Work Text:
A fluttering of heavy wings, punctuated by a rough, hoarse croak was the only warning the cleric received of her incoming company, and she sat up sharply on the stone outcropping she had picked as a seat just in time to see the offending raven break through the brush to land elegantly at her side. Immediately recognizing the smaller of the birds that Cyrene favoured, Shadowheart felt her lips curling upwards as the younger brother extended a leg, exposing the scroll of parchment that had been securely tied there for him to deliver. He stood still and proud, and he watched her with one gem-like eye as she untied the scroll quickly to relieve him of his burden. He skipped twice, wings outspread in a mock bow, and chuckling, Shadowheart reached to smooth down his bristling chest feathers in a gesture of thanks before she spoke, "Thank you for the message, Muninn. I assume your mistress was waylaid at the party?"
A sharp trilling noise was her answer as she unrolled the parchment with her free hand, and satisfied that his mission was complete, the raven skipped across the rock again to watch as she read his delivery. She sighed, not at all surprised by the brisk writing that informed her of being put behind their promised schedule to meet and share a hard-won bottle of wine together. She wondered when the ranger had even found the time to send the message, but she supposed that was the benefit of travelling alongside a duo of ravens. She had proven their usefulness ten times over both in and out of battle, with their keen eyes scouting leagues ahead and their sharp ears picking up voices long before they were ever discovered. Their extreme intelligence and their ferocious loyalty made them shockingly effective partners to their ranger, and she much preferred the utility of her flying beasts to the weight of the spider, or the bears.
"So Halsin is refusing to talk about the path forward tonight... That must be maddening for her." Shadowheart glanced down at the writing as Muninn began to leap from rock to rock, entertaining himself busily as she wondered over Cyrene's words. Even as shortly written as it was, the ranger's annoyance seemed to leap off of the scroll in her hasty, sharp strokes of the ash-covered twig she had used as a writing tool. She was a tactician born, the human ranger they had silently elected as their leader, and even when she was exhausted and aching with wounds, she always seemed ready to continue forward when others hesitated on where to place their feet. She had led them well in the last few tendays, gathering up their ragged numbers of infected and then setting into the grove, and her work there and in the goblin camp afterwards spoke for itself.
Even under the exasperated and suspicious eyes of her comrades, the ranger had simply squared her shoulders and went to work when she had realized that for some reason or another, they were looking to her to lead. She had paid no one any mind, and had endured countless whispered and pointed remarks of her decision to get so deeply involved in the politics of the druids and tieflings, but her keen eyes had caught them all off guard many a time once her effort begun to bear fruit. Her first action had been seeking out the grove's healer, and though Shadowheart would have called her a madwoman for it, Cyrene had sat fearless and watchful across from Nettie, and told her outright of the dangers swimming in her head rather than couching the truth in more comfortable and easier lies. Her audacity had been rewarded, as the healer had withdrawn her poisoned tools with a rueful smile, and had exposed the truth she and Halsin had been researching, along with a bottle of potent wyvern venom that the ranger had promised to drink if the infection proved too far gone.
In rapid succession, she had undermined the new first-druid, rescuing a child and turning around Kagha's own religious teachings on her with the seasoned practise of a cleric, and then undermined her totally with the discovery of her attachment to the Shadow Druids looking to usurp the Circle. With several silver-tongued words that had even Astarion staring with wide-eyed shock, she turned the woman to her own uses, returning her pride and giving her a chance to atone, and only when she had secured her promise to halt the Rite of Thorns had she set to the task of infiltrating the goblin camp where Halsin had been rumoured to be captured. She wanted the tieflings' safety assured before she would turn her attention elsewhere, and with them now bolstered with new courage and the willingness to fight to protect one another, Cyrene had turned her comrades to the road, and the battles ahead without seeming to need to stop for breath.
She had taken the war directly inside of the cult's gates after thoroughly, brutally, infiltrating it and laying its weaknesses bare. And even with her bow and arrows, she had refused to take to the backlines. She stood shoulder to shoulder with the rest of her comrades, never once flinching in fear, pain or hesitation, and she had seen to it that every last goblin had been felled with a hunter's prejudice. She was cold and calculating to her enemies, an archer born in every way, but her actions in the grove had proven their ranger was kinder than her pragmatic mask revealed.
She used that pragmatism to earn her comrades' willingness to follow, convincing them that the druids had better answers, and a safer fortress to stay near even if their involvement with the wider world felt like putting their own emergencies second. No one had been able to argue when she narrowed their lead of a cure down to Halsin and the creche, and even Lae'zel had been forced to bow when Cyrene had gotten her hands on a map and showed the githyanki just how out of their way, and how risky, a trek to the mountains was for their weakened bodies. She had secured a lead on its location, which was just enough to cool her temper, and the warrior had followed after her without complaint when she had promised that if Halsin proved a failure, they would march north immediately.
"Two paths... The Underdark or over the mountain... I suppose Lae'zel will get what she wants. Two birds, one stone. Your mistress is scarily clever at hitting multiple targets at once." Shadowheart mused idly as she recalled Halsin's terse words of the Cult of the Absolute hiding away in a place called Moonrise, deep within the shadow-cursed lands. While Cyrene hadn't yet made comment about which path they would take, the cleric had already grown familiar with how her mind was likely seeing the possible paths ahead. The more ground she could cover at once, the better, and if it kept Lae'zel from breathing heavily down her neck, she would leap at the chance to quiet her protests and prove that they could not trust the githyanki to cure them of the tadpoles swimming in their heads.
Muninn looked up at her speech, and she watched as he tilted his head back and clacked his proud break twice with obvious satisfaction at the praise given to his mistress. He and his brother, a massive raven twice his size that Cyrene favoured for combat, were eerily intelligent creatures, even for ravens. Between them, the two birds knew four different languages besides Common, and were remarkably adept at both espionage and infiltration. They were the ranger's eyes in the dark, and she extended her senses through them even further, always making sure she was never caught off guard wherever she went because one of the two was always standing sentry in wait for her summoning whistle.
