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dragonologist-writings · 5 months

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Title: Midnight Black and Paris Green Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Rating: M Status: Ongoing (11/?) Characters: F!Tav, Shadowheart Ships: F!Tav/Shadowheart Additional Notes: Missing Scenes, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Mild Smut, Canon-Typical Themes Word Count: 28k Summary: Shadowheart isn't accustomed to placing her trust in other people. Neither is Naia. But these are interesting times, and stranger things have happened. (A loose re-telling of the game, with a focus on the Tav/Shadowheart romance)

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Chapter 1 below:

Shadowheart does not quite remember her capture, or the crash, or even the falling. She does not register any pain- only the harsh sunlight piercing through murky darkness as she comes to with a jolt. Fractured recollections trip over themselves in her memory, all culminating to push but one thing to the front of her mind: the artefact.

Her eyes fly open and her hands scramble desperately at her pockets. A shadow falls over the glaring sand, a voice mutters something she cannot hear, and instincts take over as Shadowheart realizes she is not alone. She rolls into a defensive crouch, ready to send off a blast of radiant magic.

But it is not an enemy who faces her now. It is the woman from the ship. The one who saved her.

That recognition is quite unfortunately followed by a flood of memories which make her stomach lurch and her skin crawl. The mindflayers. The nautiloid. The tadpole.

“Are you okay?” the woman asks in a low, halting voice, and another scene is triggered in Shadowheart’s hazy memory.

It was all madness by the time she awoke, madness and panic and distant noises of destruction. And she was trapped. All she could do was bang on the pod and scream for help, cursed with knowledge that help would likely never come.

But then the pod fell open. Shadowheart stumbled out, desperate with relief, only to find herself face to face with what she thought for a fleeting moment was another mindflayer.

She could not be blamed for the misconception; the creature before her was obscured in shadow save for two pinpricks of red burning in their eyes, glinting in the eerie light of the ship. But then the light shifted, and Shadowheart realized it was no mindflayer before her-

It was Naia. The name comes back in a rush, along with many other bits and pieces of recent days.

But where is the artefact?

Shadowheart turns away from the woman, scrambling again over her pockets and satchel. Only when she finally puts a hand to the cold metal does she allow herself a sigh of relief.

“I’m fine.” I have the artefact. I’m alive. I can still complete my mission.

The other woman does not comment on her behavior; she is rather distracted herself, as her gaze sweeps over the ruined landscape around them. Twisted metal, still burning, litters the beach they’ve landed upon.

“What in the hells happened to us?” Naia mutters. She turns her eyes back to Shadowheart, who has to hold back a shudder under that gaze. This is certainly the same tiefling from the ship: short gray horns sticking out above a mess of dark hair, pallid skin which looks a sickly grey in the sunlight, void-dark eyes with pupils rimmed in red that are still far too reminiscent of a mindflayer for comfort.

But she saved Shadowheart, and Shadowheart does not have time to be picky in her choice of help. The mindflayer has planted its tadpoles. Her time is slipping away as they speak. If she wants to make it back to Baldur’s Gate with her mind intact, she’s going to need every ounce of help she can get.

Thus marks the first day of Shadowheart’s tadpole infection, and of her partnership with the tiefling known as Naia Gwaelon.

It’s stumbling chance that leads Naia and Shadowheart to the ruins on that initial leg of their journey. The idyllic little beach they landed on is sorely lacking in supplies; whatever this place was before, it’s now all ruin and wreck and lifeless, luckless fishermen who got caught in the nautiloid’s debris. The heavy stone door is the first sign of real civilization they come across, and all it takes to enter is a few minutes of Naia stubbornly jamming at the lock with makeshift tools.

The inside of the structure offers no more cheer than the beach. What they’ve stumbled upon is clearly an old crypt, complete with rotting skeletons, booby-trapped caskets, and other such classics. Luckily, the offerings left for the dead include a small array of still-viable weapons and armor. Even more luckily, the crypt has apparently already been infiltrated by looters, and Shadowheart is able to hunt down a small stash of food and supplies.

Meanwhile, Naia busies herself hunting down things of another nature.

“Looking for anything in particular?” Shadowheart finally asks after watching the tiefling wander through rows upon rows of coffins with a look on her face which can only be described as reverent curiosity.

Naia’s answer is quiet and distracted, and Shadowheart only catches a few words. “Ancient magic…I don’t even recognize…still traces of magic preservation, but for what purpose?”

