Summary: You get into a car crash, and it doesn't look good.
Warnings: Car accident, entrapment, serious injury, concussion, delayed notification of family, panicking
Word Count: 1,963
requests open :)
The brakes weren't working.
You'd only had your license for four months, and the breaks in your car weren't working.
The gas pedal had sank to the floor, which matched well with how your heart sank into your stomach.
You don't remember much about the lead up to the crash itself, other than noting the light in the intersection was red, and there was nothing you could do to avoid it.
You glanced to your left as the intersection came clearly into view. You couldn't see the car, but you could see headlights along the road, close enough to mean something bad would probably happen.
The first thing you noticed was the sound.
Glass still moving in the frame. Metal settling like it couldn’t decide where it belonged anymore. The faint, delayed sound of a horn that wasn’t yours.
And then everything tipped.
Your world rotated sideways, like the car had forgotten gravity was supposed to be down. The seatbelt dug hard across your chest as the vehicle rolled, twice, maybe three time—you lost count somewhere between the windshield cracking outward and the sky turning into road turning into sky again.
Then it stopped.
Not gently though, it just stopped.
And the silence after was almost worse.
For a few seconds, you didn’t understand you were upside down. Only that your body felt wrong—pressed, pinned, too tight in places that weren’t supposed to feel tight at all. Your breath came shallow and sharp, like something in your chest had forgotten how to expand.
“Hello?” you tried.
It came out broken.
Your mouth tasted like copper.
Something warm slid down your cheek and you blinked hard, trying to focus, but you vision didn’t cooperate. The world swam in and out of focus.
You don't know how much time passed, but you suddenly became away of voices outside the car.
Distant at first, then sharper.
Someone yelling.
Someone else saying a name—but not yours, not clearly, just someone, just stay awake, just we’ve got you.
Your head dropped forward before you meant it to.
And the steering wheel—hard and unforgiving—caught your chest when you tried to breathe deeper.
That was when the pain fully arrived.
Not all at once. It built. Layered. Heavy pressure blooming under your ribs until you couldn’t tell what hurt more: the ache or the panic trying to follow it.
“Don’t move her yet,” someone said. Calm. Controlled. Too practiced to be comforting.
A second voice: “We need access—she’s pinned.”
Pinned.
The word didn’t feel real until it did.
"My— My brakes— They didn't— I tried—"
"Don't talk, just breathe. We got you." The second voice said.
The scene went quiet in the way wreckage only becomes after noise has already died.
Rescue lights washed over twisted metal. Hydraulic tools hissed somewhere out of her field of vision. Someone was talking to you, close enough that you could feel breath against hyourer cheek when you tried to turn your head.
“Can you tell me your name?” The voice asked, but it sounded far away.
"Y-Y/N." You tried, but it came out wrong.
Your tongue felt heavy. Your thoughts kept slipping before they reached your mouth.
A hand pressed gently against your shoulder—not pushing, just grounding.
Breathing didn’t feel like something you controlled anymore. It felt like something happening to you.
Someone else was closer now, shining a light into your eyes.
“Pupils sluggish but reactive," they murmured.
Another voice, sharper: “We’re going to need to get her out fast, but carefully. Possible chest trauma, facial injuries—airway’s going to be tricky.”
Airway.
You didn’t know what that meant exactly, but you understood tone.
Important.
Serious.
Something about your breathing not being guaranteed.
“OPA won’t be ideal,” someone added. “She's got a few teeth knocked out, jaw looks involved. Facial fractures complicate placement.”
Another voice answered immediately. “NPA?”
A pause.
“Maybe. Depends on resistance. Her nose doesn't look too great in the first place and we don’t want to worsen anything intracranial.”
Words you couldn’t fully catch. But you heard the concern in them anyway.
That part translated clearly enough.
They were worried about keeping you breathing.
You didn’t remember being cut out of the car.
Didn’t remember the transition from metal to stretcher to movement.
Only flashes.
Seeing the sky again.
A mask being held near your face.
Someone saying your name like an anchor.
“You're doing great kid.”
“Just breathe.”
“I know it hurts—just keep those eyes open, alright?”
And then nothing steady enough to hold onto.
Just fragments of sound and light and pressure until even those started to fade at the edges.
Across town, at a little 'After-practice team bonding' event, Sidney Crosby didn’t notice his phone buzzing at first.
He was midway through a conversation he wasn’t really participating in, something light, something about practice schedules and travel and the usual rhythm of being around teammates when the season slowed just enough to pretend life was normal.
Then it buzzed again.
And again.
When he finally looked down, the name wasn’t there. Just a number he didn’t recognize.
He almost ignored it.
Almost.
The fourth call came through before he could decide.
He stepped away without thinking, already frowning.
“Hello?”
There was a pause on the other end that lasted just a fraction too long.
Then: “Mr. Crosby?”
