Along the River Chionthar

A few souls glance at them from their darkened corners in the Last Light Inn, intrigued at the new arrivals who’ve so swiftly secured a semi-private “meeting” with Jaheira. (Really, it’s an interrogation, and it seems everyone else is aware except the group of four before her). 

They toast to good health, before Jaheira begins a very pointed line of questioning, one that feels almost accusatory. 

It’s Shadowheart who first notices the slightly bitter taste to the wine; a distinctive woody bitterness that is specific to a single herb: Klauthgrass. 

Karlach is far too busy drooling over Jaheira’s god-like presence, and Astarion doesn’t seem to be bothered in the slightest, enjoying his first sip after their shared toast to health. 

Serena does glance backwards at Shadowheart, but it’s one of those soft, often-fleeting stares, and then she’s back to speaking with Jaheira- or really, giving her every last detail of their journey thus far. 

Shadowheart isn’t thrilled with the lack of discretion they’ve acted with, either. The Klauthgrass works quickly; words spill easily from her lips without the slightest hesitation.  It’s not as if they have anything to hide, but what does one gain from simply showing their hand at every opportunity? 

Shadowheart pinches the bridge of her nose in annoyance; Lady of Sorrows guide them; her companions are terribly naive and willing to comply with most anyone. They’d gone and tossed back the wine without so much as a second glance. 

And she had gone along with them, like a true idiot. 

It’s enough to give Shadowheart a splitting headache.  

Serena in particular; Shadowheart isn’t certain whether she appreciates the noble-turned-soldier’s sense of honor, or if she finds her moral rigidity to be entirely off-putting. 

…Even if they have shared a kiss, or two. …or three. 

…More than that, it was not even two tendays prior that Shadowheart had admitted she couldn’t stay away from Serena as she’d hoped, and-

-The wound on the back of her hand flares up viciously, and she terminates the train of thought.

 Instead, Shadowheart shakes her head quietly and she wordlessly sets her own chalice back on the table before Jaheira, drawing her gaze as she does so. 

“It was not to your tastes?” Jaheira smirks; it’s exceedingly clear that nothing makes it past the High Harper’s watchful gaze. 

Karlach scowls at Shadowheart, as if she’d gone and crafted the wine herself. “She doesn’t mean it, Jaheira, honest!” Karlach effuses apologetically. 

“What’s the matter?” Serena turns to nudge Shadowheart against the mail she wears, the sound clinking softly under Tav’s gentle touch. She wears an adorable look of concern- one that might have taken effect on Shadowheart, were she not so utterly disappointed in their lack of awareness as a group. 

“Do you give all your visitors Klauthgrass?” Shadowheart scowls, folding her arms over her chest. 

“...Klauthgrass?” Astarion echoes with a little frown, glancing down at the chalice he holds. “Pity. It is difficult to find wine that isn’t utter swill, these days.” 

“Something we can agree on.” Shadowheart mumbles, eyeing the chalice with disdain. So much for wine to ease their nerves. 

“...Whatever it is, it’s delicious. Don’t mind them.” Karlach turns back to Jaheira, wearing an expression of mortification, as if her companions have committed the faux pas. 

“It’s truth serum, Karlach. And it’ll take effect in just a moment or so….if it hasn’t already.” Shadowheart resists the urge to roll her eyes.

 It’s not Karlach’s fault her own hero is guilty of such heinous acts. She, too, was likely naive and starry-eyed at times, before she’d heeded her Lady’s teachings of loss, and wised up accordingly. 

Serena looks surprised, to say the least. “...Is this true?” She turns to Jaheira, setting her chalice beside Shadowheart’s on the wooden table. The act of solidarity stokes the flames in Shadowheart’s chest; Serena is exceedingly loyal to her friends, if nothing else. 

“...A necessary precaution, I assure you.” Jaheira admits with perhaps the slightest hint of remorse, but it’s buried firmly under a steadfast layer of adamance. She eyes their chalices and smiles slightly. “...Even a single sip will be sufficient. You might as well enjoy the rest of the wine.” 