Shadowheart shakes her head, not bothering to ask again. Wizards.

It’s funny, in a way. Back on the nautiloid ship, the urgency of their situation meant there was little time for chatter. Then on the beach, with the panic subsided, Naia had seemed too dazed for conversation. Now she’s finally come alive again, and the only things she seems interested in speaking to are the dead.

Shadowheart doesn’t mind, though. She remembers, again and again, that Naia did save her, even though it would have been far easier for her to cut and run. What’s more, Shadowheart remembers the display of angry magic that cut through the mindflayer’s thralls on the nautiloid, and she knows this wizard is not one to be trifled with. Power like that, however odd, should not be squandered.

So Shadowheart allows Naia a few minutes of fascination. The tiefling mutters a few more observations, skittering around the ancient tomb with little grace, apparently having forgotten that Shadowheart is there at all. It’s an amusing sight, in its own way, and it provides the opportunity to rest for a bit in the cool shade, so there is no reason yet for Shadowheart to protest.

Not until Naia presses her hand against a sigil in the old stone wall, and a shimmering, sickly green light erupts in a wave that washes through the crypt. Shadowheart leaps back to her feet, pulling her mace into position just as the petrified bodies decorating the tomb spring to life.

To Naia’s credit, she faces the skeletons without so much as flinching. But it’s still a grueling encounter, especially given everything else both women are still recovering from. When the last skeleton finally collapses into dust at Naia’s feet, she collapses as well, slumping to her knees on the cold stone floor.

Shadowheart is at her side in an instant, holy healing at the ready. Naia tenses at her approach, but upon realizing her intentions allows herself to relax, if only by a fraction. At this point, Shadowheart cannot hold back a sigh as she guides the magic through Naia’ battered body.

“You just had to press the button, didn’t you?”

“The dead typically aren’t so easily offended,” Naia protests weakly. Even in her petulance, her words are curt and stiff. “These were guarding something. Look.”

Shadowheart follows her direction and, yes, there is an opening in the wall that wasn’t there before. And yes, Shadowheart would be lying if she said her interest hasn’t been piqued.

“Good eye. These holy temples are always full of valuable secrets. And after all that, this one had better be something special.” With that, Shadowheart finishes up her spell, scrutinizing Naia’s state as the magic fades from her fingertips. “Feeling better?”

“Somewhat,” Naia answers in a clipped tone. She’s scowling, but not at Shadowheart; as she lifts a hand to her temple, the source of her displeasure becomes obvious. “Better than should be expected, actually.”

“You mean you don’t feel as if tentacles are about to burst from your mouth?” Shadowheart asks. “Me too, funnily enough. But that doesn’t mean we can afford to rest on our laurels. Finding a healer must be our top priority.”

“Couldn't we rest just a little longer? With all those protections, this room should be a safe enough place. I don’t mean to hold us up. I know we need to move, but I-”

Naia’s words are cut off as she hisses in pain. Her hand twitches, fingers trembling, but she pulls away before Shadowheart can inspect her any further. Dark hair- almost violet in the dim light- hangs in her face, obscuring whatever expression is hiding in her scarlet-dotted eyes.

The last thing Shadowheart wishes is for paranoia to get the best of her…yet she cannot help but count back the time it took them to cover the beach and half these ruins. They are nearly twenty-four hours past their time of infection, and the sword hanging over their heads will only continue to lower. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“My magic is drained,” Naia insists. “We already know looters have been rooting around here. If we get killed by them, or by another round of skeletons, our tadpoles won’t matter much at all. I just need a little time to recover.”

Bloody wizards, Shadowheart thinks with another sigh, but she nods. “Fine. I suppose I can’t complain too much. After all, you saved my life on board the ship. How can I do anything but sing your praises?”

The words come out somewhere in between sardonic and sincere, but Naia nods along, her gaze once again taking on that look of distant distraction.

“I keep thinking about that, actually. The ship. Why it took us. I can’t figure it out.”

“It’s how the vile creatures reproduce.”

“I am acutely aware. But do they always take so many? I know nothing about this is normal, but still…something seems strange.”

Shadowheart muses over the point, and her thoughts return to the artefact stowed away in her satchel. She’s positive it’s connected to this, though she can’t fathom a guess as to how.

“The voice on the ship told me I’d become a ‘beautiful weapon’,” Shadowheart admits, turning the memory over in her mind. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”

Naia hums in thought. “Maybe that part was a compliment.”

