Chapter Text
"Idiot."
The word grinds out of you through your teeth as your fingers crumple the letter that Lia handed you. Her face, and Cal's, are pinched with worry, both of them looking at you with a plea in their eyes. You try to calm your expression, close your eyes for a moment, and then look at them and nod. Their faces fill with relief.
"I'll bring him back," you promise. "If he's gotten himself killed, I'll revive him so I can kill him again." They look so anxious at your words that it wrenches a pained laugh from you. "Don't worry, I don't mean that. If I find him before... I'll bring him back with a bow around his stupid tail."
They look at each other wide eyed as you turn on your heel and storm out of the Last Light Inn, heading for your camp, a curious Astarion trailing after you. He hadn't seen the little note that the insufferable wizard had left for his siblings. He trots to catch up with you.
"What was that, darling? You seem in a state."
You don't answer him immediately, but poke your head into the forge where Karlach is conferring with Dammon. You catch her eye and jerk your head in the direction of your camp. You'll need someone with more resistance to dive into those grasping shadows once more. Your attitude makes Karlach almost dance with excitement.
"Hey, soldier, what's up?" She asks, grinning as she falls in step at your side, "we gonna kill something?"
You grunt, but then relent, shaking your head, "no. I mean yes, probably, just not who I'd wish..."
She and Astarion look at each other over your head. He shrugs and she grins as the three of you hurry to the small camp you've set up down by the water, still within the protection of Isobel's power. You grab a few scrolls and potions from your tent before seeking Shadowheart. You're going to leave Gale out of this if you can. It'll piss Rolan off enough that you're going to be there, if you do manage to find him. The additional presence of the vaunted Archmage of Waterdeep would make his head simply explode, defeating your purpose.
Shadowheart is sitting on a cushion outside her tent, polishing a metal gauntlet.
"Put that back on," you say with a long-suffering sigh as she raises her head, "we have one more matter to deal with before we get to relax." You plop down beside her and start sorting the potions and scrolls, handing some to her and tucking others into the pockets of your robe. She nods, arranging her own supplies and shoving her hands back into the gauntlets. She knows better than to argue when you're in this mood. Karlach, however, has no such restraint.
"Hey! Hey, copper for your thoughts. What the Hells is going on here? Are we actually killing someone or... what's got you so worked up?" Astarion chimes in, "Darling, I would rather not go back out into that horrible, filthy darkness, but if I must, I insist that you tell us why." He huffs, crossing his arms and looking at you irritably.
You pop to your feet and take a deep breath, closing your eyes and silently cursing the ego of wizards. Shadowheart stands as well, the three of them looking at you expectantly.
"Rolan is missing."
Their eyes widen, exchanging glances between them. After a moment Karlach pipes up, "what do you mean "missing"? He was here when we left to rescue... ohhh..." she looks out into the shadows as it dawns on her.
"I didn't see him... he went to try and find the others." Astarion also realizes, looking at you with a strange expression, "and you're risking yourself, and us, I might add, to go and retrieve him, I suppose. What makes you think he’s still alive? He's powerful, to be sure, but those shadows are darker and more dangerous than yours truly." He laughs nervously, looking at Shadowheart, who shrugs, obviously game to tackle the problem. The shadows don't affect her much, even without the pixie blessing or that of Isobel.
"He's alive," you insist, though it's more a desperate hope than a certainty, "and if he's not, I'll drag him back from the fugue plane and kick his ass."
Karlach hoots, and even Shadowheart chuckles, finally speaking up, "Fine. Well, if we're going to find your wizard, we'd better not delay."
Astarion huffs again, but nods, "you owe me a bottle for this. And it better be the good stuff! None of that Ithibank swill."
You look between them, thoughts roiling, bristling at the reference to "your wizard," uncertain why Rolan's disappearance affects you so strongly, but then you nod curtly, "thank you all, I'll make it up to you. Let's go."
You turn and trot off into the unnatural darkness, the others hot on your heels.
