Along the River Chionthar

The seasons continue their constant dance of change as the group continues a steady path along the Chionthar, and to Baldur’s Gate itself. Marpenoth ushers in bright and sunny days, melting away slowly into cooler evenings that- whilst still tolerable, require perhaps a coat, or a scarf, to better enjoy. Uktar follows, and brings with it shorter days, bouts of rain, and the promise of an end: both to the warmth of summer, and to a journey that no one could have anticipated. 

The dreaded heat of Eleasis and Eleint is behind the group; each step brings them closer to what will almost certainly be the final leg of their journey: confronting the Elderbrain.

They come to Baldur’s Gate changed, in some way; Shadowheart’s newly silver hair reflects her recent departure from Shar’s ideals, Serena carries fear to return to the city of her nightmarish youth, Karlach seems to know her engine burns hotter with the minute; the list is endless. 

Anticipation weighs heavily in the hearts and minds of each and every member in camp. 

And already, the group’s proximity to the city has brought about several new conundrums to their attention, one of which Jaheira aims to bring to a close. 

After all, it’s why she’s called this meeting today, in camp, with only a select few.

Amber liquid steams in Jaheira’s cup, handle clutched tightly between a pinched thumb and forefinger; she’s careful not to spill a drop onto the parchments on the table directly below. 

“Thank you for joining me.” Jaheira rasps, clearing her throat after a sip of her tea. 

She glances along the table she’s set up, and the eyes that follow her gaze, flitting back from the parchments to her own eyes every now and again. 

Serena- the cub, Shadowheart, Gale, Lae’zel, and Astarion. 

A ragtag group, to be sure, but perhaps just the talent Jaheira needs for a mission requiring such…finesse. 

“...Is there a reason the others aren’t required to do Harper charity work?” Astarion sniffs, rubbing his nails against his doublet in a lazy show of disinterest. “...Assuming that’s what this is.” 

His gaze flits across camp to Karlach, Wyll, Halsin, Withers, and Yenna- the latter a temporary addition to their overflowing camp. 

They cheer and sing as they prepare breakfast (Withers aside, of course). 

Astarion rolls his eyes skyward and returns his focus to Jaheira. “...Nevermind.” Astarion adds with a sigh. 

Jaheira sets her tea aside and rubs her temples, noting the way Lae’zel bounces impatiently on her heels, the way Serena and Shadowheart brush against each other awkwardly and seem to pull apart, the way Gale seems transfixed on the parchments before them rather than their conversation. 

Wonderful. 

Silvanus, guide me. 

“Let her speak.” Lae’zel cuts in, narrowing her eyes at Astarion. 

It’s a nice enough gesture, before Jaheira realizes she’s only staunchly in defense of getting back to training immediately. 

“Recently, my Harpers have caught wind that a suspected criminal will be approaching the city.” Jaheira begins. “He is a renowned wizard, suspected of many crimes: trafficking refugees, the sale of illicit materials and dangerous potions, and bribery…to name a few.” 

Shadowheart’s eyes narrow. “Quite the suspicion…” She points out. “...And still, he walks free?”

Jaheira nods curtly. “Yes, the reason he has not been brought to justice is because he shares a name with one of the longest standing patriar families in the city. His own brother holds a position in the Duke’s council.” 

Astarion lifts a brow in curiosity. “Anyone I would know?” 

Jaheira shakes her head. “...I think not, unless you were acquainted with some of the worst, lying, cheatingcriminals in-” 

“Oh, I know this one!” Astarion claps, grinning. “Don’t tell me it’s Adrian Caldwell, is it?”

“...Indeed.” Jaheira mutters. “The very same.”

This name seems to finally wake Gale from his reverie, and he wears a scowl that deepens with each word.  “That old charlatan? I can scarcely believe he’s still parading about, peddling his putrid illusions and cheap parlor tricks under the guise of true magic. A fraud, through and through! He sullies the very art with his gaudy nonsense! And yet, somehow, the masses continue to hang on his every word, as if he were a sage of the Weave itself!”

“...You’re familiar, I take it?” Shadowheart scoffs at the sudden outburst. 

“...And we are to kill him? Many words to call a dead man.” Lae’zel shrugs, rather unimpressed at Gale’s description. 

“We can’t kill him-” Jaheira’s correction is cut off in favor of yet another realization. 

 “-Caldwell?” Serena finally speaks up from her end of the table, brow furrowed as she studies the information at hand. 

“You know the name?” Shadowheart nudges her curiously. 

“Everyone does.” Serena admits. “They own more than half the city, and have for generations.” 

“...I…can’t say I’m familiar.” Shadowheart admits softly with a shrug. 

“...Not that you’d remember, anyway.” Astarion smirks. “Those honey traps they had you mastering in your cloister were suited for just his type.” 

“Astarion.” Serena utters the name once: a warning. 

Astarion’s loose tongue has a tendency to take a turn for the careless, and Serena will be damned if she just sits here and allows him to jab so freely.

…Especially not at Shadowheart, though she’s more than capable of defending herself.  

“...You laid traps in honey?” Lae’zel questions in utter confusion. She nods to herself as she seems to build the idea within her imagination. “...Curious.”

“...Astarion may be right.” Shadowheart settles quietly. 

“What help do you require of us?” Lae’zel demands, turning to Jaheira with little patience for group antics, anxiety-fueled, or otherwise. “And why is this at all important when we have so much at stake already?” 

“...Adrian Caldwell has so far evaded arrest because he is protected.” Jaheira explains. “My spies tell me he will be at Fraygo’s Flophouse in two days. He comes to the city to make a handoff.” 

Astarion makes a face of disdain, and Shadowheart seems to mirror his expression. 

“The Flophouse?” Astarion grimaces, nose scrunched up in distaste. “What’s next, we chase him into the sewers?” 

“...It’s certainly not the first place you’d expect to find someone of such…status.” Shadowheart agrees. 

“No, and that is almost certainly why he chose it.” Jaheira nods. “Sharess’ Caress has too many eyes, the Elfsong is even worse. You see, my Harpers cannot make an arrest without evidence of his crimes in hand. The family is too powerful. We need…ledgers, correspondence, something to unmistakably show his doings to the city. And he has just the evidence we need. The only problem? Everything he travels with is sealed within a trunk, by magic.” Jaheira explains. 

“...Well, don’t we have a spell to open things?” Astarion throws his hands up in exasperation.  

Gale shakes his head. “Not if the chest is bound to open for an item instead.” 

“...A key, then.” Lae’zel points out as if it’s the most obvious solution in the world. She truly doesn’t understand their incessant need to complicate everything they touch. 

“...In a sense, yes.” Gale explains. “It’s a safety precaution. Chests can be sealed with magic and may only open for the item they’re magically bound to. It’s…rudimentary, really, but effective when concealing information from prying eyes, especially in the magical world.” 

“...So you want us to break into it.” Astarion sighs. “Really, we’re the best the fabled Harpers can do?” 

“I can scarcely believe it myself.” Jaheira snorts, folding her arms. “But…yes. This is a mark we have pursued for some time now. It would be…a shame, to let him slip through our fingers without an attempt. That is why I have selected you. You are all capable of operating quietly, yes?” 

Jaheira glances back at Wyll, Karlach, and Halsin, hooting and hollering as they set Yenna atop their broad shoulders, causing the little girl to shriek with laughter, much to her cat’s dismay. 

“...They are not.” Jaheira adds mildly. 

