Along the River Chionthar

Sharran as her healing magic might be, Shadowheart’s touch is still tender, like the look in her eyes as she drags a fingertip against Tav's bare ribcage. 

Tav can barely breathe, but that’s less to do with the bruised rib she sports from a gnoll attack, and more to do with the breathtaking cleric doing away with her tunic to get a better look. 

Here, in the safety and relative darkness of Shadowheart’s own tent, there is a moment of silence between them. 

Tav shudders as Shadowheart heals her, with a palm pressed down gently against her skin, setting her entire chest ablaze. 

Shadowheart’s eyes wander, occasionally, hungrily, but she schools her expression and leans back, admiring her handiwork. 

“Breathe for me?” She instructs, breathy and focused on ensuring the quality of her healing, and it’s all too easy to imagine her saying as much under very different pretenses. 

So Serena breathes, filling her lungs with air- perfumed by the sweet floral scent of whatever vial of perfume Shadowheart has bartered off a local trader. 

It’s intoxicating. 

A flash of green; Shadowheart’s eyes twinkle with mirth when Serena shudders once again on the exhale, though not due to any physical pain. 

“Better?” Shadowheart whispers, her voice soft like the breeze that causes the flowers to sway and dance for them, just outside her tent. 

Serena rests her hand atop Shadowheart’s own for a moment; a silent but reverent “thank you” for her care. 

There’s but a second of hesitation- but they are out of sight of the rest of camp, and Shadowheart graces her with the soft brush of her thumb against her hand. 

Serena forgets to answer, what with the way her lips part ever-so-slightly in awe at the pleasant warmth of the contact, and the way her heart races loudly inside her chest. 

She’s certain Shadowheart can feel it. 

“You’re nervous.” Shadowheart remarks- there is a smirk there, yes, but it isn’t quite smug like Serena has known her expressions to be. 

“You’re close.” Serena whispers the truth back to her, not trusting her voice not to break. 

Shadowheart traces a single fingertip against the dip of Serena’s chest. Her touch is exceedingly gentle; she seems almost reverent, too, not unlike the way Tav looks at her. She looks as though she wants to say something- perhaps to lean down and kiss Tav, as sweetly as she did the night they celebrated the saving of the Druid’s Grove. 

But she doesn’t. 

Instead, the sound of footsteps- their campmates returning with food, Serena wagers, and any and all intimacy is suddenly turned to dust and ash before them. 

Serena finds herself laying there before her, clothing still riding up her exposed chest, as Shadowheart seemingly loses interest. “There.” She huffs, without any of the tender curiosity she’d showcased a moment prior.

“...I don’t know how to thank you, Shadowheart.” Serena quickly snaps to attention; it’s clear her welcome is worn. 

She gets these fleeting moments with the cleric, so genuine and beautiful, and they disappear as quickly as they came, often with Shadowheart clutching her hand and scowling. 

“Be more careful. My Lady can only give me so much.” Shadowheart advises with a sniff, looking away, as if she can’t hold Tav’s stare. 

Serena nods, and adjusts her clothing, stepping out of the tent without another word. 

It’s not the brightest idea Serena’s ever had. 

In the days since leaving the creche behind them and working their way out of the mountain pass, Shadowheart has withdrawn noticeably. 

They’re not close, per se- they still bicker and argue on nearly every subject that comes up. That, coupled with their impromptu trip to the Creche, has had Shadowheart scowling for the last tenday or so- but it’s worse, now. 

It’s to do with Shar, partially- Serena knows as much. 

She doesn’t fully understand what tethers that wretched goddess to Shadowheart beyond faith, but she has an inkling that Shar’s grip on Shadowheart has been loosening, as of late. 

In turn, Shadowheart has doubled down on her faith- she withdraws, does not seek Tav’s presence out in the middle of the night as she might have, does not entertain moonlit trysts.

In fact, it seems she’s withdrawn mostly from Tav alone, preferring to eat her meals away from wherever Tav sits, bathe on the opposite end of the river near camp, and pitch her tent as far away from her as possible. 

It stings, undoubtedly- as Shadowheart never communicates. She is an enigma, hidden behind sing-song words that could cut into one’s spirit at times, while being violently tender the next moment. 

