Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Lycelle didn’t waste a moment; the instant the goblins loosed their arrows into the tiefling at the gate winch, she’d jumped off the rock she’d been observing the argument on and charged into the fray. Behind her she could hear someone, probably Astarion, yell something akin to “what in the hells are you-” before leaping into the fight as well.

The goblins charging on the gate outnumbered the adventurers outside at least three to one. Hardly a fair fight, Lycelle thought as she channeled sacred fire at the goblin that had shot the tiefling up on the wall. Judging by the screams from up top, it wasn’t looking too good for the man. Maybe she could get up there in time to heal-

A loud, blaring horn tore her from her thoughts. The instrument must have been enchanted, as she felt her body become lighter, more agile. She looked up at the wall to see a man, a human probably, leap down from the ledge and skewer a goblin right through the neck. Gory though it was, it was clear this man had excellent technique. Thank the gods he was on her side.

She didn’t have time to consider much else, however, as she was promptly thrown to the ground by a worg she hadn’t seen coming. The creature lunged for her throat and she could only just hold it off with her mace between its teeth. It was clear the worg was far stronger than her, and it would only be a matter of time before-

There was a series of subsequent bursts, and the worg rolled over, dead. The smell of magic hung heavy in the air, and Lycelle looked up to see who had shot the worg. On top of the wall stood a tall tiefling in armor who had clearly just cast that spell, though she couldn’t make out much more in her dazedness. The tackle had knocked the wind out of her.

Something made of glass shattered next to Lycelle, and she braced herself for the burn of fire or the sting of acid, but was pleasantly surprised when she felt the hurts she’d accrued over the day mending themselves, just a little.

As her vision stabilized, she could see the man who’d skewered the goblin holding a hand down to her. “Look alive, friend,” he said. This close, Lycelle could tell his eyes were two different colors. Shrugging away unimportant details for the time being, she took the offered hand and with her other, swung her mace at a goblin that was attempting to get the jump on the man. It connected, and the goblin went down with a sickening crack as the weapon presumably damaged his skull.

“Thanks!” she exclaimed. The sound of footfalls echoed behind her and she swung around to see what it was, only to relax upon seeing Astarion dash past her.

“Introductions later, survival now!” he yelled, stabbing another goblin through the gut with a dagger Lycelle could see he had liberally coated in poison. She wondered if it had been that way when he’d had it at her throat mere hours before.

One of the adventurers, the woman, howled in pain as a goblin’s arrow tore through her shoulder. Lycelle was over to her side in a flash, shoving the goblin that had shot the woman down off the ledge. A quick spell later, and the woman’s arm was at the very least usable. Full healing could wait until after combat.

Hopping down from the ledge, she quickly ducked as a bolt of ice shot over her head and at a nearby bugbear.

“Be careful!” she shouted to Gale. The bolt the wizard had fired connected with the bugbear and knocked him flat on his back. One of the adventurers, the one who’d been yelling at the gate guards, swiftly finished the bugbear off with a swing of his weapon.

After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes at most, the goblins lay dead.

A quick survey of the field revealed almost everyone was , but no one - save for the first tiefling shot - was dead. The tall tiefling who had shot the worg started frantically gesturing. “That was the last of them!” he shouted. “Inside, all of you! More may follow! Open the gate!”

Seeing no reason to argue, Lycelle sprinted in as soon as the way was clear. When she felt she was relatively safe, she bent over to catch her breath, her hands on her knees.

“What is wrong with you?” someone to her right asked. She turned to see Astarion, bleeding from a wound on his side. “This wasn’t our problem.”

“I wasn’t going to stand by while innocent people died.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “For all we know, they could be murderers or-” He moved to gesticulate for emphasis, but winced as it stressed the wound on his side. Lycelle held out her hand and applied healing magic to her companion.

The wound on his side healed, leaving only smooth, pale flesh underneath. The doublet was likely a lost cause. Astarion was mildly surprised.

Lycelle just raised an eyebrow.

He immediately changed his expression to one of mild irritation. “Hmph, don’t waste your magic on mere flesh wounds. We have bigger problems than cuts and bruises ,” he said, clearing his throat. It was clear there was something more to this, but it wasn’t Lycelle’s business to pry.

In response, Lycelle couldn’t help but frown “You’re welcome ,” she said dryly, turning around to survey the area around them. It was a grove of some sort, this much was apparent. Was it a tiefling settlement? All she could see were tieflings.

Lycelle peeked up to the top of the wall to see that, unfortunately, there was nothing she could do for the man that had been shot. Her magic wasn’t strong enough yet for resurrection.

Deciding intervening with the grieving family was likely insensitive, she sighed and muttered a quick prayer to Ilmater to protect the soul of the poor man before continuing on. It was sad, but if there was nothing she could do, there was nothing she could do. It still tugged at her heartstrings, though.

As she climbed the hill, she could hear the sounds of an argument.

“There are children here, you fool!” It was the tall tiefling, her momentary savior. He was tense, ready to fight as evidenced by his clenched jaw and swishing tail. The target of his rage was the adventurer who’d come knocking at the gate in the first place.

If there were indeed children in this settlement, then Lycelle was certain she’d made the right decision to intervene.

“We was runnin’ for our lives,” the adventurer sneered, rough accent betraying the trade of a mercenary. It was a fair argument, depending on the circumstances; still risky considering the number of innocent civilians that populated the area, though.

“You led them straight to us, and you let them take the druid too. Unbelievable!” the tiefling snarled, his fangs bared in his livid state.

Lycelle cleared her throat, feeling the need to at least try and diffuse the tension. “W-we were just passing by-”

The adventurer snapped his head to look at her. “I didn’t ask for any goddamn help, drow .”

