Independent Lovesong (Chapter 1 - Baldur's Gate fanfiction)
I told you the next part was coming sooner than you thought!
And we start with Shadowheart's day being ruined by a ransom note and a mystery.
Ship: Shadowzel
WC: 2,293
Warnings: Kidnapping, practical joke
You can read it under the cut or on AO3. Thanks a million!
Shadowheart stretches herself and opens her bedroom window. Closing her eyes, she revels in the scent of flowers in bloom and the gentle touch of the sunlight and a mild breeze on her face. What a beautiful day! It's been like this for a while now; looks like spring has finally reached the Baldur's Gate area and is planning to stay.
A sparkling joy blossoms in her heart, inspiring her to hum a cheerful tune while she washes herself. Seeing the effects sunny weather has on her, she amusedly thinks that she must have plant ancestry. Half-naked she pads back into her room, looking for something comfortable and practical to slip into. Her tuxedo cat, ever the master of mischief, has decided to make himself a nest with the clothes that were resting on the vanity chair. Luckily, it only takes a few scritches and compliments to get him to move.
The house is unusually quiet this morning. Lae'zel left early for the forge, but she'd expect the sound of paws against the wooden floor and one of her parents telling Mondo to stop chasing the tabby around. Or to hear the clatter of pots and pans and the buzzing of the kettle while her mother makes breakfast. Perhaps she has overslept. Although dawn comes earlier, this season of the year is known for making it harder to get out of bed.
She calls out a tentative good morning, surprised to find the ground floor deserted except for the tabby, which looks at her indifferently from her favorite chair. There's no freshly baked bread or steaming tea waiting for her in the kitchen either. All she finds is a note in the middle of the table.
Shadowheart Hallowleaf,
We have your bat-nosed wife. If you wish to see her alive again, come immediately to the corner of Balduran Square with Jannath Estate. No Flaming Fists. And you better not try any other nonsense.
The message ends with an extravagant, blood red signature. No, that can't be! The paper slips from Shadowheart's tremulous hands.
Orin The Red has been dead for years. However, so was Sarevok, and he somehow managed to return. But no, this can't be it. It makes no sense. Why now? Why would she go after her and Lae'zel? And how does she even know that they're married?!
The sound of keys on the door startles her. She sighs in relief when she sees her father and Mondo. The golden retriever barks happily and rushes to greet her, but stops dead on his tracks a step away from her, sensing that something's wrong.
“Are you alright, cub?” Arnell asks.
Rendered speechless, all she can do is shake her head and hand him the note. A crease of concern appears on his forehead as he examines it. His voice goes a couple of octaves lower when he speaks again.
“Let's go.”
“Where?”
“To that address.”
Shadowheart blinks the bafflement away. Her father's face is stern and completely serious. Doesn't seem to be joking.
“Just like that?” she asks. “Shouldn't we try to get help before?”
“They said no Flaming Fists. We don't want to get in trouble.”
Why does he seem so calm? Scrunching the note into a ball, he throws it to the corner of the room. The cat immediately darts to play with her new toy while Arnell heads out of the house, ignoring Shadowheart's calls and questions. She feels like a child, tugging at her father's sleeve outside the front door.
“What if it's a trap?”
“We'll face them.” Arnell frowns in determination. “You're still skilled at combat and I can always shapeshift if things get rough.”
“I'm not carrying any of my weapons.”
“Then we'll have to rely on your magic.”
And to think this was supposed to be a beautiful day. Warm and bright though it is, Shadowheart can't help but feel a chill in her bones as she trails behind her dad through the dirt paths of Rivington. Indeed, dark clouds stalk the horizon. Looks like her luck is running out after the past few wonderful months. She should have seen it coming.
As they both stand by the teleportation rune in the outskirts, Arnell's hand on her shoulder interrupts her ruminations. Her father's expression softens, as does his voice.
“Hey, don't worry about this so much, yes? Lae'zel is strong and resourceful; she will be fine. Besides, this might just be some sort of prank.”