Serena wonders what she might have said, or done, to evoke such a sudden banishment from Shadowheart’s attention and her affections. 

It’s become a delicate balance of trying to understand what upsets her so, while avoiding incensing her and crowding her; it’s not something Serena can confront directly- she pulls away each time. 

And Serena, being Serena, cannot let the matter rest. 

Serena’s mother always used to tell her, quite fondly, that she was just like a hummingbird; restless, but persistent, her determination in the task she’d set forth to accomplish often belying her grace.

Shadowheart is the delicate night orchid that Serena cautiously hovers; she wishes to see her bloom, but she hasn’t the means to get close enough. 

Unless, of course, she has a need for their resident healer. 

…Again, it’s not the brightest idea she’s ever had. 

In fact, sustaining bodily injury is something Serena has striven to avoid, for the entirety of her life, a deep-seated preference any well-adjusted individual might hold. 

To seek it out purposefully to win the affections of the beautiful and mysterious cleric of Shar traveling with them? 

Asinine. 

…Perhaps, just enough to work. 

It does not work. 

Not the first attempt, anyway. 

It’s a fairly simple plan Serena intends to enact; she will charge recklessly into their next battle, at the vanguard, so to speak, and earn herself a simple contusion, a little scratch that might warrant the touch of her favorite cleric. 

Simple, really. 

…Only, it isn’t. 

Their first hostile encounter turns out to be a rather long and drawn out affair, fighting off a pair of Death Shepards (ghastly creatures, even by Serena’s standards), and a pack of ghouls at their disposal. 

…In broad daylight, oddly enough. 

There are times when Serena’s military training seems to resurface at the forefront of her mind; she can hear her former Cormyrean Lionar, the noble Captain Morand, shouting at her to take a defensive stance. 

…It’s good advice, truly. Advice that Serena does not heed. 

To be fair, she does manage to fell a ghoul or two by her blade before she’s well and truly swarmed. 

It’s something of a shock when the first bout of paralysis hits her, coming off a particularly nasty blow from a nearby ghoul. 

She has a fine view of the rest of the battle from the dirt where her head lies. 

Lae’zel and Gale clean house together; thanks the Gods that Gale has the foresight to actually stay back enough to lay waste to their enemies in a great blaze of fire. Lae’zel makes short work of the singed survivors; she moves with all the grace and fluidity Serena was supposed to demonstrate. 

She can practically hear Lae’zel’s eyeroll when she falls, paired with a biting, “Istik”, to boot. 

To make matters worse, it is not the cleric her heart has been yearning for, that scoops Serena into her arms, and whispers healing words to her. 

…It’s Halsin. 

Serena comes to full consciousness sometime later, blearily trying to gather her bearings as she’s carried effortlessly into camp by the kind-hearted Druid. 

When he passes Shadowheart’s tent, Serena does her best to avert her gaze from the cleric who emerges from the flaps with a rather bewildered look. She doesn’t need to see Shadowheart ogling Halsin’s apparent strength, or Lae’zel’s majestic blood-stained form, or anyone else, really. She’s suffered enough, for one day. 

“What in Lady Shar’s name happened?” 

“This one forgot how to fight, it seems.” Lae’zel grunts as she makes for her own tent. 

Serena hears it over her shoulder, and wishes Halsin would simply chuck her off the cliff face at the edge of the camp border. 

Instead, he deposits her at her own tent, and recommends a nice herbal tea to combat some lasting effects. 

The second attempt is marginally better planned than the first. 

And really, Serena knows it’s pathetic- with all their concerns, talking to Shadowheart should hardly be the first thing on her mind when she wakes every morning. 

But it is; Shadowheart is, and the little persistent hummingbird within Serena’s heart simply cannot let the matter rest. 

…So she goes for a spectacle, this time. 

Sparring is a daily occurrence in camp; at least for the select few warriors among their ranks. 

