Chapter Text
A vaulted ceiling. It takes Shadowheart a moment to realise that’s what she’s looking at. When her vision returns so does the pain. Her nose throbs, feels like it’s somewhere in the back of her throat.
Though her head pounds, it’s resting on something soft. She looks up, realises she’s lying in Lae’zel’s lap. The gith feels her movement and looks down at her. Visible relief passes over her features.
“Welcome back,” Lae’zel says, cups her cheek with a calloused hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I hit a wall with my face,” Shadowheart groans. “Ugh, what happened? I don’t remember anything after the gem.”
“You teleported back to us and passed out almost immediately. Most likely a concussion. I caught you before you hit the floor and carried you here.”
Shadowheart’s sorry she missed that – the carrying, that is. She’ll simply have to ask Lae’zel to scoop her up in her strong arms and carry her, preferably to bed, some other time. Some other time when she’s not navigating the most challenging day of her life.
“sh*t. How long have I been out?”
“A while. We agreed it would best to let you rest, regain some energy.”
Shadowheart brings a tentative hand up to her nose. Finds it feels surprisingly straight to the touch though doing so makes her wince in pain.
“I re-set it for you while you were out,” Lae’zel says, guides her slowly upright. “I tended your wounds as best I could, and Tav used a scroll of aid. We dared not give you any healing potions whilst unconscious.”
“Hmm. A cleric choking on a health potion. Imagine.”
Lae’zel lets out an amused huff and Shadowheart’s only just now noticing that it’s only the two of them.
“Where are the others?”
“Searching for the final gem. I stayed to ensure you were safe.”
“What?! You let them-no, we have to help them. It’s too dangerous to–ngh!”
When she tries to stand the pain in her head doubles. Lae’zel gently but firmly pushes her back down.
“They can handle themselves.”
“But-”
“If they’re not back soon we will look for them. But first you need to heal yourself. Please.”
Shadowheart doesn’t like the idea of sitting around while her friends risk their lives but she knows Lae’zel is right. She closes her eyes and calls upon her healing energy, feels the pain ebb away.
“Better?” Lae’zel asks. Shadowheart nods. “Good, drink this.”
She’s handed a bottle of giant hill strength potion and gulps down without question. It tastes foul but leaves her feeling nicely sated.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” Shadowheart murmurs, entwines her fingers with Lae’zel’s. “And for saving me. I owe you my life twice over now.”
“There is no need to thank me, you saved yourself.”
Shadowheart shakes her head. “I would have fallen if you hadn’t been there guiding me. When I slipped, I panicked...couldn’t think straight...couldn’t see a way out. I only finished that trial because you saw me through it, because you believed in me.”
She leans in and captures Lae’zel’s lips in a kiss, tries to pour the entirety of her gratitude into it. When they part for air their foreheads remain pressed together. She allows herself a moment; inhales the scent of Lae’zel and welcomes the warm feeling that rises in her chest when they’re close.
“Before,” Lae’zel murmurs, barely above a whisper, “You were going to tell me something?”
The butterflies in Shadowheart’s stomach go into a frenzy. She remembers that – what she was desperate to say to Lae’zel when she thought she was about to die.
Is glad she didn’t.
Not because she doesn’t feel it. She does. She’s in love with Lae’zel. Has been for a while, she suspects.
Her relief stems from knowing she can pick a better moment to tell Lae’zel how she feels – because let’s face it, declaring your love when you’re in mortal peril, dangling above a bottomless pit isn’t romantic.
She looks into those golden eyes, so wide and expressive, and thinks it’s no wonder she fell so fast. Three weeks. It shouldn’t be possible to be so completely enamoured after such a short time. Yet she knows she is. Is certain of it. Lae’zel, well and truly, has her heart.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Lae’zel adds. “Fear is powerful... makes us irrational.”
Shadowheart moves in to press another kiss to Lae’zel’s lips. “I’m not afraid. Not of this.”
That’s a bit of a lie. She is afraid. Not of being in love, but rather the thought of losing it. And Sharrans should not fear loss. Loss is divine – is to be embraced. Loving Lae’zel goes against everything she’s been taught. Yet it doesn’t feel wrong.