Now, Muninn sat and preened next to her outstretched leg, clearly at ease and waiting, and Shadowheart smiled despite herself at his calm. Cyrene hadn't jested when she said her ravens were the friendliest of her companions, and they were the camp's trusted wardens. The rest of her companions followed her at their will, stalking at a great distance either behind or ahead of them, and they only ever showed themselves in the heat of combat when their mistress called for them. She made sure all of her comrades were aware that the animals disliked humanoids and only obeyed her by choice, not command, and that their respect only went as far as their willingness to fight alongside them in battle. If they were to meet in the wilds, unaccompanied and unable to speak, they would only give them the smallest of berths, and would be more than glad to attack if provoked.
Considering her collection, a mated pair of bears, a giant albino spider, an extremely aggressive boar and a massive black-furred wolf, no one had thought to ignore her warning. Unlike all of them, the ranger knew the wilds no matter the territory, and without her abilities, they would have starved and gotten hopelessly lost several times over. She led them through even the worst of the twisting forests or swampland without ever missing a beat, and every few days she would disappear for hours, returning with some mighty creature slung over her shoulders to provide her comrades with fresh meat that she butchered herself for Gale's cooking prowess. She had shaken her head the first time she had been thanked, idly sidestepping the congratulations with a flippant flick of her wrist, and claimed she was merely making sure she wasn't dead weight to her more battle-hardened comrades.
If being seen as dead weight was a true fear of hers, she didn't show it, and Shadowheart mused idly to herself that she doubted the ranger was even capable of fear. She met each obstacle in her path with a tilted head and slightly narrowed eyes, and she was methodical in tearing down what stood in her way. Each arrow she fired was always expertly aimed, and though she had lost what little magic she had had in her prime, she more than made up for it with a quiver of enchanted arrows that exploded into flames, lightning, acid or smoke when she fired them. She kept pace with Gale and Wyll quite well when it came to sowing chaos in the enemy ranks, and even when she was robbed of her bow, her swordplay was a cold lightning strike to complement Lae'zel and Karlach's wide, blazing furies.
"I wonder who else is competing for her attention tonight..." The thoughtful murmur escaped her before she could think better of it, and Shadowheart abruptly pressed her lips together as Muninn turned to look at her with renewed interest. He understood every last word she spoke, and she had already been embarrassed once when she had learned that he reported everything he heard in and out of camp back to his mistress without bothering to filter it. Like all of his kin, he was a miscreant in feathers, and though he was strictly forbidden from stealing from comrades, he thoroughly enjoyed playing pranks on all and sundry whenever he could get away with it. And she saw the mischief sparkling in his eyes as he stared at her, and she grimaced as she wished she had taken Cyrene's offer to learn how to speak with animals more seriously. "Don't you dare report that back. You'll have a silver piece to wave in front of your brother if you keep your beak shut."
The promise of something shiny did the trick, and Muninn stretched out both wings and bowed pertly as he clacked his beak thrice this time in a sign of understanding. Despite herself, Shadowheart couldn't help but laugh as she wondered how in the nine hells she had fallen low enough to be extorted by a bird. Only the knowledge that the ravens preferred to prank Gale far more than they liked to bother her kept her from taking it too personally, and she did admit that she admired their ability to cause chaos wherever they went if the mood took them. They kept the camp warm and noisy, either playing chase with the owlbear cub and Scratch, or moving around a comrade's nick-knacks when their backs were turned and watching and waiting to see them frustrated and out of patience before they crowed with laughter and revealed themselves as the culprits. Watching them get up to mischief certainly kept life from being boring, and she knew she preferred the din as a welcome distraction from the chaos of the world outside their camp and in their heads.
Two sharply whistled notes broke through her thoughts, and she watched as Muninn took to the air in immediate response to his mistress' call. He did not have far to fly, and Shadowheart felt her chest both squeeze and relax in tandem as she picked the figure of the ranger stepping out from the brush to reveal herself. She was wearing her camp clothes, a loose, long-sleeved dusty tunic and plain rust-coloured trousers, and Muninn landed on top of her autumnal red-haired head with a satisfied little chirp. The ranger batted at him idly, but her summer-green eyes were warm with affection as she spoke to him in a low undertone. Moments later, Muninn was aloft again, and Shadowheart watched as he dove back for the trees behind Cyrene's back as she pocketed a hand and continued her trek up to where the cleric was waiting for her.
"Posting a sentry, even tonight?"
"Huginn is at camp, but his voice only carries so far. Muninn will carry the rest of the way if we're needed." Cyrene answered with an idle shrug of a single shoulder, and she stopped her advance only when she came close enough to the rocky outcropping that Shadowheart had picked out as a seat. She raised her eyebrows, noting the heavy stolen bottle that was resting in the dirt by her feet, and she tilted her head, almost daring to smile as she remarked, "I recognize that one... Nicked from Mol's collection, is it? She's fleecing everyone who's looking for more alcohol down there. She might make out like a bandit tonight... and you're probably disappointing Astarion by stealing the best vintage."
"It's a creature comfort or two, and wine like this is wasted on Astarion, so you'll forgive me for not being very apologetic. He'll have plenty to wet his throat tonight with or without the wine... Pun intended." Shadowheart replied with a chuckle of her own, and she bent to retrieve the bottle and the two glasses she had also brought up with her. She sat the steel goblets on the rocks, and waved the bottle in invitation before she instructed with a smile, "Come on, now, join me. I was worried someone might have stolen your attention tonight, and that this might have all gone to waste. But seeing as you've only been waylaid, you can make it up to me by spending a little longer drinking with me."