She flinched at the pejorative. Even out here in the country, it looked like she was going to face problems.

“Please,” the tiefling scoffed, rolling his eyes, which Lycelle could see now were literally glowing with fire. “You were begging me to open the gate. Anything to save yourself, you coward .”

This set the adventurer off. Before Lycelle could even move to intervene, the man decked the tiefling with a nasty-looking left hook. The tiefling crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Behind Lycelle, Gale winced, hissing in sympathy.

Without really thinking, Lycelle shot forward and grabbed the adventurer’s arm to prevent him from harming the tiefling further. “Stop!” she exclaimed. “More violence won’t bring back those who were lost.”

The adventurer wrenched his arm away from Lycelle. “Get yer filthy drow hands offa me.” He spat in her direction. “Shoulda done that a long time ago. Arrogant prick had it out for me from day one.”

“Aradin, she’s right,” one of the others, the woman Lycelle had healed earlier, spoke up. “Let’s just go. There’s nothing else for us here.”

The man - Aradin - scowled at her but relented. “We should’ve never come to this shithole. First it’s crawlin’ with foulbloods and now the drow cavalry’s shown up? Count me out.” Without another word, Aradin stomped off, leaving his two comrades to exchange worried glances with one another before silently following.

“Well, he seems a… pleasant fellow,” Astarion quipped. “Now, are we done here, or are you going to find a cat to rescue from a tree? Maybe a frail old woman to escort across the way?”

Lycelle ignored Astarion’s jab and instead turned her attention to the tiefling, who seemed to slowly be coming around. Cleric instinct taking over, she moved to crouch next to him. Her three companions merely watched.

The man groaned, eyes fluttering open. Lycelle watched as the flames danced and flickered back into focus. “Ngh, mragreshem …” He moved to sit up with a wince.

“Easy, that was a nasty punch,” Lycelle said. She examined his face closely. He was rather handsome, she saw, but filed that thought away in favor of a medical analysis. Nothing seemed broken, but he was likely going to sport a gnarly bruise later.

“That was a cheap shot, was what it was,” he replied. “I should’ve seen it coming.” He took his first proper look at Lycelle, flaming eyes examining her face. She suddenly felt self-conscious. “What I didn’t expect was help out there from a drow.” Her heart fell; him, too? But then his expression changed to an easy smile and her anxiety lessened a little. “Thank you - I’m Zevlor.”

Lycelle bit her lip nervously. “Do you have something against drow?” she asked, standing and offering Zevlor a hand up. It came out less confident than she meant it to.

He took it, shaking his head. “I meant no insult.” He held his hands out in a placating gesture once he’d gotten his balance, and to his credit Lycelle did feel more at ease. “It’s just simply that yours are a people at war with themselves. I’ve never known them to care for outsiders.”

Lycelle sighed. “I’m only half -drow, if that makes any difference. I’ve lived on the surface for years.” She looked away and to the ground. “I’m an outsider too.”

Zevlor’s gaze softened as a twinge of guilt crossed his features.. “I understand. All the same, you still have my thanks. It could have turned nasty without you and your friends.”

Oh, she’d nearly forgotten. “And thank you ,” Lycelle replied.

“Pardon?” Zevlor asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lycelle held his gaze, swallowing down her sudden bout of nervousness. Was the tadpole fever taking root already? “For saving me. I thought that worg was going to be the end of me.”

“Of course. You came to our aid, so I came to yours. I may be a civilian now, but the Hellriders never leave an ally behind if they can help it.”

A Hellrider? So he’d been in Elturel when-

Oh. No wonder he was on the road. When Lycelle had heard about what had happened there, and the subsequent backlash innocent tieflings faced as a result, her heart had broken for them. She’d spent some time praying to Ilmater that they would have a safe journey to better lands.

… Maybe it had been Ilmater’s will that she was in the right place at the right time. But if that were the case, had it been his will that the mindflayers had snatched her in the first place? She didn’t know, and she didn’t want to know.

Regardless of the circumstances, she was glad to have been able to help Zevlor and his people.

“Well, you have my thanks, just as I have yours.” She gave him a sweet, genuine smile which he couldn’t seem to help but return. For a moment, they merely locked eyes, and Lycelle could hear her heart thudding dully in her ears.

The sound of someone clearing their throat in a deliberate cadence broke the spell. “I believe you mentioned a druid?” Astarion butted in. “Astarion, by the way. Charmed.” He bowed politely, perhaps polite to the point of sarcasm; Lycelle didn’t have a good enough read on the man yet to be sure.

Zevlor nodded. “Yes, the druid Halsin. He left on an expedition with Aradin and his team, and apparently they left him behind.” He scowled. “Cowards. As for Halsin, he’s the leader of a whole circle here.”

“Druids? That means healers, more than one,” Shadowheart said, joining in on the conversation before adding a quick, “I’m Shadowheart.”

“Gale, wizard of Waterdeep.”

Zevlor took a moment to look at each party member, flaming eyes flicking back and forth. Eventually those eyes fell back on Lycelle, Zevlor having apparently decided she was the leader. She stiffened a little as he held her gaze. “I’m glad to meet you all. Thank the gods you happened by when you did.” He looked around the grove with a heavy sigh. “If you’re looking for a healer, your best bet was Halsin. But he never made it back from Aradin’s outing. I can only hope he’s out there somewhere…”

“Anyone else that could help us?” Shadowheart asked. “We have two healers with us, but this is a… question that requires an expert.”