Something about the tone shifted the air in his chest.
“Yes?”
“This is Dana Evans, the charge nurse at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.”
The words didn’t land correctly. They passed through him without attaching to anything solid.
He blinked once. “Why are you calling me?”
Another pause.
And then the sentence that didn’t belong in his life.
“There’s been a serious accident involving your daughter. Are you able to get to PTMC soon?"
For a second, he didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t respond.
Because his brain rejected it the way a body rejects something foreign—too fast, too wrong, impossible to integrate.
“She’s—” His voice broke slightly on the first attempt. He reset it. “She’s where?”
“PTMC. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, off Penn Avenue in downtown. She’s in surgery right now.”
That did it.
Not clarity.
Not understanding.
Just a blur.
He didn't tell anyone goodbye, he didn't even explain what was happening.
Sid didn’t even remember the drive.
Not in pieces. Not in landmarks.
Streetlights blurred into each other like his mind refused to let anything become permanent. His hands stayed locked on the wheel too tightly, knuckles pale, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
Every time his phone lit up, he looked down like someone might text him that this was all a prank.
It wasn't.
He arrived at the hospital still trying to convince himself there had been a mistake.
A misunderstanding.
A wrong number.
Anything else.
But the blonde lady at the front desk repeated your name too easily.
Too practiced.
And Sid felt something in his chest drop so fast it almost made him dizzy.
“She’s in surgery,” the nurse said when he finally reached the desk. “They’re doing everything they can.”
Surgery.
Not waiting.
Not observing.
Not checking her over.
Surgery meant damage.
Surgery meant urgency.
Surgery meant you weren't just hurt—you were being held together by decisions he hadn’t been there to make.
He sank into the chair in the waiting room without remembering choosing to sit.
His phone was still in his hand.
Still useless.
Inside the operating room, everything was too bright.
Too controlled.
Too clean for something so broken.
Your body was transferred carefully, efficiently, like every movement had been rehearsed a hundred times before. Someone called out vitals. Someone else responded instantly.
“Airway is compromised but stable for now.”
"Possible compression injury along the left chest from the steering wheel.”
“Facial fractures present—be cautious with nasal route if needed.”
The surgeon glanced down at your face, swelling already beginning to distort familiar human structure into something more abstract, more fragile.
“She’s gotta have a concussion as well,” another voice added. “Responsive but inconsistent.”
“Let’s prioritize airway and thoracic stability first.”
Machines beeped steadily beside you.
The sound didn’t match how wrong everything looked.
In the waiting room, Sid stared at a stain on the tile like it might give him answers if he looked long enough.
Time didn’t pass normally there.
It stretched.
Bent.
Refused to move forward.
He kept replaying the call in fragments he didn’t want.
Serious accident.
In surgery.
We need you to come in.
Your daughter.
Four months of driving alone. Four months of him pretending he didn’t think about it every time you left the house.
He had told himself you were careful.
That you were ready.
That letting go a little at a time was how you survived watching your kid grow up.
Now he wasn’t sure he should have let go at all.
A door opened down the hall.
Footsteps.
A doctor.
He had salt and pepper hair, and small rectangular glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. His face was wrinkled, but not in a 'old' kind of way, more so in the 'I've lived a full life' kind of way.
Sid stood so fast his chair scraped.
And for a second, before anyone spoke, everything in him prepared for the worst version of the sentence.
“Hello, Sir. I'm Dr. Michael Robinavitch, your daughter is alive.”
The words came first.
Not good.
Not bad.
Just real.
Sid didn’t realize he was holding his breath until it broke out of him in a sharp, uneven exhale.
Dr. Robinavitch continued, more carefully now.
“She’s stable right now. We’re managing her concussion, chest trauma from a compression injury, and some facial fractures. She went into surgery immediately to address internal bleeding concerns and ensure her airway remained secure.”
Airway.
Sid swallowed hard.
“Can I see her?” he asked.
The doctor hesitated just long enough to make his stomach tighten.
“Soon,” they said. “As soon as she’s out of recovery and stable enough.”
He nodded once. Like that meant anything.
"She looks rough right now, I just thought I'd warn you." Dr. Robinavitch added.
Sid nodded again and sank back into his chair, waiting was something he knew how to do right now.
And when you woke, it wasn’t dramatic.
There was no sudden clarity.
Just awareness returning in pieces that didn’t fit together right away.
Light first.
Then pain.
Then the weight of something across your chest that made every breath feel like effort instead of instinct.
Your throat was dry.
Your face felt wrong—tight, swollen, unfamiliar.
You tried to move your hand and barely managed it.
A voice immediately responded.
Soft.
Careful.
Close.
“Hey… hey, you’re okay. You’re in the hospital.”
Your eyes struggled to focus.
And then you saw him.
Not fully clear at first.
Just shape.
Familiar shape.
Too still for someone who was trying not to fall apart.