"My limit is two glasses, so long as that's not an offence." Cyrene eyed the goblets warily as she watched Shadowheart pop the cork with an expert flick of her hand, but she didn't say more as she tilted the bottle and poured. Even as she took her seat next to the cleric, she could catch the faintest notes of spiced fruit beginning to rise up from the dark-coloured alcohol. She guessed it was likely a good vintage, and she had already taken note that Shadowheart had rather fine taste in her wines. She was always inspecting the bottles they found with an expert eye, and more than once she had stealthily slipped a bottle or two from their camp supplies and into her own pack, replacing it with a lesser find so she could sneak her reward into her own tent.
"More wine for me. I've no complaints." Shadowheart replied, and she served the drink generously before stopping the bottle and carefully placing it back in the dirt for later. She handed over the glass easily enough, though she watched as Cyrene inspected the wine with no small degree of wariness rather than drinking it immediately. It was new, watching the ranger even looking sidelong at alcohol, and she wrapped her hands absently about her own as she continued thoughtfully, "I've never seen you partake before, not even at camp... Do you not normally drink?"
"I tend to avoid alcohol as a rule... but all rules have exceptions." Cyrene answered slowly, and she twisted her wrist slowly to watch the thick, burgundy liquid inside of the goblet swirl about cheerfully. The fragrance was sharp and tangy, with the promise of fruit and heady warmth, and while distantly a part of her knew the taste would be pleasant... Another part of her recoiled. She disliked drinking, and the idea of being drunk. No good things came from the loss of control, and she had spent a good decade fine-tuning her self-restraint until it neared an art form. Alcohol promised no good things in excess, but she was aware it was merely her paranoia speaking. Two glasses as a hard limit, with her build and already tested tolerance... She wouldn't even be tipsy. "There's a party tonight, and if I'm ever going to indulge, I may as well do it now."
Shadowheart tilted her head, reading the flickering of circling emotions in those usually so calm summer-green eyes with great interest. She showed more trepidation towards a taste of wine than she did a horde of goblins or a murderous drow and her cohort of spiders, and the thought shouldn't have been as amusing as it was. It was one odd weakness, not liking alcohol, and yet she was unwilling to deny her because she had been invited out to drink in the first place. A weakness in that seemingly unbreakable chain of armour, and Shadowheart did not deny the impulse she felt to leap on it mercilessly as she teased, "A toast, then? It seems like an evening for one."
"Hm... Am I being pressed to make one?" Cyrene's rhetorical question was met with a silent singularly raised eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes as she understood the cleric was sensing her uncertainty, and pushing to take advantage. In any other circumstance she would have set the goblet down and walked away, but she knew better than to try. She would be chased if she fled now, and she truly had no desire to escape as it was. She could drink, had drank, and she was well aware she was in trusted company. Rolling her shoulders back as she felt Shadowheart's expectation, she raised the wine to the stars and spoke simply, clearly, "To us, then."
"Bold... What does "us" entail, exactly?" Her other eyebrow raised in pleased surprise at Cyrene's choice of words, and she reached to tap her goblet playfully against the ranger's in exchange of the toast regardless. The woman certainly was audacious, and she didn't seem to care who knew or what they thought. Only someone with the brass of a bull dragon could walk into a druid's home and cite their own god's teachings to their face to call them a hypocrite without ever using the word directly. But that was the gift of someone who had spent a good portion of her life hunting fey and devils, and her penchant for fey-speak only made her mysterious allure all the more dangerous when she questioned, "Am I to guess at your meaning if you won't answer?"
"Any and all meanings are valid. Take whichever appeals to you most. You're the one who told me to pick something to toast to." The elegant sidestep came with a hint of a catlike smile across her scarred face, and Shadowheart could do nothing but laugh as she knew she had been easily outplayed. They touched goblets again, a silent consent for the defeated and the victor, before both drew the glasses to their lips and drank deep. Cyrene's draw was measured, quiet and thoughtful, and she lowered her wine down after ensuring less than half had been swallowed. The taste was exactly as she had expected, warm, heady with a hint of a sharp tang, and she leaned back with her free hand supporting her weight as she watched Shadowheart mimic her posture unconsciously as she, too, lowered her glass and looked back over at her.
"You know... I'm coming to an odd realization that I don't know anything about you. Not really." The words came slowly, thoughtfully, but with the warmth of the wine purring through her veins, Shadowheart was more than glad to seize on the opportunity she had been looking for. She had spent the better portion of the evening wondering if her offer would be taken or discarded in favour of another, and the feeling of relief when Cyrene had arrived in the clearing was nearly as potent as the alcohol. She wanted desperately to make use of the chance, to drain out every last minute she had of this woman's undivided attention, and a strange, cool thrill went up her spine as the ranger's eyes locked on her face curiously when she continued, "You've been carrying us through this mess without a word of complaint, but outside of your occupation and the few details I've picked up out of necessity, I really don't know much about you at all... Why don't you share a story with me? Tell me something I'd never guess about you."
"If you want me to share a story, shouldn't you do the honours and start with one yourself?"
It wasn't a cruel turnabout, but rather a polite invitation, but Shadowheart felt herself slip nonetheless at the unexpected kindness. Her chest tightened with a strange sense of regret, and she wondered absently why she felt such a thing over something she had so gladly volunteered to do. While it was a disorienting thing, having so few memories to call her own, she knew it was a worthwhile sacrifice to her Lady, and that she would do better in her service without her memories. Still, her voice caught against her own will, and she glanced down, finding security and safety in the depths of her goblet as she admitted awkwardly, "Under normal circumstances, I'd oblige you. You're not wrong about manners... but I'm afraid I don't have much to share... There are many sacrifices that we who worship Shar make in our lives. Even our own memories are hers to take, should we be commanded to do so. Right now, I've... very little to offer. The small things are lost to me."
Cyrene tilted her head to the side, taking in the quiet words, and digesting them for a long beat. There was regret in her tone, a quiet sort of mourning she had never heard before, she was aware of some part of herself bristling in response to it. She had long ago resigned herself as one of the Faithless, bound for the Wall and forsaken by the gods she had turned her back upon, but she knew it was much different for the cleric she sat beside. While she knew she was incapable of understanding her devotion, especially to Shar of all goddesses... Memory was something she did understand, and she leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees as she asked with the faintest hint of amused sarcasm, "Then you don't like night orchids, and you're particularly fond of swimming?"
