Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aylin had never spared much thought for soulmates.

It was rare that one such as her ever even had one, although it happened. And while she’d loved before her attention never strayed far from her duty as her Mother’s sword, even those moments were rare and fleeting.

But then late one night a tingling between her shoulder blades, right between the base of her wings. It wasn’t quite magic, at least like none that she’d ever felt, but it was soft and warm. She felt the words write themselves on her skin, the warmth spreading across her back to the tips of her fingers.

It’d been over by the time she could reach the rooms she’d been given in her mother’s temple while on her current mission. The rooms were large and beautiful but she’d barely spent any time there while she was in the area. She preferred to keep moving as her Mother always had enemies for her to strike down or innocents for her to protect. But there was a large standing mirror sitting in the room's corner that until that moment she’d ignored. It was solemn that she completely severed her connection to her divine mother. But if she would have a soulmate, if she’d been blessed or cursed by whatever unknown power that tattooed those fateful words on skin, then this first look at them was hers and hers alone.

Her divine wings and armor vanished and seconds later she’d been stripping her tunic from her body. The placement of her soulmate’s words made them hard to read but thanks to the mirror she’d been able to find them.

The first thing she’d noticed hadn’t been the words themselves, it had been the radiant color and it made her smile: blue edging on silver. She studied the craves of the letters, the graceful loops and twists and how her Y curled under itself.

Ayline knew that it would be years before she would meet her, no doubt. Her sense of time differed from mortals, and she found it hard to know how quickly they age but even she knew it would be some time before they met. It would be decades or even centuries. It bothered her none. She rarely had patience but in this she would wait gladly and eagerly.

She closed her eyes and prayed to her Mother for her new soulmate’s protection and happiness, and felt her loving warmth in response.

Isobel Thorm was born with words of glowing silver written on her tiny chubby forearm and her mother was beyond joyful at the sight of them. Her father was less so.

The letters were bold and blocky and while neat enough to read the words seemed rough, like the writer hadn’t been one to write often. But it had been the glowing sliver that brought both joy and just a hint of dread.

His wife saw only blessings because the words themselves were so kind and loving and the glow surely meant that their daughter’s soulmate was highly favored by their Lady of Silver.

He’d hoped the same. Truly he wanted his daughter’s soulmate to be a favorite cleric or paladin, someone that would keep his daughter safe and protect her. But Ketheric Thorm had been a paladin for the Moonmaiden for over a century, he had seen the marks of other paladins and powerful clerics and none have ever had the same glow that his baby daughter had on her skin. He’d heard, though, of the soulmates of gods and goddesses and how their divine souls would affect their mortal soulmates in strange ways. He’d also heard the stories of how often unfortunate and short those mortal’s lives were.

He’d said nothing to his wife about the matter and hoped his fear was for nothing.

She has always known that her love will speak her words first.

Aylin arrives in Reithwin in the dead of night as is often her way. She meant it to be just a brief stop on her way south to Moonhaven while a storm passed. Her quest wasn’t one of such importance that she needed to try and rush through the mountain pass while it rained hard enough that even she could not see farther than her arm. Her divine blood would have her rise again if lightning struck her but it would be a waste of her time better spent visiting a beacon of her Mother’s power.

She was her Mother’s sword but that did not mean that she didn’t appreciate the healing arts that her Mother’s clerics so often wield in her name. Moonhaven may hold a temple that houses many of her Mother’s clerics and paladins but the House of Healing was a grand testament in her name as well. It gladdens her heart that such a place of healing exists as much too often such things are hidden away by the greed of others.

The House of Healing does not know that she is coming and she doesn’t wish her presence to disturb those that they care for so late in the night so she flys over the town for a while. The rain from the storm was lighter here than the harshness of the mountain pass and kept the air cool and brisk.

Reithwin was larger than Moonhaven and had much more infrastructure. There are well paved roads, stone houses and lamps that were lit even at this late hour. Beautiful marble statues of all sizes were placed all about with carefully grown flowers and trees around them. In the middle of a courtyard, there was a colossal marble statue of an elven man in carefully carved armor. One of the Thorms, she thought, as the family had led this land for many years.

She flys on, reaching what seems to be a public garden on the edges of Reithwin. The paved roads were replaced with soft grass and the bright lights of the lamps were gone. There is a gazebo with dimly lit lights but it was a statue of her Mother that made her land, her wings vanishing in a flash of light.

Although the statue was well made, it was clearly not designed to be a real shrine as there was no area in front of it for offerings or prayer. Yet people still placed small offerings before it. Clearly the ones of young children or those that had seen the statue and simply wanted to leave something without having a true offering on hand. There was a small wooden bowel in front with a handful of copper coins but the rest was a random assortment of odds and ends : a child’s wooden bracelet, a few poorly picked flowers, and more than a few colorful rocks that must have caught the eye of a child.

Aylin has seen the wonders that mortals have made in the Lady of Sliver’s name. The works of art, the temples, churches and the statues, but it’s this kind of worship that she enjoys seeing the most. There was no pride or ego involved in a child gifting the Moonmaiden a pretty rock they had found, just appreciation and love.

She kneels, wanting to commune with her Mother as she often does, but a sound from the gazebo stops her. There in the dim light is an elven woman, half elven maybe, with short chopped white hair. She’s wearing plain clothes, just a basic blue tonic and pants, but there is a fine band of silver around her head with a silver and gold star placed on her forehead and Aylin would be foolish to not recognize the signs of a cleric that served her Mother.

But for once, that is secondary to the fact that the woman is the most beautiful person she’s ever seen. Aylin has lived long and traveled far- she knew beauty when she saw it. The sight of the woman's curved cheek and the soft, flowing strands of hair across her face fills her with awe.

The woman, her soulmate for who else could it possibly be, blinks at her in surprise. Clearly her darling had expected to be alone here so late in such weather and seeing her there standing in the rain in her armor was surprising. Aylin wants to kneel before her and pledge her sword, to swear her loyalty and her love but she does not. The words on her back must be spoken first.

Her love smiles and Aylin is done for because the sight piercing her more than any sword. She speaks and if it wasn’t for Aylin had seen those words a hundred times in the mirror she might have not have known what she said because her attention was on the sound of her voice and the way her lips moved as she spoke.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone here this late.”

Aylin finally moves, unfrozen now that she’s heard those words, but she doesn’t go far. Her love stands sheltered under the roof of the gazebo but near its edge. She lifts her helm and doesn’t bother holding it, dropping it as she kneels again. Her helm hits the grass once before vanishing into moonlight. Up close she can take in the color of her soulmate’s eyes, which are now wide and are flickering between where her helm vanished and Aylin’s eyes. It’s a delight to see that her eye color matches the blue sliver of the words on her back.

“You’re even more beautiful than I ever dreamed you would be, my love.”

Aylin feels the instant that Isobel’s heart stops beating.

If her destination had been anywhere other than her lover’s arms she wouldn’t have been flying. She despised traveling so freely under the new moon, greatly preferring her Mother’s light on her wings instead of that witch’s darkness, but the need to see Isobel was greater. One moment she’d been planning on how to bring her darling flowers so late in the night and the next a feeling of ice struck her harshly between her wings. It’s enough that she wavers and jolts to a stop.

It doesn’t register to her what has happened for a few moments. Her mind jumps first that it was an attack as there has been an increase of Sharran agents in the surrounding areas but the icy feeling is condensed and ,while uncomfortable enough to edge on pain, isn’t debilitating.

Her heart beat once. Then twice. And then she knew.

The rest of her flight had been a haze and the night itself was a nightmare that never seemed to end. Aylin remembered landing on her lover’s balcony hard enough that the stone had cracked under her knee and throwing open the doors so hard that they broke.

The slight that greeted her was one that would haunt her nightmares for as long as her heart still beat.

Afterwards was a blur of rage and heartbreak. She remembered little of those first few weeks after Isobel had been taken from her. She’d at first prayed to her Mother to return her soul to her body. Then begged. The Moonmaiden could not do anything, try as she might. Whoever had murdered her had prevented her Mother from raising Isobel.

It had to have been the work of that wretched Shar. No other god or goddess would dare to prevent her Mother from raising her own cleric from the dead.

She is blinded by a rage so deep that even her Mother can not pull her from it and Aylin becomes so lost in her blood rage and the hunt for her lover’s murderers that she never realizes how far Ketheric had fallen until it was much too late.

Aylin doesn’t know how long it’s been.

Time had little meaning here to begin with and her deaths make it all the harder to keep track. Aylin doesn’t bother in keeping track of how many times death comes for her or how many daggers piece her ribs. It’s easy for her to rage against her bonds again and again. She refused to stop, refused to let that vile oath breaking traitor win this battle of wills. She would be free and crush him for daring to chain her, for turning against her Mother and for disrespecting the legacy of his daughter.

When the familiar tingling starts on her forearm, she’s hopeful if not also grieving. There are immortals with dozens of blackened marks on their skin like trophies of their dead soulmates but the idea of her replacing Isobel, her darling Isobel, with another is unthinkable.

But a new mark at least means she’ll be free of this wretched cage. Perhaps in time and finally after killing the oath breaker, she’ll be able to stand the idea of loving again.

The placement of Isobel’s words meant that Aylin couldn’t watch them appear but she’s able to watch these new ones as they slowly write themselves on her forearm. She can’t help but compare the two marks; the graceful curve of the letters is similar though this one isn’t quite as elegant and the color is a dark purple instead of blue silver.

Then the writing stops, her new mark complete, and at the sight Aylin begins mindlessly raging against her chains once more. Her Mother can’t hear her in the heart of wrenched Shar’s power, but she prays anyway. She prays and prays and prays.

To lose her darling, her love, so soon after meeting her was such a horrible awful thing but this hurts just as much. Knowing that she’d been given another chance but they will fall to those that killed Isobel while she, the Lady of Silver’s Sword, sat trapped and unable to protect her just as she failed before…

She spat on the next sharran before he killed her and could nothing more than hope that her soulmate managed to keep whatever piece of herself that made them soulmates deep within herself until they met.

Arnell Hallowleaf had worried about his daughter before she was ever born.

Emmeline’s pregnancy was hard on her and the birth itself wasn’t any better. His wife spent hours and hours in the birthing bed and when the moment finally came that he heard his child cry his wife had slipped into unconsciousness. The cleric had passed his daughter to him quickly to see her and for minutes he stood there, holding his tiny new pup and hoping that she would have a mother to raise her.

It was only after the cleric assured him that his wife would live, if not awaken for a few hours, that he could turn his full attention to his new daughter. Jenevelle. She is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen even when covered in blood and the muck of birth.

But his heart drops and his arms tighten around her when he sees her marks. He wipes away the blood from her tiny arms hoping that he’s wrong.

Pitch black. Both of her marks were black. Arnell has seen black marks before but only for those whose soulmates have died and passed on. Surely the gods would not give his daughter soulmates she would never meet? The words themselves bring little relief. The elegant writing on her left arm is a little rude though nothing too horrible but the other mark…

Arnell has prayed to the Moonmaiden often. Every full moon when his body changes he howls his thanks for keeping his mind, he thanked her for his meeting Emmeline and he thanks her now for his wife and daughter’s lives.

He can only hope that the Lady of Silver will give him the strength to keep Jenevelle safe.

Shadowheart has a soulmate and she knows nothing else about them.

She doesn’t know the color of their souls, nor the shape of their writing nor even the words themselves. She doesn’t know if she is the youngest or the eldest and how old they are if she is. Even the placements are somewhat vague. She might even have more than one.

Her memory of her soulmate was taken by Lady Shar and her arms are covered in tattoos, all curving and twisted black lines that come together to form her Lady’s symbol. No natural scar or magic can destroy them and they covered whatever soul marks she had.

It’s an honor to carry such tattoos. The magic that made them was powerful; as any magic that attempts to cover soulmate marks has to be. To her these marks are more important than any soulmate, for they’re marks not for some unknown person but of Shar herself.

At least… that’s the impression she has from the few memories that she still had.

As the days slowly creep on Shadowheart feels like she’s stumbling on more and more forgotten memories and the holes they have left.

When Tav had awakened her on that beach she’d known what was necessary. She’d known her mission and what her training was for. Whatever else there was to her past would be given back to her when she returned.

Yet as they travel she… begins to wonder.

It begins small. There is a wound on her hand that she knows Lady Shar has given her but she can’t seem to understand what it’s for. Is it to punish? To remind? Her Lady isn’t one to blindly give pain- not without a reason or some kind of purpose. Surely there is a lesson, something she needs to learn but no matter her prayers on the matter there is nothing but silence.

There is never anything but silence.

Tav is the source of seemingly endless questions, both in that the woman likes to ask questions endlessly and makes Shadowheart ask her own. The other woman was young, younger than any in their group and so full of contradictions it made her head spin. A half-drow paladin sounds remarkably like the start of a joke but Tav refuses to act like anything other than a true knight of old.

Yet she does not press Shadowheart, nor the rest of their strange group, into revealing anything they do not wish. She does not attack Astarion when he reveals himself a vampire spawn nor does she cast Shadowheart out when she reveals who she worships. When Shadowheart’s weaknesses come two fold in the Druid’s Grove, where her hand flares when pain and her knees shake with fear because she caught sight of a wolf’s fangs, she expects at last that Tav will respond with practicality or at least acknowledge the weakness that Shadowheart has.

But Tav simply said she would not judge her fear.

Kindness is a weakness. She knows it to be true, her memory is full of holes but she knows that lesson. Tav is simply an exception.

Isobel’s hearing comes back to her before anything else; her father gently waking her.

It’s a familiar sound, if not one she is used to hearing. Waking her had been his part in mornings long ago when she and her parents would eat together. Her mother would tease them about how easy it was for Isobel to sleep in late because her father couldn’t say no. Their mornings together was ironclad though and her parents would move back any meeting if their breakfast went long. They only stopped when her mother died, even then her father would try to at least find her in passing.

But when her eyes open the man looking at her isn’t the man she called father, even if he had the same face. His once kind eyes were colder than ice, even when he cupped her cheek so carefully.

It took a few long moments for her to realize they were in the family crypt. The last thing she remembered was sitting in her room in front of her fireplace reading some book or another with Squire sitting at her feet. She’d been hoping for Aylin- her love had written to her saying her current duty was done and would come as quickly as her wings could carry her but… everything else was nothing but blackness.

Her father kept a strong arm around her as he began marching her outside, speaking softly in her ear. Still, even if her mind couldn’t yet comprehend it, she saw the state of the crypt. The bones piled high and the blood on the ground in symbols she almost recognized. Her name on a stone plaque.

When her father’s companion (A half orc woman she’d never seen) opened the doors for them she expected sunlight or the comfort of the Moonmaiden.

Darkness. Thick, heavy, ice cold and it lingers in the air like fog. It’s Shar’s magic- not the pitiful shadows the few clarics she’s dealt with were able to pull forth but something from the Dark Lady herself.

Her father’s arm doesn’t let her linger and her horror and confusion only grow as they walk. There are makeshift shift gravesites outside that are for Selunite clarics but they’re old and have marks of destruction andso does the outside of their family tombs. The dark curse is everywhere and has taken over completely warping everything and dead animals litter their walk closer to Reithwin.

It’s at her first real look at Reithwin that she forces her father to stop. He says something in her ear but she doesn’t hear him- can’t over the sound of her own heart breaking in half.

Reithwin was never an overly large town but it was her home. As a child she’d played in the cobblestone streets, climbed the statue of her father, and when her mother grew ill she prayed at the small statue of Selune in the garden. Aylin had walked with her in those streets and had recently had finally become a common enough sight that the parents would let their children play games with her without tripping over themselves.

The curse was so thick she could see where parts of Reithwin were protected but even that could not protect it from the effects of it. Bodies , no, not bodies, as so much time had passed that the remains were bare bones, were thrown about everywhere. So much armor was of Sharran make. The idea was ridiculous- there was no way that she would have been unaware of such a huge army.

A long since dead army.

“I was dead,” she said. The truth had suddenly made itself known with such clarity. Her throat was dry, her voice dusty and rough from unuseage. Her first words since she’d awakened- no had been revived. Her thoughts are scattered and she can’t seem to speak all the questions that she has over the raw horror of it all. “ What happened? How would this-”

And there were hands on her shoulder and a face that should be familiar but doesn’t, looks at her. “ None of that matters now,” her father said. He is trying to be recurring, she thinks, but he can’t seem to reach that warmth that she’s always known him for. “You are back with me.” He reaches up and pushes her hair back like he always has since she’s worn her hair this way and his fingers are like ice. “ Come now, we should get back to Moonrise-”

“Where is Aylin?” She needs to see her, needs her arms around her, hear her loud voice and louder laugh.

Her father steps back from her, face blank and eyes emotionless. “She’s dead.”

He says more but Isobel can’t hear him over the rush of her heat in her ears. She pulls on her sleeve ( Gods above, she’s wearing a funeral tunic- they buried her and she’d laid in a tomb for years- she’d rotted away-) and the silver words are pitch black.

She’d always know she would die before Aylin. Her love didn’t age and her divine blood kept her from dying a true death without intense means. One day Isobel would take her last breath while she hoped it was from old age there were so many untold dangers. Her own mother died of sickness well before her time.

She’d never prepared herself for this.

Her father has stopped talking but he offers no support to her. The orc woman that came with him stands far away and does not look at them, keeping a hand on a Moon Lantern of all wretched things. The darkness lingers at the edge of its glow and it’s been protecting them, which has been keeping the worst of the curse at bay.

It’s a funny thing to notice as she stands frozen. She had died and had been that way for a long time. Aylin is dead. The people she knew, the humans at least, were all probably dead from time and others would have moved on. Alyin is dead. Her home is under a sharran curse and has been attacked by an army. Aylin is dead.

Her father had always comforted her, from when she was a child a blue bird she’d been nursing had died to when they realized that her mother would not live past the new year. When her mother died her father had been destroyed. He was a strong man and she never heard him complain of pains or cry but they had cried together then.

This man does nothing.

She doesn’t know if the Moon Maiden will hear her here with this sharran curse around her. She doesn’t know if she will answer her even if can.

Isobel runs anyway.

“Isobel! Stop! Don’t let her get away! ”

The darkness quickly thickens the farther she leaves the light of the Moon Lantern and the full force of the curse crashes into her. As she runs she prays.

“Selûne guides us through the night.

She is the moon, the stars her tears.

Her sister tries to douse her light,

But she protects us from our fears.”

When she casts a simple light cantrip she’s simply hoping that it keeps the darkness back. And it does, it’s more powerful than she ever expected it to be. Her connection to Selûne had always been strong, even before Aylin, but she had never truly tried to deepen it afterwards. She was content with the amount of power that had been granted to her and didn’t need more. Isobel was no warrior like her lover, she didn’t feel the need to go into battle. She was content in her studies and helping those that she was able.

The light she casts is strong enough to push back the darkness twice as far as the moon lantern and its light fills her with a warmth so deep it’s like she’s stepped into a hot spring. Whatever thoughts she had of the Lady of Silver not answering her were clearly wrong and it seems like Selûne not only still blessed her but saw fit to gift her more power than she had when she last lived.

Ketheric Thorm, for he is clearly not her father any longer, and those with him get caught up with the monsters that lurk in the darkness. None apparch her as her light is so blinding.

She runs until her legs can barely move and she comes across an inn- one that she can’t remember the name of but whose walls have held strong. There’s no one inside, just dust and rotted food and the first thing she does is sit at the forgotten bar and cry.

Their group is strange and keeps on getting stranger. Somehow.

A paladin and a sharran cleric should be the strongest combination yet Tav has the talent of finding even stranger ones. By the time they reach the Druid Grove there’s a vampire spawn, a mage who eats their magic loot and a githyanki. (Despite her arguing otherwise.)

But Wyll makes the most sense as a traveling companion for Tav. He’s a warlock but he has the same kind of puppy-like earnestness about himself that Tav tends to have.

It’s that similarity that has Tav put off going to the goblin camp to look for his escaped devil for him. Shadowheart can’t say it isn’t a horrible idea- they already had a stalker from the hells and knowing their abysmal luck this Karlach would only cause trouble for them later.

It’s strange that Tav seemed to not quite trust the other paladins they met but that is quickly forgotten at the level of destruction that this devil is able to do. Seeing her wrapped in flame by the river makes her uneasy. It’s four against one and the devil is injured but clearly the woman is a powerful warrior.

Tav doesn’t unsheathe her sword, of course, simply walking within easy speaking distance to the annoyance of herself, Gale and Lae’zel.

“So you’re the devil that the Blade of Frontiers has been hunting,” Tav said. Shadowheart can’t see her face but her tone is doubtful as she crosses her arms.

The devil barks out a harsh laugh as she straightens from her huddled position and takes a look at Tav’s face and laughs again.

“Gods, is he still on my tail? I’m embarrassed for him.” She blinked, “Wait, fuck me. It’s you, from the nautiloid. Please tell me I got to you before those so called paladins of Tyr did.”

Tav says nothing for a long moment and Shadowheart glances over to Gale who simply shrugged.

Karlach’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh, wait! Fucking hells, did you say my-? Shit, you wouldn’t know- Did -Did I say your words? Because you said mine and I can’t imagine the Blade is going to chase me enough for this to keep happening. Hopefully.”

Shadowheart looked over to Gale again with much wider eyes and he shrugged again, with wide eyes of his own.

It takes a few days before Isobel sees her new words.

She didn’t know what to do. Leaving was out of the question. Someone had to stop her - Stop Ketheric from whatever it is that he was doing. She’d found letters and note in the inn and what information she gathered was horrifying. Worshippers of Selûne who had to meet only under the moon because Ketheric had banned the goddess outright, sharran’s that walked about in broad daylight, and the rest of her family seemingly going along with him.

She is thankful that the Harpers came so soon to the inn after she did. She’s heard of Jaheira and of her actions in Baldur’s Gate but the older woman does not ask many questions- not when she can protect the entire inn and the area around it. It’s from her that she learns how much time has passed and exactly how far Ketheric Thorm had fallen.

So she doesn’t notice the new mark on her other arm until she’s finally able to bathe after the Harpers fully set up the Inn.

Jaheira does not ask questions; including not asking for the reason why she is asking for the biggest bottle of wine that someone in the Harpers had to have brought with them. She does give her a Look but Isobel ignores it just as much as the new purple words on her arm.

Sex is not forbidden among those that worshiped Shar: pleasure is both a tool and a reward.

Love, however, is a different story. It need not be out right forbidden; it’s discouraged to trust anyone deeply or place them anywhere near as high as Lady Shar. Why forbid something that is so hard to find among the faithful?

That is to say that Shadowheart has likely never seen a relationship quite like Tav and Karlach’s . She knows that soulmates are a weakness but that’s harder to remember when Karlach is a warrior almost without parallel or when Tav continues to lead them despite impossible odds.

Karlach is, quite literally , the sweetest person Shadowheart ever remembers meeting. (The previous title holder going to Tav.) Yet neither that or having her soulmate by her side seems to have made her any weaker. If anything it gives her, and Tav, strength whenever the other is in danger. There is a sense of stability to them despite the tadpoles and the fact they can’t even touch each other.

It makes her wonder; could that be her, if she and her soulmate met?

She finds herself rubbing her arms where the black tattoos cover up large stretches of her skin and wonders what’s written under them. Shadowheart isn’t a fool. Shar is the most important thing in her life, she is her calling above all. That doesn’t stop the thoughts.

It would be easier to pretend to just be envious of Tav for having such an attractive soulmate while Shadowheart is left without a willing partner if they were actually capable of having sex. Instead Shadowheart has to acknowledge that she’s envious of the way they speak to each other, of the way they’ve clicked together so quickly and firmly. She’s even envious of Karlach calling Tav ‘Darling’ and other loving names that should sound ridiculous, and are, but she’s envious anyway.

Shadowheart felt such relief when they entered the Shadowlands.

She’s been wavering in her faith, even if she tries to deny it to herself. Tiny little cracks. She wishes to be Dark Justiciar above all but she’s lacking in so many places and the more they travel the more she sees why she has been denied. A Dark Justiciar would not approve of wasting time saving a woman from a hag nor find pleasure petting a dog or feel relief that Tav went out of her way to save the Grove. The mark on her hand flares with pain more and more each day and Shadowheart wants nothing more than a single word from her Dark Lady. All that she does, all that she has, is for her but she can’t seem to follow the path that is required of her.

The Shadowlands are proof that Shar loves her for the darkness does not weaken her like it does the others. It must be her Lady’s will that she be here because she is protected.

Her faith will be rewarded, she knows it to be true.

“ Must we?” Shadowheart does not grumble like a child but judging from the look on Tav’s face she comes close.

“You might be protected from the curse but none of us are,” Tav rightfully points out. “We can’t rely on you casting light over and over again either.”

Karlach does grumble like a child. “I said I was sorry.”

Shadowheart knows that Tav is right, of course. Casting light takes little effort but using it over and over again would get tiresome and none of them can cast it in two places which keeps groups in a tight area. Which is how Astarion almost got hit by the backswing of Karlach’s axe when she got a bit too into her rage. Which is also why the vampire spawn is currently at camp and they brought Lae’zel instead. Tav tried to keep them apart when they first started traveling together but they… they’re not friends but they are comrades. Lae’zel has been different since the events of the creche.

“Yes, well,” Tav sends Karlach a glance that is so full of love that Shadowheart nearly rolls her eyes. “Either way, we need protection. If you truly don’t want to then I won’t press you on it but according to Jaheira this cleric is pretty powerful and her protection spell works wonders.”

Moonwitch magic. She’s been taught to use all means at her disposal but the idea of selûnite makes her want to gag. Her hand often flares if she even lingers on the thought of Selûne too long or look upon any of her works. Shadowheart isn’t sure what will happen if she willing lets herself be blessed by a cleric of Selûne and she is already somewhat protected but as Tav told them- the cleric’s spell is more powerful.

“Fine,” she agrees with an eyeroll.

Tav smiles at her in that ‘I’m proud of you’ kind of way that Shadowheart hates.