The wound bites harshly even as she kisses Lae’zel again. “I’ll tell you when we’re both out of here. When we’re both safe. Is that ok?”
Lae’zel nods faintly, exhales a shuddered breath against Shadowheart’s lips. “I can wait. You are worth waiting for.”
Footsteps approach and they spring apart, climb to their feet. Weapons are drawn then lowered when Tav, Karlach and Astarion come into view.
“We got the last gem!” Tav crows, holding it up in triumph. “Easy!”
Shadowheart frowns. “Was it?”
“Ah mate, you should have seen it!” Karlach exclaims. “Astarion was immense. We found that demon, you know the one Raphael wanted us to kill? Didn’t even have to fight him. Astarion sweet talked him into banishing all his minions. Then he convinced the guy to kill himself. Sent that f*cker straight back to the hells!”
Both Lae’zel and Shadowheart stare at the pale elf in open surprise.
“What? I’m not just a pretty face, you know,” Astarion says coolly. “Anything to get me away from this hideous Sharran decor as soon as possible. Oh, and to help Shadowheart, of course.”
“Glad to see you on your feet again,” Tav claps a hand on Shadowheart’s shoulder. “So, we have the gems. What’s next?”
“There’s one more thing I need. Without it all these trials will have been in vain. It’s a holy weapon, the spear of night. I have to find it then use it to make a sacrifice in Lady Shar’s name. It’ll be hidden away somewhere. I’m just not sure where.”
Tav thinks for a moment. “We went past a very heavily guarded library earlier if you think that’s worth a shout?”
“If it’s heavily guarded then that means there’s something worth protecting,” Shadowheart reasons. “Let’s head there now.”
As they walk, Shadowheart can’t help but think she should feel more excited at the prospect of what’s to come. She feels...well, oddly empty. It doesn’t make sense. This is what she’s wanted her entire life and it’s tantalisingly close to becoming a reality.
There must be something wrong with her. Perhaps it’s the lingering effects of concussion or maybe nerves are taking hold.
She tries not to dwell on the feeling. All will be well once she has the weapon.
//////////////////////////////////
Tav was right, the library was well guarded. Astarion entered first – snuck past the reanimated justiciars and took out the silencing charm. That left Shadowheart free to unleash sacred flames and guiding bolts; her companions dispatching any remaining enemies.
She’d solved the puzzle quickly, opening a hidden chamber where the weapon awaited her.
Shar’s Spear of Night.
When she touched it a wave of reverence washed over her. The spear, now carried on her back, is just the right weight and perfectly balanced - feels as though it was made to be wielded by her and her alone. Like it’s her rite. She is Shar’s most devoted disciple, ready to fulfil her dark purpose.
They navigate the floating platforms and before long, come to the entrance of the Shadowfell. It’s not what Shadowheart expected – doesn’t know quite what she did expect. But she doesn’t balk at the thought of walking into the pool of water before her. Shar protects her. She will be safe.
“This is it,” Shadowheart turns to her companions. “I have everything I need. All that’s left is to enter the sanctum and make the sacrifice. I don’t expect any of you to come with me.”
“Are you joking?” Astarion scoffs. “I want to see how this plays out. It’s not every day you see your friend complete a series of deadly trials designed by a goddess in order to face their destiny.”
Shadowheart smiles at the word ‘friend.’ She doesn’t know much of anything about her past, or what her future as a justiciar might hold, but she does know that she has made friends for life out of this bunch of misfits.
“Yeah, we’re not about to leave you now” Tav says.
“With you all the way, Shads!” Karlach adds.
Her gaze turns to Lae’zel. The gith’s expression is unreadable – it’s uniquely puzzling – the way Shadowheart can read everyone but Lae’zel with relative ease. Before they got together that used to infuriate her. Now...now what she feels is concern.
“We are all with you until the end. Right by your side,” Lae’zel tells her. “Lead the way.”
//////////////////////////////////////
Entering the Shadowfell is an experience. They tumble through the dark, weightless and directionless, before landing on solid rock. A storm rages all around them in this strange place, thunder rolling and lightning crackling, lighting up the shattered terrain in brilliant purple flashes.
