blood/lust - casual__arson - Baldur's Gate (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: Waking

Chapter Text

“And what is with this road, so slick with blood? What happened here? What happened to us all?”

The Roads to Darkness

Then:

The first thing Vaela was aware of as she regained consciousness was pain. Searing, throbbing, crippling, all-encompassing pain. It consumed her, whiting out her vision and filling her with a rapidly growing panic. As she struggled to open her eyes and lift her head a dizzying agony erupted at the back of her skull, pitching her forward onto the ground. She landed hard, immediately pulling herself to her hands and knees as she retched violently - blood and bile pouring from her lips as her body was wracked with spasms. She collapsed, shaking, onto her side and forced deep breaths into her burning lungs.

What the f*ck happened to me?

The shuddering lessened after a few moments of focused breathing, and Vaela slowly sat up and opened her eyes. A blue glow in her periphery caught her attention - a restoration pod. Rising unsteadily to her feet, she gasped at another wave of agony crashing through her. Gritting her teeth, she limped toward the hazy light, letting out a sob of relief as the pod activated and cooling healing magic cascaded over her body. The back of her head still ached but the pain was dulled significantly, the rest of her body renewed.

With a clearer head, Vaela surveyed her surroundings. She was in danger, that much was abundantly clear. A fire burned steadily on one end of the room full of empty illithid incubation pods. There were no other signs of life in the alien room except for a mindflayer crumpled on the floor. She approached the body, prodding it with the toe of her boot.

Dead. Good.

The room - no, ship? - shook violently, sounds of explosions too close for comfort. She had to get out of here. Vaela rifled through the dead mindflayer’s robes, finding a small dagger. Taking another deep breath with the weapon in hand, she straightened her spine and headed to the door.

*******

Now:

Vaela startled awake. The smoldering embers of the fire she had fallen asleep next to provided no warmth as she became aware of the chilled sweat covering her skin. With a groan, she sat up in her bedroll and stretched her stiff limbs, her omnipresent headache a dull throbbing at the back of her skull. The camp around her was quiet, her companions still sleeping as the first few rays of dawn slowly began to dispel the darkness of the night. Grateful for a few more moments of solitude, Vaela grabbed her pack and headed to the nearby river. At the bank she peeled the sweaty tunic and leggings from her body and dove into the icy water.

It had only been a few days since Vaela had awoken on the crashing nautiloid and quite literally fell from the sky; coming to on an unfamiliar beach surrounded by bodies with no memories save for her name. She had half-hoped given time and rest her memories would return - there were times she felt a spark of recognition, as if a thought was almost solidified before dissipating into nothingness. It was maddening.

But far from being empty, her broken mind was rarely quiet. Her waking thoughts were filled with whispers of her darkened past; blood-soaked echoes of half-formed memories of violence that called for her to harm, to cut to maim to kill. At night her trance was plagued by dreams of bathing in rivers of blood and gore, a distorted version of herself laughing as she lounged upon a throne of dismembered corpses. Every morning she awoke with a throbbing head, feeling as if she had barely gotten any rest. Exhausted, she would rise before the sun and wait for the whispers to begin again.

She had tentatively broached the subject with her companions, inquiring about the side effects they were experiencing thanks to the tadpole. Other than the disturbing sensation of the worms wriggling behind their eyes and sporadically connecting them telepathically, it seemed Vaela’s “symptoms” were entirely unique to her. Not only that, her companions hardly seemed phased by her bloodlust - even encouraging her to direct her violence toward their enemies. It did nothing to quell her worries of losing control. Instinct tells her, she must protect herself from her urges… and discover who she is before it is too late.

Vaela remained submerged in the frigid water, relishing the cold and the stillness. So far it was one of the few things she had discovered that helped to quiet her mind and nerves. Only when her lungs began to scream for air did she finally relent, taking a deep breath once she breached the surface. Back on the bank of the river she dried off and dressed quickly before combing her fingers through her wet hair, leaving the inky strands unbound to dry.

Arriving back at camp, Vaela was greeted by a few of her companions starting the day. Gale had restoked the fire and was busying himself preparing breakfast for the group, pausing to give her a friendly wave. Lae’zel was checking her many weapons, having already donned her armor. The gith was the most recent addition to the camp, having been rescued the day prior after being captured by a pair of scared tieflings near the crash site. Shadowheart, decidedly not a morning person, remained in her tent and would stay there until drawn out by the promise of a hot meal. Astarion's tent was empty but the elf was nowhere to be seen.

Today the group was heading to a nearby druid’s grove in search of supplies and a healer. The tieflings they met the day before had given them directions before running off, relieved to leave the fate of their githyanki prisoner to someone else. Vaela had no illusions that they would conveniently find someone capable of tadpole extraction in the middle of nowhere, but what other option did they have but to press on?

Settling on a log beside the fire, Vaela accepted a bowl of porridge from Gale. Shadowheart had finally emerged from her tent, hair mussed and eyes bleary as she sat heavily next to Vaela and grumbled something that sounded like “thanks” in response to being handed her own bowl.

“Ah, the sleeping beauty has graced us with her presence at last. First to bed and last to rise, is it? No, that doesn’t sound quite right.”

Shadowheart lifted her hand in a crude gesture toward the silky voice, not bothering to look up from her meal. Astarion sauntered into view and chose a seat across the fire from his companions. He held a hand up in refusal to the bowl offered by Gale. “As delicious as that looks, I’m afraid I’ve never been much of a breakfast person.”

“A habit you may want to reconsider, my friend,” the wizard responded as he busied himself cleaning up his cooking supplies. “A hearty meal is the best way to begin one’s day on the right foot. Although my meager efforts here can hardly be described as hearty but given a few more ingredients and the right spices I have been known to whip up a veritable feast to break one’s fast - ”

Astarion glanced over to Vaela and dramatically rolled his eyes, a look of pained exasperation on his face in response to Gale’s rambling. Vaela covered her laugh with a cough before schooling her face to a more neutral expression. Astarion’s lip quirked into a slight smirk, pleased with the response he had elicited from the drow.

Vaela found herself equal parts fascinated and confused by the elf. He was undeniably attractive and he knew it. He wielded his beauty and charm as deftly as his daggers, moving with an effortless grace in and out of combat. Every gesture, every facial expression, every word controlled, calculated… practiced . It was all smoke and mirrors. The roguish overly flirty personality was a mask he wore, whether to conceal or protect himself Vaela did not know… but she was determined to find out. For now, she played along with his persona, giving as good as she got.

Finished with her breakfast, Vaela began her morning ritual of donning her leathers and securing her many weapons. Shadowheart scoffed as she passed by on her way to her tent. “We’re going to a druid’s grove. I hardly think it’s necessary to arm yourself to the teeth, Vaela.”

Vaela shrugged as she tightened the dagger sheath strapped to her thigh. “Better to be over prepared than caught unaware.”

“There’s being prepared, and then there’s overkill,” the clerk remarked before disappearing into her tent.

Once the group was finished with their preparations, Vaela led the motley crew up the hill toward the grove. The directions they were given were vague, but soon enough she spotted a small group of humans standing before the camouflaged gate the tieflings had described. As they drew closer, Vaela became uneasy. The humans had their weapons drawn and stood in a defensive formation with their backs to the gate. One of them was screaming to be let in.

