Chapter Text
Little Mel. She’d stumbled into the inn in the shadow cursed lands with her party in tow, and gotten rooted to the ground. Her own eyes glowing, she’d pushed back against the magic almost effortlessly, and yet, when the glow receded it had laid bare a face wrought with worry.
It hadn’t mattered how she’d pleaded, how the Harpers had verified her story, not when the bottled tadpole stood as proof.
But then a young, cheeky tiefling thief had rushed to her defence, exclaiming that she had been the one leading the troop of adventurers to save the refugees from the Absolutist Cult.
Jaheira had been rightfully suspicious, spotting most of the handwaved lies not even the sorcerer herself wanted to tell, until she’d been shown the object of their miracles.
Benefit of the doubt. That’s all she’d offered her, offered them all.
Then Mel had caught the whiff of the herb in the wine, and shot the druid a curious look. She hadn’t been opposed to it, only said she was 'prone to dizzy spells and blackouts' and was concerned for her safety. With some reassurance, she’d chugged it.
The druid had had a sneaking, creeping feeling about the short tiefling woman. Something felt off, like when one was being stalked by a predator.
Mel didn’t seem much like a predator, more like a mediator as she spoke for the party. But then the devils had swooped in, and Jaheira had seen and heard the sorcerer’s wide eyed grin and the manic, cackling laughter from the top floor. Ancient magic bursting through her skin and fingertips, lashing in the air around her like lethal whips.
Just as quickly as the fight had started it had been over, and Isobel, the cleric protecting them all, was still safe and sound, yet Mel herself stood a fair distance away from her, as if scared. A far cry from the bloodthirsty mage she’d seen earlier.
Isobel had later confided in her, as she tended to do, that Mel had admitted some strange sort of desire to kill her. The cleric had been confident in the sorcerer’s restraint, and proven right, as she’d evidently snapped out of whatever trance she’d been in, and apologised profusely.
This was the first moment Jaheira considered it, a little voice in the back of her mind whispering ‘not again’.
In spite of her twisted impulses, Mel seemed capable of aiming the onslaught at their common enemies, but the High Harper kept a close eye on her, hoping to find something to discourage the theory forming in her mind.
Nothing did.
If anything, more occurrences seemed to reaffirm her suspicions.
Jaheira had only travelled with them for two days when she heard it the first time; the loud scream cutting through the night. She’d been on her feet in seconds, knees bent, scimitars drawn and battle ready.
Their cleric, Shadowheart, had locked eyes with the druid, and placed a finger to her lips in a quiet signal to hush down. She'd been kneeling by Mel’s unconscious body, a gentle hand running through the woman’s hair as she was twisting and turning in her sleep, grinding her teeth and whimpering.
A common incident, it turned out. Some nights Mel would apparently wake her companions, and sometimes herself, up to four times. Night terrors, they said.
Combined with the crazed look in her eyes when in battle, even against Myrkul’s own Chosen, and the strange blackouts, well. It wasn’t surprising that Jaheira was leaning more into her suspicions.
It was all too familiar to her.
They’d reached the Gate and she’d insisted on going with them, wanting to keep an eye on the strange amnesiac.
A dead clown and devastated circus later, and Mel had perked up like a hound. Her usual nervous approach had moulded into something else, something focused, something… familiar.
It was as though she recognized the murder, and the violence behind it. She’d tracked down evidence, spoken to corpses, found a murder weapon and a murdered missing person, discovered a list of targets, cleared an innocent’s name and even had the name of the killer. But she seemed unsatisfied, as if something bothered her still.
They’d taken a detour to an old friend of Jaheira’s, to meet up with her Harpers. The sorcerer hadn’t taken note of the worried young man the same way as Jaheira had, but she did notice the elder’s stiff shoulders.
For an amnesiac with a mangled brain, she was surprisingly clever, as was proven when she’d opened a link between their minds, letting them commune in secret. She hadn’t hesitated much when Jaheira instructed her to attack the other "Harpers", only an arched eyebrow as she readied her hands, almost as if to ask 'are you sure?'.
Doppelgangers, the lot of them. Same as the killer’s assistants. Same as the ones at the circus. And the worst was yet to come.
Then there was Orin, horrid, manic, Orin the Red. Something flashed in Mel’s face, so quick she herself might’ve not noticed the feeling, but she most definitely recognized the changeling. And the changeling spoke to her in such an unsettlingly familiar tone.
Thorm having recognized Mel had been one thing, after discovering she’d been the first cult victim. That only added up. But now there were two. Two out of three to be exact.
