I heard her footfalls as she approached with tentative, hesitant steps, and I smiled at the sound. In the deep stillness of the night, she'd crept more often to my tent over these past weeks, but tonight, of all nights, I had hoped she might want me near.

The Nightsong lives.

That simple fact astounded me, given that an evil goddess had been her entire will towards convincing Shadowheart to murder Aylin, that same goddess's own niece. In the end, Shadowheart had chosen to cast aside her weapon and stay her hand. Instead of staining herself with a deity's blood, she'd defied her goddess and freed Aylin from her prison. It was a decision that Shadowheart had to reach on her own, without coercion, or it would have had no meaning.

And now Shadowheart is free.

Well, almost. Her hand had pained her during dinner, the skin of her wrist had flashed a sickly, pallid white, and the bowl containing a stew of mushroom, chopped wild carrots, and fried tubers had nearly slid from her grasp. Shadowheart had tried to pretend that it was nothing, of course … she had never cared for prying words … but we all knew that she was trying to conceal the agony Shar's curse periodically inflicted upon her.

I watched as a thin, pale hand pulled back one of the flaps of my tent. Shadowheart's nails were neat and trimmed, the skin of her arm flawless, and I had no idea how, given the battles we had fought, she managed to stay so unmarred. The cavern beyond was dark, lit only by the ruddy, sullen light of the campfire. If I squinted, I could just discern the outlines of other tents that stood much closer to the mouth of the cave, and past the tents, a glimpse of the night sky.

Astarion and Lae'zel were out there somewhere, hopefully keeping watch rather than distracting themselves with each other's bodies, and I'd positioned my tent far enough towards the back of the cave that Shadowheart and I would have some privacy … assuming that she came at all.

But she came.

I could scarcely imagine how lost she felt. From the beginning, seemingly mere minutes after I'd pried her free from an Illithid oubliette, Shadowheart had spoken of earning Lady Shar's blessing, of being chosen to be a dark justiciar, and now, after one glorious, righteous moment of defiance, all of those dreams were gone forever. She'd irrevocably cast aside her life's purpose. Of course, that purpose had been to embrace a life of loss and sorrow, a notion which, to my to my way of thinking, represented a twisted, distasteful ambition.

She lied to herself far more than she lied to me, but Shadowheart is now done with lies. Together we will seek the truth.

Her chest heaving beneath her white robe, she stepped hurriedly into the tent, as if she was afraid of being seen. I smiled at her as I pushed away the fur-lined blankets and sat upright.

"I was hoping that you would come," was all I said. Feeling as though I should say something more, I added, "I'm glad you did."

She seemed to relax a bit at my words, as if the sound of my voice had broken some hold the night had on her. Her posture eased, the corners of her mouth curved up in the faintest of smiles, and her eyes drifted towards the corner of the room, where the hammer that we'd crawled, fought, and bled to find lay propped against the wall. Emanating from it was a comforting glow that warmed me in a way that the campfire had not.

"I find the light of Lathander pleasing now, despite describing it as harsh and hateful as recently as last night," Shadowheart murmured in her musical, high-pitched voice. I wasn't sure if the words were intended for her or for me. "I will have to get used to a great many things feeling and looking differently."

I glanced over at the hammer. "I think your Lady of lonely misery didn't want you to see the light, Shadowheart. I think she wanted you trapped in darkness."

She frowned at my words, and then a tremor ran down her back as if some troubling memory rustled at her soul. Her eyes shifted from the hammer towards me, and when she stepped nearer still, I reveled in the sight of her. She'd freed her silver hair … a gift from her new goddess … from its wrappings and clasps, and while the elaborate braid she favored was charming in its own way, the shimmering, cascading gleam of her tresses brought to mind a waterfall beneath the light of a full moon.

Shadowheart, who had been eager to discard the black garments of a Shar worshipper, wore a Selunite gown woven of pure white silk, and soft, doeskin slippers upon her feet. Both had been gifted by Isobel, and while the garments appeared fragile and delicate, I knew that looks could be deceiving. It would not surprise me to learn that robe and sandals were tougher than black-forged iron.