Vaela gestured to her companions to slow their pace and quiet themselves. “Something’s wrong. There’s trouble up ahead.”

The warning had barely left her lips before a piercing warcry sounded from the opposite end of the clearing. A group of goblins burst from the underbrush, weapons drawn as they rushed the gate.

“Of course,” Vaela muttered. It could never be as simple as walking in and finding what they need. She couldn’t resist throwing a barb to Shadowheart over her shoulder, “Overkill for the druid’s grove, huh?” She heard a single ha! from Astarion before focusing on the impending melee. Bow drawn and arrow nocked, she was already halfway up an adjacent hill with a goblin in her sights from the high ground. “Here we go again.”

Chapter 2: Introductions

Chapter Text

Then:

How long had he been standing there, mouth agape as he stared in disbelief and wonder at his own hands? Seconds? Minutes? His hands, his finest tools and weapons, unblemished and uninjured in the light. Not lamp light or firelight. Sunlight. He should be burning, not feeling pleasantly warm. He should be dead , reduced to cinders and ash, not feeling practically alive. How did this happen? How did he get here?

Did he even care?

One moment, he was whispering into the ear of a pretty redhead in a dim tavern, reciting all his most enticing lines. The next, he was trapped, unable to move or fight as a nightmarish worm burrowed past his eye into his brain as he lost consciousness. Then there was fire, fighting, dragons? then falling, falling, falling -

No. It didn’t matter how he got here, wherever here was. It wasn’t Baldur’s Gate, certainly. It wasn’t the flophouse or the brothel, not the palace or the kennels. He couldn’t feel the presence of his master in the back of his head, his mind and thoughts entirely his own.

Wherever here happened to be, Astarion was free.

A pang of hunger broke his reverie. He sighed. So, not entirely free. There was also the matter of the worm behind his eye that must be dealt with. And being lost somewhere with nothing but the clothes on his back.

sh*t.

Closing his eyes, Astarion tipped his head back and marveled again at the feeling of the sun on his face. Yes, there were definitely some… complications he would need to sort out. But he was never really a details person, preferring to think on his feet rather than follow a preset plan. He would figure it out. Probably. Hopefully.

The distant sound of footsteps wrenched Astarion’s attention back to his surroundings. He stood on a sandy cliff, the sea on one side and the burning remnants of the alien ship on the other. There was nowhere to immediately find cover, he was utterly exposed. He listened intently, snippets of conversation barely perceptible along with the footsteps. It sounded like common, mindflayers didn’t speak out loud did they? They didn’t really walk either, more of a levitating. So it wasn’t his kidnappers coming for him. Locals? Other survivors of the crash? Friend or foe, he had to be on guard, prepared to defend himself. He just tasted freedom, he would do whatever was necessary to keep it.

Astarion turned toward the sound of voices approaching from the wreckage of the nautiloid. Two dark-haired elven women covered in blood and bruises stepped out into the sunlight. He was almost certain he recognized the pair roaming around free on the nautiloid, they could be in league with his captors. He only had a second to determine his angle and made a decision.

“I need help!” Astarion slipped on the mask instinctively - weak, helpless, and afraid; the proverbial damsel in distress in need of rescue. Not a threat, certainly not a predator waiting for an opportune moment to gain the upper hand.

The shorter of the two - a drow judging by the armor, although her dusky skin seemed much too pale - spotted him first, holding out an arm to halt the woman beside her as she surveyed the stranger before them.

“I’ve got one of those brain things cornered. You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others?”

The taller woman stayed back as the too pale drow approached. Her gaze flicked over Astarion, sizing him up before settling on his face. He focused on maintaining his mask; wide, fearful eyes and slouched intimidated posture. Her eyes, an unsettling almost-white silver, bore into his own as they stared at each other. He held his breath.

“You seem capable enough. Kill it yourself.” The woman dismissed the elf, turning to rejoin her companion.

Not exactly the reaction he anticipated. He had been hoping for a kind soul, but he’ll settle for a turned back and the element of surprise. In one fluid motion, Astarion drew his dagger and lunged.

*******

Now:

Astarion couldn’t suppress his exasperated sigh as yet another tadpoled stranger joined the pack he found himself reluctantly a member of. At least the “Blade of Frontiers” seemed to be a competent spell caster; Astarion questioned the skills of the obnoxious wizard who had managed to trap himself in a godsdamned rock . If he had known the drow he threatened at knifepoint on the beach had a penchant for collecting strays, Astarion may have reconsidered her offer to team up in search of a cure. Since he met Vaela and Shadowheart they had rescued the aforementioned wizard from his failed portal as well as a githyanki they found trapped by a couple of tieflings ; hardly a ringing endorsem*nt of the fighter’s prowess in battle. At least Lae’zel had managed to redeem herself by easily cutting through the goblin ambush the group encountered trying to enter the grove they now found themselves in. Gale may have helped, but any skill he possessed was overshadowed by his constant chatter; gods the man never shut up.

Conversely, the dark-haired pair of elven women retained more of an air of mystery. They both suffered from some degree of memory loss, though the cleric’s amnesia seemed to be magical in nature while the ranger’s was clearly the result of a physical head injury. Shadowheart at least seemed to have more intact memories, but cagily refused to answer basic questions, citing her desire for privacy. Vaela, on the other hand, remembered nothing before the nautiloid. At first Astarion maintained a healthy amount of skepticism at this story; surely the drow remembered something and was obviously using her “amnesia” as some sort of angle. After traveling together for a few days (and with the occasional unsolicited tadpole mind melding) Astarion came to the conclusion that Vaela wasn't lying. The glimpses he’d had into her mind were best described as chaotic, scrambled, bloody darkness; no hint of deceit or hidden intentions.

While one might expect memory loss that severe to be a hindrance if not an outright handicap, Vaela had proven herself to be not only competent but deadly . While Astarion would never admit it out loud, the drow was just as adept at disappearing into the shadows as he was. Her ranged accuracy with a bow and throwing knives was impressive and she was just as lethal up close dual wielding a pair of wicked looking shortswords. Whatever secrets her shrouded past held, there was one thing for certain: she was well trained and not to be trifled with. It also made her his best option of an ally for what awaited in Baldur’s Gate.

Astarion’s wandering mind was brought back to the present by Lae’zel loudly returning to the group, brandishing a map with a look of determination on her face. Astarion pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against and strolled closer to the group, now gathered in a loose circle arguing in lowered voices. Lae’zel was repeatedly stabbing her finger at a point on the map while Gale gesticulated with his arms flailing about. Wyll had apparently already made himself quite comfortable in the group and was pointing to a different location on the map while Vaela stood pinching her nose with closed eyes and looking very tired.

“What is it now?” Astarion asked as he sidled up next to Shadowheart, the only one not engaged in the bickering. He smirked at her flinch of surprise at his unexpected presence as she turned to glare at him. Sneaking up on his companions was quickly becoming his favorite pastime.