It is often Lae’zel who initiates the sparring sessions, but Serena is more than happy to continually hone her skills against the whetstone of Lae’zel’s prowess with a blade. Shadowheart might carry a disdain for the Githyanki- something Serena longs to inquire about, as it conflicts directly with the softer nature she’s seen Shadowheart display in fleeting moments. Serena shares no such disillusions about Lae’zel- though her nature is brusque, her intentions are generally honorable, and her no-nonsense mentality has proven more than useful. 

Often times, Karlach will join in- and though her focus is less mechanical and more to do with the intensity with which she fights- it proves a challenging workout for Serena, if not an opportunity to understand her companions a little better. Though Karlach risks setting her enemies ablaze; she spars with a unique sense of control, a restraint that Serena can only admire. 

Wyll joins in from time to time as well, though he seems to prefer observing and offering invaluable corrections to Serena’s footwork from the side, away from the action. A wise and seasoned ruler he’d make; Serena has thought of the title he carries more than once, and how suited he is to follow his father’s footsteps. 

It is the perfect plan, in essence: Serena can spar with her companions as normal- (which, in itself, is a spectacle she foolishly hopes will impress Shadowheart), and then she will drop her guard at the last moment, earning herself a bloody nose or a simple scrape- anything to give her an excuse to find time alone with Shadowheart again, away from prying eyes. 

As expected, her request is met with some resistance, when she asks, mid-sparring. 

Her chest heaves as she breathes hard, sweat trickling down her forehead, dampening the throwaway clothes she wears- so as not to ruin her only clean set over a simple training session. 

Karlach’s own shoulders rise and fall with intensity as she grins, delighted by the adrenaline, the thrill of the sport. 

Lae’zel even seems a touch winded from their last bout- but there is an unmistakable glint of delight in her eyes. 

All three of them share solidarity in their love of the battle; of bettering themselves every day, forging themselves in the fires (literally, for Karlach) of war. 

There is an unspoken air of mutual respect between them.

…Naturally, Serena will ruin it with a single, idiotic question. 

“...This time, would you please…try to hit me?” Serena requests, rather awkwardly, and years of lessons in diplomacy seem to fall flat, at this moment. 

Karlach wears a dumbfounded expression. “You want me to burn you?” She asks, simply. 

Lae’zel rolls her eyes. “Is it not obvious?” She speaks in more of a hiss, but Serena supposes she deserves as much. “She seeks to injure herself.” 

Karlach’s expression falls immediately. “Oh, soldier, no…there are ways to-” 

“Not like that!” Serena cuts her off mercifully. “I only wish to…” she glances backwards for a moment, at Shadowheart’s tent. “Nevermind, I didn’t-”  

“Oh!” Karlach whistles, and Serena makes a “hush” motion with her hands, her eyes going wide. She’s thankful Wyll and the others have made themselves scarce; the last thing she needs is this gossip spreading through the camp like a wildfire. 

Shadowheart does value discretion over all else, of course. 

“I think I get it.” Karlach nods in an excited, hushed whisper. “ ‘Little bit of a show, and then an unlucky blow to land you in the healer’s tent.” 

“Istik.” Lae’zel’s words drip with venom, but her voice does not hold that distinctive, angry quality Serena has sometimes come to associate with it. 

No, there is something else here. 

Amusement. Buried deep, perhaps, but amusement all the same. 

“It’s good.” Karlach rubs her chin, as if deep in thought. “Believable.” She glances around, left and right, before continuing in a whisper. “Okay, soldier, how do you want to do this?”

“...What do you mean?” Serena blinks.

…Okay, so she hasn’t choreographed it, exactly. In truth, she didn’t think she’d get this far. 

“Well, we could do a whole bit, right?” Karlach thinks aloud. “If you do a heroic pose- y’know, kind of like this-” she demonstrates, flexing her muscles. “-right? Then Lae’zel might do one of those fancy jumps, yeah?” The excitement in her voice is palpable, and her volume begins to rise. “Ooh, yes! And then, we could-” 

Lae’zel scoffs, jabbing forward with the pommel of her sword, cleanly striking Serena’s nose. 

A veritable fountain of blood begins to gush from her nose as she gasps in utter shock, pinching her nose with a hiss and glaring at Lae’zel. 

“...It is done.” Lae’zel offers wisely, shoving her forward a few feet. 