“...I’m not certain I understand.” Serena interrupts softly. “You…are we...to sneak into the Flophouse and try to break into this…chest?” 

“Yes- Caldwell has claimed the entire upper floor for himself and his guards.” Jaheira explains. “But- while his mind may be sharp, his eyes are known to wander…if the reports are to be believed, he can be…easily distracted. I believe we can use this to our advantage.” 

“Distracted how?” Astarion scoffs. “Have you arranged a dance for us to perform? Or shall we invite him to circus of Last-” 

“Not you.” Jaheira rolls her eyes. “...This requires…a delicate touch. Perhaps…someone with experience…Someone who can hold his attention.” 

All eyes settle on Shadowheart, who blinks rather owlishly at the sudden turn of events.  

“Oh, this is just delicious.” Astarion grins, gaze jumping from Shadowheart to Serena and back again. 

“...You mean…” Shadowheart’s eyes narrow as she tries to understand Jaheira’s meaning. 

“...Trap him with honey.” Lae’zel nods, eyes narrowing to near slits. By the way she smirks, it’s clear she’s envisioning quite a different meaning than what was intended. 

“You…” Jaheira gestures to Shadowheart. “Would be a sufficient distraction, yes. Perhaps even enough to isolate and draw the truth from him.”  

Serena doesn’t know why her heart suddenly feels like it’s dropped into her stomach, or why she’s suddenly broken out into cold sweats. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“...Alright.” 

Serena answers at the same time as Shadowheart, and they both pause, glancing at each other in surprise. 

It’s bad enough they haven’t truly spoken after Shadowheart abandoned Shar, with a whole host of unanswered feelings lingering between them. 

Now they’re flat-out disagreeing, to boot. 

“...I’m sorry?” Shadowheart blinks, and if Serena’s not mistaken, there’s a hint of a challenge in the question and her tone. “I don’t recall Jaheira asking you.” 

Okay, definitely more than a hint of a challenge. 

Serena’s brow furrows. “I-you can’t. It’s a terrible idea.”

“...Thank you.” Jaheira mutters wryly. 

“You don’t think me capable?” Shadowheart jabs. 

“I can’t condone putting Shadowheart in danger.” Serena shakes her head, addressing the group with an air of finality. “Even if it is to apprehend a known criminal.” 

The entire table laughs at Serena. 

“Did you hear that? She can’t condone it.” Astarion dabs at the tears forming in his eyes, further irking Serena. 

They think her incapable of protecting Shadowheart? Incapable of protecting the very same group that left her no choice but to step in as the even-keeled leader and voice of reason? 

Even Gale, bellowing, his shoulders shaking as he covers his mouth. Lae’zel mutters something that sounds a lotlike Istik, Astarion has nearly doubled over in his seat, and Jaheira guffaws worse than the lot of them. 

“He’s a criminal!” Serena points out in irritation. 

“And up until two tendays prior, she was a Sharran.” Astarion points out, still overtaken with glee. 

“...He’s not wrong.” Gale muses aloud. 

“What if she doesn’t wish to-” Serena trails off when she sees Shadowheart’s calm expression. 

Shadowheart gives Serena a hint of a sympathetic glance before schooling her features entirely.  

It’s eerie how she can do that. 

Her eyes are vibrant with emotion one moment, and then wiped clean the next, without any intervention from Shar. 

“...I’ll be fine, Tav. Thank you.” Shadowheart amends quietly. 

“More than fine, I’d say.” Astarion quips with a cheshire grin in Serena’s direction. “It’s not exactly her first attempt.” 

“...A fine thought, Cub.” Jaheira answers, finally. “But she will not truly be in danger, not with my Harpers posing as staff and patrons. And not with you all there, ready to help the moment it becomes necessary…if it becomes necessary.” 

“-And while she’s alone with him?” Serena presses, adamant on the subject. Shadowheart is not a tool, not a weapon to merely be deployed at their disposal. 

She is a living, breathing, marvel of a soul, and Serena cannot fathom any quest, any task at hand, that could everbe worth endangering her so. 

“...You insult her skillset.” Jaheira narrows her eyes at Serena. “...Unless there is another reason you feel this is ill-advised?” 

Jaheira’s pointed question is too close for comfort. 

Serena stiffens under the collective gaze of the group; Shadowheart bores holes into her very soul with that piercing gaze of green, studying her every movement intently. 

But what is she to say? 

In truth, Serena knows they’re correct; Shadowheart is every bit as deadly as they come. She does not need a fabled knight in shining armor, nor does she desire one. She is capable, ruthless when necessary, and far too sharp to be deceived easily. 

Serena is in love with her; a fact that terrifies her inwardly, because Shadowheart has simply become detached,after completing Shar’s gauntlet and sparing Dame Aylin in the process. 

It’s been like this every day after their victory at Moonrise; there are brief moments in which they connect. A stolen slice of the day spent quietly tending to each other’s hair, quiet dinners shared hip to hip in amicable silence. 

Shadowheart is at war with herself; she struggles without a goddess, questioning her gifts from Selûne with a healthy dose of skepticism. Her smiles come rarely, her laughter even more so. Every attempt Serena makes to bridge the sudden chasm between them has been in vain; and she dares not press the matter. 

Shadowheart deserves a lifetime of healing, and Serena has just recently come to terms with the fact that Shadowheart’s apparent feelings for her might not have been anything more than a matter of proximal convenience. 

She was simply there, and Shadowheart needed anyone. 

There’s nothing more to it. 

“...Of course not.” Serena bites down, relaxing her shoulders and trying to sell the cool, unaffected act she desperately hopes she’s channeling. “I apologize if you felt I was underestimating you, Heart-Shadowheart. That was never my intent.” Serena amends. 

Shadowheart glances away at first, curiously, but nods in a quiet show of acceptance.

Her brow carries the same furrow Serena has kissed away many a time, but Serena keeps a respectful distance, hands folded awkwardly in her lap. 

It will be difficult to acclimate to the notion that Shadowheart wants nothing to do with her romantically, anymore- but perhaps this task of Jaheira’s will set the process in motion. 

“Very good.” Jaheira nods. “Then it’s settled.” 

The Flophouse seems every bit as busy as it normally does- only today, everyone inside, save for three individuals, belong to Jaheira’s network of eyes and ears. 

Harpers blend in as patrons- some carrying rusty swords and patched up scabbards, leaning them against the tables as they stop in for a drink. Others flit in and out of the kitchen as servers, and despite the fact that they play a role, the scents coming from the kitchen are nothing short of tantalizing. 

The group takes up residence at one of the long dining tables; Gale and Lae’zel to watch one side of the room, Serena and Astarion to observe the other. All in all, a sound disguise; they appear to fit in perfectly with the refugees and travelers passing through Wyrm’s Crossing. 

Shadowheart awaits her mark at the bar, draped in a simple but beautiful white dress, exposing long, chiseled legs from the thigh-high slit. 

Serena almost cannot look upon her; she is radiant, so breathtaking that her thoughts become jumbled whenever Shadowheart catches her gaze. It has little to do with the dress, in actuality- Serena feels this way every time an amber gaze meets the soft green pastures of her eyes. But the fact that she looks like a goddess given mortal form certainly doesn’t hurt. 

It’s more of Shadowheart than Serena has ever seen, save for perhaps a few accidental glimpses at her form while bathing simultaneously. 

Serena tries to school her expression, sternly giving herself a mental talking-to. Shadowheart is not hers. Shadowheart is not anyone’s - but she no longer desires Serena’s attention especially, if her change in demeanor is anything to go by. The few times Shadowheart does catch Serena’s gaze, she seems to linger, driving Serena mad with confusion. 