“Hmm… you could try his apprentice, Nettie. But I’m afraid you’ll probably have to make it quick. We’re… guests here, and I’m afraid we’ve worn out our welcome. The druids are in the middle of a ritual to close the grove off from the outside world. I’m afraid this attack will only strengthen their resolve.”

Lycelle thought for a moment. “I could look into it?”

“Oh no,” Astarion said, scowling. “We are not messengers. We’re here to look for a healer, and then go .”

“You’d really just disregard the lives of dozens of people for your own sake?” Lycelle retorted, appalled.

Astarion blinked. “Yes?” he said, as if this were a no-brainer. “This isn’t our problem.”

“He has a point,” Zevlor relented. “You’ve already done more than we could ever repay you for.” He gave Lycelle a serious look. “We’re raised to fear the drow, but you’ve more than earned your place here. I’ll make sure everyone knows that.”

Lycelle felt heat rushing to her cheeks, and she knew her face was probably fairly flushed by now. “T-Thank you, Zevlor,” she said, giving a polite half bow.

Zevlor nodded. “Of course. You’ve done my people a service - it’s the least I can do. You’ll find Nettie in the inner grove… just follow the sound of chanting. As for me, well…” He frowned, turning his gaze up to the top of the wall, where the faint sound of sobbing could be heard. “I have a funeral to arrange,” he said, expression weary and woeful.

“May Ilmater guide and protect his soul. His suffering has ended,” Lycelle prayed. “I only wish there was something I could have done.”

That got another small smile from Zevlor. “Thank you. If you have need of anything, I’ve taken up headquarters in the cave opposite the path to the inner grove. You can’t miss it.” He’d only taken about a handful of steps away before looking back over his shoulder. “Oh, and don’t let Mattis talk you into buying anything.”

Lycelle blinked before nodding slightly. Without realizing, she just stood and watched him go for a moment.

A hand on her shoulder grabbed her attention away from Zevlor’s retreating figure. “If you’re done ogling him,” Astarion quipped, “Let’s find this ‘Nettie’ and see if she can’t help us.”

Another deep blush. “I-I wasn’t-”

“You were,” Astarion replied dryly, already about three paces down the way.

~

Lycelle couldn’t sleep. In all honesty, she thought she would be out like a light after everything that had happened today, but apparently the nocturnal nature of her drow half was winning tonight.

The group had reunited with the githyanki woman from the ship, Lae’zel. They’d also discovered the man who’d stepped in and tossed a potion to Lycelle during the goblin fight, Wyll, was infected like them. Now a group of six, they had plans to set out to find this ‘Halsin’ at first light. Astarion had wanted to set out right away, but everyone else had finally managed to convince him it was a terrible idea to be roaming the countryside at night. Astarion may have been able to see in the dark, but half their group couldn’t. Even Shadowheart, who’d seemed set from the beginning to go straight to a healer and do nothing else, had relented.

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that their first try with Nettie was such a drastic failure…

Lycelle scratched at her arm where the bandages sat. Had she been at full strength, she’d have healed the wound and hopefully purged Nettie’s poison by now, but after an unexpected run in with a group of harpies, she’d used all the magic she could muster just to keep everyone standing.

At least they’d managed to save two children today.

The antitoxin Nettie had given Lycelle after her protests to the idea of unconsenting euthanasia had prevented her from getting seriously ill or dying, but the wound where the toxic thorn had punctured her skin itched and burned. Hopefully with the spoils they’d taken from the harpies’ nest, they could purchase healing potions and proper camping supplies in the morning.

Tonight, they slept on the wooden floor in the grove, in the space that Aradin and friends had so angrily abandoned earlier that day. Lycelle had allowed herself a bit of spite as she helped herself to the fruit the man had left in a backpack.

Everyone else in her group was either asleep or (in Astarion’s case) trancing. Watching him, Lycelle couldn’t help but full-elves’ and their ability to just… close their eyes and trance when it was dark (or rather, trance at all ). Becoming diurnal was perhaps the one thing she had never gotten used to since leaving the Underdark. The night was when she was at her most alert and coherent… but it was also when ‘normal’ people slept.

Though the sun bothered her far less than a full drow, she’d never been overly fond of bright days. She’d expected the worst of headaches when she’d awoken on the beach next to Shadowheart, but… nothing. Other than physical exhaustion and the looming knowledge of… whatever Gale had called their inevitable transformation, she felt fine. Better than fine, as the other half-elf had put it as they raided the rations Aradin had left behind.

After what had felt like eternity tossing and turning on her borrowed threadbare bedroll, Lycelle gave up and threw the scratchy cover off of her. She was still fully clothed save for the outer layer of her armor, which lay tucked away to the side of the bedroll. Proper backpacks would come tomorrow, hopefully.

Lycelle had half a mind to ‘accidentally’ knock something over onto Astarion, but decided to be the bigger person and just go for a walk. The man was slowly growing on her, but had also decided to tease her all day about her apparent interest in a certain tiefling.

It wasn’t like that! She’d just found Zevlor to be a pleasant surprise amidst the ordeal that this entire trip had been so far. That was the only reason he had occupied her thoughts for most of the day, honest! And yes, maybe he was handsome in a mature, worldly way. But that didn’t mean she was interested! It just meant that she’d noticed something obvious.

For example, it was also obvious that Astarion himself was handsome. Not Lycelle’s type, though; something about his appearance pinged her as being… off? He claimed to be a high elf, but those red eyes… could it be that he, like Lycelle, had drow heritage? That didn’t explain the teeth, though, but the most obvious answer there had already been ruled out by the fact that they’d been running around in broad daylight for hours.

Leaving the enigma that was the frustrating man to the side for now, Lycelle stepped quietly down from the wooden platform that was their makeshift sleeping place for tonight. Many tieflings were scattered around the area, snug in their bedrolls and fast asleep.

