Chpt 11. The Third Morning
Trigger Warning: Third person perspective shift, religious zealotry, subsequent skepticism, hurt feelings, and talking mad shit behind people's backs.
The soft crooning of morning birds can be heard in the boughs of the trees, a welcome wake-up call in the lands of Faerun. Lae'zel's eyes flick open; the first to rise, ready for her morning warmups. The sky is still dark, the moon bright. She steps out of her tent, looking up to see the Tears of Selune shining above her. This is the star cluster that plays host to her home, Creche K'liir; where she was born and trained. A faint smile crosses her lips, and she stretches deeply before seeing Vash in the river, washing his clothes and bathing diligently.
Her hair stands on end. She's felt it since yesterday; she's never had feelings for anyone who isn't Gith. An istik. She's young, 22 years old, in her second year out in the field. Her lack of experience in dealing with outlanders has made this a challenging exercise. She is attracted to Vash. His proficiency in battle is impressive but is he worthy of her affections? She thinks back on his dalliance with Shadowheart and feels disgust rip through her, but her eyes linger on him. Her desire is relentless, despite herself.
Water sheens on his cool bronze skin, glowing with moonlight. She can see the sharp definition of every muscle as he runs his fingers through his hair. His broad shoulders flex as he gathers his clothes, scrubbing a stubborn stain in the lap of his breeches. She finally sees all his meandering scars, each one a badge of victory. The vague bruising from the ogre's club strike from yesterday's battle still decorates his back. It was a hit he took, only to stand with fury, striking with precision, and obliterating his foe. A fine show of reciprocity, though the result was an explosion of gore. She feels a heat rising within her and she flushes once again.
He climbs out of the river, coiling water running down his body, draining from the dark hair that clings to his neck. He finally spots her as he towels off. "Good morning, Lae'zel. Getting an early start?"
She lifts her chin, not betraying the wash of sensations his naked form stirs within her, "I'm surprised to see you awake, Istik. Your kind typically does not rise before the sun."
Donning his freshly cleaned breeches, he walks over to her, continuing to dry his hair and shoulders. "There are things I need to tend to before the others rise. And you? I could say the same, seeing you up so early."
She rolls her shoulders back, "The Gith are trained to rise and ready ourselves for what the day might bring. Our bodies are tools that must be kept as honed as our blades."
His face shifts into a dry approval, "Disciplined, as you always say. Admirable."
Eyeing him, she gives a curt nod, not needing his validation; but wanting it all the same, "What needs have made you rise at such an hour?"
"A trifling matter that will set our course for the day." He is quiet for a moment, tossing the towel on a nearby stone before addressing her again. "I wanted to ask you about the Zaith'isk."
His curiosity catches her off guard and she tries not to show her eagerness. "It is our only hope for a cure! Surely that should be enough for you, we should have gone to find my people the moment Zorru marked the map."
He looks down at her with a subtle shake of his head, exasperated, "You keep saying that, but I don't know anything about it. What is it? How does it extract the tadpole? For all I know, it splits our head open. Given our luck, that's the least I could expect."
She folds her arms, not amused by his skepticism, "It is a psionic device that probes our mind for the worm, and extracts it. The extraction itself is painful, but for those who endure, they are cured."
Vash looks into her stubborn eyes, "And that's it? What happened the last time you saw one work?"
She's taken aback by his question, her bravado deflating ever so slightly. "I have never witnessed the process, but if we find a creche we can see it for ourselves!"
The realization that this promised cure is simply a thing of faith begins to sink in, and Vash begins to disengage. "I see."
Lae'zel sees this and grows defensive, "My Queen would never lead me astray! I can guarantee this is the cure, if you do not have faith in her then you must in the very least have faith in me!" She struggles to mask the desperation in her eyes.
He watches her scrambling and tries another angle. "Tell me about Queen Vlaakith."