The pointed question cut like a lance, and for a heartbeat, Shadowheart had no words as she turned to look at Cyrene with a mixture of surprise and amazement. The small details, the few shreds of memory that she clung to, were held like precious treasures in the ranger's hands despite her offhandedly sarcastic tone. Her summer-green eyes twinkled faintly in the moonlight, glittering with amusement and perhaps something much warmer, but Shadowheart didn't dare to look deeper even if her eyes were fixed on something in the distance. She was caught off guard as she was, and the last thing she wanted was unfounded hope, especially tonight of all nights, but her voice remained quiet, softly awed when she murmured despite herself, "You remembered...? That's sweet of you."
"Your memories might be gone, but your identity is made up of more than memory. Below it is instinct, unconscious thought and patterns that can't be wiped clean from you." Cyrene kept her eyes on the stars that spread out ahead of the cliff's edge, and she kept her low posture as she felt Shadowheart's eyes raking over her searchingly. The disbelief that weighted her tone said everything that words could not, and she was distantly aware of the fact that she likely couldn't remember being treated with such consideration before. That quiet, uncomfortable bristling feeling became sharper, and her mouth spoke her words before she could think better of it, "If I handed you a sweet you might have liked before you surrendered your memory, you'd know you liked the taste the moment it hit your tongue. It's buried in your bones. You just don't have the names to put to the feelings you have yet. But they're there, nonetheless. You don't need memory to be who you are. Your body knows the answer when the mind fails."
"That's... very sweet of you." Shadowheart heard rather than felt herself swallow the rather abrupt stone that had formed in her throat, and she was both annoyed and somewhat pleased by how easily Cyrene had reached forward to shatter her facade. It was almost frightening, how she used that silver tongue to sway allies and enemies alike to her side, and Shadowheart was rapidly aware of the fact that she, too, was not immune to her skills. She swiped a hand through her hair, brushing her braid back over her shoulder as she fought for balance and command again. She hadn't been waiting for tonight just to allow herself to be the subject of the conversation, and it made her press with reckless want, "Now, come on. You can't pay me such lip-service and expect to escape my question. Your fey-speak won't have you out of my grasp tonight. Tell me something. And not a story of dragons, tadpoles, marauding goblins, or adventure. Something about you."
"That's a little difficult to give. Any story I could tell you is going to fall under that umbrella. I left Baldur's Gate when I was sixteen, and before then, I was training for the rest of my youth." Cyrene mused, and she glanced down thoughtfully at her goblet before she allowed herself a much smaller and more measured sip. The forked scar across her nose and her back itched, and she needed the distraction of the wine in her hand to keep herself from reaching underneath her tunic to find the scars that crisscrossed their way over her back. Long-healed, but always present whenever the city was mentioned, and she forced her hand to remain still on her knee as she continued with a small frown, "I don't really have much to share that's not an adventure of some sort... I suppose maybe the first time I was lost in the wilds? Is that a suitable story for you?"
"That's skirting dangerous territory... But seeing as you're obviously struggling..." Shadowheart dragged out her answer, and she made a show of reaching down for the bottle to top up her wine as she did so. To her credit, the ranger merely sat where she was, waiting for either her permission or rejection, and the sight of her made her smile broaden despite herself. The wine wasn't nearly strong enough to be eliciting such reactions, not with just one glass, but the liquid courage was dearly needed and appreciated. She had waited too long for tonight's conversation, and while she had forbidden talk of adventure... She frankly didn't care what the topic was, so long as it remained between the two of them for the time being. It was her turn to hoard their leader all to herself, and she nodded her head as she allowed, "Very well, tonight I'm feeling merciful. Go on with your story."
Chuckling despite herself, Cyrene set her goblet to the side on the flattest piece of rock she could find within reach. Her legs drew up off the ground, crossing underneath as her elbows came to rest on her knees as she adjusted into a more comfortable position. Shadowheart's stare was a fiery prickling on her skin, hyper-aware and watchful, but she could easily ignore it as she kept her eyes focused on the drop of the cliff's edge. It was easier to speak to nothing rather than directing her words to the cleric at her side, and it kept her voice level, and that damned itch in her back from growing too irritating, "I think I was... seven or eight...? I couldn't have been much older at the time... It was twilight when I ducked the guards. We all knew their rotations by heart. I snuck out of the city and its limits, and I remember that I kept the sound of the river to my left when I walked into the treeline. I don't really know what I was thinking, or how long I walked... but I do remember that moment, when I finally looked up... and the city was long out of sight, and I was hemmed in on all sides by the trees."
Shadowheart felt herself sitting upright, and her hand tightened on the stem as she imagined a much younger Cyrene wandering alone, her youthful scarred face pursed with determination as she wandered amongst the wilds with reckless abandon. A part of her wanted to scold her for such lack of care, but another was already ready to leap headlong into the story she was carelessly recounting, and putting every tiny detail to memory like a dragon readying their treasure hoard. She had always kept her history tight to her chest, navigating conversations in such a way that by the time her partner realized she had never offered anything of herself, she had already left them behind and wondering. Tonight, she had no escape, and Shadowheart fully intended to drink in every last moment like a woman dying of thirst as she questioned, "Weren't you frightened? You were just a child."
"I had my breath taken away, but it wasn't fright. I had no room in me to be afraid... Not when I was looking out at the wilds and seeing no living faces to stare back at me for the first time in my life." The answer came with a laugh, soft and amused, and Cyrene's tone was amazingly gentle as she shook her head in response to the questions. Her expression became tender, loving, almost, and she sat back, tipping her head upwards to the stars when she continued in a lazy, carefree tone that was rich with emotion and dearly held memory, "I'd been in the forests before, to train and research, but never alone... And that night, it was just me. I felt like I was seeing and hearing everything anew... The wind in the trees, the sounds of animals scuffling in the undergrowth... Even the river's flow, bubbling amongst the rocks, had turned into something unfamiliar. I remember holding my breath, trying to silence my heartbeat, so I could take it in all once... I fell in love that day. I decided that I'd do anything and everything if I could make my trade in the wilds... and I made good on that."
