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nightingaletrash · 7 months

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With a Little Help From My Friends 2/2

aaaaaaand part 2 of the Karlach Fix-It fic!

AO3

There was an acrid stink of sulphur that filled the workshop as Dammon melted down the unfinished infernal armour. The parts had been studiously dismantled, the leather and cloth being set aside should they be needed for another project some day, while the iron was carefully checked for impurities that might meddle with the mechanisms or prove too brittle even for a prototype. And while Nemeia couldn’t boast any real knowledge on the subject, it had evidently passed the test as Thulla had immediately handed roughly two thirds of the iron off to the smiths with the rest being thrown to one side for disposal.

Meanwhile Zanner and Nickles worked on the parts that their people had salvaged from the Steel Watch. Their work was rhythmic in its own way; they would each pick up a piece or part, lift it to their ear, strike it delicately with a hammer and then lifted it to listen again. The difference was indiscernible to Nemeia, but it was enough for them to form a small series of piles - rejects to be discarded of, ones suitable for use in the prototype, ones to be melted down for later, and the ones they intended to save as they were for the final product.

Between the sweltering heat of the forge, the constant bustle, and the stink of rotten eggs, Nemeia and the others decided to wait outside until Dammon and the gnomes were done.

For some, the stink of fish and brine wouldn't be an improvement over the sulphur, and the sun still beat down with its warm summer rays, and while the cool sea breeze more than made up for it, the sudden relative calm left open air to think and the ghost of Karlach began to buzz in her ears once more.

What was the point? I’m still dying. I’m dying. I’m going to die!

The anguish burned in her ears as her chest tightened. She reached over her shoulder to grab her violin, as if tuning it would push the memory away. It was done. Gortash was dead, and now they were going to fix what he had done as best as they could. It wouldn’t be the same as getting her heart back, but it had to be better than dying.

You’ll just keep going, won’t you, Karlach accused. Watching the stars. Warming your hands on the campfire. Dancing, eating, making fucking love all night - all of it, all of it!

Her fingers trembled as she turned the pegs to tighten the strings, and she had to force away the crushing sensation in her chest because this wasn’t about her and her feelings. It was about Karlach. Karlach who had watched as Astarion struck down Cazador, saw Shadowheart reclaim her family from Viconia DeVir, and witnessed Wyll defy Hell itself to rescue his father from the Iron Throne and Mizora both. They all confronted the ones who had controlled and abused them, and they had all emerged from the other side a little less broken, a little more whole, with their lives finally back in their own hands after so many years at their mercy.

And now Karlach had finally faced her monster and had come away with nothing.

She had every right to be furious. They’d taken her heart. Taken everything. And as far as she knew, no one had any idea on how to get even a shred of it back.

What am I supposed to do now?

Live.

If Dammon and the gnomes did their job, all she’d ever have to do was live. Then she could watch the stars, warm her hands on the fire, sing and dance and eat and make love all night - she could do it all. Whatever she wanted, wherever she wanted. Even if she’d never have her heart back, she would have everything else.

The thought was enough to finally give her fingers their steadiness back, and she drew her bow and played a few notes to test her tuning. One string was much too tight, so she loosened it a little, and then began to play in earnest.

It was a tune she only vaguely recalled from her childhood. From a play when her mother took her on a trip to Neverwinter. It had been a story about a hero on a journey to try and stave off a sudden and inevitable death caused by a curse placed on them by a sorcerer. Of course, the hero had succeeded in the end, but had learned that there was much value in living life to the fullest instead of chasing tomorrow’s glory.

What had struck her as odd even then was the lack of a battle between the hero and the villain. Not five minutes after the curse was placed on the hero, their saviour arrived and abruptly killed off the villain altogether.

It had seemed an odd choice at the time. Why not give the hero the chance to be victorious over the one who had doomed them in the first place? Especially when it remained unclear as to how they were going to save themselves. At least, her young mind had thought, if the hero goes down, they know they’re taking their enemy with them.

Well she understood now. There was no satisfaction in destroying someone when you were just as doomed as they were. And that moment of understanding would have been a very hard sell for a show that was meant to be for children.

But the tune of the closing number had lurched into her mind unbidden, so that was what she chose to play. It was simple and catchy, and that was all it needed to be. Anything to stave off the idea that something might still go wrong and bring their plan crashing down around them.

As she played, the others took advantage of the brief chance to rest. In the sudden rush to try and get all the pieces for the new engine, that fight seemed so far away now. Like it had been days ago rather than hours, though the fact that his hand was still whole and intact in her pack rather than wasting away into sludge said otherwise.

Maybe once they’d dealt with this Murder Tribunal business, she’d let Karlach decide what to do with it and all of its gaudy jewellery. A final ‘fuck you’ to the bastard that had ruined her life.

Two hours were whiled away before Barcus emerged from the workshop, covered in soot and grease stains yet beaming broader than Nemeia had ever seen before.