It reminds her of the astral prism though it is much darker and more volatile; the vast and desolate landscape stretching as far as the eye can see. Shadowheart is barely on her feet when Balthazar makes his presence know.
“How the hells did you get here?” Shadowheart growls. “This is Lady Shar’s sanctum. You don’t belong here.”
“Why, you cleared the way for me, child,” Balthazar bears his rotten teeth in an attempt at a smile. “I thank you for your service. Now, hurry along and bear witness to my masterpiece.”
Shadowheart scowls as he floats away, deeper into the sanctum. If Shar asks her to strike that wretch down, she will do it with a smile on her face.
She spares a quick glance at her companions then runs after the necromancer; down a series of rocky slopes, defying gravity to jump great distances from one level to the next. A platform rises out of the gloom just ahead and Shadowheart feels a surge of adrenaline at the sight. She makes one final leap.
Balthazar is facing away, talking to a woman stood in some sort of ritual circle. The woman, handsome in spite of her dirty blonde hair and ragged clothes, looks up as their party approaches. Shadowheart’s breath catches when their eyes meet. She does not know this woman, is sure she has never seen her face, but feels a sense of familiarity all the same.
The woman tears her gaze away, turning her attention to the necromancer. “Balthazar. Come to add more bars to my cage? I invite you, heap more sins upon your head. My retribution will be all the sweeter for them.”
Balthazar chuckles, the sound wet and raspy. “Aylin, all this time and you fail to appreciate the gifts I bestowed upon you. Sad, to see a thing of beauty not recognise its own worth. But General Thorm, he appreciates you. And he wants you closer to hand. So, I am here to whisk you back to him.”
“Ketheric,” Aylin sneers. She lunges at the necromancer and is restrained by a pair of ghostly green hands. “I welcome the sight of him after these hundred years. He whose immortality I supply with my very soul.”
Shadowheart’s blood turns to ice in her veins. The nightsong...the nightsong is no relic.
“The nightsong is a person?” Lae’zel’s voice is thick with disgust.
“A person?” Balthazar scoffs. “Please. You insult her with your ignorance, gith. You insult me. Aylin is so much more than that. She is an assimar. The daughter of Selûne herself, bound to a soul cage of my creation so that she may lend her power to General Thorm. It is my greatest work of genius.”
The daughter of Seûlne. The words ring in Shadowheart’s head and she finds herself rooted to the spot as the wound on her hand awakes – not with pain but with something akin to excitement.
Aylin is to be her sacrifice.
“You’re not a genius, you’re a madman,” Tav seethes. “And this is f*cking barbaric.”
“No more interruptions!” Balthazar snaps. “Stand back and be silent. This is powerful magic that requires the utmost concentration.”
“Please say we’re killing this ugly f*ck?” Karlach mutters out of the corner of her mouth.
“Yep. Let’s put this f*cker in the ground.”
That’s the cue for them to draw their weapons. The necromancer responds in kind and Shadowheart manages to snap out of her daze and leap out of the path of a necrotic ray at the last second. Balthazar vows to defile them in all manner of ways as he summons a horde of undead lackeys. Yet again, they find the odds are stacked against them.
The fight is their most brutal yet; Balthazar moves surprisingly quickly, unleashing attack after attack. It’s all they can do to dodge and defend, making little headway in taking down the undead. But this is Shar’s domain, and Shadowheart channels her power.
The tide turns when she sends a sunbeam directly at the necromancer, temporarily blinding him. Lae’zel seizes the advantage and misty steps behind Balthazar, dips low and slashes his ankles with her great sword, severing his Achilles tendons.
Balthazar screeches and as he loses his balance, Lae’zel uses his own momentum against him. With an almighty shove he tumbles off the cliff edge. Shadowheart feels a ripple of satisfaction at his bloodcurdling scream that grows fainter as he plummets into the depths of the shadowfell.
She looks to Lae’zel and her chest swells; in awe once again of the fierce, beautiful woman she’s lucky enough to call hers. When Lae’zel catches her eye, Shadowheart could swear to Shar the gith winks before jumping back into battle.
