A/N: Minor canon deviation in the beginning. As usual, some in-game details and mechanics are tweaked for better narrative flow and focus.

The sun has kissed the horizon, half-hidden behind the Counting House, and Solistre is glad for the reprieve. This day had been particularly hot, tormenting her even under the shade of her hood as they roamed through the city's winding streets. Night cannot fall fast enough for her, though she knows her partner will disagree with the sentiment.

Shadowheart waits for her, resting against the short stone wall overlooking the Chionthar, clad in armour with the Spear of Night strapped to her back. Pedestrians give her a subtle berth; a stream of people bending around a brooding, armed adventurer staring at amber-tinted waters. When Solistre draws close, she scratches her boots over the ground, causing Shadowheart to startle and turn around sharply – allowing Solistre to catch her cheek on waiting lips.

Her relief is palpable; an audible sigh as she relaxes her bunched shoulders, the paranoid glint in green eyes giving way to exasperated affection. Her smile is tight as she takes the wooden skewer of freshly-cut fruit Solistre offers, but doesn't give it a second glance. Instead, she reaches beneath Solistre's hood, stroking her cheek gently.

"Do you really have to keep the disguise?"

Solistre shrugs, moving to stand with her by the wall. "Safer this way. Attracts less attention."

Since their arrival at Rivington outside the city, Solistre has masked her features with a disguise spell every day, despite her companions' insistence that it is unnecessary. Drow are rarely treated with open hostility anymore, but they still attract lingering gazes that make Solistre's ears itch. Extra attention is a detriment in her line of bloody, illicit work, and wearing disguises in settlements has become a habit to cover her tracks and protect her true identity.

Today, she wears one of her favourite disguises – a high elf with tan skin and pale blonde hair. A surface imitation of her true appearance.

Shadowheart's mouth cocks into a wry smile, as she takes a bite of pineapple. "You enjoy it."

"I enjoy it." She doesn't bother denying it. Why do so, when she has found amusement in figuring out which faces get more distracted glances from Shadowheart, who denies doing it when teased?

Shadowheart's gaze turns from her as she pulls a chunk of apple from her own skewer, relishing its juicy crunch as she looks over the waters stretching beyond the city.

It is their second day of searching Baldur's Gate for the Sharran cloister. Against Shadowheart's hopes of being clued in by Sharran lookouts, the first who found her in Rivington revealed nothing. He had made clear that the Mother Superior awaits her return, but thought twice before speaking further. Half of their group had tensed behind Shadowheart, hands grazing the hilts of their weapons, glaring the Sharran down as he expressed disdain for his fallen sister. Then his mouth sealed completely shut when his eyes fell on Jaheira.

"Got the High Harper watching your back, eh?"

"She is not involved in this. Tell me where to go."

A sneer. "Likely story. I won't be the one to bring the Harpers to our door."

Thus he had absconded without another word, leaving Shadowheart and Solistre to wander the city alone, in hopes of luring another Sharran lookout. But they have remained distant, even going so far as to disappear when Shadowheart tried to corner them.

They made their only attempt on Shadowheart just the night before – agents sneaking into camp to cast a sleep spell on her, only to fall prey to the nocturnal beings still prowling the grounds. They revealed their mission to kidnap Shadowheart under her questioning; when no further information came, Solistre was made to stay her blade, while Astarion was allowed a non-fatal sip of fresh vintage before dumping their unconscious bodies by the docks.

"We're getting nowhere."

Solistre looks over, and finds Shadowheart staring at the last piece of pineapple on her skewer.

"I don't want to delay our business with the Absolute, but my parents…" A frustrated sigh, and her fist meets sun-bleached stone with a metallic clink. "Why can't I remember a thing? Even when I'm back here? Even when I need it most?"

Mouth still filled with apple, Solistre settles for laying a hand on her arm. It doesn't draw even the briefest glance; Shadowheart's head is bowed in thought, expression darkening like the sky above. Self-reproach aside, her concern is a valid one. They have little time to spare before dealing with Gortash and Orin, not to mention their companions' personal concerns within the city, and additional problems they had picked up along the way.

These two days have proven that aimless wandering in hopes of catching a Sharran or jogging Shadowheart's memory will not work. They need another course of action.

Solistre thinks over her network of contacts within the city, identifying two possible sources of information. Usually the underworld is her first choice, but this matter is too personal, and she doesn't want to risk exposing it to…unsavoury criminal elements. Plus, Nine-Fingers Keene never gives out information without a price, just as Solistre never eliminates Keene's rivals without a hefty payment.

So that leaves her with one last option.

"Give me a night," Solistre says, drawing Shadowheart's attention. "Let me talk to my contacts, see if they know anything."

Shadowheart leans in, eager. "I'll come with you."

"They…would prefer to remain secret to most."

"I am the one who needs this information, Sol." She has straightened herself, resolve written in the set of her shoulders, but softens to add, "I won't let you risk yourself for me."

Solistre huffs. "There is no risk. And I would risk everything for you."

"That is unnecessary, and I am coming along." Shadowheart clasps her hand tightly. "I won't let you go alone."

Solistre allows herself a moment to ponder, before admitting there is no talking her partner down. "Fine."

They return to camp, share dinner with their companions, then retreat into their tent to prepare. When the stillness of midnight falls over the city, they cast magical disguises on themselves, followed by an invisibility spell from Solistre, and slip out of the campsite. They enter the nearest tavern – still rowdy with drunk, singing patrons – where Solistre drops the invisibility spell in a dark corner, before walking out with Shadowheart arm-in-arm. Just a couple spending time together, unworthy of attention from lookouts and cultists alike.

Solistre leads them on a roundabout path through the gardens – admittedly enjoying Shadowheart's closeness as they stroll through flower beds, wishing this time was for themselves instead of a mere diversion. After drawing Shadowheart into a kiss – and glancing behind her partner to ensure the coast is clear – Solistre leads them towards the graveyard.