“Daddy?”
It came out slurred.
Broken around the edges.
But it was something.
Sid moved instantly, like he’d been holding himself back from that exact motion for hours.
“I’m here,” he said, voice rougher than you'd ever heard it. “I’m right here.”
Your eyes fluttered again, trying to stay open.
“What…?”
He hesitated just a fraction.
Then: “You were in an accident.”
A pause.
Your breathing wavered.
And Sid leaned closer immediately, voice steadying on instinct even while everything in him shook.
“Hey. Hey—look at me. You’re okay. You’re here. That’s what matters right now.”
You blinked slowly, like even that took effort.
“I didn’t… I didn't mean to—”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I know.”
And for the first time since the call, since the waiting room, since the silence of not knowing, Sid let himself believe something simple enough to hold onto.
SUMMARY: After being swindled by an incredibly cruel merchant, your solo adventure through the Shadow Cursed Lands comes to an abrupt and painful end - only to cross paths with a rather eerie guardian angel.
Trigger Warnings/Tags: they/them for 'you' (mostly in how Kar'niss never uses first person); not beta-read ; canon-typical language, very minor suicidal ideology (wishing to have died somewhere less embarrassing), canon-typical injury detail and chronic illness elements, arachnid and drider anatomy (SFW), panic attack descriptions based on my own experience of limited symptom attacks > overall, big "I've known Kar'niss for five minutes but if anything happened to him I'd kill everyone in this camp, and then myself" energy throughout! This can be read as both romantic and platonic <3
I may be gay but I am not immune to the coolest goddamn character in this game istg whoever at Larian designed his character art deserves the biggest kisses!!! if you know me irl no you don't.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
heavy inspo from @ztudiolaire's bg3 art and Butterfly Caught on AO3 <3
kinda similar to chapter 2 of Dewdrops on Spiderwebs on Ao3, but this is accidental! I'd started planning this fic, then read their work and was kicking myself for not finishing this sooner :/
also inspired by how Lae'zel, the (froggish) queen she is, is one of the only companions who can make it all the way into Act 2 - kicking and screaming - COMPLETELY ALONE. True main character insanity. As such, You (Tav/Reader/the infamous 'Y/N') are kinda in her shoes for this oneshot :)
The intro loosely references the Lilo and Stitch scene where she's praying for an Angel, then of course gets a literal monstrosity - and my own personal headcannon for this (in the BG3 universe) is that as Aasimar are the children of divinity (and Dame Aylin is defo an angel in the literal sense) so! "Angels" in this universe are fictional and follow a very biblically accurate look - hence Kar'niss' multitude of eyes being lowkey comforting to Tav
This includes some light origin shipping! You join the fray in Act 2, so it's implied that of the characters are already paired up! > Default Dragonborn Dark Urge (Durge) is the "main character" and is dating Astarion, where Tav is the reader (you) and as such is kinda like an origin character/NPC appearing in their Durge run
I've tried to keep 'You' gender neutral, with the only physical descriptions being that you're small (at least in relation to Kar'niss and Durge because holy fuck they're both like 9 feet tall), a weapon fighter rather than a magic user (no class specified), and dealing with severe injuries. Apologies if any other descriptions slipped through post-drafting phase!
I havent written (let alone posted) fanfic in over 5 years. please be nice!
Word Count: 4730 (ish)
Gods, you felt like an idiot.
A half-dead, pitifully alone idiot.
A low hiss shattered past your teeth as you staggered to a nearby tree, those ridiculous "spirit guardians" flitting uselessly around your fingertips. You should have known a scroll for such a powerful spell was too good to be true - these dancing lights or whatever the fuck they are do next to nothing. And now you're down 100 gold and about to die in the middle of nowhere. But hey! At least you've got some ambient mood lighting!
Shit, what a depressing way to go.
You laughed bitterly at the wind, legs quickly growing numb as your wounds steadily seeped blood. The torchlight flickered weakly as those haunting blue-green wisps of shadow grew ever closer, licking at the edges of your vision.
Sliding down to the ground, no longer able to hold your own weight, you shakily braced your arm - training your crossbow on the rapidly blurring treeline.
After so long fighting, so many days of back-breaking travel, this is what takes you out? Being swindled by a common fraud and sliced to bits by shadows? A small part of you wishes you'd just died in your pod back on that beach. At least there you might have been found eventually.
A faint rattle and the gentle thump of metal against flesh. Welp. Can't even hold your arm up.
You gazed up, chuckling again at the utterly lightless sky above, praying to some unseen force.
'At least don't let me die alone, eh? That's just too fucking sad, at this point.'
---
".. your..fai… sta…dy, ..ajesty. …march. Soon…rld …o you."
Your hearing faded in and out, a painful ringing in your ears muffling even your own shaky breaths. Everything ached.
Attempting to move even an inch towards the distant voice, you whispered a plea to the wind.