“The healer of the grove is missing, but we have a lead on his whereabouts. Lae’zel interrogated a tiefling who encountered a group of githyanki, she believes finding them will lead us to a creche. Of course, they’re in opposite directions.” The cleric’s voice dripped with venom when speaking of the gith fighter, their barely contained animosity toward each other was endlessly amusing to Astarion. Maybe one of these days they’d finally snap and fight each other to the death… or f*ck each other’s brains out, both outcomes seemed equally plausible. Either way it’d make for a great night’s entertainment.

Astarion leaned closer to the cleric and whispered conspiratorially, “I don’t suppose we’d be able to convince a select number of our friends to venture forth without us to locate this creche and its promised purification? They’re happy, we’re happy, camp will finally be quiet for once.” Shadowheart snickered at the suggestion.

“ Enough. ” Vaela finally spoke, silencing the group. “The druid was taken by goblins; his days are numbered. If he’s truly a mindflayer expert like his apprentice says, he’s our best chance at figuring out this tadpole problem.” Lae’zel opened her mouth to argue but was stopped by a glare from the drow as she continued, “ If he can’t help us, we head for the creche. We won’t be able to reach the goblin camp before nightfall, we’ll need to leave tomorrow at first light. We’ve had plenty of excitement for one day, take the afternoon to rest and prepare.”

Excitement was certainly one way to describe that morning, but not the word Astarion would choose. Maybe annoying or exasperating were more apt. After the skirmish with the goblins and gaining entrance to the grove, Vaela had knocked out a smart-mouthed human who had managed to insult both her and the tieflings in one breath. This was followed by the drow breaking up a confrontation between the resident druids and refugee tieflings before talking her way into the inner sanctum to rescue a child . Not to mention the sorry excuse for a healer whose “treatment” for the parasite involved a vial of deadly poison that Vaela exchanged for a promise to rescue the missing archdruid.

Exhausting . Yes, that’s the word Astarion was looking for.

With a shocking lack of further argument from his companions the matter was settled and the group dispersed. Gale, Shadowheart, and Wyll headed toward the handful of vendors set up further into the cave system that surrounded the titular grove. Lae’zel had spotted some sparing tieflings and was probably criticizing their every move; and as entertaining as watching that unsolicited training would be, Astarion had a plan to stick to.

Vaela had wandered over to a cliff overlooking the sea at the edge of the grove and stared out at the horizon. She turned her head as Astarion approached, keyed into his movement even when seemingly distracted. Much to his annoyance and despite his best efforts, she was impossible to sneak up on.

“Hello darling,” he purred in greeting. “What will our illustrious leader be doing with all this free time we find ourselves with, hmm?”

“While I’m sure you have some colorful suggestions, I’m afraid I’m planning for a rather boring afternoon,” Vaela replied. “We’re burning through our potion supply, we’ll need to stock up on alchemical ingredients and brew replacements.”

Astarion sighs. “Slaving over a hot cauldron isn’t exactly what I would call a restful activity, why don’t you take your own advice? I’m certain I can find a way to help you relax.”

Vaela raised an eyebrow in amusem*nt at Astarion’s blatant flirtation. “Something tells me you won’t feel very relaxed if you end up dying from a stab wound when we run out of healing potions.”

“My my, is that a threat, darling?”

“More like a promise.”

“Ha! Aren’t you a little spitfire today?” Astarion couldn’t suppress his grin at their easy banter. While he had his reservations about the drow, she was proving to be an enjoyable conquest. “Allow me to escort you back to camp. If you insist on brewing away the afternoon, the least I can do is keep you company.”

Vaela snorts. “How selfless of you, truly.”

The pair began to head toward the night’s campsite. After a moment, Astarion noticed his companion was no longer at his side. He turned around to see the drow had come to a stop a few paces behind him. She was staring down at a squirrel that had darted into the path, her head slightly tilted and an odd almost vacant expression on her face.

Astarion clicked his tongue with impatience. “Truly a terrifying foe, but your potions won’t brew themselves-”

With incredible speed Vaela kicked the chittering rodent, launching it into the trunk of a nearby tree. Its tiny body practically exploded on impact, blood and viscera a stark red contrast on the white bark. An unsettling grin split her face as she surveyed the carnage, her eyes dark and empty.

Astarion’s words died in his throat as he gaped at the unexpected violence. After a tense beat of silence Vaela seemed to come back to herself, her eyes wide in horror as she took an unsteady step back from the squirrel’s remains as if she weren’t the one responsible for the gorey scene.

“What just happened?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. What in the sweet hells was that?!”

Vaela looked completely bewildered as she met his gaze. “I… I don’t know. I wasn’t in control. It wasn’t… me , my body just acted, I - I - f*ck ! “ she stuttered, shaking hands raking through her hair. Astarion felt her tadpole brush up against his own, the flare of panic in her thoughts there and gone so quickly he surmised it must have been an accidental connection.

“I tried to explain it. It’s these thoughts I have - violent thoughts… it’s like I’m compelled by this overwhelming urge to hurt people.” Yes, Vaela had told Astarion about the dark desires she feared were out of her control, something he had neatly dismissed as an unfortunate hand she’d been dealt - one she could use to their advantage. It was another thing entirely to actually witness that urge take over. She may be more dangerous than he thought… he would need to ensure that violence was never pointed in his direction.

“I… I’ll see you back at camp. I just - I need a moment,” Vaela muttered as she rushed past her companion.

Astarion watched in silence as she disappeared from his sight. He looked back at the bloody remains of the squirrel in the grass, grumbling to himself.

“What a waste of a perfectly good snack.”

Chapter 3: Control

Chapter Text

“How can I trust? How will I ever know?

How can I show myself, my darkest me?”

Vaela spent the rest of the afternoon sequestered in a small crumbling structure at the edge of their camp. She didn’t trust her distracted mind to not completely f*ck up the complicated potions she had planned on crafting. Instead, she busied her hands fletching arrows; the movements all muscle memory. The repetitive task was almost soothing and Vaela let herself become lost in the motions.

Her companions had all returned from their various errands and activities and were gathering around the campfire. She didn’t know what Astarion told them - or if he had even said anything at all - but they all seemed to sense her need for space. Dinner preparations were beginning as the sun began to sink in the sky. She ignored the hunger that gnawed at her stomach, reminding her she hadn’t eaten anything since that morning. She ignored the quickly receding natural light, relying on her superior dark vision to continue her task. She ignored the exhaustion that made her limbs feel heavy as stone. She ignored the bloodied whispers that had been dancing in her mind since losing control.

It was Shadowheart who finally stepped through the entrance of the ruins to find her. Of all of the nautiloid survivors that made up their strange party, Vaela felt the closest bond to the cleric. After freeing the half-elf from her pod on the crashing ship, she was the first person Vaela came across after coming to on the beach and it had just been the pair of them for the majority of that first day after the crash. After agreeing to stick together, the cleric and the ranger had dispatched a handful of brains before picking their way through the abandoned temple near the wreckage. Vaela talked her way out of a fight with a group of bandits exploring the same ruins, her cunning tongue impressing her companion. While taking a short rest before moving on, the two discovered they were very similar. In addition to a shared affliction and goal; Vaela discovered Shadowheart had also lost most of her memories. While less severe and seemingly caused by a different source, the similarity gave Vaela a sense of comfort that she wasn’t completely alone.