"This temple to Eilistraee…" Shadowheart keeps her voice low. "I don't understand. If they seek to do good and build relations with other races, why do they still hide?"

"That is not their only goal." Solistre turns them into the graveyard. "This chapter coordinates infiltration missions to embed agents in the cities of the Underdark – Menzoberranzan, Ched Nasad… They gather information and guide people onto Eilistraee's path, where they can. Should they incur the Dark Mother's wrath – or that of the Houses – assassins will have a hard time locating them in a foreign city as large as Baldur's Gate."

Shadowheart hums thoughtfully, as they approach a nondescript mausoleum in the corner, and walk down its steps. "If they seek to convert Lolth's followers…why haven't they converted you?"

"The gods are dead to me."

"Ooh," Shadowheart plays along. "I love a godless woman with no morals."

Solistre shoots a dry stare at the teasing smile, and elbows her partner in the ribs, dramatically throwing off Shadowheart's arm. She approaches a wide alcove behind the empty sarcophagus, occupied by a dusty statue of Kelemvor. Stepping behind the statue, she pushes a hidden button on its plinth. The alcove's back wall grinds open, revealing a narrow stairway leading down into pitch darkness.

"Do you need light?" Solistre whispers.

"No, it's alright."

Shadowheart holds onto her elbow as they descend the stairs, but Solistre slips out of her grasp when they reach a short passageway.

At its end is a set of iron doors, guarded by a pair of leather-garbed drow guards who tense at their approach. Solistre raises her hands when they heft their spears, eyeing the two women warily.

"Stay your weapons." She dispels the magical disguise.

The guards blink, staring at her in quiet surprise. The younger man's mouth curls down – an expected reaction. Drigath and Solistre were never the most cordial of…acquaintances.

"You've been missing for months. There's no telling where you've been," Drigath growls. "How do we know you're really her? Not a creature wearing her face?"

Solistre suppresses her curiosity in favour of a reciprocal sneer. "Lower the weapon, male, or do I have to teach you manners?"

The older guard relaxes by a fraction and lowers his weapon, smoothing back his long white hair tiredly. "Peace, Solistre – and mind your own manners. We have had a…very trying time." He looks her over. "Where have you been? You'd left the temple just before the mind flayer ship attacked. The high priestess has been trying to contact you."

"I've been busy, Rirdal. Now, will you let me through or not?"

"First – the passphrase."

"May the light of her wisdom dispel the darkness of the mind."

"That's the old phrase," Drigath scoffs, but Rirdal raises his hand.

"We changed it after she left. She couldn't know." He regards Solistre, then Shadowheart – who has dropped her disguise as well. "We welcome all to Eilistraee's sanctuary, but we rarely receive visitors who are not drow. You are…?"

"I am her friend," Shadowheart replies.

"You have friends?" Drigath breaks in, eyeing Solistre dourly.

Her lips peel back, on the verge of a snarl, when Rirdal continues.

"Please, state your business." The ring on his finger pulses subtly with magical energy. When Solistre scowls at the attempted intrusion into her mind, Rirdal raises a hand appeasingly. "Merely a security measure. We need to know you are speaking the truth. I have no interest in your deepest secrets."

Solistre grits her teeth, and allows the probing presence to enter her mind. "We need to speak with the high priestess. She is involved." She gestures at Shadowheart.

Rirdal sifts through her thoughts, examining memories of the recent past. Solistre forces herself to remain calm, open to his search. She allows him a taste of their intent to find the Sharran enclave, their hunger for information after a fruitless search, then shuts him out before he can find the reason.

His eyes widen by a fraction, and he nods slowly, withdrawing from Solistre's mind. "For all our sakes, I hope you don't cause any trouble inside."

"We'll see."

"You have our word," Shadowheart adds, after Solistre's flippant answer makes Rirdal's mouth twitch.

"I have yours, at least." Rirdal bows his head to Shadowheart, finally breaking into a small smile as he steps aside. But Drigath lowers his spear across the doors before they can pass.

"Just like that?" Drigath points at Solistre. "She could be a doppelganger, for all we know! Or one of those brainwashed cultists–!"

Solistre growls sharply and walks forward, shoving aside the spear Drigath holds over the door. "Worthless man," she hisses, loud enough to hear.

She has to bite down a smile when Drigath sputters indignantly behind her, ever-patient Rirdal calming him down. Her placid expression nearly cracks when Shadowheart nudges her hand discreetly – a reminder to behave.

With composure intact, Solistre leads her partner past the entrance chamber and cuts through the prayer hall, where they receive a mix of curious and suspicious glances from the temple's residents. Some nod at Solistre, and she returns the silent greetings curtly, before leaving the hall and turning into a long corridor. She approaches the sole door guarded by an armed warrior, who fixes them with a cool, red-eyed stare.

"I seek an audience with Priestess Olynrae."

He looks both Solistre and Shadowheart over, then bows his head – purely out of decorum, without a single trace of warmth or recognition. He opens the door to announce their arrival, and receives swift permission to let them in.

The guard holds the door open for Solistre and Shadowheart to walk through, but they have just crossed the threshold when the priestess speaks.

"Stay where you are."

She is curt and, though not forceful, the weight of her voice demands obedience. Solistre stops just inside the door, holding a hand in front of Shadowheart, and is all too aware of the guard's looming presence behind them.

Priestess Olynrae stands at the far end of the study, setting a book back into the shelf, before turning around to look at her visitors. Her eyes flicker over Shadowheart, then back to Solistre.

"What is the name of the one who gave their life for yours?"

An unexpected blow straight through Solistre's ribs, knocking the wind from her lungs. She whispers, weaker than she'd ever allow, "What?"

"Their name, please."

Solistre grits her teeth, long-buried grief clawing its way up to her throat, but she spits out a different venom, "I don't see how this is relevant to–"

"Please." Olynrae repeats, softer, but still firm. "Indulge me."

