#trans tav

You open your eyes groggily, squinting against the bright sunshine, and for a moment, you think it was a bad dream. Of course there was no nautiloid. Of course you weren’t kidnapped by mind flayers, and dragged to Avernus and back.

Then you feel the hideous squirming behind your right eye, and you remember.

You try and stand up, but it’s too much movement too fast, and you end up on your hands and knees, vision spinning, so you flop unceremoniously back down again.

You try to remember before the mind flayers appearance. What were you doing? Where were you?

Glancing down at your clothing, you see that you are wearing loose, flowing trousers, tied with laces at your waist, with a white billowing shirt tucked in, its own laces left untied. It’s comfortable.

Your pre-surgery outfit.

You were on your way to buy some more comfortable clothes, because your surgery had been moved up, and more of these loose-fitting clothes were going to be a necessity while you recovered, while the clerics healed you back up again.

Last time, you had only been off your feet for a day or two, after your top surgery, so you hadn’t needed a large supply of recovery clothing, going straight back to your favourite leather armour the next day. But this surgery would be more involved, and you would be needing to stay nearby to the clerics for at least a week, instead of running straight back into the forests not even 24 hours after surgery.

That was why you were in Baldurs Gate and not in the forest you called home, to buy more casual clothes so that your recovery would be as easy as possible. You didn’t want to have to ask the clerics to wash your clothes for you, and you didn’t exactly have anyone else to do it for you, so that left the last resort option of simply having enough changes of clothes that you could wash it all afterwards. At least you could donate what you didn’t need after the surgery was done, perhaps leave it with the clerics so they had some spare clothing for patients, you had rationalised to yourself.

But instead of getting ready for surgery, you had been taken, and a surgery of a very different nature had occurred. Instead of reclaiming your body as your own, your ownership of your own self was diminished even further, with the addition of a mind flayer tadpole to your skull.

Slower this time, you rise to your feet, and take a few calming breaths, before you start to try and figure out where in Toril you were. Inspecting the local flora, you quickly ascertain you are, in fact, still in Faerûn, and not too far away from the Gate, you reckon. A few tendays walk, at most. You would need supplies, though, not to mention help to determine what had been done to you and how to fix it.

If it can be fixed, your brain adds.

You shake the thought away, and follow the beach down, before spotting someone laying motionless.

Crouching next to them, you recognise their face; they were on board the nautiloid as well. You consider letting them rest, but your anxiety is worsening by the second, and you really hope they might have answers, so you gently shake them by the shoulders.

“Hey, are you ok? You were on the ship as well, right?” You ask tentatively.

They open their eyes and meet your gaze. “Yes, I was. I’m assuming you have a tadpole—“

Before they can finish their thought, your mind lurches uncomfortably, and without warning, you are looking out of eyes that aren’t yours. They are a lot shorter than you, and as you watch, you see your lifeless body being stuffed into a pod by two mind flayers.

Startled, you step back, and the connection breaks, bringing you back to the present.

“What was that?” They ask.

“I was hoping you could tell me.” You mumble back, still disoriented from the ordeal.

“We need to find a healer. And fast. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to find out what happens next with these things.”

They jump up, and offer you their hand. “The name’s Shadowheart.”

“River,” you respond, taking her hand to help you stand up. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says, patting her pockets down, then turning around in a panic, spotting something a little ways down the beach. She runs to the object, picks it up, checks it over, and puts it into her backpack.

You think about asking what that was, but you’re still feeling woozy, and figure if it was important or relevant, she would mention something.

~•~•~•~•~

Together, you follow the path inland, past some intellect devourers, which you sneak your way past, and towards some shouting up the hill.

When you turn the corner, you see two tieflings with a githyanki in a wooden cage, suspended in the air. From where you are, you can make out a disagreement between the tieflings as to what to do with the gith. Shadowheart places a hand on your shoulder, and shakes her head.

You decide to step in anyway, and shake off Shadowheart’s hand.

After convincing the tieflings using your ranger knowledge that more githyanki would be coming soon, pointing to some humanoid tracks in the mud as proof, they take off, leaving the githyanki behind.

You try to look for a way to lower the trap, but the githyanki punches their way through the floor and lands on their feet.

“Tsk’va, what now?” They turn to look at you.

“We should be asking you the same question” Shadowheart steps out from behind you, scowling.

“Hey, wait—“ you start to try and intervene, but are cut off by another horrendous lurch. You are watching red dragons, mounted by armour-clad Gith, ride through the skies of Avernus in pursuit of a nautiloid ship. This ship, you realise, as your body turns without your input, and you are knocked out by a mind flayer.

“So you were on the ship as well,” you ask. “I’m sorry” you add hurriedly, spotting the disgust on the gith’s face.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. It was not you who took me from my people, knocked me unconscious, and inserted a tadpole into my brain, was it?” They answer.

When they don’t continue talking, you realise they might be waiting for an answer. “Um..no?”

“Then don’t apologise.” They say, before turning on their heels and walking off down the path.