“...Wonderful.” Serena grumbles. “And I suppose you have questions for us?” 

“I do.” Jaheira nods, folding her arms. “Though, it should be said, you will find yourself speaking the truth this evening, whether prompted, or otherwise….that is the nature of the herb.” 

Shadowheart swears she sees it; amusement, in the way Jaheira’s eyes crinkle up towards the corners, and Shadowheart’s own stomach churns uncomfortably. She loathes getting played like a naive child. 

“What exactly do you mean by tha-” 

“-Gods, Jaheira, do you think you could tell us about your battle with Sarevok?” Karlach barrels right past Astarion’s inquiry, demonstrating for them firsthand the effect of the truth serum at work.

The name rouses a few curious stares, and Jaheira’s eyes widen as she hushes Karlach with a gesture of her hands. “Perhaps now is not the time, if I could just speak to your leader-” 

 Serena glances beside her at Shadowheart, and then Astarion, with a brow furrowed in utter confusion. “Who is she referring to? Me?” She wears a genuine look of distress as she faces Jaheira. “Everyone follows my lead and I’m not exactly certain why.” She admits with a frown. “I never really know what we’re doing, honestly. What if I lead them astray? And I worry too much. All the time, actually, and-” 

“-too honest.” Shadowheart mutters as she rubs her temples. 

Jaheira looks dumbfounded, to be fair, utterly lost for words. 

“-Honestly, this has been a pleasant surprise. Though I don’t remember the fabled Jaheira wearing an ensemble quite so frumpy…” Astarion muses aloud. “I suppose time does that to some.”  

Jaheira scowls, her eyes locking on Astarion’s. “What did you-” 

“-Gods, she’s hot, what are you on about?” Karlach counters passionately, turning back towards Jaheira with a look akin to reverence. 

…Jaheira opens her mouth and then closes it, trying to think of an appropriate response, well and truly perplexed. “Ah, that is-” 

“-I mean, mum used to tell me all about your adventures- but I didn’t expect you to look so…uh…well…” Karlach gushes, though it seems she struggles for the right words to express her ardent affection for the Druid before her. 

Shadowheart smirks at the sight of the High Harper, so well and truly flustered by her own doing. 

She hasn’t accounted for this group’s penchant for the odd, by the sounds of it. 

By the time Jaheira dismisses them to meet with this Isobel, it’s clear that they’ve made her as unnerved (and perhaps, slightly flattered) as she has made them. 

Jaheira herself downs the remainder of wine in the bottle, so frazzled as she is. 

Karlach skips on her way up the stairs. 

The group gets a moment of respite, before going up to Isobel’s room to meet her. 

As Shadowheart predicted, the effects of the Klauthgrass have taken hold; more so in Serena and Karlach for their hearty first sips, as opposed to the dainty ones taken by Astarion and Shadowheart, but the effects seem to be noticeable in all of them. 

As Karlach waxes poetic about Jaheira, and Astarion waxes poetic about an actual bottle of wine, Shadowheart finds Serena, nervously pacing by the stairwell leading up to the upper concourse of the inn. 

She looks frazzled, as she paces the short distance, and she almost jumps out of her armor when Shadowheart lays a hand on her shoulder. 

There’s a part of Shadowheart that longs to undo the bindings and the laces keeping Serena’s armor fixed to her body. A delicate touch, slowly removing the crushing weight bearing down on her shoulders, her chest, her soul. 

But they find themselves at war, and Serena can remove her armor no sooner than Shadowheart can lay down her arms. It is but a distant prospect, for the time being, a fantasy that grows fainter with each day they work their way further into the Shadow Cursed Lands. With luck, Shadowheart will be guided along the path of the Dark Justiciar, and all of this will be but a memory, submitted to her Dark Lady’s endless reserve. 

Serena startles, but her body instantly relaxes when she realizes who her would-be assailant is. 