Your response came in the form of a rather strange sensation - something akin to fingers running through your hair, the touches reaching deep inside your bruised skull. You almost sighed at the softness.
When the strange presence felt no resistance it pushed deeper, deeper still.
Until suddenly - a harsh YANK of the grip pulling taught.
You hissed involuntarily at the pain, eyes clamping shut as your teeth ground together.
Flashes of your journey flitted behind your eyelids -
the woods you woke up in--
the long road past Rosymorn--
the fear, the isolation--
a strange, sporadic rummaging through your brain with seemingly no clear goal.
You had no idea how to make it stop, to force the grip to loosen, to keep it away from your prized memories.
Something cut through the pain, a series of hums and clicks.
The sensation faded, leaving you gasping for air as your mind reeled from the assault.
"What is this..?"
The voice was clearer, closer. Unsettlingly so.
"One of your True Souls, my Queen! How have they survived?"
You flinched as breath fanned over your forehead, eyes peeling open blearily.
Oh. Oh wow.
Do angels usually have that many legs? The multitude of eyes make sense, you supposed, and they really are very beautiful - dark and gem-like against stark white and chitinous grey skin.
Haunting, but oddly comforting.
Perhaps real angels are more… spidery than the bards made them out to be? If so, that explained the lack of feathered wings. Or… any feathers, for that matter.
The figure mere inches from your face had bent low on their spindly limbs, eyes blinking out of turn with each other - you had no idea which to focus your attention on.
"You have more worshippers every day, majesty," the angel whispered, reverent and rumbling, "awaiting your gift in the dark…"
A soft hum rose in your throat, turning into a groan as you attempted to move- to reach out, to go for a weapon? You honestly weren't sure what the goal was. You certainly couldn't get up.
"wh…" a cough caught in your throat, forcing your gaze away as you tried not to spit blood all over the many-eyed figure before you.
"Oi! You can't just wander off, web-brain! Some of us don't have ten legs!" A sharp voice snapped distantly, the warm glow of torches dancing over the angel's pearlescent hair. Whilst your vision was still swimming, you faintly glimpsed the small figure and olive green skin of the speaker as they moved closer- peering around the aforementioned legs. You counted eight, laughed softly, then frowned at your own discovery. Definitely delirious.
"EUgh! What the Hells have you found this time?!"
A deeper voice sounded, too far away to discern its origin, "Drider. Another True Soul? This far into the curse?"
"The Queen sent them! Her majesty's flesh grows, full and glorious!" The 'Drider' replied, their head snapping skyward. With a low murmur they tilted their pale head slightly, akin to a dog waiting for a command, but received no verbal response. A sly smile graced their lips as they turned back to lock all six- no, seven eyes onto you, leaning closer.
"Hm.. Yes… they will do nicely."
You had no idea why, but this creature's ravings may well be the only thing keeping you alive.
And with that unsettling thought, you let your body be hauled up and dragged out of the shadows.
---
"Alright, we should make camp for the time being. The road from here is… well, it's mostly roots."
After travelling for many hours through the dark, the caravan finally halted.
The exhaustion and pain of the journey had clogged your body into a shaking, boneless mess- rendering you barely able to grip your strange savior's chitinous waist, fighting hard not to fall.
Not that he'd let you, it seemed.
Despite his blood-speckled appearance, your psychotic knight in shining exoskeleton refused to let anyone "feed the shadows". He'd been adamant that, given your more-bruise-than-skin appearance and likely severed spinal cord, the best place was atop his carapace where you could not stray more than about three inches from that prized lantern of his - meaning you heard every foul word the creature inside spat at you all.
Feeling every bit like a useless damsel in distress, your True Soul status rendered you downright worshipped by the strange… man? Creature? You might well stick with 'Angel' at this point - Kansif's droning (if well-meaning) rundown on Driders had fallen on deaf ears hours ago, somewhere between the pixie calling you a 'rotten wank stain' and the hundredth murmured prayer to the 'Majesty' rattling around your battered skull. Whatever he was, you weren't looking a gift horse in the mouth, that's for sure.
The other "True Souls" (or was that just you and spider-boy's thing? You weren't entirely sure you'd grasped what the fuck was going on) in the caravan had, in no gentle terms, wanted to see you fall far, far behind the group hours ago. Those pricks would probably cheer if you keeled over and died while "testing" your ability to walk.
Scratch that- at least Kansif might not, he seemed nice enough. You'll keep the scholar in your good books (hah) for casting a quick cure wounds to stop you bleeding out indefinitely. Small mercies.
The rest of the group seemed actively against your recovery, refusing to part with any healing potions or rations - leading to a rather meager 'communal' offering at mealtime.
As the caravan settled into their own corners of the cave mouth, you noticed a familiarly eerie figure looming on the outskirts of the firelight. He was, of course, faintly whispering prayers to the wind, not resting for even a fleeting moment.