With Balthazar gone they dispatch his servants with relative ease, spirit guardians eradicating the last few with their radiant magic.
When it’s over, Shadowheart makes her way down from the ledge, joins the others at the boundary of Aylin’s prison.
“Balthazar has drawn his final his final rancid breath. A pity it was not by my hand. “
Alyin lifts her gaze, looks Shadowheart straight in the eye. “I have felt you coming, Sharran. The first in a century. You, who have come to find the wicked favour of your goddess. Go on. Show me your sword, your dagger.”
“Not a dagger, a spear,” Shadowheart sneers. She stands her ground even as Aylin glowers at her.
Yes, child. Pierce her heart. Do it and become my sword hand. My dark justiciar.
Aylin tilts her head. “Well, well, well. Not just any spear, but the spear of night, intended for my heart? Empowered by your goddess, aye. Empowered to kill the child of a god.”
Shadowheart says nothing, continues to fix the nightsong with a cold stare. Holds her nerve.
“There is much your mistress does not tell you. My death will come at a terrible price. One that you will not grasp until it is too late.”
Aylin’s expression shifts into something remarkably close to pity. Shadowheart’s rage flares in tandem with that of the wound. How dare she pity her?
“To be a dark justiciar is to turn your back from everything but loss. You will experience no joy, no love. Only servitude. Until, of course, your mistress inevitably discards you.”
Shadowheart recoils as though slapped. Those words are so very similar to Lae’zel’s.
‘We are playthings to the gods. Objects to be used and discarded once we have served our purpose.’
She glances at Lae’zel out of the corner of her eye, hears her lover’s words reverberate in her head.
‘Shar took your memories before. She could do it again. Make you forget everything. Forget me. Forget us.’
Shadowheart feels sick. That’s the reality, isn’t it? The one she’s been fighting so hard to keep out – been dissociating from. The thoughts she’s been repressing for so long flood her all at once. She can’t fathom the possibility; wants to scream with the sheer horror of it all.
“Why should I believe you?” Shadowheart retorts. “Those who are about to die will say anything.”
Aylin holds her gaze as she edges closer. “It is Shar who lies to you. Do you know who I am, little assassin? For I know you. A lost child, frightened by wolves in the dark.”
The hairs on the back of Shadowheart’s neck stand on end. “What did you say?”
“You heard me,” Aylin levels her with a look. “Much has been promised to you, hasn’t it? But what has been taken from you? What do you know of your own heart – your own life?”
Shadowheart looks over her shoulder, finds Lae’zel looking back at her wide-eyed. She knows it too. Shadowheart never showed that memory to anyone else.
Do not listen, Shadowheart. She seeks to distract. To confuse. To prolong her ugly existence and deny you your destiny. Shut out her words!
“Shar speaks now, doesn’t she?” Aylin’s lip curls in disgust. “Dribbles the poison of oblivion into your ear. I do not hear her words but I sense her rage.”
The wound erupts in a flash of purple light and Shadowheart finds the spear is no longer strapped to her back but in her hand. It no longer feels as it did before. She studies it – it looks the same but feels heavier. Too heavy.
Gripped with trepidation, she turns to Lae’zel. Lae’zel who remains stoic like the soldier she was trained to be. She only speaks when Shadowheart mouths a silent ‘please’ at her.
"I cannot guide you this time. You do not need me to. This is your choice and yours alone. You will make the right decision, for you already know it in your heart.”
Lae’zel looks at her, really looks at her when she says, “Do not be afraid. Whatever you choose, I will be with you. Nothing can change that. Not Shar, not Selûne. No god there ever is or was can keep me from you. Now, make your decision, Zhak vo’n’ash du.”
Shadowheart trembles at her words. Because she does know what her next act must be. All she’s doing is prolonging the inevitable. Her hesitation is as telling as it is damning.
She looks to Aylin and her voice falters when she asks, “If I spare you, you’ll tell me what you know of me?”
“You must do more than spare me. You must free me. Ketheric Thorm has used me to make himself immortal for a hundred years. Free me and I will end him. Then I will lay your path at your feet. It is up to you to walk it.”
Enough! Close your heart to her craven words. Strike! Strike now and rise!