Making her footfalls as quiet as she could, she climbed the hill towards the gate. Maybe gazing at the stars for a little while would put her at ease.

Even though she had lived on the surface for years already, the stars never failed to instill a sense of wonder in Lycelle. The Underdark had been beautiful in its own way, but nothing could compare to that sunless sea above.

They’d already buried the man who had been shot, his grave set at the far end of the wall. Kanon was his name, someone had told her later; Lycelle wished she had gotten the chance to at least speak with him. 

Standing next to the gate winch, Lycelle leaned forward onto the railing and gazed up at the stars with a sigh. Astronomy wasn’t her strong suit, but if she looked for long enough she could find the odd constellation or two. The night was blissfully clear and still, making it the perfect opportunity for stargazing.

When her neck began to hurt from keeping it craned, she lowered her head and closed her eyes, taking in the sensations of the night. Crickets chirped endlessly on, creating a blanket of white noise that served to soothe her. There was a gentle breeze coming in from the direction of the sea, and Lycelle could smell the faintest hint of salt mixed in with the flowers of the grove.

Compared to the chaos of the day, this was downright blissful. She could stay out here for an age, just taking in the sensations. Sadly, that wouldn’t be very conducive to finding a cure for her… condition.

“Can’t sleep?” a voice inquired. She jumped, turning to face the figure, ready to potentially fight until she realized it was just Zevlor. His eyes actually glowed in the dark of night, and Lycelle felt the sight draw her in.

A moment passed, then another before Lycelle realized she was probably gawking. “Zevlor, hello. U-uh,” she stammered. “No, I can’t. I’m nocturnal by nature. I guess I have my mother to thank for that.” She gave the man a tired smile.

Zevlor nodded. “I’m a bit of a night owl myself. It’s why I take the midnight watch. What’s got you all the way out here?”

Lycelle sighed. “I figured a walk would clear my head… metaphorically, at least.” This earned her a raised eyebrow from Zevlor, but he didn’t press the issue.

Instead, the man came to stand next to her, also gazing out to the scenery beyond as he too leaned forward onto the railing. Goblin blood still littered the ground; it would likely stay that way until the next rains came.

This close, Lycelle could tell that Zevlor practically radiated warmth. Even with the respectful distance between them, she could feel it. She wondered if it was a tiefling thing, or specifically related to whatever gave him those flickering, flaming eyes…

“Are you cold?” he asked suddenly.

Lycelle blinked. “Huh?” It was then that she noticed that subconsciously, she had shifted a lot closer to him. Now the heat she felt wasn’t just from him, but also from her own embarrassment. “O-oh! No, I’m fine. Just tired. A lot happened after we got here.” She took a big step back, giving him his space.

“I heard about what happened in the grove.” He turned fully to her. “Thank you, truly, for saving those children.”

“Of course! I feel as if that’s what any decent person would have done.”

Zevlor sighed. “Sadly, I think ‘decent people’ are in short supply these days. What Arabella did was wrong, but she’s just a child. She’ll grow and learn from her mistakes. And Kagha was just going to…” He clenched his fist before taking a deep breath and relaxing it. “This grove is indeed much poorer for losing Halsin.”

“At first light, we’re setting out to where he’s been. We need his expertise, and you need a friendly face.” Lycelle said. “We appreciate your hospitality for the night.”

“It was the least I could do. Otherwise, Aradin’s belongings would have likely gone to waste,” Zevlor replied, the ghost of a smirk on his face. The expression made Lycelle’s heart skip a beat and she tried to tell herself it was the late hour and her exhaustion speaking.

Lycelle cleared her throat. “A-anyway, the other thing I really want to know is how a group of harpies got so close to the grove in the first place.”

Zevlor’s expression turned serious. “I agree. I don’t know how Mirkon got past those damned druids at the bottom of the stairs, but the harpies shouldn’t have even been in the cove in the first place. I just wish I could have been there to help. I ran over as soon as I heard about the harpies from Arabella’s parents, but the druids threatened to maul me if I even took a step past their gate. I had half a mind to run in anyway, but I had to think of my people. Surely they would have forced us out right then and there.”

“They were hard pressed to even let me through. Something about drow being forbidden. It was only on Kagha’s orders they let me in,” Lycelle said, frowning. “It hurts.”

“I know it does. Just like it hurts every time they call us foulbloods .” Zevlor’s eyes softened, and he gave her a sympathetic smile. “I trust my people have been more welcoming?”

Nodding, Lycelle’s face brightened. “They have! I guess word spread fast. No matter how much my companions grumble, I know I did the right thing.”

“Would that more people had your resolve. I hope your search for answers has been going well.”

Should she tell him the truth? Could she trust this man?

Maybe a little bit of the truth, she decided. Not all of it, considering the last person she’d consulted on it had tried to kill her. “It hasn’t, not at all,” she said, scratching at her bandages again.

“What happened?”

“ Nettie happened,” she replied, holding up her right arm. “Apparently she thought the only cure for what ails us was a quick death. She poisoned me, and only gave me the antidote because my comrades threatened her.”

Zevlor looked livid. “The nerve … You save them from goblins and this is how they repay you? Unbelievable. This just gets worse and worse.” He studied her for a moment, and Lycelle felt herself shifting under his intense gaze. “Are you alright?”

Truth be told, Lycelle didn’t know. She had a tadpole in her head and the remnants of a deadly poison coursing through her veins, but she was breathing and standing with all of her limbs intact, so...

“I… think so?” she finally answered. “I’d have healed this by now, but I used just about the last of my magic for today to take down the harpies. And I’d do it again if I had to.”