"So you chose then and there to be a ranger?"
"I'd have done anything to stay in the wilds, never mind the end goal... And I'm glad I set my mind to it. I never lost that wonder, even now. Every time I step past the treeline, I need to stop and take a breath... I have to look around, and put everything I see to memory." Cyrene chuckled and shook her head a little, amused at her youth and her stubborn dedication that had been born from one foolish indiscretion. Her training may have formed her into what she was now, but there was little doubt that the single day she had spent getting lost in the wilds had been the first step she had made of her own volition all those years ago. She took another small sip of her wine, savouring the quiet burn in the back of her throat as she continued lazily, "Once I leave the wilds, what I see won't be there anymore, and the next time I enter, it will have become something new. I step into a new world every day, and I live for that thrill. It makes up a core part of my being."
"You really love the wilds... I thought at first that it was just ego that made you insist you were different from the druids... But you are different." Shadowheart wondered aloud, and she wasn't entirely sure if she was impressed or startled by how much the woman beside her had allowed one childhood incident to influence her entire future. It seemed oddly like her, despite everything, that she would carry herself forward on the smallest direction, but the difference in her philosophy to the druids at the party could not be more stark. Cyrene glanced sidelong at her, intrigued by the direction of her words, and Shadowheart continued with no small amount of growing respect, "You take the wilds as they are, fickle and dangerous... You've no desire to tame what you see for your own benefit. Everything as it is out there is perfect to you. I can't see the druids here ever acting like that."
"Rangers and druids have never been on the best terms professionally... I wouldn't call the rivalry as bad as Sharrans and Selûnites, but there's always tension when one of each of us ends up sitting on the wrong side of a tavern bar." Cyrene's following reply was coloured with dry laughter and memory, and Shadowheart couldn't and didn't resist the smile that curled at her mouth at the thought of the woman being drawn into a brawl at a tavern over differing ideologies. She wouldn't be the first, or the last, to have a fistfight when alcohol brought high tempers to a roar, and as if reading her mind, Cyrene continued with a light shake of her head, "And before you ask, no, I was never the one who picked a fight first. I've no interest in philosophical squabbles. But I did learn enough through them to handle myself in future ones. Kagha didn't expect a ranger to know as much about Silvanus as she did... Never enter a hunt without the necessary tools in hand to complete it. That's a lesson that's served me well over the years."
"I imagine it has." Shadowheart downed the rest of her wine, smiling into the heady drink as she watched Cyrene slowly come to an end of her first in tandem with her. She leaned down to fetch the bottle, but she withheld it gamely as she watched Cyrene turn to look at her with a quiet smile still playing across her lips. It was a first, hearing her talk at length about herself, and she was not yet ready to let her go. Despite the small pulse of warning echoing distantly in the back of her head, Shadowheart pushed ahead, and she pointed the bottle's end at the ranger as she challenged her teasingly, "Another, please. I could hear you talk all night, now that you're actually getting somewhere."
"All night? You'll have my throat dry."
"I'll top your glass for you, and if you keep up the pace, you won't run empty." Shadowheart leaned over, and true to her word, she filled Cyrene's goblet to the brim in a silent challenge. She would not go further, she'd respect Cyrene's spoken limit of how much she wanted to drink tonight even if she didn't understand the need, but so long as she still had wine in her cup... She dearly hoped the night would linger. She was a great conversationalist with her dry humour and her surprisingly witty observations. It was almost a pity that she chose to turn her attention to listening rather than speaking in their regular interactions. Her accent was strangely melodic, lacking the Baldurian burr that she was more used to and instead replacing it with the softest lilt that she did not know. She worried distantly how honest she was that she could hear her speak all night without growing bored of her, but she buried the thought deep and took her courage from the wine and her own pleased knowledge that the ranger was choosing to sit with her despite the many offers of company she had to have been given already, "That should give you at least two more stories before you hit your limit."
"Somehow I have a feeling you'd keep me drinking if you could get away with it..." The answering laugh, honest and unashamed, was enough of a reply for the redhead, and she shook her head as she wondered just how she had gotten herself into such a situation. She had accepted the invitation for a drink, after all, but she admitted she was slightly surprised by the level of interest that Shadowheart was showing in what she had to say. She had never considered herself an individual of much merit or intrigue, and yet the cleric was eager to share her night with her anyway.
Neither of them were the types to enjoy the attention of the party-goers, after all. And while down in camp, Karlach had managed to wrangle Wyll into recounting some campfire stories, and Gale had been casting small but brilliant spells to entertain the cheering children. Even the stiff Lae'zel and the dour Astarion could not resist the flow of drinks, and both had been seen accepting the cups that were passed to them even if they did so with genuine bemusement. But the two of them weren't the kind to like the noise or the excitement, and if Halsin was going to remain stubbornly tight-lipped... Cyrene was admittedly glad that she could share a moment or two with Shadowheart in relative peace.
"Very well... But don't blame me if you find the topics to be boring..." It was the only warning she could think to give, and she felt a tightness in her chest making itself known again as she felt that bristling feeling to be replaced with a lighter, but still sharp, prickle instead. Shadowheart's olive-green stare was tangible, racing across her skin and bringing an unfamiliar heat to her cheeks that she knew had nothing to do with the alcohol. Being underneath scrutiny wasn't new, but the cleric's gaze was gentler than she was used to, and it made her very aware of her every movement and breath. The half-elf was beguiling, and she disliked how self-conscious she made her, and she forced her tongue to loosen, and her thoughts came out scattered and half-formed when she began abruptly, "Do you know that the trees dance? And I don't mean dryads."
"Go on."
