Chapter Text
“Get out of my camp. Now.” I stared at the cambion who appeared moments prior, heralded by flames rank with Avernus. I don't take kindly to random strangers popping into my camp.
I don't take kindly to…anything, really.
I narrowed my eyes, hand grasping for anything I could use to stab the pretentious tart with wings smirking at me. I know she's pretentious, because unlike her, I'm actually important. My hand closed around a-
Club. Whatever, I can still stab with it. Screaming doesn't bother me.
“Ohhh, can't I drop in and catch up with an old friend?”
“What do you want, Miz-” The disdain in Wyll’s voice made me blink with surprise.
“Her?! She's your patron, Wyll?!” Surprise turned to confusion; Karlach sounded like she knew this trollop. Wait. Patron? Wyll's a warlock? Was no one going to tell me?
“Someone mind telling me what the FUCK is going on in my camp?!” I asked calmly. I'm a paragon of patience and serenity.
“Why, you've been positively naughty , Wyll! You haven't told them about me?” The slithering contempt in the cambion’s voice chilled me, and I decided to add them to my list of things I didn't like, right after druids. Now my list has two things. I'm making progress.
“I said, get out. You made me repeat myself; I hate repeating myself.”
“Call me Mizora. I'm here to deal with my pet. His leash needs a yank.” Sneering, Mizora lifted a clenched fist and Wyll stumbled, hands clutching his throat.
“She's innocent! That wasn't the deal!”
“Incorrect. Let's review your contract, shall we? ‘Targets shall be limited to the infernal, the demonic, the heartless, and the soulless.' Karlach has no heart, pet. She fits.”
“Like I told your-” I'm not calling Wyll that, it's creepy “-like I told Wyll. Threaten Karlach and I drive a dagger into your skull.”
“Sweet on her, are-”
“I don't appreciate it when random cambions pop into camp and threaten my underlings. That's my job.” I ignored the sounds of surprised outrage behind me.
“Wyll and I had a deal, and he broke it. There are consequences for that sort of thing.” Before I could respond, Mizora raised an inky hand and gestured imperiously.
Wyll contorted, groaning in pain as he was swallowed by that same inky nothingness. I could smell something, dark and hate-filled, and as suddenly as that void appeared, it was gone. Wyll staggered upright, head bowed by the new weight of horns. Our eyes met and I saw his good eye, now black and red. Curious, I peeked to see if he had a tail; nope. I felt perversely disappointed; I thought he had something coming, the way he went after Karlach.
“Keep an eye on Wyll for me, Karlach. And I'll be keeping an eye on you ,” Mizora smirked at me. The Dark Urge hissed, hungry to feast on this upstart. Mizora faltered as she met my eyes. It was brief, the subtlest of backwards stumbles, before she left faster than she arrived.
“I'm gonna stab her head,” I muttered irritably. The Dark Urge snarled in agreement and I tensed until I felt it settle back into a light slumber.
“Not a good idea soldier, you'd probably doom Wyll to the hells.”
“Right, right. And that would be...bad? Yes? Bad.” I liked Karlach, and I didn't like it when she scolded me. It made me feel...uncomfortable. Exhaustion hit me and I sighed.
“I'm going to bed. Please, hesitate to find me for anything less dire than a cataclysm or world-shattering catastrophe.” Familiarity scratched at my brain as I spoke, but I firmly decided to ignore it. I’ll deal with it later, when I deal with everything else I’m putting off.
“I hate this bloody swamp,” I muttered as I wiped mud mephit off my face.
“To the nine hells with this shite!” Shadowheart suddenly yelled and before I could react, water drenched all of us. “Sorry,” she spat out, voice still testy.
“Well, at least we're not covered in mud anymore,” I murmured, trying to be diplomatic. I was hesitant to provoke her, deciding that not pissing off an angry tempest cleric was probably the smart choice. She glared at me but otherwise said nothing. More importantly, she didn't throw any lightning at me.
“Everyone, you're all soaking wet. Give me your armor and I'll dry them while you find…whatever it is we're here to find,” Karlach offered. Shrugging, Astarion and I ducked behind a bush for privacy while we stripped out of our armor and into our camp clothes. I had my shirt half over my head when Astarion yelled out in shock.
“Gods below, you're not wearing underwear!”
“Nope.”
“Bloody hells. Warn somebody next time,” he muttered as he continued changing. I snuck a peek at his underwear; it was pretty. Almost as pretty as him.