Jaheira sees all from her perch behind the wooden bar, in a frilly little suit that contradicts everything one would come to learn about the High Harper. Posing as the hostess and barmaid, Jaheira’s eye seems to twitch every time Astarion summons her, requesting yet another chalice of wine. 

It would be something Serena would normally laugh at, perhaps until tears formed in her eyes- something she’d snicker about with Shadowheart for days afterwards. 

But the fact that they are on duty seems to sully Serena’s spirits, and she watches with pursed lips as she approaches the bar, arms folded. 

“Weary traveler.” Jaheira greets aloud, and Serena can hear the sigh of resignation in her tone. “What can I get you?” She leans in as Serena approaches the others at the bar, nodding her head. “Do not look now- but the one in the fine robes is Caldwell.” She mutters under her breath. 

Shadowheart and Astarion drink their wine, slowly turning their heads to catch sight of the subjects. 

“...Well, he hasn’t aged badly, for a human.” Astarion notes quietly. “Do you like them grey, Shadowheart?” He glances at her newly changed hair and chuckles, amusing himself. “It would be rather hypocritical of you not to.” 

“Old…young…it matters little.” Shadowheart shrugs coolly. “The approach doesn’t change.” Shadowheart exposes a touch more skin on her shoulder, adjusting the wrapping neck of the dress. 

“I’d imagine it doesn’t.” Serena mumbles, earning a pointed glare from Jaheira and a cross look from Shadowheart. 

“The sooner you manage to get him alone, the better.” Jaheira informs Shadowheart, ignoring Serena’s dumbstruck expression. “The Klauthgrass will take effect soon after he takes his first sip of wine. Let us be sure you have him to yourself-” She nods towards the two large, armed guards loitering by the entryway. “-before he confesses anything to you.” 

“Something tells me the truth serum won’t be necessary.” Astarion drawls. “You’re so…convincing as it is.” 

Shadowheart snorts a dry laugh in response, though it’s clear her focus is on the task at hand, rather than Astarion’s senseless quips.  

 “Well, your prince awaits.” Astarion smirks. “Ready, Shadowheart?”

Serena’s lip curls in disdain at Astarion’s choice in words. 

“As ever.” Shadowheart sniffs. “How do I look?” She asks, more a formality than anything else, because she knows she’s breathtaking. 

You’re always the most beautiful sight I’ve ever laid eyes upon, and I don’t think that should ever change. 

 Serena shrugs, heart in her throat. “...Good. Fine. White is…fine on you, I suppose.” She glances away and reaches for a chalice of wine, plucking it off the wooden bar top. 

Shadowheart does not respond with a quip, with a laugh, or even a challenge. Her eyes widen slightly, glassy as they take in Serena’s response. Her mouth opens and closes without her uttering a sound, and she blinks once or twice. 

“…Oh.” 

Serena doesn’t know why it hurts as much as it does; she wants to tell Shadowheart she has never seen anyone so stunningly beautiful in her pathetic existence of thirty-one years. 

“Now…” Jaheira scowls at Astarion and Shadowheart. “Go and be patrons. Let Shadowheart work.” 

“...Right.” Serena mumbles. “Please, be safe.” She pleads, and makes herself scarce by returning to the group’s table, forcing her gaze away from Shadowheart. 

“...You know that’s not water, yes?” Astarion muses aloud as Serena downs her chalice of wine and slaps it atop the wooden table they occupy rather unceremoniously. 

Serena lets her forehead rest atop the wood as she mumbles a response, trying her best not to glance in the direction of the bar. 

The bar: where Shadowheart is being courted by a wizard that appears twice her age- though he’s likely only a decade older, at best. 

It’s in full effect now; Caldwell has sidled over to the beautiful stranger at the bar, as anticipated, leaving his armed guards behind at a table to pursue her.

He is every bit as showy and gaudy as Gale described him to be, but it’s not his demeanor that makes Serena’s stomach churn in agony to watch. 

It’s Shadowheart.

Serena can only witness the events unfold in quiet horror; lest she wants to dismantle Jaheira’s grand plan entirely. 

Shadowheart plays the part like an expert, a seasoned actress who leaves no room for doubt in her performance. She sips delicately at her wine, tosses her plait off her shoulder, laughs softly at what appears to be an attempt at flirtatious banter, and she’s handsy, to boot. 

Caldwell looks like he isn’t certain if he wants to devour her or simply bask in the presence of her light; a look Serena knows all too well. 

She hopes she’s never looked at Shadowheart like that- Gods, the man reminds her of the many potential suitors she had before fleeing to Cormyr. 

There is admiration in Caldwell’s gaze, yes, but more than that- he leers. 

It makes Serena’s fists clench under the table, and the only solution is to drink more wine in an attempt to silence her own vile thoughts. 

“Is it customary to intoxicate, when one loses their mate to competition?” Lae’zel scoffs. “Truly weak. My people would demand a battle to the death.” 

“She’s not my mate.” Serena grumbles. “And that would be preferable, right now.” 

“...You’re right about that.” Astarion lets out a low whistle when Caldwell’s hand grips along Shadowheart’s hip, pulling her closer. “What a largestaff he has. Surely she’s noticed by now.” Astarion’s words drip with pleased amusement as he stirs the pot. 

Serena chokes on the air in her lungs. 

In all fairness, Caldwell does wield a quarterstaff that nearly scrapes the ceiling in its impressive length, glowing gold.  

Jaheira works behind the bar, keeping a keen eye on each drink and their respective owners. It can’t be long until Caldwell succumbs to the klauthgrass in his wine. 

“Don’t mind Astarion’s ill-natured grumbling.” Gale offers Serena, wearing a sour expression himself. “Minds such as ours are built to withstand such gaudy displays, meant to lure in the vapid.” Gale nods, as if convincing himself of the fact. “...Even if he does wield one of the finest quarterstaves in the land.” He adds bitterly. “...And apparently, has quite the following of young scholars in Waterdeep, many who claim his hands have guided them on the blissful path to enlightenment-” 

Serena uses the last of her strength and willpower to glare at Gale, hopefully silencing him for the next few moments. “Gale, please.” she adds, for extra emphasis.  

It’s bad enough watching Shadowheart practically throw herself at the man, she doesn’t need Gale fawning over him in her other ear. 

“...I do hate to see you like this, Tav.” Astarion tuts.

“My respect for you grows thin.” Lae’zel adds.  

“You’re enjoying this more than you can put into words.” Serena accuses sharply, and then sighs. They aren’t worth the trouble; not when they’re right.  

“...True, but I’m always here for those I call friends.” Astarion pats her on the back once, twice, rather awkwardly, and then snaps his fingers. “Oh, Barmaid!” He grins at Jaheira. “A fresh round for my good friend here, please! She’s come all the way from Cormyr, you know!” Astarion calls, making a show of it for himself, mostly. “...And someone made off with her horse, if you’d believe it.” Astarion riffs now, enjoying the way Serena shrinks lower into her seat. 

At the mention of Cormyr, Shadowheart’s gaze flickers back, but she does not let it linger upon the group, for fear of giving them away. 

Jaheira looks as if she wants to murder him, but manages to school her expression long enough to bring a new carafe of wine to the table. She sets it down in front of Astarion with a clunk. 

“Keep your wits about you.” Jaheira announces rather sternly. “Too much indulgence often makes one ill.” 