Was… was he not hungry? He didn't carry a pack of his own, so perhaps he didn't have any supplies?
While Angel wasn't exactly friendly with you, it felt wrong not to provide something in return for sparing your life…
You'd rustled up some half-stale bread, a dried stick of meat and a rather sad soup from your own dwindling supplies, just enough to get by. Steeling your nerves and keeping a firm grip on your paltry meal, you set your jaw and hobbled over.
"Uh… Excuse me?"
He turned sharply, eyes blinking rapidly in the low light. His lantern remained tightly held in his claws, swaying closer as if to study your face clearly.
"Are you hungry? I have some food-- well, the 'soup' is a bit of a stretch, but it's edible… I think." You joked, pushing heavily against the cave wall in an odd imitation of a casual lean. Gods, your body ached.
There was a pause, those eyes darting rapidly between your face and the offering in your outstretched hand, as if utterly baffled.
"…We… we do not…"
You frowned, "Oh. Can you not eat this? I'm sorry, I didn't realise."
He mirrored your frown, his body lowering slightly to lean into your personal space.
Ah. Well that's a tad close for comfort.
Trying to make light of your now warmed cheeks, you chuckled, "Maybe that's for the best- my cooking certainly leaves something to be desired! But still… Is there anything I can get for you? I'd hate for you to go hungry after everything you've done for me."
Unexpectedly, he shook his head with a violent jerk - vehemently opposing your claims. "It was Her Majesty's will! We do not decide who must live?! The Queen demands it!"
"Oh!" You exclaimed, utterly floored by the sudden shift in mood. "Yes, the Majesty. You are very… devoted."
'Devoted, yes. Blindly so. Almost as if… no, is he? Surely they wouldn't force him into this devotion, right? Nobody else in the caravan can hear this 'Queen' of his, but none of us have been to Moonrise yet. Is that what awaits us?'
You gaze up to survey that unfocused, rapid movement- the reverence in his eyes, the detached nature of his speech. You certainly aren't a cleric, nor particularly well-read on the topic, but something about enthrallment seemed to… fit him.
'Gods, that's horrific. What was this poor man subjected to? And for what?'
Unaware of your mental turmoil, the Drider preened at your praise- raising the lantern once more with a series of rather endearing clicks.
"Yes. Yes. Devoted to Her cause. We carry Her lantern, we shepherd the lost." He smiled, an oddly soft sight given the widened multitude of eyes accompanying it. "We bring the True Soul into the fold. We keep them safe."
You nod to the lantern he speaks of, "It's a beautiful piece, and you've done well to keep it intact in these lands. The shadows are…" You shudder involuntarily, limbs locking with phantom pain. "…ruthless."
He nods minutely, but you notice an ever-so-slight tint to his cheeks.
Was he… blushing?
'Aw, he really does love that lantern. That's kinda sweet. In a fucked up, codependent-on-an-inanimate-object kind of way. Note to self: keep the foul-mouthed creature close no matter how much she does your head in. The Drider is too way work-oriented to have that lantern taken away.'
Snapping out of your thoughts, you smile back, readjusting the bowl of lukewarm soup as you shifted your weight.
"Regardless, it can't have been fun carrying me for so long. Thank you for that,… uh…"
It is in that moment you realise:
'Nobody in this caravan has ever spoken his name aloud. Does anyone know it? Or are these pricks really that rude?'
"Ah! Can't believe I haven't asked 'til now! I realised nobody here calls you by a name, and Vez's nicknames are certainly… creative, so… What can I call you?"
He snarled, the sound setting your teeth on edge and a jolt of fear through your bones.
"They MOCK us! They steep in our failu--"
You panic immediately, throwing a spare hand up so quickly you wince. "NO! No, no! I just wanted to know! Pure curiosity, I promise!" You take a small step backwards, making a show of surrender. "I swear, I didn't mean…"
You sigh heavily. Well, there goes all that progress. Fuck.
A little bitter, and incredibly awkward, your light chuckle fills the empty air.
"Hells, I've been calling you 'Angel' in my head since we met!" You look up, noticing his limbs have stilled - eyes downcast but clearly still listening.
You cough, a tad embarrassed.
"Well, I'll leave you be. If you need anything please don't hesitate to ask. And… I'm sorry. Sincerely."
As you shuffled away, there was a patter of limbs at your back - your shadow stretching and fading as the light changed. While you had to force down the instinctual panic, the whispered voice that followed slowed the tide.
"We… we are Kar'niss."
You stop, turning back to face him. His eyes were round, clawed fingers wringed together as if expecting rejection. Your heart heavy in your chest, you give what you hope is a comforting smile. He deserved that much.
"Kar'niss. A lovely name."
That night, you curled up by the fire with a soft smile, wincing as you lowered down onto your bedroll.