And then she’d collapsed on the bridge, clutching her head with all her might, and it really hit Jaheira just how small and fragile this devastating spell caster secretly was. Her partner, a sun walking vampire of all beings, had been by her side to help her immediately, but something had been wrong. Very wrong.
Mel was terrified. Jaheira could see it from a mile away. What was strange was the fact that she wasn’t particularly jumpy, as was her norm. She seemed nauseous, twitchy even, but she wasn’t flinching at everything anymore. Her eyes had this distant, far off look to them rather than flitting after anything that moved or made a sound.
Their backs at everyone else, she’d whispered something to Astarion and suddenly the vampire too acted abnormally, looking over their shoulders and holding her close, unmistakably protective.
She’d asked the rest of them to wait, but not before a Steel Watcher had recognized her and Archduke Gortash himself welcomed her.
It was the final proof Jaheira needed; a third connection to someone else at the centre of the cult.
She wasn’t there when Mel met Gortash, only Astarion and Shadowheart had gone with her, but she’d seen her come out, shaken, her tail wrapped around her own leg like a loose hug.
She’d been quiet. Too quiet.
When night fell, Jaheira waited by her bunk as everyone else slept. Waited for something to stir her, scimitars at the ready.
She hadn’t waited long.
Mel had been grumbling, grimacing before she suddenly jerked awake, alert and sweaty and gasping for breath.
Her blue eyes, mismatched as they were, courtesy of Volothamp Geddarm, landed on the druid.
“Dark dreams?” she asked, not intending to wait for an answer. “I think I can guess. Visions of blood on your hands. The blood in your veins, perhaps?” She took a steadier grip on the hilts of her blades, hearth thrumming. “For all the gifts Bhaal’s children inherit, a peaceful night’s sleep is not among them.”
There was a long pause. Jaheira wasn’t sure what she expected to happen, but anything could. Mel breathed shallowly, her expression morphing into one of… dread. Anxiety.
She sat up straighter on the bedroll, but scooted further away from the druid as if afraid. Perhaps she was.
“H-how could you possibly know?” she whispered, the worry in her eyes almost making her seem innocent. “I only found out today!”
“I’ve rested near a Bhaalspawn before. The dreams alone do not concern me. It is what waking deeds they might inspire. Are you truly your own master? What is it you feel when father’s dreams come calling?”
Mel curled in on herself, seeming smaller than ever before. Her arms and tail wrapped around her tucked in legs, chin behind her knees. She looked so little, so… vulnerable.
“Helpless,” she admitted, like it was the greatest sin imaginable. “Like I can deny him nothing.”
“Would you consider it mercy, then, if I were to end it here?” Jaheira asked her, gesturing to her blades. Mel’s eyes followed the movement, something nearly resigned hiding in her gaze.
“… maybe,” she mumbled sadly.
Something stuttered in the wise woman’s heart. She grit her teeth and, with a little bit of effort, willed herself to put her weapons away.
“This is your father’s true legacy. Not his children - but the fear they plant in us. The savagery it blossoms into.” The Bhaalspawn watched her hesitantly, yet curiously all the same. Her head perked up, just a smidge. She wanted to hear what the druid had to say. “In another time, with another of your kind, we found a better way. I would dearly like to find it again.”
Mel sat up properly in her bedroll, scrambling to get on her feet and stand before the Harper. Something had sparked in her true, blue eye.
“Tell me what to do. Please.”
Desperation. Hope. Sincerity. History really does have a way to repeat itself. To think she was about to not only see it but relive it as well.
“You would not be the first to turn the taint in your blood to your advantage,” Jaheira said, smiling. The smile grew bitter for a moment, tainted by her next words. “But there are barriers a Bhaalspawn must overcome, first. Others of your kind. Orin - I am sure you already know that so long as she lives, she will never stop hunting you. It might be that you have to turn and face her - you cannot change that. All you can choose is how you meet her; as another bloodied child of Bhaal, or as yourself.”
Mel clenched her hand, trembling as her eyes fell to the ground.
“All I can offer is the promise that, should you choose to do so, you will not meet her alone,” Jaheira swore, and Mel’s focus darted back up to her face. The way she looked at her reminded the older woman of a lost pup. “For now, take what rest you can. I will watch over you this night.”
Her shoulders slumped, a great weight leaving her. She smiled tiredly at the druid, eyes glossy.
“Thank you. For everything.”
Jaheira smiled back at her, gesturing to her bedroll. “Sleep well.” It didn’t come as a surprise when Mel returned to her bedroll nearly immediately, hugging a leftover sleeping bag as she tucked herself in. Exhaustion claimed her soon after, her snoring a light sound.
Jaheira, true to her word, took a seat on the ground and kept watch the rest of the night.