Astarion is in the lead as you cross the bridge and circle the inn, trying to pick up Rolan's trail. You hold a sphere of light aloft, staying behind him to keep the radiance from wrecking his dark vision, watching the ground for footprints. Shadowheart flanks you, deeper in the gloom, and Karlach brings up the rear, alert for any sound of danger or motion from behind. You all walk for a while, trying to pick out any faint indication of Rolan's passing. At first there's nothing, and you feel sharp, inexplicable fear bubbling up in your chest. You shove it down with a mental litany of curses and insults directed at the infuriating tiefling, trying to keep your head and just search.
Suddenly, Astarion's head goes up like a hound, and he pauses, "blood." He inhales deeply, delicate nostrils fluttering, "tiefling blood." He finishes quietly, looking ghastly pale as he turns his face into the blue light to look at you, his red eyes wide. You feel your chest clench. You're far from the battlefield where the other tieflings fell. He shouldn't be able to smell that, unless...
Thunder rumbles in the distance, the first you've heard in this godsforsaken land. It barely registers at first, but then, faintly, you hear a sonorous, angry voice shouting what sounds like outraged curses in the dark ahead. There is a blue flash, and clearer and closer, the windy shrieking of shadow creatures. Your heart leaps, and you're off like a loosed arrow, barreling through the dark with the others close behind you, calling for you to wait, to be cautious. You hardly hear them, so intent are you on your destination.
Sooner than you expect, you burst through a tangle of vines and nearly run smack into a group of shadow fiends. They barely slow you as billows of fire erupt from your hands, blowing them back and to the sides. The sounds of the wizard's voice are lost momentarily in the enraged shrilling of the shadows, the rise of the land still hiding Rolan from your sight. You dodge around a promontory of rock, trusting the others to have your back, and then skid to a halt. He's there, back against a large boulder, holding off the shadows with decreasing strength as they attempt to converge upon him. A red roaring fills your head, a fury you don't recognize, as you stride forward, swinging your staff around and shattering the remaining creatures with a blaze of radiant energy. The world goes quiet but for the sound of Rolan's ragged breaths and the clang and crunch of your friends cleaning up the few remaining enemies behind you. You conjure the orb of light again and stagger over the broken rocks toward the sagging man.
He draws a deep shaking breath as you approach, raising his head and meeting your eyes. He's furious, exhausted and desperate, blood caking one side of his face, a hand pressed to a red stain on his side. You just look at him for a moment, unsure what to say as a cavalcade of conflicting emotions stampedes through your overwrought mind. He breaks the silence, saving you the trouble.
"You." He winces, dragging himself erect and glaring at you. "Why does it always have to be you! You were supposed to rescue my sister and my brother, not..." he runs out of breath and takes a rough gulp of air... "why are you here?" He levers himself from the stone and tries to straighten his robes, his hair, hands trembling, looking down his nose at you with a furious sneer. "Why do you always have to blunder into everything? I had this under control, and you... you always have to be where you're not wanted!"
The injustice stings you into silence, your mouth working uselessly, as he giggles with the sound of near hysteria, clawing his hands up into his hair and turning in a circle. At that moment the others catch up to you, obviously having heard his cutting tone. Astarion, of all people, is quick to come to your defense.
"Of all the ungrateful... well, I never. Here we are in this howling wasteland, saving your bloody tail, and you have the nerve..." he closes his eyes and inhales deeply. Karlach interrupts before he can continue, her voice dangerous.
"Cal and Lia are safe at the inn. We brought them back not long ago. They were hoping to see you, but apparently you're more interested in getting yourself killed! Tav was beside herself when she found out you were gone, and rushed out to find you without knowing where in the Hells you were or what you'd gotten yourself into. How about a little gratitude?" She places a warm hand on your shoulder protectively, scowling at him.
Rolan's eyes widen as the big woman speaks, going still, his hands still tangled in his hair as he stares at you.
Your cheeks burn at Karlach's words, and you reach up to pat her hand before doubling over as the adrenaline dries up, pressing your palms to your knees, taking deep even breaths, your mind a cacophony of relief and anger and confusion. "It's alright." You wheeze, raising your head slightly to glare at the fuming wizard. "He's alive. His siblings will be happy, even if he's not."