Solistre stares back at her through the unlit room, galled by the need for this…exhumation. Even more so when she understands it, thinking back on the guards' words. Her throat works painfully, and she is acutely aware of Shadowheart's attention on her.

"Ilivastra," she says quickly, hushed and rough, then swallows down the dangerous lump in her throat.

Olynrae watches her longer, through a handful of uncomfortable seconds, before she relaxes. At her nod, the guard closes the door behind them. The priestess waves them in, walking forward to greet them.

"Forgive me. Doppelgangers may wear your appearance, even mimic your knowledge and habits. But they can never imitate such a visceral reaction." Olynrae raises her hands to Solistre, palms up. "I had thought you missing, beyond our reach. It soothes my heart to see you alive and well, Solistre."

Solistre stares at her palms, tempted to snub the gesture for that…callous reacquaintance. But the priestess has always been sincere in her good intentions, even if her methods have a cold touch on a few, necessary occasions.

She sets her hands in Olynrae's thinner, vein-lined counterparts, which clasp her back as a smile graces the priestess' lips. Olynrae seems exhausted, Solistre notes, with shadows hanging beneath her silver-studded violet eyes, the lines more pronounced on her face. But she carries it with a regal air; grey-streaked blonde hair combed back neatly, plain silvers on her ears and wrists, and silver-threaded midnight blue robes that flow smoothly from her shoulders.

"You've had trouble with doppelgangers?"

"And more," Olynrae replies, squeezing her gently, before letting go. "But we have purged the infiltrators, and are starting to recover. Slower than I would like, with all that is happening around us, but we are in better shape now."

Olynrae looks at Shadowheart, and puts on a warmer, inviting mien that makes her look younger than her five hundred years. "Pardon my manners. I am Olynrae, high priestess of this temple to our Lady of the Dance, Eilistraee. I bid you welcome…?"

"Shadowheart. I am a friend of Solistre's."

"A friend?" Olynrae's brows rise as her smile turns teasing, and Solistre rolls her eyes. "I see we have made progress."

"'We' have made no progress. If anything, I did."

"Of course," Olynrae concurs. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Shadowheart. What is it that brings you here? I know Solistre is not the type for casual visits."

Solistre takes a deep breath and wills her temper to stay dormant, catching Shadowheart's amused glance. And here she'd thought that asking for help would be the hardest thing to do.

"We need your help."

Olynrae nods, beckoning them to follow as she strolls to her desk, where two chairs are set for visitors. But neither of them sit, and even Olynrae chooses to stand beside her own chair, lighting two candles on the desk for her half-elf guest.

"We are looking for a hidden Sharran cloister in the city. Do you know anything of it?"

Olynrae tilts her head curiously, looking between them in appraisal. "I do, yes. But I would know why you are searching for it."

"Does it matter? It is important."

"We are talking about the followers of Shar. Yes, it does matter."

"I assure you, we do not intend to join them."

A faint smile. "I should hope not."

Shadowheart raises a hand to Solistre, stepping forward. "The business is mine. The cloister has…something precious to me. I need to take it back."

"I'm sure you understand that this is a dangerous endeavour."

A quiet, bitter chuckle leaves Shadowheart's lips. "Oh, I do. Intimately."

Olynrae watches her closely, perceptive eyes giving her a once-over. "I know of them. I know their location, and I have crossed paths with their mother superior in the past. Viconia DeVir – a formidable woman, not to be trifled with."

"So are we."

Olynrae returns Solistre's smirk with an indulgent smile. "You are. But she has a history longer and bloodier than yours. Do not underestimate her."

"We will not."

"Please." Shadowheart steps in again. "I appreciate your concern, and I understand the danger we are walking into. But I have no choice in this matter. I need to face her."

Olynrae's expression darkens briefly, then clears. "Very well. Do you have a map?"

Shadowheart pulls a map from her bag, and unfolds it on Olynrae's desk. The priestess runs a finger across the northern section of the Lower City, until it rests on a building in the northwest.

"The House of Grief. Where those…'burdened' by sorrows go to have their troubles lifted from their shoulders. Most who return appear safe and happy, if a little…forgetful. But there are some whose minds are irrevocably altered. They suffer a severe loss of memories, and do not quite recover themselves."

Shadowheart nods. "Sounds familiar."

"The only entrance I know of is through the House itself. If they have secret entrances or exits, my own agents have been unable to locate them." Olynrae taps her fingertips on the map idly. "The place is guarded at all hours by their own, and the Flaming Fist does not patrol the area regularly. When you are there, do look out for yourselves. If you plan to…cause some excitement, bring a few friends along, at least."

She regards Shadowheart and Solistre quietly, as they stare at the map, lost in thought. "Take utmost care in this matter. I would see you safe – the both of you."

Shadowheart smiles. "Thank you."

Olynrae straightens herself, seemingly satisfied by the answer. "Is that all you came for?" She watches them nod. "Will you leave now? Or do you have a moment to catch up?"

Solistre exchanges a glance with Shadowheart.

"Shadowheart is welcome to stay and chat as well. I am curious how you came to travel together."

Solistre sighs, reluctant. "It's a long story. We don't have much time…" She looks at Shadowheart, who just shrugs. "Fine. But you have to promise to stay calm."

Olynrae raises her brows.

One thing about the surface Solistre likes – the air is much lighter and crisp, compared to the stillness of the underground. As they leave the mausoleum, once more in disguise, she draws a deep breath to break through the tightness in her throat, and breathes out the ache in her chest.

Damn her soft spot for Olynrae. She should not have stayed to chat.

When Solistre starts walking towards the graveyard's wrought iron gates, a grip on her elbow forces her to stop, turning her around to face Shadowheart.

"Are you alright?"

Her smile is forced. "Yes. Why?"

Shadowheart merely gives her a look, and she regrets letting the question slip. She cannot deny the pall over her heart since the priestess had asked for that beloved name. In their chat after, Olynrae had taken news of their tadpoled condition with surprising calm. Then, to Solistre's chagrin, she figured out the intimate bond between them, and gave her a warm smile.

