Chapter Summary: A night of respite after leaving the Shadow-Cursed Lands.


The journey to Baldur's Gate is uneventful, made easier when they'd left once-cursed lands behind and reached a wide, if overgrown road leading to the city. Though the threat of the Absolute hangs over their heads, uneasy caution that had wound their bodies tight in the Shadow Curse has fallen away. Be it on the road or in camp, there is a lighter, even jovial touch to the party's mood.

On this night, Jaheira is huddled with Halsin at his tent, chatting over brewing potions while Wyll diligently grinds herbs under their watchful eye. Astarion has skulked off to who knows where, Aylin and Isobel have snuck off to no one wants to know where, and Gale studies a spell tome in between stirring the large pot of soup he has made for dinner. In this half of the camp, rest and recuperation takes precedence, and Solistre finds a measure of peace seated on a fallen log behind Gale, nursing a cup of tea from the pot Jaheira had brewed earlier.

Normally, she would have made like their resident vampire spawn, and stalked into the woods for some blessed solitude in the cover of night. Tonight, however, she is happy enough to stay and tolerate the campfire's heat glare, with her eyes fixed on the other half of the camp – where their remaining companions have set up a makeshift sparring ring with spare weapons and tent poles.

Sparring practice is not a common exercise among them, what with the rigours of each day wearing fatigue into their bones. It is something indulged during rare moments of leisure, which has done much to foster an extra sliver of respect among their quarrelsome company. In these past days, Karlach and Lae'zel have pulled Shadowheart into regular sparring sessions – to help her get accustomed to her new spear, and to take her mind off…heavier matters.

Solistre takes another sip of tea, as Lae'zel pounces for the kill, knocking aside Shadowheart's spear and disarming her opponent easily with her greatsword's hilt. Karlach whoops excitedly at the smooth maneuver while Shadowheart throws her hands up in exasperation, shoulders heaving in a sigh amid panted breaths. But as she bends down to retrieve her spear, listening to Lae'zel's pointers about form, there is no shadow that hangs over her expression, only an earnest thirst for knowledge.

Although Lae'zel constantly barks well-meaning but abrasive advice, Karlach's presence makes their exercises fun, and Shadowheart visibly enjoys their time together. Her mistakes and losses are no longer followed by quiet brooding and an odd tension in her posture, as if she were waiting for a reprimand. Instead, she is relaxed and open, her movements fluid as she mimics Lae'zel's demonstration of spear techniques.

Solistre's eyes remain on Shadowheart's face – brows furrowed with focus as she moves the spear in her hands, then a smile greeting Karlach's offer to take the next round.

Such a quiet, yet brilliant change; though worries of an uncertain future weigh heavy on her, she has taken her first steps out of the darkness with grace. 'Broken free of the chrysalis', Gale had once murmured during Solistre's distraction by their mutual subject of interest, and she is inclined to agree. If anything, Shadowheart has emerged from her crisis of faith more beautiful than ever; sharp edges softened, shadowed eyes clearer, bow-shaped lips curled in affection more often than scorn.

Lifting the cup in her hands to hide a burgeoning smile, Solistre watches triumph light Shadowheart's face when she locks the spear shaft over Karlach's greatsword hilt, and twists the heavy weapon from her opponent's grip, sending it to the ground. Her heart skips when Shadowheart breaks into a rare grin to match Karlach's, as the latter grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her in approval, Lae'zel nodding the sentiment from the sides.

She could do this every day – linger in camp, just to watch honest joy brighten Shadowheart's countenance. Of course, it does help to have such a pleasurable view – three fit, powerful women engaged in vigorous activity that makes them sweat and flex their muscular physique for the world to see…

Karlach turns around, breaking her reverie, and Solistre bites down a groan when she shouts over, "Oi, lazy bum! Are you just gonna sit there forever? Come on, join us!"

Solistre shakes her head, and tosses back the rest of her lukewarm tea.

"Really? Are you not gonna lift a finger for–" Karlach gestures at Shadowheart, who looks between them with amusement, resting casually against her spear.

"Why? The two of you are enough."

"The more the merrier!"

"I don't think so."

"Oh, I see how it is. You can dance with Wyll, but not spar with us?"

"Dancing is more enjoyable than sparring."

"Gah!" Karlach throws both hands up in her direction. "Do you have to be such a spoilsport all the time?"

"It's alright, Karlach," Shadowheart says lightly. Her smirk sets Solistre's spine straighter by a hair – she is about to say something inciting. "Let's spare her the embarrassment, hm?"

Solistre cocks a brow and, after a moment's thought, sets her foot into the trap. "Embarrassment?"

"We all know you don't stand a chance against my spear with your…tiny little knives."

Solistre stares, ignoring Gale's brief backward glance from the campfire, and rises to her feet with deliberate slowness. "I'm sorry," she replies, sing-song. "I didn't catch that. What did you say?"