“It’s perfect,” was all he said before beckoning them to come back inside.

They filed back into the workshop where Dammon and the gnomes were all admiring their hard work, and frankly, if Nemeia hadn’t known better, she might have thought that it was the real thing.

It was a contraption unlike any she had ever seen. The infernal casing was opened up to show the inner mechanisms that had been crafted as close to the shape of a real heart as was physically possible, the chambers all contracting and relaxing in rhythm with one another as the mechanisms whirred and the pistons pumped.

Yet as strange as it was, it was beautiful in its own way. Even though it was just a prototype, and even though she was no artificer, she could see the sheer amount of love that had gone into its creation. The perfection in the curves, the polished shine of the steel and iron, even its presentation on the table showed just how proud they all were of their work.

They had made this for Karlach. They did this to save her life. And they’d made it beautiful.

“We altered the design to make use of the existing framework that Karlach’s current engine uses,” Dammon explained. “If we ripped out everything that Zariel put in her, we’d have to rebuild her entire chest cavity, and that would leave her out of commission for months. So these-” He indicated to the pipes that tapered off and connected to nothing. “-will snap into place. It’ll be almost as fast as installing her upgrades, which puts much less stress on her body.”

“Dammon’s been vital to the process,” Barcus said brightly. “His understanding of infernal engineering allows us to account for everything this new engine will need to be capable of to cause as little disruption as possible.”

Dammon chuckled and shook his head. “You say that as if I didn’t nearly throw out all of your hard work for the sake of the infernal casing. If it weren’t for Thulla’s suggestion, it might have come to blows.”

“The heat build-up it could have caused was a very serious issue,” Zanner mused as he poured himself a cup of coffee - when was the last time he’d slept anyway?

“But it’s all been resolved now,” Barcus said reassuringly. “We need to run a couple of stress tests, but more for our own state of mind than anything.”

“Meaning you can go fetch the infernal iron,” Dammon added, “and Karlach. I’m sure she’ll want to see this for herself. Maybe make her own suggestions.” He added the last not with a cheeky grin and Nemeia giggled at the thought.

“I can imagine an engraving that says ‘Property of Karlach Cliffgate - fuck off Zariel’ would be her first thought.”

“If she doesn’t think to ask for that, I’ll definitely suggest it,” he laughed. “Go on now. We’ll get to work on the stress tests. Once we know for sure that it won’t burst into flames, and that Karlach is firmly on board, then we can get to work on putting the real thing together.”

[]

For all their talk of camping, the ‘camp’ that the party had set up in the city was actually just everyone cramming themselves into Nemeia and Kyreth’s family home and making do with the squeeze. But according to the message on the cabinet in the hallway, the others had all decided to clear out so that Karlach could have some space to herself.

It seemed that her dark mood had accompanied her home then.

While the others drifted off to tend to their own devices, Nemeia headed upstairs to her bedroom. Karlach was inside as predicted, sitting on the edge of the bed with a picture held gently by the tips of her fingers.

It was a small charcoal portrait of Nemeia and Kyreth when they were both much younger. Nemeia had been maybe five or six when she saw the artist on the corner of the street, being paid to draw passers-by, and she’d begged her mother for one.

He’d been delighted by her enthusiasm, and it had remained on her bedside table ever since.

Nemeia knocked on the door softly before stepping inside, and Karlach looked up.

“Hey soldier. You’re back.” She smiled though it didn’t quite meet her eyes, and she set the picture to one side.

“Still ‘soldier’ after all this time, huh?” Nemeia asked, only letting a small tease slip into her voice as she shut the door behind her. She noticed that Clive had moved from one end of the bed to the other but said nothing about it.

Karlach just shrugged. “Old habits. Did I miss anything while I was off having a sulk?”

“Oh if only you knew,” Nemeia laughed. “I did miss you though. It’s less fun without you around.”

“I missed you too,” Karlach sighed. She shook her head. “You know, I wouldn’t have bothered falling in love with you if I knew that saying goodbye was going to be so hard.”

Nemeia just smiled and moved to sit beside her.

“But what if you didn’t have to say goodbye? Not now, not tomorrow, not for a long, long time. What then?”

She sighed defeatedly.

“Don’t Nem. I’m trying to stay here, now, alive while I can. But it’s like my mind is being whittled down to the black hole that should’ve been our future.”

She ran a hand through her messy black and red mane, sparks flying off of her fingers as they brushed over the metal clasps in her braids. But Nemeia didn’t even flinch.

“But we have a future. A beautiful one,” she said firmly, unable to hold back her smile. “Maybe a short and violent one depending on how things go, but its there.”

And the smile caught Karlach’s eye. She frowned, her glowing amber eyes narrowing as if she was trying to figure out what the trick was.

“Alright… and why is that? Because if it turns out that you’re just that doppelganger freak Orin here to mess with me, I will literally split you in half with my axe,” she said sternly.