“I know you would.” Zevlor sighed, thinking for a moment. “I’m no druid, but I’ve learned battlefield medicine over the years. Come back to my headquarters with me, and I’ll see if I can do something about it.”

Go somewhere alone with a strange man… Lycelle knew logically this wasn’t a smart idea, but also she found she inherently trusted Zevlor.

“What about your watch?”

“It’s almost time for Tilses to come and relieve me. I’ll just meet her at the door first.” Without another word, he turned and started down the ladder. Lycelle followed, noting that while standing at the bottom, Zevlor had his arms poised to catch her should she slip. That was very sweet of him, she thought. She hoped his darkvision wasn’t strong enough to catch the blush on her face at the thought of falling into his arms…

(She really needed to rest, apparently. If she was having delirious thoughts like this, she was already past fatigue and well into exhaustion.)

If Zevlor had noticed anything, however, he refrained from commenting. She appreciated that, truly.

It was quiet as the two walked. She fell into step behind and to the left of him, like a military flank. She was used to this from her days in the Underdark, where her job usually ended up being ‘distraction’ from the time she was old enough to hold a sword. This was different, however, more peaceful. Zevlor glanced once back at her, and noticing her formation, merely nodded and continued on.

As they passed where her companions rested, Lycelle noticed that Astarion was now out of his trance, reclining against a wall and reading a book. Would that she could trance. Twice the rest in half the time, lucky bastard.

When he saw Lycelle and Zevlor walking towards the cave entrance together, he made a dramatic show of closing his book and giving Lycelle the most curious look he could muster. Lycelle put a finger to her lips in a ‘shh’ gesture, and Astarion responded with a smirk and a wink. No amount of convincing would make Astarion believe this wasn’t what it looked like, Lycelle realized as she resigned herself to another day of teasing to come.

The door to the cave was deceptively large; a small panel slid to the side to let them in.

“Tilses?” Zevlor called. “Are you awake?”

Another tiefling came down a set of stone ledges. “Right here, Commander,” she greeted.

Commander? Oh, so this man wasn’t just a Hellrider, he was an important Hellrider. And here Lycelle had been talking to him like they were of equal standing; that was embarrassing.

But to Lycelle’s surprise, the title merely made Zevlor sigh. “Tilly, how many times have I told you-”

“I know. But with all due respect, sir, you’ll always be our Commander. The Hellriders are for life. They can’t take that away from us,” Tilses said, resolute. Her gaze shifted from Zevlor to Lycelle. “You brought the drow?”

Lycelle shrunk back a little. Here we go, she thought.

“ Half -drow,” Zevlor corrected sternly. “And she’s earned the right to be here just as all of the others have. One of the druids severely injured her, and I’m going to see if there’s anything I can do.”

Tilses scowled. “Bastards, thinking they can do whatever they want…” she muttered. She then looked back at Lycelle. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just blurted that out like that. Not after what I’ve been through.” She offered a hand. “I’m Tilses. I'm in charge of keeping Zevlor safe.”

“Er, Lycelle,” she replied awkwardly, taking the hand. The woman had a firm grip.

“You’re the one that helped at the gate?” Tilses asked. Lycelle nodded. “Thank you, we could use another sword. But don’t cause any trouble. We’re on thin ice enough as is.”

This seemed to be something Zevlor was used to. “It’s alright, Tilly. Lycelle and her friends are moving on soon, anyway. They intend to look for Halsin.”

“The First Druid? Maybe if he were here he could make that witch Kagha see sense…”

Zevlor sighed. “If anyone could, it’s him,” he said, looking at Lycelle. “That you’re willing to look for him is a service in and of itself. I wish I could help you, but I still have my people’s concerns to deal with.”

“I know. I just hope I can help both of our groups like this. I don’t know how I feel about marching into a whole group of goblins, but… I’ll do it.” Lycelle steeled her expression and tried her best to look confident.

“You’re a braver soul than I, friend,” Tilses quipped, hefting a sheathed sword over her shoulder. “Maybe looking the part isn’t a bad thing, then. Goblins are supposed to like drow, right?”

Lycelle actually hadn’t thought of that. That… was something she could use to her advantage. “I… that’s a really good idea that I’d yet to consider. Thank you,” she said, giving a smile to the other woman. It was a little bit forced however, as the woman’s comments, innocent as they had been intended, had just made her feel worse.

Tilses grinned, her fangs gleaming in the low firelight. “I wouldn’t be shocked if you could just waltz right in there. Now there’s a battle plan.” She looked at Zevlor. “Is it my turn?”

Zevlor nodded. “Yes. Find me if there’s any trouble. Lakrissa should find you when it’s time to swap shifts.”

She saluted. “Understood, Comm- er, Zevlor.”

“Be careful out there, alright?” he asked, eyes softening. He didn’t even bother to complain about the title this time. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Of course.” With one last smile, Tilses left the cave, leaving just Lycelle and Zevlor.

Lycelle hung her head, her copper hair obscuring her crimson eyes. Did people look at her and just see a drow? She knew of the Seldarine drow, drow that had broken away from the ways of being Lolth-sworn, but they often had hair of white and eyes of amethyst. Lycelle, on the other hand, had her mother’s ruby eyes and her father’s strikingly copper hair. Combined, she stuck out quite a bit in a crowd.

“Are you alright?” Zevlor asked softly. Lycelle snapped her head up and tried to hide her expression; she’d only just met this man, there was no way she was going to show weakness around him.

(Seemed like she was right about the bruising, if Zevlor’s left eye was any indication)

“I’m great,” she said, faking a smile. “Except for the poison, of course.”

