Chapter Text
1) Blame:
Soft, magically-imbued fingertips brushed apologetically against the rapidly darkening bruise that was marring her side, (how had she ever gotten there in time to get in the way of the blow?), and when her ranger inhaled sharply with pain, Shadowheart winced and heard her voice whisper reflexively in answer, "Forgive me..."
2) Proof:
Shadowheart bit her lower lip as she critically examined her reflection in the river, and she mused that she could think of nothing better, nothing more tangible, than these newly dyed platinum-silver tresses to mark her first tentative steps into a life where she no longer was held underneath the sway of the Lady of Loss.
3) Assistance:
Judging eyes glared at her back in the grove, impatient and uninterested, but Cyrene did not cede to their callous indifference as again she found her feet halting in her tracks; if there was a soul she could aid in these trying times, she fully intended to do what she could to ease their burden while remaining in search of a cure for her own.
4) Going:
When she began to pull back, in dire need for a breath of air, sudden hands gripped down almost threateningly in her autumnal red hair, and against her lips she heard Shadowheart hiss with barely withheld frustration, "And just where is it that you think you're going so quickly...?"
5) Birthday:
Her memories were gone, taken away in the dim reflection of that accursed mirror, and Cyrene had been abducted far too young to remember, and it made her smile lopsided, her voice reaching as she suggested only half-seriously, "Perhaps we ought to pick a day at random then to celebrate on, if neither of us actually know when the date we were born is?"
6) Scientist:
Shadowheart could not quite help herself as she leaned over the vast array of specially enchanted arrows that Cyrene had slowly, painstakingly laid out on the ground before she began to arrange them in her quiver, and her voice lilted in amusement as even Karlach raised one perfectly sparking eyebrow at the overly complicated sight, "Do you even know what half of those actually do before you shoot them?"
7) Silent:
She was a wraith amongst the trees, her footfall practically nonexistent, and Cyrene nocked her arrow and took her aim, and the quiet and satisfying thud of the deer falling lifeless to the forest floor made her smile briefly; finally, her comrades would be able to eat fresh meat again for the first time in days.
8) Behalf:
She'd never received a gift that came without strings before, and she looked up wordlessly, trying to find the sentiments she knew were there, but the ranger's satisfied smile made her tongue too heavy in her mouth, and she could only silently accept as she was told gently not to worry so much on her behalf in finding something to give her in return for the precious flower resting in her hands.
9) Rumoured:
Rangers were not really known to be assassins, and yet as she watched how Cyrene navigated her way so easily into enemy territory time and time again, she wondered if perhaps all of the slander she had ever heard of the woman's chosen profession was really only jealousy for her sheer range of abilities that were just never seen in practise.
10) Tip:
It was a cheeky gesture, tweaking the tip of her pointed ear whenever she fell short of a quip to throw in response, but it never failed to make her laugh even when she swatted away the offending hands and tried to scold her, "That tickles, you pest!"
11) Idle:
Human as she was, she never seemed to grow tired, and Shadowheart watched her with interest as again and again she saw her picking up yet another errant task to complete, as if the very thought of growing lazy was something she was fleeing rather than wishing to embrace.
12) Brother:
Cyrene frowned, her summer-green eyes dark and thoughtful, but eventually she shook her head, and she seemed to deflate as she sighed quiet and heavy, "No, I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to tell you if I even had any siblings, let alone what their names might be."
13) Beneath:
She was an archer through and through, pragmatic and calculating and ruthless when she committed herself to her goals, but Shadowheart had learned to glimpse underneath the mask, and dearly treasured that genuine kindness, those dry, quick-witted quips, and the touch of shyness that came across her scarred face only she could see when the two of them were alone and stealing a moment away from prying eyes.
14) Redecorate:
Fire licked its way slowly, delicately, up along the violet-patterned banner, and Shadowheart smiled darkly to herself as she watched her monument to Shar go up in flames; and even as her hand pulsed with outraged pain, she merely stared on in defiance, she had never thought redecorating would ever be so utterly cathartic.
15) Gravitation:
Something pulled her, had always been pulling her, and the sheer weight of her relief when she had finally surrendered and shed the lies, the creeds, the lessons had almost been enough to drop her to her knees as she took solace in how effortlessly this mysterious ranger had captured her like an unsuspecting rabbit in a snare.
16) Kilt:
"Oh no, absolutely not." Cyrene's flat dismissal brought forth peals of delighted laughter, and the ranger fought to keep her distaste from reaching her face as Karlach's "compromise" of a pair of shorts or a skirt was placed mockingly on top of her collection of trousers for all the camp to see.
17) Afterthought:
She did everything in her life with the same calm, slow deliberation of lifting and aiming her bow, and Shadowheart had to wonder, if even once in her short human lifetime, if she had ever really done anything casually enough to brush it aside like an afterthought.