Rolan stammers, dropping his hands, before letting out an infuriated cry and striding as steadily as he can past you, heading back toward the inn. Shadowheart raises an eyebrow at you, then turns and hits him in the back with a healing spell, perhaps more vigorously than she needs to, which makes him yelp an infernal curse and jump like a kicked dog. She smiles darkly and then follows him at a distance, ignoring his stream of complaints and attempts to shake her. The rest of you follow after a few moments, you on shaky legs, supported by Karlach as Astarion guards your rear.
You all break off as you cross the bridge, letting Rolan make his way back to the inn alone. Once more at your camp, Karlach deposits you in front of the fire, and you sit with your knees pulled up to your chest, head hanging down between them, wrapping your arms around your shins. She and Astarion flop down on either side of you, him sitting primly on a ring of sawn log, her lazing back on her elbows, uncaring of the dirt. Shadowheart gives you one more appraising glance, then wanders back toward her tent to resume the maintenance of her armor.
Karlach’s boots are twitching in the view between your calves, and you can hear her tail thumping lightly against the parched grass. She’s not going to be able to sit still until she says whatever is dancing around in her head. You look up slightly, meeting her cheerful gaze, mournfully. She chortles, “Oh, you got it bad, boss, don’t you?”
You eyes widen, startled, but then they narrow, and your voice is a pathetic imitation of a dangerous growl, “what do you mean?”
She sits up with a loud “HA”, and swings her tail around behind you to thwack Astarion on the rump. The pale elf yelps, scowling at her behind your bent head and rubbing at his posterior. “Barbarian,” he mutters, before regarding you with his characteristic mild disdain. But the corners of his pretty lips are twitching too as he speaks in a conspiratorial stage whisper, “it’s quite obvious, my dear. You have been quietly nursing a certain… infernal craving. I myself would have chosen someone less obnoxious, but there’s no accounting for taste.” He begins to preen himself in the firelight, smoothing his clothing and patting and twirling his shimmering curls back into some semblance of neatness, managing to affect boredom while keeping one pointed ear cocked in keen interest. You look between them in exasperation.
“What are you gossips going on about?”
Karlach scoots closer, mercifully lowering her voice to a register just below booming, “what we’re going on about, soldier, is you and a certain uptight tiefling wizard. I’ve seen you together, and the tension is, as they say, palpable.” She’s practically licking her lips with glee, “you may not have noticed, but I have eyes; I can see how you wind him up whenever you’re in the same room. And the way you rushed out of here to rescue him, like you were going to mow down the whole place to find him…”
She pauses, eyeing you with expectation, and you groan, dropping your head back between your knees to hide the flush that creeps up your cheeks. “I didn’t do it for him,” you mumble, trying to will yourself to sink through the ground, “Cal and Lia… the refugees need his… besides, he hates me.”
She chuckles, slapping you on the back and almost knocking the breath out of you. “You may think so. He may even believe that, but tiefling tails tell a story for eyes that know what to look for. I think even Fangs here knows what I’m talking about.” She smacks him with her own tail again and he growls.
“Would you desist!” He demands, shifting his log farther from her, raising his sharp chin with an air of wounded dignity, then continuing to you thoughtfully, “she’s right, though. In my previous… line of work, I found it rewarding to study the tells of all races, especially those which signal certain… conditions.” You hear the wicked little grin as he purrs, lowering his face until his mouth is almost brushing your hair, “and you, darling, have that silly spell slinger positively vibrating.” Suddenly he stands, passing his hands down his chest, feeling for any lingering dirt, and his tone becomes more flippant. “You’d better do something soon, though. We have a lot of work still ahead of us, and as much fun as it is to watch you tie yourself in knots, you’ll be impossible to live with until you get it out of your system.” He turns on his heel and stalks off toward his own tent, calling a bored greeting to Gale and Wyll, who’ve just arrived back from the inn. You lurch to your feet and scuttle in the direction of your own tent, Karlach’s giggles ringing in your ears as you yank the flap down, unwilling to endure the inane speculations of anyone else tonight as you throw yourself face first into your bedroll.