It didn’t look like Zevlor believed her. “Is that so?” 

Damn, he was good. “Just… thinking. Do I really look…” She trailed off, hand reaching up to gesture vaguely at her face.

“I’ll admit I thought you were a full drow when I first saw you. It didn’t stop me from running to your aid, since the next thing I saw was you swinging at the goblins instead of with them.”

Lycelle frowned. “Would it have been so bad if I were? A full drow, I mean.”

It looked like Zevlor truly needed to consider that for a moment before he shook his head. “No. Like the rest of my people, I’ve been raised to fear and suspect the drow. But then I saw how easily trust and faith in a whole people could be completely shattered by the actions of a single individual. That was the day I promised only to judge a person on their actions rather than their background.”

A logical response, Lycelle thought. “I wish other people thought about it like that. At least in the city it’s just the occasional snide remark or nasty look.”

“You’re from Baldur’s Gate?”

She paused for a moment to word her answer. “Yes… and no. I was born and raised in the Underdark. It was only by the grace of my mother’s position as a high priestess that I wasn’t left for dead. Had I been male, they likely would have anyway.” Her way of explaining this was nonchalant, like the very idea of her almost having been killed at birth was something that had been explained to her many times over the years in order to keep her in line.

(It was.)

Instead of interjecting, Zevlor just watched her patiently. Grateful, Lycelle continued. “It was clear I was to be their scout on the surface and, should it be necessary, their lamb to the slaughter. So when I was around thirteen, not even old enough to be out on my own, I left and went to Baldur’s Gate to find my father. That was half my life ago.”

“Did you find him?”

“Yes. They’d never had a relationship, just a chance encounter that led to my existence, a single night. But she’d told me enough about him that I was able to locate him and his shop. It’s… funny, how alike we look. I got my unfortunate hair color from him.” She smiled wryly.

A moment of silence passed between them. “What happened?” Zevlor finally asked.

“He’d had no idea I even existed. Like my mother had said, it was one encounter. She disappeared back to the Underdark and he continued on with life. I expected him to throw me out of the shop or call the guards on me. But he didn’t. He took me in and taught me his trade. I was never any good at it, blacksmithing, but with the right tools I can do some minor repairs, make some horseshoes… little things like that.” She then realized something. “Gods preserve, he’s probably worried sick about me.”

Zevlor let out a sigh of relief, clearly having expected the story to have a sadder turn. “It might not be a bad idea to send him a letter by bird when you have the chance.”

“I’ll do that when I get to the next major settlement. I highly doubt the druids here would be so accommodating.”

The thought of the druids made Lycelle’s arm twinge, and she winced.

“Oh yes, your arm,” Zevlor said, having been just as lost in the conversation as Lycelle had been. He looked around the room. Lycelle followed his gaze, noticing that they were in a cavern perched above a natural pool of water. Scattered belongings gave the place a haphazard ‘home-y’ feel. There was a bedroll at the corner of the room with scattered books and boxes around. Even more books were propped up against the cave walls on an impromptu bookshelf.

A stone slab being used as a desk topped off the aesthetic. “This looks like an easily defensible position,” Lycelle remarked as her eyes trailed upwards towards where Tilses had come from. A myriad of barrels blocked the upper platform from view.

Zevlor chuckled, and Lycelle tried not to focus on how nice and soothing it sounded when he did. “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone has said about this hovel. What I wouldn’t give for some proper furniture… we’ll have to use the desk for now.

It took Lycelle a moment to realize that Zevlor meant for her to sit on the desk while he examined her. Avoiding his fiery gaze as best she could, she sat down on the cold, grainy surface. Hopefully he would just think the blush on her face was from the poison.

This was all Astarion’s fault; if he hadn’t put the idea in Lycelle’s head that she must have some sort of interest in Zevlor, she wouldn’t be reacting this way… right?

Right?

“Your arm, if you could.”

That snapped her out of her thoughts and reminded her that there was a purpose for what they were doing. “Oh! Right. Yes. Sorry, sir.” She held out her arm for him to examine.

Zevlor paused for a moment. “Why the sudden formality?”

Lycelle found her face heating up once more. “You’re a military commander, aren’t you? I was raised to respect my betters.” Surely that was what this was, simple nervousness over conducting herself well in front of a superior.

“ Was a military commander. Like I’ve told Tilly, I’m just a civilian now. And I’d never thought of myself as better than anyone else before, either. Superiority complexes only lead to contempt. Just ‘Zevlor’ is fine, Lycelle.”

Her name sounded so nice in his voice, not all convoluted like when she said it. “A-alright.”

“Your arm?”

Without another protest, she presented it to him.

“May I take this off?” he asked, gesturing to the simple fingerless leather glove she wore.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Go right ahead,” she replied, voice as even as she could keep it. She would really have to give Astarion what for later, she thought.

His hands were warm on her skin as he touched her arm, warmer than she thought they would be. She startled a little.

Zevlor took a half step back and let her go. “Are you alright? Did I make something worse?”

Embarrassed, she shook her head. “N-no, it’s just…” She looked away from him. “It’s chilly in here, so your hands were warmer than I expected. N-not like burning or anything, just a surprise.” The more she said it out loud, the dumber she thought it sounded.

To her surprise this just got another chuckle out of him. “The perils of being a devilkin ,” he said, forcing the pejorative out with a sigh. “The same thing that gives me my eyes and teeth. To some, I’m rather frightening.”

“I don’t find you frightening at all,” Lycelle replied without even thinking. “Your eyes… they give you a look of… wisdom. Intrigue. They’re very pretty.” She immediately slapped a hand over her mouth when she realized exactly what it was she had just blurted out. “I mean, uh, well… wow, the poison must be making me delirious!” She stuck out her arm without another word, wordlessly gesturing for Zevlor to continue where he had left off.