18) Unearth:
Nausea swirled in soft, mocking circles in her stomach, and Shadowheart was silent as she recognized the relaxed posture, the hands that rested themselves far too naturally on the stone wall she was facing, and she wasn't sure if she was more shocked or outraged to realize that this was not the first time the ranger had tasted the lash, and she knew exactly what to do to preserve both her pain and pride when it began to fall with sadistic enthusiasm.
19) Shield:
It was a choice she made with all the same quiet pragmatism that she carried in all facets of her life, and perhaps it was reckless of her, but she couldn't help but feel a pulse of satisfaction as her body was used to dampen the blow of the greatclub and saved her comrade from the unexpected strike from behind.
20) Blacklist:
Shadowheart could not stop herself from frowning as her eyebrows raised with a mixture of disbelief and instinctive annoyance as she found herself questioning Cyrene's outlandish claim, "What do you mean, you've never worn shorts, skirts, or a dress a day in your life?"
21) Misquoted:
It hurt, the distinctive way those calm, calculating eyes swept over her defensive posture, and it took effort, great effort to remember that it was her own fault for not listening more closely as she was reminded that Cyrene had never once clarified just what type of cultists she was actually skilled in hunting.
22) Copying:
Cyrene decided it was better not to ask if the new hairstyle was entirely intentional as she watched Shadowheart tucking her newly released bangs back behind her pointed ears for what had to be the sixth time in an hour, but she mused that perhaps she'd offer some advice on how to keep her hair out of her face since it was a struggle she herself was far more used to.
23) Argue/Arguing:
It was odd how this woman navigated their conversations with such ease that the moment she felt a flare of irritation or discomfort it was being so elegantly sidestepped, and Shadowheart had to actually stop and ask herself if she actually wanted a chance to spar with her verbally or if she liked that she wasn't getting into petty fisticuffs each and every time she opened her mouth.
24) Lens:
The silence felt suffocating, and though her eyes were warm, molten, even, Shadowheart could not help but shuffle her feet uncomfortably in the sand as she felt Cyrene's gaze tracing along her naked body like a caress as she committed every last inch she could see to memory, "Don't just stare..."
25) Bell:
Leaping a foot in the air when the woman just seemed to step out of the trees behind her, Shadowheart reacted on instinct and instinct alone as she reached to swat her ranger over the head as she scolded her with breathless annoyance, "I'm going to tie a bell around your neck if you don't stop doing that to me!"
26) Arrested:
Cyrene's expression was one of honest bemusement, and Shadowheart bit down on her lower lip as she fought, and failed, to keep her laughter stifled as the woman finally asked with no short display of exasperation, "Are you saying I need to actually let myself be caught for this mission?"
27) Havoc:
Her arrows were like spells of their own, exploding into fire, lightning, smoke or acid, and Shadowheart admitted to being nothing short of amazed to see how someone so limited in her magical abilities could still manage to cause such utter devastation on the battlefield by merely drawing back a bowstring.
28) Tool:
A flash of anger momentarily awoke those usually so-calm summer-green eyes, and it was the first time Shadowheart heard her voice sharpen with her as she retorted with uncharacteristic coldness, "No one, not even you, is ever to be a tool or a weapon to be moulded and used for the whims of anyone else."
29) Blanket:
Their blankets were thin and small, but in the cool spring air, Shadowheart admitted that for the first time she actually was quite glad for the size, as it meant there really was no excuse she could even think of to not press her body as closely to Cyrene's as physically possible in order to conserve warmth at night.
30) Fancy:
Shadowheart weighed the shockingly heavy coin purse in her hands with some small degree of alarm, and she looked down at her feet to take in all of the second-hand items Cyrene was using without complaint, and she remarked with surprise and yet dawning understanding all at once, "I think I've discovered your problem; you don't have the faintest idea of how to spoil yourself, do you?"
31) Dash:
Even in medium-armour she was so light on her feet, moving with a speed and grace that almost seemed to mock Astarion's casual, predatory gait, and Shadowheart now felt almost vindicated in comparing this ranger to a woodland dryad as she watched her shoot across the battlefield as easily as if she had cast a teleportation spell.
32) Away:
It would be so easy, so understandable, for her to drop her hands and turn on her heel, leaving her behind and setting out for something, someone so much better for her, and yet she still stayed, her smile comforting and reassuring time after time, and Shadowheart pressed her face against her neck as she repeated softly, plaintively, "Don't ever leave me..."
33) Syndication:
Cyrene's eyes narrowed as she glanced down at the open book sitting in her lap, and she idly allowed her fingertip to follow the passages she had committed to memory long ago in her hunts of Sharrans in her time in the far-off villages to the west, and she murmured to herself as that feeling of confusion and wonder made itself known none too kindly all over again in her stomach, "Just what kind of idea of Shar does she actually have in that head of hers...?"
34) Champagne:
While she would have greatly preferred a thick and heady wine to celebrate the news, Shadowheart mused if Karlach really wanted to toast her first time being able to truly touch someone again in ten years with a bottle of champagne, she couldn't fault her for choosing something pointlessly extravagant.