She smiles, despite herself, and the sight sets Shadowheart’s stomach aflutter. 

“You’re beautiful.” Serena blurts out, and it lacks the usual grace and regality with which she crafts her words, but there is something endearing about it, all the same. 

Shadowheart supposes she ought to feel flattered, even if Klauthgrass is involved to a certain extent; the sentiment is Serena’s truth, after all. 

“...Thank you.” Shadowheart chuckles softly, grateful they’re away from prying eyes, at least for a moment, before confronting Isobel. 

She would be concerned that Jaheira is still spying on them, but in all honesty, Shadowheart is convinced that Jaheira no longer sees them as a threat, after that circus with the wine. 

A lull in their conversation affords Shadowheart a mere moment to glance around them and take in their surroundings. The entire inn holds a very melancholy note; the patrons, if they can be called that, seem largely drained of life and vitality. 

There is a figure that catches Shadowheart’s attention; a sphynx cat, with narrow, judgemental slitted eyes and a very regal stance from where he perches on the bannister. 

Shadowheart wears the ghost of a smile as she spots the feline; she’s always had a soft spot for animals. 

Serena traces the path of her gaze and then pauses for a moment, smiling softly to herself at the sight, as if making a mental note of the moment to preserve forever. 

Shadowheart catches her staring, and her cheeks redden with a mild blush; she’s never usually so obvious about her inner musings, but Serena has a way of noticing every little detail about her. A proper Sharran acolyte does not stop to smile at the local flora and fauna. 

Serena seems to sense her unease, and glances away mercifully, returning to her nervous pacing.  

“You seem…disconcerted.” Shadowheart notes softly. “Is everything alright?” 

“I apologize.” Serena begins, after a moment of silence. She looks up at Shadowheart with a truly shameful gaze, and something breaks inside of Shadowheart. 

“Whatever for?” Shadowheart scoffs. 

“For not thinking to test the wine before our toast. It should have been my responsibility.” Serena admits, and Shadowheart recognizes true guilt in the way her voice drops. “...You noticed it right away.” 

“You didn’t grow up in a Sharran cloister.” Shadowheart points out in a gentle whisper, so sweetly contradictory to the harsh reality of her words. “Why do you think it is that Lady Shar takes the memories of her acolytes?” Shadowheart adds, perhaps more numbly than she intends. “You can’t pry information out of an empty chest, can you?” 

“You’re not empty.” Serena whispers, staunchly, without a second thought- and Shadowheart’s chest aches, because she means it, it is not some hollow sentiment she offers Shadowheart to merely comfort her. 

The words cause Shadowheart to still, a few inches from Serena. The space between them is negligible- a mere second would bring her to those full lips. 

Here, shrouded in the shadows in a corner of the Last Light Inn, Shadowheart almost kisses her closest confidant and almost-lover, but she never gets the chance. 

Instead, she feels a sharp, piercing pain through her hand as her wound ignites with a familiar purple glow. It feels as if shards of ice are tearing through her arm and body, and she hisses at the violent yank upon her tether to Lady Shar. 

Serena’s eyes cloud with grief and concern; her gaze is so tender that Shadowheart forgets her own pain, momentarily, in disbelief that a look as loving as the one Serena wears could ever be for her. 

“How bad?” Serena whispers; even now, she keeps her voice quiet, in utter discretion for Shadowheart’s privacy. 

“Manageable.” Shadowheart grits out, and gasps softly when Serena reaches for her hand, giving her something to squeeze, when a particularly vicious wave of pain courses through her. 

“I hate seeing you in pain.” Serena admits, though it’s hardly the Klauthgrass talking; she’s said as much every time Shadowheart endures a bout of pain from the wound. “It’s…frustrating, that I can’t do more to help you.” 

Shadowheart knows she shouldn’t utter the words that come from her lips, but she does so anyway, in a moment of recklessness likely to haunt her for several tendays, at the very least. 