“You missed dinner. I set aside some bread and cheese if you’re hungry.” Shadowheart stood just inside the stone doorway, a small globe of light hovering in her hand to illuminate the small space. Looking over the drow, she made a small sound of annoyance as she kneeled down in front of Vaela and grabbed her hands.

Confused, Vaela glanced down at her lap. Her fingertips were bloodied, calluses worn through by her unrelenting task. Without the indication from the sun, she was unsure how much time had passed… she didn’t even realize she had started bleeding.

Gentle blue light glowed between their hands as Shadowheart cast a healing cantrip to close up the wounds. Releasing her hands, the cleric sat back on her heels and focused on Vaela’s face. “You’re obviously not alright so don’t bother saying nothing is wrong. What’s going on?”

Vaela sighed. She had of course confided in Shadowheart about her violent thoughts and dark urges. Similar to their other companions, the cleric had seemed relatively unconcerned.

“I… I lost control today. I wasn’t even aware of what my body was doing.” She met her companion’s concerned gaze. “Honestly, it scared the sh*t out of me, Shadow. How am I supposed to fight this - this compulsion when it can completely take over my body like that?”

Shadowheart was quiet for a moment, contemplating. “A single temporary lapse may be just that; a one time lapse. Now that you’re aware of it you may have greater ability to resist it than you realize,” she said gently. “Everyone has unseemly thoughts. Being able to quieten them is what sets us apart from the beasts.”

Vaela shook her head, shoulders sagging. “That’s just it. I can’t quiet my thoughts. What if I can’t resist?” she asked in a quiet voice. “What if I’m nothing more than a beast?”

“I’m not going to pretend I understand what is happening to you, but I do know one thing,” Shadowheart’s voice was firm and steady, she paused and waited for Vaela to meet her gaze before continuing, “You are strong enough to overcome whatever this is. Just don’t give in, and seek help if you need it. Now come on, it’s colder than Cania out here.” She stood then, hand out in front of her. “Plus, Wyll promised to regale us with tales of his heroics across the Sword Coast. That will help take your mind off things.” Vaela took the offered hand and allowed herself to be pulled up to her feet and out of the dark building.

The pair joined the rest of the group around the campfire. Vaela accepted a cup of wine from Wyll and sat cross legged on the ground close to the fire’s warmth. She drank deeply from the cup, emptying it in a few gulps. She gratefully accepted a refill and sipped at the wine, attempting to pace herself. She silently stared into the dancing flames as her companions’ conversations continued around her. The combined effects of the fire and alcohol had just begun to warm her bones when an unknown voice spoke from behind her back.

“I’m so glad I found you before you left!”

Vaela jumped to her feet on instinct, dagger pulled from her boot as she whirled around to face the intruder - instantly sobered.

“Wait! I’m Alfira, from the grove?” The tiefling had her hands held up in a gesture of peace, eyes wide with fear at the drow’s dagger. She was dressed in a garishly bright frock adorned with bells with a lute strung across her back in lieu of a weapon. She seemed vaguely familiar.

Wyll stepped between Vaela and the tiefling to diffuse the situation. “Alfira! You’re the bard, right? Please forgive our less than warm welcome, we’re all a bit on edge.”

Relaxing somewhat but still wary, Vaela returned her dagger to her boot. “What the hells are you doing out here?” Vaela asked the bard. “Is something wrong at the grove?”

Relieved at no longer being threatened, Alfira dropped her hands to her side as she answered. “No, nothing like that. I was looking for you, I wanted to join you!”

Vaela couldn’t help the disbelieving laugh she barked out at the hopeful look on the bard’s face. “What? No! It’s too dangerous for someone so inexperienced, you’ll get yourself killed. It’s safer for you at the grove.”

“I don’t want to be safe!” Alfira’s eyes were filled with intensity as she argued her case. “I don’t want to be just another bard singing everyone else’s stories. I want to sing of my own adventures! I don’t want to sit around and wait to be rescued, I want to help!”

“Tchk! An untested weakling will do nothing but slow us down, she’s a liability,” Lae’zel stated matter of factly.

Alfira turned back to Vaela, “Give me a chance, let me prove myself! I promise - “

Vaela shook her head, interrupting the tiefling’s plea. “The answer is no. You can rest here tonight but you’re going back to the grove first thing tomorrow.”

“I -” Alfira started, before thinking better of trying to continue the argument. Her head hung in defeat as she muttered, “I’m sorry for inconveniencing you. I’ll leave in the morning.” Wyll put a comforting arm around the bard’s shoulders and walked her to a spot to set up her bedroll.

“Really?” Astarion scoffed with an annoyed click of his tongue, turning to Vaela. “If I hear so much as a note of ‘The Tale of Balduran’ that lute is firewood.”

“Agreed.” Vaela drained the remainder of her cup before heading to her own bedroll, praying the combination of physical exhaustion and dinner of wine would drag her quickly into trance.

*******

Vaela’s eyes fluttered open and she swayed unsteadily on her feet. When did I get up? The last thing she remembered was tossing and turning in her bedroll, fitfully attempting to fall into trance. Her vision was blurry but slowly clearing, her awareness even slower to break through the fog of her mind. Her eyes rolled about in her skull, finally focusing -

Blood, glorious crimson pools hot and sticky and sweet, intestines the curled ribbons of carrion to decorate the gift of carnage, an offering of devotion an act of worship at the most unholy of altars, warm wanton flesh peeled from bone -

Vaela stumbled and fell to her knees, cold dread trickling down her spine.

This isn’t real. I’m dreaming. This isn’t happening. This isn’t real -

Her arms ached, her hands felt cramped and… wet? She lifted the trembling limbs to her face, a strangled sob died in her throat as she took in the horrifying sight. From fingertip to elbow she was drenched in blood, so much blood, her blood -

Alfira. It was the bard’s massacred body laid out before her. The tiefling was nearly unrecognizable; split open from neck to navel revealing glistening organs, her eyes gouged out of hollow, empty sockets, and the blood, so much warm blood -

Squeezing her eyes shut, Vaela willed her mind to remember - something, anything. Any fragment or glimpse of what had led to… this.

Leading the eager bard away from camp into the forest, just enough distance to prevent the noise from rousing her companions. The bard’s sweet song of fear and pain would be hers and hers alone to savor, screams would fall from her lips, the most beautiful symphony to score the violence she would inflict -

Vaela swallowed back the bile rising in the back of her throat. It was undeniable, the horrifying scene was her doing. The siren song of violence she had been trying so hard to resist had at last lured her unconscious mind into action. She sat back, breathing unsteadily while her mind raced.

What the f*ck do I do now?

How would her companions react? What would she even say to them? Yeah remember when I told you about the dark desires festering in my skull? Turns out ignoring them makes me violently kill in my sleep, who knew?

No, she couldn’t tell them. At best they’d think she had gone mad (haven’t I?) more likely they wouldn’t believe her and would accuse her of being a senseless murderer (aren’t I?)