The cleric is performing a light ritual when they walk into her room. She faces away from them on her balcony, surrounded by mirrors and candles in the strangest array she’s seen for a spell. Shadowheart watches the way the light builds in her hand, brighter than any simple light spell she ever produced, holding it before her and cradles it to her chest before letting the light drift off into the barrier.

When she turns around Shadowheart feels a phantom pain in her hand. Not the true pain that the mark gives her but the expectation of it. She’s not sure what it is about the woman that makes her believe it would flare despite not doing so since they got here. Was it because the cleric was so obviously in service to Selûne, from her pale silver hair to her fine selûnite robes? Or was it the way Shadowheart’s mouth went a little dry at the sight of her despite all of that?

Tav takes point, as she always does, and the cleric is so much a selûnite that it makes her stomach clinch. The other cleric is nice if not teasing towards Tav and gives them her wretched goddess’s blessing quickly with no caveats or stipulations.

It feels strange on her skin. Shar’s protection didn’t do anything against the cold that the curse gave them, just didn’t make Shadowheart weak like the others. This ‘blessing’ however, makes her all too aware of that and suddenly she’s warm from her armor and standing near Karlach.

She’d promised Tav that she wouldn’t speak to the other cleric. Or rather that she would not speak to her if she ‘couldn’t say anything nice’ which is a disturbingly common order from the paladin to most of their group. But she can’t help the comment, the desire to bite back any kind of control is too strong.

“Selûnite magic,” she says with all the disgust she feels in her stomach. “Dark Lady forgive me.”

Tav tenses and glances at her. The paladin isn’t angry with her, she very rarely is with any of them, and perhaps most of that is because the group is well aware of Shadowheart’s feelings about the Moonwitch and that the comment is quite tame from her. But outing herself as a cleric of Shar to a powerful Selûnite cleric is, perhaps, not her best decision. That they’re rather close to the battlegrounds of a Sharran army that laid waste to the area and the leader of this inn was a veteran of a war against said army… Truly not a good decision on her part.

But the other cleric doesn’t immediately smite her . She just … looks Shadowheart over for a moment. There is nothing that truly marks her as Sharran out right as she’s replaced her armor since the start of this entire adventure and it covers her tattooed arms but her words were rather clear. They lock eyes for a moment and her heart beats faster for reasons unknown when she looks into those blue silver eyes.

The cleric taps her nose with her finger and it jolts Shadowheart out of her daze. “Good nose,” she said in the same light teasing tone she’d been talking to Tav with. “Like a nasty little terrier.” She looks at her again, studying her for some kind of reaction.

Shadowheart doesn’t know what reaction she’s looking for so gives her none.

She has done what she has always hoped to do. Shadowheart has walked in the holy walls of Lady Shar’s temple, she has undergone the trials as those before her have done, she holds the Spear of Night in her hands and now she stands in the Shadowfell.

She knows the cost. Tav and Karlach have been watching closely ever since they’ve walked into the temple and even Lae’zel has been eying her with something close to worry. They do not understand, none of them possibly could. She has nothing besides Shar, nothing about her dreams or desires besides becoming her Lady’s greatest weapon. They’ve all killed before and Shadowheart may not have all her memories ( She will soon- she finally will) but she’s done worse than kill bandits and goblins.

The Nightsong is a woman.

A woman that stands taller and just as muscular as Halsin or Karlach with golden cracks running across her face and body. She is wearing ragged clothes covered in muck and old blood, just as she is. Her hair is a pale blonde, half braided back against her head to keep it out of her eyes. Eyes that are blazing blue and filled with rage at the sight of their party.

“ Balthazar has finally drawn his final rancid breath,” the Nightsong says in a rumbling voice. She walks around the magic symbols of her cage like a caged animal. “A pity it was not my hand that brought it about. Instead it was you.”

She turns and looks at them all and her eyes jump from each of them until she lands on Shadowheart. “You, who have come seeking the praise of your wicked goddess.” She walked towards her and despite knowing she can not leave her cell Shadowheart steps back. Huge magic claws appear and slow her to a stop at the circle’s edge. “You, who have come to drive a dagger through my heart.”

“Not a dagger - a spear. My Lady Shar’s spear.”

Tav’s face is drawn downward and she sends a glance to Karlach who stands somewhere off to the side. She doesn’t know what the glance was for- doesn’t care. Nothing matters other than finally proving herself to Shar. But Tav has rarely been able to simply stand by.

“Her fate is mine to seal,” she says. She knows it to be true, knows it to her bones. “Let me handle this.”

The Nightsong pulls forward on her bonds for a moment before stepping back. The anger she had displayed was dimmed now and her voice now showed compassion and worry for- Shadowheart? “The fate you seal is your own. To be a Dark Justiciar is to turn your heart away from everything but loss.” There is a softness to her words, “You will know no love, no joy - only servitude.”

And she’s stuck, frozen for a long moment. Because is servitude not what she wanted? Serving Shar is all that she knows. It’s why she’s moving forward despite everything; it’s why she breathes.What place does love or joy have in her life? They’re pointless distractions from her real duty, things only children or the foolish and weak succumb to.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Tav looks at her, her dark purple eyes soft and wide. She is a paladin, sworn to uphold what is right and good despite her own feelings but she doesn’t cut Shadowheart down. Instead she simply stands before her and asks a question that unnerves her more than any argument over what is right possibly could.

“I…Yes I think so. My whole life has been leading to this. No turning back now.”

It’s the wrong argument to make, she knows as soon as she says it. She should be excited about what she is about to do, she’s been chosen by Shar for this part of her victory over the Moon Witch. But excitement is not what she feels at all- not truly. She wants Shar’s love but the task itself, well, she has no desire to murder a woman trapped in a cell.

Tav looks into her eyes, looking for something. She seemingly finds it because she nods once and steps back. “Do as you must.”

The words rock her. Tav has been a beacon of good the entire time she’s known the half-drow, a paladin to her core. She allows no stealing, lets those that surrender go freely and has cost them all a lot of time because of her need to help those that they come across. She should doing the same here, shouldn’t she? She’s paladin about to witness a murder- she should be doing something.

Karlach says something, hisses it really,  into Tav’s ear but Shadowheart ignores her and takes the Spear of Night is in her hands.

The worry is gone from the Nightsongs voice. Now she’s seemingly mocking her and it makes her hands tighten on the spear. “Well, well, well. What is that I sense? A spear intended for my heart? Empowered by your goddess, aye- empowered to kill the child of a god. Do you know what I am, little assassin?”

She should just get it over with but she can’t seem to make herself do it quite yet.

Then suddenly the Nightsong’s anger is gone and her voice is softer than it’s been for their entire conversion. “For I know you- A child frightened by wolves in the dark.”

Her heart skips a beat. “What did you say?”

“Much has been promised to you, hasn’t it? But what has been taken from you?” Her voice becomes rough, angry but it’s not directed at Shadowheart. “What do you know of your own heart? Your own life?” She breathes deep, calming herself slightly. “I know more of you than you know.”

“Whatever you think you know of me won’t matter once I become who I’m meant to be.”

The Nightspear is in her hands and she can feel the cold sting of it under her armored gloves. The Shadowfell is a never ending rush of roaring winds but all she hears is the sound of her own heart beat. She lifts the spear and watches as the Nightsong watches her in turn but she has no more to say. Tav says nothing. Karlach, who has just as good a heart, says nothing. Even Lae’zel who has always had a comment about what Shadowheart does, says nothing.

The choice is truly and utterly hers.

She throws the spear.

Chapter Text

Isobel's second soulmate was given the name Shadowheart. She doubted her parents had named her that,as Sharran’s often renamed themselves when they started to serve Shar and Shadowheart was the most Sharran name she’d heard in a long time.

She learned it not from the woman herself, having spoken to her exactly once, but the same way she’d been learning about her since that fateful meeting; overhearing conversations in the inn below and studying her from afar.

She tried to not imagine how her mother would react to her doing so but needs must.

The group is strange, even for an adventurer’s party. Despite their initial meeting being harsh and violent, they eventually fit together. There’s an ease to their interactions found in the good-nature eye rolls, the tossing of food to the pets while the others aren’t looking and all the teasing. 

Shadowheart was the healer of the group. As strange as the phrase ‘Sharran healer’ was, the paladin Tav rarely went into the Shadowlands without her, so Isobel only sat on the second floor landing watching her whenever the group returned for the night, if they did at all.

Before she was ever a cleric, she’d been a politician’s daughter. The Thorm family has been ruling Reithwin and the lands around for ages, so their reach in the area's politics was second to none. Ketheric had been a rarity in the Thorm family as,though Reithwin had always been heavily Selûnite, it was unheard of for any of them to fully pledge themselves like he did. Most of her family simply took the positions of power and influence in Reithwin that their last name would give them.

Ketheric had always valued more.

(It was easier by the day to call him Ketheric. The man she called Papa while sitting on his lap as he told her old stories was long dead. The newer stories that she was hearing from Reithwin and of the ancient horrors made her sick to her stomach.) 

She’d learned how to read people. How to spot hidden agendas and meanings. So Isobel replays that meeting over and over again in her mind, trying to understand, trying to find some path forward. 

Isobel was uncertain whether Shadowheart was the epitome of Sharran acting skill or the embodiment of their incompetence. She’d reacted so harshly to Isobel’s protection, but had not said another word to her. Perhaps she was avoiding her because of their marks? That Shadowheart had given herself away at all in these circumstances seemed ill thought out, yet there had been no reaction when Isobel spoke her words.

Isobel saw how the others reacted to their tiny exchange. Tav, whom Isobel has heard multiple heroic stories about already, had a wide-eyed look that clearly suggested an older sister's disapproval of her sibling's thoughtless remark, rather than anything else. Which meant she’d already known well beforehand that Shadowheart was a cleric of Shar and that she’d asked her to keep it low while they were here. 

She’d read about Sharran’s far more than she’d interacted with them. A grain of salt had to be taken when reading about one’s enemies from one’s point of view, but even considering that the stories were horrific. 

Had Shadowheart joined of her own free will like Isobel’s own father? There were many stories of Sharran’s kidnapping children, even though one of Shar’s own tenets was that her ‘wisdom’ only be given to those that want it.

One night as Isobel stands on her balcony, praying for guidance. She’d whipped her face clean of her kohl and she’d put her robes put away for the night. She stands under the light of Selûne and prays for something. Her prayers for everything besides protecting the inn haven’t felt right since she’s awakened. Her gifts haven’t wavered or lessened despite the edge of fear she has that this will be the moment Selûne doesn’t answer her because Isobel had become rotted from the inside out during the time of Blackness. 

She doesn’t expect a response to these prayers, truly. The Lady of Sliver wasn’t a goddess that directed her clerics minute by minute, and Isobel knew that Last Light was exactly where she needed to be. 

It was late when she saw movement under her balcony. Because of the protection spell, there was always some light surrounding the inn. The consistent moonlight with no real sunrise or sunset had taken the longest to get used to in the past weeks. The Moon Maiden could not show her face here, but through Isobel her light surrounded the inn like it was the full moon.

It’s under that moon light she sees Shadowheart walking along the edge of the spell. Sharrans pray at midnight so doubtlessly she was off to pray away from the eyes of the Harpers.

Isobel had not seen Shadowheart without armor, but that wasn’t exactly uncommon at Last Light. It had only gotten worse since Ketheric’s attack. But instead of armor, Shadowheart id wearing tight black leather pants and a dark vest with a deep cut down the chest. The outfit shows off more skin Isobel has seen from the other cleric by far.

Normally she can only glimpse Shadowheart’s face, everything covered by armor, as she even wore gloves unless eating. The musculature of her shoulders and arms that were only ever implied by the ease she carried the massive shield she lugged around was now on perfect display. 

There was a feeling in her chest similar to when she’d seen Aylin face for the first time. A sense of longing. That meeting had been something close to this, a change meeting late at night with prayers about to be said. But unlike Aylin, who had kneeled at her feet the very moment she’d spoken her words to her, Shadowheart remains far off. Unreachable.

It takes Isobel a few moments to realize that the shadows on her arms are black tattoos and another for the shapes to come together. Shar’s symbol, barely hidden among the twisting black ink. 

Her heart twists, and she grips the banister with white knuckles. Shadowheart hadn’t reacted to her words and Isobel had concluded that she simply hadn’t wanted to deal with Isobel or the fact her soulmate was on opposite sides. Perhaps they weren’t even soulmates and Isobel would meet another Sharran. 

She foolishly hadn’t considered that Shadowheart might not even know. Shar was the goddess of loss and her followers often gave up their memories before missions. Aylin had even spoken to her about it multiple times. If Shadowheart had been on a quest or a mission for her temple, she may have no idea what those tattoos covered.

Shadowheart made a sudden turn, evidently aware of Isobel's presence, and their gazes locked. Isabel refused to look away, although her heart and mind were racing. 

Their eyes met, and in that instant, a jolt of electricity seemed to flow through them. Isobel could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her palms grew clammy, and she could sense the adrenaline coursing through her veins, making her hands tremble ever so slightly. She fought to maintain her composure, refusing to look away despite the storm of emotions raging within her.

There was too much going on for them to sit down and talk, if Shadowheart would even listen, which she doubted. Isobel just needed something, anything, to prove to herself that she hadn’t gone mad and that her soul wasn’t dark enough to warrant being tied to a cleric of Shar. Were the tiny moments of kindness that she’d seen from afar just a manufactured persona or someone who’d lost their way? 

For that brief, suspended moment, it was just Isobel and Shadowheart, locked in a silent struggle, their emotions colliding and intertwining.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, the moment shattered when they lost eye contact. Shadowheart’s eyes clenched shut, her face transformed into a mask of pain. Isobel was about to grab her lance in case this was another attack, but then she saw the faint purple glow from between Shadowheart’s fingers as she gripped her other hand and knew that there was nothing she could do. 

She watched, her heart heavy, as Shadowheart hurriedly moved away.  

Aylin can’t say how much time has passed when her soulmate appears to her.

She has died countless times and lost so many pieces of herself that she’s barely holding together. That wretched necromancer Balthazar had stolen her tongue, her hands, and her wings more than once, only to kill her and start it all over again. 

She has the blood of a god running through her veins, but she is no god or goddess. There are limits. The cracks on her body spoke of the horrors she experienced in Shar's lair and the never-ending cycle of death. Dame Aylin was finally reaching her limit.

“Balthazar has finally drawn his final rancid breath,” she said. She kept her eyes focused on nothing. Aylin had promised herself that she would try to give her soulmate soft words, but that was before she scarred over. Her anger was now a tangible presence, casting a dark shadow over everything. “A pity it was not my hand that brought it about. Instead, it was you.”

She turns to look at the party that may be the ones to set her free and she knows immediately which woman is her soulmate. A young half Elven woman stands before her in bloody armor. She has black hair as dark as night, with thin silver chains tied into her braid. A Sharran circlet, its black disc speckled with blood, rests on her brow. 

Before her stands her soulmate, wearing the symbols of Isobel's killers, causing her to falter slightly in containing the simmering rage within her. 

“You, who have come seeking the praise of your wicked goddess.” Aylin walks to the edge of her cage. She doesn’t bother looking at the others who have come with her soulmate. If she must die again or perhaps for the last time, it will be by her soulmate’s hands. “You, who have come to drive a dagger through my heart.”

“Not a dagger - a spear. My Lady Shar’s spear.”

And this woman truly is such a mirror of her late lover. Isobel had been all soft words but always meant each one. This woman speaks her words so confidently, but Aylin has been walking this world long enough to see that the confidence is being put on.

And the fact she turns to the drow- a fellow paladin if Aylin’s senses are working correctly- seals that. Her soulmate has at least a small part of herself, her real true self. It remains to be seen if that is enough. So many Sharran’s have been unsure. All had killed her.

“Her fate is mine to seal,” her soulmate said. Truth spoken without awareness. “Let me handle this.”

She can feel the wicked tether in her soulmate’s hand. The base for Balthazar’s awful cage was built using Shar’s own magical chains. How much has her soulmate suffered under that chain? Does she truly understand? 

No. Shar and her followers work in darkness and secrecy. Some of Aylin’s murderers came to her knowing what their task would be and others hadn’t known at all. The ones with marks like her soulmates never knew and their hands wavered the most.

“The fate you seal is your own,” she said. Aylin will not plead. After begging for Isobel’s life, she swore to never do so again. “To be a Dark Justiciar is to turn your heart away from everything but loss. You will know no love, no joy - only servitude.”

The longing for her soulmate’s name consumes Aylin, manifesting as a gnawing ache in the depths of her chest. She yearns to witness the radiance that illuminates her soulmate’s face, to bask in the warmth that only love can bring. Which flowers would bring a spark of delight to her eyes? Would it be the hues of sunflowers, or blooming cherry blossom? She wonders if her soulmate would find joy in listening to her tales.

But Aylin’s heart holds other questions that stir a bittersweet ache within her. Does her soulmate share the same love for hounds that Isobel once did? Enjoy the same stories or the same flowers? Aylin yearns to know if they would find solace together.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” The paladin asked. 

Oh, how her soulmate's wavering was so intense. “I…Yes I think so. My whole life has been leading to this. No turning back now.”

The words stroke the anger in her chest. How long has Shar’s followers have held her soulmate captive while they had trapped here Aylin with wings clipped and powerless? 

“Do as you must.” The paladin trusts her soulmate enough that she steps back, an action that truly could cost her oath if Aylin’s life is taken. Does another Oathbreaker stand before her or does she trust Aylin’s soulmate so much that she accepts the risk? 

The tiefling hisses something into the drow’s ear, but Aylin’s attention is solely on the Spear of Night in her soulmate’s hands. 

A foreign sense of fear blooms in her chest. She’d said it was not a dagger that she held, hadn’t she? That spear was enough to make her death permanent- not even the Lady of Sliver could raise her. No matter how much she may wish.  

But they have not broken Dame Aylin enough to show that, not in front of strangers. Her voice becomes hard. “Well, well, well. What is that I sense? A spear intended for my heart? Empowered by your goddess, aye- empowered to kill the child of a god. Do you know what I am, little assassin?”

A chain works both ways. Aylin can see the anchor of her soulmate’s chain, a memory twisted until it’s a mockery of truth and darkness. A sweet girl's heart racing with deep fear as she gazed upon her father, her strongest protector, with his teeth stained crimson and dripping with blood. She hadn’t been afraid of the wolf- she’d been afraid for him.

Damn Shar. Damn her horrid followers and whoever twisted that memory of protection into a haunting nightmare. 

“For I know you,” Aylin softened her voice. “A child frightened by wolves in the dark.”

Her soulmate’s eyes were beautiful, even when wide in shock. “What did you say?”

“Much has been promised to you, hasn’t it? But what has been taken from you?” And she will not show weakness, not here in her chains, but it aches. Oh, how it aches to have failed twice over. “What do you know of your own heart? Your own life? I know more of you than you know.”

Her soulmate tries to put on a tough face, but her eyes give away her true vulnerability. She is wavering. “Whatever you think you know of me won’t matter once I become who I’m meant to be.”

Her soulmate holds the Night Spear before her just slightly off, like she’s more used to other weapon. On her hand, the small purple wound flares and Aylin’s emotions are a storm. 

Shar is pulling her leash even now. Does a piece of her soulmate still reject the darkness? Surely she must if they had tied such a chain to her. Aylin is a paladin to her core and while she was often her mother’s sword, that didn’t mean to urge to protect wasn’t just as strong. It was her own failure that led to her love’s death and now her soulmate stands before her with Shar’s collar and she can do nothing. 

She doesn’t know what her soulmate will choose until her soulmate twists and throws Shar’s spear into the empty abyss. The sound of the Night Spear hitting the rocks reverberated in the stillness of the Shadowfell, creating a hauntingly beautiful melody. 

"I can't believe I did that," she said barely above a whisper, her voice filled with a mix of shock and fear . “Shar will disown me now. Now I am truly lost.” 

"No, you were already lost," said Aylin. She walked to the edge of her cage. “Lost to Shar’s darkness and silence. Now- now you can truly find yourself without those chains.”

She kneels at her soulmate’s feet like she once did Isobel so long ago. “Lay a hand on me in friendship, little warrior. Free me so that I can fight the battle that has waited for me for a century. Then, oh then, we will have much to discuss.” 

Aylin's soulmate reaches the edge of her century-old cage with trembling hands, and she instinctively averts her gaze when she nearly flinches upon their eyes meeting. When a hand brushed against her shoulder, she couldn't resist grasping it with her own hand, covered in dirt and grime. It has been a century since she last felt the comforting embrace of a friendly touch, and even longer since she felt the connection of a soulmate's. 

Aylin withholds from kissing her knuckles or her palm, acknowledging that her soulmate of being incapable of embracing these tender actions during this sensitive moment. They would have time after she had recovered from being under Shar's care and Aylin had successfully dealt with the oath breaker. 

When her soulmate pulls away, Aylin lets her and feel her connection to her mother finally, finally grow after all these years. She’s finally warm as the deep warmth of her mother’s love fills her heart. The Oathbreaker would pay for daring to take her mother away from her just as much as Aylin’s deaths and not allowing her to save her soulmate. 

She takes a moment to revel simply in that love and affection, her eyes glowing with divinity, before she slams her fist into the stone under her cage. 

Ketheric Thorm had welcomed her once into his home, broken bread together. They’d laughed together over Isobel’s love of books and her inability to let a hound go unnoticed. His daughter had been a woman with a compassionate heart, always putting the needs of others before her own, and she had been the center of Aylin's world. She had kneeled at his wife’s grave and prayed for her with his daughter’s hand on her shoulder.

Aylin's fist crashed against the ground, sending vibrations through her body. 

And now Ketheric Thorm’s time on this plane of existence was over.

Chapter Text

Isobel knew the exact moment that Aylin returned to Faerun. 

She’d been sitting at her desk writing in her journal when it happened. There was little to do at Last Light besides sitting around and waiting. The Harper’s and Fist’s had been extremely adamant about keeping her away from harm or even simply tiring. At first she’d fought against it, but finally had to bow to the wisdom that Isobel was the only one keeping the inn afloat. Risking herself for something as minor as firewood duty was foolish. 

But it left her feeling so alone. The refugees were so weary, as were the soldiers. Each group was a tight-knit one, and that did not include Isobel with her century out-of-date knowledge and guilt. 

After all, her father caused all of this. For her. Darkness shrouded the surroundings of her home, leading to either the demise or displacement of her people. Those who entrusted her family with their safety. It never seemed to end. Shadowheart’s group had returned to the inn only days ago with stories of hundreds of corpses stacked upon each other, of clueless undead women who had been nurses in life, and of an insane surgeon by the name of Malus Thorm. 

One of her great uncle’s. She’d only met him a handful of times as he was always busy with his work and had only taken over the House of Healing recently, but the nurses…. She’d known all of them. They’d been kind women who used to give her candy when she’d been a child and teased her endlessly when she brought Aylin there to visit. Isobel could only wish for their souls to find peace. 

It’s not healthy for her to be all alone like this, but the guilt is crushing her. She can’t tell if it’s the guilt that makes her feel like death lingers inside of her chest. She feels like herself, but would she be able to tell if someone brought her back wrong? Isobel can’t trust herself with it, but there is no one else who knows her that still lives besides her father. 

Writing helps. It reminds her of simpler times when she’d written to her parents from the temple in Moon Haven while she studied or wrote to her angel, despite her letters often being unsendable because of how fast those wings of hers had been. 

Then suddenly, a tingling sensation spread through her arm, accompanied by a comforting warmth. Her hands and feet have been hard to keep warm since they had brought her back, but that wasn’t the reason she covered her arms. Seeing Aylin’s words blackened was still simply too painful to see. She’d been staring at Shadowheart’s purple ones too much and found it easier to cover them as well. 

Her arm is tingling precisely where Aylin's words are. 

Her heart beat once. Then twice. Then even as her mind tried to rationalize; she knew. 

It took a few seconds for her shaky hand to pull her sleeve back enough to see those blocky words. Aylin had been perfectly capable of writing like the highest born princess with each letter a work of art, but wrote bigger and blocky when excited. The words themselves had always been a comfort, for she knew no one else who had such a sweet soul mark. 

And now on her arm instead of flat black were those words glowing silver and hints of new gold; You’re even more beautiful than I ever dreamed you would be, my love.

Isobel had not dared to pray for more than Aylin’s soul and hoped that whatever had happened to her led to a peaceful rest at her mother’s side. To ask for answers from the Lady of Silver about her own daughter’s death had felt ghoulish, and Isobel feared the answer would break her further still. 

Her fingers were trembling as she rubbed those glowing words, tears slipping freely, but her connection to Selûne suddenly flared deep in her chest. Her connection has been weaker even while her powers have nearly doubled, but this is perhaps the most sudden and most powerful the Moon Maiden has connected to her. 

This is not the first time she’s heard her goddess’s voice, but it’s the first that she sounds so moral, so emotional. Selûne sounded enthusiastic, relieved and, most of all, proud.

‘Quickly, my moonling. Look to the sky and see that my daughter flies freely once again.’ 

Isobel can’t even bring herself to speak a proper prayer in return as she jerks up and rushes to her balcony. For a few moments she sees nothing, but then from the north comes Aylin, bathed in holy fire and sword in hand, flying at breakneck speeds towards Moonrise. 

Her father once pulled her aside after she’d brought Aylin to Moonrise to meet her parents. While he hadn’t been rude or disrespectful to Aylin while they ate dinner together, she could sense that he didn’t fully approve. He was worried about Aylin being immoral and adding her being a paladin sworn to vengeance made him worried still. Those that swore themselves to have no mercy towards the unjust often lost themselves in their own vengeance. 

She had reassured him. Aylin might be her Holy Mother’s sword, but towards Isobel she had been nothing other than a courteous knight. Her love had always softened herself when they were together, from her voice to her touch. 

Perhaps she should have tried harder to make her father understand. Maybe in a different life, she could have made him realize that Dame Aylin was a woman who enjoyed playing with children and resting her head on Isobel's lap while she read, and that her boisterous laughter brought deep joy to Isobel or that she loved giving her flowers or sweets whenever they said goodbye. 