Such a description could apply to Shadowheart as well. I'd guarded her with upraised greatsword and stared in awe as walls of towering flame rose at her command, I'd seen her conjure whirls of elemental spirits into existence, and I'd watched her pierce the primeval darkness of the Shadowfell and bring forth light with nothing but the strength of her belief in the power of her goddess. And yet, she seemed so small and helpless within the canvas walls of my tent.

The gown clung to her slim curves, and gods, was she a sight to behold. The lines of her limbs were graceful and pure, her face finely planed with elegant features, and her movements lithe and sinuous in a way that brought to mind a stalking cat.

"What?" she asked as she glanced down at her own body with a self-conscious expression on her face.

"I'd tell you, but I don't want you getting full of yourself."

At my biting, acidic tone, she arched an eyebrow at me and crossed her arms over chest. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"You know you're beautiful," I replied in an overly earnest, solemn voice that brought a delightful rosy hue to her cheeks. She turned to the side, and I realized for the first time that she had tucked the night orchid I'd gifted her behind her right ear. The petals of the flower gleamed a slick, obsidian black in Lathander's light and contrasted in a dramatic fashion with the silver of her hair and the pale skin of her neck. The faint scar traced across her face twisted as she moved, and the slight imperfection only made her more desirable.

"It's still nice to hear," she replied.

Her eyes drifted over my bare chest and then down to where the blankets were draped upon my waist. I'd been impressively erect within a few seconds of hearing her approach, and I imagined that she could see a bulge pressing upwards.

"Really?" she asked in a sharp manner as she fixed her eyes on mine. "I almost murdered an innocent woman today, the child of a goddess, no less, and that is what your mind is on?"

"It's not something men can help," I informed her with a rueful grin and a shrug of my shoulders. "Particularly when someone who looks like you wanders into their tent."

She rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. "The horrors we've seen in the Shadowfell, in the Creche, in the … everywhere, really, and yet … and yet …"

"And yet we are alive," I said by way of finishing her thought. "And if we wait until times are peaceful and this war is over, we may be waiting forever."

She stared at me, hesitant and unsure again, and I thought I saw the faintest tremble in her hands.

Maybe she only wants to talk? That's fine, so long as she stays.

"If there's something you need to say, or anything that's bothering you …"

With a wave of her hand and a curt shake of her head she cut me off. "No," she hurried to reply. "I don't want to talk about any of it at the moment, and maybe not for a long time. I need to figure out who I am and where I belong, but I don't even know where to start."

"You belong with me."

I'd tried such direct expressions of affection before, shortly after she'd begun finding her way into my tent, and she had not appreciated the sentiments of my heart. I wasn't used to giving them, truth be told, but Shadowheart inspired such feelings without even trying.

She reached down, grabbed the hem of her dress, and slid the fabric upwards. As the garment rose off her body, I was treated to the sight of shapely legs, a delightfully firm posterior, an entrancing, silver thatch of hair at the juncture of her thighs, and the soft curves of her breasts. Once she'd pulled the gown over her shoulders, she held the cloth against her chest in an adorably shy fashion and kicked away her sandals.

I raised the blankets, she knelt and then slid beneath them, and the heat of her body as we came together turned my flesh molten and set my blood to boiling in an instant. We'd endured another day, a terrible day, but we were alive, and Shadowheart was here with me.

This time, she will not leave me before the morning comes. I won't let her.

Even though we were both shivering with need, I kept my touch gentle and probing. My fingertips trailed a line across her skin, my lips nuzzled against her neck, my tongue flicked in and around the points of her ears, and she moaned softly as I whispered to her how beautiful she was. When her nipples were like two pieces of flint poking against my chest, I reached down and stroked the hot wetness between her legs. She raised a forearm and stifled her own gasping cry as my finger teased the exquisitely sensitive nub resting atop her sex, and when I saw her hips begin to squirm, I moved my fingers away and traced her outer lips with a steady, teasing motion. Shadowheart mewled softly in disappointment, I kissed her again, and her breath and mouth were blazing infernos that I wanted to melt into.

She ran her hands along the rippling muscles of my sides, apologized when she jostled the fresh stitches dotting the left side of my chest, and felt at the muscles of my arms as she pulled me closer for another kiss. My manhood pressed poked against her, and I imagined she found the urgent feel of it somewhat amusing. She reached down to grab hold of my shaft with a firm, insistent grip, stroked it a few times, and when I shuddered at her touch she leaned in close.