The veiled threat is clear as day, but Astarion shrugs and pours Serena another chalice. “Too right!” He calls after her retreating form, indulging entirely in the advantage of their roles as patrons. 

Serena finds herself gazing intently at Shadowheart, listening into her conversation as best she can from afar. 

“-common rabble we’re forced to travel alongside, these days.” Caldwell mumbles with a judgmental chuckle, swaying slightly from the wine, leaning into Shadowheart’s space. 

Shadowheart feigns a laugh- Serena can tell it’s feigned- she knows all of Shadowheart’s laughs. Nothing makes her smile wider than Shadowheart’s boisterous, gleeful laugh when she finds something truly funny. 

Serena wonders if she might ever hear the sound again, now. 

“You’re certainly different from the usual patrons.” Shadowheart drawls in a teasing whisper; Serena can barelyhear the words, but she reads Shadowheart’s lips. 

“I can imagine. Do they bother you often?” Caldwell puffs his chest, gaze raking over the entirety of the room with disdain. 

“You wouldn’t believe it.” Shadowheart scoffs, louder this time. “Every bright-eyed and eager knight that comes along.” 

Caldwell chuckles, believing this to be his moment to strike. “Not very fond of the chivalric type, my dear?” 

Shadowheart’s eyes flash dangerously, a mischievous grin tugging on her lips as she leans closer, squeezing Caldwell’s arm as she does so. “Hardly- with their oaths and their promises. I’m certain you know the type- overly kind, more concerned with morals than results…” she trails off, batting her eyelashes. “...Nice becomes boring rather quickly, I’ve learned.” 

“Was she describing you on purpose?” Gale’s whispered question earns a quick glare and hushing for the interruption. 

“Shh!” Serena can’t take her eyes off the conversation, despite how it tears her inside to hear the truth. Even if it’s merely an act- which Serena is beginning to doubt- Serena cannot deny how well Shadowheart sells it. 

Serena begins to wonder if Shadowheart ever held her in regard, after all. 

“How dreadful. A sorry lot, most who pass through here…” Caldwell agrees, but his eyes have found their way to Shadowheart’s lips, the dip of her chest, the exposed thigh-high slit in her dress. “But you’ll find nothing nice about me.” He promises, eyes fixed on Shadowheart’s gaze. 

“Is that so?” Shadowheart breathes, and tilts her head slightly. 

Serena watches the way Shadowheart angles herself, and knows instinctively what’s going to happen next, because she used to be on the receiving end of this, at one point. 

Caldwell kisses her, then- against the bar, in front of all the patrons, and Serena feels as if she’s been stabbed right through her beating heart. 

Repeatedly.

She finds that she cannot look- suddenly, the very pattern on the wooden floor seems to be fascinating to her, and she swallows back the bile that rises in her throat. 

Those should be her hands, she should be kissing Shadowheart, she should be the one Shadowheart looks at like that, she should- 

It’s agonizing- not because Shadowheart chose someone else over her, even, but because she couldn’t even be bothered to speak the truth etched into her heart, her mind, her very soul: She is in love with Shadowheart. 

Eleasis, Eleint, Marpenoth, Uktar- not yet one hundred twenty days, and yet, enough time for Serena to realize she will never cross paths with someone as captivating, as remarkable, as inspiring. In less than four moons, the vines of Serena’s heart have twined themselves around Shaowheart’s presence, her very being. 

And she never told Shadowheart; she was near inconsolable after the loss of Shar’s presence in her mind. How selfish it would be, to demand Shadowheart’s attention to something so trivial in such a time of uncertainty for her. 

Apparently, it might have been the correct decision, too, if Shadowheart’s impassioned speech to Caldwell is any indication; let alone the way he grabs her. 

“Well, no one mentioned she would be that good at playing the role.” Astarion looks genuinely impressed, keeping his voice in a low whisper. 

“It is not too late to demand a blood feud.” Lae’zel advises Serena with a little nudge under the table. 

By the time Shadowheart and Caldwell part, Serena sees that he’s fully under her spell- logic replaced by pure physical need. Had he not a long list of despicable crimes, perhaps Serena might even empathize with the man. 

The truth of the matter is that she wishes to tear him apart limb from limb. 

“I must have you.” Caldwell utters, forehead pressed against Shadowheart’s. 

“Apologies.” Shadowheart sniffs, slowly retracting from his grasp. “But I don’t make a habit of fraternizing in an establishment so….” Shadowheart’s upper lip curls in distaste. 

“Neither do I, assuredly!” Caldwell rushes to explain. “Perhaps this will sway your stance, however, the entirety of the upstairs portion is mine.” He lowers his voice, glancing left and right. “The spells I could show you…” he drawls. 

Shadowheart plays the part incredibly well; she pretends to weigh the scenario, and then sighs in disappointment. “Your companions will want to retire for the evening soon, surely?” 

Caldwell immediately glances at his guards from across the room, snapping to get their attention. “We are not to be disturbed, under any circumstances.” He barks, grabbing hold of Shadowheart’s hand. 

When one of his guards opens his mouth to protest, he seems to double down with his threat. “Even if you hearsomething, which you most certainly will, do not disturb me unless I summon you.” 

Serena snaps the handle of the carafe, sending shards of glass across the table. 

“Istik.” Lae’zel mutters, dodging a stray piece of glass as it sails past her head. 

“Oh dear.” Gale frets, sweeping several shards from under his sleeve. 

“My lady…” Caldwell drawls, drawing Shadowheart closer once more, as they ascend up the stairs around the corner, leaving the din of the tavern level behind. 

Serena can only watch, heart pounding, never feeling more pathetic in her life than she does at this very moment. 

How many can say they’ve had Shadowheart and lost her? 

In all honesty, right now, Serena isn’t certain she’d be able to even stomach the answer to such an inquiry. 

“...Well that went well!” Astarion whispers as he claps his hands together, watching as Serena winces and retracts a shard of glass from her now bloody palm, shaking her head in a mixture of disgust and self-loathing.

Jaheira makes them wait for some time before they’re allowed to slip around the rear of the building and pursue Shadowheart, as planned. 

Caldwell’s guards remain fixed in place at the table they occupy, happily indulging in the free rounds Jaheira so conveniently offers them. The other patrons seem to sell the act well enough, and the noise from the tavern is almost enough to cover up several loud thumps from the upper floor. 

Caldwell’s guards do look up occasionally, and then laugh and smirk about the entire ordeal, doing little to ease Serena’s rising ire. 

One by one, they slip away from the table they occupy- Serena first, of course, not willing to spare even a second of delay in reaching Shadowheart. 

Serena’s heart pounds as she approaches the upper floor, her companions in tow. She isn’t certain just what she’s expecting to find when she turns the corner to the sleeping quarters, but she finds herself grinning momentarily at the sight. 

Shadowheart looks almost feline-like in her grace as she leans over the crumpled, unconscious body of Caldwell, somewhat amused by the way his head lolls slightly. Her dress is slightly disheveled, but other than that, she bears no other sign of a struggle. 

Serena cannot help but feel a sense of pride surging through her at the mere sight of Shadowheart, so majestically perched above her prey, never once in danger. 

Shadowheart’s eyes twinkle as they meet Serena’s gaze. 

“Took you all long enough.” Shadowheart huffs as she regards the group’s wide-eyed stares. 

“...Told you it wasn’t her first.” Astarion quips. 

For a moment, Shadowheart has that look of pride in her own gaze, but she seems to swallow it back down at his words. 

