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 Faerûn.

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 Selûne shining above her. She feels a faint pang of longing as she stares at the very star cluster that plays host to her home, Creche K'liir.

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, having not expected him to be awake at this hour.

She lingers quietly, seeing the sharp definition of his muscles, accented by the sheen of water reflecting the light of the moons. His broad shoulders flex as he gathers his clothes, scrubbing a stubborn stain in the lap of his breeches. The scars that meander aimlessly across his skin are proof of his every victory.

She feels a heat rising within her, relentless and unwanted.

He climbs out of the river, coiling water running down his body, draining from his long dark hair that clings to his neck. He finally catches sight of her as he towels off. "Good morning, Lae'zel. Getting an early start?"

His voice envelops her like a cosmic flame that arches over the body of a comet: serene, bright, and inescapably devastating.

She lifts her chin, shifting focus from the myriad sensations elicited by his presence. She remains disciplined. "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."

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. "An admirable regimen." He tosses the towel on a nearby stone. "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 heads 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 minds for the worm and extracts it. The extraction itself is painful, but for those who endure, they are cured."

"What happened the last time you saw one work? Have you used one before?"

She's taken aback by his question, her bravado deflating. "No, and 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 sinks 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 studies her, carefully. "Tell me about Queen Vlaakith."

Her spirit lifts and her pride garnishes her words. "The Undying Queen is the liberator of the Githyanki people. Millennia ago, she freed us from Ghaik slavery and ended The Grand Design—the Ghaik plot to infect all with these parasites and build an army of thralls. 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!"

Lae'zel watches in despair as a wry smile grows on Vash's face. Her lip turns upward as a surge of frustration finally boils over. "Shka'keth! You are a fool not to see the answer right in front of your eyes! 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.

"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 carefully pulls her hand from his grasp, looking up at him and taking a step back. This moment is not what she had trained herself for. Any creature that dares challenge her faith in her Queen was to be brought low by her sword. But she looks at Vash now and a sinking feeling settles deep within her, and she cannot strike him down.

The air is heavy around her, and she begins to feel trapped. She swiftly returns to her tent and sits quietly, thoughts blazing through her mind.

He allows her to sulk and finishes preparing for the day. Getting dressed and equipping his gear before finally making his way out of camp.

She takes time to settle her mind, though resentment spills through the fractures of her discipline. She takes a deep breath and accepts that her feelings must not interfere with her duties. With difficulty, she finally steps back out into the night. With a quick glance she realizes 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 sparring.

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 from a subtle shifting in the Weave, just before he hears 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 rubs his eyes, and murmurs playfully. "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 and slowly gets to his feet, stretching his aching back and welcoming the dewy morning air.

Lae'zel walks over to Astarion's tent, but he is far less inclined to be disturbed at such an early hour. An agitated groan comes from his tent, and an annoyed hand reaches out, trying to swat her away as if she were some common pest.

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." 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. "If you're expecting me to march into a gith infested hellhole, you're quite mistaken..."

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 palpable absence strikes 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 flesh. His stomach turns and he gently sets his foot down. He looks on with a cool and steady smirk as thoughts begin to race through his mind. "Where is Vash?"

Lae'zel looks up. "He left before the sun rose. But to where, I do not know."

"Ah." He slowly and absent mindedly continues to comb his hair, the strokes done in habit instead of with flair.

Gale wanders over to the camp chest to gather rations for breakfast. He sees her tent still packed neatly where she left it. "It looks like her things are still here. She can't be far."

He proceeds to pick out some sausage, potatoes, and a bounty of eggs. "Should I... cook enough for her? In case she comes back?"

"No." Astarion says, then hesitates. "No, best not to waste rations for now. She may not be hungry when she returns. If she is, then we have apples, don't we?" He carefully wipes the bit of flesh from the bottom of his shoe, rolling it into the dirt.

Gale doesn't argue and crouches next to Lae'zel at the fire pit. With a spark of flames from his fingers, he starts the kindling. He gives her a modest smile and begins to arrange the cooking. Sausage in pan. Potatoes tucked away near the developing embers for proper baking.

As the flames volley from the crackling tinder and the silence stretches his face slowly begins to fall. He gives a sharp inhale and pauses, then breaks the silence. "Is it me or does Vash feel—" He prods the sausage as it begins to curl in the pan. "—off? For lack of a better word. I mean, aside from all of his... everything." He gestures to himself in tandem as he goes down the list. "Scar on his face, dark clothes, a hint of menace. He seems perfectly curated to engender fear, and yet I haven't seen anything from him but a paladin's compassion and generosity."

Lae'zel stares into the flames, quietly listening as Gale continues.

"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."

He glances up at Lae'zel and Astarion.

"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."

She takes a seat near the fire, smelling the food wistfully as it sizzles in the pan. "Honestly, you're not wrong to question him. His behavior at the goblin camp was certainly enlightening."

Astarion looks down at her tight lipped.

She nods, as if agreeing to something within herself and then glances at Gale. "I think maybe it would be best if I show you."

Gale blinks. "What do you mean? Oh, you mean the tadpole?"

Shadowheart nods. "Yes. But let's be done with it quickly. I'm loath to feel this thing wriggling in my skull."

"Of course, if you think it's best." Curiosity is Gale's oldest friend, and he opens his mind to her, willingly.

In an instant he sees it all. The bridge. Crusher's violent maiming. The branding. Mutilating Gut's corpse. Gale's stomach turns over, feeling sick from the relentless brutality. The cool manipulation of Ragzlin. The uncontrolled encounter with Minthara. His justification for culling the grove, coercing her confession regarding her faith, and the violent dalliance that followed. Gale sits up straight, caught off guard by the intimate moment, and he drags gentle fingers across his own neck. At last, he sees Vash's outburst after his exchange with Halsin.

The connection breaks and his face twists into alarm, trying to make sense of what he just witnessed.

"I never imagined that. Maybe some general self-serving behavior, but..." He trails off, running the implications through his mind. "...gosh." He slowly meets everyone's eyes before speaking very carefully. "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 eyes become grave as he stares straight ahead, lost in thought. "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 a bit extreme, but he's competent. 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." He mutters the tail end of his thought. An optimistic lie that he knows better than to believe. As he dwells on the notion, he gently places his fingers on his forehead, still feeling a vague lump.

Shadowheart rolls her neck before ultimately relaxing. "Our situation isn't ideal, in more than one way, it would seem. 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 abruptly stands, snapping at them all. "Tsk'va! I should be the one leading us! It should have been this way from the beginning! I have the solution for us all, and yet we delay. All the while he sates his lust for blood, and we accomplish nothing!"

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. He cracks several eggs into the pan and waits for the backside to cook. "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."

They turn to see Vash round the bend, and 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?"