The words are so unexpected they startle a laugh out of Shadowheart, in spite of everything.

“You’re adorable,” she says, and Naia’s eyes go wide. She is a cute thing, Shadowheart realizes in that moment. An odd sight, certainly, covered as she is in cobwebs and bone dust, but still. Maybe it’s the eyes- now that Shadowheart is somewhat accustomed to the sight, there is something entrancing about their inky darkness.

What’s more, there’s a cleverness to this woman that Shadowheart can’t help but like. It’s for this reason that Shadowheart gives her a teasing smirk as she adds, “But your timing? Just awful.”

Naia blushes under her bruises, and Shadowheart bites back another laugh as she rises to her feet. “Go on, get your rest. I’ll check out this tomb while you do so, and then we can be on our way.”

Day three of Shadowheart’s infection, and something is wrong here.

They’ve gathered more allies by now, all with the same little stowaways in their heads. All blissfully devoid of symptoms.

What it means, Shadowheart can’t begin to say. Maybe it’s all connected to her mission, and the answer is locked away with her memories. Maybe not. The only way to find out is to press on, and hope that she has surrounded herself with allies rather than liabilities.

But Shadowheart has never put much stock in hoping, and her allies are all rather…questionable. A wizard whom they found stuck within a rock, an elf who’s clearly brimming with secrets of his own, and Lae’zel. Not Shadowheart’s first choice of company, to put it lightly.

Naia, however…

Naia continues to surprise. She is withdrawn, yet decisive; wary, yet curious. She wears the bone amulet they uncovered in the crypt on a small chain around her neck, and her spells glimmer with the telltale sickly sheen of necromancy. Naia is the one who might understand, should Shadowheart confide the truth of her mission. She clearly does not draw away from death; why should darkness be any different?

Even so, Shadowheart is smarter than that. She can’t simply go around trusting every woman who wanders through a graveyard. This mission is hers, and hers alone.

But trust is not required to simply enjoy somebody’s company. On the third night they spend together, Shadowheart settles in to join Naia over a campfire dinner, prepared by Gale and accompanied by a bottle of wine. Shadowheart eyes the wine in particular with caution. “This isn’t something else you pilfered from the crypt, is it?”

Naia pauses, lips pursed in thought as she glances down at the bottle. “It’s vintage,” she finally says.

“You’ve an optimistic way of viewing things.”

“The way things are going we’ll likely be dead ourselves within a few days anyway, so what’s the harm?”

“And such a charmer, too.” Shadowheart traces a finger over the bottle in her hand, her mind whirring. No matter how hard she tries- how hard they all try- she knows there really is only one topic on anybody’s mind.

“What would you do if I turned into a mindflayer?” she asks, opting to get straight to the point. “If I turned tonight?”

“I’d kill you.”

Naia’s answer is quick and without malice. A statement of simple fact. It’s the correct answer, yet the frank honesty is so unexpected that for a moment Shadowheart does not have a response at the ready.

A shadow passes over Naia’s face, and she huffs in frustrated embarrassment. “Sorry- I didn’t mean- I don’t want to kill you- I would just have to-”

“Oh, don’t you dare apologize,” Shadowheart interrupts, and Naia’s tense shoulders slump in relief. It is not the first time she has done this- say something without hesitation, then wince as the words leave her mouth. Shadowheart, however, cannot help but respect the pragmatism. “Killing me would be the wise thing to do- and I daresay I’d be happier dead than I would as one of those things. Although I do hope you would miss me after I’m gone. I think I’d miss you, should the roles be reversed.”

It is adorable, how Naia’s night-black eyes widen at the slightest provocation. Those eyes trace over Shadowheart’s face, betraying little yet saying quite a bit all the same.

“I would,” Naia says at last, and Shadowheart smiles. She takes a sip of the wine-

And immediately spits it out, gagging at the taste. “Oh. Oh, no. That was a terrible idea. I think that had bits of undead stuck in the cork.”

Naia laughs- short and low, and Shadowheart realizes it’s the first time she’s heard the sound. It’s…nice. She decides in that moment that as bad things are, she can at least say she likes this new ally of hers. She rises to upend the contents of the tainted wine bottle into the campfire, and she can feel Naa’s gaze follow after her as she goes- and Shadowheart feels fairly confident in saying that Naia seems to like her, too.

#fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #shadowheart #tav x shadowheart #oc: naia #ship: night orchids #midnight black and paris green

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