Dawn breaks with barely a shred of light in this cursed place, and you roll onto your back, staring at the stained leather of your tent roof with bleary eyes. You didn’t manage to meditate much, between your racing thoughts and even more unsettling dreams. Dreams in which a freckled, sour face featured prominently. “Arrogant swine”, you mutter as you slowly drag yourself to your feet, preparing to emerge from the tent and bracing yourself to spar again more definitively against inappropriate comments. The others are gathered around the fire eating breakfast, and Gale hands you a bowl of porridge. You thank him and collapse onto a log, picking at your food as you subtly let your gaze touch each of the members of your party, alert for any repeat of the humiliation of the previous evening.
Thus far there’s nothing in evidence, your companions simply chatting, eating, going over plans and giving you a chance to wake up fully and refresh yourself. You sip at a cup of tea, sweetened a bit too liberally with honey, and wince. Halsin’s work. The huge elf is not in evidence, and you suppose he must be caring for Thaniel or Art up at the inn. Astarion has not joined the breakfast, but is standing by his tent paging through a sheaf of scrolls, and you kick yourself mentally, having forgotten to see to his particular dietary needs. You finish as much of the porridge as you can stomach and polish off the tea with another grimace, levering yourself to your feet and trudging toward the irritable elf.
He looks up as you approach, wrinkling his nose and dropping the papers to his side. You sigh and try an apologetic little smile. “I’m sorry Astarion, I forgot. Do you need…?” He holds up a hand to fend you off, flinching backward.
“Gods, no. With you in that state? It’s enough to turn the stomach. Besides, I managed to procure another benefactor last evening after you fled.” He was the one who made off first, you remember, but you’re too drained to argue. He regards you critically, “the only thing I need now is for you to go and bathe yourself. It’s an assault on the eyes and the nostrils. The river bank is clear. A few of us performed our ablutions earlier while you were languishing in your bed. There’s no one there now.” There is a glimmer of something in his scarlet eyes as he hands you a wrapped bar of soap, and you twist your mouth, but then sigh and nod, returning to your tent to retrieve a towel and spare clothes, too distracted to wheedle it out of him this morning.
Down by the river you take quick glance around, and, not seeing anyone through the dead whispering branches of the blackened trees, begin to strip down. Your stained robe and underdress tossed aside, you keep your small clothes on just in case, and quickly plunge into the cold water, hissing as you lather yourself with the cake of scented soap. The smell is herbal and pleasant and you sigh, releasing some tension as you dunk under the water, happy to scrub the grit from your skin and hair. Emerging once more, feeling clean and gratifyingly refreshed, you slosh toward the bank and grab your towel, vigorously rubbing at yourself to get some warmth back into your skin. You’re drying your legs when you hear a rustle and a soft curse further down the bank, and look up quickly.
It's him. The tiefling fights his way past a bushy clump of branches, holding a bundle of clothes and towels, grumbling as his horns get tangled in a grasping vine. He extricates himself with difficulty, then turns and meets your eyes with an almost audible “click”. You both freeze, and you have time to notice his damp white shirt, collar still undone to reveal a few little ridges on his upper chest, his fine waist enhanced by the wide leather belt holding up snug woolen breeches. You straighten slowly and see his flickering yellow gaze travel the length of your torso before snapping back to your face, a rough swallow making his throat bob. You gasp softly, suddenly aware of the thin wet scrap of linen clinging to your breasts, and jerk the towel higher to cover yourself.
He begins to move toward you as a tumble of apologies and explanations spills from you. You didn’t know he was here, you thought you were alone, you’d never have… Your babbling justifications run dry as flurry of motion catches your eye behind him. His tail, whipping back and forth in obvious agitation as he approaches with an oddly determined expression. You take a half step back at the fire in his eyes and the firm line of his mouth, but then stop. You aren’t going to run from this irritating lunatic, even though your eyes rise as he closes the distance. Was he always this tall? He stops an arm’s length from you, his breathing audible in the still air, still looking at you with that calculating, slightly deranged expression as you clutch the damp towel to your chest like a shield.