“You do more for me than anyone else I know.” Shadowheart admits, her voice soft, barely-there. “Or…that I can remember, anyway.” 

The moment of intimacy sends sparks flying between them, and Serena isn’t certain where to look. 

However, it’s when Serena subconsciously reaches out to caress her cheek- a simple act of devotion, made to express to Shadowheart how deeply she cares for her- that Shadowheart recoils, glancing around them warily. 

Serena seems to realize her error instantly; Shadowheart values discretion- the only intimate moments they share are to be firmly out of sight of any and all traveling companions, lest they desire gossip to be added to the plethora of issues they must face.

They are not lovers; not in the traditional sense, and public displays of affection are not an indulgence Shadowheart will afford her…as much as it decimates her own heart to deny her.  

“We should…get back to the others…and see this Isobel.” Shadowheart breathes, and though it’s incredibly difficult to do so, she manages to break Serena’s spell on her, and turns away, leaving her standing alone by the stairs. 

She’s shown enough of herself for one evening, anyway. 

Selûne. 

A gods-damned cleric of Selûne. 

The Isobel they’ve heard all too much about, in Shadowheart’s opinion, is nothing but a lowly moonwitch. 

It would almost be comical, if she wasn’t critically tied to the success of their mission. 

As Serena, Astarion, Karlach, and Shadowheart approach her balcony, bathed in silvery moonlight, they witness her ritual. 

Strands of silvery moonlit magic seem to dance in mid-air, suspended between the elaborate set up of mirrors Isobel has meticulously placed around her. 

Centered around her makeshift altar is a bowl of milk, pure and white as the moon, an offering to the milk maiden, as Sharran acolytes would derogatorily refer to the opposing goddess. 

She looks ridiculous, Shadowheart notes. 

But she does manage to summon an orb of light, floating up to strengthen the existing shield encapsulating the Last Light, preventing it from falling to the shadows. 

She turns around, then, to greet the strangers that have been gawking somewhat unceremoniously at her, from her own chambers, no less. 

“I didn’t realize I had an audience.” She offers cooly, and her voice drips with a regality Shadowheart cannot quite place; but her accent is reminiscent of a patriar upbringing, not unlike Serena’s. 

“Gods, she’s…beautiful.” Serena mumbles. 

That rankles.

Shadowheart scoffs aloud.

Serena glances back at her with what can be described as a most panicked, apologetic expression. 

Astarion grins and clasps his hands together in utter delight, rather swiftly picking up on Shadowheart’s display of jealousy. “Oh, this is just delicious.” 

Shadowheart summons the heat of Avernus itself in the scowl she shoots at the back of Serena’s head. She knows she hasn’t a right to tell Serena a word, especially after pushing her away as much as she has. 

Still, the awe in Serena’s gaze towards Isobel stings, all the same. 

“Hells, is everyone here beautiful?” Karlach mumbles in agreement. 

“I see Jaheira didn’t ease up on the Klauthgrass…but thank you.” Isobel offers in amusement, but she does give Serena a once-over, one that Shadowheart interprets to be a gaze of assessment. 

Isobel’s introduction gives them a little more clarity, though Shadowheart is aware she seems to be omitting part of the story she provides them for context.

It’s likely, Shadowheart wagers, that there is a connection to this Ketheric Thorm that is purposefully kept from them; though the others might simply accredit this to her Sharran cynicism, after a display such as this. 

It is only when Isobel blesses them with immunity to the lesser effects of the Shadow Curse that Shadowheart finally gives voice to the doubt that has been festering beneath her placid stare. 

Her body tingles, when the Selunite magic touches her, envelops her, and then she hisses with pain as Shar punishes her for the egregious violation. She clutches at her hand, and when Serena tries to comfort her, she withdraws pointedly, before she can make contact.

Isobel watches the exchange with no lack of interest, but does not comment on the matter. 

“Selunite magic…” Shadowheart mutters, her brow furrowing, her nose scrunching up in disdain for the very words she utters. “Dark Lady forgive me.” 