Numb, she walked back to the edge of camp, grabbing a shovel before returning to the body. She started to dig, focusing on the burn in the muscles of her arms and the sound of the earth shifting. Once the hole was large enough, she rolled the bard’s body into the grave and began covering it in dirt.

The grave now filled, Vaela knelt before it. Suffocating silence stretched on around her, kneeling there in the dark. She should say something, a kind word or a prayer maybe. But she didn’t know any prayers, didn’t know if she even worshiped a god in her life before the nautiloid. She hung her head and whispered the only words she could think to say.

“I’m sorry.”

Vaela crept back into camp and returned the shovel before quickly picking up her pack. It was nearly dawn, soon her companions would begin to wake. She hurried to the riverbank, dropping her pack as she stripped off her clothing. She prestidigitated the blood from the fabric and tossed them to the ground . The sun was just cresting over the horizon as she dove into the river and let her body sink to the bottom. Entombed in the icy water, Vaela screamed until all the air left her lungs.

Chapter 4: Blood

Chapter Text

“Where’s Alfira?” Gale’s question greeted Astarion as he stepped out from his tent.

“Good morning to you too, Gale, I rested very well, thank you for asking,” Astarion quipped.

Gale rolled his eyes. “I’m just trying to get a head count for breakfast.”

Astarion gestured to the now empty patch of ground where the bard had set up her bedroll the night before. “She was told to leave and it appears she’s done just that. Thank goodness for small miracles.”

The wizard frowned. “An unfortunate circ*mstance to be sure but ultimately for the best. I just hope her enthusiasm for adventure hasn’t been entirely snuffed out, her opportunity to take center stage may yet come to pass.”

“Mhm, a shining star in the night sky, her sparkle will be a beacon to many, et cetera. Either way, no longer our concern. Now then,” Astarion clapped his hands together, ignoring Gale’s look of disapproval. “I’m off to freshen up before we get back on the road.”

Astarion strolled off in the direction of the river. Specifically, the spot he knew Vaela favored for her daily dip. She was nothing if not consistent and her morning rituals were especially predictable. As expected, he found the drow sitting on a flat rock with her back to him, squeezing the water out of her long hair.

“Good morning, darling. I hope you rested well?”

Vaela jumped at the sound of the elf’s voice, nearly toppling off the rock. “Hells, Astarion. It’s too early for this.”

Astarion quirked a single eyebrow in surprise. “Forgive me, but I have yet to catch you unaware. I was under the impression it was impossible for me to sneak up on you,” Astarion quipped, his tone teasing. “Honestly, I wasn’t even trying. I sincerely hope you aren’t losing your edge, dear.” He maintained his slight smirk as he approached the drow, watching her get to her feet. His nonchalant expression nearly faltered as she turned to face him.

Her silver eyes were bloodshot and sunken, ringed in puffy deep purple skin. Her ashen skin was dull and lifeless and somehow even paler than normal. To say she looked like death warmed up would be an insult to the dead.

“You look absolutely terrible.”

“You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you,” she deadpanned. “I had a… rough night. I didn’t really get any rest.”

A rough night? Quite the understatement. Astarion mulled over his next move as Vaela gathered her belongings. Making a decision, he cleared his throat to get her attention.

“Come with me.”

Without waiting for an answer, Astarion turned on his heel and walked away. Vaela silently followed him back to camp, ducking into his tent when he motioned her in. He let the flap fall closed as she stepped inside and began rummaging in his pack. Finding what he was looking for, he extended the pearlescent bottle to the drow.

She eyed the potion warily. “And what is this, exactly?”

“Angelic slumber, a full night’s rest in a bottle,” Astarion told her. When she still hadn’t taken the bottle he pressed it into her hand and wrapped her fingers around the glass. “Go on, we’ve got a long trek ahead of us and you look like you haven’t had a decent trance in days.”

Vaela looked at the potion in her hand, still making no move to drink it. Astarion crossed his arms and waited.

“I’m not going to ask how you got this because I think I already know the answer,” she started, suspicion painted across her face. “But why are you giving this to me? You’re not exactly the ‘giving out of the goodness of your heart’ type.”

Astarion feigned offense. “Really, is it so strange that I would offer a gift to my favorite companion?”

“Yes. Yes it is.” Vaela continued to stare at him.

“Truly, you wound me darling. I am capable of doing a good deed from time to time,” he said indignantly. He wished she would stop staring at him, trying to read him. See him.

“You nearly threw a fit at being inconvenienced by me intervening to prevent a child being murdered.”

Astarion sighed. “Look, if it makes you feel more at ease, this is in fact an act of selfishness,” he told her. “I rather prefer to keep my body free of arrows and stab wounds and my odds of remaining that way will decrease significantly if you are dead on your feet. I need you sharp to survive this little adventure of ours. Now lay down and drink up, I don’t need you collapsing in my arms.”

After a beat of silence Vaela finally nodded, accepting his reasoning. She lowered herself down to sit cross legged on Astarion’s bedroll. Uncorking the bottle, she tilted it toward the elf in a cheers motion before knocking it back. She immediately slumped over as the potion took effect, the empty bottle rolling out of her hand.

Astarion breathed a sigh of relief, feeling some of the tension in his body release. The damned drow really couldn’t let this be easy could she? Losing the expensive potion he had liberated from a druid’s pocket was not exactly ideal, but gaining her trust would soon pay him back with interest.

Less than a minute later, Vaela regained consciousness. She stretched as she stood, rolling out her shoulders and rubbing her neck, sighing contentedly. Astarion held her chin between his thumb and forefinger and looked her over with a critical eye, assessing the potion’s effectiveness. Her ashen complexion now had a healthy flush and the dark circles under her bright, clear eyes were almost completely unnoticeable. Those silver eyes were widened slightly in surprise at his unexpected touch.

His hand dropped to his side; he cleared his throat as he took a step back. “Much improved. Now shall we go?”

She was still staring at him with that look in her eyes. He almost felt naked under the intense gaze. “Thank you, Astarion. Really. I needed this,” Vaela said quietly.

Astarion shifted uncomfortably at her sincerity and the soft look on her face. “Yes, yes, no need to sing praises of my generosity, I have a reputation to uphold. Besides,” he slipped into a lower, more sultry tone, “I’m sure you’ll find a delightful way to express your gratitude.” With a wink, he swept out of the tent.

He walked away quickly without a destination - needing to feel space between her and himself. He pointedly ignored the phantom tingling in his fingertips where he had touched her face. He told himself the twisting sensation in his gut was just hunger and absolutely nothing else.

*******

“Honestly, do these goblins just spring forth into existence from the ground? Gods below I swear you kill one and three more take its place!” Astarion wiped the blood from his dagger on the tunic of the dead goblin at his feet. He was irritated. The party had encountered three separate groups of goblins on their way to the encampment. Three fights they could have avoided entirely if it weren’t for the f*cking Blade of Frontiers .

They spotted the first pathetic excuse of an ambush immediately upon approaching the decrepit village. The plan was for Vaela to walk in as a distraction while everyone else circled around to position on the rooftops behind the goblins. However, the goblins curiously backed down immediately once they realized Vaela was a drow; even apologizing to her. They could have continued on their merry way if Wyll hadn’t thrown an eldritch blast at one of the raiders, turning the whole group hostile.