In this one, it would see that Ketheric Thorm's concerns about Dame Aylin's rage were well-founded. 

Isobel can only experience a feeling of relief. 

Aylin almost stays.

Her mother has returned her armor and sword to her and, more importantly of all, her wings. With each beat, her heart resonates with the powerful rhythm of her mother’s strength. Her sword, blessed by the Lady of Silver, blazes with flames that resemble the soft, pale glow of moonlight.

Dame Aylin, Silver Sword of the Moon Maiden and Moon Daughter, has always been the instrument of her mother’s divine power. Ketheric Thorm, in his heinous act of breaking his oath, has brought untold suffering and death upon the faithful servants of her Mother. Dame Aylin herself has suffered the loss of her life countless times because of his actions. Her body torn apart by Balthazar, piece by piece, from her tongue to her wings, all on his orders. Worst of all, he took Aylin’s chance to save her soulmate a lifetime of darkness and pain under Shar and desecrated the memory of Isobel all the while.

Her sword thirsts for his blood, and she imagines the satisfying crunch of her boot on his head, yet she hesitates.

Her soulmate’s name is Shadowheart. There is an irony to her having a soulmate with such a Sharran name, but it’s already so clear that Shar had taken someone opposite of her own followers to mold. Their conversation was brief, and she didn’t gain much insight, but it would have to do for now. Shar will retaliate, as it is her petty nature to do so. No doubt she would use that wound on her hand to torture her Little Warrior with harsh pain. But she will not kill her. Not when that wicked goddess still has her parents.

But it is the fact that Aylin can see Shadowheart falling into shock that allows her to fly true. If her presence had been a comfort, she would have stayed her hand until her soulmate was calm, but she would be no comfort here. She was not a companion or lover and for now Shadowheart did not know that their souls were pieces of one whole.

It tore at her to leave her side so soon after they exchanged words, but Shadowheart needed time. And when Dame Aylin flew past Isobel’s tomb and saw the lands her lover once called home twisted into a graveyard covered in shadow; she swore to use that time wisely.

As Aylin soared through the air, the haunting silence of the shadow-covered lands echoed in her ears. The once vibrant lands were now lay barren and lifeless, suffocated by the darkness that had engulfed them and the scent of decay permeated the air. The chilling wind whipped through her hair, carrying with it a mournful wail that seemed to echo the anguish of the land.

Determined, Aylin pushed forward, her heart heavy but resolute.

Ketheric Thorm was an oathbreaker twice over, it would seem. 

The strength of her new cage is inferior to its predecessor. Although her connection to her Mother continues to pound in her chest, she remains unable to move. Without being in the Shadowfell, it’s likely that in time she’d be able to break it, but time is something she doesn’t have. 

Ketheric is unwilling to make eye contact with her, even refusing to look in her direction. 

Dame Aylin has fought in countless battles over untold years; yet she froze at the mention of Isobel. Had it been a vile trick? The idea of her love coming back to this world was something she didn't dare to hope for. Ketheric had lost all sense of decency or honor: she could trust nothing. 

She can’t hear the conversation between the drow paladin and Ketheric when the same brave group makes their way into his deepest sanctum. However, she can observe Ketheric rejecting whatever terms he had been given , though Dame Aylin would ensure that she crushed him under her boot. She wouldn't show any mercy to him or his followers as long as she had blood in her veins. The oathbreaker falls into the pit willingly. 

And an aspect of Myrkul climbed out in his place.  

Shadowheart is numb. 

This day was the longest of her life by a mile. She’d prepared herself to pass the Dark Lady’s ultimate test only this morning. A simple test compared to the trials that came before. There was to be no test of strength or wit or cunning. It was just a simple test of loyalty, nothing more. 

How many Sharran’s had done this before her? It was simple. They chained and left the Nightsong defenseless. The moon witch’s daughter herself and Shar had commanded her, lowly Shadowheart, to finally finish her. Yet when she held that spear in her hands, she realized that this choice was the first actual choice she’d been able to make… perhaps ever. 

Is that why she threw the spear into the Shadowfell? It hadn’t been just curiously, though, that played a part in it. As did the simple fact, she had no desire to kill Dame Aylin, who had been honest to her despite the circumstances. 

She almost puts off seeking her out in the immediate aftermath. They’d fought Balthazar and his minions, she’d gotten tortured and abandoned by Shar, fought through Moonrise, fought Ketheric Thorm , traveled through the mind flayer colony and finally battled an aspect of Myrkul. Her magic is depleted. (Which she dares not linger on . She can’t even be thankful for not losing her abilities at the moment.) She’s tried, bruised, and she has an untold amount of muck covering her. 

Tav finds her first. 

“Dame Aylin is in the main hall,” are the first words out of her mouth. She’s sporting a cut across her face that travels from her hairline down over her eye, but it’s her fake eye so it must have been lower priority than her other wounds. 

Shadowheart nods and makes her way over there, but Tav catches her shoulder. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” She said, her face serious. 

She tries to add some levity to her voice. “Why? Are you offering to protect me from Selûne’s daughter ?”  Tav is nice enough to ignore the way Shadowheart’s words stumble over the goddess’s name. 

Instead, she shrugs. “If you needed me too, I would at least attempt it.” She breathed deeply for a moment and then said quietly, “But I know how hard this must be for you. You shouldn’t have to do any of this alone if you don’t wish it.” 

“Do you?” Shadowheart looks away. She can’t even feel sadness at the moment. It’s all just numb. “Because I just gave up everything- all that I lived and trained for my entire life. I know nothing besides Shar and I don’t even know why I did it. Not truly.” 

Tav hesitates before she motions for Shadowheart to follow her into one of the small rooms off to the side of the main hall. It’s quiet here without the Harper’s scrounging around for resources and celebrating. 

Tav reaches under her bloody armor and pulls out a small medallion on the necklace she never took off. “Before I swore my oath,” she said as she showed Shadowheart the small symbol of the god Torm on the medallion, “I almost swore my life to Hoar instead.” 

Shadowheart felt taken aback. “The Doombringer? I didn’t think you had it in you.” 

The paladin nodded. “And before that? I was training to be a bard.” 

She scoffed at that, unable to imagine Tav, who stood as tall as Karlach and almost as muscular and had enough bravery that it circled back around to foolishness, as a bard. 

Tav's lips curled into a smile. “It’s true. This lyre that my father had always fascinated me and he always said he would teach me how to play it. After he died, my mother paid an outrageous amount of gold to have me trained. A human woman with a half-drow daughter made that hard, but she did it.” 

Tav's voice grew hoarser. “Then someone murdered her when I was a teenager. There was no justice. ‘Just another merchant woman murdered for her affiliation with the Drow,’ is what I was told. I immediately quit the college and attempted to join any organization or group that would enable me to seek vengeance. I barely stopped myself from getting lost to that quest and swore my oath to Thom the True instead.” 

Shadowheart couldn’t help but notice the slight trembling in Tav’s hands, a subtle manifestation of the lingering anger and grief that still haunted her. The strain of her words was evident in the raspiness that clung to each syllable, as if the weight of her memories had settled in her throat. 

As Tav cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure, Shadowheart could sense the rawness of her emotions. “What I mean to say is that I know that right now there are no words that will provide comfort to you, but I just wanted you to know that I am here. As are the others.” 

Their leader had always felt like an open book to Shadowheart. She admired Tav’s strength, her unwavering determination as a woman with a true heart and headstrong enough to swear an oath about it but she thought that was all there was. It seemed there was more to her than she knew. A side of her ‘fearless’ leader that she had not fully comprehended before, a depth of pain and resilience. 

Tav had nearly chosen a different path and instead chose one of loyalty and duty. Much like herself it would seem. 

“I…,” Shadowheart sighed. She appreciated the sincerity behind Tav’s attempt to offer comfort but it did nothing to the numbness in her chest. “Thank you, Tav. I think you’re right that any attempts to comfort me might be in vain now … but you’re sweet to keep me in your thoughts.” 

“Yes, well,” Tav reached up and ran a hand through her short chopped hair, “I thought you’d rather me do the whole reassurance thing instead of Karlach or Wyll.” 

She chuckled, too tired and worn to truly laugh. “Gods, that I can appreciate. They’re sweet but…” 

Tav nodded without hesitation, clearly in agreement. “A bit much, yes.” 

“Well, go on,” Shadowheart waved Tav towards the last place she’d seen Karlach. She’d been going upstairs and talking about a hound of all things. “I can speak to her on my own.” 

Tav wavered for a moment, but accepted with a nod. 

Dame Aylin is in the grand hall. Back in the Shadowfell, she had a formidable presence despite her threadbare clothing that impressed even Shadowheart. Now as Shadowheart approached the daughter of Selûne, she notices the radiant glow of the moonlight reflecting off her armor, accentuating the intricate engravings and delicate silver filigree. The sight of the white wings on her back adds an ethereal touch to her presence.

When their eyes meet, a spark ignites within Shadowheart, piercing through the numbness that has engulfed her. 

“There you are, little warrior,” Dame Aylin’s voice resonates with authority, yet carries a warmth that Shadowheart wasn’t expecting after all the yelling and skull smashing. She also pulls off her helmet to place it at her hip. “We have much to discuss.” 

“We do. Hopefully, whatever you say will be worth your life.” 

She doesn’t know why she said that. It’s more rude than she’d wanted to start this conversation with, but it feels easier to lash out than the alternative. Easier to be mean than to think about who is empowering her at this very moment. 

Not a flicker of emotion crossed the paladin's face in response to her aggression. “We shall speak around your camp fire later,  as I believe you would rather have this conversation privately and away from prying eyes and ears?” 

"I- yes," she replied, her voice filled with a mix of hesitation and determination. She hadn’t considered that at all. “Yes, of course.” 

“I will keep my word,” Dame Aylin said. “This I swear, but it is late and surely you're tired after such a long battle. The Paladin Tav has invited me to join your camp for a time, should you agree?” 

Shadowheart blinked, taken aback. “Should I agree?” 

“You have gone through a great deal and more quickly, with more troubles yet to come. My presence might be…” Dame Aylin hesitated, trying to pick a word. “Discomforting.” 

“Of course, Tav cares about me finding people in camp ‘discomforting’ only after Lae’zel and I buried the hatchet,” she muttered. Then she sighed, “If you wish to join us, then I certainly won’t argue.” 

Dame Aylin smiled, and Shadowheart almost took back her agreement. She hadn't expected such tenderness from Selûne's daughter, especially since she had only been abandoned by Lady Shar this day. She felt an overwhelming need to flee from the paladin's presence, her skin prickling with discomfort. 

“I will wait at camp whenever you’re ready to speak with me,” she said. Shadowheart didn’t wait for her reply and turned on her heel. She wasn’t running, that would only cause problems, but she ignored the lingering Harper’s and Flaming Fists. 

She was stopped just as she made it to the steps outside Moonrise. 

“Shadowheart!” 

She jerked to a stop, surprised at hearing her name said so loudly and relieved. 

Isobel Thorm stood before her. Clearly she’d come from Last Light rather quickly, the mud still covering her boots. She’s smiling brightly, more expressive than Shadowheart has seen her. 

Perhaps if Shadowheart had been having a different day, she might have lingered. Maybe she’d try to speak to one of Selûne’s most faithful about her abandonment or try to needle her about being not fully truthful about her connections. She doesn’t want to do either of those things. All she wants to do is figure out how Dame Aylin knows about her deepest secret and sleep. 

“Thorm,” she said in acknowledgment. The urge to be rude is there, but she suppresses it. There is no need to be hostile. Shar has abandoned her but even if she cared to punish her with her wound still, wanting to speak to a cleric of Selûne would be the least of her concerns. 

Isobel’s smile dips. “You know then?” 

“He mentioned it,” she hesitated. “I’m sure you know that the shadow curse has ended.” 

“Yes, and I know it means that Ketheric - that my father is dead. I can only hope that his soul can rest.” Isobel shook her head. “But that is not why I am here. Are you alright?”  

There it is again, that uncomfortable itch under her skin. Isobel has been a classic enough cleric thus far, helpful and kind. At least according to Tav who has had the most encounters with her. All Shadowheart has had was a single, admittedly rude, sentence and a confusing meeting of their eyes. 

Yet Shadowheart knows that Isobel’s concern is genuine. Does the other cleric know that she’s been abandoned? Surely she doesn’t, so why does she care? It’s foolish and naïve. 

“I’m fine,” her tone is short. Later, she’ll deal with this later. It’s all just too much to deal with at once. But she added, “Thank you for your concern,” as she could not brush the other woman off completely. 

“I’m glad,” Isobel said. She hesitated, then said carefully, “I know your group is heading to Baldur’s Gate but I would like to speak with you before you leave. Or perhaps join you for a time if that is possible and doesn’t make you uncomfortable.” 

“Tav is the one that makes those decisions but I don’t see why you can’t.” Shadowheart doesn’t know why she’d want to join them but perhaps this was a good thing. Once her mind settles she’ll have questions about… things. Her entire body wants to flinch at even thinking about it right now but she must think about later.

“Besides, we already have the daughter of Selûne joining us. You’ll fit right in at this rate.” 

Shadowheart isn’t really sure what response she’s expecting with that statement. Surely Isobel would be shocked to learn of Dame Aylin’s rescue from the Shadowfell or be excited to meet her goddess’s daughter. 

Instead Isobel smiles wide once again. Her silver eyes are as bright as the divine flames that Dame Aylin threw all over Moonrise. She’s reminded of how their eyes had locked together that night at Last Light, how she hadn’t known how to turn away. 

Before Isobel could speak, Shadowheart cut her off. “ I should get going. Speak to Tav if you wish, I think she’s still inside.” 

And for the second time in less than ten minutes, Shadowheart rushed away. 

It was foolish for her to do so. There was no more Shar to punish her for speaking to a Selûnite But Isobel’s smile caused the same amount of discomfort as Dame Aylin’s fondness and serene acceptance. 

If the Dark Lady hadn’t abandoned her in such a dramatic fashion, Shadowheart would be tempted to call them foolish for it. Instead, she just wished for a few hours in her tent. Maybe with a bottle of wine. Hopefully she could have that without more Selûnites joining their camp. 

When she reached the camp site, they’d set up one close to Moonrise, she saw Karlach squatting down around their campfire. All the others were still in Moonrise but Karlach must have returned before them. She was going to ignore her, as while she usually enjoyed Karlach’s company well enough, she just couldn’t deal with her… her-ness at the moment. 

But she pulled up short when she saw that Karlach wasn’t completely alone. At first Shadowheart thought it to be one of the strange shadow hounds that plagued the area, as it had a mostly dog like shape, but the beast was much thinner and more real as its edges didn’t fade into the darkness. Instead golden spikes formed something like armor along its bared bones and death darkened flesh. Two glowing eyes burned bright blue in its skull. 

Karlach had brought back an undead dog. If Shadowheart remembered the rambling correctly, as she hadn’t been part of the group to sneak around the top of Moonrise, Karlach had brought back Ketheric Thorm’s undead dog. 

No. She wasn’t dealing with it. Tav was the one dating her. She can be the one to deal with the fact Karlach had dragged an undead hound into their camp. 

Shadowheart was going to drink the half bottle of wine that was currently in her tent and go the hells to sleep. 

Isobel can’t simply leave. 

There were too many innocents at Last Light and the Harper’s needed a fall back point in case something went wrong. Jaheira had taken all her Harper’s and most of the Flaming Fist which left Isobel as the main defender of the inn should anything happen. 

She sends the hours anxiously. Time seems to move at a crawl. She prays for Aylin and Shadowheart both and wastes an hour or so solely on worrying what she’ll say to either of them. 

Multiple soulmates weren’t exactly rare, but nor were they common. She isn’t sure how Aylin will react to her suddenly having another soulmate- let alone a Sharran one. Her Angel could be wrathful, but she’s never seen that pointed at those that did not deserve it. Despite Shadowheart clearly serving Shar Isobel has seen nothing from her that warrants Aylin taking action. 

Surely Aylin will see that Shadowheart’s … heart doesn’t seem to lay with the Dark Lady? At least not fully. 

And how does she even begin to try to approach the fact that Shadowheart clearly doesn’t know they are soul mates ? Not to mention that Isobel’s other soulmate is the daughter of Selûne? There is much about the situation that Isobel doesn’t yet understand either, as Shadowheart was tied up in the same mess that Ketheric had created. 

She’d considered asking to travel with the group, if only because of lack of options and the desire to stick close to Shadowheart, but she could not leave Aylin either. Not after these past weeks of believing her dead. Of her being dead, if the black soul marks were to be believed. 

Isobel pushes it all from her mind and focuses on the fact that Aylin is alive. Whatever problems may arise is better than the alternative. They will be together. She knows that deep in her heart. No matter her uncertainties about Shadowheart, she knows Aylin will stand beside her and will support her. They’ve been through too much for anything else.

Shar’s dark curse breaks suddenly and without warning. One moment Isobel is contemplating heading downstairs to drink with the refugees and the next the shadows are gone. 

(She’d spared a thought of Aylin and Shadowheart getting …along. Very well. Then she tried to defend herself with the fact that it had technically been over a century for her and realized she was defending herself  from herself. Wine would probably not help with any of this, but she’d been thinking of giving it a go anyway.) 

Without the shadow curse, she can safely leave the refugees without fear and does so immediately. If the curse is gone, it means that Ketheric is dead and she can only muster up a bit of sadness over that fact. She will always miss the man he once was, but Ketheric Thorm had stopped being that man the moment he became lost enough to Shar that he started a campaign to root out Selûnites for her. 

But most importantly; Aylin is alive, and at Moon Rise and there is nothing that could keep her away. 

Not even death, it seems. 

It doesn’t take her long to walk the path towards Moon Rise. There is still lingering shadows, but the shades that she’s heard about from the Harper’s and Shadowheart’s group have vanished. Even if the joy of Aylin’s return, it hurts to see the ruins. To her, it had only been weeks ago that she’d walked this path under the moonlight. Aylin had offered her arm for a night stalk that quickly became less about the Lady of Silver and more about simply existing together. Her angel had left the next morning with a kiss to Isobel’s cheek and a whispered promise to return as soon as she’d be able. 

Isobel had died before then. 

Entering Reithwin was a special type of heartbreak. The cobbled streets were irreparably broken, and several buildings had crumpled into ruins. Rusted weapons littered the streets wherever the dead had dropped them. The bones of the dead were scattered about in every direction. 

She was likely the last living Throm, which meant much of these ruins were hers.

Later. She’ll deal with it later. 

Moonrise was lit up, and she could hear the celebration from the gates. It broke her heart to see what Moonrise had been twisted into. She’d lived there almost her entire life, besides some weeks or months spent at Moon Haven for training. Her first steps had been taken in her mother’s rooms, her first kiss had been with a sweet cook in the kitchens when everyone had gone to sleep, and her last conversation with her mother happened by her bedside. Yet now Moonrise would be known as Ketheric Thorm’s last hold out where he did battle with the Harpers and a small band of adventurers.  

Shadowheart suddenly appears on the steps outside Moonrise, looking rushed. There are bruises on her face and she’s covered in muck, but her movements aren’t hindered. She’s clearly distracted, but Isobel can’t say she blames her. Still, the sight of her alive and only slightly bruised is deep relief.  

“Shadowheart!” she said with more relief and familiarity than the Sharran was probably expecting. Isobel might have been a politician’s daughter, but other than having an eye for detail, she’d never been all that good at hiding her feelings.   

Shadowheart jolts to a stop and Isobel catches her eyes do a once over pass from her shoes to her face. Her eyes seemed to linger on her mouth the longest. “Thorm,” she said. 

Isobel can’t help that her smile dips. She knew it would never stay a secret forever. She just hoped that she could have some more time before she became Ketheric Thorm’s only daughter once again. “You know then?” 

“He mentioned it,” she hesitated, but Isobel knew what she was skirting around. “I’m sure you know that the shadow curse has ended.” 

“Yes, and I know it means that Ketheric - that my father is dead.” She’d known that this could be the only ending for her father. He’d destroyed everything that he once sworn to protect. If Isobel hadn’t escaped, would he have tried to destroy her the same way? 

“I can only hope that his soul can rest.” Isobel shook her head to rid herself of those useless thoughts. “But that is not why I am here. Are you alright?”  

“I’m fine.” Either the familiarity or the implication that a Sharran would appreciate her concern has offended Shadowheart as her tone was short. Yet she still added, “Thank you for your concern.”

“I’m glad,” Isobel said truthfully.  

She hesitated for a moment. Isobel doesn’t know what Aylin has planned or if she has plans at all. She doesn’t know how her angel will react to Shadowheart’s mark, but she knows Aylin well enough that if Isobel wants to follow her she would agree. Still, she doesn’t want to commit to it until she speaks with Aylin. Making any major decision without her, when she is the only person who truly understands what Isobel has lost … It is something that they will need to speak about. 

 “I know your group is heading to Baldur’s Gate, but I would like to speak with you before you leave. Or perhaps join you for a time if that is possible and doesn’t make you uncomfortable.” 

“Tav is the one that makes those decisions but I don’t see why you can’t.” 

Shadowheart doesn’t even seem to realize why Isobel is asking her. Clearly she is still unaware that they are soulmates, but does the idea of traveling with a selûnite truly not bother her? Isobel had expected much more aggression from a Sharran besides a single sentence of slight resentment. 

 “Besides,” Shadowheart continues. “We already have the daughter of Selûne joining us. You’ll fit right in at this rate.” 

A rush of happiness washes over her, causing her to smile in away she hasn’t been able to since that horrible night because Aylin is alive. She’s alive, and she’s already met Shadowheart and agreed to travel with a Sharran. Aylin is alive and so is Shadowheart. 

Before Isobel could ask her more, like where Aylin was or how Shadowheart had met her, she’s cut off.  “I should get going. Speak to Tav if you wish, I think she’s still inside.” 

And Shadowheart speeds off without a backwards glance. 

The sudden end to their second ever conversion only slightly dampens the joy of having someone else confirm that Aylin is alive. That Shadowheart still continues to be a rather poor Sharran, as she hadn’t even insulted her, let alone attacked her, was an exciting progression. If Aylin had agreed to travel with Shadowheart in company, then surely she sees Shadowheart isn’t truly lost?  

Her thoughts on the matter stutter to a stop as she enters Moonrise. 

Inside was far worse than Reithwin. The bodies of her father’s followers were still on the ground where they’d been defected and where the Harpers and Flaming Fist’s had begun to clear the area was covered in blood. The smell of rot and blood was heavy in the air. Pools of caustic brine were littered about, though there was a group of Harpers that were dumping water to clear the stone floor. It was clear that Moonrise had been gutted itself at one point as the few pieces of artwork that still hung on the walls weren’t the same as she remembered. 

The immense doors for the grand hall were fully opened, and as she walked up the steps, she felt all the suffering and hopelessness fade. No doubt it would return in time, along with the feelings of shame for her father’s actions, but for now all she could feel was relief.  

It has been weeks since they brought her back. Weeks slowly come to terms with the fact Sharran forces had crushed that Moon Haven, that the town she called home had been destroyed over a century ago and that her angel had been murdered. All on the orders of her father. All the while, she simply wanted Aylin’s arm around her shoulder or to hear her laughter in her ear. How Isobel cried that first night at Last Light when she realized she’d never get to feel those heavy wings blanket her while she slept. 

But now Aylin stands slightly off to the side where she’s speaking with Tav. She’s wearing the same grand blue and silver armor that she wore the moment they met. Whereas back then she’d been dripping with rain water, her armor is now splattered with blood and muck. Metal even encased her white wings along their joints, which Isobel has never seen before. 

“Aylin!” 

When Aylin turns, her eyes are glowing like holy fire. In the second afterwards that fire dims and she can see the raw shock in Aylin’s expression and an unguarded vulnerability that she has never seen from Aylin outside of their chambers.  

“Isobel?” She carelessly tosses her helm aside, allowing Isobel to see new golden scars that run across her face, and takes two stumbling steps before she kneels with a sudden collapsing of her knees with a loud clang of metal on stone.  

As Isobel grasps Aylin’s hand, she feels a surge of warmth and relief wash over her. The weight of the past weeks’ sorrow and despair seems to lift, and for a moment, she can almost forget the devastation that surrounds them. 

“My love… you were dead. I saw your body….” 

As she looks into Aylin’s eyes, she notices the traces of exhaustion etched upon her face. Lines of weariness and pain mar her once radiant features along with the recent scars. Isobel’s heart aches at the sight, realizing that her angel has endured unimaginable hardships in their time apart. 

“I’m here,” With a trembling hand, Isobel reaches out to touch the golden scars that mar Aylin’s face. They are a physical reminder of the battles fought, the wounds endured, and yet they also represent resilience and strength. “A-and so are you.” 

At this moment, they have found each other again. And with that realization, a glimmer of a happy ending takes shape. 

Chapter Text

Following their emotional reunion, they lingered only briefly to share their intentions of joining Tav on their travels, which clearly caught the other paladin off guard, but she happily agreed to have them join in camp. Aylin then sweep Isobel right off her feet to fly them back to Last Light. 

As her angel rarely flew with her even before everything happened,Isobel relished the experience, cherishing every second. There’d been little need for it since Isobel didn’t travel with her abroad and when they were in Rethwin, they liked to walk with each other. They cherished every moment of togetherness during their walks, whether exchanging words or basking in silence. There were exceptions, of course, when the need for a private place overtook comfort. 

Aylin’s arms wrapped around her, providing the same strength and comfort she had always known. The pure relief of simply feeling Aylin around her and the sound of her wings flying true was more than enough to keep Isobel’s mind from wandering into more depressing territory at the sight of the still twisted lands below them. 

Aylin sets her down as gently as always and doesn’t remove her arm from her shoulders, instead moving it around to rest on Isobel’s collar bone while her other hand wraps itself around her stomach. It’s surprising that she isn’t pulling her tighter, but her armor is still on, so perhaps she’s being mindful. 

