Chapter Summary: Shadowheart has a close brush with death in a fight against mimics. Solistre reveals her (non-existent) ties to Lolth.


After a frenzied battle in the heart of Grymforge, bloodied duergar bodies lay strewn across the camp, dotted by unfortunate deep gnomes who were caught in the crossfire, and the broken corpse of True Soul Nere. The victorious party, with the aid of one fatigued Barcus Wroot, stripped the bodies of valuables and tossed them into lava – better a quick cremation than slow, foul-smelling decomposition.

Morbid chore done, they climbed to the upper levels of the fortress, making camp in a secure structure that was the sleeping quarters of an old Sharran temple. The next day – or what their bodies decided was 'day' in the Underdark – Lae'zel, Astarion, and Wyll began the trek back to the myconid colony, with Nere's head in a sack.

The rest, who had been the main assault force against the duergars, stayed behind to recuperate further from the beating they had taken. Or, they would have, if Karlach hadn't persuaded her friends into exploring Grymforge – leaving Halsin and Barcus to tend camp.

"It'll be fun!" Karlach had declared in response to their doubtful, yet indulgent expressions, waving the Harper's map Solistre had 'liberated' from a prisoner's corpse. "Like a treasure hunt!"

"Oh, fuck this fucking treasure!" Karlach roars now, swinging her heavy axe into one mimic 'chest', splitting faux wood with the mighty blow. "And fuck me for wanting to find it!"

Despite her deep irritation, Solistre's mouth cocks into a smirk, as she dips an arrowtip into Gale's conjured grease fire. While the wizard flings spell after spell at the mimic farthest from them, delaying its advance, Solistre bolsters Karlach's attack with a constant stream of fiery arrows at the largest mimic, while keeping an eye on the whole battle from her position on the backlines.

Shadowheart darts around the last mimic in a single duel, avoiding swiping hands and delivering crushing blows with her mace. She holds up as well as Karlach, steadily pounding her flailing foe into submission, the sound of wood crunching under metal giving way to firm thuds on flesh and bone. With a forceful kick, Shadowheart shoves the mimic off-balance on its spindly legs, and sends a fiery bolt of light straight down its mouth – eliciting a throaty scream in its death throes.

When she charges towards the huge mimic troubling Karlach, a thick tongue lashes out from the corner, and wraps around her armoured waist. Green eyes widen, barely glimpsing the offending mimic in the distance, before Shadowheart is flung off her feet with tremendous force.

"Oh shit!" Karlach yells, watching Shadowheart's body soar in an arc, far above their heads – towards the edge of the cliff they stand on, bordering an endless chasm. "Shadowheart-!"

Solistre's heart surges at the sight – and she along with it. Throwing down her bow and arrows, she leaps into the shadows' embrace, darkness bearing her incorporeal form forward at a speed faster than her feet will ever allow. The distance between her and Shadowheart closes within a few heartbeats; but the shadows end before the cliff's edge – a threshold Shadowheart has just crossed, falling helplessly towards the chasm.

Blood burning with adrenaline, Solistre launches herself out of the shadows, arms stretched towards Shadowheart – who reaches for her in return, mace and shield falling into the endless darkness below. Their eyes lock, and Solistre sees the same realisation and panic in Shadowheart's eyes. They have found each other, trapped in an interminable fall into nothingness – now what?

As gravity drags them ever downward, Solistre turns her head in search of a lifeline, and reaches an arm out towards a thick stalagmite jutting from the cliff's very edge. Her right arm remains stretched out for Shadowheart – who catches it with both hands, gripping tightly.

As they hurtle past the stalagmite, Solistre's arm not so much as catches but crashes into it; her elbow nearly gives under the impact of their halted fall. A ragged scream tears through Solistre's throat when Shadowheart's sturdy warrior's weight – compounded by a full set of armour – tears her shoulder into pained halves. She looks down, half-blind in agony, expecting to see the flesh at her shoulder split asunder. But it is still intact, with Shadowheart gripping tight for dear life, her fingers having found a secure hook on the straps of Solistre's armour.