Shadowheart remains unfazed. "I said, you don't stand a chance against me."

"In your dreams. I can beat you without breaking a single sweat."

"Then prove it with action," Lae'zel cuts in, growing impatient at the exchange. "Not empty boasts."

"I will." Solistre smirks, eyes never leaving Shadowheart as she saunters to her mark. "En garde."

Shadowheart hefts her spear, its tip trained on Solistre, her feet sliding farther apart into a fighting stance.

"Wait," Karlach breaks in when Solistre doesn't stop her approach. "What about your weapon?"

"I don't need one."

"Your funeral," Shadowheart snips.

Solistre's smirk doesn't falter. "Such arrogance, little girl." The casual, disdainful rasp comes easily from over a century lived in Menzoberranzan. "I have slain the best warriors and foulest creatures of the Underdark long before you were born."

Shadowheart's lips curl, though she says nothing, focused on Solistre while Karlach mutters from the side, "That's a weird way to flex your skills. And age."

Eyes lock, red bleeding into green, then Solistre takes a sudden step forward. A feint – which goads Shadowheart into lunging forward, the spear's blade glinting from the campfire. Her form is steady, but tentative in motion; she is still unaccustomed to the spear's weight and reach, wielding it as a tool, not an extension of herself. In other words – clumsy, to a trained eye.

Solistre darts inside the thrust, knocking the spear aside with her forearm, then closes the distance to flick Shadowheart's nose before dancing out of reach. Shadowheart touches her nose, taken aback, and Solistre's heart falls further when an eager gleam comes to life in those verdant eyes.

She grins, lop-sided and cocky, stoking the fire. "You were saying…?"

Shadowheart doesn't reply, a smirk curling her lips as she rushes in, sparring with Solistre in earnest. Solistre keeps to her evasive maneuvers, indulging in smooth leaps and twirls as if she were engaged in an acrobatic dance, and Shadowheart turns it into a game of catch. The spear jabs and sweeps towards her with restraint, making it easier to block and sidestep. But the repeated misses don't douse the fire in Shadowheart's eyes, nor her resolve to catch her opponent. It is no longer a contest, but an exchange – a mutual learning of each other's moves and quirks, Shadowheart matching the steps to Solistre's dance.

Eventually, Shadowheart succeeds – baiting Solistre into a heel spin, then flying forward to lock her spear over Solistre's chest, trapping her opponent against herself. Solistre clutches at the spear's shaft, trying to pull it away or wriggle free, but Shadowheart's grip is unyielding.

"Ugh, you're sweaty," Solistre grouses, when Shadowheart's sweat-slick bicep grinds over her own.

"You don't like it?" Shadowheart says, shot through with pants.

"Not from sparring, no," Solistre purrs, turning her head so that Shadowheart's next heavy breath brushes her own lips.

Lae'zel hisses loudly. "This is a fight, not foreplay! Focus!"

"Uh…you know they're not actually fighting, right?"

"They are fighting. Non-lethally, but the spirit remains," is Lae'zel's reply, and Karlach just shrugs.

Solistre struggles against Shadowheart, heart racing from the press of Shadowheart's chest against her back, and a stubborn refusal to admit defeat.

"Do you yield?" Shadowheart asks.

"No."

Solistre hooks one foot back, catching Shadowheart's ankle, and pulls it up while she throws her entire weight backwards, forcing Shadowheart to fall back with her in tow. She takes the landing impact in stride, sucking a quick breath to fill her lungs. The spear has lifted from her chest, but Solistre keeps one hand on its shaft as she kicks herself off Shadowheart's body. The moment her feet land on the ground, she tightens her grip on the spear, and yanks it out of Shadowheart's hands to disarm her. Except – the weapon doesn't budge.

Shit.

She looks to the grin parting Shadowheart's lips, and knows she has miscalculated the cleric's strength. When Shadowheart's knees find purchase on the ground, she tugs on the spear – hard. Solistre is thrown forward, off-balance, and Shadowheart sweeps out a leg to kick Solistre's feet from under her. Solistre falls on her back, and Shadowheart wastes no time sitting on her, pinning her down with the spear shaft across her shoulders.

Solistre chuckles, half-tempted to surrender just for that victorious expression on Shadowheart's face. But her pride doesn't allow it, and she sets her hands on Shadowheart's thighs instead, sliding them up slowly.

"Are we sure this still isn't foreplay?"

She looks up at Shadowheart's eyes, and finds them darker – from black hair shading them, and something more. Solistre parts her lips and wets them with the tip of her tongue. Shadowheart's gaze falls involuntarily to her mouth, distracted by the motion.

Solistre slides her hands farther, moving up Shadowheart's sides. When Shadowheart swallows subtly, she strikes – grabbing Shadowheart's chest with both hands, and giving it a squeeze.

