Know Thy Enemy (Chapter 2 - Baldur's Gate 3 fanfiction)
Yes, @toolateintheday and I are back in action! <3 You're about to find out what this fic is actually about and we're really excited to see how you react!
Ship: Shadowzel
WC: 2,682
Warnings: None
You can read it under the cut or on AO3. Don't forget to come yell at us for torturing poor babies!
A Minor Inconvenience
Lae'zel wakes up to the chirping of birds. Just like she has every day for the past couple of tendays.
Ugh. Having to waste time sleeping and eating is already bad enough – how she misses the efficiency and lack of time in the Astral plane! - but getting her rest disturbed by all sorts of lesser creatures makes everything worse.
She yawns and cracks her neck, the bedroll soft under her body. Way too soft for her liking. Softer than usual, in fact. Pillows get in the way as she stretches herself.
Wait, pillows?!
Since when? She's always looked down on those fragile istiki who can't handle the wilderness. They wouldn't last a day in K'liir. Why would she imitate those behaviours she finds so ridiculous?
As she sits up, she takes a look around the tent. In spite of it being in complete darkness, she can see every single object around, not just shapes and silhouettes. Her clothes and armour. Her books. Her
water bottle. A few vials of potion. A bowl of incense. Her mace.
Tsk'va! This is not her tent!
Panic explodes in her chest. What in the nine hells is she doing in Shadowheart's tent?!
A sigh of relief escapes her when she realizes the cleric is nowhere to be seen. At least she can be certain that they didn't sleep together. Not that it would be possible, anyway. She would have to be inebriated out of her mind for that. Or possessed by some sort of malignant spirits.
The thought alone makes nausea creep all the way up to her throat. Disgusting. Shaking the feeling off, she tries to piece together just how she ended up in Shadowheart’s tent.
After the cleric, who clearly harbours a death wish, had been foolish enough to engage her in single combat, nothing of note happened.
She went to her tent, silently asked Vlaakith to guide their way to the crèche, then went to sleep. But not before slipping a dagger under her pillow in case Shadowheart decided to creep up on her in the night.
That would be typical of her. The half-elf is sly and that goes hand-in-hand with cowardice. Though as stupid as it was, Lae’zel has to concede that Shadowheart challenging her took courage.
What was that phrase the wizard used? Even a broken clock is correct twice per day.
Still no clue as to how she came to be here. Though she would bet her life that Shadowheart had something to do with it. A potion slipped into her drink, perhaps? Or some sort of spell.
Feeling the beginnings of a headache forming, Lae’zel raises a hand to rub her forehead.
Strange. Her skin feels softer than usual. Warmer than usual. A fever…is she sick? Tsk’va! Truly, she has had enough of this realm and its inhabitants. The sooner they-
Her heart plummets.
Her hand. It’s…pale. Pinkish. The nails are trimmed short and neat.
For a long moment she stares down at the hand that is certainly not her own. T’rac! What insanity is this?
As she jumps to her feet, an anguished shout comes from somewhere outside. One that makes her blood freeze.
Was that her own voice?!
Quickly, she rises to her feet and hurries out of the tent. The morning breeze causes her stupidly soft skin to dapple with goosebumps.
All breath is knocked from her lungs when she encounters herself – stood outside her tent - hair unbraided, face unpainted. The same person she sees every morning before she gets ready for battle. It's like looking in some sick and twisted mirror. What manner of prank is this?!
When her doppelganger meets her gaze, it's with pure horror in its eyes. Seeing that expression on herself is infuriating. She shouldn't look like that, like some scared, helpless hatchling. Tsk'va a million times! She should have grabbed that damned mace so she could smash the creature's head.
Then, the impostor's fear turns into a scowl. A tremulous, accusing finger points at her.
“What have you done to me?!” it exclaims.
Lae'zel looks down at herself. And the sight makes her want to gag.
This is not her body. Her skin is a pale pink, free of markings or scars except for a mole on her hip and a few freckles scattered here and there. Dark hairs in her armpits and her calves. Her thighs are thicker, and so are her arms. Her breasts are impractically big and round, clad in purple velvet matching her pants. It looks suspiciously like...
Shadowheart?
“What have you done to me?!” she echoes.
Lae’zel takes one of her disgustingly soft hands to her mouth. That voice, high-pitched and smug, with a slightly nasal quality, makes her fists tighten. If it's alread irritating to hear, having it coming out of her own mouth feels absolutely wrong.
“You are the one who plays with magic, istik! Fix this!”
Her fake self –Shadowheart inhabiting her body – crosses her arms in response. Before she opens her mouth, a booming voice interrupts their argument.
“Oi!” a sleepy Karlach comes out of her tent. “Isn't it way too early to start fighting?”