I said nothing as I finished dressing, a half smile on my face. While not best friends, our relationship had drastically improved after our conversation in the clearing. He'd even started calling me “darling” which made my heart ache. Whatever was going on with my memories, whoever I was remembering, they too had called me “darling.” I debated asking him privately to stop but I couldn't bring myself. I liked it too much.
And now that things had settled between us, I found that I genuinely liked him. I hadn't lied when I told Shadowheart I lusted after him. He was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen, and I wanted him. But...I also liked his company. He made me laugh, really laugh. And while everyone else kept me at arms length after-after that night, he didn't. He simply...treated me like-like me.
I sometimes wondered if his brazen acceptance of my presence is what thawed the others, made them more willing to exist near me. Made them less afraid. I hadn't cared originally but...something had changed. I had changed. I'm not sure when, or why, but my comp-my underlings' wariness when I approached them had started to make my chest ache. The way they drew back, or made sure there was someone else nearby before engaging in conversation.
I wondered how much more I was going to change.
“Why are we suddenly exploring over here, rather than taking that note back to the Grove?” Shadowheart demanded behind me. She sounded exasperated.
“I have been possessed by the spirit of exploration and adventure and I must answer their call,” I murmured as I stared at a circle drawn on it by that Zhent lady. Zebra or whatever. I frowned; everyone I’ve met has had some weird names.
“Right. Of course. Sorry I asked.” I could practically hear her eyes rolling.
“I figured if we help the Zhents now, they might be willing to lend a hand with the druids,” I explained as I started heading up a path on the Risen Road I was mostly certain we hadn't explored yet.
“Oh. Well why didn't you say that in the first place?!”
“Shads, please. I find out what I'm saying at the exact same time everyone else does,” I said with a shrug.
Chuckling quietly, I watched Shadowheart walk away, gesturing wildly as she ranted under her breath. Astarion watched her pass, eyes widening at what was either a particularly creative insult, or an especially violent threat. He joined me in time to watch Shadowheart rant to Karlach. I'm assuming she ranted about me, because there really isn't much else in our lives that important. Oh, and she kept pointing at me. “Do you think she's mad at me?”
“Our dear Shadowheart? Mad at you? Perish the thought.”
I turned to Astarion. “There's a cave up ahead. I'm pretty sure it's probably fine, so I'm going to go look for cool bones to take back to camp while Shadowheart gets all of her yelling out of her system.” Without waiting for a response, I headed towards the cave.
“Well? Don't you have something to say to me?”
“Uhhhhh…”
I stared up at the tiny cleric from my (not very) comfy position where I'd collapsed on the ground after fighting the biggest damn gnoll I'd ever seen. I had been catastrophically wrong about the cave, and if it wasn't for Shadowheart hearing me yelling, I'd be dead.
I'd also be in the stomachs of at least 5 gnolls.
I thought I'd wanted to die, to be free from myself. And yet, at the brink, I fought even harder to keep my life. It troubled me, being so disconnected from myself that I wasn't even sure what I wanted. Astarion companionably sat down on the ground next to me, slapping my stomach as I struggled to understand myself. “She means an apology, darling. Or a thank you. Both, I’d expect. Should say both.”
I stared up into irritated green eyes edged with dappled gold, and wondered why she'd bothered to save me. I know I frustrate her. It would have been easier to just let me die, wouldn't it? We barely know each other; we're practically strangers. I set my thoughts aside with a sigh. “Thank you, Shadowheart. And I'm sorry.”
I really hope she doesn't ask me what I'm sorry for, because I have no idea.
Her eyes narrow as her gaze becomes contemplative. After several moments of study, she raises an eyebrow and shrugs before leaning down to hand me a healing potion. “Thank you. Here, drink this to patch yourself up a little; I’m out of spells.”
Astarion helps me drag my carcass upright, keeping his hand against my back while I drink. The unsettling sensation of feeling my insides itch tells me I was in far worse shape than I realized. I watched Shadowheart and Karlach search the bodies while I tried to put myself back together again.
“You don't know what you're sorry for, do you?” Astarion asked quietly, his tone conversational.
“Not in the slightest.”
“HAH! You're lucky she didn't ask.”
“So fucking lucky.”
Borrowing Astarion’s stool, I sat down, staring at the note in my hand we grabbed from the cleft in that big tree. I felt as though I were standing at a crossroads, but everything past the split in the road was obscured. Rubbing my head, I fought through the pain as I considered the options before us.