“The noises?” Gale inquires, glancing around the room. “We worried you were caught in a physical altercation, Shadowheart. Though…it appears you’ve since handled the matter.” 

“...Of sorts.” Shadowheart offers curtly. “...This.” Shadowheart holds up Caldwell’s hand, and a golden ring with an embedded silver stone glints even under the dim light of the room. “Is what opens the chest.”

“You beat the answers from him?” Lae’zel folds her arms and nods in approval. 

“He told me.” Shadowheart corrects. “The klauthgrass took effect soon enough. I needed only to ask. And then I incapacitated him to prevent him from catching on. If we make haste, he might never realize what we’ve taken.” 

The way she delivers the words is almost chilling, Serena notes mentally. 

Jaheira is the last to approach, slowing as she lays eyes on Shadowheart and Caldwell’s slouched form on the floor. “Excellent, Shadowheart.” She praises. “Gale, your spell can modify his memory, yes?” 

At the mention of memories, and the notion of stripping them, Shadowheart appears to stiffen, standing up as she dusts her dress off. 

“...Yes, but only ten minutes’ worth.” Gale winces. “I can’t strip the entire evening from his mind without potentially catastrophic side effects.” 

“That will be all that is necessary.” Jaheira nods. “Clear his mind of the struggle with Shadowheart. He will merely think he is intoxicated and fell asleep afterwards. Shadowheart, be sure there is not a single scratch upon him. He or his guards may notice, foolish as they are.” 

“Right.” Shadowheart nods, eyeing the body on the floor with mild disdain. 

“The rest of you- to work. Find the chest. Lae’zel- you keep watch outside the room.” 

“There are no doors.” Lae’zel points out dryly. “It is one large room.” 

“All the more reason to keep watch.” Jaheira retorts, shaking her head. “Gale, assist Astarion in opening the chest.” Jaheira turns to Serena and Shadowheart, awkwardly standing hip to hip. “You two- ensure he does not wake. The entire plan fails if he realizes what’s being done to him. I will keep his guards busy. When you find the ledger, take it and quietly return to me in the tavern. If you do not give anyone reason, they will not suspect you. Understood?” 

The soft chorus of “yes, Jaheira” almost reminds her of her family; only these children she’s gained recently are far more troublesome than her own. 

…And she owes them all more than a few rounds after this. 

“Not this one…not this one…why are there so manybloody chests in this room?” Astarion grimaces. “Shouldn’t it look magical?” 

“Not necessarily.” Gale rubs his chin in thought. “It likely resembles any other piece of furniture. The more unremarkable, the better, I’d say.”

“It’s the glowing, diamond-encrusted chest in the corner.” Shadowheart rolls her eyes as she folds her arms. 

They’d all be dead, if they were back in the cloister under Viconia’s watch. 

“...Ah.” Gale nods, eyes widening. “Shadowheart appears to be correct. The ring, please.”

As Gale begins to crowd the chest, with Astarion knelt at the foot of it, Shadowheart breaks the silence that’s settled rather heavily between her and Serena. Standing shoulder to shoulder as they watch over Caldwell’s unmoving form, Shadowheart notices the cut on Serena’s hand. 

“...Tav, you’re bleeding…Gods, what happened to you?” Shadowheart inquires with a furrowed brow and an otherwise unreadable expression. 

Serena blinks in surprise, glancing at the slice in the palm of her sword hand, and turns beet red, immediately looking away. “Oh. Odd. I…haven’t a clue.” She lies pathetically. 

Better than telling her she snapped a wine carafe at the sight of her holding hands with someone else; Serena realizes how unhinged it sounds as she recites the fact to herself mentally. 

Shadowheart scowls this time. “What’s gotten into you today?” She hisses.

Serena looks affronted, hands finding her hips. “Me?” She challenges. “Nothing at all, why do you ask?” 

“You’ve been…Gods, you’ve been nothing like yourself.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to bore you!” Serena retorts in a sharp hissed, hushed promptly by Lae’zel after the fact. 

“You what?” Shadowheart sputters, so utterly lost and infuriated by Serena’s demeanor all at once. “What the hells are you on about-” 

“Shh!” 

Serena hears a faint groan from her boots. 

Glancing down, Serena watches as Caldwell’s head lolls to the side again, his body beginning to stir. 

Serena exchanges a wide-eyed look with Shadowheart. “He’s waking.” Serena hisses, crouching in front of Caldwell in a panic. 

“Not done yet.” Astarion drawls, without ever turning away from the chest. “Do something.” 

“Mmmm.” The sound is unmistakable, even in the heat of their heist. Not to mention Caldwell’s dreamy, idiotic smile as he turns over, eyes still closed. “That feels…” he mumbles the words, slurring to the point where his words are nearly unintelligible, but not quite. 

Serena wishes she didn’t understand him. 

“Is that…” Astarion trails off, turning away from the chest this time at the lewd moan that fills the air. Gale’s eyes widen, and Lae’zel turns from her post rather uncharacteristically, glaring at the disturbance. 

“Does he think you’re still…” Astarion grins now, cheshire and predatory and absolutely relishing in the hilarity of something so absurd. “My, Shadowheart, but you must have done a number on him to haunt his dreams.” 

Shadowheart’s cheeks turn red and she glares at Astarion. 

Caldwell stirs again, and Serena exchanges a look of panic with Shadowheart. He blinks his eyes open hazily, and the first thing he sees is Shadowheart’s face; he is too far lost in his stupor to recognize the panic in her eyes. 

“You are…enchanting…you nearly put me to sleep…” He mumbles as he reaches for her blearily, and- 

-His head falls back to the floor with a violent thunk as Serena retracts her fist, wearing a look of split rage and disgust. 

Shadowheart gapes at her. “Did you just-” 

“-Yes.” Serena’s tone is clipped, and Shadowheart lifts a brow at her curiously, as if seeing her in a new light. “Open the bloody chest, Gale.” She snaps, and it appears any semblance of patience has well and truly left her body. 

“...Right.” Gale clears his throat, and turns his attention back to the chest, while Astarion snickers himself into tears. 

They file downstairs one by one, flitting in through the rear entrance of the building and slowly blending back in with the crowd of patrons. 

Gale comes first, ledger under his robe, followed by Astarion, lamenting the fact that he could have pawned Caldwell’s ring for several gold pieces, at the very least. 

Lae’zel huffs and puffs her discontent and boredom at the lack of blood being spilt, but she quietly returns to the table without an argument. 

Serena appears next, exhausted, clutching her right fist, wordlessly joining the table with nothing but a scowl. 

Gale’s tampering with Caldwell’s memory is in full effect; as far as he knows, he is merely waking after a rompwith a beautiful half-elf stranger, none the wiser about what’s been stolen from right under his nose. The first thing he sees upon waking is Shadowheart, adjusting the haphazard strap on her dress as she gives him a charming smile before slowly slipping out of his room (Lae’zel was right- it really is one floor), Caldwell in tow. 

Jaheira’s years of experience prevent her from grinning as much as she would like to for such a clean, successful operation- so she reels it in, knowing she must thank her team profusely, back at camp. 

The Harpers sorely needed this win, and in an ever-corrupt world, Jaheira is happy she can deliver this to them; A High Harper’s shoulders are constantly weighed down by expectation, by responsibility. 

Shadowheart appears around the corner first, Caldwell in tow, so obviously enamored with her (or, perhaps, his idea of her). 

Shadowheart approaches the table, standing near it, and Serena finds she cannot look away, despite how much she wishes she would. 