At that, Nemeia had to laugh and she shook her head.

“Karlach. You don’t have to die,” she said, unable to stop the smile spreading over her face at all. “After you left, one of the Gondians found us and said they’d found a way to help. Them, the Iron Hands, and even Dammon - they put their heads together and figured out a way.”

A beat passed as Karlach stared at her, utterly gobsmacked. Her eyes were wide and her jaw had gone slack. And then her engine threw off a telltale blue flare, like a heart skipping a beat. She was dumbstruck, unable to speak. Her mouth flapped a few times with effort, but no words came out. So Nemeia threaded her fingers through her’s and explained it all, from Lowa finding them at the bridge, to the prototype that Dammon and the others had built in just a few hours.

As she finished, there were tears pouring down Karlach’s face. Steam rolled off of the tracks, but the heat of her body couldn’t evaporate them fast enough as they raced down her cheeks and dripped onto their joined hands.

When she finally found her voice, she whispered, “...are you real? Or am I having a really cruel daydream right now?”

“I’m real, darling,” Nemeia pressed. “I’m real, it’s real, it’s happening. The only reason I didn’t come tell you straight away was because I had to be sure that it would work, or I’d never forgive myself for getting your hopes up just for them to get snatched away again. Not after what happened with Gortash.”

She disentangled one of her hands to cup Karlach’s face and thumbed away her tears.

“I know it’s not your real heart. If I could get that back and give it to you so that you’d never need another engine ever again, I would do it in a heartbeat. If I ever got a single Wish, it would be all I could ever wish for. But if I can’t do that, then the least I can do is make sure that you get to live on your terms. Not in Hell, but here, where you belong.”

At that, Karlach laughed wetly and shook her head.

“Are you actually sorry that you can’t just find my heart and put it back? Babe, it probably got eaten and shat out by imps years ago,” she said bluntly. “All I want is to live, and you and everyone else - you’re giving me that! Gods, I could kiss you, but if I do that now, I won’t be able to stop myself, and then what will Dammon and the others use to make my new engine? Besides, there’s gonna be so much time for kissing because… because I’m going to live…!”

And in a stark contrast to the utter despair and fury that had befallen her that afternoon, her face was now brimming with unbridled joy as she leapt to her feet and dragged Nemeia up with her.

“I’m going to live!” she shouted joyfully as she began to bounce and dance around the room. “I’m going to live, darling! We’ll get a house and a goat, and fuck it, you still want kids? I’m fucking down! Fuck yeah! We’ll get to travel! Oh man, we have to go to Athkatla, you missed out on so much when fuckface tried to possess you, and I can show you all the places we went, and hey, do you think Gale would let us stay at his place if we went to Waterdeep? I bet he’d let us stay, and he’d make us dinner and show us all the amazing stuff there is. I’ve always wanted to go to the Yawning Portal, and I’d love to get a proper cuddle with Tara too! And we can go on adventures with Wyll and kick some evil butt, I bet Minsc would love to come along for that! Ooh, and we can go on so many more dates!”

Laughter filled the room as they danced haphazardly together, the unbridled joy exploding out of them as Karlach’s eyes and chest glowed blue with excitement. The tears had all dried up. If there were more today, they would be tears of joy. But for now, there was only laughter and shouting and dancing.

And by the time they were done, Karlach was out of breath from shouting so much. Even as she giggled and spun around, clutching Nemeia to her chest, her voice was hoarse from use. But eventually she slowed down and pulled back, grinning from ear to ear.

“So, when do we get this new doo-hickey in my chest so we can put this Gortash bullshit behind us?”

“As soon as they’re done building it. Which they need infernal iron for.” Nemeia grinned. “So let’s grab what we have and head on down there, shall we?”

[]

As it turned out, the real engine was the ultimate test of patience for everyone involved. After Dammon performed a cursory check of Karlach’s engine, he determined that it would be a while longer before it gave out and recommended that the Gondians get some rest after their long ordeal under Gortash’s thumb - he and the Iron Hands would work together to get the parts and pieces made for assembly, and when everyone was rested and ready and at the peak of their ability, they’d bring it altogether to create the perfect engine for Karlach.

As it turned out, the best way to keep Karlach preoccupied until it was ready was to encourage her to write a list of all the things she would do once the Absolute was defeated.

To no one’s surprise, she wrote ‘Nem’ at the very top in bold letters.

“Do I need to cast Silence on your room tonight?” Gale jabbed when he glanced over at the list.

“Oh mate, every night,” Karlach laughed. “Probably wanna put one on them two as well while you’re at it.” She nodded in Kyreth and Halsin’s direction with a smirk. “I bet they’re just as bad.”

“Worse,” Kyreth said bluntly with a cat-like grin, and Nemeia pulled a face.

“Please do not make me confront the fact that those two have sex,” she groaned as she wrapped her arms around Karlach from behind. “Now what else do you want to do, besides me?”