Isobel, quite frankly, doesn’t feel like being mindful. Her knuckles turn white as she clings to the armored hands that hold her, finding support against the reassuring presence of that armored chest. Her eyes flutter shut and the only things she hears is the sound of her heart beating and the sweet words Aylin is muttering into her hair and neck as she presses closed mouth kisses everywhere her mouth can reach. 

For a moment, it’s like nothing has happened; it’s although Aylin could have returned from any quest or adventure. 

As she opened her eyes, instead of the familiar rooms in Moonrise, she faced the wide-open doors of her temporary home. 

Isobel wants to lose herself in Aylin immediately at the reminder. To her it’s been only weeks, but her angel had lived every moment of that missing century. They rightfully deserved this moment of comfort and connection between themselves. She’s more comfortable and content than she’s ever been since she’d woken and Aylin’s arms are around her but… 

Yet, no matter what she does, she can’t escape the persistent feeling that something vital is lacking. Or rather, someone . 

“I’m sorry, my love,” Aylin said before kissing the base of her ear. 

Guilt rushes through her. The level of attentiveness her lover showed towards her had always been remarkable and often to the point of neglecting her own needs; Of course Aylin was aware of her wandering mind even without seeing her face.

To want Shadowheart while her other soulmate holds her is shameful. She shouldn’t want another now, but the desire is there. It isn’t replacing her relief at Aylin being alive or over shadowing her love for her but lingers in such a way that makes her very aware of it. She’s happy, so overjoyed , but her soul knows that it’s missing a piece. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she said with a pat to Aylin’s arm. “In fact, it’s me who should apologize. My mind wanders when it shouldn’t be.” 

“My darling,” Aylin’s voice is so soft and her hands hold her with the lightest of grips. She’s trying her hardest to be soothing and Isobel wants to cry. “ I understand…. It’s not your thoughts that drift away from here, but a deep longing of your heart.”

Tears spring up at the corner of her eyes. They’ll be fine. She knows that deep in her soul but that doesn’t help her at this moment. She had no plan on how to break the news to Aylin that she had another soulmate and now that the moment was here: it terrified her. 

A knot formed in her stomach, tightening with each passing second. The weight of the news she had to deliver felt like an unbearable burden pressing down on her shoulders. She tried to steady herself, taking a deep shaky breath to regain composure. As she prepared to break the news, she reminded herself that honesty was the only way forward. She had to trust in the strength of their bond, hoping that Aylin would understand and not be too angry.

To lose her even for a moment after getting her back… Isobel wouldn’t be able to handle it. 

“Oh Isobel,” another kiss to the base of her ear, “My sweetest darling Isobel…” Aylin loosened her grip and, with the lightest of touches, turned Isobel in her arms and cupped her face with both hands. Her hands were the same, yet different; still softer than a paladin’s hands had any right to be but now spider webbed with cracks of gold. 

“I never dared dream that you would be returned to me after a century,” her thumb carefully wiped away a tear. “Yet here you are, manifesting such radiance and just as captivating as the very moment I saw you. Never have I felt as blessed as I do right now, standing here with you in my arms. But now we must patiently wait for Shadowheart’s wounds to mend. We shall all be together, I swear that to you, dearest Isobel.” 

Aylin’s words took a moment to register, but when they did, a small, choked laugh bubbled up from within her, filled with a mix of wonder and delight. “She’s yours too?” 

Aylin’s head tilted ever so slightly, a gesture that revealed her deep confusion. Isobel laughed again, purely from joy because while she’d never tell Aylin, that little motion always reminded her of a bewildered puppy.  Yet, despite her confusion, a glimmer of happiness danced in her gaze, clear in the way her eyes sparkled with warmth.

“Our souls are pieces of one whole. If I had been blessed to share a piece of myself with another, then wouldn’t you be blessed as well?” Aylin said slowly, her confusion still lingering but clearly saw Isobel’s joy judging by the way  her eyes started to crinkled with joy.

Of course, she hadn’t fully considered that they were all soulmates! The relief washed over her like a soothing wave, erasing many of her doubts and fears. If Shadowheart was Aylin’s soulmate then Isoebl hadn’t been cursed or punished because her soul was soaked in darkness. Shadowheart must not be a true Sharran because no one destined for her angel’s love could ever be cruel. 

The smile on Aylin’s face grew wider, as if reflecting the joy that radiated from Isobel.

“Yes,” Isobel answered uselessly with a wide smile. “Yes, of course she’s mine as well. She’s ours . I will admit that it’s been hard to convince myself that having a Sharran soulmate is a blessing,” Isobel finally reached up and clasped Aylin’s hands with her own, leaning into one of her palms with a sigh. “I was worried about how you’d react to sharing me with another, a Sharran at that.” 

Her lover leaned her head forward to place a gentle kiss above her circlet. “Even if I myself did not carry her words on my skin; I would never deny you, could never deny you a source of your happiness. Sharran or not.”  

Aylin’s thumbs rubbed the inked tattoos around her eyes, no doubt getting kohl on her finger tips. “But while she’s been greatly wounded for the time being, our little warrior is a sharran no longer- if she truly ever was one, which I do not believe she was.” 

Isobel turned her head to kiss Aylin palm again in pure relief. There was so much running through that her knees were weak with it.  “I don’t believe so either. She seems… kind. From what little I’ve seen of her.” 

“I’ve spoken very little with her as well,” she said sadly. “And while I must do so again soon, it will be of her past. I fear it will be some time before she is able to look forward.” 

While Isobel was more sure of herself there were still moments that she thought that there was a rot inside of her that would make Selûne revoke the magic that almost bubbled inside her. The Lady of Silver had never wavered but that hadn’t stopped the fear that she might disappoint her goddess. That had  been the fear of it disappointing her  but Shar was not one to forgive even the smallest of transgressions. If Aylin said Shadowheart was a sharran no longer it was all too likely that she’d been abandoned completely, and no doubt quite cruelly. 

Wounded for the time being indeed. It would seem that they all would need some time to heal after the Absolute was dealt with. 

“Perhaps it’s selfish of me,” Isobel let Aylin’s hands fall from her jaw, lending forward to rest her head on to cold armor. Her lover’s arms wrapped around her immediately. “ How grateful I am that we did not fall in love at first sight as I did you. I do not know if I could have handled it well so soon after hearing that you died. Seeing her words… I cried for hours.” 

Aylin carefully pulled back and with a slow twist of her arm her entire gauntlet vanished. Isobel recognized the handwriting of course even the words themselves were different. 

‘Not a dagger - a spear. My Lady Shar’s spear.’

“I do not know how long I was in the Shadowfell when those words appeared. My heart broke and healed in equal measure, to know I would love again was the sweetest torture. To know that I failed to protect her, much like I had already failed you, before ever meeting her…” 

“Don’t you dare say you’ve failed me!” Isobel used the hand she held to tug Aylin fully into her room. “You’ve been my strongest protector from the moment we’ve met.” 

She had her angel standing right before her bed, only barely reminding herself that she had no way to replace the linden if Aylin’s armor ripped a hole in it. Isobel considered shoving her down on it anyway. 

“My mightiest protector,” Isobel said again. She leaned up to kiss her then softly ran her thumb over the scar that cut Aylin’s lip. “My sweetest lover.” 

Aylin closed her eyes with the softest sigh. “There are conversions to be had, between us both and with Shadowheart as well. Long and painful conversations to be sure.” She opened her eyes and Isobel’s breath caught at how dark they were. “But I have not made love to you in a century and I yearn to worship your beauty as you deserve.” 

To hell with the linens. With a forceful shove, Isobel sent Aylin tumbling onto the bed. She wasted no time climbing onto her lap, their lips meeting in a rushed kiss.

Dame Aylin had rested in some of the finest beds that this mortal plane and her Mother’s palace of Argentil offered. Her flesh has felt the softest of silk, as smooth as a gentle caress. Inside her mother's temple, she had been greeted by the sight of plush pillows, filled with the finest goose down, beckoning her to rest her head.

Isobel slept on a thin and hard bed in Last Light, where the linens felt worn and rough, and the blanket provided little warmth. Still, she treasured every moment of her time spent luxuriating in its embrace. 

For in her arms, she held her beloved. Aylin sat lent up against the headboard with Isobel’s head of silver under her chin, slightly turned so that her breath was slow and easy on her throat. Aylin had wrapped her arms around Isobel in her favorite positions: one hand on Isobel's soft lower stomach and the other on her heart, just barely avoiding the more sensitive areas of her chest. Isobel’s fingers delicately traced the intricate patterns and scars on Aylin’s arm.

She’d banished her wings while they’d made love, only because of the difficulty in rearranging themselves in those rushed moments, but now that they’d calmed, she’d wrapped them forward to feel closer to her lover. 

Isobel brought that hand that rested on her chest to her mouth to press a series of kisses to Aylin’s palm. 

She chuckled softly and said, “Hmm, I thought you wanted to rest. You were quite adamant about it, I believe.” 

“And I still am.” Isobel lightly pushed Aylin’s arm down to rest above the other, so she was simply hugging her. “Your hand wasn’t helping with that and you know it.” 

Aylin was going to respond with compliments to remind Isobel that her admiring her beauty wasn’t only erotic in nature, but Isobel spoke before she could, her voice tentative. “You said that Shadowheart isn’t a Sharran any longer. Are you sure?” 

Her lips touched Isobel's head in a loving gesture. It was an honest concern and one that, if events had been different, Aylin would have herself. Sharran’s were spies and liars by their very design. The Lady of Silver's followers have suffered numerous casualties because of misplaced trust.  

“Ay, my love. And even if she wished to return to the darkness, Shar or her followers will ever accept her again. In fact, it’s likely that she'll be a target highly sought after by them.”

She could not see the dent in between Isobel’s eyebrows, but cautious confusion was clear in the tenseness of her naked shoulders. Isobel caressed Aylin’s arm, no doubt hearing Aylin’s ferocious and protective tone at the thought. 

“What happened , angel?” 

Aylin gently turned her hand, intertwining their fingers. “You know of my capture by Ketheric and Balthazar, and the years I spent in the Shadowfell. Wicked Shar recognized my divine bloodline and my capacity for endless resurrection and thus selected me as the ultimate test in her gauntlet.”

With great contempt, she sneered and said, “A pathetically easy trial to defeat a confined paladin who has been robbed of her powers.”

Isobel’s have clenched tightly around her own. “ Aylin .” 

With tenderness, she again pressed her lips against Isobel's soft hair. Unless prompted, she would adamantly avoid discussing the intricate details of her hundred years in captivity. The true extent of Dame Aylin's fall, her fragility in the Shadowfell, was unnecessary for Isobel to know. She need not know how painful it had been to have her wings torn off her back or her tongue cut from her skull. It was bad enough that Shadowheart had seen Dame Aylin in dirt and muck covered rags. 

“Shadowheart had wished to become a Dark Justiciar,” Aylin continued, “And I suspect Shar was tired of her games as instead of a simple dagger she carried the Spear of Night.”

“What? Aylin!” Isobel pulled away and twisted around until she sat facing her, legs bracketing her hips and reached up to hold her jaw oh so carefully. “She could have killed you! No, if the tales about that spear are true, it could have been worse than killing you! ” 

Aylin closed her eyes, her hands holding Isobel’s hips lovingly yet chaste. “Our little warrior denied her that victory, my love.”

Opening her eyes with a smile, she gently kissed Isobel's palm. “Shadowheart, despite all that Shar had taken from her and the poisoned words that had been poured into her ears, threw that cursed spear into the Shadowfell and released me. She refused a direct order from her goddess and, while she isn’t fully free from her chains, she at least sees them now.” 

“I won’t ask what you must say to her about her past,” Isobel sighed. Considering the lack of privacy she likely endured in that cloister, she deserves all the privacy she can get. But…” 

"Just tell me," Isobel said, her words laced with a heavy sense of reluctance. “Is it as terrible as I imagine?”

Isobel had once followed the cleric’s path of knowledge. She had been studying at the Lady of Silver's temple for a considerable amount of time. At first, her visits were brief and with her parents, but they progressively became longer. It wasn't until her mother's last days, when her body was weakened by illness, that she finally returned to Moonrise completely. 

The Moon Maiden may have granted her abilities that were outside of her path, but Isobel no doubt had some kind of idea of the dark magic that still chained their soulmate to Shar.

With a gentle tug on Isobel's hips, she brought her closer so that Aylin could rest her head on her chest, feeling the comforting touch of her lover's hands gently combing through her hair, prompting her to close her eyes. 

Shar kept secrets inside her secrets, but there was knowledge that leaked out about her followers’ practices. Small pieces of an appalling entirety. No matter the Ritual, be it the ‘Rising of the Dark’ or ‘Kiss of the Lady’, Shar demanded misery, blood, and wickedness. The halls that her devotees called home, were filled with darkness and plagued by murder and torture. 

Isobel knew of those rituals and those like it, but …. 

Aylin had only glimpsed a small fragment of Shadowheart’s tormented mind, a swirling abyss of darkness and sinister shadows. How much had they stolen from her to transform her father’s once familiar presence into the embodiment of her deepest fears? The process of crushing a young child’s innocence and molding them into a sharran cleric must have been agonizingly long. How much blood had been spilled to achieve such atransformation? And the memory of Shadowheart’s loving parents, how long did it take to tear it from her mind, leaving her unable to recognize them?

“Worse,” Aylin’s voice was rough as her grip tighten slightly, cautious not to cause any discomfort. “I’m afraid it may be worse than you fear, my love.”

Shadowheart doesn’t remember most of the night. She isn’t sure she slept or simply thought of nothing so long that her mind emptied itself right out. All she knows is that one moment it was night and the next she could hear the sounds of Gale starting to cook breakfast. 

Instead of leaving her tent to help Gale, as she normally does as the man would feed them nothing but meat and cheese if left alone, she simply sits. She still feels tired and the ache is deep into her bones. Her hand is the worst and it takes her a couple times to truly shake out the soreness enough to close it. 

The wound had never been anything other than a leash. Shadowheart knew that for a while now but had buried it deep once they’d entered the Shadowlands when she thought that perhaps her goodness had blessed her. But no. Shar had been disappointed in her over and over again, each flare of pain a reminder to not leave her dark and holy path. 

A true Sharran would have not needed such a reminder. A true Sharran would have not been happy that they’d saved that young girl. A true Sharran would have not felt something stir in the back of her mind at seeing a broken statue of Selune. A true Sharran would have never taken a blessing from a Selûnite or even allowed her to live freely, let alone wish to speak to her.

She had believed, hoped , that her memories would be returned once her mission was done but now she realizes that was a foolish wish. Shar did not give back what she took. What memories she has are all that there will ever be, besides the small flashes she gets here and there.  

Shar’s tattoos on her arms felt like a cruel reminder of what could never be. Each stroke of ink carried a weight, a reminder of the love that had once enveloped her and now Shadowheart looks down at her arms where Shar’s tattoos still inked her skin and knows that her foolish deeply hidden wish to meet her soulmate would never happen.

She closed her eyes, trying to escape the reality that had befallen her. But even in the darkness behind her eyelids; reality was there.

Shadowheart took a deep breath. She knew that she would have to move forward to find solace within herself. The road ahead was uncertain, but it wasn’t a road that she had to walk completely by herself. Tav would walk beside her, as would many of the others, should they even live long enough for it to matter.

Still. Her heart ached with the absence of a gentle lover to hold her, the longing for affection and companionship leaving a void within her. The touch of a lover’s hand, gentle and reassuring, was something that she yearned for, as was the thought of someone regaling her with stories late at night. She wanted to share laughter and deep conversation as they watched the sunset.

Or her desire to learn how to swim, a skill she had yet to conquer. Without a guide to hold her hand through the fears and uncertainties, the task seemed daunting. She craved the support and encouragement that could only come from a trusted companion, someone willing to be there every step of the way.

There had only been Shar. 

Now there was nothing and no one.

Chapter Text

It takes four days before Shadowheart comes to her. 

Having spent a full day at Moon Rise to recover and regroup, it's now the end of the third day on the road. Isobel has observed that the tone has improved since separating from the remaining members of Harper’s and Fists. She considered leaving Moon Rise a blessing, but the scars from the fading shadow magic as they started their march were a constant reminder of what had happened.  

Initially, she was unsure about returning to the upper levels of the tower, but eventually convinced herself that there could be something valuable inside that she would want. The state of her rooms sickened her; they were pristine and untouched, as if frozen in time, with a heavy layer of dust covering everything. Besides the dust they were the same as the die she’d died in them. Eventually, she kept only a small collection of sentimental belongings - most just a locket given by her mother and a few sacred items she had taken from the Moon Haven temple for worship. 

Three days ago, she allowed Aylin to speak with Shadowheart privately. Isobel wanted nothing more to be there for her, aware that whatever Aylin needed to tell her would be hard for Shadowheart. Yet she didn't want to intrude, recognizing that forcing herself into that conversation would be self-centered. Shadowheart wouldn’t have retrieved any comfort from her presence, and pretending otherwise would be foolish. 

Whatever it is, it’s severe. She can tell by Tav’s reaction and because Shadowheart doesn’t leave her tent the entire day they stay at Moonrise. The entire group seemed to know something’s happened with her but none shared it with her. Karlach’s frown was a heavy, uncommon sight, and Wyll kept trying to lighten the mood.

Aylin, sweet protective Aylin, was beside herself. She’s never been good with problems that she can’t simply smite, but she’s aware as much as Isobel is that space and time are all they can give to Shadowheart that she would accept. 

They’d set off on their journey the next day, with Shadowheart maintaining a complete silence throughout. While Aylin spends most of her day trading stories with Karlach and Wyll, she kept an eye and ear on Shadowheart and Isobel. The sound of Aylin's booming laughter and the gentle pressure of her eye on her back was comforting. Still, she’s heard most of her stories and so Isobel entertains herself with the assortment of animals the group has picked up during their travels. 

And such a strange little pack they have. A well-trained hound who is very polite is normal enough. An owlbear cub is somewhat stranger, but not overly so like the sweet and skittish hyena that Halsin apparently saved from some goblins. Yet stranger still is the Intellect Devourer that insists that it’s a harmless kitty-cat. 

And then there was Squire. Squire, who was undead and twisted in ways that are almost beyond hwe comprehension. 

Squire, once the pride of Moon Rise's kennels, carried within her a legacy of protecting her father that spanned generations. Above all, she earned a reputation for her courage and unwavering protectiveness. Isobel's recollection of Squire's puppyhood was hazy, but she could still picture her tiny white form, her teeth like needles, and her eyes wide and innocent. Her mother used to scold her for sneaking down to the kennels to read to her, and she laughed when Isobel said that Squire needed bedtime stories, too. 

Aylin tells her that Squire met her demise on the exact night she did. She’d died protecting Isobel, in fact. Her loyal hound had died with Isobel’s murderer’s blood on her fangs and in return her father had raised her from her peaceful rest and twisted her into something unholy and cold. 

So how can Isobel do anything other than love her once again? How can she do anything other than pet her cold dead skin where warm white fur used to grow?

Squire had never taken very well to Aylin in life, though she rarely did anyone that wasn’t Isobel’s family by blood. It was amusing to Aylin that an ordinary hound would eye her with such suspicion, and she’d tease them both over it. Now it’s with utmost care that her angel safeguards Squire from the intensity of her divine light and shows her the same respect she would have given a noble knight. 

At the edge of the camp, Isobel and Squire sit by the crackling campfire on the third day of travel, when Shadowheart quietly approaches them. 

Due to Gale's preference for early meals while traveling, the general buzz of conversation had died down. While enjoying the onset of nightfall with Aylin, her lover had surprised her with a gentle kiss on her head, whispering her departure. She hadn’t question it much until Shadowheart approaches. 

The dark leather camp outfit she once wore has been swapped for a plain set of clothes. An oversized tan shirt swallows Shadowheart's slender figure, the collar drooping over her collarbone, while the dark brown pants provide a stark contrast against her pale skin. The absence of the silver hair piece that had previously adorned her braid was noticeable, yet the delicate chains still clung to her braid.

As Isobel looked into the younger woman's eyes, she saw a strong sense of determination mingled with unmistakable inner turmoil. Her footsteps never faltered, even as she clung to her wounded hand with clenched determination and lowered shoulders. 

Squire tensed under Isobel’s hand, but she simply pet the hound’s head like she used to soft white fur in days long past. 

"I need to speak with you," Shadowheart said, her voice filled with urgency. 

Isobel nodded easily in agreement. She had anticipated this discussion occurring, or at least acknowledged the possibility of a similar one occurring with Aylin. Maybe it wasn't the right thing , but she couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness that Shadowheart chose her.

She stood and caught Aylin’s eye when her lover’s eyes snapped over at her movement. A moment of silent connection and understanding passed between them when Isobel glanced at Shadowheart and the path that led out of camp. As Aylin's gaze shifted from them to the radiant, nearly full moon hanging in the sky, she nodded in affirmation. 

Isobel left her spear behind, feeling confident that she wouldn't need it. The path that they would follow wasn’t far. Both of them could see well enough in the dark that they’d be able to protect themselves with their magic. Though she didn't expect any violence, weapons would undoubtedly cast a shadow over the conversation. 

Squire follows at her right heel as well now as she did over a hundred years ago. Isobel thinks about dismissing her to camp as Squire has developed the same low level suspicion of Shadowheart as she has for Aylin. Which, while quite amusing to her, might dampen the mood as well. However, that doesn't sit comfortably with her. Squire's sole purpose has been to safeguard her, and it feels contradictory to deny the hound that now. 

Shadowheart walks at her left and says nothing for what seems like ages. As Selûne illuminates the night, the forest reveals its stunning beauty, creating a peaceful atmosphere. The tension from her soulmate hangs in the air, almost palpable, but Isobel remains patient. 

"She doesn't seem to like me," Shadowheart says suddenly, her voice filled with disappointment.

Isobel looks at her, deeply confused and on the edge of concern, before realizing that Shadowheart’s eyes were on Squire who has her eyes locked on her every movement with ears perked and tail tensed. 

With a light-hearted laugh, she pauses her walk to give Squire a gentle stroke behind her ears. The metal doesn’t allow her to dig her fingers in like she used to and the flesh is ice cold, but Squire lends into it all the same. 

She smiles and replies, “Please don’t take offense. She has always treated Aylin the same way. Even used to stare her down whenever they were in the same room together. Scared me half to death a few times when I’d wake up with a pair of eyes glowing in the room's corner.” 

“Maybe I should take it as a compliment to be regarded as equally threatening as her.”

Squire's protectiveness had less to do with levels of threat and more to do with the hound's uncanny ability to sense that Shadowheart was Isobel's soulmate, thus making her worthy of suspicion. 

Isobel hummed but said nothing. Shadowheart hadn’t brought them out here to talk about Squire and sure enough, Shadowheart sighed deeply after a few more moments of them standing there. 

“I have… questions,” she said, and she unconsciously crossed her arms.

“I figured you would,” Isobel replied. “And I give you my word that I will provide truthful answers to the best of my knowledge.”

Shadowheart mustered a weak laugh, the sound filled with weariness. “I barely even know where to start. The goddess who now empowers me was once the object of my intense hatred, a hatred that consumed me for years. And I know I should be thankful that she empowers me despite all of that, and a part of me truly is, but the idea of kneeling and praying to her…” 

Not far off the trail, Isobel notices a fallen tree, its decaying wood blending into the forest floor and thinks it an adequate spot for them to talk. Her hand rests delicately on Shadowheart's shoulder, and as their eyes meet, a wave of tenderness washes over her. Shadowheart truly has the most expressive eyes. Aylin’s eyes changed as well, from glowing divine power to clear lakes, but with Shadowheart every emotion seems to shine from within. 

And right now, she is so clearly afraid.

They sit together for a few moments, Isobel wanting Shadowheart to steady her and trying to put the right words together. Squire sits at her feet, unbreathing and unnaturally still. 

“If praying to Selûne disquiets you, then simply …don’t.” Isobel smiles slightly at Shadoweart’s look of displeasure. “The Moonmaiden has a wide range of followers, as I’m sure you are aware, and those followers have different ways of worshiping her. There are almost endless rituals depending on location alone. How I might give thanks to Her would differ from how a lycanthrope would. Neither is wrong.” 

Shadowheart's brows furrowed, intensifying her look of displeasure. “I can’t imagine not praying. To not show my respect and thankfulness for the gifts I’d been granted is disrespectful, no, it’s blasphemous.” 

She offered a shrug. “Then pray.” 

Isobel's laughter bubbled up at the sound of Shadowheart's dissatisfied grumble. “Selûne wishes her followers to walk our own winding paths, Shadowheart. And no two paths are the same, just as no two people are the same. The most important thing is that you do not force yourself if you aren’t ready just because you think you must. It’s better to heal correctly then heal quickly.” 

The look of displeasure didn’t fade. "I should just get it over with," she said, her tone laced with determination. “There’s no changing it- there’s no going back. I can feel sorry for myself and keep tripping over my words, or I acknowledge that Selûne grants me my abilities now.”

Isobel tilted her head, considering the alternative approach. “I suppose that’s another way of handling it. Ripping the bandage off, so to speak. I wouldn’t suggest speaking any actual false prayers, but considering you freed Aylin from the Shadowfell, I’m sure the Lady of Sliver would allow you more leeway than others.” 

“Will you actually provide help or continue to mock me?“ Shadowheart's response was sharp and biting. “I expected that, of course, but-“ 

Isobel's hand reached out to grasp Shadowheart's, her soulmate's words abruptly silenced by her clenched jaw. My apologies, darling, I didn't mean to mock you. I swear it.” 

She sighed, feeling the weight of her everything settle heavily in her bones. I can share with you the prayers and ceremonies I've learned, as well as the rich histories of countless orders dedicated to Selûne. Feel free to ask me anything about my own faith, including the rituals I observe and those I abstain from, and I'll gladly explain why.”

Isobel squeezed Shadowheart’s hand and barely resisted the urge to kiss her knuckles.  