“Oh, shit.” Karlach winces as the shock wears off, her eyes wide. “Could we get a healer out here?” She calls, pointedly, and Serena almost wants to roll her eyes at the lack of subtlety. 

No one emerges from their tents. 

Karlach blinks, and then shrugs helplessly, cupping her hands around her mouth to help carry the sound of her shout. “I said, can we have a healer out here?” She calls. “Wow, soldier, that’s a lot of blood!” Karlach’s atrocious theatrics earn her nothing more than an eye roll from Lae’zel. 

They can hear the sound of passing butterflies flapping their wings, quiet as the camp falls, when they’ve ceased the clanging of their swords. 

“...Huh.” Karlach pants with her hands on her hips, glancing around quizzically. “Where is everyone?” 

It’s Astarion, who emerges from his tent, with a sort of feral look in his eyes as he regards the utter buffet that Tav seems to be putting on display for him. He makes his way over with a saunter in his walk, slow enough that Serena starts to feel a little dizzy from the blood loss. 

“My, all that for me?” He grins, in a most cheshire manner, leaning haphazardly against one of Lae’zel’s training dummies, his arms folded expectantly. 

“For Shadowheart, actually.” Karlach corrects, and then withers some under Serena’s incredulous scowl. “...kidding, of course.” 

“...Oh.” Astarion loses interest rather quickly, shrugging nonchalantly. “She’s not here. Try not to die before she returns…it would be a waste.” He remarks lazily. 

“Not here?” Serena echoes, muffled by the sound of her hand trying to stop the bleeding, pinching her nose and making her sound even more pathetic than she feels. 

“On the hunt with our grizzly Druid friend that she abhors so.” Astarion smirks.

“...What?” Serena repeats, rather stupidly. She hadn’t checked to see if Shadowheart was in camp; she imagines there are words far worse than “istik” running through Lae’zel’s mind right about now, judging by the way she’s gaping at her. 

 “Hm, what are the odds only one of them returns? Or better yet- what if they return quite amicably?” Astarion muses aloud, always one to stir the pot. 

“...Right.” Serena grits out. “Well, I’d best find a cloth to stifle this with, then.” 

“...Do you mind saving some of the-” 

“Astarion.” The single word of warning from Serena, even as funny and nasally as it comes out, seems to do the trick. 

“...Truly, what a bore.” 

Serena’s all but given up on reconnecting with Shadowheart in the way they did the night of the celebration. 

Every attempt she’s made has been futile; whether an attempt to injure herself, or an attempt to simply confront the flighty cleric, who hides behind snark and sass when she means to be most vulnerable. 

Worse yet; Serena is convinced that whatever attraction Shadowheart might have held for her is well and truly gone. 

It’s a loss that aches, and Serena tries not to dwell on it as they continue their journey to the Shadow Cursed lands. 

The days are busy enough; filled with movement, conflict, ever-changing circumstances that keep her on her toes, distracted. 

The nights are far more difficult; their solitude is inescapable. 

So Serena fills her nights in camp with quiet activities to keep her idle hands from burning holes into her pockets. 

She finds a seat away from the chatter around the campfire; back towards her own tent. She’s taken to pitching her tent a good distance away from the others now, giving Shadowheart as wide a berth as possible. 

It’s where she sits now; perched on the ground outside her own tent, Serena carefully gets to work stitching one of the torn ears back onto Karlach’s favored stuffed bear, Clive. 

She works by the candlelight from her tent setup behind her; dark, but just light enough to see. Her hands work deftly, long fingers moving around the sewing and darning needles she keeps at hand, part of a kit gifted to her by her mother, long ago. 

It’s peaceful; she can hear the soft trill of the bugs, the gentle trickle of the water running south by the bend, the crackling of the fire and soft laughter emanating from around it. 

It’s the sound of shoes crunching upon dirt and gravel, approaching her position, that causes Serena to look up. 

When she does, she’s greeted by the sight of Shadowheart, in her cloister suit that she always wears around camp, and her breath catches in her throat. 

Serena stabs herself with the tip of the needle before she can realize what she’s doing, and she hisses at the pinprick sensation against her thumb.