That manages to pique Isobel’s interest, and she surveys Shadowheart for a moment, taking stock of her obviously Sharran ensemble, bearing the very mark of her Lady in the center of her armor. 

“Good nose.” Isobel snorts, and she smirks when she says it. “Like a nasty little terrier.” 

“I love her nose!” Serena defends rapidly, the Klauthgrass causing a veritable fountain of truth to spill from her lips. “And there’s nothing nasty about her.” She insists, eagerly, and then seems to realize she’s spoken aloud, and falls silent, rather awkwardly. 

Shadowheart’s cheeks burn, and her heart hammers in her chest. 

She hadn’t expected anyone to come to her defense, being the only Sharran in what’s clearly a Selunite outpost, or at least a territory under Selûne’s protection. 

“...My apologies.” Isobel offers with a most amused smile, and it seems that she delights in Shadowheart’s embarrassment, all the same. 

Shadowheart is happy that they’re attacked by that abominable True Soul Marcus, shortly after that. 

Fighting and bloodshed are a sweet relief, after the mortifying evening they’ve had. 

As it turns out, Klauthgrass does not weaken the group’s ability to do battle; a good thing, too, because they end up routing a True Soul and several winged horrors, all there in the name of kidnapping this Isobel. 

With a new directive firmly in place, the group finally gets the mercy of returning to their own camp to settle for the evening. 

Though Shadowheart withdraws into herself the minute they return to camp, finding an isolated spot to sit near the babbling stream, Serena seeks her out with a bowl of stew and a crusty piece of bread, all the same. 

To Serena’s credit- she never approaches in an invasive manner. Years of training in diplomacy have taught her to smile, even when it does not reach her eyes, and to approach matters with all the delicate grace of a butterfly flapping its wings. 

She doesn’t ask to join Shadowheart, once she approaches- merely kneels down and kindly offers her what is likely her own serving of supper. 

Shadowheart is known to miss meals, when she’s in a bout of solitude, and their passage through the Shadow Cursed lands have caused her to withdraw more than ever, despite their growing relationship. 

Shadowheart cannot deny the dark calling in her heart; she is perhaps tendays away from seeing her duty fulfilled, and becoming a Dark Justiciar. 

It terrifies her to acknowledge that she might be willing to forsake it all, because some noblewoman-turned-soldier offers her pretty smiles and honeyed words. 

So she doesn’t. 

She buries it deep within herself, and hopes she’ll never have to directly confront Serena, to tell her the truth. 

But there is an equally vocal part of her heart that sings whenever she’s in close proximity to the soldier. Shadowheart cannot do away with her entirely, no matter how much part of her longs to. 

Serena wordlessly hands her the bowl, and Shadowheart huffs in response as she accepts it, tugging softly at Serena’s wrist. 

She heeds the message nearly instantly, and sits beside Shadowheart, bunching her knees up to her chest. 

She looks smaller, without the bulk of her armor and in her camp clothes; she looks more delicate, fragile, despite the definition evident in her arms as she rests her chin atop her knees.

Shadowheart has noticed the restless quality in Serena; even now, she taps her fingers softly against her leg, unable to remain perfectly still, even if for a moment. 

Shadowheart knows the storm raging inside her; on a night as perfect as this, she longs to ask Shadowheart about herself, to hear the pure, unadulterated truth from her lips, just once. 

Shadowheart tears off a bite of bread, and then stew, before passing the bowl to Serena, moaning softly at the indulgence. Their days have been long and difficult, and simple items like bread have become a luxury, with the scarcity they often face on the road. 

Serena goes slightly red at the sound, and Shadowheart cannot help but smirk at the utter spell she seems to have her under, dusting her fingers off on her cloister suit a little unceremoniously. 

“Thank you.” Shadowheart adds, after a moment of silence as Serena enjoys her own bite. “For thinking of me.” 

“I always think of you.” Serena answers easily, setting the bowl between them both, an open invitation to have more, should she want it. 