“Hey, wait! We’re going to try and find a cure, a fix for this. Do you want to stick together?” You call after them, but they are already gone.

“It’s for the best, you cannot trust a githyanki with anything, especially not your life,” Shadowheart snarks, before heading in the opposite direction.

You trail on her heels, for once in your life not wanting to be alone.

~•~•~•~•~

You nearly slam straight into Shadowheart as she stopped dead in her tracks, and you were too lost in thought to notice.

“What’s that?” She asks, her voice barely a whisper.

You follow her gaze and spot a glowing rune on the wall, much like those found across Faerûn. Except this one is partially covered by a swirling vortex.

Before you get a chance to answer, a hand appears in the middle of the vortex.

“Hello? A hand? Anyone?” A voice echoes.

You inspect the hand for a moment. They looked soft, with olive-toned skin and carefully manicured nails.

Shrugging at Shadowheart, you think to yourself, what’s the worst that could happen?

The hand is toasty warm, and as soft as it looked. Whoever this hand belongs to must not do much manual labour, you think, suddenly self-conscious of your calloused, rough hands.

You pull, and out of the vortex tumbles a human, of all things. A human that lands on top of you.

“Oof… hello!” The human cheerfully greets you, and takes your hand again, helping you to your feet, before shaking your hand enthusiastically. “I’m Gale, of Waterdeep.”

You meet his eyes, and feel faint for the fourth time today. Unlike the other times, this one doesn’t feel tadpole-related. Your head feels fine. Your heart, however, is racing, and you feel your palms start to sweat. You hope he doesn’t notice.

“Say, I know you, don’t I? In a manner of speaking. You were on the nautiloid as well!” Gale gestures to his head, clarifying “I assume you too were on the receiving end of a most unwelcome occlusion of the ocular region?”

You realise that you haven’t let his hand go, and drop it like burning hot coals. Not trusting your voice, you nod, and are grateful when Gale continues to talk.

You like his voice, you think.

Hang on a moment, you chastise yourself. Gale’s lecture on ceremorphosis snapped you back to reality, and the realisation that you are gushing over him like a schoolchild with a crush. You have much higher priorities than imagining what those soft hands would feel like massaging your scalp, your shoulders, chasing the tension away…

Although, there is no sense in alienating a potential ally, your treacherous brain adds. He could be a powerful ally at that.

Before you can second-guess yourself further, you blurt out “come with me.”

Gale blinks, and to his credit, he smiles. “Where did you have in mind?”

Shadowheart takes one look at you, rolls her eyes, and explains your quest for a healer and a cure for your tadpoles. Gale agrees it would be best to stick together, and the three of you set off.

~•~•~•~

Gale wouldn’t be the last of your new allies. After being threatened at knifepoint, a very pale elf with bright red eyes named Astarion agreed to join your search, having also received a tadpole.

Shadowheart seemed enamoured with the man, not that you were judging, of course. You were in no position to do so.

Your mind kept drifting to the wizard in your party. You tried to stay focused, you really did, but the situation became more dire still when he had defended you against Astarion. He’d only known you about half an hour, and he already threatened anyone who lay a finger on you.

You tried not to read into it.

Emphasis on tried.

Soon, night fell, and you found yourself laying awake under the stars, unable to sleep.

Your mind was still racing. One moment, you’re shopping and doing pre-operative preparations, the next flying through Avernus on an illithid vessel, then you awaken on a beach, meet some allies, and finally…

Him.

Hells.

As guilty as you felt that you weren’t thinking harder about how to help the group, you needed to take a moment to mourn.

Providing you survive the threat of ceremorphosis, you would still get the surgery. But still, that day is not today, and it likely wouldn’t be tomorrow. What had been a certainty, the sure knowledge that you would only have one more sleep in a body that felt alien to you, had now stretched into countless sleeps.

If you even survive to get the surgery at all.

Fuck. You aren’t going to sleep at this rate. You sigh, and climb out of your bedroll, deciding to go and tend to the fire.

But then, there he is, already taking care of it. You hover, unsure whether to disturb him or to creep away and hope he doesn’t notice you. You decide the latter would be better, but a treacherous twig gives you away.

Gale spins around, before returning his gaze to the fire.

“Go to Hell.”

Your mind short-circuits. He had been so polite earlier, what had changed? What had you done? You were out of practice socialising with people, much preferring the company of the flora and fauna of the forest, but you couldn’t think of anything particularly egregious.

You settle on half-asking, half-stating, “I’m sorry?”

He turns to you again, and smiles another world-ending smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“The expression. Go to Hell. An abstract expression. But we’ve been there, we’ve seen it. That’s not abstract.”

You’re not sure you follow, so you just nod, and let him talk.

“Thanks for listening, River. Good night.”

As he passes you, he pats you on the shoulder. An innocent gesture, but where his hand touches your bare skin, it sends electricity coursing across your torso.

You squat by the fire, and stare into the flames.

Gods, this man would be the death of you.