Immediately, her cheeks burn with a fierce blush. 

Wonderful.

“That looked like it hurt.” Shadowheart remarks, her words dripping with that same flirtatious, playful quality that Serena has come to adore. 

“...No more than anything else this past tenday.” Serena mutters, before she can stop herself. 

Shadowheart lifts a brow, and Serena realizes her mistake, but it’s too late. 

“...So I’ve heard.” Shadowheart comments, inviting herself to take the vacant space beside her. “Gnolls, Death Shepards, Ghouls, and apparently, the pommel of Lae’zel’s sword.” She smirks when she delivers the last bit. 

Serena scoffs. “Does anyone in this camp discuss matters of relevance?” 

Shadowheart reaches out, boldly cupping Serena’s cheek with one hand. Serena gasps, at her mercy the instant she meets Shadowheart’s touch. 

If she leans into it subconsciously, Shadowheart says nothing about it at all. 

“This is broken.” She brushes a thumb over the bridge of Serena’s nose, and she hisses at the pain that shoots through it. “How’d you manage this?” 

“I think you already know.” Serena huffs, though her heart races, battering itself against her ribcage once more. 

“Do I?” Shadowheart’s eyes narrow. “I’ve seen you spar. You pride yourself on never letting Lae’zel get a scratch in.” 

Serena’s eyes widen. 

So maybe Shadowheart does watch, from time to time. 

“Don’t tell me that’s what you’ve been doing all along.” Shadowheart pinches the bridge of her own nose in utter annoyance, scoffing at her own words. 

Serena bristles indignantly. “I don’t know what you mean.” She lies, poorly. 

“Have you been seeking injury on purpose, just to get my attention?” Shadowheart demands, words barely more than a whisper. 

“Well…said like that, it sounds-” 

“Ridiculous? Asinine? Reckless?” Shadowheart supplies passionately, and there’s a touch of heat to her whisper, now. 

“...Romantic?” Serena offers meekly. 

Shadowheart pauses, closing her eyes for a moment. 

She laughs. 

It’s soft and beautiful and oh-so exasperated, as if she doesn’t know what to do with Serena and all the affection she has to offer. 

“...Idiot.” Shadowheart whispers, but she heals Serena’s broken nose anyway, whispering her prayer as the energy seeps from her fingertips into Serena’s very being. 

When she opens her eyes, the fondest green gaze meets Serena’s own, and she fears she might stop breathing altogether. 

“Better?” Shadowheart asks softly, and the tip of her nose brushes Serena’s, inviting her to come just an inch closer. 

Serena closes her eyes when Shadowheart kisses her, so tender and sweet that she almost forgets about Clive, and the needle in her hand. 

Serena’s senses are assaulted with Shadowheart; her scent, the soft feel of her lips, the teasing tip of her tongue, the way her fingers find their way to the back of Serena’s neck, scratching softly there. 

Kissing Shadowheart is a religious experience; the only kind of which Serena has ever had, being without a deity as she is. When Shadowheart huffs softly, or whines, her heart stutters with affection. 

Here, close enough to see each freckle dappling Shadowheart’s nose, close enough to see the candlelight dance in her gaze, Serena sees a different person entirely; the one who yearns to break free from Shar’s wretched hold. 

Serena realizes she can never give up on Shadowheart; not just in matters of the heart, but as a friend, as a true and loyal companion, not when she is so close to the surface, yearning to breathe freely. 

When they part, Shadowheart’s eyes drop to the bear in Serena’s grasp, and she wears the ghost of a smile, reflected more in her eyes than her lips. 

“Doing a little healing of your own, are you?” She asks, her voice smooth like velvet, and Serena nods, her throat dry. “I didn’t know you could.” 

“There’s a great deal more about me that you don’t know.” Serena offers, not unkindly. “...I should hope.” 

Shadowheart accepts the challenge, tilting her head curiously as she watches Serena’s long fingers set back to work. 

“Where’d you learn?” 

“A noblewoman wields a needle in the same way a knight wields a blade.” Serena recites dutifully, with an eyeroll of her own, making it easy for Shadowheart to picture her as a disillusioned young noblewoman, with dreams of adventure. 