"I am glad to see you healing."

A comment borne of genuine compassion, and it wound Solistre so tight that she had jumped out of her seat, making excuses to leave before her temper took root. What in Hells did Olynrae mean? That the wound in her heart had started to close, when she still feels its hollow depth gouged into her chest? That Shadowheart is merely a salve to soothe the hurt? That she had started to let go, to forget such an important sacrifice–?

No. No, she is allowing her thoughts to run free, smearing the priestess' image into untruth. Olynrae deserves better than that, after taking in a broken child of the Spider Queen.

Solistre clenches her jaw, forcing wayward thoughts down. "I'm fine. Don't fret over me."

"It still hurts, clearly."

"It does," Solistre admits, if only to mollify her partner. "I'll deal with it."

"Sol." Shadowheart tightens her grip on Solistre's arm when she tries to walk ahead, and Solistre turns around with an exasperated sigh.

"I said, don't worry. It's not important right now. We have bigger things to deal with."

"You can't keep running from it forever."

Solistre stares at her quietly, weighing her options. "Time and place, love. And this graveyard is not it."

Shadowheart heaves a sigh, dotted with defeated laughter. "You are so difficult." She cups Solistre's face, kissing her forehead, then dips down to her lips. "I love you."

"And your love sustains me," Solistre murmurs. "Now, can we find a better place to be intimate?"

Shadowheart laughs again, louder this time, and settles for holding Solistre's hand as they stroll out of the graveyard together.

The next morning, they gather around the campfire, munching on eggs and bacon while they lay out their plans for the day. They agree to split into two groups; Wyll leading Lae'zel, Halsin, and Astarion on a covert mission to free Counsellor Florrick from the jails, while Shadowheart takes the rest for a visit to the House of Grief. The Blade had offered his rapier to Shadowheart's aid, but she declined, not wishing to invite instant hostility by showing up with a small army on her heels.

Their morning is spent checking over equipment, packing potions and poisons into pouches, and discussing strategy before setting off with blessings from Dame Aylin and Isobel.

Shadowheart is quiet as she leads the way to the House of Grief; Karlach, Jaheira, and Gale match her silence as they follow behind, though they are less subdued. Solistre walks astride Shadowheart, ignoring glances cast at the drow visage under her hood, while she keeps half a mind on her partner. Shadowheart had slept fitfully through the night, and Solistre is not quite sure she is well-rested for what is to come.

No matter. Even if Shadowheart falters, they will be there to bolster her strength, and pick her up if need be. She has come so far – and they will help her see this through to the end.

When they turn onto the last stretch of cobblestone road leading to the House of Grief, Solistre brushes their hands together, and Shadowheart grabs her in return. She squeezes briefly – and painfully, grinding Solistre's knuckles together – before letting go. Solistre's heart lurches, but she gathers the worry and fear welling up in her chest, and casts them aside. She wills her blood to slow, allowing a chill to set into her veins, as leather-garbed guards on the House's perimeter watch Shadowheart's approach. Her responsibility, here and now, is not the inner workings of Shadowheart's mind, but her safety. None shall lay a finger on her, and any who does will pay a steep blood price.

Solistre's hand hovers close to her dagger as they enter the House's grounds. Though the guards casually close ranks around their armed visitors, they make no move to prevent them from entering the House proper. An attendant greets them cordially, but she makes no effort to hide her distaste while addressing Shadowheart.

"There's been some debate whether you'd even show up and face the consequences of your actions. I assumed you'd try to flee, like a craven."

Karlach shifts restlessly behind Shadowheart, while Solistre stares at the attendant's bare neck.

"Spare me your venom." Steel clads Shadowheart's voice – an old hardness she had carried at the very start of their journey, in the wreckage of a nautiloid. "I'm sure the Mother Superior will have plenty of her own. Where is she?"

"All in due time."

"I am not interested in playing games–"

"As I said – all in due time. First you submit to the Mapping of the Heart – only then can we know what is to be done with you." The attendant spreads her arms, delivering a practised spiel for the benefit of Shadowheart's companions. "This is the House of Grief; we strive to help those whose hearts have grown heavy, be it with anger, melancholy, grief…or treachery. Submit to the Mapping, and reveal what lurks in your heart. If you consent, follow me. If you do not, leave."

"How about…" Karlach's voice is light with mock levity as she steps forward, glaring the attendant down while gripping her halberd. "...we just walk right in, and get down to business?"

Shadowheart raises a hand before the attendant can respond. "It's alright, Karlach. I will do the Mapping."

"Follow me."

The attendant leads them to the backroom, which is occupied by a lone granite bench. She tries to protest when the entire group files in behind Shadowheart, but a collective glare dissuades her from speaking, and she leaves without another word.

"What are we supposed to do?" Karlach asks, looking around at the shelves and tapestries hung on the walls.

"Just…wait for me."

At Shadowheart's gesture, they shuffle aside to wait by the wall, while she sits on the bench. Seconds pass in silence, then a hooded black-robed figure materialises from thin air, seated beside Shadowheart.

"Do you know why you are here?"

Solistre's ears prick at the faintest drow lilt in her words.

"There is something I lost…no, had taken from me. My family. My life. I want it all back–"

"Loss is a gift, girl. Do you still not understand that? Now give me the true answer – what is your purpose in being here?"

Shadowheart's hand curls into a fist on her thigh, then relaxes. "The artefact. I was sent to retrieve it. At any cost."

"And who tasked you with this mission?"

"The Mother Superior." Shadowheart falls silent for a moment. "You."

"Give me the honour of my name. In full."

"Mother Superior…Viconia DeVir."

The figure rises from the bench, pulling down her hood to reveal the face of a drow woman with pale blonde hair, and an imperious bearing that rivals any matron mother of Menzoberranzan. Mother Superior and traitor turn towards each other, locking eyes for the first time.

