Chapter Text
Lolth gives and Lolth takes. To be of Lolth's children is to know and accept that all things ultimately come and go at their goddess whim. As Navarre stared at the motley group assembled around the fire she couldn’t help but wonder how exactly this all played into her goddess plan. Brought together by a deadly affliction none of them could cure, bound by a single desperation to find someone or something that might be capable of doing so, she was frankly impressed no one had died yet. Although she supposed that wasn't for a lack of trying, the Gith had nearly taken her and the Sharan’s heads when they’d first met about the nautiloid.A part of her desperately hoped it wasn't one of Lolth's schemes. The spider god hated nothing more than the interference of other divinities, to have her own high priestess -her avatar no less- whisked away as a part of another god's plan would be deliciously frustrating for her. The fact that it served to Navarre’s advantage in their “game” was only icing on the cake really.
She looked down at her arms then, free now from the silk of her traditional priestess gown, and gently ran her thumb down the tattoo ornamenting her right arm. Black ink sprawled from her elbow towards her palm, an intricate lace pattern of webs marring her otherwise smooth and perfect skin. The ink formed a spider with a star at its center., Lolth's divine symbol, a brand. She would never be rid of it, the wretched thing was the physical embodiment of her connection to the goddess, but she supposed over time she had come to appreciate the outward beauty of it. If nothing else it was a source of stability, a certainty in a time where such things were severely lacking.
“Woah! That’s one hell of a tattoo!”
Navarre startled at the boisterous voice suddenly in her ear. Turning her head to the source a frown crossed her lips as she took in their little party's most recent addition.
The Tiefling, Karlach, loomed over Navarre. Admittedly the Drow was sitting but even if she’d been standing the barbarian would have stood a solid two or three heads higher. Her lips were pulled back into a smile, eyes squinting as she bent over to get a closer look at the ink that decorated Navarre’s arm. Quickly, Navarre pulled her arm from view as she released a derisive noise, rolling the sleeve of her night shirt back over the tattoo.
“You would hardly be so eager if you knew its true purpose.” Navarre responded cryptically. “You should count yourself lucky to have seen it and lived.”
Karlach snorted at that, but took a step back anyway. Navarre smirked at the motion.
“I count myself lucky every day.” Karlach said as she brought a hand up to bang against her infernal engine. “Not much more Lolth can do to me that hasn’t already been done.”
“So you would think.” Navarre responded. “But I have long since learned that Lolth has no shortage of imagination when it comes to punishments. However, she tends not to care for the surface folk, not unless you offer her direct insult. Gazing upon her sacred mark is unlikely to provoke much of a reaction, especially here of all places.”
That wasn’t necessarily true. Navarre had seen plenty of surface dwellers suffer unimaginably cruel fates with far less justification. While it was true Lolth tended not to turn her gaze to the surface, Navarre’s presence more or less assured that the goddess gaze would be upon them at some point, especially having invoked her name multiple times now. The fact that the goddess had decided to do nothing was frankly a miracle, or worse, such was their fates that she felt she need not do anything at all. Navarre wasn’t sure which she preferred.
“Anyway.” Navarre continued. “Is there a reason you’ve come to disturb me? I can’t imagine it was for a short lesson on the unique nature of Lolth’s divine punishment?”
“Oh yeah, Gales just about got dinner ready. Figured I’d come grab you before you missed out.” Karlach answered as she threw a thumb over her shoulder.
Leaning to the side Navarre could just make out the others gathering around the large pot in the center of camp. As she did so the savoury scent of their dinner reached her; herbs, garlic, something vaguely spiced, stew then or something similar.
“Well, let us not dally then. I would so hate to deprive you of what could potentially be your last meal. You never know when Lolth might strike.” Navarre teased as she rose from her seat.
Karlach snorted but otherwise remained quiet as the two of them made their way over.Now much closer, Navarre could more closely analyze tonight's meal. Her earlier guess seemed to have been correct; bits of potato, meat, and carrot floated in some kind of red sauce; it smelled heavily of cumin, paprika, and coriander. She wasn’t sure what it was exactly but the smell was convincing enough, and after all the trekking they'd done today she found herself truly thankful for a warm meal.