“So hasty to leave…” Caldwell speaks, and though Shadowheart has meticulously healed any evidence of any physical damage he’s taken, his words still come a little slowly from Gale’s tampering in his mind. 

“A perfect end to a perfect evening, my lord.” Shadowheart purrs, and Serena has to hand it to her- anyone would fall for her. 

Serena tries not to blame herself as much as she does; it’s not her fault she fell head over heels for Shadowheart. It is her fault for deluding herself into thinking Shadowheart harbored the same feelings for her. She rises from her seat, white-knuckled grip on the edge of the chair unnoticed, for now. 

“Why should it be the end?” Caldwell presses, and though he keeps his voice in a low whisper, Serena is close enough to hear his words. “Come with me to the city, and whatever you desire will be yours.” His words drip with promises of a life of comfort, ease- built on the backs of the destitute refugees just outside the door. 

“Charming, but I should think not.” Shadowheart sniffs. “I have business to attend to. My travels will take me elsewhere.” 

“And who will tend to you?” His words drip with lust, as his gaze does. His stare is not reverent, not holy. He does not look upon Shadowheart like she is a goddess given mortal form, nor does he appreciate the slight furrow of her brow, or the way her eyes light up when she sees a passing animal, or a good book to add to her collection. 

Serena knows this is all an act; nothing more than ruse from either of them. Shadowheart’s seduction is a means to an end, yes, but so is his.

She’s just another object to be collected, an accolade to wear on his arm, not unlike the gaudy outsized quarterstaff he wields, only to strike jealousy in the hearts of others. 

“A delicate flower such as yourself…” Caldwell smirks, and Serena feels white hot rage burn in the pit of her stomach, swelling into an inferno in her chest. “Even if I have tasted a petal or two-” 

Serena doesn’t realize what she’s doing, in all fairness. Her body moves of its own accord. Shadowheart does eye her curiously as she approaches, without a single falter in her step. She balls her right fist- the very same bearing a cut on the palm and a bruise on the knuckles. 

She drives her fist viciously into Caldwell’s jaw from underneath, the uppercut sending him a few inches off the floor with a sickening crack. His body crumples by her boots, and the entire tavern falls silent. 

The so called patrons stop their contrived conversations, Jaheira glances up from the bar counter in horror, and Caldwell’s guards remain stunned for a moment, inebriated and slow to react. 

“We were nearly done!” Jaheira all but wails, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “You could not wait a moment more?!” 

Serena’s shoulders heave as she slowly refocuses on the faces of her companions. Astarion looks positively thrilled. Gale appears to be in shock- as does Shadowheart- they both wear stupefied expressions, Shadowheart covering her mouth in shock at the sudden outburst. Lae’zel nods her support immediately, mouthing the words “blood feud” with a heavy look of approval. 

Caldwell’s guards scramble out of their seats in an attempt to subdue Serena; Jaheira waves her hands and suddenly, every patron in the building is armed, cornering the guards. 

“...Arrest them. All of them. Take them to the city.” Jaheira sighs, rubbing her temples as her Harpers move on her command. “And you.” She turns around to Serena, still reeling from her own violent misstep, blinking owlishly and staring at her own hands. “Do not move. I would have words with you.” 

Serena tries to remember the last time she felt like a child scorned; she’s reduced to a shamed little girl again, before ever becoming a knight, before ever learning discipline. She nods once, curtly, and turns away from her companions, unable to face them. 

“Sit.” Jaheira demands as she kicks out a chair for Serena to sit upon. 

The Flophouse sits empty now, save for a few Harpers moving in and out to do damage control and prepare a case to present to the council. 

The others have all returned to camp; for the better, Serena wagers, because she’d make foul company right about now, as if she hasn’t all day. 

Jaheira sighs as she leans against the table Serena sits at, shaking her head as her pacing comes to a stop. 

Serena awaits her first words of derision with a funny feeling of shame rotting deep in her chest. She isn’t accustomed to such a reprimanding; since moving to Cormyr, she’s always tried to do the correct thing, in any given scenario. 

Gone are the days of her mischievous youth, when she’d sneak out to the docks and try to board one of her family’s ships in a misguided search of adventure. 

So why does she feel so similarly guilty now? 

“...Do you ever wonder why some trees fall, and others stay standing?”  Jaheira finally breathes. 

Serena wagers she’s in for a Druid’s speech anyhow, so she simply shakes her head and accepts her fate. “I have an inkling you’re going to tell me.” 

“Ah, still have some of your wits about you, then.” Jaheira rolls her eyes, but smiles wryly for a moment before continuing. “It might surprise you- but some of the mightiest trees are the ones that succumb to nature first.” 

“Am I the tree in this analogy?” 

“Yes.” Jaheira frowns. “Heed my words, Cub. Even the strongest tree can be hollowed out from within if left to rot. You must confront what’s eating away at you, before it makes a home in you.” 

“...What if it has already?” Serena whispers, and Jaheira laughs, shaking her head.

 “You are not rotten, Cub. But you are afraid.” 

Serena looks as if she wants to protest, and Jaheira motions to her knuckles, bruised and resting on the table, fist clenched. 

“Why else would you choose to endanger yourself, your companions, hm? You fear losing Shadowheart- so much so that you refuse to have her.” Jaheira accuses calmly, rationally. 

Serena glances around, just in case. She’s had enough embarrassing public revelations for one day. 

“I…don’t own Shadowheart.” Serena huffs angrily. “No one does! And that vile man made her feel…” Serena trails off. “No one should address her in such a manner. Even if it’s all a ruse. She’s endured more than enough cruelty for one lifetime-” 

“And yet you refuse to tell her your very heart beats for her.” Jaheira points out. “Instead you chose to withdraw. Tell me, Cub, did you feel better? Was it easier to watch her in the arms of another, even if only for show?” 

“I loathed every second of it.” Serena answers bitterly. “I…I don’t know how to be around her and not be in love with her.” Serena whispers shakily, and Jaheira pats her hand softly, in a moment of sheer sympathy for the poor girl. “But if she doesn’t want…I just want her to be happy, Jaheira. With or without me.” 

Jaheira barks out a laugh, shaking her head as she draws glances from several of her Harpers. “Even you do not believe such empty words. Your very bruises beg to differ. You let a known criminalgo-”

“We arrested him-” 

“-And surely, with the connections he has, he will be released by tomorrow.” Jaheira shakes her head, waving it off. “A problem for another time…But an interesting development- I chose you because you are mostly rational.” 

“I’m sorry.” Serena whispers, shaking her head. “I know it was unacceptable. Something within me…I…just…I snapped, and-” 

“Fear leads us to commit acts we did not think ourselves capable of.” Jaheira begins softly. “But it also stops us from speaking the truth of our hearts, and that is how the rot begins to fester within.” 

“I…I’m afraid, Jaheira, what if she doesn’t wish to-” 

“-I know what love looks like.” Jaheira cuts her off with a fond whisper. “Your tree is not yet hollow, Cub. Do not allow it to fall so easily.” 

It’s understandably difficult for Shadowheart to pray to her new goddess at all, let alone with the constant clankingof swords, not six meters away from where she kneels. 

As the sun begins to set over camp, it’s still bustling with life and activity- and, granted, a lot of gossip-laden chatter about Serena’s egregious mishap. 

Gale and Astarion regale Karlach and Wyll with tales of the day; they leave no detail out, and Karlach hoots and hollers loud enough to carry across camp. 

Normally, it’s enough to make Shadowheart smile, but today, she’s simply exhausted.