35) Note:
The raven dropped the piece of parchment delicately into her open hands, and as she felt Cyrene's most favoured companion shuffling errantly on her shoulder, the cleric mused that perhaps she should spend some time dedicating herself to learn how to speak with animals so she didn't need to resort to hastily scrawled notes to communicate with the ranger when they were forced to split their party in two.
36) Physical:
Their fingers interlaced with slow, purposeful deliberation, and Shadowheart breathed in deep as her body shivered underneath Cyrene's careful ministrations; for someone who had no experience whatsoever in sharing her body with someone, she was proving to be an incredibly quick study.
37) Dull:
When she watched her camp-mates quietly from her bedroll in the falling dusk, she was always sharply aware of a pulse of irritation, or quiet and mocking wonder, and she had to coldly shut it away as she reminded herself that questioning all day would never answer why it was that Shadowheart's olive-green eyes still lingered on her of all people.
38) Frozen:
Their bodies lay entangled together in the cool sand, breathless and slick with sweat as they tried to gain their bearings again, and Shadowheart felt her eyes slide closed as she nuzzled into her lover's shoulder and mused that if she could dare to ask the Moonmaiden for a single favour, she would pray for the stars to freeze in the sky overhead and make this moment last.
39) Stumble:
Getting up from the ground even with a helping hand had been harder than she had anticipated, and her balance still had not returned, but the last thing she expected when she lost her footing was for the strange human woman who had rescued her twice that day to reach out to grasp her arm and pull her upright with all the ease of plucking a child from the ground, "Easy there, now."
40) Hunt:
Shadowheart held her breath, feeling warmth pooling unexpectedly in the pit of her stomach as she was suddenly struck by the uncanny sensuality of Cyrene's form, lithe and graceful, a tigress amongst the trees, as she stalked her prey unaware of the staring eyes of her accidental voyeur.
41) Gibberish:
A catlike smirk curled at her lips, and Shadowheart admitted to savouring the way Cyrene's usual unflappable composure went to absolute pieces, and for the first time since they had met amongst the ruins of the nautiloid, the ranger was stumbling over her words until she finally went silent in exchange for not humiliating herself further by losing the ability to speak Common entirely.
42) Camp:
She was the only one of them who didn't sleep in a tent, and time and time again she refused to dip into her well-stuffed purse and find a merchant who would be glad to sell a proper place to sleep because it meant she would be losing her constant view of the night sky and all of the familiar constellations the stars drew up in the inky blackness overhead.
43) Weakness:
Deft hands rolled with brutal and efficient purpose, yanking the unconscious woman onto her back so she could see the gaping wound the enemy's swordstroke had left in her side, and Shadowheart heard herself whispering in a panic even as her magic surged wild and fierce from her hands to begin to knit her skin together, "No, no, no, no, not you, not you, anyone but you...!"
44) Bargain:
Cold eyes met the haughty, arrogant glance of the devil who stood so cocky and so imposing, but there was no fear whatsoever in Cyrene's face as she met his offer with a cold, flat, "I hunt fey and devils as an occupation, Raphael, you'll never get me to agree to any deal you'd offer."
45) Alcohol:
It wasn't that she had a dislike of the stuff, as Shadowheart had noticed her quiet way of savouring that sweet, fragrant wine she had stolen from the party that night long ago, but for one reason or another, Cyrene never chose to drink more than a second glass even if she did seem to enjoy what it was she had been offered.
46) Wind:
Cyrene turned her head slightly into the cold breeze, inhaling in deep of these new, shadow-cursed lands and committing every single scent to memory as she wondered if that odd flower Shadowheart had spoken of could be found growing amongst the darkness if she tried to look for it.
47) Temptation:
"Gods, but you're a tease...!" Cyrene growled out with frustration as she let her impatience get the better of her, and in one smooth movement she flipped the cleric off of her and onto her back, and she silenced the delighted gasp of surprise with a fierce kiss as she let her iron-clad control slip out underneath Shadowheart's reaching and eager fingers.
48) Eighteen:
Cyrene shook her head, leaning back idly on the balls of her feet as she allowed her eyes to study the constellations overhead so she did not need to see Shadowheart's quietly pained look as she admitted with cold, precise frankness, "No, I was far younger than that when I was sent out on my first hunt."
49) Bottle:
Shadowheart watched as the ranger left her on the cliffside, blushing so brightly she may as well have been glowing faintly in the darkness, and she nudged the half-full bottle on the ground with her foot as she mused if tomorrow she would use the pathetic excuse of the wine getting to her senses when she had realized she had been the one to accept her invitation, and she had been the one to lean over, close the distance, and kiss her first before she had been able to pluck up the nerve to do it herself.
50) Rhythm:
In the crisp, cold water their hands held on tightly to each other's, and Cyrene spoke gently, comfortingly in her ear as she instructed the clearly nervous half-elf to sync the movements of her legs to her breathing now that she had come off of the bottom, and she reassured her gently when she caught the flash of concern in those sweet, unguarded olive-coloured eyes, "Don't worry, I won't let you go for anything, Shadowheart."