Shadowheart yelps and jerks away, rocking awkwardly back onto her heels. In her moment of imbalance, Solistre seizes the spear, using it and her own weight to shove Shadowheart back, forcing her to land on her backside.

"I win."

Shadowheart gapes, eyes flashing with indignation. "You cheated!"

"And won."

"It doesn't count!" A pout is starting to form on Shadowheart's lips.

"It does." Solistre cannot resist, and adds, "Sore loser."

Shadowheart looks ready to strangle her, and she has to keep from bursting into a laugh.

"Chk! A despicable move!" Lae'zel breaks in, though Karlach holds her back by the arm before she can stomp over. "Shadowheart won the round – honourably!"

Honour – a naive ideal to impose a semblance of order on a chaotic, unjust world. But Solistre holds her tongue and swallows the scoff in her throat, allowing Lae'zel's proclamation to go unchallenged. By that standard, yes – Shadowheart has won, and Solistre is content to let it stand.

So she keeps her peace when she receives a petulant kick on the foot, and returns the pout with a lazy grin.


For all her braggadocio earlier, aches started to announce themselves while they were seated around the campfire for dinner. Now Solistre finds herself worrying at the bruises on her forearms, feeling more around her calves. In hindsight, she shouldn't have gone against an armed opponent with just her bare hands, nor blocked blows as if her bones were adamantine, but it had been…fun.

Fun. She cannot remember when she'd last had fun without spilling a drop of blood. But it is late and she has somewhere to be, so Solistre casts darker thoughts aside, unconsciously rubbing at her arms as she ducks into Shadowheart's tent.

The canvas sheets fall in place behind her, casting the tent's interior in complete darkness, save for the low-burning candle where Shadowheart sits on their bedrolls with a book in hand. She moves to extinguish the flame, but Solistre waves her off; one candle is nothing compared to the damned sun she endures daily. Shadowheart knows that, of course, but the sentiment is appreciated.

Slipping off her sandals, Solistre settles herself on the bedroll, ready for the sedate hours ahead. It has been a week since Shadowheart first asked to share a tent; in the aftermath of Shadowfell and Moonrise, it is obvious from the persistent shadows beneath her eyes that sleep has been elusive. 'I thought some company might help,' she'd said, eyes averted, and she was right. It has helped to have Solistre's ever-conscious mind to notice when she fidgets or cries in her sleep, and when she jerks awake from nightmares. Often, simply stroking her hair or back is enough to ease her back into slumber. On rough nights, Shadowheart finds comfort in arms holding her firm, soft murmurs of reassurance lulling her into fitful sleep.

It is something they are still getting used to, having someone else share the same bed through the night – the first time in memory for one, and the first time in years for the other. But Shadowheart has slept better in recent days, and Solistre has found precious solace holding the other close, cradling her long after she has fallen asleep, even after her own trance has ended. What had started as a palliative is now habit, and Solistre has started anticipating nightfall for more than its cover of darkness.

Solistre blinks, shaken out of her musings when an upturned palm enters her sight. She looks up at Shadowheart, uncomprehending, and the palm takes her by the wrist. Shadowheart examines the light bruises on her arm, then takes the other to find the same.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"Legs, I think. But I'm fine."

Shadowheart shakes her head, fingers arching into precise gestures. "Should've thought twice before sparring barehanded."

"How better to prove my prowess?" She receives a dry look, and cannot help breaking into a crooked grin.

"Such prowess, that it leaves you in need of healing after."

"I don't need it," she retorts, as Shadowheart murmurs a short incantation. Silver-cerulean light washes over her, alleviating the dull aches in her body. "But I thought you'd like an excuse to touch me."

Shadowheart's lips twitch, nearly breaking her placid mask; though her expression softens as she clasps Solistre's hand, running gentle fingers down her forearm. "I should be thankful then, hm?"

"Of course. The pain I suffer for your enjoyment alone," she croons, tracing a thumb over lips that finally curve into an indulgent smile. "Was Lae'zel right? Was it foreplay?"

A cocked brow. "You have an odd concept of foreplay."

"On the contrary." Solistre slides herself over, closing what little gap remains between their bodies. "What is pleasure without a little challenge, a little pain?"

She leans in, grazing Shadowheart's lips as light as a breeze, waiting for a riposte or denial. It doesn't come, and she seals the unspoken question in a kiss, Shadowheart responding without hesitation. The seed Solistre planted earlier had taken root – she reads it in lips pressing against her own, the arm folding around her waist. She lets Shadowheart slip into her mouth, luxuriating in intimacy turned familiar in recent days, and gets a breathy chuckle when she punctuates Shadowheart's retreat with a bite on the lip.