"Viconia DeVir." Jaheira finally breaks in, after her surprised fidget when Shadowheart spoke the name. "If only Shar would bless me with the forgetting of your face."

Karlach snorts openly, though it doesn't deter a cold smile from rising to Viconia's lips.

"Always a pleasure to see old acquaintances. But you would be wise not to interfere in what is to come."

"Unfortunately, I am not always wise."

Viconia's smile does not waver as she turns her attention back to Shadowheart. "Descend – you have much to answer for."

She disappears in a flash of light.

"An astral projection. Very clever. I'll stay on my toes around this one."

"You will need to stay on more than your toes, Karlach," Gale says. His staff is already in hand, as a section of the floor indents, tiles turning into stairs that lead them below the House. "Ah, how nice. The only thing that is lacking is a red carpet. Shall we?"

Shadowheart nods stiffly, and leads the way down.

They descend into a basement with wooden floor tiles and off-white stone walls – nothing out of the ordinary, save for the obsidian sculpture at its centre, ringed by dark purple candles.

Shadowheart takes a sharp, quiet breath, and stops before the sculpture. "This is it. Where I was raised, trained. Hells, it's strange to be back."

"Need a moment?" Karlach asks.

"No, I'm fine. Just…trying to remember. Let's go."

They head through the doors, and find themselves at the top of more stairs that descend deeper into a structure reminiscent of the Gauntlet of Shar. As they walk down, Solistre takes in the obsidian walls, purple-and-gold tapestries, and the statues of Shar lining the walls. An unpleasant reminder of their time in the Gauntlet, except there isn't a cryptic, oppressive darkness threatening to suffocate her, or someone to fear losing.

She glimpses Shadowheart from the corner of her eye, and finds only tension written in her fine profile. Solistre reaches out to her tadpole, brushing against it in a tentative question. Shadowheart remains still, then opens up – allowing her to feel the nauseating churn of fear and anticipation, and the weight of grim determination beneath. Solistre feels Shadowheart touch her in turn, resting against her cool detachment, which seems to quiet the discomfiting stir of emotion in her partner's chest. She receives a single pulse – in thanks and promise – before Shadowheart closes herself off again.

At the very bottom of the stairs, they pass a set of heavy doors that slide apart at their approach, and enter the main chamber. Viconia stands upon a dais, in the midst of a sermon to her followers, which she brings to a graceful stop when Shadowheart stands before her.

"They already heard how you disgraced yourself before Lady Shar. How she marked you as the enemy. But it is quite another thing for them to see it for themselves." Viconia's voice carries easily across the chamber, her authority undeniable. "I am very glad you decided to return. A cautionary tale such as yours will be studied by Lady Shar's initiates for years to come. But."

She allows the word to linger, a rotten bait of hope. "Perhaps I can make a case for some small measure of mercy. Give me the artefact, and I can at least make this quick."

"Enough. I don't answer to you. Not anymore." Shadowheart has taken a step forward – unbowed before the hand that had once broken her. "I'm here for my family."

Viconia's assured mask cracks, allowing a scowl to seep through.

"That's right. I know what you did. And it's not going to be quick – not for you."

The Mother Superior recovers, and gestures at her followers – who stand at every corner of the chamber. They are all armed; there is no doubt why they had gathered here. Solistre does a quick headcount that rises beyond the twenties, and her skin prickles at the danger, blood thrumming with the promise of adrenaline.

"This is your family. And now you have turned your back on it. The artefact was your last chance to prove yourself – and you squandered it." Viconia's eyes rove over Shadowheart's companions, and come to rest upon Solistre. "You there. I know of your fight against the Absolute and its cult. We have a shared interest in the Absolute's destruction. Surrender Shadowheart to me, now, and you can consider Lady Shar's forces your allies in the battles to come."

Solistre smiles, patronising and empty, closing her hands over the daggers she had itched to draw since they'd first entered the House of Grief. "Never."

"As you like." Viconia draws her mace and shield, raising her weapon high. "L'il Alurl! For Shar!"

Two spells streak towards them immediately, but Gale counters them with ease. As planned, the party turns their attention towards the followers swarming towards them, keeping the path clear for Shadowheart to charge towards Viconia. Gale and Jaheira cast a fireball and ice storm at each side of the chamber, throwing the Sharrans into disarray while Karlach and Solistre fly into their ranks, ripping into the survivors.

Even with the promising start and Jaheira's summoned dryad entering the fray, the battle turns hard and brutal. The Sharrans' martial styles are similar to forms used by undead Justiciars in the Gauntlet of Shar, but refined through the years, and bolstered by sound strategy. They split themselves into small squads, isolating each member of the party from one another with precise shrouds of darkness and expert maneuvers.

Solistre realises their mistake when she hears Gale cry out in pain, and turns in time to watch him crack one assassin's skull with his staff, deep red blossoming over the side of his robes. A sword cuts across his arm, and he lets out a rare cry of anger, spraying flames in a circle to ward off his ambushers.

She starts running towards him, ready to evade the swords and staves barring her way, when a blade bites into her back. She staggers from pain, but doesn't turn around, knowing the indecision will get her killed. Instead, she melts into the shadows and emerges by Gale's side, as he throws out a lightning bolt that sends two Sharrans falling back, writhing on the floor.

"Gale!" Solistre barks, dark magic weaving between her fingers. "Potion!"

She memorises the positions of their foes, then cuts her fist down, summoning an impenetrable field of darkness over them. Amid panicked scuffles of boots on the ground, Solistre hears the pop of a cork beside her, while she flies into action. Her blades miss some targets, but hit most – tearing apart soft throats, biting into unarmoured flesh, even sinking into an eye socket for one. Her body moves on instinct, senses attuned to darkness that even her own eyes cannot pierce, and she feels her mouth parting in a grin. The drip of blood on her hands, the taste of copper on her lips, the scent of death in the air – she is home, she is alive.

Her hunt, her ecstasy, however, is soon shot through by Gale's exclamation, "Sol! I can't see a damn thing!"