Say something your mind urges. Yell at me, call me names, just don’t keep looking at me like… There is a soft thump as his bundle hits the sand, and he closes the distance, hands seizing your upper arms, head lowering. For a moment you think he’s going to actually harm you, and you brace, ready to shove him away, before you’re stunned by the feel of his hot mouth pressing against yours and his arms sliding around your back. He is incredibly warm against you as your towel falls and you can’t help a tiny whimper from sounding against his lips as he tightens his hold and your arms slide up around his neck.
His hands burn over your chilly skin as he pushes his tongue into your mouth, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, long fingers sliding up into your hair and down to grip your bottom, pulling you hard against the firm length of his body. He’s bigger, more imposing than you had realized, and you cling to him desperately, breathless with the intensity of it all, quivering in his grasp. You lose all sense of time before he finally draws back from your mouth a bit, only to let his forehead press against yours, his eyes closed and breathing ragged. You gasp for air, completely shell-shocked, grateful for his surprisingly strong arms around you, keeping you from sinking to the ground.
Finally, he raises his head and those hellfire eyes burn into you as he speaks. “Tonight, “ he growls, “we find a place, and work through all this… whatever it is.”
You can do nothing but nod weakly, still rather stunned as he releases you slowly, the cold of his absence sending gooseflesh racing across your still damp skin. He steps back, draws a shuddering breath, and stoops to retrieve his bundle. He nods as well, once, teeth worrying his lower lip, before quickly moving past you and almost running back toward the inn. You turn to watch him, seeing the jerk and flutter of the tip of his tail, and you realize that your friends may have had a point.
Your friends. Something niggles at your mind as you draw on your fresh clothes, unrelated to the tadpole which rests at the moment, quiescent behind your eyes. It finally dawns on you as you approach the camp, noting how two heads snap up as you near Astarion’ tent, one white, one deep red. You toss your bundle into your own tent and cross to them, placing your hands on your hips and eyeing them with irritation. Karlach looks down, toeing the dirt with one boot, but Astarion isn’t as easily intimidated.
“Oh, dear, this will not do,” he says casually as he takes your shoulders and guides you to sit on his little stool. He moves behind you producing a comb from somewhere and begins to tug it with gentle dexterity through your tangled hair, humming to himself as he works. Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. After a few minutes, Karlach can no longer handle the suspense, and shifts in front of you, barely able to contain her glee.
“So, did you see him?”
You twist your head around, batting the elf’s hands away, “you set me up, you… you…” You’re unable to find words to properly chastise him as he firmly pushes your cheek forward again and continues, now beginning to plait your hair. “Be still darling, or you’ll end up with a series of knots instead of a lovely braid. Of course I set you up. I saw the tiefling heading down there as we were leaving and I took matters into my own clever little hands. You certainly weren’t going to seek him out on your own, now were you?” He finishes tying off the braid and comes around to look at you, hand massaging his chin. “I trust it went well, then. You are looking particularly flushed, from what I can see in this light.” A smile plays with the corners of his mouth, while Karlach practically glows with amusement.
You blush even deeper as you try to change the subject, narrowing your eyes at him. “So do you, actually. Who did you manage to…” A soft choking sound draws your eyes to the tiefling woman, who is now squirming, trying to casually cover the side of her neck. Your eyes widen and you stare at her until she can’t take it anymore.
“Hey, I can do it now since Dammon cooled my engine! Besides, I have more blood in me than you do, and we wanted you alert and limber for… other things.” Her grin is infectious and you chuckle along with her, sighing and finally letting your guard down. You throw up your hands and stand. But she’s relentless, “Well? What happened? There wasn’t enough time for you to do the deed. Are you seeing him again?”
You look from one to the other with mock severity, “None of your business and no there wasn’t and yes, but I don’t need any more help.” You pause, then mutter reluctantly, “well, maybe a someone can run a little interference if I disappear tonight, you get me? It’s the least a couple of troublemakers can do in return for all the meddling.”
Karlach practically squeals and claps her hands together, and even Astarion looks like the cat who got the cream, as you turn away and head off to prepare for the Gauntlet of Shar. All this breast beating and jumping about will have to wait. You’ll have to stay frosty today. There is work to be done.