“Look at you.” Shadowheart drawls, almost as if mocking, but not quite. “Now you wield both. I’m surprised no one has taken you all for themselves.” 

“I had dreams beyond darning my would-be husband’s trousers. I suppose that made me bad stock.” She laughs softly, and she is oblivious to the way Shadowheart smiles at the melodious sound. 

“Seems useful.” Shadowheart remarks, as Serena finishes attaching the ear with a little flourish. 

“It makes Karlach happy. Best use I’ve had for it, so far.” Serena smiles, gingerly setting the bear aside on the table outside her tent. 

They sit for a moment, knee-to-knee outside of Serena’s tent, brushing against each other slightly as they find support against one another. 

Serena sighs aloud, hoping against hope that, come tomorrow, Shadowheart will not withdraw back into herself, to Shar. 

Shadowheart, seemingly reading her thoughts, sighs aloud, too. “I’m…sorry, that I’ve been distant lately.” She offers, and it sounds so uncomfortable, Serena might believe she’s never apologized before in her life. “I’m not…accustomed to having companions at every turn.” 

“I know.” Serena offers calmly. “This is…more than any of us could have anticipated. You’re overwhelmed.” 

“That’s just it…” Shadowheart begins carefully, eyeing the mark on her hand as if she expects it to erupt into a painful flash of light at any given moment. “...It’s not everyone, Serena…it’s you.” 

Serena startles at the words, unsure of how to alleviate the doubt that she, evidently, is causing Shadowheart. 

“Me?” She whispers. 

“You overwhelm me.” Shadowheart finally grits out, as if it’s hard for her to say, physically. 

Serena’s heart falls into her gut. This isn’t at all what she wanted to hear. Hastily, she tries to give Shadowheart the space, the comfort that she needs. “I’m so sorry, I never meant to-” 

“Do not apologize- Listen.” Shadowheart presses, shaking her head as she takes Serena’s hand within her own. “I’ve…never had a confidant…a friend…like you. If I have, I can’t remember them.” She adds, her eyes sparkling with a sadness that makes Serena want to sob. “You’ve shown me that it’s possible…you’ve shown me that I might…not want…the same things I used to.” 

It’s vague, but it’s vulnerable, beautiful- it’s music to Serena’s ears. 

Shadowheart is reaching for her, desperately, the only way she knows how, despite the impending wrath of her own goddess. 

“That is why I’ve been…pulling away.” Shadowheart admits. “But…I don’t want to. I don’t even think I can, anymore. Whatever my Lady wills of me…I want to find room for us.” Shadowheart explains, almost frantically, and Serena can tell how taxing this is for her. “That is…if you’re still interested.” 

Serena laughs softly. 

There is no existence in which she will ever lose interest in the enigma that is Shadowheart; though it isn’t exactly what she wishes to hear, it’s far better than the alternative she’d assumed was taking place. 

“But…I have a condition.” Shadowheart begins, almost gravely, and Serena glances up at her with a most timid but curious glance. She holds up Serena’s thumb and presses her lips to the spot, healing it with barely a prayer. “Do not injure yourself to seek out my attention again.” She mumbles, pressing an additional peck to her thumb. “..There are other ways, I assure you.” 

“Noted, although I wish you’d told me that before Halsin had to carry me on his back for half a day.” Serena mumbles sheepishly, and Shadowheart cannot help but laugh at the beautiful, chivalrous idiot. 

“That was amusing.” Shadowheart grins. “Had you been hoping for me?”

Serena fixes her with an incredulous look that screams: really? 

“...All that aside…Thank you.” Shadowheart tilts her head softly, wide green eyes wet and sparkling in the candlelight, and Serena feels utter devotion beginning to take hold. “...For trying.” She adds in a gentle whisper. 

“...Always.” Serena’s smile, warm and genuine, makes Shadowheart’s very soul float up, weightless, basking in the sun of Serena’s affections. 

To be fair, no one has ever tried as much as Serena; no one has ever seen Shadowheart as a worthy cause for such immense effort, until now. 

…Even if her methods are utterly idiotic.