Shadowheart cocks an eyebrow. A prank? If it is, the bastard who decided to pull it has horrible taste. Thinking about it, Orin's signature doesn't look the way she remembers. It was more illegible than usual, like a child forging their parent's. Mentally, she also tries to compare it with the letters they received from her years ago. While she can't picture the handwriting, she certainly recalls her way of expressing herself being more visceral and ridiculously creative whenever she wrote about blood and gore. This one felt rushed and oddly formal. An imitator, perhaps?
A jolt of magic surrounds them for a few brief instants, then they come out of the portal near Figaro's boutique. Ahead of them, the bridges being rebuilt and renovated, as well as the silhouette of The Blushing Mermaid, always so conspicuous, welcome them to the Lower City. Too bad there's no time to reminisce and marvel at the new businesses opening and the ones that have survived through the years. When they take a turn to the small square where the statue of Balduran watches over the city he founded, Shadowheart's breath catches in her throat.
She remembers what's beyond the narrow street that courses past Lady Jannath's pompous mansion. Uneasiness makes her stomach churn.
That's the way to the House of Grief.
Now she understands why things weren't adding up. It's not Orin or any other minion of Bhaal's. It's the Sharrans. They've finally caught up with them.
Her blood runs cold. Yes, things are finally starting to make sense. Sharrans are outstanding spies; that's how they know about their marriage. They probably intercepted some of the letters she exchanged with Nocturne. Their attempt at pinning the kidnapping on Orin is rather sloppy for their usual methods, but that was probably intentional in their own twisted ways.
Oh, shit! She's bringing herself and her father on a silver platter. She shouldn't-
Wait a second!
“Dad,” she says, trying to hide her tension, “where is Mama?”
She realizes she hasn't seen Emmeline on the rocking chair in the patio, or anywhere else for that matter. All she could think of was Lae'zel, tied up on Orin's altar like a sacrificial lamb.
Arnell seems to be caught off-guard by that question. An emotion she can't quite decipher parades across the sharp features of his face.
“What do you mean? She's at home, embroidering.”
“No, she's not.”
His back straightens defensively. Then a forced chuckle falls from his mouth.
“You must have missed her. She was there when I left to walk Mondo.”
He's lying. Why is he lying to her? The only reason her father could have to say that is convincing himself that everything is alright because he's terrified. But he seemed hellsbent on coming to this address and confronting the kidnappers. Again, things don't add up.
Oh, gods! Is one of Shar's acolytes impersonating Arnell?
She should have brought her weapons. At least a dagger to knock the impostor out with its handle – it feels wrong to attack someone wearing her own father's face. She needs to do something.
“There they are! Finally!”
That booming voice makes both her and her father turn towards its source. Karlach, Jaheira and Wyll come out from the house opposite Jannath's, cheering and clapping their hands. When Shadowheart turns to face Arnell for an explanation, she catches him smiling innocently.
Several hands reach out for her and pull her into the building. The clumsy graffiti on the wall she painted decades ago reminds her where she is: Elerrathin's House. Jaheira's place.
As she's dragged inside, she notices a lot more people there, greeting her with broad smiles. Yet the only one she pays attention to is her mother. Emmeline is sitting by the window in the company of one of Jaheira's younger wards. Relief makes her chest feel stones lighter. Tears fill her eyes.
“You guys are such assholes!” She punches Karlach's shoulder. “What in the Nine Hells is all this?”
“Welcome to your special day, Shads!” Not even the small aggression erases Karlach's excited grin. Laughing and crying at the same time, Shadowheart shakes her head and lets the others guide her – or rather, push her – upstairs to Jaheira's bedroom. She could fry them all with her spirit guardians right now for giving her such a fright. At the same time, however, it's a relief to know that they're still friends and nothing bad has happened.
“In case you're wondering, Lae is in Rion's room,” Karlach tells her. “But you can't see her yet – bad luck, y'know.”