“But I can’t tell you how you must heal. That is your path to walk, Shadowheart. But I will gladly walk beside you if you wish it.” 

"I'm terrified of failing again," Shadowheart confessed, her words barely audible as she fought back tears. Her eyes welled up with tears, but they stubbornly refused to spill over. “Looking back, that is all I ever did.” 

“Perhaps you believe that because you were trying to act like someone you aren’t.” Isobel said just as quietly. Shar attempted to mold and shape you into someone different, but your kind heart proved to be too strong for her, darling. That is not a failure. In fact, it is an achievement that most could not achieve.

“You are not the first Sharran that has forsaken the nothingness for the Lady of Sliver, Shadowheart.” Isobel smiled softly, “You need not worry. Selûne is a forgiving goddess in many circumstances, let alone this one.” 

Shadowheart looked at her with such fear. She could only imagine what pain her mistakes were met with before. It is no wonder that she worried herself over this or that it was causing her to worry about praying to Selûne. 

Isobel playfully nudged Shadowheart’s shoulder as she reminded her, “Don’t forget, you also freed her daughter! I'm certain that alone would be enough for her to pardon a couple of childish insults.”

Shadowheart's smile, though small, was striking. 

“How you heal is up to you, Shadowheart. What it looks like and how fast you jump in are your decisions.” Isobel's hand tightened around hers, a silent show of support. “That may mean you pray three times a night or only when necessary ; I will teach you the prayers either way. If you wish to dye your hair silver, I can help you or I can simply walk with you. Whatever you need.”  

Isobel stood with a smile, pulling Shadowheart up with her. “Come, let’s walk for a while before we return.” She didn’t let go of Shadowheart’s hand and kept close to her. Not as close when she and Aylin would walk together, but close enough to satisfy Isobel’s desire to be close to her soulmate while she was hurting. 

Chapter Text

Countless thoughts have consumed Shadowheart’s mind. It feels like her mind has been trapped in an endless loop of thoughts for the past fortnight.

There’s a lot she needed to think of; she’s been cast out of her faith, her parents are alive and were prisoners of her forsaken temple, Selûne now grants her power with little prompting from Shadowheart and that is just her own personal problems. The rest of their little party is in a similar yet different position, each dealing with something just as bad as the damn tadpoles in their minds.

And she was allowed to care about that now.

Before the Shadowfell, she had to remind herself that none of the current on goings that her fellow travelers meant anything to her. Shadowheart was a Sharran, and one on a mission. She should not and could not care about how tragic it was that Karlach’s engine would give out so soon after meeting Tav or wonder how Wyll was dealing with his new horns or how Gale was progressing the fact that his ex-lover told him to kill himself or even how Lae’zel was dealing with the fact she was a traitor to her people.

But Shadowheart was not a Sharran any longer.

Unsure of how to embrace her newfound freedom, she feels lost and overwhelmed. Not only was she able to care, it was expected of her. Selûne wanted her followers to care for others if possible, she’d known that before her nightly walks with Isobel. She’d been angry, disgusted and sure that the goddess’s followers had to be weak and foolish for offering so much to those that would never give them anything in return.

Tav had slowly changed her mind on that before they’d even entered the shadow cursed lands but it’s only now that Shadowheart can accept it. She doesn’t feel weak when she approaches Tav to ask how she’s doing nor when she offers to help Gale with dinner or during any of the other conversations she has with her fellow companions, each one deeper than the shallow conversations she’s only ever allowed them to have with her.

It feels like she’s changed everything about herself yet stayed exactly the same. She feels like she can finally meet the expectations of the goddess that she’s, oh so timidly, placing her faith in. Perhaps it’s because there seems to be so little that Selûne expects from her that Shadowheart has a hard time keeping too.

Shadowheart remembers tormenting prisoners in the depths of Shar’s temple, her training of lies and secrets. She doesn’t remember if she enjoyed torturing prisoners, only vaguely remembers her teachers punishing her for her poor performance, but vividly remembers the confusion and fear caused by her hand.

She finally admits that she probably hadn’t been a very good Sharran, but she isn’t sure she’ll be a good Selûnite either.

Yet for the first time in her life, falling short doesn’t fill her with fear. Perhaps it’s because she’s simply enjoying finding herself.

Isobel told her about the silver hair and all the traditions involved in it. The Moon Haven temple, the one that Isobel had studied at, did not require their members to dye their hair but it was common. They also didn’t have common hair styles at all, though it was kept long unless there had been a significant event in life that might invoke the need or desire for a fresh start. Marriage and death being the common cause. Isobel herself had recently, or recently in her eyes, cut her hair after the death of her mother.

Shadowheart thinks about it for days before she actually decides.

Sometimes, she finally decided, you just have to jump in.

Isobel or Dame Aylin would be an obvious choice for what she needs done.

Isobel knew the process by heart. Apparently the other woman had been dying her hair for years, ever since she’d started her studies when she was still a girl. She’d even used to cut others’ hair at the temple. Dame Aylin had taken over those duties after they’d met (‘with great joy’, Isobel had said with a rather sharp smile) and Isobel had seemed to offer her lover’s help when Shadowheart had expressed her interest.

But the thought of having either of their hands in her hair, with all the brushing and rubbing in the mixtures that it requires….

As attractive as the idea sounds, she rather likes her walks with Isobel and would rather they not end because Dame Aylin thought Shadowheart was looking at her lover with interest. She’d seen the aftermath of Dame Aylin’s boot meeting Ketheric’s skull and would rather her own not meet the same fate.

She asks Tav instead.

Isobel is not a morning person, which is the case for many a Selûnite. Theirs was the time of evening and night when the Lady of Silver shined her light on the world. There was a reason most Selûnite slept well into the late morning.

Aylin, however, was freed from the baser needs of morals. According to her, she didn’t need sleep or food, though she enjoyed both. She rarely woke Isobel without due reason, knowing that Isobel needed her rest and because she admitted to enjoying holding her in her sleep.

With them traveling with others, that had changed somewhat. Aylin would wake Isobel only briefly to help break down camp with the others that woke early (Tav, Wyll, Halsin and Lae’zel being the common group awake at dawn and willing to help.) so they could travel as quickly as possible.

They would reach Baldur’s Gate that evening if nothing stopped them. The mood reached a level of excitement that Isobel hadn’t seen in the fortnight she’d been with them. At first, that is the reason Isobel thinks Aylin is pressing kisses to her cheek and ears so soon after leaving their tent. Aylin is well aware that Isobel would sleep to high noon if given the chance and always makes sure to both take her time waking her and doing so sweetly.

But Aylin is rushing this morning. It’s there in the hint of excitement when she whispers her name and passes her thumb over Isobel’s cheeks and the corner of her eyes. When Isobel sits up, however, she realizes Aylin isn’t waking her early simply because they have a long day ahead. Her angel is much too excited for that to be the cause.

“What is it ?” She asked, her voice thick from sleep, if not also amused. It’s rare for her to see Aylin so clearly excited.

Aylin remained silent, but gave her a dazzling smile. Instead, she cradled her chin, guiding their lips together in a deep, passionate kiss that felt out of place for this early hour.

“You must see it for yourself, my love,” she urged, a smile playing on her lips. As Radiant as my mother’s light and the sight of your smile. No, there are no words to describe the extent of her beauty.”

There is only one ‘she’ that Aylin could be speaking of. Isobel smiles, wondering what exactly Shadowheart has done to her hair, and hurriedly sits up so she can get dressed to see.

But Aylin quickly dashes that idea with a well-placed knee and another kiss to Isobel’s ear.

Aylin does, in fact, have a surname.

She rarely uses it since she always prefers to use her title and given name together. Using her last name seemed unnecessary to her since she didn’t share it with her divine mother or anyone else from that holy lineage.

Aylin Silverblood, Sword of Selûne, had a rather set color preference as well. Similar to that of her Mother, in fact. Blue, yes, but silver most of all. She was the daughter of the Lady of Silver and it was Selûne’s own favored color and so it was hers as well.

What Isobel had left out of her and Shadowheart’s conversation about hair dying was that Aylin loves to see Isobel in silver. Not just silver clothes, she also adored Isobel’s hair. ‘Cascading strands that seemed to shine like the purest silver,’ she said. A mark of loyalty for Selûne was similar enough to a symbol of love for Aylin herself in her lover’s mind. While she’d spoken about how Aylin had taken to dying her hair for her, she had not told Shadowheart that the reasons went beyond her angel simply wanting to help her.

Isobel just considered that to be a rather fortunate bonus to something she’s done for years beforehand, but also something that she shouldn’t tell Shadowheart if she wanted to make sure the younger woman wasn’t overwhelmed.

Still, Isobel felt a little bad that Shadowheart hadn’t been able to enjoy just how much Aylin enjoyed her new hairstyle.

Shadowheart’s thoughts have extended beyond just her faith and her parents. Those two subjects primarily occupied her mind, but there were other lingering thoughts.

Something about Isobel has been lingering in her mind for a while. If she were honest, she could not forget about Isobel ever since that night at Last Night when she looked up and saw Isobel standing under the moonlight and was struck by how beautiful she was, realizing how badly she wanted to speak to her.

She disregarded it and placed it in the recesses of her mind. Her goddess would not approve, and that’s the only thing that mattered at the time. Lying had become second nature to Shadowheart, despite her lack of talent, and she had mastered the art of self-deception. She’d convinced herself it hadn’t mattered and tried to wash her hands of it.

Unfortunately, Selûne values honesty and Shadowheart has finally allowed herself to commit to following the goddess that has been granting her powers for over a fortnight.

So she must confront this feeling that had been pushed to the back of her mind, first by Shar and then by the appearance of Dame Aylin.

She could go to Tav about it and had even almost said the words last night when the paladin carefully worked the dye into her hair, but she couldn’t. And because she was trying to be honest with herself now, it was an even split between fear that she was wrong and fear she was right.

Shadowheart can barely admit to herself that she feels Something between Isobel and herself, let alone what that Something is or what it means or how she would react either way. She felt absolutely foolish about it. Didn’t she brood over this never happening for an entire night? Now she’s worried that it did?

If it was just a matter of physical attraction, Shadowheart would have no problem dealing with it. She certainly felt attracted to Karlach when she first joined them, but had let it go unanswered easily when she realized Tav was her soulmate. That Karlach never turned more than a casual, clearly joking look her way certainly helped matters.

Isobel, however, doesn’t seem to follow that same trend. And Shadowheart had been a horrible sharran but she still trained to pick things up others might not notice.

There is a noticeable difference in how Isobel treats her compared to the rest of the group. That includes; touching her more often, spending more time alone with her, regularly checking up on her to see how she’s feeling while traveling and standing rather close to her.

She also stares, even if Shadowheart has only caught her doing so a few time. The moment Shadowheart rolled up her sleeves, Isobel’s eyes were immediately drawn to the array of tattoos that adorned her arms. She is sure that the other cleric looks more frequently but catching her staring at her ass, which is where she feels the eyes on her, is harder to do.

And worst of all? It’s more than just a simple attraction.

Isobel is a wonderful individual, with her compassion, caring nature, and a sense of humor that’s almost sharp, but not quite. She answers every question that Shadowheart has with thoughtful answers or little jokes that she shouldn’t find as charming as she does. She loves the animals that the group has taken in and likes sweets, but shares them with Karlach first.

She can’t be certain, but Shadowheart doubts she’s spoken so deeply about her faith with another before. Isobel doesn’t judge her questions or her frustrations over the lack of solid rules. Instead, night after night she goes over the dozens of variations of the prayers common to Selûne’s faithful until Shadowheart feels like she can finally say one and have it mean something.

Initially, she assumes it’s a figment of her imagination, perceiving things that don’t exist because she yearns for that kind of connection, and Isobel was compassionate. After all, Isobel and Dame Aylin are so clearly deeply in love that there is no way that Isobel would step out on her soulmate. Hence, it was more probable that Shadowheart had become overly attached.

But then she realized that Dame Aylin regularly steps away from her lover for Shadowheart. And only for Shadowheart.

If the two are near each other, as is very often the case, and someone speaks to Isobel they also speak with Dame Aylin and vice versa. They rarely separated from each other, always attached at the hip. Yet whenever Shadowheart approaches for their evening walks or wishes to speak with her at all? With a gentle kiss, Aylin takes her leave from Isobel, leaving them to themselves.

It’s that tiny piece of behavior that even lets her think of bringing this mess to the forefront of her mind. Everything else she can excuse away with enough time, but she can’t seem to find any reason for Dame Aylin conceding Isobel’s time to her when she doesn’t for anyone else unless Isobel requested it of her.

That might not mean what Shadowheart thinks/hopes/fears it means. It’s an incredibly gigantic leap, yet the thought lingers, and it only grows when she realizes that the only other person Isobel calls darling like she does Shadowheart is Dame Aylin.

Whenever Isobel addresses her with the same affectionate nickname that she reserves for her lover, Shadowheart can’t help but feel an overwhelming warmth that she finds somewhat embarrassing.

Maybe her and Isobel are… Something. Even if there is Something, it’s extremely unlikely that it’s the Something that she fears/hopes for. Unfortunately, she can’t simply check with the tattoos on her arms, so it ends up being a mess that she can’t bring herself to think about too much because the amount of thoughts in her head are already too much.

Until now, that was the maximum amount of acknowledgment she could handle without her mind spiraling in a dozen different directions at once. She’d acknowledged it to the best of her ability and resolved to deal with it at a later point. After all, Isobel was always telling her she was in charge of how fast she dealt with things.

But she then had to poke that delicate balance of thinking around the Something by dying her hair.

Because this entire time, she hadn’t actually considered Dame Aylin.

She’d thought about her of course. Mainly had feared that she’d over-step with Isobel and then be blasted with moon fire or something before realizing that the Paladin would only do so if Isobel asked her too. Dame Aylin did as her lover asked, no matter how large or small the task, and did so happily.

( If Shadowheart found the notion of a powerful woman willingly submitting to another quite appealing, that was perfectly normal. With her towering height and strong build, Dame Aylin was a force to be reckoned with and, well, Shadowheart had eyes.)

She thought, in the rare moments she allowed herself too, that Dame Aylin was simply following Isobel’s instructions because Shadowheart and Isobel were perhaps Something. Or perhaps that maybe that she was allowing it because Shadowheart released her from the Shadowfell. There had to be an agreement of some kind. Still: Dame Aylin was apparently rather neutral towards her, if not rather kind whenever they actually spoke.

However, when Dame Aylin laid eyes on her this morning, Shadowheart didn’t quite get the sense of ‘neutral’ from her.

The aasimar woman hadn’t been subtle since the moment Shadowheart had met her in the Shadowfell. She had a lively personality and was always direct in her intentions. Karlach had all but giggled when she was telling the others of how Dame Aylin had made it extremely clear what she was impatiently waiting to do upon reuniting with her lover at Moon Rise.

No, the expression she gave Shadowheart that morning was far from subtle. All she did was look, keeping her eyes fixed on Shadowheart even when she noticed her.

Shadowheart could admit that she wasn’t quite awake, hadn’t even eaten or drank anything yet, but when their eyes met, it reminded her all too much of meeting Isobel’s eyes at Last Light. Though that had been more… platonic than the intensity in Dame Aylin’s eyes which revealed a fire within, burning like glowing embers.

Yet the Paladin didn’t approach her. Instead, she flashed Shadowheart a sharp smile and a brief nod, then redirected her steps towards the tent she and Isobel occupied. Before entering, she briefly extended her wings before making them disappear in a burst of light.

She’d been ready to brush it off, had honestly rather wanted to, before she realized (or rather overheard) exactly what Dame Aylin had gone to her lover for. That was, well, undeniably flattering, to put it mildly.

But it stirs up all the thoughts that she’s been ignoring in the worst ways. Because it’s one thing if it’s just Isobel, that’s a confusing mess, but one she feels confident that she’d be able to handle. Or well, maybe. Possibly. After saving her parents, when she would have less to worry about. But If Dame Aylin was actually involved in this and not simply there….

She needed to be sure this morning hadn’t been a fluke.

Because surely it had been.

Isobel had, of course, had given some thought about what would happen if Shadowheart brought up the marks. She hoped that Shadowheart wouldn’t to be enraged with them, but she believed that the circumstances of their first meetings were enough to justify their silence.

She’s fairly sure Shadowheart might have an idea that her and Aylin’s interests in her weren’t purely because of her past with Shar or her new found worship of the Moon Maiden. That was purely Isobel’s fault if so, as Aylin had realized rather early on that she had little self control with that kind of thing. Her lover feared accidentally pushing Shadowheart too fast, which was a valid concern considering how her lover had acted when they had met hundred years ago.

(Isobel had been on the receiving end of many a sighed complaint of how her Angel wished to do things for Shadowheart that she didn’t believe the younger woman would appreciate currently. Aylin liked to show her love and appreciation in as many ways that she could and so she wanted to help Shadowheart pack her tent, give her meals, and a dozen other little things.

Recently, Aylin had done little braids in her hair late at night in many styles before she’d undone them. Isobel suspected that this was practice for Shadowheart, which made her love Aylin all the more.)

It clearly saddened her lover that Shadowheart had chosen Isobel for her religious inquiries, but Aylin reassured her she was happy that their soulmate had at least chosen one of them at all. That she could easily see Shadowheart opening up more to her companions and smile again was more than enough. Aylin would willingly step aside as long as she knew Shadowheart was safe and recovering.

Today, however, may have finally pushed that restraint to the limit.

Aylin had kept her eyes mostly to herself during their travels so far, or at least hadn’t gotten caught, but was clearly having difficulty with Shadowheart’s new hairstyle. The situation was already challenging, and it was not made any easier by the fact that their soulmate had recently gained new travel clothes through a trade.

The baggy attire that Shadowheart had borrowed from her companions was no longer in sight. Her new clothes were similar in style in the ones Isobel saw her in at Last Light, but the leather aspect was gone. Instead, she wore a light blue vest just as deeply cut and a pair of pants just a light enough black to be called gray. A rather tight pair of pants.

Isobel had stared at Shadowheart’s arms and shoulders more than once and caught Aylin’s eyes lingering as well. Knowing her lover she was dividing her attention between Shadowheart’s long silver braid that hung just above her ass and the inch of bare stomach that sometimes revealed itself when Shadowheart moved a certain way.

So yes. Isobel knew it was a possibility that Shadowheart suspected something. Considering that halfway through the afternoon she’d paused right in front of them and oh so slowly stretched her arms high above her head with what Isobel could swear was a smug smirk, which had almost caused Aylin to smack poor Karlach with her wings when she’d flared them half way open in captivated surprise, she was actually rather certain of it.

That show of confidence was gone shortly afterwards, however.

When Shadowheart approached her that evening, it felt reminiscent of that first night, with her body language revealing a blend of nervousness and a determined, ‘let’s just get this done’ mentality. Aylin had lingered longer than she usually did that evening. They’re within easy reach of Baldur’s Gate now and it’s made her lover tense. It hadn’t escaped Isobel’s attention that Shadowheart had watched Aylin with an expression of deep thought.

On some of these walks they said little and other nights they’d stayed out for hours simply speaking. It s like how she and Aylin first spent time together when they’d met. Her angel would fly down to Isobel’s balcony with a gift, something different each time, and would fly them to the gardens or a path in town.

Isobel loves these walks for many reasons and one of them was the sense of normality she finds in enjoying the night with her soulmate. She wished they could all do so together, but perhaps that time was coming soon.

After they’ve been walking for a while, Isobel spots a small area off the path that looks comfortable enough to sit. She lovingly encircles her arms around one of Shadowhearts, ignoring the intense expression on her at the touch.

On the cold grass, they sit close to each other, the feeling of their thighs touching providing warmth against the chilly air. Isobel had been diligently monitoring Shadowheart’s reactions to physical contact, but she had witnessed no signs of discomfort thus far. Only an intense thoughtful expression slowly becoming more common.

Squire, ever faithfully, lays down at her other side. Her loyal hound hasn’t quite come around yet to either of her soulmates but Isobel has been delighted in how she’s been integrating with the other animals. The hyena was still rather scared of her, but she’d seen Squire, Scratch and the Owlbear all cuddling together more than once.

“What does the Lady of Silver say about soulmates ?” Shadowheart said out of the blue. Her eyes aren’t looking at Isobel, her focus fully on the stars above.

Isobel isn’t surprised by the topic, as it’s one of the few Shadowheart hasn’t asked about. Her heart skips a beat at her suspicion about why she’s asking now.

“She thinks of them as blessings to those that have them,” she starts. “It is Her greatest tenant to show compassion and acceptance to any you may meet in this life because even the smallest bit of compassion can help another walk the path of life a little easier. So sharing your path with another, to share their every burden and joy, is a great blessing indeed.”

Shadowheart doesn’t look away from Selûne’s tears, but brings one of her hands up to rub her arm where her tattoos were.

“I was told they were a distraction. That Lady Shar was the most important thing in my life, that they invoked useless emotions that I was better without lest I become weak and were simply another thing that I must lose so that I might embrace her glorious darkness.”

Her gaze shifted downward, and she clasped her hands tightly together in her lap. “I told myself I was fine with that, that I didn’t need any soulmate and that I only needed my faith, but I didn’t think that was ever truly the case. The act of being cast out petrified me. Shar ripped my faith out of me and I realized I would be alone-”

Isobel abruptly places her hand on her knee, effectively cutting her off. “You are not alone, Shadowheart. Not anymore.”

Shadowheart looks at her hand on her knee, her expression unreadable. Finally, “I can’t remember what my mark said. I can’t even see it.”

With a soft touch, Isobel delicately squeezes her knee, and goes for it. Shadowheart clearly has an inkling on who her soulmates are. “I don’t think your soulmates mind.”

Shadowheart’s green eyes sharpened, and her hands tightened together. “You don’t think they mind that I have the markings of the Dark Lady over their words?”

“No,” she said carefully. “I think they understand completely that it wasn’t exactly your choice to cover them.”

“You seem to know a lot about what my soulmates feel,” Shadowheart murmured angrily under her breath.

“Do you remember when we first walked together, and I promised you I would answer your questions as truthfully as possible?” Isobel asked.

Her soulmate blinked. “Yes.”

She nodded, “Good. Because I will answer your questions even though I think you know the answer, but I don’t think you truly want to have this conversation yet, do you?”

A look of displeasure crossed Shadowheart’s face. “If I’m right,” she said with a glare. “Then it means you’ve been keeping it from me, doesn’t it ?”

Isobel noticed that wasn’t a refute of her question.

“Yes, it does.” she sighed, wishing Aylin was here. “Because of everything we’ve been through, everything you’re still dealing with, I thought it better to wait. I would never lie to you, Shadowheart. If you believe you’re ready to know the answers to your questions, ask them.”

For what felt like an eternity, Shadowheart’s gaze bore into her, her eyes filled with intensity. “Do you have another soulmate other than Dame Aylin?”

“Yes.”

Her normally transparent expression was now completely unreadable, leaving her feeling uncertain. Shadowheart always seemed to express every emotion so fully, but now she couldn’t tell what she was feeling at all.

“Does… does Dame Aylin approve of that?”

Isobel thought carefully about how to respond. Shadowheart clearly wanted answers, yet didn’t seem to want all of those answers yet. But she decided that leaving out that Aylin was also her soulmate would be too cruel for both of them.

“Aylin and I share our third, so yes. She approves very much.”

Shadowheart lowered her eyes to the ground and said nothing for a long moment. She started fidgeting with her hands, tightly rubbing and clenching them together.

She doesn’t know what part of all this has Shadowheart scared. It could be anything; having a soulmate after being told they were just a distraction or simply that she has them at all when she thought she’d never meet them. Perhaps it’s Isobel or Aylin themselves that has her scared. Shadowheart has made incredible improvements in the weeks since the battle at Moon Rise but being soulmates of a Cleric of Selûne yet alone Selûne’s daughter may scare her still.

Isobel offers her hand to Shadowheart, who hesitates for a moment before finally hold of it. They simply continue to sit in silence.

She genuinely doesn’t mind, really she doesn’t. Shadowheart has gone through so much in the past few weeks, let alone in the years before. If she needs time to wrap her mind around this, around them, she will gladly wait. Isobel had been fortunate that she’d been given that time herself.

They are under Selûne’s watchful gaze, with the stars shining brightly and clearly. The woods and the ruins that encompass them are completely quiet, leaving her with only the faint sound of their breaths as they resonate in the air.

She becomes wary when that thought arises. Why are the woods silent? There should be the sounds of animals, at least insects for certain. She looks at Squire and sees that the undead hound is tense, completely frozen, with blazing eyes scanning the surrounding trees.

Something isn’t right.

That thought barely crossed her mind before Squire stands, an unholy growl rising from her throat. Isobel quickly pulls Shadowheart up by her hand. Her soulmate is only standing upright for seconds before Squire bites the empty air- only for the air to shout in pain.

Isobel doesn’t have her spear, but that’s fine, she doesn’t need it for her magic. She summons a Guardian of Faith, its glowing form immediately raising its sword towards Squire and slashes downward.

Its attack revealed a githyanki wearing clothes similar to those she’s seen on monks.

Before she can process what is happening, her Guardian twists and slashes downward again, revealing another githyanki in similar clothes.

There is a flash of golden light to the right of her and her heart sinks, thinking that it’s yet another attacker, but it’s a spiritual hammer that’s already winding up to crash into the githyanki trapped in Squire’s jaws.

Within seconds of casting, Shadowheart has already cast another spell. The second githyanki barely has time to recover from the attack of the guardian before Shadowheart blinds him. He reels back, but he’s still close enough that the guardian slashes yet down again.

At the same time, first githyanki falls to the ground, the strike from Shadowheart’s hammer making him go still. Squire immediately turns around and jumps at the other githyanki, bringing him to the ground with her teeth at his throat. He lands a punch on her side but falls limp with a brutal shake of her head.

“Why are the githyanki attacking us?!”

A loud scoff escaped from Shadowheart’s lips. “There are about a dozen answers to that question, to be perfectly honest with you. We should hurry back.”