Karlach tilted her head and made a pensive looking face as she tapped her pen against her chin. “Oi Shadowheart!”

The room burst into laughter as Nemeia slapped Karlach on the bicep playfully.

“Don’t even joke, you!” she said with a grin.

Shadowheart sprawled across her armchair with a dramatic sigh. “Ah, and to think I was this close to finally getting a piece of that big, beefy tiefling.”

“Dream on Princess, I was here first,” Nemeia laughed. “Now come on, seriously. You mentioned Athkatla yesterday. What do you want to do when we go there?”

“Whatever you do, don’t bring Lae’zel. She’ll murder your child before your very eyes,” Shadowheart interjected, earning an angry ‘chk’ from Lae’zel as she dragged a whetstone down her blade.

“The imp was returned to the Hells, not murdered,” she hissed derisively. “If you truly want it back so badly then by all means, delve into Avernus to rescue Bing Bong.”

“You set him on fire and splatted him on cobblestones.”

“He should have tried harder not to hit the cobblestones.”

“You threw him-!”

“Girls.”

Both of their mouths snapped shut as Kyreth eyed them with the imperious gaze of a mother and the argument came to an abrupt end. And just in time too, as there was a sudden rapping on the door. Kyreth stepped out into the hall to answer it.

“Ah, Lowa. This is about the engine?”

“Yes! Dammon’s doing some last stress tests, but its ready to go otherwise. We can do installation whenever Karlach’s ready-”

She barely finished the sentence before Karlach had leapt out of her chair and barged out to the front door with all the energy of an overexcited puppy.

“I’m ready now, let’s go, go, go!”

Everyone was up and moving without any instruction, doing their best to keep Karlach from immediately taking off without them while they locked up the house and shouldered their weapons. It was easier said than done because she just couldn’t seem to stop herself to the point that she started jogging in circles on the spot.

“Come on already, I’ll start carrying you all if it gets us there faster,” she groaned.

“It pays to be cautious when Shapechangers are on the loose, darling,” Astarion sighed. “Don’t want them rooting through our things while we’re gone. Imagine if they took Clive hostage next.”

“He’d fight them off, easy,” Karlach snorted, holding up her fists as if to demonstrate. “Now hurry up, let’s go!”

And they were off, heading down to the Gondian-Iron Hand workshop at the harbour. Karlach kept running ahead and having to wait for the rest to catch up, resulting in her bouncing on the balls of her feet impatiently. At least the passers-by seemed to find it amusing enough, judging from the bemused grins and giggles that followed them as they went.

When they reached the workshop, every last person who had pitched in on the engine was gathered in the main room with the fruit of their labour displayed on the table before them.

If Nemeia had thought the prototype was beautiful, then it was nothing compared to the real thing. It was sleek and compact, with the glowing infernal iron moulded into perfect shape for the casing. Everything was sleek and polished, and practically glowed in the lamp light, and everyone from engineer to alchemist to coffee-runner was beaming with pride as the party filed in.

Karlach was gobsmacked. With a quick glance for permission at Dammon - who nodded in assent - she stepped forwards to pick the engine up and examine it. It glittered from every angle. Everything fit together in a beautiful harmony, with so much love and care that nothing could be a more fitting tribute to its new owner. Then Dammon caught her attention and silently mimed opening it up with his hands. So she did so with an almost uncharacteristic care and gentleness, as if she was terrified to break it.

And there, on the heart inside, was an engraving that read:

Property of Karlach Cliffgate - fuck off Zariel.

“Well… fuck me,” she sniffed as tears welled up in her amber eyes.

“Do you like it?” Barcus asked tentatively, his mouth pressed into a thin line with nervousness.

“Like it? I love it,” she sobbed.

She set it back down tenderly, then strode around the table and scooped him up into her arms in a fierce hug. For a moment he was caught off-guard, but returned the hug with a brisk firmness and a wobbly smile on his face. Then once she released him, she turned to Dammon and pulled him into a hug next.

“Thank you,” she sobbed. “For everything.”

He grinned as he wrapped his arms around her back and squeezed hard.

“Don’t thank me. It was Zanner’s idea in the first place.” He pulled back. “I just chipped in.”

But Karlach just shook her head. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have lived long enough to meet Zanner. Hell, I wouldn’t be able to touch anyone. You gave me so much already, and now you’re giving me the rest.” Her lip wobbled and her voice grew thick as she continued, “you’re giving me my whole life back.”

He squeezed her again and patted her shoulder before pulling away to give her the chance to rub the tears from her eyes. And when that was done, she continued with her hug train, giving a hug to every last person who had worked on her engine. The gnomes all looked a bit flustered at first, but otherwise were glowing with pride as the tiefling thanked each and every one of them.

When she was done, Dammon clapped her on the shoulder.

“Ready to get to work?”

She beamed brighter than the sun.

“So fucking ready, mate.”