It’s not that goblins are particularly fearsome foes by any means; when not in a large group they were incredibly easy to dispatch. The problem was engaging in three separate skirmishes slowed them down enough that they wouldn’t reach the encampment by nightfall as planned. But it wasn’t just the additional day on the road with parasites wriggling in their brains. Astarion wasn’t used to the level of exertion required when adventuring day after day. While he had been eating like a king compared to the previous 200 years of his existence, it still wasn’t enough to keep up with the unanticipated extraneous activity. He felt sluggish, his reflexes too slow, his senses dull.

Above all, he was hungry .

His companions were beginning to set up camp around him, setting up their shelters while Wyll stoked the fire. Astarion sat in front of his own tent at the far edge of the clearing, quietly seething.

“A less than satisfactory performance from you today, elf.” Lae’zel stood before him, arms crossed. “Your reactions were delayed, your aim lacking. You risk becoming a liability if you continue on as distracted as you were.”

Astarion glared back at the gith, eyes narrowed. “My deepest apologies for disappointing you, darling.” He raised his voice slightly to carry across camp, “Perhaps I was just caught off guard by our dear warlock initiating unnecessary combat , putting us all in peril.”

Wyll rose from his crouched position by the firepit. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Astarion stood as Wyll approached him. “Cast first and ask questions later is rarely the most strategic move. Sometimes we need to think with our heads before our spells, darling.”

“And what if we had let them live? They would have attacked the grove knowing we weren’t there to protect it, it would be a slaughter. I can’t allow that to happen, I have a sworn duty to protect the innocent,” Wyll responded.

Astarion sneered at the warlock. “You are more than welcome to run along and be the poor tieflings’ great protector. Your sanctimonious hero act will get us all killed before the tadpoles even get a chance - “

Vaela appeared between the two men, separating them with a hand on each of their chests. “Shut up, both of you! You’re acting like children.” She looked back and forth between their faces.”Wyll, we did have an opportunity to take a path of least resistance. Your decision was hot headed; we could have regrouped and handled things more quietly.” Wyll frowned at the chastisem*nt while Astarion grinned. He was just about to gloat when Vaela turned to him.

“Uh uh, that doesn’t mean you’re in the right. We have to watch each other’s backs if we want to survive this, not stab them. That means talking to each other like f*cking adults. Is that clear?”

Astarion growled, “Crystal.” Wyll gave a curt nod.

“Wonderful. Now cool off, both of you.” Vaela dropped her hands to her sides. With a glare, Wyll returned to tend the fire. Lae’zel was already back at her tent sharpening her longsword; Gale and Shadowheart had the good sense to stay out of the altercation and were sorting through supplies to prepare dinner.

Alone, Vaela turned to Astarion. “You have been off today. What’s going on with you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, darling. I’m perfectly fine.”

She shook her head, stepping closer. “No, you’ve been acting strange. Ever since we found that boar this morning - “

Astarion scoffed. “Again with the carrion? Like I said, if we stop to investigate every carcass we come across we’ll be mindflayers before we even reach Baldur’s Gate. Excuse me for feeling a sense of urgency about our situation.”

Vaela studied him quietly before sighing softly. “You don’t have to confide in me, Astarion. Just know that you can.” When he didn’t respond, she began to turn away, glancing at him over her shoulder.

“You’re also a terrible liar.”

He glared at the drow’s back as she returned to the fire. The nerve of that woman. Bristling, he snapped back the flap to his tent and ducked inside. He didn’t plan to emerge until morning, he’d had his fill of his companions for one day.

*******

In his trance, Astarion dreamed.

Thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures.

He was in the kennel, prostrate on the cold ground, naked and shivering. He felt the blood dripping down his back, the tears on his face. His master’s voice echoed around all around him, coming from everyone and nowhere.

Thou shalt obey me in all things.

His master’s voice, now directly in his ear as he towered over his spawn. A clawed hand cruelly dragging through the fresh wounds up his spine, fisting in his hair to lift and drag his limp body to the open coffin in the corner.

Thou shalt not leave my side unless directed.

Thrust unceremoniously into the coffin, the heavy lid dragged into place. The rhythmic sound of nails pounding into the wood, sealing him in darkness. Screaming, clawing at the wood until his fingernails ripped off -

Thou shalt know that thou art mine.

Astarion bolted upright in his tent, panic and terror coursing through him as he slowly remembered where he was. He gasped for air he didn’t need and wiped at the drying tears on his cheeks. He carded his shaking hands through his curls and grit his teeth. He was free now. Free to walk in the sun, free of his master’s influence and compulsion, free of his godsdamned rules.

…wasn’t he?

He had to be sure, had to prove it somehow… ensure the sire bond was truly severed.

Thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures.

Astarion stumbled out of his tent. Around him the camp was quiet, his companions sleeping in their prospective tents. All except Vaela, who was curled on a bedroll facing the fire. He dropped to a knee behind her. The pain from his hunger roared in his ears, narrowed his vision until all he could see was the pulse throbbing in her neck, glorious blood pumping steadily through the artery, plump and ripe, begging to be pierced to be sucked -

He didn’t realize he had started drifting forward toward her body. Not until Vaela turned her head and stared up at him, her glimmering silver eyes stopping him in his tracks.

“sh*t.”

Chapter 5: Trust Pt. 1

Chapter Text

“sh*t.”

Vaela sat up in her bedroll as Astarion scrambled back from her.

“It’s not what it looks like - I swear!” he panted. His hair was sticking up haphazardly as if he had been repeatedly running his hands through it, his pupils were dilated so wide his red irises were almost completely eclipsed in black. He looked… feral.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you!” he continued, words tumbling out in his panic. “I just needed, well…”

“Blood,” Vaela finished his sentence matter of factly.

Astarion’s mouth opened and closed while he struggled to form a coherent sentence. Vaela waited patiently.

“Y-yes. I need… blood,” he finally forced out. “How… when… you knew?”

A small smile played across her lips. “Honestly I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long without trying to bite one of us. I thought you’d at least feed from a bandit or goblin we’ve had to kill.”

“What? ”

Her brain may be full of holes but Vaela was perceptive to an almost unnatural degree. She could read people easily, noticing even the most subtle and minute changes in expression, tone, and body language; she wasn’t even aware she was doing half of the time. She had known from the moment the pale elf had joined her party that he was hiding something under his well crafted mask, from there the evidence kept piling up.

“You only pretend to eat with us, the only thing I’ve actually seen you consume is wine. I assume you’re going out to hunt when you sneak out of your tent in the middle of the night.” His eyes were almost comically large as he listened to her calmly list his tells, ticking each one off on her hand as she spoke. “Your doublet collar hides your bite scars well enough but they’re completely uncovered in your camp clothes. High elves don’t have red eyes or skin as pale as yours and - hells, you have fangs, Astarion.”

He stared at her for another moment before finding his voice. “If you’ve known this whole time, why didn’t you say anything? Tell anyone?”