Rise.
Ascend.
‘Vlaakith and Shar are nothing alike.’
Oh, but they are. The realisation is an absolute gut punch.
“There. I hear her again,” Aylin leans closer. “Ask yourself, why does she fear truth more than I fear death?”
Those are the words that seal Aylin’s fate along with Shadowheart’s own. She raises the spear, feels it thrum with power as she prepares to strike. Then throws it with all the strength she can muster.
The spear whistles through the air then clatters against uneven flagstones before disappearing over the edge of the chasm, lost forever to the shadowfell.
Shadowheart hears a faint ringing in her ears. Feels her heart pound furiously against her ribcage. Time seems to move in slow motion as she stares open-mouthed at her own hands. Her traitorous hands. What has she done?
“I...I can’t believe I just did that. Lady Shar will disown me. What will happen to me?”
“Not what will happen,” Aylin professes, her voice stronger now. “What will you do? Your past is not yet lost. Your future is not yet fixed. Lay a hand on me in friendship, not-quite Sharran and I will fight the battle that has been waiting for me this last century. Then – oh then, we will have much to discuss.”
Aylin sinks to her knees and it’s all Shadowheart can do to step forward and lay a trembling hand on her shoulder. She feels the true power of the assimar, untethered and unleashed, flow through her fingertips.
Shadowheart stands shoulder to shoulder with her companions and they watch in silent awe as the nightsong rises into the air. Divine light surrounds Aylin and she emerges from it clad in Selunite armour, a glowing great sword held aloft in her right hand. To look upon her is to witness the full might of the Moonmaiden. Truly, she is the child of a god.
A pair of brilliant white wings unfurl and Aylin soars higher as they beat for the first time in a century. She is resplendent, ethereal, and she’s on their side.
“You have given me a great gift, little warrior,” she tells Shadowheart. “You showed true courage in spurning your dark lady. Your power is great. Greater than you yet realise. A bloody battle lies ahead but we shall prevail, shall rise victorious and drive the darkness from this land. When it is over, you shall have your truth. Now, are you ready?”
“For what?”
“To kill Ketheric Thorm.”
In a flurry of wings, Aylin departs; soaring up and out of the Shadowfell to bring down long overdue justice on Ketheric Thorm’s head.
“f*ck yes!” Karlach growls. “I can’t wait to see what a hundred years of rage unleashed looks like. Those cultists don’t stand a chance.”
Quite.
“Fighting alongside the daughter of a god,” Lae’zel says, face a picture of wonder when she looks to Shadowheart. “I never imagined such a thing were possible. People will write tales of this someday. Of our victory. And of you, their saviour who freed the nightsong.”
Shadowheart doesn’t feel much like a saviour. Doesn’t feel like much of anything. Numb.
She’d expected Shar’s retribution to be swift; has been bracing herself for an onslaught of pain. But there is nothing. Only silence. Somehow that strikes her as worse.
“Let’s hold our celebrations until we get out of here. Whatever’s coming I don’t want to be in the heart of the Shadowfell when it finds me. The nightsong wil be heading for Moonrise Towers. We’d better get there and see what she’s unleashed on Ketheric Thorm.”
They jog towards the open portal, each and every one of them grateful to leave this accursed place behind. Shadowheart watches them step through, can’t quite manage to summon a smile when Lae’zel squeezes her shoulder reassuringly as she passes. At this moment she doesn’t feel as though she’ll smile again.
She takes one last look at Shar’s domain. The storm rages perpetually over the barren wasteland, dark and desolate. How could she ever have thought this place held salvation? She is a fool.
You rejected your duty. You spurned my embrace!
Ah, here’s the pain she was expecting, bringing her to her knees. Shar’s words feel like a thousand knives piercing her body all over. She feels the dark lady’s rage like a brand on her skin. It is agony.
Ungrateful child! You could have wielded my spear, carried my voice, but instead you are nothing. And I will leave you with nothing. All of my children will know you for what you are. You are marked. Now leave, outcast. You are not welcome here.
Shadowheart drags herself across the flagstones, limbs straining with effort. She heaves herself through the portal, gravity melting away as she enters the swirling darkness.