Offering a small nod, Navarre took a seat beside Shadowheart -making sure to cross her legs in a proper eating position- the cleric returned the nod before passing over a bowl which Navarre graciously accepted. Placing the bowl on the ground in front of her she took a moment to offer a small prayer to Lolth. Nothing fancy mind you, a simple prayer of safety, but after a moment she felt a small twinge of heat along her tattoo. She received a few raised brows but no one commented, choosing instead to tuck into their meal.
To spite her hunger Navarre made sure to watch each and everyone of them swallow at least one mouthful before picking up her bowl and doing the same. She’d barely managed to get the food into her mouth before a question floated across the campfire.
“Why do you do that?”
Navarre took the time to chew and swallow as her gaze moved to meet that of Wyll, their resident Warlock.
“What do you mean?” She asked as she gently placed the bowl back on the ground.
The man raised a brow before nodding towards the bowl. “Every meal we’ve shared, both here and in the druid’s grove, you’ve waited until everyone else has chewed and swallowed at least once before doing the same. If I didn’t know better I’d say you thought we were trying to poison you.” He said it with a smile, chuckling lightly at the end.
She raised her own brow at him but took the comment in stride. He’d meant no ill intention, at least not that she could discern, simply a jest.
“I suppose old habits die hard.” She responded with a shrug. “One can never be too careful in Menzoberranzan.”
The mention of the Drow capital seemed to suck any joy from the air. As though its mere mention brought about the miasma of the underdark to suck joy and light from the air.
“So you do hail from the city of spiders.” Shadowheart piped up. “I’d had my suspicions…one can never be sure with you Drow.”
“The capital of Lolth’s empire within the underdark. I can hardly imagine a more drab and miserable place to have lived.” Astarion commented.
“Have you been then?” Navarre asked as she spooned more stew into her mouth. “You didn’t strike me as the sort to have ventured far beyond the upper city of Baldur's Gate.”
“Me? Gods no Darling! I’d sooner burn to a crisp in the light of the sun than find myself stuck in the underdark.” Astarion responded with his usual dramatic flair. “Although I must admit, the temptation is there. I had the chance to taste a rare vintage that had found its way to the surface and its quality was nearly enough to make me rethink.”
Navarre snorted at that. “You’d fit right in, even for a man, a pretty thing like you would surely be the talk of the town.”
Astarion smirked at that, batting his eyes and framing his head with his hands. “Oh, you think I’m pretty? High praise indeed from a Drow.”
Everyone chuckled, the miasma lifting as goblets of wine made their way around the circle. Once again, Navarre waited for everyone else to sip and swallow before doing the same.
“There it is again.” Wyll commented. “Do you truly think we’d attempt to poison you?” He asked, his tone incredulous.
Navarre simply shrugged her shoulders. “I mean it as no insult to any of you if that makes you feel any better. One can simply never be too careful, even if none of you seem the type.”
“Tchh.” Lae’zel sounded. “Poison is a coward's weapon. To kill an opponent without looking them in the eyes, without fair combat, it is an insult of the highest order among my people.”
Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “Your ‘people’ would take insult from a bath and a fresh change of clothes.”
“Ska’keth. You do not know the meaning of honor.” Lae’zel snapped back.
Sensing the inevitable argument Navarre chose to intervene before the two inevitably tried to stab each other. The party had already been rudely awakened by such an attempt once already, and Navarre would much rather approach the goblin camp with all members intact. So, interrupting the two women, she chose to answer Wyll’s question.
“It is not a question of insult or intent. Simply a reality of my life. My people care little for fair combat or the glory of an honourable kill. Death is a tool, one which can be deployed to great effect in achieving one's goals. Poison is cheap, readily available, and quiet. I’ve had more than one dinner attendee fall dead at the table, either by my hand or anothers.”
At that, Karlach (having received her goblet from Navarre as they made their way around) none-to-subtly spat her wine back into her goblet and lowered it gently to the ground.
“As such I have taken precautions all my life to avoid a similar fate. So, to answer your question, no. I do not expect any of you to poison me, but these are patterns long practised which are not so easily dropped among more pleasant company.” Navarre finished before taking a rather large gulp of wine to prove her point.
She winced slightly as the wine's sharp taste coated her tongue. It wasn’t anywhere near the quality she was used to but it contained alcohol so she couldn’t really complain. It was certainly better than the ‘grog’ she’d had the misfortune of watching Karlach sample earlier in the day.