Lae’zel ignores Karlach. She will have Shadowheart’s head for this. Once the cleric has undone whatever dark magic she used to cause this farce, of course.
"Why would I do this?!" Shadowheart shouts. It is a very strange experience, being yelled at by her own voice. "What possible reason could I have for doing this? You think I want to be trapped in this disg-"
"No!" Tav's voice comes bellowing from her tent before their leader herself materialises. "I was patient with you both yesterday, but I'm not having another day of this constant bickering. Cut it out or you can both leave. I'm serious, I... Lae’zel...you do realise you're naked? I thought we talked about this."
Tav, of course, is not looking at her. Well, she's looking at her body. Looking rather closely, actually. Shadowheart looks down and instinctively moves her hands in an attempt to cover her "modesty."
Bah. A ridiculous term Wyll had used when Lae’zel first walked around naked. It is just a body. They should count themselves fortunate to look upon her in this natural state - she was made in Mother Gith's image.
"Now is not the time for your sensitivities," Lae'zel bites back. Tav's head swivels to meet her gaze so fast it looks painful. "We have a far more pressing concern."
Tav's mouth hangs open. She blinks, slowly, looking from Lae’zel to Shadowheart and back again.
"What the... Shadowheart, what is going on?”
Their conversation draws the attention of the whole party; the three men emerging from their respective tents to see what the commotion is.
“What is it now?” Astarion groans. “Haven’t these two murdered each other yet?”
Lae'zel's gaze lands on the wizard. Gale is rubbing his eyes, hiding a yawn behind his palm. Looking as innocent and oblivious as he always does.
An act, obviously. If it's not Shadowheart, he has to be the one behind it all. All that endless rambling about his precious Weave! No-one knows as much about magic as he does.
“You!” Lae'zel hisses, pointing her finger at him. The gesture doesn't look half as threatening with such soft hands that don't end in claws. “Undo this immediately!”
Gale blinks. “I... beg your pardon? Undo what?” He looks around. “I haven’t – oh good Gods, she’s naked again. Lae’zel!”
Lae’zel resists the urge to roll her eyes as Gale covers his dramatically. Honestly. If these people ever saw the kind of post-battle celebrations that went on at her crèche, they’d die of shock.
“Sorry,” Shadowheart says in a tone entirely unbefitting of a githyanki. “I prefer to sleep naked and I guess I just…forgot.”
Tas’ki. Shadowheart is blushing. Lae’zel has never seen a blush on her own face. She didn’t know her body was capable of it. It is embarrassing.
“Hey, don’t apologise on my behalf,” Karlach shrugs, grinning. “Can’t say I mind the view. But maybe you should cover up for the lads, eh? They’re a delicate souls, bless ‘em.”
Shadowheart nods. “I will get dressed.” She pauses, clears her throat. “Shadowheart, perhaps I can join you in your tent so we may…discuss our differences? Privately,” she adds pointedly.
Lae’zel gawks at her. She’s not the only one. Everyone is now looking at the impostor inhabiting her body as if it has grown a second head.
“Was Lae’zel just polite?” Astarion whispers to no-one in particular. “To Shadowheart?”
The cleric is making her look weak and it’s only been five minutes. Still, she must think rationally. Perhaps Shadowheart knows something she doesn’t. It would be better not to cause a scene in front of their companions.
“Very well,” Lae’zel says stiffly. Then she returns to the tent without a backwards glance.
//////////////////////
Minutes later, Shadowheart enters her tent. The clothes she has chosen make Lae'zel scrunch her nose.
Of everything she owns, Shadowheart has decided to cover Lae'zel's body with the most impractical outfit – some sort of robe and trousers Tav took from one of the abandoned houses in that goblin-infested village. The only reason it was in her tent is that Lae'zel was one of the few companions who still had space for it in her backpack and no-one has come to claim those garments yet.
She'd never wear something so useless and ridiculous. The long sleeves would surely get caught in every object she interacts with. Putting armour on top of it would be very uncomfortable and, at the same time, that feeble fabric would not protect her against an attack at all.
Indigo looks rather pleasant on her skin tone, though, that she must admit.
“Don't judge me,” Shadowheart frowns. “I just threw on the first thing I found so the others wouldn't complain. The only thing that wouldn't make me look like a mannequin in a tanner's shop, that is.”
“Chk. Should any harm come to my body because of your aversion to practicality, the next outfit you will be wearing shall be the one they bury you in.”
“Well, technically they’ll be burying you, so that’s an empty threat,” Shadowheart retorts. She sighs, “I believe we have more important matters to discuss. Like how and why we're in the wrong bodies.”
“That is irrelevant. The only thing that matters is how we will return to our bodies.”
“At least that we can agree on.”
“We must speak to the wizard,” Lae'zel says. “Force him to end this nonsense.”