[]

The house was packed to bursting that night, and the drinks were flowing. Wyll and Halsin had returned from a trip to the tavern, having procured three whole barrels of ale, and no one wasted any time in cracking them open and pouring out the drinks.

Karlach was the centre of attention with her new engine, despite Dammon’s repeated pleas for her to take it easy for a few hours at least. While no longer aflame with a hot orange flame glowing in her chest, her spirit was by no means reduced. If anything, she was more boisterous than ever. She bounded from room to room, hugging everyone she saw and dragging people out for dances more than once, and it didn’t seem like she was going to be slowing down any time soon.

Right now, Wyll was on the floor with her, both of them smiling and laughing and having the time of their lives as the alcohol flowed. Some of the Iron Hands had broken out into drunken singing, and the Gondians were taking the chance to just relax and enjoy themselves. Meanwhile Gale was in the kitchen, trying to figure out how much food he’d need to make to accommodate for everyone, and it seemed that Astarion had decided to ‘help’ - meaning he was hanging around and drinking wine while offering commentary. Shadowheart was once again in her armchair by the window, though this time with her own glass of wine, and she seemed more content with observing the festivities over joining in. The same could be said for Lae’zel who had slunk off upstairs to engage with martial exercises over chatter, though she appeared soon enough when Gale finally called for dinner to be served.

Halsin and Kyreth busied themselves in helping Gale with serving, doing their best to make sure that everyone got a portion, and soon enough, the noise died down to a general chatter as everyone settled in to eat.

By the time Dammon and the gnomes all departed, it was past midnight and it didn’t take long for everyone to decide that they were ready to retire for the night. There was a queue for the bathroom as usual, and nightly routines were carried out in short order before everyone shuffled off to their bunks for the night. But as Nemeia passed Gale as he stepped out of the bathroom, he winked at her discreetly before disappearing downstairs.

For a moment she was baffled, but upon opening and closing her bedroom door, she suddenly understood. The house outside of the room had suddenly fallen silent. No shuffling footsteps from downstairs or loud coughs from the other rooms. Just Nemeia and Karlach, who was sat on the bed humming to herself.

Clive was perched on a chair in the corner with his back to the bed.

“Thinking of your boy as always,” Nemeia joked as she approached.

“Of course,” Karlach chuckled. “I would never forgive myself if he got scarred for life.”

She sat expectantly on the edge of the bed. Her whole face glowed with boundless delight as her lover cupped her face and tilted it back. Nemeia ran her thumbs along her jaw, taking in the beautiful sight of her love filled with joy and hope, with her whole life ahead of her.

Then, without warning, Karlach wrapped her arms around Nemeia’s waist, tipped back on the bed and pulled her down with her, cackling with glee as her lover squealed in surprise. She pressed her lips to the delicate pink neck, then to her jaw, up her cheek, over her nose, down the other side and finally reached her mouth.

They melted into each other, hands finding purchase on shoulders or in hair, tugging their bodies together into a tangled mess. They rolled over, with Karlach taking her usual place on top of Nemeia where they paused briefly to gaze at one another.

A beat passed before Nemeia broke the silence.

“I love you so much,” she said softly.

“Well that’s good,” Karlach replied cheekily before she leaned in, her lips just barely grazing over Nemeia’s as she added, “because I plan on loving you for the rest of my life.”

The rest of her life… that sounded beautiful indeed.

#nightingale writes #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #karlach cliffgate #nemeia #nemeia/karlach #karlach x tav #dammon #barcus wroot #zanner toobin #fix-it fic

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nightingaletrash · 7 months

Text

With a Little Help From My Friends 1/2

A Karlach Fix-It Fic in which Karlach gets a happy ending like she deserves <3 y'all can thank @andauril this only happened because of our shared babbling xx

AO3

The chamber was suffocating in its silence as Karlach’s screams still seemed to echo off of the walls like a chorus of ghosts, the spectres choking any semblance of satisfaction out of the room. The stench of blood and smoke powder clogged the air and Gortash was dead. They had another Netherstone. And none of it fucking mattered because she was still dying.

The air itself seemed intent on choking them all, so Nemeia led the party back the way they’d come, all of them shuffling along in silence as the words kept replaying themselves over and over; the break in her voice, the utter despair that couldn’t quite choke out the fury of injustice, and the fact that no matter how they looked at it, she had been utterly right. When this was over, when the Absolute was no more, Karlach would likely be gone along with it and the rest of them would carry on with their lives.

How fucking unfair.

And it was like Wyrm’s Rock knew of this great injustice that it had just played host to because despite all of the people that filled its halls and the scrambling of the Flaming Fist to fill the patrols of the now-defunct Steel Watch, the keep seemed to have fallen mysteriously silent and they encountered no one as they made their way down the stairs and through the corridors as they made their way back outside. Maybe the world had finally seen fit to fall silent in respect for the inevitable end of a woman who’d deserved better. Or maybe grief just had a way of filtering out everything but the things that hurt the most.