"It's the change of the seasons. Their branches stretch and shake, reaching for the sun even in the darkest and deepest of canopies, and then their leaves turn when the air chills. It's a riot of colour, bursts and hues that defy description... And then they tumble to the ground, because that kind of beauty can't be allowed to exist for longer than a heartbeat. Then comes the snow, knocking off the rest of the year's growth, and blanketing the world in a heavy, warm silence... But under that weight, the new buds start to take shape, and then they break on through come spring, and reach up for the sun for the first time as blooming leaves. Then they do it all over again, when the seasons change and shift for the next cycle. It's a song no bard can put to music. A picture no artist can ever capture on canvas."
Shadowheart wasn't entirely sure when she began to hold her breath, listening with rapt attention as Cyrene closed her eyes and described the sights she had committed to memory during her journeys, but something fierce ached in her chest as she took in the ranger's longing, wistful explanation. Her tone was wondering, worshipful, and for a brief instant, Shadowheart could picture exactly what she was saying in her mind's eye with little difficulty. She had never given much thought or attention to the so-called beauty of nature as so many others could, it seemed wasteful and unimportant, but the ranger's tone made her believe, for a brief and mad moment, that it was real. It was the world as the ranger saw it, a beautiful and heartbreaking dance all wrapped up within the span of a year, and she found herself clinging to each and every word with the wonder of a child.
Cyrene's hair shone brighter under the faint glimmer of the moonlight, and the cleric felt herself strangely struck as she wondered if that shade of red was much like the changing leaves she had described with such care. Shadowheart felt her cheeks warming, her heart pounding, and she was abruptly quite aware of how close they were sitting and how utterly striking the ranger was. It wasn't new information, Cyrene was a beautiful woman with her lithe grace and her sharp, cutting eyes, but there was a new gentleness that surrounded her when she called upon her memories of the wilds that she loved so dearly. She had only glimpsed that kindness in small moments, like when she sent her ravens flying down the tunnels of the grove to entertain the wandering refugee children, or when she sat quiet next to her at the campfire, listening intently to her lessons without judgment or argument despite the fact that she had no faith to give to any god or goddess.
It wasn't a kindness meant solely for her, as much as she jealously wished for it. Cyrene shared what she had willingly and without care for a reward. Karlach had pegged her accurately that day in the goblin's dungeons, when they had seen the extent of the damage that blasted priest had inflicted on her already scarred and still-bleeding back, that the ranger was kind because she had never experienced a gentle day in her lifetime. If she had grown on cruelty, she would not share what she had known. She turned the pain inward, made it her fuel, and she extended her hand time after time to those who tasted abuse, pain and injustice because she had never gotten the chance to know a hero herself.
"By the gods, you're a poet." The words came out breathless, and for a brief instant, Shadowheart knew shame for just how bare-faced her awe was. Cyrene turned to look at her sharply, clearly unprepared for the praise, and her furrowed brow quickly shook away her fear. The ranger's disbelief was painted all over her pale features, and knowing she would shake away the compliment, the cleric leapt with thoughtless abandon. She was under her spell, bewitched by her fey-speak, and it made her brave and bold as she persisted through Cyrene's frown, "I mean it. It's not faint praise. I've never heard you speak like that before... You truly believe what you're saying. You're making me believe what you're saying. I can almost see it just as you describe it, the changing leaves and the falling snow... You love the wilds with your whole heart. I've never heard anyone speak with such reverence without naming their religion, but you do it for something as simple as the seasons. It's beautiful."
"I'm sentimental, not a poet... but I have a feeling if I argue too much, you might decide to barb the compliments." Cyrene noted with a raised eyebrow, but she couldn't keep eye-contact, and turned her head away as Shadowheart's lingering smile burnt a foreign heat into her stomach. She was incredibly dangerous, and it left her scrambling, once again needing words, needing a change so she had any excuse not to continue looking at her and become aware all over again of how soft that stare looked, "I've spent near on ten years in the wilds now... I love every bit of it, as much as I know I don't belong there. I'm no druid, and I hate the concept of "balance" that they preach... Nature is a wild and dangerous thing, and it exists in a cycle of death and life that needs no outside aid... I'm glad to be able to witness it as it is, untouched and free... and if you feel like I'm doing it justice with my descriptions, I suppose I should be happy to share it with you. Most would call me soft. But if you can see what I see, even if just for a moment... I'm glad."
"I most certainly have. The next time we start sharing stories at the campfire, you ought to speak up instead of quietly listening." Shadowheart pressed gently, but she was aware even as she spoke that it was likely a futile effort. Cyrene was already shaking her head, though her smile did not vanish in proof that she at least was enjoying this moment if nothing else. The thought brought an easy smile to her own face, and she drew up her knees to her chest as she tilted her head, eager to continue as the night stretched on in comforting darkness, "That's your second, so you can give me a third now. Your glass isn't empty yet, and I'm still eager to hear more. Come now, don't keep your captive audience waiting."
"Very well... What do you know about the constellations?"
Cyrene took to her direction with an amused sort of ease, and Shadowheart was a willing and eager pupil as she lay back on the stone alongside her and followed the ranger's finger as she pointed up into the ink-back night sky that spread out above them. After allowing the cleric to point out the Brow Star to get their bearings, Cyrene took her hand in her own, tracing her finger across the sky and pointing out the constellations that she used to mark her way and track even in the deepest of nights. Each group came with a story and a handful of different names she did not know, and the folk tales stretched from every corner of the coast to prove just how far Cyrene had walked in her ten years alone in the wilds.
Her grip on her hand was remarkably delicate despite her callused and scarred fingers from her long years hunting, and their shoulders brushed together as Cyrene adjusted her grip and moved her hand for her with pinpoint accuracy. Even the slightest touch betrayed how remarkably strong her body was underneath her unassuming clothes, and Shadowheart was extremely cognizant of just how well-toned her muscles were as their forearms lay on top of each other's while she traced out the shape of twin daggers for her. Her lithe build was far more akin to that of a wildcat than a deer, the leaping tigress over the bear, and that gently accented voice in her ear was a music she hadn't heard before but she wished would never stop as she told her how to find true west between the points of the daggers, so she would never again be lost so long as she could find north and west the next time she looked skywards at night.