She growls, but desists after claiming one more kill. Shadow stepping to his side, she grabs him by the waist, and drags him to the edge of the darkness.

"Thunderwave," she hisses in his ear.

Gale gestures swiftly, and sends forth a thunderous blast that knocks their remaining pursuers back, allowing Solistre to drag the wizard away from conjured darkness. He doesn't stop, however, and follows through with one last fireball to finish them off, before Solistre tosses him onto the floor behind a pillar.

She sinks to one knee beside him, finally feeling the cuts and bruises all over her body, and grits her teeth when Gale grabs the dagger still embedded in her back.

"Did you really just laugh when I pulled that out?" Gale asks, toneless in his fatigue. He tosses the weapon aside, and plucks two more potions from his belt, handing one to Solistre.

Her smile turns into a grimace when she pulls out the potion's cork, sending a lance of pain down her back. "Habit."

"Do I want to know how that becomes a habit?"

"It's how you stay sane in Menzoberranzan." Solistre downs the potion in one gulp, tossing the vial aside. "And how you get good orgasms."

"I did not hear you talk about orgasms in–, the fight!"

Gale scrambles to his knees beside Solistre, and they look over the chamber together. Shadowheart and Viconia are still engaged in a vicious duel – both their shields lie discarded on the floor, scratched and dented out of shape, as they meet each other mace-for-spell. One of Shadowheart's pauldrons has been ripped clean off, and her armour is littered with deep gouges – but she looks in better shape than Viconia, whose robes are torn and dripping with blood. They bear burns and scorch marks from divine light, but the pain doesn't slow them down.

At the far end of the chamber, Jaheira is kneeling beside a broken pile of wood, bent over and clutching at a heavily bleeding thigh. Karlach is lost to rage, swinging her halberd in wild arcs to hack apart any who dares close in on the High Harper.

"Fireball?" Solistre asks.

"I'm out."

"Lightning?"

"Nothing."

Solistre eyes Jaheira, who seems to have trouble calling on the earth's healing magic, in between lashing out with a thorny whip to keep their attackers at bay. Less than ten of them remain – they will fall easily between Karlach and Solistre.

"Heal scroll?"

"Yes."

"Get Jaheira. I'll handle the rest."

Taking her daggers from where she'd laid them on the floor, Solistre moves through the shadows, and sinks both blades into one cultist sneaking up behind Karlach. The tiefling whirls around with a roar, halberd raised over her head. But her blazing ember eyes widen in recognition, and she spins back around, cleaving two heads in one swoop.

"About time you got here!" Karlach yells, falling into a familiar dance with Solistre at her side. Halberd and daggers moving in sync, they execute the five remaining Sharrans, and take a moment to catch their breath.

Jaheira utters gruff reassurance to Gale as he helps the Harper to her feet, joining Solistre and Karlach to watch Shadowheart back Viconia onto the dais where she had first stood.

"Should we…get involved?" Karlach asks, uncertain. "This feels kinda personal."

No one else speaks, and Solistre ignores the eyes on her. Her first instinct is to drive her daggers into Viconia's back while Shadowheart keeps her occupied – a victory is a victory, no matter the means that attained it. But that would steal the sweetness of vengeance from her. Does Shadowheart even want revenge? Does it matter, when her survival takes priority?

Shadowheart swings her mace into Viconia's wrist, shattering it with a loud, sickening crack. Viconia drops her own mace, pained cry cut short when Shadowheart charges into her, driving an elbow deep into her gut. Viconia folds into the blow, but Shadowheart doesn't follow through. She stiffens unexpectedly and jumps back – too slow to avoid the dagger in Viconia's left hand, which rips the leathers across her stomach, just below her breastplate.

Solistre startles into action, cursing herself for her hesitance as fresh blood wells up in Shadowheart's wound, spraying across the ground when Viconia delivers a hard kick to her stomach. Heat balled into Solistre's palm, she flings it true – the fire bolt bursts across Viconia's side, searing through her dress to eat into flesh. The fiery impact halts Viconia mid-lunge, allowing Shadowheart to close in and swing her mace into Viconia's side, breaking her ribs. Mimicking the Mother Superior's move, Shadowheart drives her boot into Viconia's stomach viciously, kicking her onto her back. Viconia tries to rear the dagger back for a throw, but Shadowheart kicks it out of her hand.

"Fuck yeah!" Karlach's shout echoes through the chamber, as she pumps her bloody fists.

Solistre sighs in much quieter relief, and moves to join Shadowheart on the dais.

Despite her wounds, Viconia has propped herself up on one elbow, glaring at Shadowheart while Jaheira quietly casts a healing spell over the group. It doesn't mend all their wounds, but it closes the most severe, lightening the trickle of blood from their bodies.

"Finish it," Viconia rasps. "Send me to Lady Shar's embrace."

"I still need answers. Where are my parents?"

Viconia's mouth stretches into a taunting smile. "So blunt – have you forgotten all the interrogation techniques I taught you? Where is the finesse?"

"Answer me!"

Shadowheart's demand is punctuated by Solistre's boot slamming into Viconia's diaphragm, causing her to flinch with a choked gasp, blood dripping from her mouth. Shadowheart holds a hand out to Solistre, who eases the pressure, allowing Viconia to breathe.

"Where are they?"

"They are in the Chamber of Loss." Viconia nods towards the steps behind them. "Where they have been all along. You saw them many times, only we made you forget. But they didn't forget. They watched, as we moulded you. They watched. They wept. They bled – often at your hand. It may not be a happy reunion, but it will be a memorable one."

Solistre grinds her heel down, cutting Viconia's vindictive laugh short. An armoured hand clutches at her ankle, too weak to move her. "She's just trying to rile you up."

"I know. But she's not lying. She made me in her image." Shadowheart's eyes never leave Viconia's hateful glare. "Why? Why me? Why all this effort?"