As they exited the keep, the sun had reached its zenith, shining cheerfully when it should be doing anything but. On a day like this, under circumstances like this, it ought to be dark and cold and gloomy as the heavens opened and the sky wept for the one person who’d been denied her true justice. That’s how it was in the stories. Sunshine and misery were like oil and water. They were never meant to go hand-in-hand.

Where was the outpour of grief? Where was the poignant reflection of circumstance? Where was the fucking justice?

Yet despite her silent tirade at its tyranny, the sun just shone on happily, warming them all up in spite of their collective mourning. In fact, Nemeia was so deeply caught up in it that she barely registered it when she stepped out towards Basilisk’s Gate that someone was shouting. It was only when Shadowheart pinched her elbow did the static in her ears finely peter out and she realised that a strangely familiar gnome woman was calling out and running towards them as fast as her legs could carry her.

“You there! You’re - the one from the Foundry right?” the gnome panted as she skidded to a halt in front of them. She had long blonde hair tied into a ponytail and a dirty white coat that struck Nemeia with the realisation that she knew where she had seen this woman before. She was a Gondian who had worked in the Steel Watch Foundry, complete with control collar and the threat of death looming over her head. Her whole face was bright red and dripping with sweat, and she doubled over as she panted for breath. Had she ran all the way up here from the harbour?

“Is everything alright?”

The words seemed to stick in Nemeia’s throat, which was unlike her. It wasn’t like the Gondians were to blame for Karlach’s condition, it wasn’t their fault that they couldn’t provide her with a miracle solution. But for them to approach her so soon off the back of Gortash’s death, undoubtedly to ask for her help when she had already done so much for them when they couldn’t do anything to help Karlach-!

“What? No, no - we’re fine. Everything’s - fine,” the gnome gasped, still gulping down air like a drowning man. She didn’t seem to realise that she had interrupted a very angry train of thought. “Sorry… I’ve just spent so long holed up in that - damned foundry. Not used to running around - like this. But Zanner said that - it’s important.”

She paused to better catch her breath, then continued.

“Listen. I know what we said - about your friend’s engine,” she began. “And truly, we can’t fix it. That thing - was built to run in Avernus, and only Avernus. We’re inventors, not miracle workers.” Her breathing finally evened out and she straightened herself up, still red and sweaty, but looking very sincere as she craned her head up to look at Nemeia. “But you all did so much for us and for the Iron Hands that we all decided to put our heads together and try to think of something we can do. And-”

Nemeia’s heart jumped into her mouth as the gnome grinned up at her.

“-we think we’ve got something.”

[]

Barcus and Zanner Toobin were seated at the table in a sideroom of the slapdash workshop that had been erected in the old Flymm Export building; they were pouring over a set of blueprints and talking intensely when the party arrived, following after an eager and still somewhat breathless Lowa.

All around them, the workshop was alive with activity as Gondians and Iron Hands alike bustled to and fro, all discussing eagerly among themselves. Some were working plates of metal in the forge while some were working with oils and tubing, and others were from room to room with pots of coffee and freshly-made toast to keep everyone supplied. It was a gnomish workshop in action, and it seemed that everyone was pitching in on their latest project.

Barcus looked up as Nemeia approached and beamed enthusiastically at the sight of her and the others. He leaned over to whisper to Zanner before waving the group over.

“There you are. Lowa found you alright? Good!” He glanced over at them and his expression wavered somewhat. “Karlach’s not with you?”

“She needed some time to herself now that Gortash is dead,” Nemeia said vaguely. She didn’t need those words to be invited back into her skull where they could occupy her thoughts with free reign, and fortunately, the delighted cheers of the Gondians and Iron Hand chased them away for the time being. Karlach wasn't the only one who'd wanted to see Gortash get what was coming to him. “Lowa said that you’d been working on something for her?”

She glanced at the papers on the desk. The documents were detailed, with numerous notes scratches in margins, and scribbled out words, lines, paragraphs, and sketches in addition to the very detailed schematics. The details were far beyond her understanding, but she could recognise the central purpose of it all: an engine.

Barcus’ beam renewed itself and he nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes, yes. Zanner and I were just going over some of the finer details and we think we’ve got just the thing.” He moved a blueprint closer for Nemeia to see, and Zanner leaned in to say his piece.

“It’s a refined version of the engine that we created for the final iteration of the Steel Watch,” he explained, his calm voice edged with a note of pride. “After what you told us about Karlach’s engine being an infernal prototype, we theorised that we could scale down the engine we created based on the materials that Gortash had supplied us with. And with what we had to hand, we’ve managed to create a prototype that should work perfectly as the baseline for the final product.”

She could already hear the ‘but’ coming, and yet she didn’t care and hung on Zanner’s every word. If she had to go back to Avernus and fight through every last layer of Hell to get what they needed to make this prototype work, she’d do it in a heartbeat.