Vaela shrugged. “It crossed my mind, sure. But I figured it was something you’d talk about when you were ready. When we found the boar this morning I thought maybe you would say something, but I wasn’t going to press you in front of everyone.” She stood as she spoke, slowly walking closer. “We’ve known each other for less than a tenday, I’m not expecting anyone to divulge their darkest secrets with a group of strangers thrown together by circ*mstance. And trust me, everyone in this camp is hiding something.” She came to a stop in front of the vampire, tilting her head back slightly to peer up at him. He stood frozen in place.

“I know you don’t readily trust people, and I suspect there’s probably a good reason for that. I also think you should know that I trust you . Come on, if I thought you were a danger to us do you really think you’d be standing here right now?”

He shook his head in disbelief, gaze cast down to his feet. “You are full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said quietly. He looked up then, darkened eyes regarding her expression cautiously. “Do you… do you think you could trust me… just a little further? The animals I’m feeding on are barely enough to take the edge off my thirst, if I just had a little humanoid blood… I’d be faster, stronger. I’d be more useful, I swear.”

“I don’t care about you being useful, Astarion. I care about you not starving.” Vaela could see the doubt and distrust flicker in his eyes. He didn’t believe she would help him unless she was getting something from it in return. The realization caused a peculiar ache in her chest.

“Yes, you can drink from me. I didn’t bother setting up my tent, hopefully you'll be alright if we take this back to your place?” He flinched slightly in surprise when she reached out to take his hand. She smirked. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite. I’ll leave that to you.” She winked at him, trying to impart some levity to the situation before leading the way into his tent.

Once inside, Vaela tied the flap closed, sealing her in the small space with the rogue. They faced each, dark vision allowing the drow and elf to see clearly without any light.

“How do you want me?”

Astarion raised one brow, not needing words to convey his amusem*nt at the obvious innuendo. Vaela rolled her eyes at his mirthful expression. “You know what I mean.”

“By all means, let’s make ourselves comfortable,” Astarion’s tone was low and breathy. He gestured to the pile of cushions he had collected atop his bedroll. Vaela knelt while the vampire lowered himself to a seated position in front of her. They regarded each other in silence for another moment.

It dawned on her then that neither of them knew exactly how to proceed. Astarion was waiting for her to make the first move, probably not accustomed to willing prey; and she certainly had no memory of engaging in such an activity before. She could lay back, assuming the position she had been in when he first tried to bite her. No, that seemed too…intimate. She could sit in his lap, facing him to give access to her neck. Gods, that somehow seemed even more inappropriate.

Vaela felt her heart rate quicken as she crawled closer, positioning herself cross-legged between the vampire’s thighs with her back to him. She glanced at him over her shoulder, questioning, “Is this alright?”

She sucked in a breath when she felt his arm slowly wrap around her midsection, gently guiding her to press her back against his chest. With his other hand, Astarion shifted her hair to gather over one shoulder, exposing the opposite side of her neck. Gooseflesh prickled across her skin at the feeling of his cool breath ghosting over her throat when he answered, “Perfect. Now… try to relax, darling. It should only hurt for a moment.” He grasped her jaw lightly, tilting her head to stretch her neck further.

Vaela gasped as his fangs pierced her skin with a jolt of icy pain, the chill radiating and spreading through her veins. She reflexively gripped his thigh in an attempt to ground herself and felt the arm around her tighten in response. Within seconds the pain and cold had receded, replaced by a throbbing numbness. She became acutely aware of the feeling of Astarion’s soft lips pressed against her throat as he sucked at the puncture wounds. His tongue pulsed against her skin with every swallow, coaxing the blood out of her veins and into his mouth.

As he drank, a warming sensation began in the tips of her fingers and toes, slowly spreading up her limbs through the rest of her body. Her eyes rolled back in her head and the lids fluttered closed. Her mind was blissfully empty, no trace of the violent urges poisoning her thoughts… only an overwhelming sense of peace and contentment as the warmth continued to radiate through her.

This wouldn’t be the worst way to go.

Vaela held on to the thought when it drifted into the haze of her mind, the fear it should have elicited never came. She could so easily submit, allow all of her blood to be drained and succumb to the beckoning darkness pressing in at the edges of her vision. It made perfect sense; she would be free of her violent impulses and her companions - her friends - would be safe. After all, she deserved to die, didn’t she? For what she did to Alfira, for the horrors and atrocities she committed in her previous life, for the terrible acts she would undoubtedly be responsible for in the future. She didn’t need intact memories to know she was a terrible person before the nautiloid, she knew it, felt it in her very marrow.

She was a monster. Death was the least of what she deserved.

Acceptance of her fate allowed her to continue to fade without struggle, sinking into the darkness. At least this way her death would be of service to someone, a gift - giving Astarion strength -

Astarion.

Her eyes flew open at the thought of the elf currently in the process of killing her. Because he was killing her, taking and taking from her with no signs of being able to stop. As much as she deserved death, she couldn’t condemn him to the same fate; knowing their companions would end his life when they discovered what he had done. He didn’t deserve that. She couldn’t let that happen.

She was fading fast. Gathering what little strength remained in her body, she dug her nails into his thigh. Her voice came out hoarse and weak as she pleaded, “Stop… Astarion… you need… to stop ….”

Did he hear her? Could he stop or was he too far gone?

She was too late.

The darkness swallowed her as she lost consciousness.

Chapter 6: Trust Pt. 2

Chapter Text

Astarion couldn’t stop staring at the drow sprawled on his bedroll in front of him. Had he ever really looked at her before? This utterly insane woman with no sense of self-preservation who trusted him - him! - a vampire spawn! - with her life. Had trusted him to bite her, for just a taste of her blood… an objectively stupid decision. And look at how well that worked out.

He allowed himself to really look at her now, in the quiet darkness of his tent. His eyes roamed over her still body, taking in her light ashen skin - even paler from the lack of blood, contrasted dramatically by the soft waves of her long black hair. She had a scar that ran vertically through her plush lips on one side, another one just above her brow. Beneath closed lids he knew were irises of the palest silver; knowing, piercing eyes that saw too much. They had certainly seen through him, at any rate. His gaze trailed away from her face down to the slender column of her pale throat now marred by two neat puncture marks. His marks. His fangs ached at the memory of sinking easily through the fair skin, tapping directly into the river of blood flowing beneath the surface -

A shudder passed through his body just thinking about it. Astarion understood now why his master had forbidden his spawn from drinking from thinking creatures. In the centuries since his turning he had often fantasized what it would be like to finally partake of the forbidden fruit, the strength it would bestow upon him, the power he could tap into. How it would feel to experience the hot liquid pouring into his throat, a body writhing beneath him weakening with every swallow. How it would taste….

Gods she was f*cking delicious.

His fantasies paled in comparison to reality. The absolute ecstasy that engulfed him from the first drop of her blood hitting his taste buds, the feeling of fire and power coursing through his veins, building up and up the more he took… he groaned at just the memory. Drinking from Vaela was… everything.

A small rustling sound pulled the elf from his reverie and Astarion remembered his current predicament. He once again trained his eyes on the drow and watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, letting him know she was still alive.