Her spirit lifts. A chance to show him her Queen is worthy of his faith. "The Undying Queen is the liberator of the Githyanki people. Millennia ago, she freed us from Ghaik slavery and ended The Grand Design; a plot to infect every being across the stars with illithid tadpoles and bring them into their thrall. It is because of her that you are not a slave now. The Zaith'isk isn't just a tool for extraction, it is a divine gift, a promise that we will never be slaves to the Ghaik again! She forged within us the will to fight against our oppressors, in return we have sworn our swords to her, and fight in her name!" Pride shines from her eyes as she opens her heart to him, exposing her divine purpose.
Vash watches her quietly before giving her that smile. It's broad and laced with a wry amusement. It's the same cocky grin he gave Minthara when he couldn't come up with a convincing lie, but she recognizes it as a weapon to mask his doubt in her words.
Her frustration boils over, "Shka'keth! You are a fool not to see the answer right in front of that unseemly snout of yours! This is the only way!" She turns to leave but he grabs her wrist. She whirls back around with a piercing stare, but this time she doesn't shout or pull away, she simply waits, watching.
The words that follow are sincere, his tone steady in the face of her stubborn fury. "Lae'zel. Give us time. I promise we will go, but I'm not going to drop everything and chase after a cure you can't explain beyond your faith that it works." She wants to believe him, but his actions have not engendered confidence in his promises.
This is the first time someone has challenged her faith, and it stirs something inside of her. Fear. She was taught to expect such things from outsiders, but this moment doesn't feel anything like how she imagined. She thought she would rage, striking down anyone who dare challenge her Queen, but she looks up at Vash now and a sinking feeling settles deep within her. She's afraid of him for exposing the soft underbelly of her warrior's heart. There is no part of her that wishes to slay him. After all her training, is this the kind of warrior she's become?
Vash finally lets her go and she pauses before returning to her tent. She sits quietly, thoughts blazing through her mind.
He decides to let her sulk and finishes getting ready, leaving the camp to clear his head and focus on the task at hand: eliminating the threats to that godsforsaken grove.
She takes time to settle her mind. How could he not see it? How could she not convince him that Vlaakith is the way, and the Zaith'isk is the answer? How could he ever doubt her to begin with? The more she dwells on it, the more resentful she grows. He's a fool, a reckless fool. If she were leading this team, this whole ordeal would have been done from the beginning. She takes a deep breath. Regardless of her feelings she must not neglect her duties. She finally steps back out into the night and looks around. He's gone, and the others have yet to awaken. She allows herself to relax, grateful for the peace, and begins again with her morning stretches. Her muscles awaken and hunger for battle as she begins practice sparring, working up a sweat. The sky quickly grows light with the golden hues of morning. The exercise works to settle her mind and work up an appetite, and she feels adequately prepared for the day.
Gale feels himself wake just before hearing a firm, yet gentle voice call to him from outside his tent, "Istik. It's time to rise. We shouldn't sleep away the entire morning."
He blinks and rubs his eyes, "Can't we? What's the hurry? Aside from our shared existential doom."
Lae'zel snorts, though whether it's a laugh or discontent, he isn't sure. He abides by her wishes though, and slowly gets to his feet, stretching his aching back and welcoming the dewy morning air. He watches as she walks over to Astarion's tent who is far less inclined to be disturbed at such an early hour. Gale hears agitated mewling coming from his tent and sees an annoyed hand swatting her away as she tries to wake him.
She rolls her eyes and then looks over at Shadowheart's tent, taking a sharp breath in and marching over to her. "Up now. We must prepare for the day." As she reaches the tent, she looms over her, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
Shadowheart rises, blurry eyed, her hair nearly perfect despite the well-earned night of rest. With a deep yawn and stiff stretch, she groans. "What, so we can run faster toward a gith infested hell hole? I'd rather not..."
Lae'zel bites her tongue and chooses to walk away, not interested in any more confrontation this morning. She crouches next to the fire pit and begins to stack wood for the breakfast fire.
Gale glances around the camp, and a realization crosses him, "Where is Alfira?"