Shadowheart sighs softly. 

With or without Klauthgrass, Serena is the most inadvertently romantic soul she’s ever come across. Initially, she’d found it to be sappy, perhaps bordering on the pathetic. 

Getting to know Serena allowed her to understand that she means each and every word she utters, honorable as she is. 

Shadowheart found her hard to dislike, after that. 

“So…” Shadowheart drawls. “Isobel….” She tries not to scowl, when she says it. 

“...What about her?” Serena blinks, clearly blindsided. 

“....You two seemed to get on quite well.” Shadowheart prods. 

Serena groans. “Can we please discuss something else? I didn’t mean to tell her that immediately.” 

“Fine, fine.” Shadowheart amends with a roll of her eyes, still irked by Serena’s apparent attraction to the cleric. 

Silence falls over them once more, and Shadowheart can see the depth of the thoughts rushing through Serena’s mind. 

“Go on.” Shadowheart murmurs, nudging Serena with her elbow. 

“What?” Serena asks gently, returning to her perch, arms encircling her knees. 

The stream gently trickles along before them, drowning out the laughter coming from the campfire, where most of the others are gathered. The others had quite the amusing time, learning their comrades had been drugged with Klauthgrass. 

Apparently, Karlach has many a story to tell. 

“I can tell you want to ask me something.” Shadowheart acknowledges with a little chuckle. 

To her surprise, however, Serena does not leap at the opportunity to learn something new about Shadowheart, like she’s always trying to. 

She shakes her head slightly, and frowns. “I noticed you and Astarion pulling away. I…know that some truths aren’t meant to be shared, and it wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you when you have no choice but to tell me.” 

Shadowheart stills. 

For all the headaches Serena causes her with her righteous sense of honor, of character…she makes Shadowheart’s heart ache far worse. 

There is a level of understanding, between them, that Shadowheart cannot hope to achieve with anyone else; she’s almost certain she’s known nothing like it in the cloister, that she can remember, anyway. 

“That’s sweet.” Shadowheart finally settles on two words, and they fail entirely to convey her gratitude to Serena in this moment, for the gesture alone. “...Thank you, Tav.” She offers the words quietly, almost lost to the sound of the stream passing over pebbles before them. 

“I would never want something you wouldn’t be willing to give.” Serena assures her gently, and Shadowheart feels tears begin to gather in the corners of her eyes, so she blinks them away, rapidly. 

Serena glances at her, and her eyes cloud once again, with the sweetest, most sympathetic look Shadowheart could ever imagine. 

She can feel how Serena longs to brush her tears away, and yet resists every fiber of her being, because she believes she will infringe upon Shadowheart’s comfort, her privacy. 

If only she knew how badly Shadowheart wishes she could simply give in and take her for herself. 

“You have the most beautiful eyes.” Serena tells her softly, reverently, instead. 

There’s a genuine admiration to Serena’s words- never dripping with lust, or overwhelming desire- just true awe of her beauty, her character, every time. 

It doesn’t matter that it’s the Klauthgrass speaking, Shadowheart allows herself a single moment to wrap herself in Serena’s words. 

“Your eyes light up when you’re excited, or passionate…sometimes even when you’re livid.” Serena explains, each word a gentle caress against Shadowheart’s very soul. “But…so often, they’re full of sorrow, and I want so badly to help, but I’m not certain how.” She admits, almost shamefully. 

Shadowheart doesn’t answer for a moment; how can she? 

Serena wears her heart on her sleeve, for Shadowheart- she offers every ounce of her being, in a way that Shadowheart is uncertain she’d ever be able to reciprocate. 

It’s unfair, the way she keeps Serena hanging off her every word, without ever uttering how Serena makes her feel, in kind. 

A burning sensation takes over her hand, and she balls it into a fist, trying desperately not to show any outward discomfort. 

This shouldn’t be her responsibility; Shadowheart shouldn’t be her responsibility. 