'Hold on,' Solistre tries to say, but it turns into an airless gasp under the sheer effort of holding them aloft with an aching arm, and a leg unceremoniously caught on a sharp, narrow ledge.

Sweat pours down her face as Shadowheart aggravates the pain in her shoulder, managing to swing herself up to grab the thicker belt at Solistre's waist with one hand. She can hear Shadowheart panting from exertion, then shout, "Help us! Please!"

"Hang on!" Karlach's booming holler is thankfully immediate, amid the sound of an axe hacking apart wood and flesh.

But the mere promise of help alone does not lighten the weight on Solistre's heart – or her body.

Her vision starts to darken the longer they dangle on the edge, her lungs unable to fill completely under the strain. Her head feels light, on the verge of drifting away, anchored only by the knowledge that Shadowheart clings onto her – if she lets go, hers is not the only life that will be lost.

An eternity crawls by, taunting her with each excruciating second. Solistre is barely aware of Shadowheart's occasional calls of her name, lost to the ringing in her ears, when the sudden thud of boots on the ledge cuts through her fading consciousness.

"I'm sorry, but bear with me!"

Karlach's strong, unbearably warm hands lock under Solistre's arms, beginning to singe through thick fabric as she shifts her feet into a bracing stance. Heat starts stinging on her skin, and a strangled yell finally pushes through Solistre's constricted throat. Her arm gives from its hook around the stalagmite, and Karlach heaves their combined weight with ease, practically throwing them onto the ground to avoid touching Solistre any longer.

Shadowheart's armoured weight falls on top of Solistre, slamming her injured shoulder against the ground, and she cries out again while Gale pulls Shadowheart off her. Rolling onto her uninjured side, Solistre clutches at the swollen, aching joint, riding out the flood of pain until a pair of firm hands guide her to lie on her back.

Through blurry eyes, she sees Shadowheart's tired but attentive countenance above her, black hair sticking to her forehead and jaw. Addled by pain and fatigue, she has lost herself in those searching green eyes, when a touch to her shoulder makes her flinch from Shadowheart's hands.

"Hold still. Let me look at you." Shadowheart prods at her shoulder, and Solistre bites down a spitting hiss as their cleric formulates the obvious diagnosis. "Dislocated. I'll pop it back before I heal you."

She holds Solistre down by the shoulder, taking her arm in one hand. Solistre grits her teeth against further cries while Shadowheart tilts her arm to find the right angle, then thrusts down sharply. Solistre yelps amid the shock of pain, then grows quiet in its sudden absence. She peers down at her shoulder, but Shadowheart pins her arm down before she can start moving it.

"Hold on." Shadowheart recites an incantation perfectly on her tongue, hands arching into precise gestures; the healing spell washes away most of the ache in her body, and Solistre takes her first full breath since they'd hung from the cliff. Sighing in relief, she goes limp on the ground, strained back muscles threatening to melt into solid rock.

"You're lucky that arm didn't get ripped right outta ya," Karlach says over her with a pointy-toothed grin, which only grows wider at Solistre's sulk.

"Karlach, Gale – you're both bleeding. Take stock of your wounds."

At Shadowheart's instruction, their companions move to the side, setting their weapons down to look themselves over. Shadowheart watches them quietly, then turns her eyes to Solistre, setting a gentle hand over her collar.

"Thank you," she whispers.

Solistre merely grunts, with what little energy she has left, and Shadowheart smiles in response. Her eyes flutter shut when warm fingertips stroke the skin of her neck softly, and she nearly protests when Shadowheart moves away to tend to Karlach and Gale.

But she keeps her peace, and remains lying quietly in her spot, content to rest while her companions bicker over the severity of their wounds.


When they trudge back to camp in the Sharran quarters, Halsin supplements Shadowheart's healing with a minor spell of his own, then bids them sit around the campfire to indulge in the fish and mushroom stew he'd made in their absence.