Nothing has been easy in her life, but it’s been especially true since exiting the Shadowfell. 

Shadowheart is lost. 

Tossed about in a sea of emotions; there’s anguish, guilt, confusion, anger- everything boiling under the surface, reaching a fever point and taking over her every thought. 

She is without a proper deity- her relationship to Selûne is a new and timid one, at best. Her powers are still intact, thanks to her new lady, but Shadowheart hesitates in using them to their fullest extent, just yet. 

In a matter of tendays, everything about her life has changed. Every pillar upon which she’d built a foundation for herself has crumbled, reduced to ash and dust. 

Shadowheart has nothing, now- no home, no family, no light. 

The only person standing between Shadowheart and certain death is Serena Tavyndír, and Shadowheart is terrifiedof losing her- though she already may have started to. 

Serena has slowly but surely become everything to Shadowheart over the course of the last few moons- from their contentious beginnings to their moonlit trysts. Shadowheart hasn’t always been fair, or even kind to her- not at the start, anyway. 

But Serena’s persistence, her heart, Gods, her heart…the way she’d always bring by spare food to Shadowheart’s tent, gifting her books, night orchids, and extra helpings of food, when the rations were good…

Serena, who touches Shadowheart as if she’s made of porcelain, who knows just how to do her plait the way she likes it, who always defends Shadowheart in the occasional group argument. 

Shadowheart knows she plays coy, at times- it’s part of her facade, of course. Leverage and power comes from being the desired party, and not the pursuer, Shadowheart knows as much from her time under Viconia. 

But Serena’s persistence shatters even that measure in Shadowheart’s defenses, and she knows without an inkling of a doubt that she is the latter, now.

She wants Serena in more than just moonlight-soaked trysts and secret stolen kisses. She wants Serena in the daylight; she wishes to hold her hand and stroll the markets in Wyrm’s Crossing, and just for once- to feel normal.

To feel beloved.

Shadowheart is terrified.

This was all before the loss of her goddess, and though Serena is fully in favor of Shadowheart abandoning Shar and her ways, it is Shadowheart, who carries the doubt now.

Who could ever want someone unfinished as she is? Someone who does not know their own name, who cannot speak to her own past? 

Serena has eased off since the gauntlet, and it only confirms Shadowheart’s deepest fears to be true; she has little interest in pursuing a relationship with someone so broken.

Shadowheart cannot blame her; Serena has worked painstakingly to accomplish everything she has. She is Shadowheart’s polar opposite; she has dedicated her life to defending the defenseless, to noble causes, while Shadowheart served Shar. 

She should not want her, and yet, she consumed every thought that crosses Shadowheart’s mind. It should be enough to have a friend so dear, after all she’s endured, but Shadowheart cannot help the way her heart quivers and stutters when she looks upon her. 

It’s no different, even now, after her failure of catastrophic proportions, according to Astarion telling the story across camp. 

Shadowheart cannot take her eyes from Serena’s form as she spars viciously with Lae’zel across camp. 

Sparring, perhaps, is not the proper term to use; Serena hardly defends herself from Lae’zel’s blows. 

Her footwork is laughable compared to the finesse and grace with which she usually moves, and her grip on her dulled sword is clumsy.

She is nothing like herself today, Shadowheart continues to note, even as she admires the way her leather grips muscled arms. 

Shadowheart still feels the sting of rejection, the way Serena dismissed her so easily in the Flophouse, when she’d been fantasizing about how Serena would react to the dress all the while, when donning it. 

Yes, they’d practically ceased their sweet back and forth since exiting the Shadowfell, but Shadowheart had hoped against hope that Serena might find her way back to her. 

How wrong she was…

Shadowheart watches as Lae’zel mercilessly dominates Serena- swing after swing, Serena stumbling to keep up, until she’s struck with a decisive blow to the back, crippling her. 

Serena’s sword clanks to the floor as she writhes in pain as her body endures another bout of self-inflicted torture. 

Shadowheart watches, heart in her stomach, eyes wide as Serena falls to her knees. Lae’zel shakes her head and mutters something about focus, retiring to her tent after ensuring Serena has the strength to stand. 

Shadowheart makes eye contact with Serena for merely a second; something crackles between them, even now. 

Serena quickly drops her head and limps away, her face bloodied, her body exhausted and filthy from their makeshift battle. Shadowheart recognizes the signs of self-flagellation anywhere. She tries to call out to Serena, but the name dies on her tongue as she watches her retreat out of sight, likely to bathe, and wallow some more

It is entirely unlike Serena, just as everything else has been today, and Shadowheart feels a sense of determination settling into her bones. 

The moon bathes the docks by their campgrounds in a beautiful silvery glow, illuminating several ships and their sails, reaching high to kiss the few clouds in the sky. 

Nightfall brings with it a sense of peace; for once, the camp is mostly quiet on this end, with most gathering around the fire for supper and perhaps a spot of wine. 

Shadowheart has been beckoned many times over to tell her recounting of the day’s events- they’ve already spent the day laughing uproariously. 

Shadowheart cannot bring herself to join them; not when her person is not seated around the fire, inviting her to join. 

Shadowheart finds Serena sitting atop the steps descending to the docks, her outline lit up against the dark blue expanse before her. The way she sits belies her calm expression; she is tense, knees curled up to her chest, chin resting on her knees. 

Her expression is one of deep sorrow and reflection; she almost does not hear Shadowheart approaching, lost in her thoughts as she is, but her training seems to take over. 

She turns around and gasps softly when she takes in the sight of Shadowheart approaching. 

Shadowheart wears her new camp outfit; she feels the chill of the evening breeze against her exposed arms, but presses on, regardless. She feels different, doing away with all of her Sharran garb. 

It is a time of metamorphosis for Shadowheart, perhaps for them both. Shadowheart realizes, perhaps foolishly late, that every step bringing them closer to the heart of the city is likely to put fear in Serena’s heart, too.

 It is the home of her abuse, after all, and all the memories of it, of course. 

“Heart.” Serena croaks the word, and clears her throat. “Shadowheart.” She amends softly, and Shadowheart frowns at the correction. 

“I prefer the former.” Shadowheart whispers, and Serena looks up in surprise, an amber gaze reflecting a glint of what appears to be hope, for the first time that day. “May I join you?” She asks, just to be sure. Serena has never invaded her space or time in isolation without asking, first. 

“I…You still want to?” Serena sputters. “After today?” 

“Well, yes, you didn’t knock me out…” Shadowheart laughs curiously. “Though you looked as if you wanted to, several times.” 

Serena’s brows furrow adorably and she scowls. “I would never-”

“Jesting.” Shadowheart pokes her side playfully, and Serena finally relaxes. “I’m only jesting.” 

“I ruined the plan.” Serena whispers, gaze downcast once more. 

“Quite spectacularly.” Shadowheart agrees with a nod. 

“I…behaved irresponsibly, today.” 

“Infuriatingly so.” Shadowheart sniffs in agreement. 

“My tree…is hollowing.” Serena murmurs. 

“...Sorry?” Shadowheart is lost, now. 

“And, in truth…Gods, there’s no easy way to tell you this…” Serena sighs. 

Shadowheart steels her heart for what’s coming next. She can hear Serena uttering the words, and she clenches her fists against her lap. 

I don’t feel the same way about you anymore. 

You still have parts of Shar within you. 

“...I was…I am…so deeplyjealous.” Serena whispers shamefully. 

Shadowheart looks as if she’s been slapped. “You what?” she sputters without any of the grace she intends to impart into the question. 