"Lady Shar commanded me. And I obeyed. I do not question – I merely act as she wills me to." Her voice is rough with resentment. "I had an enclave in Waterdeep, you know. Much grander than this. Shar ordered me to raze it, kill all who followed me – claim they betrayed me, when in fact I slew those who showed nothing but loyalty. Shar had me do that, and I did. To cover my tracks. To usher in you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You became my mission. To take a child of Selune's, and turn her over to Lady Shar. To show that all light fades, and darkness will prevail in the end. All this to make you into what the Dark Lady needed you to be – the planning. The training. Those deaths in Waterdeep. It was all to groom you to replace me at her right hand side. And still, you threw it away."

Solistre scoffs, while the knowledge sinks into Shadowheart in silence. "Are you expecting sympathy?"

"Sympathy is for the weak. I merely wanted to say my piece. I wanted her to know the cost of her education. Now do what you will." Viconia turns her head to dislodge blood that had pooled in her mouth.

Solistre looks to Shadowheart, who meets her eyes.

"I want to see my parents. And I don't care what happens to this one. She's been in my head long enough already." Shadowheart turns away. "Do what you like. I know you'll choose well."

Viconia's eyes widen as Shadowheart walks away. "What are you doing? Come back and finish this yourself. You owe me that!"

Shadowheart slows to a stop, but doesn't turn back. "Let go, Mother. Embrace loss."

Jaheira sends Karlach and Gale to follow Shadowheart, while Solistre draws her dagger again. Stepping over Viconia's body, Solistre lowers herself with one knee across the priestess' chest, forcing her back to the ground. She rests her entire weight on Viconia, suffocating her slowly, and rests a dagger on her throat.

"From which house did you fall, child?" Viconia breathes, staring into Solistre's eyes. "To become the pet of a failed experiment?"

Solistre growls – not so much at the insult to herself, but Shadowheart. She presses the dagger down, drawing a thin line of blood from Viconia's neck. "A house that means as much as yours now, DeVir. How desperate were you, to run from the arms of one cruel goddess to another?"

Viconia's bloodied lips part in a snarl. "You will never understand what I went through."

"No. But I understand what you put Shadowheart through." Her blade digs deeper, but Viconia does not flinch. "I only regret that I cannot make your death more excruciating."

She lifts her dagger, and stabs it deep into the side of Viconia's neck, ripping her throat open in one smooth motion. A gratuitous move; one she'd indulged often in Menzoberranzan, practised and savoured on the necks of hated rivals. Warm blood splatters over her face, hair, and leathers, while Viconia dies with stubborn dignity, barely letting out a gurgle as she chokes on her own blood. Solistre sits on her chest, watching the life drain from her eyes.

"You enjoyed that." Jaheira's comment shakes her from her quiet pleasure.

"And if I did?" Solistre stands, nonchalant, and takes the waterskin Jaheira holds out to her.

"I will not say she does not deserve her fate. Gods know what horrors she has committed. But…" She eyes Viconia longer and shrugs, tired from an age of experience. "It was not easy circumstances that drove her, and led her to this end. It bears some reflection, at least."

Solistre ponders this unexpected sliver of compassion as she pours water over herself, washing off most of the blood on her. When the waterskin is empty, she slicks her hair back and reaches up to fix her kohl, but Jaheira has already raised a hand to her face.

"You were lucky that Olynrae had taken you in, a gentle hand for guidance after you left the Underdark." Jaheira wipes at the corners of her eyes. "Viconia had no such fortune."

Solistre blinks. "You know her…?"

Jaheira smiles wryly. "I know much of this city and those who live in it. She sent me a message after your visit. Asked me to watch out for you and Shadowheart."

"That's fast."

Shrugging, Jaheira lowers her hand and looks Solistre over, satisfied. "Come, let's catch up to them."

Wiping off the water on her cheeks, Solistre stares down at Viconia's body in thought, then leaves with Jaheira to find their companions.

They find Shadowheart, Karlach, and Gale waiting outside a door of smooth obsidian and inlaid gold. Shadowheart paces, hands wringing together, but her clouded eyes brighten when Solistre draws close.

"Is she…?"

"Dead."

She nods, then looks at the obsidian door. "This should be it – the Chamber of Loss. I…can feel it."

But she doesn't move, gaze jerking away when Solistre sets a hand on her back.

"Let's go," Solistre says gently.

Shadowheart stares longer at solid obsidian, takes a slow breath, and squares her shoulders. She walks forward, and the obsidian door slides apart, allowing them entry.

They descend a flight of steps into the chamber built into a great cavern, with no walls to hide the natural stalagmites flanking obsidian floors. At its centre is a pair of vertical discs ringed with glowing inscriptions. Each bears a prisoner dressed in rags, held aloft by magic binding them to the discs' fathomless black surface.

As they move close, Solistre discerns the features of an elven man – the very same they'd seen in Shadowheart's memories, with new streaks of grey in his black hair, and lines carved into his face by the unkind years. Her father, then. Which means the human woman beside him is Shadowheart's mother, with a full head of white hair, and green eyes of the same shape as her daughter.

Shadowheart freezes in her tracks when the couple's eyes turn towards them. Solistre touches her back again, and Shadowheart jerks forward, forcing herself to walk close.

"It can't be." His eyes look Shadowheart over, lingering on her white hair. "Another vile trick…"

Purple light flares in Shadowheart's hand. She grips her wrist with a gasp, riding out the pain with fist clenched.

"No, there is no trick." Her mother's voice cracks at the edges. "It's her. Jenevelle. Jen. Our little girl."

"Jen?" His hard stare softens, meeting Shadowheart's eyes. "Moonmaiden's grace. It is you."

"I–, I'm here to get you out of here." Shadowheart finally finds her voice, strained as it is. "They're all gone. It's over-agh!"

Shadowheart bends over, body wracked with pain, as the incurable wound's glow builds to an intense gleam. Her knees buckle, and Solistre rushes over, grabbing her by the waist to soften her fall. Shadowheart shakes terribly, half-sagging in her hold, and Solistre uncurls Shadowheart's fist before her nails draw more blood from her palm.