Instead of being offended, Zevlor smiled. “You’re very kind to say so. Most non-tieflings cite it as a reason to distrust me.” He laid his hands gingerly on her arm and waited for her approval to continue.

Nodding her consent, she frowned. “That’s not fair to you,” she said.

“Nor is it fair that people sneer at you due to the circumstances of your heritage,” Zevlor replied, sliding the glove off as gently as he could so as not to agitate the wound. He was slow and precise with his movements, taking care not to scratch her with his claws. His warm hands against her skin were nice in the oddly chilled environment of the cave.

When he had it off, Zevlor set it to the side and turned Lycelle’s arm over in his hands. “No spreading discoloration… that’s promising…” he muttered. Lycelle chanced a look up at him and found that he was completely focused on what he was doing. Her heart skipped a beat at the intense look on his face. Would that it could be directed at her and her alone-

“May I take the bandages off?” he asked, jolting her out of her thoughts before they could enter strange territory. For this she was grateful.

She nodded, and he began his work. When the wound was revealed, he hissed gently in sympathy. “She really did a number on you.”

Lycelle frowned. “It hurt like nothing I’ve ever felt before, I don’t even think-“ She cut herself off before she could say too much.

Zevlor gave her a strange look, but didn’t press the matter further. “It’s healing, but the poison is definitely interfering with the process.”

“It was supposed to kill me, so I’m not surprised,” Lycelle replied. “The anti-toxin prevented it from killing me, but I suppose the rest will have to come naturally.”

“To think she thought that that was the proper reaction… what was it you came to her for, anyway?”

Oh no. Lycelle should have known this question was coming. “It’s… complicated. I’m not contagious, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I see. I’m not going to pry, but if there’s anything I can do, please ask.”

Lycelle considered her next words carefully. “Maybe… another time. I’ll likely be around a few more times, especially if Halsin is nearby. This is a good place to buy supplies.”

“Your friends seem eager to move on,” Zevlor said. By now, he’d moved over to the bookshelf and was looking through it for something specific.

“They’re not my friends , per se... We all just met within the past two or so days.”

Zevlor hummed in understanding. “Allies, then.” Seeming to find the book he was looking for, he pulled it out and set it on the desk near Lycelle. He started flipping through the pages, bending to get a better look since his height wasn’t exactly conducive compared to the height of the slab.

This put him in a prime position for Lycelle to study his face. Zevlor had sharp, elegant cheekbones that complimented the curve of his horns. Even from a side view, Lycelle could see his eyes flicker as he studied the pages, looking for something in particular. This was a man who had seen many years on the battlefield, and would likely see many more. The years had left him with an air of wisdom that showed on his face. He looked worldly, experienced…

Sensing eyes on him, Zevlor turned his head slightly to catch Lycelle’s gaze. Blushing, she looked away, towards the map spread out on the other side of her, which appeared to be of the whole of Elturgard.

“I don’t bite, you know,” Zevlor quipped.

Caught red-handed. “H-huh?” She chanced a glance back over to see that Zevlor was smiling. That was a good sign, at least.

“You keep looking at me.”

Lycelle worked her brain at light speed to come up with an explanation that didn’t sound weird. “I-I’ve never seen anyone quite like you.”

Zevlor set the book down next to Lycelle with a soft chuckle. “I hope you don’t mean that as an insult.”

“Of course not!” Lycelle exclaimed, shaking her head vigorously. She felt guilty over the fact that it could even be interpreted as an insult in the first place. “You’re very handsome!” And now she’d made it worse. “I’m not thinking straight,” she groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“You’re just fine,” he said, laughing. A genuine laugh; this got her to look up at him. He was indeed smiling at her, flames in his eyes dancing with mirth. “Let’s get you patched up so you can get some rest.”

Lycelle sighed, glad he wasn’t offended or upset, at least.

“I know what herbs we need. I’m pretty sure Okta picked up some from that strange lady who was here today…” Zevlor moved to the back and started rummaging through a bag. “Here we are.”

“That woman, did you feel something was… off about her?”

Zevlor paused for a moment. “Now that you mention it, I felt… something. I think she’s a lot more powerful than she looks.”

“She said she might know how to help me and my companions, that I should come see her at her home in the wetlands.”

Grabbing a bottle of liquid and pouring it into a bowl, Zevlor added the herbs and began mashing everything together with a pestle. “I see… If you think it’s a good lead, I’d say go, but be careful. Know what you’re getting into.”

“Of course. The sooner we get an answer, the better.”

“Alright, I think this is the right consistency… this might sting a little.” He grabbed some clean bandages and started back towards Lycelle.

Lycelle held out her arm, recognizing the substance in the bowl. “Balsam ointment,” she commented with a smile. “Always good to have a batch on hand. The fresher, the better.”

“Very astute,” Zevlor said. “Though I suppose if you’re a healer yourself, you know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that…” Lycelle replied, blushing at the praise. “I just do a lot of reading for practicality, and then Ilmater gives me the magic I need to heal the hurts of those I come across.”

Zevlor applied a liberal amount of ointment to the wound and Lycelle hissed as she felt the herbs doing their job. “I hope that doesn’t hurt too much.”

Lycelle shook her head. “No, not too bad. I’m used to the sting of balsam.” His hands were gentle as they worked, a sharp contrast to the calluses Lycelle could feel on his skin. These were the hands of a warrior, she thought. Countless years of battle had left their mark just as his touch left goosebumps on her.

She shivered involuntarily. Zevlor paused and looked at her with mild concern. “Are you getting chills? Is it the poison?”

