her but she only pulled tighter. When she next opened her mouth to scream she instead found a sob wracking her body. Hot tears fell down her face and mingled with the icy water around her waist. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, clutching her sides, her shoulders as everything crumbled around her. An awful keening wail had begun to sound from somewhere deep inside her, punctuated by pathetic sobs. A viscous glob of snot hung from her nose for an improbable length of time before detaching into the water. 

Strong hands suddenly grasped Jessa’s own, pulling them away. She thrashed, attempting to strike out with her elbow, but arms like steel pinned them to her sides. Jessa kicked back wildly and smashed her head into her attacker. 

“Tchk! Stop behaving like a wild creature and calm down!” A familiar voice chastised Jessa near her ear. 

“Lae’zel?” She gasped.

“Yes, now will you calm yourself? This is not befitting a warrior of your stature.” 

“Let me go, don’t touch me!” The hands immediately let her go and Jessa splashed loudly back into the water. She turned around, panting, to face Lae’zel. They looked at each other, both taken aback by her outburst. Her hands shook violently and her knees felt weak. Jessa’s breath hitched and she fought to bring her ragged breathing under control. Hurt and confusion wrote themselves across Lae’zel’s face, but she remained several steps away with her palms facing Jessa. 

“I– I’m sorry. Lae’zel I–” She buried her face in her hands. Looking at the hurt, knowing how weak she looked with her tear-stained face and mucus on her chin – it was all too much. Shame shriveled her insides like grapes in the sun. 

“...What has caused such distress?” 

Jessa lowered her hands and sucked air into her lungs. Her voice still betrayed her by shaking when she spoke. “I don’t– I hardly know who I am.” It came out small, like a frightened child. She dragged her wet fingers through her hair again. “Except– now I do. I know exactly who I was and it is somehow worse than I feared. Every time I think about–” Jessa pressed shaking fingers to her mouth. “Thinking about Enver Gortash makes me sick. Thinking about who I was, what I have done… There will never be enough to wash the blood from my hands. I am the villain at the end of this story. Not even a good one, either. I didn’t– I didn’t deserve pity but still… they left me to rot down there. To know I was paraded around by that person like a fucking pet and they all knew. I cannot make the reality of who, what I was make sense with who I am. I feel like I am possessed by my own ghost who hates me and chained to a destiny she chose for me.” 

She looked up at Lae’zel, desperate for her to understand. “I inherited this body that is not my own and yet is mine. I am suffocating in the memories…realities and repercussions of things I cannot remember. This city knows me but it is a stranger to me. We have worked so hard, lost good people to stop this plot and I am the one who set it in motion. The worst thing that ever happened to the people I hold most dear was enacted by my own hand. I–” A sob caught in her throat. “I’m the reason this happened to you.”

Jessa hugged herself tightly. “How can I forgive myself? How can I expect you to forgive me?” 

Lae’zel scoffed. “Are you done asking imbecilic questions?”

Jessa looked up at her, gaping. Lae’zel rolled her eyes.

“What does forgiveness matter, when there are things to be done? You will not win the day over our enemies wallowing or wringing your hands over what you feel you owe us. You wish you had not done these things, but you can no more change the actions of your past self as you could recall the memories of that life. Do not weep in a river cold enough to make you ill and wound yourself when there is much more deserving blood to be drawn.”

Jessa looked down and realized that she had indeed drawn blood on her sides and shoulders. Livid red lines from her blunt nails littered her body. She had not even noticed in her distress.

Lae’zel took a step closer, raising her chin like a challenge. “Are you or are you not the woman who brought down Myrkul’s own undead avatar with your fury? Do you think that a ghost cut down Ketheric? Was it a possession that returned light to those lands? Or perhaps you think you are the only among us who carries actions they regret. I served the false lich queen for years before I discovered the truth about Orpheus, but I do not dwell on that mistake. I seek to restore him to the throne and my people to freedom. What will you do, Jessa? The time you spend punishing yourself could be spent training or seeking vengeance on those who dared to treat you as disposable, the enemies who, need I remind you, seek to destroy this world.” 

Jessa’s shoulders sagged. “You’re right.” 

“Yes, I am.”

“But still… how do I–”

“Bhaal’s champion is dead, and in her place is Orin. It does not matter to me how you came to be here, only that you take action. Do you wish to be your former self?”

“No.” 

Lae’zel shrugged. “Then what does it matter who she was?” 

A thousand words vied for a place in Jessa’s mouth and all of them died on her tongue as she looked at Lae’zel. The gith regarded her evenly, no trace of anger or distrust, just her arched brow as she waited for an answer. Defeated and emotionally spent, she threw her arms around her lover's neck, pulling her close and leaning against her solid build. 