"Are you–"

The air is stolen from Solistre's lungs, when the chamber falls away around them, leaving them suspended in…a void. A nothingness so deep and hollow that it threatens to suck the warmth from her flesh, the life from her soul. Oblivion – true oblivion, that demands obeisance on bent knees and bowed heads, a complete surrender to the end of all life.

A towering figure materialises from the void – a statue of Shar come to life before their eyes. But this is no mere sculpture, no empty personification of the hungry abyss.

"It is not over," Shar declares, multi-toned and silken smooth.

Light falls away from Shadowheart's wound, and she starts pushing herself up. Solistre helps her to her feet, then retreats – but not too far that it leaves Shadowheart's back exposed.

"You see? It matters not if you raze this place, if you slay every one of your brothers and sisters. That was never where my power resided." Though her headdress covers her eyes, the weight of her gaze upon Shadowheart is heavy, inescapable. "Every time you try to step away from me, every time you try to reach for Selûne, my hold on you bites deeper. If you had learned, if you had obeyed, there would be no pain. But you struggle on. You make things worse for yourself. And for them."

"You're not a goddess. You're a monster!" Shadowheart roars back at her, into the abyss.

Shar's head tilts, unmoved, as one observes an ant crawling in the dirt. "I am neither. I am nothing. I am the empty room. The dreamless sleep. The shadow's shadow. There was no pain before my sister set the sun aflame. Now you exist to suffer, until you find your way back to my embrace."

"Enough! I'm taking my parents away from here. I'm taking them away from you!"

"You cannot."

At his quiet reply, Shadowheart turns to her father.

"We are still bound to you. You cannot both free us and free yourself from the curse." His voice is thin, just barely hiding a father's sorrow. "The Moonmaiden needs you more than she needs us. You are the future – you must return to the fold. We are the past, and our duty is almost done."

"Eloquently put," Shar says. "His mind stood up well to his time here. The same cannot be said for your mother – such brief, fragile lives humans lead."

The goddess draws back. "This is my final lesson. I leave you now, to dwell on your mistakes and make your choice."

Her chosen form dissipates and blends into the darkness, which parts around them, leaving them standing back in an underground cavern far beneath Baldur's Gate.

Shadowheart stares at the cluster of stalagmites where Shar had been, then shifts her gaze back to her parents. "She's gone… I don't understand."

"Shar will never admit defeat – not until she has stolen one last thing from you. We cannot allow your future to be her last prize – not after all your mother and I have endured to see you again."

"No," Shadowheart breathes. "No! I have come all this way. I cannot give you up now–"

"Jenevelle," he says softly. "Please. I know it is a difficult choice forced upon you. But…" His eyes shift to Solistre. "Your companion understands, I think. What needs to be done."

Shadowheart turns around, and Solistre's heart drops. A tender spirit has been placed into her bloodied, ruthless hands, and she cannot bring herself to close her fingers, to shatter it. Solistre knows what she would do – but Shadowheart cannot know the same. Not now. Not here.

"They are your family. None can make this choice but you." Solistre returns her father's gaze, his silent plea. "Talk to them. See what they wish. Let them know what you want."

Green eyes lower, uncertain, then turn back to once-forgotten, long-suffering parents.

"I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't know any of this was happening until it was much too late. I came to try and put things right."

"And you did. You found us." A smile breaks the pall on her father's face. "All these years, that dream kept us going, that you would break free. No matter what they made you do to us, we knew you were still in there."

"I knew the dark woods wouldn't frighten you," her mother adds. "You were always such a brave girl."

"She was, and still is." The pride in his eyes mirrors her wife's teary gleam. "You've saved us. Now save yourself. You'll be out of Shar's reach, and we'll be at peace."

"But I only just found you again, after all this time. I can't lose you again." Shadowheart's voice cracks.

"We'll still be with you. By the Moonmaiden's grace, we'll never be far. " His mouth quivers, but never loses the smile. "We love you, Jenevelle. No matter what happens, you will always be our little girl."

Shadowheart grips her own scarred fist and bows her head, eyes closed as if in prayer. She swallows, then looks back up, calmer than before.

"Is this truly what you want?"

"It is what we need, all of us," he says gently. "You were meant to be a guiding light for Selûne's faithful, but they robbed you from us. Now that can be righted, and we can rest."

"Help us, Jen," her mother says. "I can let go, now that I've seen your face again."

Shadowheart gazes at them longer, then whispers, "This is goodbye, then."

"Not goodbye." He sounds lighter, relieved. "Not even close."

A soft silver glow envelops Shadowheart's ever-wounded hand. She stares at it, head cocked as if listening to a whisper by her ear, and raises it towards her parents. Identical silver light washes over their bodies; when it fades, her parents are gone, and two orbs of light hover in their place.

Solistre peers at them through squinted eyes. "What are…"

"Moon motes," Shadowheart replies, oddly placid. "They bring Selûne's light to dark places and offer guidance to those in need."

The motes dip down, brushing over Shadowheart's shoulders, and she watches them float from the chamber with a wan smile.

"They are watching over me."

She worries at the incurable wound on her hand, gaze growing distant, before rising to Solistre's face when she receives a touch on the arm.

"Let's leave this place. There's nothing more for me here."

"Do you need a moment?" Solistre asks quietly.

Shadowheart shakes her head, burying emotion in favour of action. It leaves her with a mild, if stiff expression – not an unfamiliar one, Solistre realises with a pang. "Let's go."

"So…" Karlach says slowly, as they move towards the stairs. "What do we call you now? Shadowheart, or Jenevelle?"

She pauses. "Shadowheart, still. I can't run away from who I was for all this time." A brief silence, and she whispers almost inaudibly, as if to herself, "I won't forget who I am anymore."

A/N: ngl the first (three) sections also lay the groundwork for future fics (/¯–‿･)/¯