“Hopefully that won’t be necessary,” he said with a smile, and only then did she realise that she’d said any of that out loud. “What we need is a skilled mechanic, one familiar with an engine like Karlach’s as well as the dimensions of her chest cavity so that the final engine we create is tailored to fulfil her precise requirements. If the engine is too big, it won’t fit. And if its too small, it won’t sit right, won’t produce the proper energy requirements for her body and could end up failing entirely, along with the multitude of other problems it would cause.”

“We also need the correct materials,” Barcus added. “The prototypes have been made with whatever we’ve had to hand, but when you’re installing machinery into a person, you need to make it with materials that will last. The last thing anyone wants is to have to replace their insulator shell or their fuel line every six months.”

“Fortunately, the parts and pieces we need that could survive in organic housing are right here in the city,” Zanner continued confidently. “No one’s removed the defunct Steel Watch from the streets, and the biomechanical fusion of their construction means the materials would be perfect for this new engine.”

“Chk!” All heads snapped in Lae’zel’s direction as she glared at the gnomes, and Shadowheart side-eyed her as if trying to silently tell her to calm herself. It went unnoticed. “Were the Steel Watch not part ghaik in their construction? Are you suggesting that illithid machinery be the solution?”

“Not at all,” Zanner replied smoothly, not even skipping a beat despite the venom in her voice. Maybe it helped that he couldn’t see the white-hot stare that he was being subjected to. “The biological components of the Steel Watch are certainly illithid in nature, but those aren’t the parts we need. We need the mechanical parts because they mesh well with organic material, nothing more.”

That seemed to placate Lae’zel who sniffed but said nothing more and just jerked her head at Nemeia in ascent. She nodded back at her and turned to Barcus and Zanner.

“We know a mechanic here in the city who’s worked on Karlach’s engine before. We can get him on board, no problem, just tell us what parts you need us to find.”

Both gnomes beamed, and Barcus turned back to the papers to shuffle through them.

“Well, luckily you won’t need to know what to look for. Myself and a few of the others are going to head out and salvage the materials from the Steel Watch ourselves. Considering that Lord Gortash isn’t around to claim the salvage, we’re certain that the Iron Hand and Gondians will be granted the rights to retrieval by Duke Ravenguard now that he’s back to his old self.”

He gave Nemeia a knowing, self-satisfied look. “You just need to find the mechanic and ask him to come here as soon as possible. I don’t doubt that his insight will be invaluable to perfecting our designs so that we can sign off on them and get to building. And he’ll be needed for the installation of course. Should Karlach wish to swap out her engine, that is.” He cleared his throat. “I only ever heard bits and pieces of the story while at your camp, but I’ve gathered enough to know that she’s had too many choices made for her. Even if our intent is different from that of Zariel’s, she deserves the right to say no.”

She’d never say no, not to this. Not to the chance to live.

But, Nemeia reminded herself, it mattered that Barcus had even considered it all the same. This was Karlach’s choice in the end and no one else’s. No one here was going to forcibly strap her down and rip out a part of her in exchange for something that wasn’t her’s. Something better . That was what Gortash had done. What Zariel had done. They decided that they were improving her by taking her heart from her. And while the engine might be the source of her pain and woe right now, it was still her’s. It was part of her, had been part of her for ten years now. Fixing it and replacing it were two separate things. She might not want to replace it. She’d probably do it if it meant surviving, but doing what she needed to do wasn’t doing what she wanted to do. And only she had the right to make that call.

Regardless, one thing was clear: the Gondians and Iron Hands had gone above and beyond in their efforts to find some kind of solution, and they were closer than anyone to cracking a seemingly unsolvable problem.

In less than twenty four hours, they had drawn up their blueprints, teased out every flaw in the existing design, figured out how to make it work for a person rather than a machine, noted down every last detail they could think of that would need to be considered before they even approached the idea of installation, and they were still working away even now. Despite the treatment they’d received at the hands of the Banites, despite having every right to throw up their hands and rest, they chose to work instead. The aroma of coffee was nearly overpowering, and it mingled in the hot air with the stench of fire, sweat and oil as they continued to march ever onwards, forging test pieces for their prototypes. The rhythm with which they worked was well practised and fast paced, but there was a fiery determination which motivated them far beyond anything the Steel Watch Foundry might have witnessed from them. There, they worked so that they and their families might survive. Now, they worked so that someone else could live too, even though they’d originally believed that it was beyond them.

This was more in line with the stories. That one person could be so loved, that heaven and earth would be forced to move before anyone gave up on them.

Maybe she’d judged the sunshine too quickly. Maybe there would be no need for rain at all.

[]

After weeks of fighting through the hostile territory, combating the Shadow Curse, and travelling in the company of a hardened Githyanki warrior, one might expect Nemeia’s athleticism to have improved somewhat. As it so happened, that was not the case. As she arrived at the top of the steps that led into the Forge of the Nine, her face had gone from a delicate pink to a deep scarlet as she gasped for breath.