“I told you before: you help me more than you know.” Shadowheart admits gently. She doesn’t elaborate beyond that, and Serena lets the subject rest. 

Shadowheart rests a hand atop Serena’s knee, a silent gesture. Serena’s hand comes to sit atop hers, and the warmth exchanged between them is particularly soothing, amidst all the darkness and shadow. 

“You did a good job, today.” Shadowheart murmurs. 

Serena scoffs and laughs softly, unaware of how the melodic sound makes Shadowheart smile to herself, for a moment. “You mean after I handed out chalices of wine laced with truth serum?” 

“We had nothing to hide.” Shadowheart amends. “I…I’m sorry, for my reaction, earlier, when I discovered the Klauthgrass in the wine. I’m sorry if you thought I was holding you responsible. I…I hadn’t realized you carry so much weight on your shoulders.” 

“I worry I’m going to get us all killed.” Serena blurts out, and then claps a hand over her mouth, mortified. 

Shadowheart laughs gently, eyes widening slightly at the admission. “...I don’t think that’s a secret, anymore.” She points out mildly. 

Serena buries her face in her hands in embarrassment, and Shadowheart rubs at her back soothingly. 

“No one considers you solely responsible, Tav.” She reminds in a gentle tone. “You’re the leader because you’re the best of us.” Shadowheart adds, kindly. “...And not because we don’t expect you to make mistakes.” 

Serena relaxes predictably into Shadowheart’s touch; she always does. 

The guilt is like an anvil in Shadowheart’s gut; Serena is growing dependent on her, just as she grows dependent on Serena. 

One day, Lady Shar will take her back, and there will be no room in her mind, or her heart, for the soldier with honeyed words and a gentle smile. 

Shadowheart knows what she must do, but it does not make the task any less taxing. 

Once more, she feels the restlessness in Serena; the desperate desire to be close. Not unlike a nervous hummingbird, Serena hovers Shadowheart, too timid to reach forth and drink of her nectar. 

“One question.” Shadowheart murmurs softly, slowly. 

“Sorry?” Serena blinks her most draining internal monologue away, glancing at Shadowheart curiously. 

“One question.” Shadowheart repeats with a small nod. “I want you to ask me one question. You’ve earned as much.” 

“...Shadowheart.” Serena begins gently. “I don’t want you to-” 

“I mean it.” Shadowheart insists, trying to keep her voice from cracking. 

She knows Serena, intimately; though they haven’t slept together, they’ve woken up wound up in each other’s arms nonetheless, they’ve shared longing glances, shared breathless trysts in the moonlight. 

She knows what Serena will ask her; Shadowheart pushes for it. 

Serena sighs. “...And you’ll tell the truth?” 

“Do I have a choice?” Shadowheart quirks a brow, and Serena falls silent, nodding to herself. 

For a moment, under the moonlight, there is complete silence between them. 

The stream babbles on, the campfire cracks and hisses, the laughter of some of their companions carries throughout the darkness, and into the ominous haze that clouds the border of their camp. 

It is a moment, pregnant with opportunity, and Serena takes her time in crafting her question. Shadowheart can see the flash of doubt in her eyes, the gears turning in her mind as she decides, and then quickly changes her mind again, scowling to herself. 

In truth, Shadowheart might be in love with her. 

….Even more truthfully, Shadowheart simply knows she’s in love with her. 

It’s why she needs to deliver this blow; so precisely, without hesitation, without any consideration to either of their feelings, at all. 

When Serena asks, Shadowheart isn’t prepared for how the words wound her heart all over again. 

“Do you see yourself…do you think that you could ever love….someone like me? Do we…is there a future in which you and I…” Serena’s voice catches, as vulnerable as she is, and the words die on her lips. 

“That’s two questions.” Shadowheart answers, and her voice shakes when she does. 

Serena smiles at her, huffing out a soft laugh, though she looks away after a moment. 

Shadowheart can hear Serena’s erratic heartbeat...or perhaps it’s her own heart, slamming into her ribcage like one of Wyll’s eldritch blasts. 