"Please," she whispered.

"Soon."

She looked surprised at my words, but as excited as I was, it would be best to see to her needs first … I doubted that I'd be able to hold off my moment of release for very long. I kissed her again, then traced my lips in light, dancing patterns down her chin, throat, and neck, until I reached her breasts. I then spent a meaningful amount of time licking in and around her nipples, and all the while, my hand stroked between her legs. She tried to capture my fingers by squeezing tight her thighs, but I moved my knee between her legs and ensured that I had room with which to work.

"Please," she whispered again.

The muscles of my forearms flexed as I cupped her breasts, and then I resumed working my lips towards the nether regions of her body. Her hands grasped first at my shoulders, then at my scalp, and when the hairs of my close-cropped beard began to rub at the hollow of her stomach, just above her slit, she grabbed a wool-stuffed pillow and pulled it over her mouth so that her cries did not wake the others.

I pulled the blanket upwards over my body, and though I could not see it, I imagined the silver of her hair glistening as my lips and tongue reached for their destination. Shadowheart's hands reached for me again, and with quick, darting movements I grasped her wrists, pulled them to the sides of her body, and used the angle of my shoulders and upper arms to keep her spasming legs spread apart. She was wet, and hot as I teased my tongue along the base of the button that protruded above her sheath. A rasping moan escaped Shadowheart's throat, I could feel her sex throb in reaction to my efforts, and I tightened my grip on her wrists as she shook and quivered atop the thin, straw stuffed mattress. I'd learned what she liked quite well, and I kept my motions light and unpredictable as I twirled my tongue in a coaxing fashion along the most tender spots of her body. She tasted of coppery arousal, and the flavor of it tingled upon my tongue.

Her lower body strained, I could hear her repeatedly whisper please, and finally, when I thought she'd had enough, I paused for a moment and repositioned my head.

"Don't you dare stop," she hissed at me, probably far louder than she intended.

I pressed my lips more firmly between her spread legs, my lips nimbly trapped her nub as I gently pulled it into my mouth, and then I rasped my tongue along her button while Shadowheart convulsed in a frenzied, palsied thrashing. Her back arched, her fingers clawed at empty air as I held her arms at her sides, and her leg muscles tightened so fiercely that I half-expected the tendons to snap off the bone. With deliberate, strong movements of my tongue, I dragged out her climactic relief for many long seconds, and I did not stop pleasuring her nor release her arms until she was lying limp upon the blankets.

"Goddess above," she murmured as I sat up, used a nearby towel to wipe off my face, and took a long swig of sweet blackberry wine from my leather drinking bag. The grateful residents of the Last Light Inn had been generous with the provisions they'd given us for the trip to Baldur's Gate, but we were already on the last half-keg of wine. Soon, we'd have ate and drank enough that the oxen would be a liability that brought too much attention as opposed to a convenience.

Shadowheart croaked a request for a sip, I handed the wine bag to her, and then I smiled at the sight of her shaking arms as she reached out to take hold of it. Even the movement of her throat as she swallowed was beautiful, and I imagined the taste of rich, tart, butter-cream blackberries upon her tongue. After several long swallows, she capped the spout of the wine bag, set it aside, and looked at me with a sheepish, but appreciative, grin. For a few seconds, at the sight of her expression of satisfaction, I despaired at just how deeply I'd already fallen for this tormented, half-broken slip of a woman.

"No notes?" I asked in a brazen, insolent fashion.

In between sips, she shook her head and replied, "No notes at all. That was … amazing." Shadowheart had never been easy or fast with praise, or expressions of happiness, for that matter, and hearing her speak openly of enjoying our time together was a welcome change.

All I said by way of reply was, "Good."

She waited for me to say more, but I just looked at her. Her smile intensified, with a resolute movement, she reached beneath the blankets and grasped hold of me, and I was so overcome with desire that I needed no further invitation than her touch.

She giggled softly when I wasn't kissing her as I positioned my hips between her legs and levered my body above hers. Shadowheart settled further onto her back, bit at her lower lip, and hooked her legs around my bottom. Her sex was warm and tight as I eased my cock inside, and as I worked myself with long, deep strokes, I wished that we could stay together like this, always. The feel of her body was wondrous and invigorating in a way that made all the horrors we faced each day seem meaningless.