Serena buries her face in her hands over her knees, shaking her head. “I know you aren’t mine and I would never…I…He was…” 

“Jealous of him?” Shadowheart utters, blinking in confusion as her mind fuses the truth of Serena’s words with the day’s events. 

“Well I certainly didn’t envy you.” Serena mutters sympathetically. “That foul, vile man, and you…you had to…” 

“Is that why you’ve been awful all day?” Shadowheart demands, and she’s laughing as she says it. In fact, she’s grinning. She can’t help it. This is perhaps the greatest news she’s received in tendays. 

“You aren’t upset?” Serena gasps. 

“Upset that you’ve been acting a jealous fool all the while? ...I’m flattered, if anything.” Shadowheart admits, and the relief is palpable in her tone. She thought she’d nearly lost this. 

“I’m sorry.” Serena pleads. “I thought…if I could keep you at arm’s length, that it might…Gods, please, this is mortifying. I just want to apologize. Profusely.” 

“I can’t believe this.” Shadowheart whispers, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“I’ve never felt this way…I…I didn’t know how to control it. I only saw him, and you, and the first thing I could think to do…” 

“All this time, I thought you…were judging me…I thought you didn’t like these parts of me-” 

“Judging you? For putting your training to use helping the Harpers catch a known criminal?” Serena sputters. “I’m so sorry, Heart, but I would never-”

Shadowheart grins. 

There she is. There is the Serena she is so hopelessly enamored with. 

“And..there is no part of you I’m not in lo- that I don’t like.” Serena amends, blushing furiously. 

In love with. 

Shadowheart hears the slip before Serena’s amendment, and her heart flutters like a butterfly’s wings, beating rapidly against her ribs. 

Shadowheart feels a million times lighter; in fact, her heart sings within her chest at Serena’s confession. She is wanted. She is beloved. 

And then, another realization occurs to Shadowheart. 

“Why didn’t you say anything, you idiot?” Shadowheart scowls, slapping Serena softly on the arm. “I…had hoped that you might say something…the dress…” 

“Gods, it was impossible not to gawk at you.” Serena confesses, the truth flooding out from her lips, now. She bites her lip, shaking her head and blinks away the tantalizing memory in order to better form words. 

“So you did like it…” Shadowheart bats her eyelashes, every fiber of her being charged with excitement. 

“At risk of sounding like him…I don’t think I’ve ever managed to draw breath correctly in your presence, but thatcertainly didn’t help.” Serena laughs softly, and the sound makes Shadowheart smile. 

“No one has ever looked at me like you do.” Shadowheart rests her hands atop Serena’s bruised knuckles, shaking her head. “Don’t ever make that comparison again, understood?” She demands, and Serena nods slowly, meeting her gaze. 

“So…” Shadowheart drawls loftily, wearing an impish grin. “You were jealous?” 

“We’ve been over this, Heart.” Serena groans, but grins behind her hands, because Shadowheart is happy, and it’s palpable from her tone alone. 

“You know it’s merely a task to be accomplished?” Shadowheart whispers. “That I didn’t…I don’t feel…” 

“I know.” Serena answers softly. “But…what you said, earlier, about…being bored…” 

“Serena.” Shadowheart laughs in soft disbelief, but there’s an air of desperation in her words. “My entire life has changed around me. I have no home, no goddess, no family-” 

“You have me. Whatever that’s worth.” Serena nudges her softly, and Shadowheart pauses, tears in her eyes. 

“...Yes.” Shadowheart answers in a whisper. “And it means everything to me. You mean everything to me. You have been the oneconstant in my life. Without you, I’m…” Shadowheart’s lip wobbles. 

“Without me you’re still everything. You’re brilliant, Heart. And…you know I’ll always be here for you?” Serena promises softly. “I..don’t want you to feel obligated to-” 

“Shut up.” Shadowheart whispers against her lips. “Gods, the only obligation I feel is to tell you how much of a fool you are.” Shadowheart tucks a stray hair behind Serena’s ear, studying the bruising on her face. “A beautiful fool.” She adds fondly, taking Serena’s long, sweeping eyelashes, and full lips. “Why did you allow Lae’zel to do this?” She asks, reaching for Serena’s cheek. 

She cups Serena’s face as if she’s the one made of porcelain this time. Her eyes nearly water with tears at the anguish she feels whenever Serena is hurt. 

“It felt…I’m not certain, but…Cathartic?” she tries. 

“Doesn’t this feel better?” Shadowheart whispers, kissing the corner of Serena’s mouth. 

“Yes.” Serena hisses, melting in Shadowheart’s grip. 

This is all she’s wanted for several moons, now. Shadowheart’s scent is intoxicating, her touch is feather light, and she looks like Selûne herself with the way her hair glows in the silvery moonlight. 

She is by far the most radiant soul, both inside and out, that Serena has ever crossed paths with. A simple touch from her is enough to leave Serena reeling with a feeling of light and warmth in her chest. 

“Then that’s what you should do, next time.” Shadowheart advises, standing up slowly. She reaches for Serena, helping her to her feet, and instantly draws her closer. 

With Serena, nothing feels terrifying. Shadowheart finds herself eager to utilize Selûne’s power to heal her; she wishes to see the bruises melt away, and the cut on her palm recede into nothing once more. 

Shadowheart lays a palm against Serena’s cheek, and Serena closes her eyes, pressing further into it. 

They are simply two soulmates, two lovers whose lives are forever twined. It is both impossible and ridiculous to expect themselves to resist such an intense pull to one another. 

Serena’s heart beats for Shadowheart, and hers for Serena. 

Shadowheart whispers healing words, the spell illuminating them both in blue as the magic tendrils wrap around Serena, slowly fading away any signs of her injuries. 

It is Serena’s heart, aching and tender, that heals the most under Shadowheart’s loving hand. She feels safe, secure, wanted and cherished, just as Shadowheart feels with her. Serena feels the weight of the day floating away with each touch, every laugh and smile of Shadowheart’s. 

“Better?” Shadowheart whispers dotingly. 

“Yes, thank you.” Serena whispers, turning her head to kiss Shadowheart’s palm. 

“Always, for you.” Shadowheart promises softly, sighing at the press of her soft lips. 

“I…I wanted to say this to you under different circumstances.” Serena begins softly. “But…I…Heart, I want you, I want…” she stumbles over her own words. “You mean…everything to me, and I can’t…” Serena shakes her head. 

Shadowheart knows exactly what she wants to say; but she gives Serena grace, in this moment. 

Serena is a romantic; she’ll want to plan the moment, to ensure everything is perfect, to give Shadowheart the first of many good memories, with her new clean slate. 

She is not one for rushed, mumbled confessions of love, despite how her eyes scream the sentiment to Shadowheart. 

“Me too.” Shadowheart answers the statement Serena never has to utter; it’s simply understood. “Now…” She pulls Serena closer, losing herself in her gaze. “I believe you have some apologizing to do.” Shadowheart teases, tapping her lips. 

Serena smiles, and it warms Shadowheart’s entire being. Her arms slowly wind around Shadowheart, pulling her ever closer, and Shadowheart finally sighs in bliss. She’s waited all her life to be held like this, to be loved in this manner. She never thought it real, let alone possible. 

“My Heart…” Serena whispers fondly, closing her eyes as Shadowheart moans softly, meeting her halfway for a sweet kiss. 

“Yours.” Shadowheart agrees gently, every fiber of her being radiating pride, safety, happiness.