Lae'zel had forgotten about the bard, having gone to bed shortly after Vash. "Keen observation, I did not see her in camp this morning."
Astarion elegantly ducks out of his tent. He's still dressed in his ruffled camp shirt and trousers but is preening his curls artfully with a comb. "I'm sure she'll turn up. We're all adults here, who knows what strange morning habits she has." He suddenly steps on something soft and lifts his foot to find a piece of flesh stuck to his shoe. Sticky, covered in dirt, and roughly the size of a marble. He can smell it, the faintest hint of sulfur. Tiefling. His stomach turns and he swiftly sets his foot down, trying to brush off his discovery with a cool and steady smirk.
Gale wanders over to the camp chest to gather rations for breakfast. He notices her tent neatly folded in the chest, along with her pack and two lutes. "It looks like her things are still here. She can't be far." The fact that she's gone and didn't take her pack seems off, but there could be several plausible explanations for this. He tries to shrug off any growing concern and proceeds to pick out some sausage, potatoes, and a bounty of eggs he had gathered while the others were away. He also picked up a few modest pans from the goblin camp and takes the broadest one, crouching next to Lae'zel at the fire pit. With a spark of flames from his fingers, he starts the kindling. He flashes her a bashful smile and begins to arrange the cooking. Sausage in pan. Potatoes tucked away near the developing embers for proper baking.
Watching the flames and prodding the sausage as it begins to sizzle, Gale's mind lingers on Alfira, which stirs a nagging doubt about Vash that has been building for the past few days. Nothing concrete, but enough to warrant a healthy discussion. "Is it me or does Vash feel off? I mean, aside from all of his... everything. Scar on his face, dark clothes, a hint of menace. Every part of his appearance is curated to engender fear, it's almost too on the nose, and yet I haven't seen anything from him but a paladin's compassion and generosity." Astarion stares into the flames and listens, hugging his elbows. "He saved mine and Shadowheart's lives, when we met him. He protected Arabella from that mad druid, Kagha. He invited Alfira to our camp when he learned she lost her teacher. Now he's even rescued Halsin and agreed to save the grove! Yet still, I can't help but sense an air of volatility about him. The weave crackles when he's around and it sets my teeth on edge."
Shadowheart approaches, proudly donning her Sharran mail. "I'm guessing he's gone, is that why we're talking about him behind his back?"
Gale smiles sheepishly, "I'm not trying to gossip, just seeing what you all make of him."
Astarion considers his words carefully before speaking. The haunting feeling of the soft gore beneath his foot fresh on his mind. It was Tiefling to be sure, and although Alfira and Vash are both infernal, he knows full well who it came from. "You're more right than you realize. His behavior at the Goblin Camp was unhinged to say the least. I'll admit, I goaded him on at certain points, but I can't claim responsibility for all his actions." He looks at Shadowheart, "Darling, do you think you can share our adventure with Gale? Using the tadpole? I honestly don't know if I could do it justice, and I only ask you because it involves some things you may want to keep to yourself."
She is unflinching and looks over at Gale, "I apologize if this ends up being a bit much for you, but I think it's important we're on the same page."
Gale lets Shadowheart in, curiosity being his oldest friend. In an instant he sees it all. The bridge. Crusher's violent maiming. Mutilating Gut's corpse. The volatile eruption from the ogre. Gale's stomach turns over, feeling sick from the relentless brutality. The cool manipulation of Ragzlin. The panting obedience-and subsequent disobedience with Minthara. His justification for culling the grove, and Shadowheart's placation of his carnal urges. Gale sits up straight and blushes, caught off guard by the intimate moment. Shadowheart's Sharran confession and finally Vash's outburst after his exchange with Halsin.
The connection breaks and his face twists into alarm, gently rubbing his hand across his chest, trying to make sense of what he just witnessed. "I never imagined that. Maybe some general self-serving behavior, sure, but that was-I don't know. I can see why you needed the tadpole. That was indescribable." He stares intently at the cooking food, considering the visions, before looking back up at the others, "Should a man like that be leading us?"