"Gods," I gasped as I felt the deep muscles of my hips and groin begin to clench in a familiar fashion.

She smiled, tilted her head up, and I could smell the faintest whiff of the night orchid behind her ear as she grazed her lips against mine.

My moment of climax came, she used her legs to pull me in close, and we could not kiss each other fiercely enough as we remained joined in that position for a long while. The first time we'd lain together, I had intended to spill my seed upon her belly, and she'd laughed hysterically at my ignorance. Eventually, she informed me that no cleric became pregnant before they wished, and I hadn't worried on the matter again.

Waves of enervation washed over me, my skin tingled as if lightning were about to strike, and I used another towel to clean myself and Shadowheart. When I was done, I tossed the scrap of cloth aside, lay next to her, and pulled her into the curve of my side.

"Can you promise me something?" she asked after we'd laid together in silence for a few minutes.

"Anything."

"Promise me that you won't let me make any mistakes when we get to the city."

I hadn't expected her to shift to such a serious topic, and it took me a few seconds to gather my thoughts. "You're going to be fine," I promised. "Your past doesn't define who you are, and we'll be with you every step of the way. I'll be with you every step of the way."

"They'll try to kill us, you know that right?" she asked with a fearful look in her eye. "They won't forgive a cleric of Shar becoming an infidel, and they're not going to answer questions about my parents unless we force them to."

"We'll make them see reason," I told her in the calm, determined fashion that she'd previously informed me came across as callow arrogance.

This time, however, my tone seemed to comfort her. At least, it comforted her for a while. Eventually, however, just as I was beginning to doze off, she twisted upon the blankets, sat up, and began to rise to her feet.

"What are you doing?" I asked as I reached out and grabbed her hand.

When she answered, she kept her eyes lowered and didn't meet my gaze. "After everything I've said, after the way I spoke about attachments between any of us being foolish and irresponsible, I think that I would die of shame were the others to see me creeping from your tent in the morning like I was some stray cat that you'd taken in."

"They know," I told her as gently as I could. "I mean, Shadowheart, none of them are blind … or deaf."

She hesitated, halfway to standing, and I could tell that she was fighting against her embarrassment.

If I don't do something, she'll leave.

I suspected that I'd learned enough about Shadowheart's tastes to guess at what might induce her to remain. She hadn't flinched at a rather unpleasant sounding offer voiced by a priest of Loviatar, she'd run her hands in a familiar fashion over a variety of restraints we'd stumbled across in our travels, and she'd been an acolyte of Shar's worship for years.

Worshipers of Shar usually shared certain particular tastes.

"If I have to, I'll bind you hand and foot so that you can't leave," I rumbled in a deep, rasping, ominous tone that I used to great effect in order to avoid needless fights, but which I'd never directed towards her.

She quivered in the most delightful fashion, again bit at her lower lip, and I saw her tighten her legs as she squeezed her thighs together.

I hit the mark on that one.

She lay back down on the blankets and made a show of making me force her arms together. Once her palms were pressed against one another, I bound the thick leather cord a number of times around her wrists, working my way halfway up her forearms in the process, and then I cinched the entire thing through the middle and tightened the knots towards the top, where her fingers could not reach. She held her bound hands out in front of her, twisted her wrists within the bindings, and smiled at how secure they were. She then wanted me to kiss her, and I obliged her on that front for a long while.

Eventually, she raised her hands so that I could laze my tongue around her breast, and after maybe half a minute of such treatment she moaned and poked at me with insistent movements of her feet. After a few seconds, I understood her meaning, and with a leering grin on my face, I repeated the binding process with her ankles. When I was done, her ankles were restrained within a tight hobble.

More kissing followed, and then she reached down with her bound hands and confirmed my renewed arousal. Shadowheart rotated her body on the mattress, settled down upon her knees with her back hollowed and her knees spread as wide apart as the bindings on her ankles allowed, and looked back at me with a wide smile across her face. "Don't untie me until the morning, no matter what I say."

"I won't," I promised her as I knelt behind her and positioned my legs on either side of hers.