“I can’t imagine living that way.” Gale said. “Constantly fearing for your life, always looking over your shoulder, never quite sure if your next meal will be your last. It sounds exhausting, frankly.”
Navarre shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose for one not used to it, it would seem so, but as it has always been my life I hardly think of it. Besides, my rank and station afforded me a certain level of protection. Few would be so bold as to try and murder one of Lolth’s favored children after all.”
“Few, but not all.” Karlach said as she drummed her fingers against her thigh. “Suppose that rules out asking your people for help.”
Navarre snorted. “I would be a fool to rest all of my faith in Lolth’s favour. She is a fickle goddess, prone to quick and brutal changes in mood, often accompanied by horrific tantrums. What may be my favour today could very well be someone else's favour tomorrow.”
“You make the spider goddess sound like a petulant child. A far cry from the devotion I would expect from one of her chosen.” Shadowheart said as she took another sip of her wine. “Shar would never tolerate such disrespect, especially if they had been given special treatment.”
“Lolth is not unlike Shar in that manner. I am somewhat of a unique case, even among the Drow.” Navarre answered. “I care little for Lolth’s whims, as such she finds me interesting and takes great pleasure in forcing me higher and higher up the hierarchy of her priesthood, to spite my clear contempt for her rule.”
“Somehow I can see it.” Wyll said. “It’s a twisted sort of logic I’ll grant, but Lolth is a goddess of darkness and the weaver of webs. It makes a certain kind of sense that she would enjoy trapping someone in a net they detested, if for nothing more than her own amusem*nt. Tolerating such an existence is another matter entirely.”
“She calls it our game.” Navarre said as she relaxed into a more casual position, knee bent with her arm resting upon it. “Lolth loves pitting the Drow against each other as much, if not more, than she loves ruling over them. If for example, she were to show blatant favouritism to one who cared little for it, from a house which held little to no influence...what could be a greater driver of conflict among a people locked in such a rigid social hierarchy?”
“It sounds like madness.” Gale answered. “I could never imagine having such a relationship with Mystra.”
“My wife said much the same.” Navarre replied. “She found our game utterly ridiculous. Never mind the fact that Lolth’s favouritism was a blatant slap in the face to my wife's position of superiority within our union and Menzoberranzan as a whole.”
“Your mate was weak then.” Lae’zel said dismissively. “That they could not accept your strength to be greater than their own. One is always stronger, that is the way of things, it is between mated pairs to determine who is the strongest.”
“Gods above…” Shadowheart sighed with a role of her eyes.
“Mmm, you mistake me then. My Minthara was a ruthless and cunning woman.” Navarre stated as she gazed into the fire. “It’s part of what drew me to her in the first place. A natural born leader, capable of both the velvet glove and iron fist when needed. She was both a vigorous lover and a devoted partner. However, as the scion of house Baenre, having her wife also be Lolth’s chosen was an unacceptable challenge to her authority. Upon her ascension to head of house, I would have been required to abandon my claim as Lolth’s favoured child.”
“Well, I for one think she sounds wonderful. Exactly the sort of person we need to help sort out our little…issue.” Astarion said as he gestured towards Navarre with his goblet.
That got both Lae’zel and Shadowheart fired up again. However, the conversation soon turned to other topics. Rather than participate, Navarre simply laid back and watched the stars cross the sky.
Truth be told, she had no idea where Minthara was. Her wife had gone missing some months back, like a ghost in the night she’d vanished without a trail. As usual Lolth had been no help, either silent to her prayers or vindictive in her withdrawal of aid the one time Navarre truly needed it. That hardly mattered though, she’d gone most of her life without Lolth, she’d be fine without her now.
It was clear to her that their little journey would likely take them deeper into the sword coast. Hopefully, time permitting, that would afford her the opportunity to follow up on information she’d received regarding Minthara’s whereabouts. If nothing else, Navarre was certain her wife was somewhere between here and Baldur’s gate. The only question was where? And how long it would take to find her.
Soon enough she felt a pleasant buzz growing in the back of her head as she finished her third goblet of wine. The others had long since tapered off, either returning to their tents or simply laying down around the remnants of the fire for the evening. With a belly full of warm food and pleasant enough companions near, Navarre allowed herself to drift off into slumber.