Option 1, we confront Kagha with the note, see what happens. I’m assuming bloodshed, but I’m not sure how many druids are truly in agreement with Kagha, versus however many sided with her because they’re incapable of maintaining and following their own moral compass.
I might have a small problem with druids, namely that I have no respect for any of them.
Option 2, we ignore the druid/tiefling problem for now and look into these goblins. I didn’t like this idea. While I trusted the tieflings, I absolutely do not trust the druids, and leaving the area to go investigate a goblin camp made the gap between my shoulder blades itch. I scratched it, feeling an old scar under my finger tips, wondering who gave it to me and why.
I decided it was a druid.
Option 3, I honor my promise to Mol and I steal the idol before I do anything else. I privately liked the idea, however I was fully aware it would most likely turn all druids against us. The combat potential excited me, but I worried about tieflings getting caught in the crossfire. Especially that little Arabella’s parents. I’d just reunited Arabella with them; I was hesitant to take on a course of action that could potentially result in both of her parents taken away from her. Her parent’s fury resonated with me and I wondered if I had parents out there, scared and angry for me.
Option 4, we ignore the grove and the goblin camp and give in to Lae’zel’s nagging about the githyanki creek or whatever she’s been nattering on about. I’m almost completely positive it’s creeks. We possibly get cured, and then we come back, kill all the druids, kill all the goblins, and then Astarion and I are married and living-
I shake my head as my imagination ran away from me for a second, hoping in vain that it would knock all the unproductive thoughts into a loose pile on the ground. It doesn’t, but I’ve become rather adept at working around my own brain, even if saying so sounds like I’m tooting my own horn.
Staring back down at the piece of paper, I’m satisfied that I had covered all possible options. Anything else was just a variation. The second option seemed the safest at first, but I couldn't shake this feeling that ignoring these batshit crazy shadow druids to go piss off a few idiot goblins was a terrible idea. My personal least favorite is the fourth option, because it's just a creek. Who gives a shit?
I'm certain the only people that will enthusiastically advocate for option three is Astarion, and myself. Astarion, because stealing is honestly fun, and me because I'm a petty bastard and I don't like the druids. And also the stealing would be a lot of fun.
I’m staring at the note, wondering which option to go with. I wondered how everyone else would make this decision. I was hesitant to ask anyone else for advice; I’m certain that if I do, I’m just going to be told to do what “feels right” and...I don’t know what that is. Or what that feels like.
I spared a thought for my past, morbidly curious. What kind of person was my past self, that I didn’t have any kind of moral framework to fall back on? Shadowheart is missing most of her memories and yet she doesn’t seem to have any issue in knowing what “right” is. Unless complete amnesia also makes you forget your moral code? A stabbing pain in my head gently encouraged me to abandon that thought experiment immediately.
I shake my head again, irritated with myself for getting distracted. I didn’t even hear Astarion approach.
“Are you alright? You’re twitching. A lot.”
“No. I don’t-I’m trying to decide our next course of action and I’m torn.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll do what-”
“If you say anything about what I think is right, I’m throwing you in the river.”
“Well. The threats are a tad unnecessary, darling.”
“Sorry. I-I don’t know what ‘right’ means. And I keep hearing people telling me to just ‘do what I think is right’ but I don’t know what that means and I don’t...” I trail off.
I think I’m broken beyond all possibility of repair.
Astarion sighs quietly. I look over at him and he’s watching me with a strange look on his face. He looks away, studying his hands before looking at our companions. I debate leaving, but the idea of being near anyone else at the moment, with the way I feel, fills me with dread.
“I…probably am not the best person for you to have a discussion about moral codes, darling. And you sound like you’re asking much bigger questions than I can answer.”
“Maybe. I-you’re easy to be around. You don’t check to make sure someone else is in eyesight when I approach.”
“I can’t tell you how to figure out what ‘right’ feels like. As I understand it, that’s different for everyone. But instead of trying to decide what feels ‘right,’ maybe you could focus on which choice would you regret the least?”
Wordlessly, I shrug as I stand and head over to the campfire.
I sit there, staring into the flames, mulling over Astarion’s words in my head. I try to imagine how I would feel if I went off to investigate the goblins and something happened to the tieflings because I wasn’t there.
I felt sick.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I still don’t know what “right” means, or how to tell if something is “right.” But I think I know what “regret” feels like now, and I’m certain I would regret going to the goblin camp before dealing with the druids.