It makes the next part easier, not having to look at that tender amber gaze that melts into gold by the light of the fire. 

“...No.” Shadowheart utters, and she swears she can feel Serena’s own heart break into thousands of shards, raining down inside of her…or perhaps it’s her own heart, again. 

Serena’s face falls; Shadowheart sees it in her expressions. First is the shock, and then the ache; she can see Serena trying to rationalize the answer, but the Klauthgrass remains at the forefront of her mind. 

Shadowheart is speaking the truth. 

Once and for all, she has her answer. 

She is but an amusement to Shadowheart; a passing face she’ll sooner forget than remember, just another rung in the ladder carrying Shadowheart to Dark Justiciardom. 

“...When the time comes, I will ascend.” Shadowheart whispers. “...And there’s a chance that what you and I share will become a memory. A pleasant one…but a memory, all the same. I…can’t love you in the way you wish for, Serena.” She admits, drawing upon her Dark Lady for strength. 

The wobble of Serena’s lower lip is like a jagged spear to the chest.

The way she blinks rapidly and nods, turning away, desperate not to be seen in tears, draws the air out of Shadowheart’s lungs. 

It was never supposed to be this difficult. 

“...I understand.” Serena finally murmurs, and despite the clear heartbreak she endures, she graces Shadowheart with a watery smile. “...Thank you for telling me.” 

Shadowheart’s heart withers and dies; Serena is thanking her for the truth. 

Shadowheart blinks away her own tears and nods; she needs to remain steadfast. All of this can’t have been for nothing. 

“...I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” Serena offers, not unkindly, as she gestures to the stew. “You should finish that. Tomorrow will be tiring.” She stands, and Shadowheart’s hand falls limply to the ground as she does, brushing off her knees. 

“You didn’t.” Shadowheart promises, but the words are empty. 

Gone is the dynamic of two would-be lovers, flitting in and out of each others’ orbit. 

They are comrades in arms today; potentially adversaries, tomorrow. 

Shadowheart has promised her as much. 

“...I’ll still be here, should you need anything.” Serena offers her kindness one last time, because that’s all she knows, and dips her head in a farewell. “Goodnight, Shadowheart.” She murmurs, ever sweetly. 

“...Goodnight, Tav.” Shadowheart whimpers the last word, but Tav continues walking away, out of earshot, with the most dejected drop in her slim shoulders. 

It takes time for Shadowheart to gather her strength enough to move back to her tent. 

By the time she does, a chill has overtaken her, cold as she is from the lack of movement and fire. 

She readies for sleep, and her hands shake as she combs her hair, freeing it from the tight confines of her braid. 

As she lies into her bedroll, and gazes up at the peak of her tent, she tries to imagine a different life for herself; nothing too drastic, an alternate play of events, so to speak. 

Shadowheart imagines she has memories to share with Tav; honest-to-the-gods childhood memories that might give insight into who she is now. 

Shadowheart dreams up a world in which everything she does is not shrouded in mystery; an existence in which she is free to be with Serena, free to protect her, cherish her, and love her- as she’s done for Shadowheart. 

Perhaps most achingly, Shadowheart imagines a life in which she never received specialized training from the Cloister- including resistance to most truth serums, as a measure of safety for the church. 

She tries to imagine a scenario in which she isn’t fully resistant to the effects of Klauthgrass, and isn’t fully capable of lying to Serena’s face, after consuming the herb. 

She wishes that she could tell Serena the truth; that she’s falling in love with her, so much so that it terrifies Shadowheart, because with each passing day, abandoning Shar doesn’t seem quite so unthinkable, anymore. 

Shar jolts her with a particularly nasty shock, and Shadowheart screams silently into her bedroll, muffled by the furs. 

She closes her eyes, and rubs over her wound defiantly, willing herself to sleep; in her dreams, she lets herself have Serena. 

In her dreams, she lets herself have happiness.