Catching Shadowheart's next kiss, Solistre holds firm under the muscled body weighing down on her, and pushes Shadowheart onto her back instead. She receives no protest, only a knowing smirk on full lips. The silent implication that she had only been allowed to do so, drives her to kiss that infuriating smirk away. Shadowheart meets her, firm yet malleable – her own desire moulding into the shape of Solistre's reflection, calm in the press of need, a balm on her partner's simmering heart.

Kissing her until their lungs are spent, Solistre pulls away, their breaths heavy against each other. She brushes black bangs from the face they hide, as Shadowheart's fingers card through her own silver tresses. Tucking them behind Solistre's ear, Shadowheart ghosts her knuckles down the line of Solistre's jaw, and cradles her cheek.

"I love you."

She wonders if Shadowheart noticed the hitch in her breath – then realises she doesn't care. It is hardly the first time Shadowheart had said it; since their first declaration, she has repeated it often. In quiet moments together, breaking into a smile when Solistre returns the sentiment. In rare times where they have to part ways, whispered in farewell. In painful vulnerability, uttered like a mantra into Solistre's shoulder, while her own body still shakes from doubt sown by nightmare and visions in oblivion.

It is a source of comfort and stability in the aftermath of Shadowfell, Solistre knows, and is all too happy to provide. It soothes not just Shadowheart, but herself as well – something soft and earnest, that fills her hollow soul with hope, that makes her want to protect rather than destroy.

Shadowheart's thumb drifts across her cheek, and she parts her lips. But affection sticks in her throat when Shadowheart gasps sharply, nails scratching faint red lines across Solistre's cheek as her hand flinches into a fist.

Solistre straightens, heart pounding as she takes Shadowheart's fist in her hands, watching the incurable wound's stark purple flare fade in a matter of seconds. Brief though it is, the pain that wracks Shadowheart leaves her panting, half-arched from the ground. As she sinks back to the bedroll, trembling fist uncurling in the cradle of Solistre's hands, Solistre lifts it and presses her lips to the wound. She knows it doesn't help the pain – despite Shadowheart's assurances to the contrary – but she doesn't know what else to do.

"Does it hurt more?" Solistre asks, stroking the wound gently. "It looks…"

"It's…nothing I haven't felt before. I can handle it." Shadowheart sighs, defeated, growing quiet in thought. "I'd assumed it was random, that it is an…occasional reminder of my duties. But I think I know now – it hurts when I stray from her, and her teachings."

She lifts her wounded hand, brushing her fingers over Solistre's cheek. "I know it hurts when I think of you."

Solistre cocks her head, puzzled. "All the time?"

Shadowheart huffs a quiet laugh, sharing her skepticism. "No. Just in…introspective moments."

Her breath quickens, but she puts on a smirk. "Am I distracting?"

A smile – playful, sincere. "Yes. Delightfully so. You help me forget my troubles."

Solistre stares in silence, no rejoinder rising to her tongue. Her mind is wiped of all thought, frozen by that simple, honest expression of affection.

Shadowheart peers back at her, concern turning into amusement. "Are you blushing?"

She starts, realising that her cheeks are indeed warm. How? Why? Over a hundred years of escapades, and she is thrown by this?

"No. Don't speak nonsense."

"You are!"

"I'm not!"

"Get down here, let me look at you."

"No!"

Solistre yanks her face back from hands trying to cup it, and she reaches for the shadows, dark wisps wreathing the edges of her body.

"Oh no, you don't!" Shadowheart catches on quickly, bolting upright from the bedroll. She summons a bright flash of golden light to her fist, dispelling the darkness around them, and forcing Solistre out of the shadows.

She falls back on Shadowheart's shins with a pained cry, aching eyes screwed shut. "That's cheating!"

"And I won," Shadowheart retorts as the light fades. "Sore loser."

She laughs at Solistre's blind scowl, and leans forward to wrap both arms around her waist, pulling her close.

"You know it hurts. Asshole," Solistre grumbles, rubbing her palms at her eyes, before they are pulled away.

"Hold still."

She feels Shadowheart's lips, warm and soft, press against one eyelid, then the other. Cracking her eyes open, she squints at her partner, blinking the blurry vision into focus.

"Better?"

"One more time."

She closes her eyes again, not bothering to hide her smile, and she hears Shadowheart's soft laugh. Full lips pepper kisses across her eyes, down the length of her nose, and claim her mouth for another lingering kiss.

"How about now?"

"Much better." Solistre dips in, pecking her on the lips once more. "I love you too."

Shadowheart breaks into a smile – tender, heartbreakingly sweet; a sight to live for, even if it meant enduring the glare of a thousand suns each day.


A/N: Something light-hearted to balance out the Gauntlet angst lol.

Were they sparring with actual weapons? Yep. Do they have custody of the braincell? Nope. Does the braincell even exist? Debatable.