True to her word, the ranger continued to talk as Shadowheart listened, and only when the whispers of daylight began to creep into the horizon did she finally seem to run out of stars to find and tell the stories of how the people on the plane thought they made their way into the sky. She was surprised by how sharply she was aware of the absence of her hand when she finally let go and instead curled her arms over her waist, and she wasn't entirely sure if she missed the electricity sparking across her fingertips from the connection or the calm warmth of her skin more. Their shoulders still barely touched, close and yet somehow far, and she had to remind herself that she was getting far more than she ever had imagined she would from the woman who shrank away naturally from any kind of physical contact, even if it was a healing spell.
"Nearly light already... The others will be awake soon." The murmur escaped her despite her best efforts to keep her silence, and Shadowheart wondered how quickly the sun was rising to chase away the comforting dark that had kept them alone and together. The past several hours had gone by far too soon, and she was more than willing to pretend that those who had likely fallen asleep at the camp didn't need them to return just yet. She chanced a glimpse to her side, and she wasn't sure if she was more surprised or thrilled to find that Cyrene was watching her in silence. Heat flooded anew into her face, awareness of their proximity became all the sharper, and she hoped her voice didn't break and betray her when she spoke without thinking, "What?"
"You're beautiful."
For a brief, wild instant, Shadowheart had absolutely no reply to the two unexpected words that was Cyrene's simple answer. Her summer-green eyes were sincere and calm, warm and watchful, and the sheer genuineness of the compliment cut through her bones and robbed her of breath. After hearing her speak so tenderly of the wilds, of the seasons and stars, the ranger had given her the exact same sweet affirmation without missing a single beat. She was choosing, with that same resolute belief that guided her every action, to compare and contrast her to the sights she loved and cherished, and she was not shy in doing so. It was simply her belief, to tell her that she saw her in that same light, and the cleric was stunned as she wondered how she could ever manage to answer such praise.
Shadowheart was no stranger to compliments. To dismiss her appearance was foolish, and it robbed her of a dearly needed tool for her arsenal when she was in a pinch. This human woman was not the first to call her beautiful, and she would not be the last, but the utter sincerity still made her freeze despite herself. When was the last time someone had complimented her with such honesty, and with absolutely no wish for something from her in return? She wasn't sure she ever had been, even without her memories to tell her so, but Cyrene was, and always had been, much different than anyone she knew or could remember. Her voice came without her consent, desperate to cover her embarrassment and wonder, to regain control that had long since fled her fingers the moment she had seen the ranger walking up the hill to meet her, "I know. But you're sweet to say so."
A flicker passed over Cyrene's eyes, darkening the warm green colour for a brief moment with an emotion she could not name, and then she was propping herself up on her elbow and rolling onto her side. The movement was surprisingly smooth, natural and easy, and her right hand lifted to brush against her scarred cheek in a reverent caress. Then she was leaning down, her lips brushing with soft, hesitant sweetness against her own, and Shadowheart heard herself gasp more than she felt it at the unexpected, but dearly welcome show of courage.
Her hands flew up of their own accord and Shadowheart's body was no longer her own as she felt Cyrene begin to pull back from her as if she was satisfied with nothing more than the quick peck. Her fingers twined themselves into her thick red curls, and she pulled the ranger back down none too gently. She would not be shown up twice in one night, and from the startled, choked, noise against her lips, she preened with glee at the knowledge that Cyrene had not at all expected her reaction. But she relaxed all the same, submitting to her wish without complaint, and Shadowheart murmured her pleasure as her tongue flicked out to find her lower lip and her fingernails pressed with gentle, but encouraging reassurance to urge her for more.
The response came instantly and with the softest of resigned sighs, and the electric thrill was magic all of its own as she felt Cyrene lean farther down into her grip and pressed herself flush against her chest. She followed the cleric's guidance, lips parting for her questing tongue, and the sharp taste of mint joined the all-encompassing scent of pine-needles and let her senses fly free from her control like a dragon let loose into the sky. She was maddeningly gentle with her lips, as if she didn't quite know how to answer a kiss and needed to be led into it, but the errant thought did not disappoint Shadowheart in the least. Unlearned or no, she would gladly teach her, and she hummed her approval as Cyrene's fingertips brushed with gentle purpose across her scarred cheek before cupping her face to hold her properly.
Fire burnt in her blood as Shadowheart felt the pads of Cyrene's fingertips brush against a surprisingly sensitive spot just below her ear, and she fought with her instincts as her arms demanded she yank hard and pull the woman bodily atop of her. She could well imagine how she would feel, strong and firm and warm in all the right ways, and she was absently aware of a throbbing ache making itself known between her legs. The hunger she elicited was not a surprise, she had always felt that attraction, but indulging in it felt dangerous in a way she couldn't entirely describe. It would be so easy, to flip her over and pull off those damned overlarge clothes she hid her beautiful body in, to take full advantage of her willingness to submit, and she wouldn't lie and say she wasn't sorely tempted to throw caution to the wind now that she had her answer of if this woman looked at her the same way she had been for the past several tendays.
'She's trembling...' The thought cut through the desire, through the heat, and though her body protested, Shadowheart allowed herself to pull back as that gentle tremor again went through Cyrene's body as if she was almost trying to flinch away from her. It wasn't as much a rejection as it seemed to be an uncontrollable reaction, and unbidden but cold, the memory of at least a decade's worth of scars decorating her back flickered in her mind's eye. She had her reasons to shy away from physical contact, to be uncomfortable with entrusting her body to anyone else, and the reminder made her gentle, made her ache in an entirely new way when she whispered softly in that inch's worth of space between their panting faces, "Am I hurting you?"