“M-must be,” she said, glad for anything to blame but her own exhausted body and aching soul.

“That people who claim to be on the side of life and nature could act with such cruelty… I’m sorry they did this to you.”

Shrugging as best she could with one arm occupied, Lycelle gave him a sad smile. “I’m just glad to be alive. My companions and I… went through a lot before we got here.”

Zevlor nodded. “Full glad am I that you were alive and present when those goblins attacked… it could have gone so much worse.” He finished disinfecting the wound with balsam and started to wrap it back up in fresh bandages.

Lycelle couldn’t help but watch his hands as he worked. His movements were precise, like he was no stranger to basic patch jobs. She also noticed how large his hands were compared to her slimmer wrists. It was likely he could wrap a hand around them and then some. Her stomach did a flip.

“There we go. Hopefully it shouldn’t bother you and you can get some sleep. You look like you need it.”

What did he mean by that? Did she look tired and haggard? She hoped not, at least not while she was sitting in such close proximity to him.

Wait, what?

“Your face,” she said suddenly, trying to shift her train of thought.

Zevlor raised an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Does it hurt? It looks like Aradin hit you pretty hard after all.”

He brought his hand up and gingerly touched around his left eye, wincing when he came into contact with the bruised area. “I haven’t looked in a mirror all day,” he admitted. “I’m sure it’s a sight.”

“Here, let me-” Before she could think it through or stop herself, she reached out and laid her hand over the bruised area. His skin was warm under her touch, the lines of his prominent cheekbones solid and proud. One soft chant later and it was as if he had never been punched. Though healing a bruise was far simpler than purging and mending a poisoned wound, perhaps doing even that was a tad bit too much on her overtaxed body. She slumped forward and just barely caught herself on her uninjured arm before she could topple over.

Blinking in surprise, Zevlor reached up to examine the affected area. “Oh,” he said softly. When Lycelle started to tip forward, he acted fast, placing a hand on her shoulder to steady her.

Zevlor’s firm, solid grip broke her out of her exhausted stupor. She looked up at Zevlor, their faces mere inches apart. This close, she could practically count his eyelashes. The faintest scent of campfire smoke wafted over her.

For a moment, they held one another’s gaze, and right as Lycelle contemplated closing the distance, Zevlor broke the spell by clearing his throat and taking a step back. “Thank you,” he said, making sure the woman wouldn’t keel over when he took his hand away.

“O-of course. I might have overdone it, but…” She stared down at her lap, blushing as she trailed off. “W-well, if I wasn’t tired before, I sure am now!” She hopped up from the desk maybe a bit too fast, brushing imaginary dirt off her clothing. “Thank you, Zevlor.”

Zevlor gave her a warm smile, his fiery eyes softening as he looked at her. “Of course. You should probably head back before your friends wonder where you’ve gone.”

… Right, Astarion had seen her come in here with Zevlor. There was going to be no end of that when she returned. “I’m certain they haven’t noticed,” she said instead.

“Still, get some rest. I won’t hear any arguments about it.” His words were stern but his face was soft, affectionate. It made Lycelle’s cheeks burn.

“Alright,” she relented, starting towards the large stone door. “You sleep well as well. We both had stressful days.”

Zevlor nodded. “My door is always open if you need anything…” He paused for a moment, considering his next words. “Or if you just want to talk.”

Lycelle’s heart fluttered. “I-I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, turning swiftly so Zevlor couldn’t see her blush. “Good night!” She bounded up the slope to the exit in significantly better spirits than when she’d entered the cavern.

She’d existed so fast, in fact, that she hadn’t seen Zevlor immediately start pacing when she was out of sight, muttering to himself in Infernal. His problem? He now had a lot more on his mind than just druids and goblins.

As expected, Astarion was waiting for Lycelle to return. When she sat down on her bedroll, the man immediately ceased his (mediocre) efforts to feign interest in the book in his lap.

“You’re back sooner than I was expecting. Though I suppose a man of his age would have less stamina…” He examined his nails idly.

Lycelle scowled at him, cheeks flushed. “Nothing happened. He just helped me change my bandages because doing that with one arm is awful.”

Astarion quirked an eyebrow. “Is that the euphemism the youth is using these days?” When he received no outraged response, he merely sighed. “Just remember that we have a goal, and that goal is to get these damned worms out… or controlled at the very least. No distractions.”

“You’re the one making insinuations, Astarion,” Lycelle retorted. “Now I’m thinking about… about things and it’s entirely your fault.”

“Is it? Or did I merely just put words to what was already there? I can read you like a book, my dear.”

This earned Astarion another glare from Lycelle. “Nothing. Happened. We’re leaving tomorrow, anyway.”

Astarion shrugged. “No shame in a little ‘fun’.”

Lycelle gave him a puzzled look. “Didn’t you literally just say no distractions?”

“Well, it’s not like we’re going anywhere in the dead of night,” Astarion commented. “Though I really think we could have gotten a head start that way…”

“Just because you and I can see in the dark doesn’t mean we all can. Besides, who knows what sorts of horrid beasts are prowling out there at this hour?” Lycelle said, frowning.

This seemed to quiet Astarion for a moment, as he merely leaned back against the wall and sighed. “What indeed…” He was looking past her rather than at her, red eyes unfocused with deep thought.

“Hm?”

“Nothing, darling. Rest your pretty little head and don’t worry about it.”

Unsure if she was being flirted with or mocked, Lycelle still did as was suggested. This time, it didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, though her dreams were strange. All of the day’s events played out as her mind processed them. The entire time, however, she couldn’t shake those eyes of flickering flame…

This was going to be a problem.