After running all the way up from the harbour, she suddenly found herself feeling deeply sympathetic to Lowa. It must have been a much longer run from the harbour to Wyrm Rock, and she’d done it all with gnomish legs. The others followed up behind her, all in varying stages of out-of-breath. Though of course Lae’zel was perfectly fine, despite wearing heavy plate armour. Of course she was.

Nemeia leaned up against a wooden post as Dammon set down the shield he was working on and hurried over.

“Nem, is everything alright?” he asked, glancing over her and the others for any sign of injury or trouble. And if they were there for any other reason, Nemeia might have considered that they were still bearing the marks of their battle with Gortash and his Banites, from the crust of their blood dried to their weapons to the scorches and burns they'd received from his traps and explosives.

Instead she just nodded hurriedly while still sucking down lungfuls of breath, and Dammon rubbed her back before reaching for his belt. He offered a water skin which she accepted eagerly. After gulping down two mouthfuls, she passed it off to Gale and gasped out, “we’ve found a way to save Karlach.”

Dammon’s tail went stiff and his eyes widened. Then his jaw clicked and he straightened his back as he said, "tell me everything."

They piled into the Forge and presented him with the notes provided by Zanner and Barcus so that he could study them himself. As he devoured their contents, Nemeia explained why they had come to him and what they would need.

Without a word, he grabbed a pen and started scribbling over the notes, marking down measurements and suggestions as they came to mind and he pinched his tongue between his teeth. Still he nodded along as Nemeia spoke, showing that he was listening intently.

"It could work, though I'd want to talk with the other engineers first. The proposed housing unit isn't sturdy enough for a person who's not clad in heavy-plate armour," he mused. "Infernal Iron is what her body's used to, and can handle more punishment. If you still have any on hand, we can see what the Gondians have to say about its use."

“It’s back at camp,” Nemeia replied excitedly. “We hung onto it all in case we found a way to fix the engine.”

“And it seems like it was a wise decision to do so,” Gale noted humorously. “Despite the extra effort required to haul it around whenever we picked up camp.”

“As if you ever once tried to carry it yourself,” Lae’zel sniffed imperiously.

“And let him break his back in the effort, Lae’zel?” Shadowheart jabbed mirthfully. “He has enough trouble with hauling around the scrolls and books that our fearless leader insists on collecting.”

"So long as you still have it," Dammon cut over before anyone else could jump in, drawing all focus back to the subject at hand. "Of course I'll need to consult the others first, finalise a design that we can all agree on, mock up a final prototype to ensure it all works and then-"

He stopped short and shook his head.

"I'm getting ahead of myself. I need to get to this workshop before we even consider installation. I take it that Karlach's with them?"

Nemeia shook her head.

"We killed Gortash not long ago. And with the whole 'go back to Avernus or die' thing, she needed some time alone, so she went back to camp,” Nemeia explained. “The Gondians approached us after she'd already left, and well. I guess I want to be certain that this could even work before we consider getting her hopes up."

She worried at her lower lip as the guilt soaked through her chest, and she gave the mechanic a pleading look. "She was so upset, Dammon. So angry about the fact that Gortash wasn't the slightest bit sorry about selling her to Zariel, or that even with him dead, she was still dying. She wants to live so badly, and I could never bring this to her just for it to turn out that it could never work." Her eyes burned as she shook her head and Dammon grabbed her hand and squeezed it reassuringly as she finished, "we need to know that it'll work. So that it's real and we won't just be setting her up to get hurt again. She deserves that much… More. Everything ."

He nodded sympathetically.

"Then we'll give her everything we have," he said with firm-yet-gentle confidence. "I'll gather up what I need from here and we’ll head to the workshop. If the infernal iron can still be used, then you can fetch it from your camp and tell Karlach that there might still be a way to save her."

A lump formed in Nemeia’s throat.

“And if the iron causes some kind of problem? What then?”

But Dammon just clasped her hand gently.

“I’ve got enough infernal scraps lying around here for a prototype. An old commission that went unfinished by the last smith who worked here,” he explained evenly. “I’d never use it for a final product, but it’ll serve well enough. By the time we need the raw stuff you’ve collected, we’ll already know one way or another.”

And just like that, the lump dissolved and her heart soared even as her eyes watered. She held Dammon’s clasped hands with her free one and fixed him with the utmost gratitude that she could muster.

“Thank you Dammon, thank you so much,” she said wetly. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

He just smiled and said, “all I need from you is the promise that you and Karlach will come to visit me when you’re done saving the world, and that you’ll buy the drinks.”

She smiled and nodded.

“Deal.”

#nightingale writes #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #karlach cliffgate #nemeia #nemeia/karlach #karlach x tav #dammon #barcus wroot #zanner toobin #fix-it fic

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