“Gale?” Shadowheart arches an eyebrow. “He’s not responsible for this. You saw his reaction. He’s a terrible liar. Had he done this, whatever this is, he’d fold like a house of cards.”
“Why would one build a house made of card? It is inefficient.”
“It's a metaphor, you donkey.”
“You istiki and your twisted language!” Lae'zel huffs, rolling her eyes. “If it is not him who caused all of this, then how did it happen?”
“I don't know. A curse, maybe? I told Tav not to touch that hideous Moonwitch idol!”
That's absurd, Lae'zel thinks to herself. Why would Selûne, or any other god for that matter, care enough about them to punish them? And in such a bizarre manner. This has to be someone’s poor idea of a joke or-
“The parasite!” she exclaims. “Of Course. The ghaik possess hive minds. This must be one of the steps to ceremorphosis.”
Shadowheart stares at her for a long moment - her eyes narrowing.
“And this is a known side-effect, is it? Switching bodies with someone? Because you didn’t mention it when you reeled off, very explicitly, I might add, all the other symptoms.”
Lae’zel opens her mouth then closes it again. True, she’s never heard of a ghaik infection that lead to this kind of thing. But that doesn’t mean the wretched tadpole isn’t causing it. Plus, they have no other plausible explanation.
“My people have studied the ghaik for millennia, and I believed we had learned all there was to know. Yet these parasites are different,” Lae’zel pauses, mind racing. “All this talk of True Souls and the Absolute. That, and we have not yet shown any other symptoms when we should be soulless abominations by now,” she murmurs.
“Perfect,” Shadowheart says dryly. “So we think some new breed of super tadpole is causing this? How do we fix it?”
Lae’zel scoffs, turns her head sharply. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t still be trapped in this inferior vessel.”
To her bewliderment, Shadowheart smirks. “Inferior, am I? You know, there are those in this realm who would disagree quite vehemently. There are those who would sell their own mother to put their hands on my vessel.”
Even at a time like this, Shadowheart finds a way to talk about her vanity. Gods, she’s infuriating.
“You’d do well to take care of it,” Shadowheart continues, the smirk dropping from her face. “I’m serious, gith. You might not care about your appearance, but mine is integral to my success. You’d be surprised where honeyed words and a flutter of eyelashes can get you.”
Lae’zel resists the urge to roll her eyes yet again. “I suppose you think my hair braids itself every morning? And my war paint applies itself?” Her gaze lingers pointedly on her own tussled hair. “I see you have bothered with neither. Sloppy. A warrior of Vlaakith takes pride in their image.”
She can't decipher the look on Shadowheart's fase. Maybe she doesn't believe her. Maybe she thinks it's amusing. Either way, this is not the time for such superfluous matters.
“Whatever,” Shadowheart dismisses. “I'm going to go talk to the others. Maybe they’ll know what to do about this.”
Shrill alarm bells ring in Lae'zel's head. That is a terrible idea. Before Shadowheart can leave, she grabs her wrist.
“No. We must not.”
Shadowheart yanks her hand away. “Then what else do you propose we do, Lae'zel? If the others can help-”
“Are you out of your mind? We must by no means involve the others. If they suspect that we are about to undergo ceremorphosis, they will kill us.”
Her lips grow thinner, the corner of her mouth twisting slightly to the side, the way Shadowheart does when she's irritated. That expression, on her own face, is uncomfortable to see.
“And what, pray tell, are we supposed to do?”
Ignoring the sarcastic, melodic tone that doesn't suit her voice at all, Lae'zel releases an exasperated hum.
“Until we find a solution to this... condition, we must keep it to ourselves.”
“You want me to pretend to be you?” Shadowheart says, deadpan. “Are you joking?”
“I have never made a joke in my life.”
Shadowheart just gives her another look.
“Believe me, cleric, I am not happy with this either,” Lae’zel continues. “But I see no other choice. I propose we maintain the deception until we can find a way to reverse this…this-”
“Fuckery?”
Lae’zel isn’t familiar with the term, but it sounds like it fits. She nods. “This fuckery.”
“Let’s get on with it. You can start by getting dressed properly.”
“Likewise.”
“And try to keep your mouth shut as much as possible so you don’t blow our cover.”
“Likewise.”
“Gods, this is a nightmare. I need time to think about this.”
“Lik-”
“If you say likewise again, I’m going to put this new-found githyanki strength to the test.”
Shadowheart looks for a moment like she might scream. Then her features reset themselves into a determined scowl. And then she’s gone, whipping the tent flaps closed behind her.
Lae’zel feels rather like screaming herself. But that would achieve nothing. She should view this as just another set-back, another obstacle to overcome.
She has never before tasted defeat, and she doesn’t plan to start now.