"No." The answer was breathless and strained, but the honesty dripped from her as Cyrene hung still where she had been let go. Her hand rested on the ground by her torso, balancing her weight without fully pulling back from those soft fingers that were still tangled in her hair. Shadowheart was staring at her, brow furrowed with a concerned frown, and the unrestrained warmth lit up her olive eyes and made her mouth dry and her throat tight. The truth came out without her consent, and she winced inwardly at how utterly foolish she had to sound when she explained with all the decorum of a flushing schoolgirl, "I've never... I don't... quite know... what I'm doing."
"That was your first kiss?" The question came with genuine shock, and from the sharp flush of crimson that burnt across Cyrene's face the moment it slipped free, Shadowheart wasn't entirely sure if she was more delighted or alarmed to have an answer. Her fingers immediately released their hold, realizing her courage had to seem incredibly demanding in the face of a genuine maiden, but any feelings of amusement were quashed as Cyrene sat up abruptly and rubbed at her nose in a clear sign of painful awkwardness. She was looking away from her, and her body was tense with shame and a keen urge to flee and spare what little pride she could manage to scrape together. She clearly expected to be mocked, and the thought made her both wince and bristle with a strange surge of protectiveness that made her reach without thought to seize Cyrene's wrist before she could leap to her feet, "Wait a moment! I'm not about to make light of you!"
Cyrene said nothing, tethered to the spot the moment Shadowheart's fingers closed tightly about her wrist, and the cleric understood with the abrupt pain of being struck by a greataxe of just how much she had been given tonight despite herself. Over and over again the ranger had stepped outside of her usual boundaries at her request, and never showed more than the slightest hints of discomfort as she did so. She was willing to drink with her, to talk at length with her, and even went so far as to lean in when she was physically pulled back. She had every right and more so to leave her where she sat, having given far more than enough to indulge her, but still she sat and in silent expectation like she couldn't flee when she was told to stay. The thought both broke her heart and filled her head with an immense surge of gratitude, and she spoke quietly but sincerely as she gentled her hold and slid her hand tentatively down to cover Cyrene's, "I'm surprised, yes, but... moreover, I'm... rather grateful. It means a lot that you would choose me for that. And I won't laugh, or discount your reasons. You caught me off guard, that's all."
More silence followed, awkward and uncertain, and Shadowheart bit her lower lip as anxiety followed her gratitude and left her wondering. This was dangerous. Stealing a kiss or two with the warmth of wine flowing in her veins seemed harmless enough, but seeing Cyrene's inability to meet her eyes, she was keenly aware it was not the same for her. A first kiss, at that. It shouldn't have surprised her as much as it did, and it shouldn't have touched her so deeply... but instinct won out, and her hand closed more firmly without her consent as words came out once again of their own accord, clumsy but earnest as she wished she could say a million things she was not allowed to say instead, "I... won't promise you something that I can't give. We both know what my vows entail... But, right now, I also know there's a good chance we may not make it to tomorrow. If that's the case, and I only have a limited amount of moments to spend... I want to spend them with you, if you'd allow me. I'd really rather not die tomorrow with the thought of, "I wish I'd kissed that damned ranger first!" being the last thing in my head."
Cyrene's fingers twitched underneath her palm, and a flicker passed over her eyes again with a mixture of emotions that Shadowheart could not name. They were rapidly passed through, like an open book being flipped too quickly to ever capture the words on the pages, but after a few breathless moments... The ranger stilled and turned her head slightly to the side so she could better look at the cleric who had sat up next to her. Her hand remained atop of hers, resting gently rather than gripping, and she resisted the instinctive urge to spread her fingers and allow the much softer and thinner fingers to side in between the gaps of her own. Instead she focused her energy on her thoughts, and her words came out dry and awkward, "I suppose I must look like a stumbling child to you right now... But as inexperienced as I am, I understand what you mean. I won't ask for more than what you offer. That wasn't my intent."
Silent pain was a swordstroke to the heart at the quiet acceptance, and Shadowheart wondered with no small amount of bitter amusement why she hated how easily Cyrene accepted the unsaid conditions that were being placed on her affections. She had shared her religion with the ranger, and had been glad, ever so glad, to hear her say she would not judge her for it. Instead she simply sat and listened, understanding the depths of her faith even if she herself was incapable of sharing it, and she almost wished she would challenge her now. But there was no resistance, no argument, and the proof of her wisdom was an ache that she intimately understood she had to bear in stoic silence. Pain was a gift... and her Lady would never permit anyone to ever come before her in her heart.
"If that's the case, then stay with me for a little bit longer, and let's watch the sun rise together. The others have your ravens to watch over them." The offer felt thick and foolish, a traitorous wish and a desperate bargain all at once, but it came out all the same despite Shadowheart's better judgment. They were stealing moments, and she was almost surprised by how hungry she was to ensure another became clasped in her fingers before better sense had the ranger standing and walking away from her in search of someone, anyone, who could properly give her what she deserved. She felt Cyrene looking sidelong at her, both appraising and cautious all at once, and she allowed her hand to close, fingers wrapping with deliberate purpose as she continued carefully, "Only if you don't mind spending a few more hours wastefully."
"It's not a waste." Cyrene answered with a small shake of her head, and she let out a breath she felt like she had been holding for a bit longer than forever. A quiet, bittersweet sort of pain squeezed her chest, made her heartbeat slow and her face burn... but she accepted it with a calm she did not feel. Stealing moments was an accurate statement, if not a blaspheming one, but she was not a fool. There was no future before her. No steps towards a sunrise, and no victorious celebration to revel in once the ending came. There was only the certainty of a farewell, of a tired and bitter parting, but her hand moved of its own will all the same. She felt Shadowheart twitch, clearly taken aback when she returned the grip, light but assured, and she gazed out at the streaks of dawn so she would not have to take in that beautiful face that broke her heart even as the remnants of heat from her lips began to fade in the morning breeze, "I'll steal what I can, if that's what it'll be. I'm glad to spend time with you, Shadowheart."