Isobel dismissed her guardian and debated about casting a light spell before deciding against it. If her attackers were githyanki then she and Shadowheart’s night vision was better than them, so it was better to keep that advantage. They didn’t run back either, not wanting to draw too much attention towards themselves. Squire led them, her head plodding side to side to pick up noise as her ears could not move.

She tried not to be too worried. Aylin was a warrior almost without equal and there were few things that could harm her permanently. Recent events, being as they were, had shaken that idea. Her love has seemed… dimmed since their reunion.

Minutes later, halfway or so back to camp, Squire tensed with her front paw frozen in the air. Isobel and Shadowheart paused as well.

“Isobel! Shadowheart!” echoed above them in that lovely rich voice only moments before Aylin crashed through the tree line feet in front of them. Her landing was rough, the sound of her armored knee hitting the ground echoing through the night. Her angel was ablaze with moon fire and her eyes and sword glowing silver with divine magic.

Aylin tossed aside her helm with a loud clang and rushed over to them.

“Are of you hurt?” She said as she reached out to cup Isobel’s cheek, then turned to look at Shadowheart with wide, worried eyes.

“We’re fine, darling,” Isobel replied, reaching up to hold Aylin’s hand. “Between Squire and Shadowheart, I had rather adequate protection.”

“But you were attacked?” Aylin’s eyes narrowed, and she pressed a kiss to the crown of Isobel’s head. She took a step back and turned to more fully look at Shadowheart.

Aylin wanted to do the same to her as she’d done Isobel, it was obvious from the way she’d stepped towards her only to stop halfway through the motion of reaching for her face. Shadowheart noticed it, judging by the way she looked somewhat spooked. Yet she didn’t move back either.

“Are you alright?” Shadowheart asked Aylin, ignoring the dropped hand.

“Ay, I am well. The warriors that attacked our camp were swift and powerful, but were no match for Dame Aylin and your allies.” Aylin’s expression lost a bit of intensity at Shadowheart’s concern. “But we should return quickly. Some of your group entered the portal.”

“A portal?” Her eyes went to Shadowheart, but she was just as confused. “What in the hells is going on?”

Shadowheart has her answer and spends at least an hour brooding about it that night, despite the already long night she’s had.

She doesn’t know what to do about that answer, nor does she know what to do with the information that Tav and the others received from the portal that night. That entire mess she quickly put in the same category of ‘mess’ that her tadpole was in, which was ‘ignore and let Tav deal with it.’ It has worked well for her so far.

Nonetheless: She has soulmates. Two of them.

She’d spent those long minutes holding Isobel’s hand simply wondering what she had to do now. She’s barely found her footing after everything that’s happened and now suddenly she’s got two women that are her soulmates. It’s uncertain if she has ever attempted to be in a long-term relationship before. All the ‘romances’ that she actually remembers had little romance involved. It had been a series of rough, empty encounters, devoid of any emotional connection. At the time she’d enjoyed it, but she’s been questioning that enjoyment for a while now.

She’s never loved before.

When Dame Aylin had found them hours ago, she’d been breathtaking. Her glowing white wings and her blazing eyes were truly godly, but the way she’d softened and cupped Isobel’s cheek had struck a chord deep in her chest.

She wanted that; wanted someone to treat her softly, lovingly. She’d been jealous of Karlach and Tav and it feels a hundred times worse watching Isobel and Dame Aylin because they’re exactly what she wants deep down. Perhaps that’s what caused her fear of that Something with Isobel. She’s never gotten what she wanted before and the idea of it was terrifying.

Shadowheart realized she was being an absolute fool the second Dame Aylin had turned around and almost reached for her. The woman had only stopped herself because of wanting to ensure Shadowheart’s comfort. There were two women that wanted to give her exactly what she desired, who were simply waiting for Shadowheart’s approval.

Perhaps she wasn’t quite ready to commit herself fully. She simply couldn’t until her parents were freed from Shar, yet she didn’t want to keep denying them or herself just because she was unsure and scared.

She was a Sharran no longer and The Lady of Sliver didn’t find love foolish and weak. She wouldn’t face punishment for wanting a soft hand to hold her own or having a comforting hand check her for injuries after a battle.

Shadowheart could want all those things now. The only thing stopping her was herself.

When Tav returns to them in the late morning the next day with news that there is a circus, Shadowheart decides rather quickly what she would do

She will do what many a potential lover has done for the ages; buy, but preferably win, a gift.

It couldn’t be hard, should it?

Shadowheart didn’t know how she ended up walking the circus with Karlach and Astarion. Karlach seemed to be on a similar mission as herself, with the added mission of gasping over everything she saw. Astarion looked to be sizing up pickpocket marks, which would explain why he wasn’t with Tav.

They’d spotted the Djinni together. Shadowheart thought about the idea of spinning the wheel but decided that 500 gold was too steep a price. A person in front of them decided differently and was promptly turned into a large cheese wheel when he accused the djinni of cheating.

Astarion’s eyes took on a certain look that immediately made Shadowheart uneasy.

“What are you thinking?” She said with great caution.

“Simply that I think he seems rather defensive about the whole cheating business, don’t you?” He smirked. “I bet he’s controlling it somehow. Probably a ring or something so that no one sees him use his magic.”

Karlach rolled her eyes. “of course he’s cheating! All the games here are. That’s part of the fun. Be so good that you still win.”

“Right, but perhaps we could level our odds?” Astarion eyed the djinni closely.

“You just want to say you pick pocketed a djinni,” Shadowheart accused.

With a dismissive eye roll and scoff, he turned to Karlach and commented, “She’s already such a goody two shoes.”

Karlach, the traitor, hummed before shrugging. “I mean, is it really that bad if he’s already cheating? I bet the grand praise is pretty sweet.”

Shadowheart debate with herself for a moment before she sighs wearily. The grand prize is probably something incredibly expensive and wouldn’t work as a gift, but if anything they can split the gold from selling it and she can buy something nicer.

“Fine,” she waves her hand in defeat. “Let’s pick pocket a djinni.”

Isobel is rather amused.

The Circus of Last Days is a rather…. Odd circus. Nothing at all like the one that used to pass through home a century ago. That circus certainly didn’t have a professional sniffing ghoul sitting outside of its gates.

Still, she won’t let the opportunity pass by. Before, well, everything, she and Aylin rarely had time for actual activities. They walked together sure, but rarely got to do anything else together because of her mother’s illness and how short on time Aylin found herself to be.

She’d hoped that Shadowheart would go with them, but the other woman had stayed clear of them that morning. She’d never be angry that her soulmate needed space, but she couldn’t help being slightly sad that they wouldn’t go together.

Still, she and Aylin had a fun enough time walking the circus together before she’d shooed away her lover so she could look through the stalls for a gift for her soulmates.

Shadowheart’s shouldn’t be too hard, as she’d seen a lovely hair piece that would be a great replacement for the one she’d stopped wearing. The piece was both simple and elegant, with a deep purple flower sculpted intricately from metal. Something that she’d like but hopefully wouldn’t be too much.

It was her gift for Aylin that stumped her. Her lover was always so hard to get gifts for. She had no permanent residence, so that immediately crossed out most things. Isobel didn’t have a single idea about weapons or armor and Aylin didn’t exactly collect them either, which went back to lack of space.

Food, she discovered, was the best bet. Aylin might not have to eat, but she still enjoyed it. Her favorites were cheese, but that was a common gift to those that worshiped Selûne, so Isobel preferred to gift her lover some of her other favored food, specifically chocolates. She rarely received those, and they were much easier to find, so Isobel had set her eyes for a stall that had them.

As she handed the gold to the worker, Karlach rounded the corner, her eyes wide and flames pouring from the vents on her shoulders.

“Isobel! I lost Shadowheart !”

As she falls, Shadowheart’s face meets the unforgiving embrace of the muddy ground, leaving her with a grimy sensation. She can feel the unfamiliar thickness of the moisture-laden air surrounding her. The sounds of the circus are gone, replaced by the loud calls of birds and the roars of an enormous beast that is much too close for comfort.

She stands and wipes the mud off her face. The surrounding area differs completely from the one she left. Mammoth trees with thick green vines spread out as far as the eye can see.

“I’m going to fucking kill him.”

The spawn approaches her with a brisk walk and a worried dent in his eye.

When her love had expressed that she needed space so that she may buy a gift for them, Dame Aylin had, reluctantly, agreed. After the attack last night, she hadn’t wanted to let either of them out of her sight, but knew that was no way for them to live.

Her loves needed space to grow beautiful, she simply needed to accept that.

The circus was an odd thing and not something she had much experience with. The good news was there was a wide variety of gifts and treats available to her to select from. Normally she would gift Isobel books, as her darling loved books, but currently she had nowhere to put them.

Sweets perhaps? Isobel warmly received anything with honey because of her love for it. There was a stall farther down that sold jams, which also would be a welcomed treat.

Hells, she’s been wondering around this entire time without choosing anything and she hasn’t even searched for Shadowheart’s gift. That would be much more difficult since she had to try to balance what was appropriate.

The spawn appeared at her elbow while she’s comparing two kinds of candied fruit. She glances at him for a moment, rather confused on why he’s approaching her. They hadn’t even had a conversation since she had been freed.

“Have you seen our leader by chance?” He says, trying to cover his nerves. “There’s been a slight… problem.”

Dame Aylin is on guard at once. Isobel and Shadowheart are at this circus, armored and with weapons this time, but that does little to settle her spike of fear.

“What has happened?”

The spawn tries to act nonchalant, waving his hand back and forth. “There was a slight incident with a djinni is all. Your lover is fine, rest assured. But ,well, Shadowheart is missing.”

The world around her becomes muffled, as if she’s underwater, and she can’t hear anything for a few moments. The spawn may keep speaking, but she hears none of it. Her soulmate is missing. Missing, when they’ve already been attacked just the last night. Missing while Dame Aylin, sword of the Lady of sliver, shopped for sweets.

She grabs the spawn by the front of his clothes and lifts him up to her eye level. His eyes, blood red and wide, grow even wider when she demands the location of the djinni.

Ever since mind flayers kidnapped her, Shadowheart has discovered many things about herself. For example, she likes animals and flowers and enjoys listening to music. The knowledge of these things came softly to her. Slow realizations where she simply realized she liked to see flowers along the road and brought them back to camp with her.

Her hatred of wherever she was isn’t like that at all. That knowledge was imparted quickly and rather harsh.

Shadowheart did not like jungles.

She’d been there only for a short while and hated just about every minute. The air was sticking to her because it was so full of moisture. Sweat had coated her within minutes of arrival and it was making her armor uncomfortable. Her hair was becoming frizzy and the flyaway strands were sticking to her face.

Also, there were giant lizards trying to eat her.

After dealing with those, she’s able to find the portal rather quickly, thankfully. She’d been worried that the djinni had whisked her away as punishment for ‘cheating’ (it wasn’t cheating if she’d spun the wheel and landed on the grand prize the first time and she was sticking to that.)

In front of the portal was a trident with its shift sunk a few inches into the mud and hanging from its prongs, a large leather pack. The trident, with its intricate engravings and shimmering jade and gold, exuded an unmistakable air of magic. It also exuded its own light that illuminated the surroundings, causing the deep jade and gold tones to dazzle even in the dimness beneath the tree canopy. When she, cautiously, touched it, she felt a light spark of electricity.

Shadowheart pouted.

Obviously, this was the grand prize, but it wasn’t exactly the best gift. Even if she wanted to give Isobel a weapon, it wouldn’t be a trident. The other cleric probably couldn’t even use one and favored spears, anyway.

Perhaps Dame Aylin would like it? She never saw the paladin’s sword in camp and judging by her armor vanishing and appearing as it did, it was likely that it was some kind of summoned or bound weapon granted by her divine blood.

She checked the pack hanging off the trident and found its selection rather disappointing. Inside were a few rolls of gold coins, a magical necklace she would have to let Gale look at, and a rather pretty violin.

Just when she’d given up hope, she saw the pack had a small compartment on the inner lining. Tucked inside was a delicate brooch, crafted from plain metal and glass, resembling the delicate petals of cherry blossoms.

Shadowheart would just have to be satisfied with that, considering she was getting out of the damn circus the second she stepped through the portal. She threw the pack over her shoulder carefully, mindful of the violin. The trident popped out of the mud with a light tug and no dirt even clang to it, so it was most definitely magical.

She’d expected to see Karlach and Astarion on the other side of the portal but found a furious Dame Aylin arguing with the djinni and Astarion looking on with amusement.

Dame Aylin is so wrapped in her anger that she takes a few seconds to realize that Shadowheart has appeared, but the moment she does she rushes forward like she had last night. She doesn’t stop herself this time and carefully holds Shadowheart’s face with gauntlet-covered hands.

“Are you well?” She said, her blazing eyes only barely dimming. “I didn’t sense you on this plane. Where did this djinni send you?”

“I’m fine.” Shadowheart allows herself to like the attention, and it feels as good as she thought it would be. “I was in a jungle of some kind, but I’m fine.”

Her frown, filled with worry, is sharp and unforgiving. “You have blood on your face. Are you sure no harm came to you?”

“Ah, that’s not mine. There were some overgrown lizards, but I took care of them.”

The Paladin’s eyes bore into her, examining her closely, but she eventually withdraws. The glare she turned towards the djinni should not be as attractive to Shadowheart as it is, but she rather not have an immoral aasimar try to fight a djinni in the middle of the circus.

Before Dame Aylin can smite him, she rushes forward, juggling the trident and pack, to loop her hands around her arm the way she’s seen Isobel do when she wishes to shepherd her lover where she wants to. She tugs, knowing full well that Dame Aylin will only move if she wants to, considering how much stronger she is. Dame Aylin looked down at her, frown still harsh, and for a long moment Shadowheart thought it wouldn’t work, but then her face softened gradually.

“Let’s find the others and get out of here,” Shadowheart offers. It’s amazing she can say anything when she’s getting looked at like that. How Isobel gets anything done with a woman looking at her like that is honestly amazing. “I’m rather tired of the circus.”

“As you wish,” she said. She sent another glare the djinni’s way but thankfully let herself be tugged along by Shadowheart with no fuss.

Shadowheart could feel Astarion’s Look from behind them and was nice enough to not ask Dame Aylin to smite him to bits. At least one member of their group needed to pick locks, after all. After they were far enough away from the Djinni and his wheel, she let go of Dame Aylin’s arm to open the pack and toss Astarion the necklace.

“That’s it?” He pouted and sighed. “There wasn’t a dagger or something actually useful?”

She rolled her eyes, “Be thankful you’re getting anything at all, considering it was your plan that got me portaled to a jungle filled with killer lizards.”

Astarion opened his mouth, and she knew he was about to complain some more, but then his eyes flickered to her side and up, exactly where Dame Aylin stood. Whatever her expression was, it was enough that his mouth clicked shut.

“Well, I think I’ll go find the wizard and figure out if this is worth anything.” He gave them a casual wave and Shadowheart a quick smirk, vanishing into the crowd.

“Sometimes I wish Tav had staked him,” she said, mostly to herself. “I mean do we truly need a lock pick? Between the two of them, Karlach and Lae’zel can both smash open any chest or door.”

She remembered she was complaining to Dame Aylin, not Tav, who often took the blunt of her complaining, and turned to see her looking at her with amusement.

“Sorry to worry you,” Shadowheart said, more from embarrassment than anything. “That’s what I get for agreeing with any plan that Astarion and Karlach come up with. The air was so humid that it was like walking through steam and the giant lizards…Ugh.”

“Yet it seems like you prevailed.” Dame Aylin looked at the weapon in her hands with the look of someone that actually knew what they were looking at and was impressed by it. “That is a grand prize.”

“Do you think so?” Shadowheart hadn’t ever given a gift before, or none that she remembered, so she hesitated for a moment, but went for it. “I had actually been hoping to win something for you or Isobel.” She held out the trident with a slightly nervous smile. “Would you like it?”

Dame Aylin was taken aback, and her eyes blinked in disbelief.

“Sorry, that’s foolish, isn’t it? You have your sword-”

“No, no,” she said close to a shout and took hold of the trident with careful hands. “You surprised me,” she said, her voice filled with a mix of astonishment and delight. “Such a grand gift deeply honors me. I am only disappointed that I have nothing for you, I had been searching for such a thing before I heard you were missing.”

“Really?” She smiled at the idea. “I don’t think I ever received a gift before. At least none that I remember.”

“Tell me what you wish for and it will be done,” she said. “I will find you anything that is within my mother’s glaze and fly on wing to bring it to you if it is what you desire.”

Gods above, this woman was so much and Shadowheart could tell she meant every word. As Shadowheart gazed into her eyes, she could feel her heart skipping a beat. The intensity of her words made her spine shiver, and she couldn’t help but be captivated by the genuine sincerity in her voice.

She couldn’t help but match her smile, a genuine expression that feels unfamiliar on her face.

Dame Aylin was a force of nature, a celestial being sent to bring light into darkness. And as she looked into her eyes, she knew she could trust her with her deepest desires, for she would stop at nothing to fulfill them. Gods above. She couldn’t help but let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, her wishes were about to come true

“I don’t know what I’d like,” she admitted. “With so many of my memories gone, I have lost most of that. I like night orchids,” she amended. “Flowers actually.”

Once more, a radiant smile graced Dame Aylin’s face. “It would be my honor to bring you as many flowers as you desire, brave Shadowheart.”

“Aylin!”

Both of their heads snapped towards the shout, Dame Aylin’s smile dropping at the panicked sound of Isobel’s voice. “Isobel ?!”

Isobel and Karlach parted the crowd with ease, mostly because of Karlach’s size. Fear gripped Shadowheart as there was plenty to worry about at the moment, but realized it must be Shadowheart herself they had been worried over when both of their faces dropped into relief at the sight of her.

Realizing how many people had been worried about her was a little embarrassing, but also… kind of nice.

“Fringe!” Karlach patted her on the back, the touch rather hot even through her armor. “Thank the gods, I thought that djinni had vanished you completely. You alright?”

“Fine, though that is the last time I ever listen to one of your and Astarion’s plans.” she rolled her eyes. She opened the pack and took out the brooch, then handed it to Karlach. “Your share of the winnings. Make sure to tell Astarion how much more I gave you than him.”

Karlach laughed, peaked inside, then whooped in delight at the sight of the violin. “This is perfect! Thanks Shads!”

“Don’t call me that!” she shouted uselessly to her departing back.

Shadowheart turned back to Dame Aylin and Isobel, her heart jumping when she saw that both of them were looking at her. Usually she only dealt with Isobel, but now both of them were here. In front of her.

She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry Karlach worried you over nothing, too.”

Isobel waved her off. “I’d figured it wasn’t as bad as she feared, but with djinni you never know. How did you anger one enough to have him banish you to another plane? Usually circuses keep a rather tight hold on them.”

“I’d won the grand prize, which apparently meant walking through a jungle and fighting giant lizards to claim it.” She nodded to the trident Dame Aylin held in her arms, which made the paladin puff up with pride. “It was a rather good prize, though.”

“Darling Shadowheart has gifted to me her winnings,” Dame Aylin said with more than a little smugness.

A tiny jolt of fear went through her that Isobel might feel left out. “There was this too,” she held out the brooch. “I thought you’d like that more than that old thing.”

“Oh, darling, it’s beautiful!A big, bright smile spread across her face. “Thank you, I adore cherry blossoms.”

Isobel dug something out of the bag she carried, “For you,” she said.

Colored a deep purple, the hairpiece is intricately crafted in the shape of delicate flowers. It was smaller than her old hair piece and she feared it was also more breakable, but it was beautiful.

She felt oddly seen by it. No one had mentioned the fact she’d stopped wearing her old hair piece or stopped wearing her old camp clothes. Isobel clearly had noticed, despite not talking to her much while she used to wear it.

“Thank you,” Shadowheart said. Pleased, she couldn’t help but break into a smile.

Isobel’s eyes sparkled with delight as she positively beamed back at her. “I thought you’d like it.” She turned to Dame Aylin and gave her the bag, “For you Angel, though I fear that it’s not as good a gift as Shadowheart’s.”

“I cherish all the gifts you grant me, my love.” Then Dame Aylin frowned. “But I do not have a gift for you. The spawn called me away from my search…” She looked back to where most of the shop stalls were. “Perhaps I will continue while you two join with the others?”

“We can shop in the city,” Isobel suggested instead. “We’re both in need of more clothes as well. You can find us gifts then.”

Dame Aylin went to speak but was cut off by a shout from Karlach, who broke through the crowd with the same intensity she had only minutes before.

“We gotta go,” she said. “Tav and the others killed the clown.”

“…. What?”

It’s a few days later that Dame Aylin can continue her search for gifts.

They had rooms now, thanks to the Paladin Tav, so while Isobel went to order them new clothes, she searched for a bookstore. In truth, she wanted to give her love an entire library to replace the loss of Moon Rise’s grand library, but Isobel preferred smaller gifts and disliked having a large pile of books to read. It made her feel pressured to read them and she liked to take her time.

She obtained the complete set of a series that Isobel had been reading before but hadn’t been completed. The last book released some thirty years ago, with at least three books from the last she read. It was possible that the gift would case her to think about how much time she’d been gone. A century was little to her but for her soulmate it wasn’t. Just in case she picked up some hardened honey candies as well.

For Shadowheart, she found a small glass vase. She chose the green that most closely resembled Shadowheart’s eyes, its surface adorned with delicate engravings that added an extra touch of beauty. She would have preferred to get it in her favored color, but she didn’t know that information yet. It took most of the afternoon for her, along with Isobel, to find a florist that sold Night Orchids, but find them she did.

Shadowheart smiled brightly at her when she gave them to her that night. “Thank you, Aylin.” Her words had stumbled a bit as she clearly consciously avoided using her title, but she quickly recovered and leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on her cheek.

Isobel teased her about how she’d spent the rest of the night puffed up with pride from, but Dame Aylin teased her right back about her envy of not getting Shadowheart’s kiss first.

Shadowheart doesn’t bring up soulmates with Isobel or Dame Aylin again.

(No, not Dame Aylin- just Aylin. She wouldn’t call her by her titles, not anymore. She was Aylin, the woman that bought her a vase so she could bring flowers to her because she knew Shadowheart liked them.

They didn’t bring it up to her either. There were many conversations that they all needed to have, but it remained unspoken. Shadowheart had the tadpole in her head and saving her parents weighing on her heart, there just wasn’t room for thinking about what she wanted with them or how their relationship should look. Boundaries needed to be established, expectations agreed upon.

She and Isobel can’t take their nightly walks together anymore- Baldur’s Gate wasn’t exactly the city where two young women should walk about at night, even when they’re two power clerics. Instead, when Shadowheart is at the Elfsong Tavern and not with Tav around the city, they sit in Isobel and Aylin’s room. Sometimes they talk about Selûne, or the shaky memories about her childhood. Slowly Isobel speaks about her own childhood with her parents, what it was like having a mother that spent so long ill and then a father that loved her so deeply that it hurt them both.

Aylin doesn’t share about her experiences in the Shadowfell. She speaks about hard missions and the people she’s encountered, but never about her captivity.

Despite everything that’s happening, the cults, murderers, the tadpoles…. She’s never felt happier.

They storm the House of Grief on a normal afternoon.

Shadowheart doesn’t remember this place, but she does. Her body knows the way. Her nose knows the smell in the air and the sound of her footsteps is familiar to her ears.

They fight, as she knew they would have to. She knows it’s not the first time blood is spilled on the floors here, but she hopes it’s the last. She lets Tav decide DeVir’s fate because she truly does not care any longer. Perhaps there will be a time that she’ll wish that she’d repaid her ‘mother’ with all the pain that Shadowheart had endured; that day isn’t today.

Revenge will not bring her happiness or peace, and that’s what she wants more than anything.

But it’s the desire for her parents that consumes her, a deep longing that she can’t shake.

Shadowheart stands in front of her parents and can only think of one thing: this wasn’t fair.

The only way to be free of Shar’s chain was to lose them before she’d truly gotten them back. She looks to Tav for guidance, but her supportive gaze reveals what she already knew. That she wouldn’t dare to sway her on such a significant and personal matter. The Paladin won’t judge her for her choice but can’t offer an easy out.

She’s reached her breaking point, longing for an escape from the torment of pain and the suffocating darkness. She wants nothing more than to shake free of the shackles that Shar had clasped around her for the past nearly half a century. Perhaps her father is right. Perhaps she should let go of the past and let them be at peace.

However, deep down, Shadowheart’s heart aches for her parents. She wants to learn about her childhood and what family came before them. She wants to hug them, to learn about them and most of all, she wants them to meet Isobel and Aylin.

She yearns to break free from the pain that has been with her forever, but she has become accustomed to its presence. She can keep enduring.

Shar doesn’t get to take things from her. Not any more.

Arnell Hallowleaf hugged his wife and daughter to his chest for the first time in forty years.

His Jenevelle was a woman fully grown. The group with her was a strange assortment of characters, but they’d helped her fight a temple worth of Sharran’s simply to help her, help them.

He’s unsure if his daughter’s marks remain black under her tattoos, but he finds solace knowing that she experienced such profound and genuine love.

Shadowheart doesn’t know how to feel.

For so long, she could only feel what Shar wanted her to feel. Now everything she feels is up to her. It’s a flood of emotions that makes her feel like she’s drowning in quicksand.

She’s lost so much. What memories she has before the crash are dark and bloody. She has experienced boundless pain, whether it is caused by her or inflicted upon her. Darkness and loneliness had consumed her existence for as long as she could remember.

Shadowheart hadn’t known what she’d feel when she freed her parents. She can’t help but feel a deep sense of worthlessness, like a weight pressing against her chest. How much easier would it have been to be a monster? To not have this blood dripping off her hands?

She freed her family. She wanted to speak with them, know them, laugh with them.

She can’t look them in the eye.

Dame Aylin finds solace in an open window, her gaze fixed on the brilliant hues of the morning sky.