Well, at least you'd made a friend today.
---
After three 'days' of relative peace on the road, your luck ran out.
"We bring more to your church every day, my Queen. Your followers are legion…" Kar'niss whispered ambiently, the only other sound being the gentle footfall of your fellow caravanners. Even the captive lantern-creature had ceased her incessant cursing. Perhaps she'd fallen asleep - you certainly felt a nap would be preferrable to whatever the hells this was.
"'Ere, web arse - something moved up there. Want me to drag it out?" The Goblin Brawler called (fucking Hells, you wished she'd stop calling him that), pointing up at the doorway of a rotting shack nearby.
"Who's there? Show yourself!"
There was a cough, a hiss of a command, before a figure emerged.
Almost impossibly tall, a white-scaled Dragonborn in grime-flecked armour swished forward, his tail moving languidly behind a deep, blood-red cloak. You weren't one to judge based on appearances, but something in his eyes felt… hungry. You'd never felt so unsettled from a single glance.
Though they hung back, it appeared the figure was not alone; there was a veritable band of people nearby, crouched further in the house. Many wore mismatched armour - likely stolen - but others had a clear uniform, though in the low light you couldn't place their colours.
There was a shift in the shadows as one of their party moved closer, revealing a flash of slow-white curls and piercing red eyes - a devilish grin spread across pale lips when those eyes locked upon you.
You gripped your weapon tighter.
"…Majesty? Have you sent us another?" Your guide whispered, holding the lantern up to see them clearer. "Your True Souls have survived the dark once more… how?"
The figure seemed almost smug, their pearlescent scales glinting in the dim light.
They shrugged flippantly, "The Absolute protected me."
"You… blessed them too, my Queen? Where is their lantern?"
If you didn't know any better, you'd think Kar'niss was afraid. But of what? He seemed so eager to find you in the dark, glad for another True Soul to shepherd- but these adventurers (they must be adventurers with gear that good) had rattled your dear Drider.
"The Absolute guided me to you. She said I was to take yours."
No. Oh no.
There was an undercurrent of deception here, surely? They can't just take the lantern, can they? You could feel the panic beginning to bubble up in your chest as you slid off of Kar'niss' back to stand shakily beside him.
"…Wait… something's wrong, Kar--"
"Majesty? Is - is this true? Did we not serve you well?" He hissed, ignoring your call and lowering his head as if pained, "…Very well. If it is your will, they can HAVE it."
And with a violent jerk, the lantern was tossed aside.
Shit.
Shit shit shi--
"You may go now." The dragonborn growled, the sound alone enough to stop your heart.
Where the red eyed elf smirked, the soft-haired brunette to his left seemed utterly mortified - a pulse of purple energy rising from his collarbone as it snaked up his neck.
There was shouts of disbelief from the caravan as you began to hyperventilate, scanning for exits to no avail.
The road ahead is too dark.
Shadows surrounded you on all sides.
You're trapped.
"Whatcha mean, 'go'??"
"We- we can't go without you! The shadows would tear us to pieces!"
You had to act quickly.
There was bile and panic rising in your throat - body trembling with fear.
Your limbs locked against your will, vision spotting as everything in your body filled with ice.
You had to reach out - figure out however the fuck Kar'niss keeps linking minds with these 'True Soul' people without speaking a single word aloud.
"This is not her Majesty's will." Kar'niss rumbled, rapidly slipping into that terrifying sub-vocal growl.
Hurry.
You have to hurry.
You stared imploringly at the purple-robed wizard, hoping at least that your palpable terror would reveal enough should this desperate attempt fall through.
He seemed smart - magic types always were, right?
He'd help, wouldn't he?
You can't go back into that shadow. You won't.
'...oh gods please, I'm not with them - I... I don't know who the fuck this 'Absolute' is and I can't walk for shit but I can fight, just say the word! Please don't kill us--'
In seconds, it was a bloodbath.
"DURGE! They have a hostage!"
"WHAT?! GALE--"
You flung yourself behind a nearby rock, crawling quickly to cover as spells and arrows pierced the air above.
"Harpers, attack! Kill the cultists, and get that lantern!"
"HERETICS! VILLAINS IN THE DARK! KILL THEM! TEAR THE HEATHENS TO PIECES!"
Your wounds stung, breaths coming in reedy pants, but you managed to pierce a few kneecaps with your crossbow bolts - and tried not to delight in seeing that nasty little brawler eat shit in the mud.
---
The fight was over in what felt like minutes - a disbelieving laugh flitting past your lips as the adventurers confirmed their safety.
Finally, you could both go and--
A chill went up your spine as the adrenaline abandoned you.
You let them slaughter him.
Oh Gods you were the worst person in the world.
Stumbling out, you called to the air. "It's me! Please don't shoot!"
"Ah! See, I told you we'd have a valuable ally on our hands!"