Seated on a bed in a dark corner, Solistre fills her stomach with satisfyingly hot stew, while Gale and Halsin strike up an enthusiastic discussion of stew recipes. When her bowl is empty, she slips away to set it in the pile of dirty dishes, going unnoticed when Karlach starts pitching in some recipes she'd used in Avernus. As Gale exclaims his horror at Karlach's list of infernal ingredients, Solistre steals a bottle of ale from their stash, and makes her exit.

She leaves the quarters through the side doors, which leads to a broken stone walkway that overlooks the fortress' front gates. Sitting by the paved edge with a sigh, the muscles in her body aching in protest at the simple motion, Solistre downs a draught of ale and settles in for some much needed solitude. It is a wonder she hasn't been driven mad, forced to spend nearly every waking hour in the company of people she'd never asked for.

Pushing thoughts of her companions aside, Solistre clears her mind of distraction. Peaceful minutes flow from one into the next, lulling her into a casual meditative trance, with the pleasant hum of alcohol in her blood. Given more time, she would have fallen into a deep trance – if not for the bark that breaks her hard-won serenity.

Solistre frowns, turning her head to find Scratch running up to her, with Shadowheart following close behind, and the owlbear cub trailing farther back cautiously. Scratch slows to a stop by Solistre, nudging at her back with his head. His paws pitter-patter on the floor excitedly, tail wagging hard as he looks up at Shadowheart.

"You found her! Such a good boy." Shadowheart coos in a way she never will in front of the others, and sates the eager boy with a hearty scratch on the scruff of his neck.

Scratch's tongue lolls out under the attention, then his ears prick up when Shadowheart draws two dried pork sausages from her pocket. She waves them in the air, making sure to catch both animals' attention, and tosses the food far to the head of the bridge.

As dog and owlbear bolt after their snack, leaving the two women to their privacy, Shadowheart sits beside Solistre. She no longer needs to ask permission – after many amiable nights spent together, their mutual company is always welcome.

"That's cheating," Solistre says, deliberately flat, as she takes another swig of ale.

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't want to play hide-and-seek just to find you every time." Shadowheart looks her over, then scoots closer, brushing her fingers over the bruises at Solistre's shoulder, beneath her sleeveless tunic. "They look darker. Are you in pain?"

"I'm fine."

"You said the same when you were stabbed last time." Shadowheart smiles wryly, and weaves a small healing spell – its dark azure light washes over Solistre's skin, lightening the shade of her bruises and relieving the dull ache.

The unconscious tension in her shoulders fades, and she leans back on one hand. "I thought you were 'spent' after the battle?"

"So I saved a little more for you. Be grateful."

"I'll think about it," she replies flippantly, and doesn't bother hiding her smirk when she receives a pinch on her arm – just below her sore muscles. She drinks more ale, then passes the bottle to Shadowheart, who takes a slower, more delicate sip.

They sit in companionable silence – something that binds them together in the absence of words. Especially in its absence, where unspoken secrets twine into a thread of trust and recognition. Then Shadowheart speaks, tugging on that thread as she is wont to, ever since they had found a measure of solace in the other's presence.

"Do you think they've made it to the myconids yet?"

"Must have. We've cleared the path on the way here, after all."

Shadowheart hums. "True. They may return tomorrow, or the day after. Pity." She takes a long look at the fortress' front dock – sectioned off and guarded by a pair of massive portcullises, the water channel watched over by towering statues of Shar. "I would've liked to spend more time here."

"There is nothing here. Just blood and corpses."

"On the contrary, there is much history here."

Right. Solistre's mind had flown right to the biggest commotion they'd caused in Grymforge, instead of the traces of life they'd found within the fortress. Proof that Sharran devotees and Dark Justiciars had lived and worshipped their goddess here, long before the duergar or other scavengers arrived to pick over the bones of their lost, secret grandeur.

"I suppose you'll want to stay and study the place."

"How can I not? Being here, walking in the footsteps of Dark Justiciars who came before… Desecrated and abandoned as this place is, it still is a part of our history. I would like to meditate here for a while, perhaps seek guidance from my Lady…"

Shadowheart trails off, words ending in a wistful sigh. Solistre doesn't speak, leaving Shadowheart to her thoughts. Her companion's worship had not fazed her one bit – Solistre herself had served Lolth since she was born in the literal darkness of her House's chambers. If anything, it is a familiar kind of worship – a cruel goddess with cold, capricious love for her devotees… It reminds her of home.