Sitting on Jaheira's bed, a tall, well-built drow she has never met waves at her. A leather bag rests on her lap. Next to her, Shadowheart recognizes the purple outfit she bought for her wedding. The one she never got to wear.
“Your mother brought it over,” Wyll explains. “Let's get you ready for the ceremony!”
Ceremony? So this is what all of this was about?! They've organized a surprise wedding for her and Lae'zel?!
“When Fangs told us about your elopement, we decided it wasn't good enough for you guys. Or for us.”
Speaking of the devil, Astarion comes out of Jaheira's closet that very moment. A blanket is wrapped around his whole body, covering his head like a hood.
“Curtains! Now!”
Immediately, they all cooperate to shield the room from the sun and light up a few candles and lamps. Shadowheart glares at him while many pairs of hands hurry to take off her clothes.
“So you ratted us out after all.”
“That's such an ugly way of wording it,” he replies with his usual smirk and a dramatic flourish of his wrist. “I couldn't leave Wyll's house so late at night without a convincing explanation.”
“It's true,” Wyll defends him. “I'm the one who pressured him to tell me.”
“And then Wyll let it slip in front of me a few days later,” Karlach adds.
“And, as you know, telling Karlach a secret is like publishing it on the Baldur's Mouth Gazette,” Astarion counters.
“Guilty!” Karlach admits. “But I told you the whole fake kidnapping was a terrible idea.”
“Don't blame it all on me, darling. It was your beloved who came up with that. All I did was provide the blood for the signature.”
“See?” Wyll sighs. “This is why we never let you and Minthara make plans.”
Shadowheart can't help but smile in spite of the initial anger, in spite of the awkwardness of being stripped naked by her friends in front of a stranger. Feels like being back in the good old days. She's also pretty sure she's caught a brief glimpse of Tav. Did she and Gale come all the way from Waterdeep in the end? Practical jokes aside, Shadowheart can't believe they'd all be so sweet.
“Does that mean you're not mad at us?” she wonders.
“Nope,” Karlach answers as she pulls the laces of the violet corset. “It was all pretend. Even the silly pregnancy bets.”
“We had already started planning all of this when we met at Elfsong.” Wyll helps her put on her left shoe. “You have no clue how difficult it was to stay quiet and let you believe we were upset.”
A few more touches and she's fully dressed. She's left alone with the drow, who hasn't spoken a single word. Taking a few pigments and brushes from her bag, the stranger motions for her to sit on a chair. Wow! They've even hired a professional make-up artist?
“And you are?” Shadowheart asks curiously.
“Guess it's true that a good disguise is the best armor,” the woman replies enigmatically.
That deep, but velvety voice. She knows she's heard it before.
“Since I've always done your hair and make-up, we thought it was just fitting that I'd do it today,” she continues.
“Nocturne?!” Shadowheart exclaims.
“Sssh.” She places a finger on her lips. “If anyone asks, I'm Triel, Minthara's distant cousin. We can't risk anyone finding out I'm here. Or triggering your parents.”
“I can't believe you made it!”
She pulls her into a hug, ignoring the fact that her kohl pencil has just dropped on the carpeted floor. Nocturne returns the gesture, muffling a giggle against Shadowheart's shoulder.
“Of course! Not even an army would keep me away.” A mischievous grin spreads across her blue lips. “If anyone in the cloister knew I'm attending a Selûnite wedding instead of preaching the Dark Lady's teachings in Easthaven!”
“How did you pull that off? How did you find out about this in the first place?”
Nocturne mixes a few pigments on her palette and gestures for her to close her eyes. Her hand is as steady as ever, awakening vague memories of the many times they did the same in their secret hideout.
“You have to thank your wizard friend for that. He and his wife tracked me down in Waterdeep and brought me here.”
“Well, I'm glad they did.”
“Me too. What do you want me to do with your hair? I was thinking a nice, braided bun would look amazing on you.”
“Sounds good, but Lae'zel loves it when I wear my hair down. Perhaps just a headband braid to keep it from getting into my eyes?”
“Ooh, love that! You always had the best ideas.”