"Hm. Despite their disadvantage, they fought adequately."
"Don't worry, Soldier. That's 'Lae-speak' for a job well done! Now--"
Their voices, while welcome, faded into distant mumbles as you scanned the battlefield. You clambered forwards, practically throwing bodies aside to pry Gronag's potion of Greater Healing out from under his now rapidly stiffening arms. His clothes were wet with blood, the bottle almost slipping from your fingertips.
'Should have given it to me earlier, eh, fucker?' You thought spitefully, those days of pain still fresh in your mind.'You won't be needing this on whatever plane you're in now. Hah.'
"Where is he?" You called to the group, fighting back a snarl. Curse this godsforsaken fog, can't see shit--
The red arms of the group's tiefling companion falter in confusion, lowering her greataxe to rest over her muscled shoulders.
"Sorry - who, exactly?"
"The Drider?? He was just-"
"…Why the fuck…?"
"Oh for the love of-- KAR'NISS!" You shouted, ignoring the panicked shushing of the group as you stumbled further from the firelight.
"'NISS, WHERE ARE YOU??"
A beat.
A feather-light wheeze echoed from the grass nearby, that telltale clicking undertone making your heart ache.
There.
Oh thank fuck.
With your muscles practically shredding themselves apart in your haste, you skidded over to his curled limbs - pulling his torso up onto your lap as he gazed at the sky blankly. "Kar'niss! Hey, you're okay! You're alright, I've got you…"
A shaking clicking sound escaped his lips, face streaked with blood and eyes wide with panic.
"..M-Majesty? Th.. the shadows…"
You swore softly as his focus waned, "hey, look at me! You're gonna be okay, 'Niss."
"W-we.. we cannot he-hear…" His many eyes rolled before sliding closed, body becoming limp.
Shit, that's not good.
Unstoppering the bottle with your teeth, you tried to pry his scarred lips open, "Come on, you sweet chitinous bastard! Come o-- AH! FOR F--!"
The sting of a grip in your hair stilled your motions - a blade at your throat in moments.
"Hostage, eh? Bullshit." A voice hissed in your ear, "Give me one good reason not to gut you."
You growled, locking your muscles against the assault. Bastard.
"Hands off, you overgrown lizard! He saved my life, I owe him this."
Distantly, a faint guffaw sounded. "Overgrown--! HAH! I like the little one, they're fun."
A cackling laugh - hollow, lacking in any real humour - rattled against your collarbone, "pretty shit reason there, love. I don't give a damn about your life. Wanna try that one again?"
"He's being ENTHRALLED! Is that not fucking obvious??!"
There was a pregnant pause, the scaled grip locking your arm faltering ever so slightly. Your chest heaved with each breath, the dagger nicking the skin ever so slightly. The dragonborn did not speak.
A smooth, low voice from the party spoke up, "he did seem rather… for lack of a better word--"
"The spider's off his fucking rocker, Gale. No need to put it lightly."
You hissed out a slight laugh, resisting the urge to turn around - not exactly eager to face those strange adventurers and surely slice your neck to ribbons in the process.
"Yeah, he's a bit fanatical, but he's not deaf." You murmured, gently moving your fingertips across the pale man's scalp, carefully avoiding his closed eyelids as you shifted a layer of dirt away. He felt so cold.
"…ah. Sorry, soldier."
The lizard's blade was definitely going to scar, you realised, as the sting gave way to a few tiny droplets sliding uncomfortably down your neck.
"Could you let go now? I'd like to keep my blood inside my body, if possible."
A slow shift, and finally you could move freely.
You sighed, "thanks."
Not wanting to waste a moment, you twisted your fingertips ever so slightly - just enough to tip a few more drops of the potion into Kar'niss' mouth. You weren't a healer, but drowning him seemed like a bad idea.
With a heavy breath, you let yourself calm a little.
'Niss may still be out cold, his breathing weak, but at least his pulse was steady. These strange 'heretics' would be spared his wrath for the time being, it seemed.
You'd talked some big game but who's to say the enthrallment had been broken? You'd like to think the Drider wouldn't skewer you the moment he awoke, but the strangers surrounding you both certainly didn't give the best first impression.
"Don't thank us yet. Fetch the ropes, Karlach - they can stay, but I'm not letting that freak kill us all in our sleep."
"You know what? After the day I've had, I'll take it."
---
"Well, they certainly aren't the most conventional pair, are they?"
"So the goddess of all magic is… what, exactly?"
"…Duly noted, shutting up now."
"It's alright, 'Niss. You didn't mean to lose the lantern!"
"W-We have failed Her Majesty! We--"
You were desperately trying to reason with your Drider companion as he thrashed violently against the restraints, your raised voices rattling the dilapidated stables. Cringing at the noise, you hoped the Tiefling blacksmith next door wouldn't be too upset - he seemed kind, but 'Niss certainly made for an unconventional roommate.