But few thrive for long under Lolth's tyrannical favour. And here Shadowheart sits, harbouring a dream to earn the favour of a similar, subtler tyrant – perhaps a death sentence in itself, if patterns of the past hold any truth for the future.

Something sours in her chest, and she takes the bottle back from Shadowheart, drowning the emotion with ale before it can take root.

"I have wondered," Shadowheart says. "Do you follow any faith? Are you still loyal to Lolth, by any chance?"

Solistre laughs – unexpectedly, bitterly. "Am I?"

"From what you've told me, you have been on the surface for years. And, with your family gone, I imagine you have little that ties you back home. Much less to…"

She swirls the bottle in her hand, pondering the answer, and how much she should reveal. Shadowheart reaches for depths that Solistre had endeavoured to keep hidden and forgotten in the decade she'd spent on the surface. Yet, even in her denial of its existence, its weight has never left – sitting heavy on her heart and soul, mocking her ghost of a life under the open skies.

And if burying it has done nothing…

A low, inaudible breath escapes between her lips. She stares at the gates, determinedly ignoring those inquisitive eyes on her. "I was born into Lolth worship, like most other drow in Menzoberranzan."

Just hearing the Spider Queen's name on her tongue makes her want to flinch. She hopes none of those many eyes have turned upon her. "I was sent to study in Arach-Tinilith, our clerical academy, as expected of noble daughters. But my faith never was strong, and it was…difficult. My biggest struggle during lessons was to stay awake."

Shadowheart breaks into a laugh, eyes glinting with mirth. It complements the smile on her lips. "Somehow, I can imagine you doing that. But…you are not a cleric."

"I'm not. I left the academy, and nearly brought my House to ruin. But I sated the Dark Mother's lust for blood and chaos in the months after, and we retained her favour." A sneer starts to twist her lips, but Solistre presses them together, keeping her expression neutral.

"Not that it mattered, in the end. My House was destroyed, my family murdered, and she did nothing but watch. No doubt she took pleasure in our pain," she snarls, resentment breaking through the surface. "I have not felt her favour since."

A lie. She had felt Lolth's favour since her House's fall – a malevolent, saccharine song that thrummed in her veins – during her deranged, mindless slaughters in her first days on the surface. Driven mad by the sun, torn apart by grief, fueled by unbridled rage – and all Lolth did was revel in bloodshed wrought by her wayward daughter's misery.

Never again. Never again.

She flinches when a warm hand closes around hers. Solistre looks up, faraway gaze focusing on Shadowheart's hand, resting gently over her own – which grips the bottle of ale so hard, her knuckles had gone pale. Solistre stares, frozen, but allows Shadowheart to coax tension from her fingers, easing her tight hold on the bottle.

Carefully, Shadowheart slides the bottle away, though her hand stays in Solistre's for a squeeze.

"Are you alright?" Shadowheart asks softly.

"I'm fine," she rumbles, voice rough.

"You're not," Shadowheart points out, amused, though her smile is without malice. "But that's fine."

Shadowheart's thumb whispers over her knuckles, comforting, and Solistre finds it difficult to breathe. She slips her hand away, and Shadowheart lets her go without protest. Keeping her eyes averted from those that watch her, Solistre rises to her feet, fighting down the tremors threatening to sink into her muscles.

"You know where to find me."

Her heart squeezes, wishing Shadowheart hadn't spoken. But she had, and Solistre cannot deny how tempting the prospect is – to sit down and seek a gentle touch that will be freely given, if she would only ask.

But she cannot bring herself to ask, to dispel pain worn so close to herself it had become a second skin. All she manages is a curt nod, before escaping into the shadows.


A/N: First scene's inspired by the time a mimic yeeted Shadowheart into the shadow realm and I just sat there stunned for a minute...