After several beats, Lae’zel returned the embrace cautiously, then possessively. 

“No one else will touch you again,” she murmured low in Jessa’s ear. “I swear it.”

Something unknotted itself in her chest. Jessa turned her face into Lae’zel’s neck to hide the fresh tears slipping from her eyes without permission. For her part, the gith pretended not to notice and held her tightly. After a bit, Lae’zel pushed them apart and took Jessa’s face in her hand. “We will kill them both, you will have their heads and then we will lay low the wretched brain, free Orpheus and see the end of the Lich Queen’s reign. Then… then we can be us, together, with no duties to take us elsewhere.”

Jessa wiped at her eyes and smiled weakly. “I’d like that very much.”

Lae’zel smiled at her, a tension leaving her shoulders. “Come. Let us dress these marks and return to camp. There is much to do.” 

Jessa hesitated. “Wait! Would you… would you help me with something?”

“Anything.” 

Jessa smiled. “Will you cut my hair?” 

In the end Lae'zel did not finish the haircut. After she had sponged carefully at Jessa's scratches, Lae'zel had taken up a short but sharp knife and chopped her hair off where it was pulled back into its customary bun. They both looked at the resulting awkward bob skeptically. 

“...maybe we should…ask for help?” 

“Tchk! You asked me to do this for you!” 

“I know I know! It's just… maybe It needs some… Finesse?” 

Lae'zel scowled at her. 

Jessa looked back up at her. “Do you think this looks good?” 

Lae'zel grimaced and folded her arms. “Who do you propose we ask?” 

“Astarion seems a good bet.” 

“Yes, he is vain enough.”

“I would've said stylish, but sure. Shadowheart also has some recent experience in dramatic hair changes.” 

Lae'zel groaned. “Chk… if we must. I will fetch them while you clothe yourself.”  

Jessa almost quipped that it wasn't like Astarion hadn't seen it before, but decided better of it. The less said about their one night of “passion” the better. Instead she dressed carefully and grimaced at the reflection of her hair in the creek. 

Shadowheart and Astarion arrived trailing Lae'zel. A look of horror and delight crossed their faces, which Shadowheart managed to hide behind her hand and Astarion gleefully embraced until Lae'zel tweaked his ear at a painful angle. 

“Darling, what has she done to you?” 

“Shut up and fix it. Please,” she added hastily. 

“Well, it's going to have to be pretty short to match the nape of your neck,” Shadowheart noted. 

“Good.” 

She raised a brow. “Oh, we want it short then? This will be a dramatic cut then.” 

Astarion ran his fingers through her hair confidently. “Don't worry your pretty head about it, darling. We'll give you a look fitting of the mental breakdown you're having.” 

Jessa kicked his shin. “Dick.” 

The next half hour had consisted of more fussing than Jessa would have liked, but eventually they reached an acceptable length. 

Astarion looked her over appreciatively. “Oh my, I dare say you look–” 

“Hot.” Shadowheart grinned at Jessa. Lae'zel glowered at her. 

“ --butch,” Astarion finished. “She's right though, not a bad look for you.” 

Jessa took a mirror he proffered and took a deep breath. She raised it and sucked in a breath. It was very short, slicked back from her face. A small lock hung over her forehead. Her face looked sharper, less soft, and the large scar across her cheek drew the eye. And… Astarion was right. It was almost handsome. 

Jessa felt a small flame had ignited in her chest. She looked great. It wasn't the prim, soft look she had insisted on keeping until now. But it felt more like her than anything she had done or worn since she woke up on the Nautiloid. In the mirror her eyes turned glassy. 

“Oh, you hate it.” Shadowheart rested a hand on her shoulder. 

“No,” Jessa said thickly. “No, I– I love it. It's better than I imagined. Thank you.” 

“Oh gods,” Astarion put a hand to his chest. “You’re not going to start weeping are you? I mean, I know I’m an artist darling, but really.” 

Jessa sniffled. “No, no… I’m good. I just– It feels like me.” 

Shadowheart smiled softly. “I can understand that. Glad you’re feeling more yourself.”

“Thanks.” Jessa stood and ran her fingers through her shorn hair, reveling in the short, sleek length of it. She looked at Lae’zel out of the corner of her eye, eyes half lidded. “What do you think?” 

“It is sufficient.” Gith did not blush, but Jessa could feel the weight of Lae’zel’s gaze on her. She smirked, pushing her shoulders back. 

“Then let’s return to camp.”

The last thought she spared for what she left behind on the creek bed was a firebolt that turned it all to ash.