It wasn’t unusual for Shadowheart and part of her group to not return to Elfsong. Their activities brought them across the city and often they’d found it quicker to spend the night elsewhere. That didn’t stop her from worrying when Shadowheart hadn’t returned.

Isobel, her sweet Isobel, had gone down the street to pick up some food that wasn’t from the kitchen downstairs. She claimed that it was because she was tired of their selections, but Dame Aylin suspected that her lover was instead buying her a gift to raise her spirits. No doubt she would return with a selection of cheeses of some kind for her.

When the door to their room opens, she assumes it is Isobel returning from her outing, but it’s Shadowheart. Her eyes are watery and red, with large dark circles under them. It was evident that she had neglected to clean up after her last battle, as her mace still had blotches of blood on it and her hair was frizzled.

Dame Aylin stood at once, wings flaring in alarm. “What is it? What is troubling you so?” She slowly reached for her soulmate’s face, giving her time to move away if she desired.

Shadowheart had been accepting her touch since the day at the circus, but today was the first time she leaned in so heavily and reached up to hold her hand to her cheek.

“I know there are a lot of conversations we need to have,” Shadowheart said, her voice rough. She sniffled softly, her tear-stained face revealing that she had been crying. “And know that I’ve been avoiding it for far too long.”

Her wide green eyes were filled with tears as she looked up at her. “Can we skip it, please? Can you just be holding me right now?”

Her arms were encircling Shadowheart’s shoulders as soon as the words left her mouth. She instinctively wrapped her wings protectively around her and pressed a loving kiss onto the top of her head.

Isobel opens the door expecting to see her angel still brooding over their wayward soulmate.

Instead, Aylin has Shadowheart in her arms on their bed, just barely visible behind her wings. Their younger soulmate is laying on her side with her face tucked into Aylin’s chest, her arm hugging her close.

Aylin lifts her wings at the sound of her entry and Isobel’s heart breaks at the sight of Shadowheart’s tear-filled eyes. She drops the bags she’d picked up at the shops that morning, took off her shoes and coat, and carefully climbed into bed behind Shadowheart.

They’d took a moment to settle. The bed wasn’t exactly suitable for three adults, let alone Aylin and them. But soon Isobel was spooning Shadowheart, holding her close to her chest with Aylin’s arm and wing atop of them.

They spent the rest of the morning curled up together, the only sounds the bustle of the world outside and their soft breathing.

“My name was Jenevelle,” she said out of the blue. She doesn’t know why she started with that, but it’s out of her mouth before she can think otherwise.

From there, the entire story tumbles out of her.

“I am sorry, darling,” Isobel whispered into the back of her neck. Her voice was soft, clearly pained on her behalf.

“As am I.” Aylin’s wings flexed and resettled. “Wicked Shar’s shame knows no limit, it would seem. That you pulled your parents from her grasp is a mighty feat indeed.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” she admitted. “I… I don’t know how to feel.”

“That is normal, little warrior.” Aylin lent down to kiss the crown on her head. “You’ve been denied your very emotions and Shar had chained you to her own will. You’re not the first to be overwhelmed by their first few steps into the light.”

“They said they waited for me, but …” Shadowheart turned her head more fully into Aylin’s chest so her face wasn’t so easily seen. “The things I’ve done, I don’t deserve to be anyone’s daughter-“

“Sweetheart, that’s not true!” Isobel gently clasped her hand, providing a reassuring touch. “I’m sure your parents are so proud of you. You broke free of Shar all on your own and went back to free them. They understand you were forced to do horrible things.”

“Isobel is right,” Aylin gently placed her hand on top of theirs. The moment you had the chance to make a choice, you chose to do good. My mother welcomed you back to her fold so soon for a reason, my love, and it’s because you have a kind and genuine heart that none can take from you, no matter how hard they wish.”

She brought Shadowheart’s hand to her mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Speak to your parents when you are ready, and know that we will be here no matter what happens. This I swear to be true, as long as my heart still beats.”

“I’ll call you whatever you wish,” her mother tells her that night. “Jenevelle or Shadowheart; whatever makes you happy, you are my little girl either way.”

Her father nodded, eyes wet with tears. All of them had cried and no doubt will cry again before the night was done. “The Moon Maidan guides us all to our true selves. Shadowheart; Our daughter.”

Tav can’t afford to leave her at Elfsong forever.

If she could, she wouldn’t doubt that the Paladin would. Tav has experienced the loss of her parents and knows what it means that Shadowheart has her own back.

However, she was the best healer they had and considering how often they’re having to fight around the city and how tough their enemies are, she’s needed. They managed without her for a few days, but there are only so much potions can do.

Isobel offered to take her place for a while so she could spend more time with her parents, but Shadowheart couldn’t take her up on it. Isobel’s lingering cough hasn’t gotten worse but also hasn’t stopped and, according to Aylin, her energy levels aren’t the same as they used to be.

She’s scared to leave them. Scared that she’d return, and they’d be gone again, lost to her once more.

Aylin swears, kneeling and all, to protect her parents from all threats. Isobel swears too, though she does much less dramatically than their soulmate does.

She loves them, loves them so much that it makes her chest ache with it.

Emmeline knows that her mind isn’t what it used to be.

They never took her or Arnell’s memories. That would have undone the torment of seeing their sweet daughter lose herself. Having them know exactly who it was that stood before them was the true torture.

Things slip her mind regardless. She tries very hard to remember that her girl has changed her name now. She slips here and there, a few ‘Jens’ falling from her lips, but it’s happening less and less.

Her friends’ names are harder but clearly love her daughter too much to mention her slips of memory or rambling sentences.

Still, her mind isn’t quite empty or lost to madness yet, so she remembers certain things. Like waking up so long ago after giving birth and seeing her husband worried about their tiny newborn daughter. Black soul marks had been a terrible omen that they refused to let affect how they raised their daughter.

Shadowheart might not remember her words. Emmeline was certain that she’d gotten taken to the disk many times after getting her tattoos, but she did. She had intentionally memorized those words, just in case they were forgotten.

Her daughter found her soulmates anyway, which she considered another blessing of the Lady of Silver. Such kind soulmates her daughter had, too. Still, there was a question that lingered on her mind that she simply had to answer.

Her opportunity to receive her answer came when their daughter sat with her and Arnell in one of the lesser used corners of Elfsong. The presence of people, of real normal people, was a bit much for her and husband but she knew it was necessary to see and feel freedom.

Shadowheart’s soulmates had stayed clear so far and hadn’t joined them for any meals. Perhaps their daughter was waiting for the right time to introduce them. Still, they paused before they went upstairs, always making sure that she knew they were heading up.

They did so again tonight, and so Emmeline finally asked that she’d been wondering since she saw the looks that her daughter exchanged with them.

“Shadowheart, may I ask a question?”

“Yes,” she blinked, surprised to be pulled out of her staring preemptively. “Yes, of course you may.”

“Which one of them called you a terrier,” she said with a point of her fork towards the stairs. Arnell, the poor dear, choked on his water. “Because I remember wanting to be very displeased about it and was wondering if I should be now.”

“Oh- I,” Shadowheart stuttered, her face becoming red to the tips of her ears. She breathed deeply for a moment, obviously so nervous. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep it from you, it’s just still …new is all.And, well, how do I put this? I guess I’ll just say it- Aylin is the daughter of Selûne.”

“….Aylin as in Dame Aylin?” Arnell said slowly. “The sword of the lady of silver?”

Shadowheart’s nod was accompanied by wide, nervous eyes.

As Emmeline reached over, she could feel her daughter’s hand trembling slightly in her grasp. “Daughter of the Moon Maiden or no, I’m glad you met your soulmates. We worried about you when you were born with black marks but now we know you were blessed instead.”

Her smile twitched into a frown for a moment. “Still, that doesn’t give her the right to call you a terrier.”

A week or so later, Shadowheart asks Isobel and Aylin to meet her at a lake outside Baldur’s Gate.

She said it was to learn how to swim, but she doesn’t exactly succeed in that goal.

However, she succeeds in her seduction of her soulmates, which is a much better prize.

When Tav talks to Lorroakan, she doesn’t really pay all that much attention.

She doesn’t like the man at all from the start. He felt slimy, like one took all the positive traits of Gale and replaced them with even more arrogance. He’s treatment of his underlings seals the deal.

But when he mentions the Nightsong, she immediately starts paying attention. By the end of it, Tav has him believing that she’d bring ‘it’ to him.

And Shadowheart? She wants him dead.

Hearing that another wizard wants to chain her down and use her like the wretches that came before him filled Dame Aylin with a rage that she hasn’t felt since she put her heel through Ketheric’s skull.

She intended to demonstrate her authority to him and the rest of the world.

She would never be confined again.

Her mother comes to her in the aftermath.

Dame Aylin senses her long before her eyes see her. The surrounding morals downstairs had not recognized her, though Withers certainly had.

She kept her divinity diminished and her appearance was one of an older human woman with deep laugh lines. She wears no armor and carries no weapons. Her clothes are simple blue robes with only light silver embroidery and her holy symbol on her chest. A pair of well worn boots covered with a dash of mud top off the outfit.

This avatar is shorter than her as well. The tip of her silver head, a real aged white and not dyed like her loves, barely stands at Aylin’s shoulder.

She opens and closes the door with a final sounding click and Dame Aylin, the Silver Sword and Paladin of the Moon Maiden, feels cowed in a way she hasn’t felt since she first picked up a sword, just at the sight of her.

“Now, now, my girl,” her mother said with a hint of amusement. “Don’t hide yourself from me, of all people.”

“I apologize Lady of Silver- “

“None of that either, moonling.” This avatar’s eyes had deep lines at corners and the color of them matched Aylin’s own silver-white. There was a deep maternal warmth reflected back to her.

Aylin adjusted her posture, pulling her shoulders back and elongating her spine. “Yes, mother.”

A proud smile spread across her face. “There she is. My resilient daughter.”

Aylin thinks back to the events that happened yesterday and while she would never disagree with her divine Mother… it’s certainly harder to believe. What Paladin feels no pride in crushing those that would chain her? What Paladin feels empty at the vanishing of their foes?

“You know,” Selûne said softly, her voice filled with empathy, “ That I can feel the hesitation in your heart, Aylin.”

“I apologize, mother,” Aylin said quietly.

There were very few that have heard her this quiet. Yet what more was there to say? She was struggling to embody her oath, yet she dared not rest. Would Isobel or Shadowheart still be living if she dared?

She wished not to let her darlings see her like this. Isabel had once, long ago now, after one of her quests had gone far worse than expected, but she and Shadowheart both need Aylin to be strong. She needed to embody invincible strength.

Her mother has the uncanny ability to see past her facade, naturally. No doubt she can see conflict inside her daughter’s soul. What a disappointment it must be to have her daughter returned to her in such a diminished state.

“Oh, you darling girl.” Selûne reached up with one hand to cup her face and Aylin assisted by leaning her head down. When she felt her mother’s thumb on one of her scars, a spark of shame arose within her.

Her mother pulled away and exhaled. “Tell me, daughter; do you believe me to be like my sister?”

With wide eyes, Aylin recoiled in surprise. “Never! You could never be as vile as that despicable witch. What have I done to -“

Selûne raises her hand, and Aylin falls silent, her mouth closing with a click. “Yet you think I don’t care for my own,” she said, her eyes filled with sadness. “ That I would relentlessly exploit them until they are completely broken, solely to advance my own interests.”

“No,” she said, her voice trembling with defiance. Her heart hammered in disbelief and unease. The thought of her mother behaving in such a way was beyond comprehension. “You must know that I would never believe that of you. I have had the privilege of witnessing your compassion towards those who worship you first hand.”

“Then why do you think I would frown upon you taking a well-deserved rest?” She could see the pain reflected in her mother’s eyes. “You speak of my compassion so freely yet believe there I have none for you.”

“I am your sword,” Aylin replied, her voice faltering with uncertainty. “I am bound by an oath to vanquish your enemies wherever they may attempt to conceal themselves. It is my solemn duty, one that I have neglected for an unacceptable amount of time.”

“Ay,it is your duty for you are you are Dame Aylin; the esteemed and formidable Sword of the Moonmaiden, and my dearest paladin. But remember, my dear, that above all the titles and oaths, you are my daughter.”

Another sigh escaped Selûne’s lips, filled with heartache. “ My daughter, who had her soulmate taken from her mere months before being ensnared by Shar for a hundred years. Who only had endless darkness in the deepest reaches of the Shadowfell while being murdered over and over by her forces.”

Her mother’s avatar became younger as her anger flared. As her hair transformed from white to silver, the lines of age on her face seemed to fade away. There was a reason such a wide range of folk worshiped the Moonmaiden. She was constantly in flux.; young to old, calm to versatile and aggressive to embracing.

Her voice showed the shift as well, becoming closer to Aylin’s own. “And the Nightsinger should consider herself lucky that Ao himself commanded me not to seek her out for it. It was only by his intervention that saved that temple from being turned to ash by my own hands.”

Her mother’s eyes betrayed her feelings of anger, despite her efforts to stay composed. It’s gratifying to see. Aylin has long surpassed childhood, so much so that she has lost track of the exact year, yet it brings comfort that her mother still looks out for her.

“But that is now in the realm of the past,” her mother’s voice becomes more gentle. “You’re free to fly under my light once more. After a century, your beloved Isobel walks beside you anew. The once lost Shadowheart has rediscovered her true self and has made her way back to my moon light. So tell me, my beloved daughter; why do you doubt ? ”

“I am weaker than I once was.” Aylin’s admission weighed heavily on her, her voice betraying a trace of disappointment as she acknowledged her diminished state. “Much weaker, I fear. Not just in body, but in mind.”

“I have sworn myself to you gladly, mother,” she said, her voice filled with determination. “And I wish to keep being your sword against the darkness, but...” Her gaze shifted, betraying a deep sense of shame. “ I do not know if I am able. When I killed that dreadful mage, it did not fill my heart with pride or joy. Despite the triumph, I felt …hollow.”

“Of course your yoke is heavy on your shoulders. You’ve not dropped it for even a moment for a century.” Selûne reached out and clasped one of her hands with both of her own. “Do not feel ashamed, moonling, for resting. Just like the moon, my power waxes and wanes as time marches on and so too should your own. Failing to acknowledge it will only result in hurting yourself and those around you.”

“I fear that if I do, they will disappear once more, like a fleeting dream. One moment Isobel was by my side, and the next, she was gone and I can not bear to go through that again. Shadowheart has made a great deal of enemies now that she renounced Shar and is making more by the day in her quest to stop the Dead Three.” Aylin wavered for a moment, then admitted, “I fear for myself as well, and that Shadowfell has scared me deeper than my skin.”

“That is why you must set aside your sword and armor, if only for a while.” She tightly squeezed Aylin’s hand. “You persevered when it was necessary, and now it is time to find solace in rest. Perhaps take darling Isobel to one of my temples outside of the city and simply be for a while. Your sword hand will not weaken while you regain your strength.”

Aylin can see her mother’s wisdom. She would deliver the same message to any other warrior who stood before her. But she wasn’t anyone . She was Dame Aylin; she was stronger than the rest.

Perhaps it is her mother’s divine powers or the simple powers of motherhood but Selûne sees her disagreement either way.

“For one hundred years I could barely sense you,” Selûne breathed deeply and her eyes grew impossibly old. “Ay, there has never been a deeper fear of mine as my only daughter in the hands of my sister. How it tore me to know you must be suffering but unable to do anything lest I play into Shar’s hands or worse; that the Watcher would intervene for fate’s sake. Each moon rise I wondered if this would be the day that a moral would free you or take you from me forever.”

“But you held.” She reached up to cup Aylin’s face, her pride shining in her eyes even as sadness stayed. The fingers of her other hand were tightly gripping her hand to the point of pain but Aylin didn’t say a word of it.

“You believe that you’re weak, but you never wavered in the Shadowfell. You held and then crushed those that dared chain you; now it is time to rest. I would never cast out a follower of mine for recovering after even quarter of the pain you’ve endured in my name, let alone my sweetest daughter. But perhaps your time in the Shadowfell has given you doubts so listen, Dame Aylin, and listen to me well.”

She let go of Aylin’s hand and reached for the other side of Aylin’s face, forcing her to look into her eyes with the lightest of touches.

“If you came to me and asked if you may lay down your sword for centuries so that you could live with your loves for the rest of their mortal lives in peace; I would grant it. If you wanted to live a life of nonviolence forever more; I would grant it. I value your happiness so much more than your abilities with a sword, moonling. I could not save you from the heartache of dear Isobel’s death or the Shadowfell, but I can grant you peace.”

“I would NEVER abandon my oath,” Aylin said roughly.

The mere idea of it made her heart break. She was a paladin to her very core, even if the Shadowfell made her weak.

“Of course not, moonling.” Selûne’s hands were soft and comforting, her thumb carefully brushing away a tear that Aylin refused to acknowledge. “But know that I would love you just as much if you did.”

Aylin leaned in the hands holding her face for a brief moment before Selûne pulled away. She resigned herself to the fact that the shame may persist, haunting her thoughts even as she tried to find respite.

But she could not leave yet.

“I will heed your words and temporarily surrender my sword so that I find some respite,” Aylin said reluctantly. “But it will have to be after our battle is done with the Absolute and the Dead Three. I can’t bear to leave Shadowheart alone, especially while she is still recovering.”

“I would not expect you too and I can’t fault you for that.” Her mother wandered over to the dresser where Isobel kept some of her supplies for prayer. “Not after what happened with Isobel. Tell me, how does she fare?”

“Isobel? She’s as radiant as the day we met. She feels some misplaced guilt over what has happened to her homelands and the other actions of her changed father.”

“That will fade in time. It is the nature of kind souls to take on more guilt than is actually earned,” Selûne looked at the bottle of wine that Isobel had gotten to prepare for the next full moon. She tapped the cork with her index finger and the bottle glowed from within with divine light as the wine turned into moon fire.

“The Nature Spirit that resides outside of Reithwin has been working quite hard on restoring his forest,” she continued. “Perhaps returning and seeing those lands healing would be beneficial?”

“We have spoken of it,” Aylin said. “To an extent. Isobel is now head of her House, though few Thorms besides herself are still alive from what we’ve gathered so legally most of Reithwin and the surrounding lands are hers. She’s uninterested in ruling it, even if her sense of duty refuses to let her abandon Reithwin altogether. She has expressed a desire to see Moon Haven restored as well.”

“Ay, I don’t doubt that. Much of her education was done there.” Selûne touched Isobel’s ceremonial dagger and Aylin watched as glowing symbols appeared on its edge as her divine enchantment settled in the metal. “Tell her to rest first, hm? Once this business with the Absolute is finished I will send some of my followers to both Reithwin and Moon Haven, if only to make sure those that perished have a proper memorial. A full restoration can wait for now.”

“Of course, mother.”

“And how does Shadowheart and her family fair?”

“It is with great pride I say Shadowheart’s vigorous will is a trait she has gained honestly,” she said. “As her parents are doing quite well, despite Shar’s wicked intentions. It will take time for them to recover fully, but they’re strong. She’s… hesitant, but that’s to be expected. ”

“So you acknowledge their need to rest, but not your own?” Her mother glances at her in Isobel’s mirror, a not quite smile on her lips. “I jest, Moonling.” She leaves a few moon mote stones in a small bowel, then glances at the rest of Isobel’s supplies but sees nothing more for her to bless.

“I have not spoken to your new lover directly,” she said as she looked around the room. “As I have found that it often takes some time for those that leave the darkness to embrace the light, but I have kept an eye on her. She’s come far in the short time she’s been free. It gladdens my heart to see that you have two soulmates that are worthy of you, Aylin.”

“I’m glad that you can see her strength as I do.”

Aylin watched as her mother’s avatar floated around their room. Isobel used to be so flustered in the aftermath of such a visit. There were clerics that only saw Drops Fallen From The Moon a few times in their lifetime, mostly from the Wand of Four Moons in Waterdeep that dropped a few precious drops, but her mother has always been overly generous to those that Aylin herself favors. Her close companions would often find themselves with newly blessed Moonblades or a powerful moondraught where a normal healing potion had been stored.

Selûne had always favored Isobel, long before Aylin had met her, but afterwards the only thing that kept her mother from spoiling her had been Isobel’s own reluctance. That had only kept the Moon Maiden from giving her access to more powerful magics; Moonfire and other gifts always appeared whenever an avatar of Selûne visited.

“Strength indeed. She and her family are truly a rare breed to resist my sister’s followers for so long. Having such true hearts walk under my moonlight is a blessing.” Her mother seemed to settle now that there wasn’t anything more in the room that she could bless in someway. “If the Watcher had not been so very specific in not interfering with any that have the Mind Flayer tadpoles, I would have honored that Paladin’s group twice over by now.”

Aylin was taken aback to hear her mother bring up Ao again in such a way. “You make it seem like he has been interfering more recently,” she noted.

“So he has been since the Troubles,” Selûne’s avatar’s eyes flash with displeasure. “Of course I am left to be the wise one and accept his rulings. Mystra certainly hasn’t learned, but does she ever?”

Selûne waved away her own complaint. Her mother and Mystra were close friends, but often clashed over the other goddess’s rash actions and the disregard of the safety of mortals.

“After the tadpoles are gone, I will award them as they deserve.”

“They will not ask for one.” Aylin paused for a moment. “Most of them will not, anyway.”

“There is a vampire spawn that travels with them, isn’t there? Perhaps he would like to be cured?”

“I have not spoken to him much, but I can ask Shadowheart.” But that reminded her, “But the tiefling barbarian, Karlach, she’s fated to either die here or to be forced back to the hells. If you wish to award them, I believe that her life will be the most thing asked.”

Selûne reached over and patted Aylin on her shoulder. “My girl. Of course I wish to reward them. It’s because of them that dear Shadowheart has returned to the fold and could free you. And then they destroy the most powerful Sharran cell on the coast? Each will be well welcomed in any hall that houses my followers.”

Aylin hesitated, but remembered all too well how awful it had been when they’d discovered that her mother, in all her power, could not bring Isobel back to her. How gutted she’d been, holding Isobel’s cold limp hand, begging her goddess to bring her love back to her.

The situation was different, but Aylin refused to allow Tav to have a false hope.

“I will speak with the Paladin Tav,” she started, uncharacteristically unsure. “But I would prefer to wait till after we’ve done battle with the Absolute and the Dead Three. I do not- I do not wish my experience on her if it is not possible to help brave Karlach.”

Her mother’s eyes turned somber, her Avatar’s face becoming slightly older with lines appearing at the edge of her eyes. “I understand your concern, moonling. I will heed to you on the matter.”

As Selûne embraced her tightly, Aylin gracefully lowered herself to accommodate the hug. “Your loves will be here soon, daughter of mine.”

With a small smile, she gently patted Aylin’s cheek. “Do not push them away in your pain. You’ve been alone much too long for that.” She gave one last soft pat to Aylin’s cheek. “And after you bring defeat to those deceitful charlatans, maybe you can think about blessing me with some adorable grandchildren, hmm?”

Aylin chuckled softly as she made a promise to consider it.

Shadowheart spends her days fighting vampires and murdering cults and all shorts of other monstrous things. She witnesses Astarion destroying his master and liberating his ‘siblings’. Despite the scorching heat, Tav had held Karlach tightly as she raged over the time she had lost in the hells. With each passing day, Lae’zel’s edges become less rigid, leaving her softer. while It appears that Gale has finally grasped the fact that he is greater than the bomb contained within him. Wyll raises his horned head with a newfound true confidence. Jaheira affectionately refers to them as cubs, like a mother or aunt, with playful smiles. The sound of Minsc’s hearty laugh fills every room, a familiar and comforting presence.

She yearns to be surrounded by nature, where peaceful mornings are spent being embraced by gentle wings and the comforting embrace of two sets of arms but…

She’ll miss this too once it’s over.

Aylin and Shadowheart tried to convince her to stay out of the battle, as her coughing fits haven’t lessened during their time in Baldur’s Gate.

Isobel loves them dearly, loves them more than she could have ever imagined, but thinks them foolish for ever thinking that she’d stay behind. Even if the stakes of this battle weren’t as high as they were, even if one of her soulmate’s didn’t have a tadpole, even if her other hadn’t been victimized by this cult; Her father had done all of this for her.

He broke his oath, destroyed their home and murdered their people, betrayed their goddess, then kneeled for Myrkul for her.

Despite knowing she had no control over her father’s actions, she still felt a need to fix it all anyway.

She’s still reeling from everything when Astarion’s skin begins to smoke.

It’s over and it’s done. The feeling of accomplishment fills the air as everything is finally settled and finished. All she desires in that moment is to cleanse herself in a refreshing bath and drift off into a deep sleep. Hopefully, with either or both of her lovers. The city will need time to recover, but that seems like a far away concern at the moment compared to needing a bed.

Then Astarion yeps in pain and the sound is already enough for her to spin around despite her magic being damn near depleted. She takes a moment to realize what’s happening.

The tadpoles hadn’t been all negative, and now, they’re gone.

Astarion started running and has to drive under cover, his skin forming boils.

But before she can go over and heal him of it and figure out how to get him to safety for the next few hours or so before sunset, there is a loud clanging sound followed by metal grinding on metal. Karlach shouts like she’s been injured and immediately falls to her knees, hand clenching her heart.

“No!” Tav tries to rush forward, but the heat Karlach has started to give off is too much. The vents on her shoulders are overworking themselves, and the stones under her are rapidly becoming red with heat.

In that moment, Shadowheart couldn’t help but recall Dammon’s astonishment at Karlach’s unwavering composure back at the grove. They’d brushed it off because Karlach had, but now she’s coming to the sinking realization that it had been the tadpole that somehow kept the engine stable, just as it kept Astarion from burning in the sun.

Tav has stood unwavering since the moment Shadowheart had been stuck in that pod on the crashing nautiloid all those weeks and months ago. The half-drow has been the reason Shadowheart had been soft enough to want things for herself and had supported her every step of the way- as she’s tried to do for each of them. Despite facing unimaginable horrors, she has consistently shown unwavering strength and dedication to her oaths.