Astarion points his comb at him, "And what do you suggest? That we mutiny? He's already tried to strangle me and Shadowheart, and you've seen the kind of violence he relishes." He pauses and his face falls, devoid of his usual snark, "I've known men like him. They don't give up control easily and severely punish those who try to take it. We may not have a choice." He takes a false breath in through his nose, "No. He may be unstable, but he knows what he's doing. If we can keep him happy, then we should be safe. Besides, somewhere in that cold heart of his, he seems to care about us, for whatever that's worth." An optimistic lie he knows better than to believe. He thinks back to the headbutt he received just to even a paltry score. It was easily brushed off as brutish man-folk behavior, but he sees it now as something else entirely. A true desire to harm. He feels foolish for having miscalculated him, a mistake he won't make again. He carefully rubs his foot on the ground, making sure the bit of flesh is gone.
Shadowheart's arms are folded, contemplating their position. She carefully runs her fingers across her neck. The conversation stirs the memory of struggling for breath, and the sensation of his claws gouging her skin. Erotic, though unrelenting. It was not what she expected after all the softness and platonic affection he had shown her. "Our situation isn't ideal, in more than one way, it would seem."
Gale shakes his head, like a concerned brother, "Why did you agree to couple with him? After everything you saw."
Her face settles into a dutiful resolve, proud of her decision, "It is a part of my training, such things are necessary and can be powerful tools when you're on a mission. My communion with Vash was nothing compared to the things I've done in the name of Shar. The only concern I have is that he didn't notice he was doing it. That kind of lack of control is not ideal in a leader. We'll have to keep an eye on him."
Lae'zel's restless heart rises, thinking back on everything he's done, and his blatant dismissal of her clear path forward. She finally snaps, "Tsk'va! I should be the one leading us, it should have been this way from the beginning! I have a solution for us all, and yet we delay. All the while he sates his lust for blood, and we accomplish nothing but this growing discord!"
With a snort, Astarion waves his comb in the air, talking with his hands like he's conducting his own thoughts, "You sound so certain about this creche. I still don't see why they'd be willing to help us all, Githyanki aren't exactly welcoming to outsiders."
She does nothing to hide her frustration, "Why is it that none of you have faith in me when my directive is clear?!"
Gale pulls the sausage from the pan as he listens to the others, replacing them with several eggs that he begins scrambling, engrossed in their considerations. "It's not that we don't have faith in you, Lae'zel. We just don't know enough about this cure to see its potential. The prospect of this Zaith'isk is fascinating, though. Truth be told, I don't know as much about Githyanki culture as I would like. I was hoping to ask you more about it when we got a chance."
Lae'zel glances at him, his interest is a reprieve from the suffocating obstinance coming from the others. She gives him a rare and refined smile but quickly corrects herself. "It is wise of you to want to know. I am willing to answer any questions you may have."
His face brightens, anticipating the opportunity, but the moment breaks suddenly. He looks up toward the path leading to the Druid's Grove. "He's coming." A visible shudder runs through him. Knowing what he knows now, the crackling weave is putting him more on edge than before.
They turn to see Vash round the bend, an ominous dark figure slowly making his way toward them. But something is different about him, a subtle dark energy bends around him, seen only now that he's at a distance perhaps? To their shock he's followed closely by a cheerful blonde Tiefling woman. She's smiling and grabbing his arm, a backpack slung over her shoulder. Everyone can hear them chatting before breaking out into laughter as she shoves him, and they laugh again.
Lae'zel straightens her back, her eyes tracking the two closely. Astarion's lips are pursed, but he soon settles into his usual roguish smile.
As Vash sees them, his face falters. The woman senses it too, tension lingering in the air like a shroud of caution. His jovial demeanor has melted away and he meets everyone with concern, ready to take charge once again. "What's going on? Did something happen?"