"Breathe, Angel. These adventurers mean us no harm!"
"We cannot hear the queen!" He wailed, "We shall be cast out!"
Sighing, you stepped closer, a hand hovering just over his shoulder without making contact.
"What can you hear now?" You tried, hoping to calm his fragile mental state. "What can you hear, 'Niss?"
Sniffling and twitching violently, he whispered, "Did… did we not serve Her well?"
"I…"
Gods, what do you say to that?
As his eyes finally met your own, a harsh pang of heartbreak bloomed in your chest. He seemed so… so lost.
Pained, almost childlike as his looming size shrivelled under the restraints.
It wasn’t his fault - none of it was. Whatever this 'Absolute' was, whatever voice you'd heard only fleetingly a few days past, he was haunted by it. He fought in Her name, and was ridiculed by her followers. He devoted himself, and gained nothing.
And in Her absence, he was stripped bare.
This was unbearably cruel.
The Absolute could get fucked.
"You did nothing wrong - alright? You served perfectly, but… but She asked too much of you, 'Niss."
Before he could panic, you interjected once more, "These True Souls have freed us both - we are needed here."
He frowned, stumped by the notion of a "new mission" outside his beloved Queen. His muscles finally relaxed fully, the ropes around his arms revealing a slight reddened rawness. You winced, gently loosening them. Just enough to be comfier, but not enough for Durge to throw a hissy fit because the Drider got loose in the night.
You offered a soft promise of discussing it all in the morning - entirely relying on the next part to prevent that discussion ever occurring.
Was it a tad manipulative? Yes. But you try getting a 9 foot Drider to abandon his cult dogma without bloodshed, see what happens. Sometimes a little white lie goes a very long way.
"And besides, I have a gift for you. So I need you to hold still and close your eyes, 'Niss." You smiled, watching as his face tumbled through fifty emotions all at once.
With a confused hum, he slowly closed…
'Oh, that cheeky bastard.'
With a giggle, you incline your head at the beady orb still tracking your movement, "All of them, come on now Angel."
He smiled a little, following your command as he wiggled apprehensively.
You rummaged into your pocket, grimacing slightly at the hairline cracks in one of your offerings, before scooping up the spiked metal of Angel's dearest possession. You were glad Gale had thought to scoop it up at all, despite the rather battered state it was in now. That pixie had certainly left in a hurry…
There was an impatient whine from your companion, which you hushed with a fond chuckle.
"Just a moment more, I promise you'll like it!"
"We… we will?"
"Well, I sure hope so! Okay… annnnnd… open 'em!"
With a dramatic flourish and a halfhearted "ta-da!", you held out your offering - a now soft orange glow emanating around the candlelit Moonlantern, it's host long gone but the shell reinforced with care.
You'd spent the hours waiting for Kar'niss to wake from his wounds meticulously repairing and replacing sections of the glass, enlisting anyone who would give you the time of day to help re-align the crosshatched metal frames and ominously edgy spiked accents.
The candles inside softened the look immensely, the fogged glass now warm and inviting, and with a lot less swearing to boot.
"Okay so I may have bigged this up a little too much but hey! You can put a new candle in on this side, since there's a door on it now a--"
A soft 'oof' escaped your lips as a sudden weight pressed around your torso, a cacophony of low murmurs and rapid purring clicks filling the air above your head. Aw.
"T..Thank you. We do not deserve such kindness... we..."
"Of course you deserve it, you're my guardian angel, aren't you?"
Another low purr against your scalp, "we keep the True Sou-- Tav safe."
Your cheeks hurt as a grin split across your face.
"Glad you like it, Kar'niss. Come on, let's get this hung up, yeah?"
--- [BONUS] ---
Stepping from the barn, you massaged your temples and heaved a deep sigh. Kar'niss had finally calmed enough to sleep, the lantern having burned through almost half of your candle stock, and you desperately needed a fucking drin--
"Trouble in paradise?"
You snapped around, only to be faced with a rather… a rather confusing sight.
The pale-haired vampire ('Astarion', your mind supplanted) was sat nursing a glass of wine and scanning a small book- sat atop a writhing, hog-tied mass of white scales.
'What the actual fuck.'
"I… I could say the same for you?" You huffed, utterly baffled as the man simply raised an eyebrow and set the book aside - opting to ignore the ambient growls reverberating from under him. "Am I interrupting something, or…?"
"Hm? Oh, he'll calm down eventually. Don't mind us."
There was a vicious snarl from the Dragonborn, choked curses and some muffled threat that you sincerely hoped you'd never be subjected to.
Kar'niss seemed like a kitten by comparison.
"So, uh… Got any more of that wine?"
"Oh, darling, I thought you'd never ask!"
I’m working on requests rn! But I’m really in the mood to write something evil, so send me the most fucked up, angsty steve Harrington x reader requests you have!!