That dedication and soft heart is why the paladin now is burning herself trying to get to her lover. It takes Lae’zel and Wyll both to hold her back.

“Karlach!” Tav is shouting, as is everyone that’s nearby. Her fists pound on Lae’zel shoulders and despite that it must be painful, the gith doesn’t let her go. “Let me go, damn you!”

Karlach’s face contorts with pain, but she manages to muster a smile. “Love you,” she grunts out, the words barely escaping before there is a flare of flame so bright and large that it blotted out Shadowheart’s eyes sight for a moment.

It would have burned them all if Gale hadn’t thrown up the most powerful barrier spell he had.

The silence is eerie, after all the shouting and is broken only by the sound of Tav’s sobs and the muffled impact of her fists against Lae’zel’s chest plate.

That night, Aylin kneels next to a forgotten statue of her divine mother, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow on her face.

She’d been grateful beyond words that neither of her soulmates fell during the battle. She’d hoped that they’d be able to comfort each other, heal one another’s hearts and wounds.

But instead, her little warrior experienced devastation.

She’d told them of it in sputtering anguish of how Karlach’s engine had failed almost the moment they’d landed. Tav had shut down by then but hadn’t allowed Isobel to heal her burns on her hands and face.

Karlach had been a loyal friend and companion, not just to Aylin, but to Shadowheart and Isobel. She’d protected Shadowheart in battle untold times, had gone into the House of Grief for no reward other than friendship. She’d tried to welcome Shadowheart’s parents with a warmth they hadn’t received in almost fifty years.

That should not go unnoticed.

So Aylin kneels like she hasn’t been able to do in over a century and asks a question she’d once swore she’d never ask of her mother again.

If there’d been any doubt about Shadowheart’s choice of goddess, it was gone at the sight of a sobbing Tav hugging Karlach, alive and whole.

Karlach’s armor had been burned to a crisp, so she’d stood there only in one of Aylin’s cloaks. The spell hadn’t simply pieced her back together. The engine itself was gone, as were the cooling vents, and Karlach’s broken horn had even been repaired.

Shadowheart sent a prayer towards Selûne without real thought, simply so incredibly thankful that the goddess had returned one of her dearest friends to her.

But in return, there’s a tiniest amount of divine presence. There’s a stark contrast between Selûne’s presence and Shar’s. The Moon Maiden does not loom over her and there’s no icy feeling that’s creeping up her spine, nor the feeling of absolute failure.

There’s just a cool nighttime breeze and the feeling of content pride and joy. There’s nothing else, but somehow it feels like everything she needs.

Shadowheart knows the house was in, well, rough shape.

They’d found it on the edge of where the Shadow curse used to be. Close enough that Isobel feels comfortable; for if she was too close, she’d overwork herself and too far away, there’d be guilt. It’s big, with wide doorways and ceilings that are tall enough that Aylin won’t be cramped. There is a smaller cabin on the property the perfect distance away: a twenty-minute walk with a trail that’s still marked out if not also overgrown.

It will be a lot of work to get it livable, but she’s wanted nothing more.

Aylin is no stranger to hard labor, but the intensity of battle pales compared to the devotion required in a labor of love.

At the beginning, she raced through the work, barely taking a moment to breathe. She took only rare breaks that were not prompted by her loves and she worked from the time they woke till her Mother’s light shone upon them.

She tears up the overgrown plants near the house so that Isobel and Shadowheart have room to grow their garden. Trees are felled to make fences along the property, logs split for firewood and barns made for animals.

The rush slows, but it never stops. There is always something she could be doing and she finds she enjoys that most of all. She finds smaller tasks to do. Things that were not necessary, but she simply wanted to do.

The flowers Shadowheart has grown deserve attention and admiration, so Aylin learns more woodworking to build a bench for the garden. Isobel turned one bedroom into a study so she builds her bookshelves to house her growing collection. She builds a table for Shadowheart’s parents when theirs breaks.

She craves little wooden figurines for her lovers. It started as a challenge, as her strength and large hands made it hard to do delicate work. The first time she gives one of her figures to Shadowheart, as the figure had been a small owlbear, she’d loved it so much that Aylin had to make more to see the smile on her face.

She hasn’t been up a weapon other than a simple wood ax in weeks and she’s never been more content.

Isobel’s cough never stops.

She’s made peace with that. It doesn’t worsen unless she overexerts herself and the bone deep weariness comes and goes.

There're days where she’s so tired that it’s all she can do to keep her eyes open. Thankfully those days are rare, but Shadowheart or Aylin will help her downstairs so she can sit and read in the slowly growing garden. That’s where she spends her good days as well, carefully taking care of of the growing beast.

Shadowheart, who spends nearly as much time there as she does, prefers flowers and pretty plants. There are blossoms of all kinds with a rainbow of color and a variety of shapes.

Isobel, however, enjoys growing food the most. Knowing that something she planted and took care of could feed someone she loved was a blessing. She started with vegetables and then berries and fruiting trees, despite knowing it would be some time before they’d be ready.

She gives some blackberries to Shadowheart’s parents, as is her custom with any bounty of the garden, and sits with Emmeline while she goes about making cobbler. Shadowheart had gone into Reithwin with her father, and Aylin was clearing a field because Shadowheart had offhandedly mentioned she wanted a cow.

She often shares tea or having lunch with Emmeline. The woman’s presence was comforting and made Isobel miss her own mother, more and less.

When Shadowheart nearly cries at the first bite of cobbler, the old favorite unlocking a rare good glimpse of memory, Isobel smiles and promises to plant enough blackberries to have all year round.

The pain comes and goes.

For most of the time, it’s not noticeable at all. Shadowheart can weed the garden with ease or take care of the chickens and goats.

But there're days where the pain sneaks up on her. Where there’s slowly building headaches that become so bad that every noise makes lights linger in her eyes and she can’t bear to have any light shine on her. Those days are spent in bed, their heavy thick curtains pulled shut. Aylin takes care to make no noise with her projects and takes care of her chores. Isobel makes her tea and reads to her if Shadowheart’s head will allow it.

Other days the pain is sudden, and blinding like it had been when she traveled with Tav. One moment she’ll be getting the eggs and the next she’ll be on her knees, pain cutting into her so deeply that it’s impossible to think. It ruins her for an hour or twice as she needs to sit and rest for a while.

But mostly she learns what kinds of people her parents were and their parents before them, learns how they met, where she was born and childhood stories that she never would have known. She gets to see Isobel having tea with her mother in a garden she helped grow and Aylin helps her father cook over the fire when their friends visit, despite never having done so in her life.

It’s worth it.

Every single moment of pain is worth it.

Gale warns her they, meaning himself and his students, haven’t fully tested the spell.

The magic on her arms meant it was impossible to get rid of, as not even Selûne could do so as it was Shar’s doing.

He believes he can change the shape itself and in theory, if he moves the ink around enough, her soul marks may become visible. But there are drawbacks. The more he tries to change it, the more those drawbacks may become apparent. Mainly loss of feeling in the skin could be affected.

Low and behold, she loses the feeling of a few inches of skin on both her arms. Gale had worried about it when she gave him the pattern she desired, but she persuaded him to do it, anyway.

He hesitantly offered to do it again when he realized that neither of her soul marks were visible despite how much the tattoo had been moved, but she turned him down.

The symbol of Shar was gone and replaced by feathers, night orchids and cherry blossoms. She’s considered getting Selûne’s symbol or something with the moon, considering who her soulmates are, but decided not to. She was tired of wearing a goddess’s symbol on her body.

That she had these blackened scars over her marks meant little to her. Not when Aylin kept walking around without a shirt on because she’d ripped two already or when Isobel complained about a goat eating her letter and it especially doesn’t matter when they lay together every night.

They each have scars. Hers are just black instead of gold.

Chapter Text

“Who is having a party?” 

Shadowheart understands Isobel’s confusion and hands her the letter without a word.

It’s late morning. The day has long since started for Shadowheart, who always wakes up earlier than Isobel and usually Aylin as well. Already she’s ventured out to fed the various animals, made sure they had clean water and even had managed to start making the morning tea before Aylin could.

Aylin must have missed the letter before she’d ventured out that morning for her own tasks but that’s understandable since she rarely deals with any letters that arrive at their door. While she had people she reconnected with after her time in the Shadowfell most weren’t the type to write regularly. 

Shadowheart herself had only seen it while making the tea. The letter had sat center on their dinner table, innocent and menacing all at once. 

“Withers,” she confirmed as Isobel read the letter with raised eyebrows. 

“How did he know—,” Isobel rolled her eyes. “Never mind, I’m sure I don't want to know.”

Shadowheart poured two cups of tea, putting a perfectly normal amount of sugar into one and  too much honey into the other. 

“I personally wouldn’t question it,” she said. “ But I am surprised. He never really seemed … personal in camp.” 

Isobel takes the cup of honey with a hint of tea without looking. “Yes, I certainly never thought he was the party throwing type.” 

Shadowheart taps the edge of her cup with her finger. It’s part of a set of ceramic cups, bowls and plates that her mother (her mother!) picked up at the market for their little home. They were the pretty shade of greenish blue that Shadowheart has found to be her favorite color.

She wants to go to the party, she realizes. They see the others here and there, Gale had just been by last week to do his final check up on her tattoos. But they hadn’t all been together since those first few days. 

Shadowheart wants to see how Karlach and Tav’s adventures are going;  pair had begun a life of wandering adventurers with barely a hint of a plan. Wyll, freed from his pact, had stayed in Baldur's Gate to reconnect with his father but she knows he must be having a hard time dealing with the nobles. Jaheira writes rarely but mentions Minsc often when she does. 

She knows how Gale is doing, having seen him a few times due to her tattoos. They see Halsin the most out of the bunch, thanks to him staying in the area to help the area recover. But she hasn’t heard from Astarion or Lae’zel since those first few days after everything settled down. Lae’zel and Astarion vanished into the night. 

“It sounds like fun,” she says. 

Isobel glances up from the letter and looks into her eyes for a second. It’s still so strange that she can exchange a look with her or Aylin and simply be seen and understood. 

Her soulmate smiles, “It does.” 

Her smile turns into a smirk and her eyes light up in a way Shadowheart recognizes and loves. 

“Plus, you haven’t gotten the pleasure of seeing Aylin in formal wear.” 

Finery means very little to Aylin as she's had the finest this realm has to offer and none of it compares to her Mother’s holy realm.

Then there is the fact she doesn’t even attempt to keep up with the ever changing standards of what is considered ‘in’. To her there is little difference between the working clothes of a poor farmer and the most expensive clothes of a king. In fact she’s found the those that dress too finely tend to be doing so for one foolish reason or another. 

When she’s needed on a formal occasion she simply wears her armor. No one has ever dared to question her about it. And when she’s here she wears basic loose tunics and pants. 

(Mostly because her loves keep telling her it’s not appropriate to not wear anything on her chest. Shadowheart’s parents lived too nearby and there was the time the sight of Aylin’s bare chest almost caused a passing messenger to pass out.

They say this. 

Their dark eyes tell another story.) 

But this is a special occasion and there is little Aylin would not do to bring her soulmates even a small amount of joy. 

She brings them gifts as if they were still courting. Books for Isobel, flowers for Shadowheart. Small wood carvings for both of them. Food like fresh bread from the markets or venison she carried back home herself. 

So if dressing in stifling clothes brings her soulmates joy she will wear them with great pleasure. 

Isobel is very good at time management. 

It’s a skill she learned the hard way when she’d been a student at Moon Haven. Much too often those who devote themselves to the pursuit of knowledge loose themselves to it. Sometimes this leads to tragedy, families breaking apart or trying to gain knowledge without care for those a around them. 

Isobel, who knows her life story can read very tragically, is at least thankful that she’d learned to manage her time not because of some over dramatic loss but because she kept missing breakfast due to over studying. 

(It was the only meal at Moon Haven where they’d had the sugar coated ham! She’d begged the cooks at the mess hall to save her some but they’d refused. Instead she learned to sleep when she was supposed to.) 

That is to say; Withers’s letter says to be ready for the portal at dusk. 

Isobel, knowing her soulmates (and herself) adds about two hours to how long it will take for them to get ready. Thankfully none of them are wearing anything that takes much time to get into. Or out of. 

(She does have to refrain from messing up Shadowheart’s hair, as braiding it again would take too long which is a shame. Thankfully between two clerics all mouth shaped bruises are healed before they leave. Aylin, being Aylin, whines a bit about that but is pacified with a promise of getting to redo the marks at a later point.)

It’s part way through her conversation with Tav about her recent adventures that Shadowheart realizes that her life is… boring? 

It’s a sudden thought brought on by tales of Tav and Karlach’s life having been one adventure after another since they’d saved the Sword Coast. Sure, they’d gotten letters but hearing about it is so different from reading. Tavern fights, brushes with the law and something about giant squid? 

The most exciting thing to happen around the farm recently was Shadowheart’s recent adoption of an abandoned wolf cub. 

(The fact that she knows the fear is misplaced doesn’t make years of fear go away. She’d once caught sight of her father’s other form purely by accident and the sudden fear shook her so badly that she cried for nearly half an hour. 

The wolf cub was a step forward. His sharp fangs weren’t so scary when he was using them to chew on a pair of Isobel’s shoes.) 

“I’m afraid you’re going to find it rather boring,” she informs Tav after she’s done spinning her stories. 

Tav only smiles. She’s been smiling since the moment the portal brought her and her soulmate here. During their conversation she sneaks soft looks at Karlach, who’s been laughing with Wyll. Shadowheart would poke fun of the gooey look in her eye but knows she’s been doing the same with her own soulmates. 

“Boring doesn’t mean bad. After all the shit you’ve guys been through, you deserve boring if that’s what you want. I am surprised that Dame Aylin is living the farm life through.” 

“It took some convincing,” she admits. 

(The trick is to frame it as something Shadowheart or Isobel desires. Aylin has a rather nasty habit of not caring about her own comfort or base desires but would drop anything for them. It’s becoming a rather empty excuse lately as they’ve settled.) 

“But you’re right. It’s…” Shadowheart tries to find a word to describe what the last few months have been like. “It's amazing if I’m being truthful. Healing.” 

“I’m glad,” Tav says with that stupid proud glint in her eye that has always annoyed Shadowheart just a bit. It’s nice to see it in person. 

“You and Karlach should visit us. We have enough room and my parents would love to see you both again.”

“Of course we will, perhaps in a few weeks we’ll swing by.” Tav sneaks another soft look at Karlach. “Tell me, how is the reconstruction going? Isobel wrote that people are moving back in?”

Shadowheart narrowed her eyes just a tad. Tav seemed just a little too interested. “Yes, she’s been getting a lot of help from other temples. The town has mostly been cleared and there are always people eager to move to cheaper areas, even recently cursed ones.” 

Her suspicions were proved correct when Tav's smile turned a hint sheepish. “Think I can get a discount on account of helping break the curse in the first place?”

Shadowheart laughed, delighted by the idea, “You’ll be lucky if she lets you pay at all. Aylin will build you a house herself!” 

“No, no, they’ve done too much for me to accept that,” Tav’s smile dimmed just a bit and her eyes watered but when she looked at Karlach her smile returned soft and sweet again. 

“I think they could argue the same,” Shadowheart pointed out. “You’d better be careful about speaking any desires under the moonlight— from what Aylin says her mother still wants to reward you more.” 

( Selûne does not intrude into their lives as much as some may think. Much in the same way Emmeline visits often come with small gifts, the Lady of Silver does the same. It’s just while Shadowheart’s mother leaves jams or pies, Aylin’s leaves powerful potions and blesses every weapon in sight.  

According to Aylin and Isobel, Selûne is usually much more lavish in her gifts. The fact a goddess respects Shadowheart to withhold herself just for her comfort is a strange one.) 

“Karlach is reward enough,” Tav says. Her voice wavers and she clears her throat. 

“We still want to travel,” the paladin continues on. “But I think you had the right idea of having a place away from everything. It certainly seems to be working well for you.” 

“It is,” she confirms with a smile. 

Lae’zel is exactly as ….Lae’zel as she was when they last saw each other. 

Shadowheart is glad to see her, truly. They had their challenges when they were working together but there are few others out there that can understand what they’ve been through. Leaving a death cult whose goddess never valued you can be something of a bonding experience. 

“The egg actually hatched?!” 

Tav had convinced Lae’zel to take the egg, if only because no one else had any idea what to do with it. Last she heard Lae’zel was sure that the egg hatch but— 

“You have a baby?” 

Lae’zel simply nodded. “Yes. I call him Xan. ‘Freedom’.”  

Shadowheart stares for a moment. Lae’zel as a mother was not something she ever expected. 

“Before you ask, yes he is safe with people I trust.” Her static pose can’t hide the pure maternal pride in her eyes. “He will be a fine warrior if he so chooses. Or perhaps a poet or an explorer or a scholar. I was afforded the chance to choose my own path; I will assure that Xan has the same.” 

“That’s…wonderful.” Shadowheart says. 

It’s surprisingly true. She more than anyone knows how much having that choice is worth and knows Lae’zel will do whatever she has to make sure Xan gets it. 

“I set out suddenly after our great victory,” Lae’zel says. Her tone is halting, unsure in her Gith way. “I’d picked my destiny, turned my back on waging war with the Prince; this I do not regret. But perhaps I was too sudden. Tav was… displeased with me.” 

“You know Tav, she’s a mother hen.” 

“Yes. But I understand that piece of her better now. It is not a weakness to have concern for others. I will admit this was a lesson hard fought.” 

Shadowheart nods in understanding. She remembers how shocking it was to realize that not only would she not be punished for caring— it was expected of her. It’s a hard mindset to change. 

“What will you do now? Do you plan on journeying with Xan?” 

“No. Not now, at least. He is sure to be a smart and clever boy but he can not truly understand the experience travel gives him yet. Wyll has extended an invitation to visit the city; we’ll see what destiny has for us there.” 

“No plan?” 

“No,” Lae’zel’s smile is a strange sight. Sharp and slightly awkward like she’s still not used to it. “It’s my destiny to forge. You understand.” 

She does.

Isobel sees Scratch and immediately abandons her conversation with Halsin. 

(She’d feel bad but First: they’d accidentally started talking about work, which they weren’t supposed to be doing. Second: Halsin of all people can understand the desire to pet an animal.) 

Scratch’s tag is wagging so hard that he might bruise Isobel’s leg with it. It’s during her cooing and petting that the owlbear pops up. 

“Oh look at you!” 

He still isn’t full size but he’s at least three or four bigger than the last time she saw him. There’s a couple of new scars but his feathers are clean and shiny. He’s a little too rough when he pushes his head into her lap, it’s almost as big as her torso, but she’s delighted. 

Then the hyena Halsin saved skittishly creeps up and Isobel quickly loses herself in petting animals.

Aylin has met many warriors in her lifetime but she has found that she rarely meets ones as honorable and worthy as Karlach. 

“Such grand battles you’ve fought in such a short time,” Aylin comments. Her tone is darker than she intended. 

Karlach’s fanged smile dims. 

They both know why. There is perhaps no one else at this party that could understand her situation more than Karlach. Ten years is far less than a century but in the scope of their lives, Karlach’s time in the hells outpaces her own in the Shadowfell. They’re both warriors, betrayed by those they trusted, denied freedom and gentle touch for years. 

(Shadowheart speaks of her foggy memories, of how she forced herself to enjoy pain, both giving and receiving. Isobel speaks of a cold darkness and her fears of a rot in her heart. 

She does not speak of the Shadowfell to anyone. Not to them nor to her mother. It’s foolish, this needs to be strong, she’s well aware, but still she can not speak.) 

“It’s really amazing that you’ve stepped down,” Karlach says. Her hands are twitching, her way of showing nerves. “I don’t know if I can.” 

Can, not want. She knows exactly what she means.

“Do you wish too?” 

She looks over at brave Tav, who is catching up with the vampire spawn, with loving eyes. “Someday, yeah.” Then her smile dims, “But the idea of not— not fighting? Scary as shit. Some days it takes me a minute to remember I’m here and not there, you know what I mean? I don’t know if I could stand not being able to hit something when I need to.” 

(They all have nightmares. 

Shadowheart needs touch and light after hers. Isobel, warmth. Most often Aylin needs to fly, her wings spread with the wind under her feathers.

But sometimes, in those moments between dreams and waking, she forgets. Sometimes there’s a warm soft stomach under her hand, hair tickling her face, and it feels too good to be true. She’s comfortable, loved, safe. 

It’s there, at her most vulnerable, that she jolts to full awareness, foreign fear in her veins. The Shadowfell left more than golden scars.) 

“I have battled many monstrous things in my long life, Brave Karlach. I did so gladly with a song of courage in my heart. Glorious battle, in defense of innocence and needed justice. Yet it was laying down my sword that was perhaps the hardest battle I have fought.” 

(Indeed, it took the combined efforts of her Mother and both her lovers to do so for this long. At first she agreed to do so while dear Shadowheart’s parents recovered. Then she realized the full extent of the healing Isobel and Shadowheart’s themselves needed after everything they’ve been through. 

Then the next thing she knew; she, the Sword of Selûne, hasn’t picked up a weapon in months. She doesn’t miss it and that scares her at times.) 

“There is little in this life easily won, Brave Karlach. You are more unfortunately more aware of that fact than most.”

 Aylin looks at Isobel, who has surrounded herself with animals, then Shadowheart, who is chatting with someone she almost fought to the death, and smiles. 

“But if you wish my opinion? It’s a battle worth having. Someday I will take up my sword again but until then I will enjoy the beauty of my loves. Truly, what better revenge for those that wronged us?” 

Karlach laughs, “Ah good old spite. About the only reason I survived the hells in the first place.” 

Aylin understands her completely, having done the very same. 

“You will be able to lay down your weapon someday, perhaps not now but you will. And while it will be hard I have no doubts that you and your own partner will find it fulfilling.”

“That sounds crazy, doesn’t it ? Me settling down, with kids or whatever?” She laughs but it’s softer, almost choked. 

“No, I don’t believe it sounds crazy at all.” Aylin smiles. “And I suspect you don’t actually believe so either.” 

Karlach shrugs and smiles sheepishly. “Maybe not now but someday.” 

Aylin doesn’t get drunk. 

Or more accurately, she can but it requires a lot of effort on her part and a ridiculous amount of alcohol on her hosts. 

Her soulmates, however, do. 

She’d known exactly where to find them ever since she spotted Isobel with the animals. While her lover had eventually wandered off to mingle with the others again she’d always ended up back there cooing and petting the lot. 

Shadowheart had mingled more but as the night went on and she went through a few cups of wine, she eventually joined Isobel in the pile of fur and feathers. 

The party has died down. Everyone mingled to the extent that they wished, food was eaten, wine was drunk. Plans were made to see others again along with promises to write. Now it was time to return home. 

Isobel and Shadowheart are lounging on the ground with the animals. Isobel is leaning against the hyena, one hand holding a glass of wine and the other petting Scratch, who has his head on her outstretched legs. Occasionally she switches her glass so she can make sure both animals get attention.  

Shadowheart has the Owlbears massive head in her lap or really that she’s draped over his head so she can see Isobel while they speak. She too has a wine glass in hand and hers is almost empty.Her other is buried in the owlbear’s feathers. 

Five sets of eyes watch her approach, but she is only interested in two of them. Mainly she is interested in how those eyes darken and stare at the low cut of her shirt. 

(She was promised an opportunity to replace her lovingly made markings afterall.) 

“The party is ending, my dearest loves,” Aylin needlessly informs them. “Shall we return home?” 

Shadowheart swirls the last bit of her wine in her glass, stares at her with ….deep appreciation and says nothing. 

Isobel glances at their mutual soulmate with amusement before looking up at her. “I suppose so. But perhaps Shadowheart would like to stay a while longer, catch up? I’d hate to deprive her of—

She bursts out laughing when Shadowheart kicks out at her foot, careful not to hit Scratch. 

“I know exactly what you’d deprive me of, you cruel woman,” Shadowheart says over the noise of Isobel’s giggles. She drinks the last of her wine, lending back far to place it on a nearby bench. 

 The Owlbear makes a sad cooing noise and Shadowheart coos back, distracted for a few moments. 

Isobel, depositing her own glass, takes Aylin’s offered hand to stand. Suddenly, they’re standing flush together, chest to chest and she lends up whispering in her ear, much too loudly, “She likes the shirt, which I completely understand because it make your shoulders look really nice—“ 

Aylin laughs, “How much wine did you have my love?” 

“Some? Don’t worry about it.” Isobel pushes off, mostly steady on her feet. “What you should worry about is Shadowheart’s inability to not take animals home.” 

Their soulmate gasps dramatically from her place by the Owlbear. “You’re putting this all on me?” 

Isobel nods and it’s a little too loose. 

Shadowheart now takes Aylin’s hand and much like Isobel, falls into her as she’s pulled. “This is team effort, don’t let her fool you!” 

“It’s not a team effort, yet ,” Isobel corrects. “I was planning on us seducing you into letting us keep them.”  

Shadowheart immediately brightens, “Oh, never mind. That’s a great plan, let’s do that.” 

“Ah, such a turn my night has taken,” Aylin plays along. “Who could have foreseen such an unexpected outcome?” 

(In truth Aylin had known the moment Isobel or Shadowheart saw the animals they’d be taking them home. She suspected they’d only hadn’t taken them the first time because they hadn’t actually had a place to live yet.) 

Shadowheart slides her palm up Aylin’s chest, the loose fabric letting her hand travel freely. Her hand stays just shy of rubbing her chest inappropriately. “I really do like the shirt.” 

Isobel shoves her unexpectedly, causing Shadowheart to stumble which she took advantage of by shoving her head into Aylin’s chest. 

“Stop it, I swear you always encourage her,” she says to Shadowheart. “We’re going to get arrested for public indecency.” 

“Come my loves,” Aylin takes Shadowheart’s wandering hand into hers, kissing her palm before dropping it. “ Bring your pack of animals, and let’s return home.”