He had been mere moments from draining her entirely when the feeling of her sharp nails digging into the flesh of his thigh snapped his awareness back to his body. He had pulled away from the drow’s throat, gasping for air he didn’t need as every nerve in his body thrummed with electricity. No longer attached at the neck, Vaela had slumped over, unconscious. She didn’t respond when Astarion shook her by the shoulders, nor when he slapped his hand against her cheek. Her pulse was weak and thready… and slowing as every second ticked by. Panicked, he had grabbed for his pack and upended its contents on the ground to hurriedly grab his “in case of impending death (again)” emergency potion of supreme healing. He ripped the cork out with his teeth and opened Vaela’s mouth, pouring the iridescent red fluid down her throat.

It was a miracle she didn’t die. He may have even considered thanking a god for the divine intervention if he thought any of them were actually aware of him. It didn’t bear ruminating on what would have happened to him if he had killed the group’s de facto leader, a transgression of that magnitude would have certainly ended with one of their companions driving a stake through his heart. Even if he could somehow convince them it was an accident, the best he could hope for would be exile from the party. Left out here on his own…he may as well take the stake.

How in all the nine hells did he end up here? Free from his master, walking in the sun, and most unbelievably of all - sitting beside a woman who had willingly allowed him to feed from her. It was too good to be true. It had to be too good to be true. No one was that kind or selfless, not without expecting something in return. He should have considered that before biting her, but the promise of her blood had clouded his mind, preventing him from fretting about what the ultimate cost of this indulgence might be. But now, with a clear head and a full belly, he had no choice but to confront what consequences awaited him.

What would she want in exchange for her silence? The scales were tilted decidedly in her favor - she could demand anything with the threat of revealing his nature and almost-murder dangling over his head. His body was all he had to offer; Gods knew he hadn’t proven himself as indispensable in any other manner. He wasn’t a healer or a caster, he wasn’t a tactician, hells - even his prowess disappearing in and fighting from the shadows was matched by the drow herself. No, the carnal pleasure he could provide was all he was good for, all he had ever been good for.

And after all, Astarion’s plan had always hinged on ingratiating himself with the drow with the goal of earning her trust, protection, and hopefully her blood in exchange for sex. He never expected to be offered any of those things before he had a chance to seduce and bed her. From Vaela’s own admittance and actions the night before he already had her trust and blood. And now that he’d had a taste…

Gods he needed more.

Blood for sex, body for body; a fair enough trade. He’d given up much more for much, much less in his 200 years under the control of his sad*stic master. Surely the promised reward for his…services would be more than enough motivation to get him through. Besides, it’s not as if the drow was hideously unattractive, she was gorgeous. And he did find himself enjoying her company on occasion - at least more so than any of the other misfits in their little group. Her dry wit was delightful and almost as sharp as her daggers. It wouldn’t be all bad, surely. Maybe he wouldn’t enjoy himself per say, but he couldn’t remember the last time he buried his co*ck in someone because he wanted to. Someone he chose for himself, him, not his master. Choice… such a novel concept.

Another sound of fabric rustling as her body shifted grounded Astarion once more. Fixing his gaze on Vaela again he traced the scar on her mouth with one finger, his touch light as a feather. A small contented sigh passed through her lips, the warmed air a caress across his cool, undead skin. It was nearly dawn, normally she would already be awake. The physical toll of losing almost all of her blood must be keeping her in a deep sleep. He would need to sneak her out of camp before their companions awoke if he wanted to avoid questions about their nighttime activities.

After gathering some supplies into his pack, Astarion easily scooped the still unconscious drow into his arms. He stepped out of his tent, pausing to listen for sounds of movement. The slow, even heartbeats and breaths coming from each tent indicated their companions slept on. Satisfied, he walked quickly but silently out of camp toward the river. Whatever reaction Vaela would have when she finally awoke would probably necessitate a conversation best held far away from prying minds.

Chapter 7: Peace

Chapter Text

Vaela cracked open her eyes and squinted at the bright light in confusion. She had set up her bedroll by the fire last night to sleep, but she always woke up before the sun. How long had she slept? She blinked repeatedly as her eyes finally adjusted, opening them fully.

The first thing she saw as her vision focused was Astarion. The rogue was lounging in the grass, propped up on one elbow with a book held loosely in his hand. His eyes were closed, a serene expression on his face tilted toward the sun. Gods, it was unfair how gorgeous he was. Of course, he always looked incredible but in this moment, relaxed and basking in the sunlight… he was absolutely breathtaking.

The sight of the elf woke her fully and the events of the previous night came rushing back. Astarion approaching her in camp, admitting she knew of his vampirism, his arm tight around her as he pressed her body to his, his breath on her neck his fangs piercing her skin -

She sat up quickly, immediately realizing her mistake when her vision swam with dizziness and she swayed for a moment before righting herself. Astarion looked over at the sound of her movement, his book snapped closed and laid aside.

“Good morning, darling. How do you feel?” His relaxed posture was belied by the intensity of his stare as he studied the drow, waiting for her answer.

The dizziness subsided, Vaela stretched while she took stock of her body. “My neck is a little sore, and I’m just a bit lightheaded. But otherwise… Huh.”

Astarion’s eyes widened in alarm when she trailed off. “What? What is it?”

She breathed out a short laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “I actually feel… pretty good. I don’t remember the last time I woke up feeling well rested, or without a headache.” And she was well rested. Her trance hadn’t been plagued by blood and death, and not only was her head free of pain, it was also blissfully quiet. The whispered urges she had come to expect were absent. The relief she felt at that realization flooded through her body, a sigh escaping from parted lips.

“Honestly, I probably just need to bother Shadowheart for a minor restoration and I’ll be ready to go.” Remembering their companions, she frowned, looking around her. They were sitting near the river, a few minutes walk from camp. She remembered passing out in Astarion’s tent, he must have moved her here. “How long was I out? Where is everyone?”

“A few hours past dawn, I told our companions you needed a morning of respite. They agreed to explore the village ruins and return midday to collect us and move on to the goblin encampment,” Astarion told her. He seemed to have relaxed ever so slightly at her apparent well-being but continued to watch her warily.

“And you? How do you feel?” Vaela questioned.

He scoffed, shaking his head incredulously. “You really have to ask? I have never felt better, love.”

Fully alert now, Vaela took the time to further study the strange tableau of the vampire sitting in the sunlight. While he remained pale, his skin now had a subtle pink undertone. The flush was most notable at the tips of his ears where they peaked through his white curls and in his full lips, the color no doubt a result of her own blood nourishing his undead flesh. It was easy to believe the tales of vampiric seduction when looking at the perfect, alluring trap before her. A trap she had walked into with no hesitation, her willingness to be drained completely -

Her thoughts came crashing to a stop as she fully recalled her state of mind the previous night. She remembered surrendering to the darkness, passing beyond the point of no return as she had allowed all of her lifeblood to be taken. She had accepted her death, knowing she deserved it.

“Astarion? Did I… die last night?”

It almost made sense. Perhaps being drained entirely of her tainted blood and then revived had somehow cured her of the violent madness that festered in her skull. Gods knew stranger things had happened, why couldn’t bloodletting be the answer to tempering her affliction?

A brief flash of guilt crossed Astarion’s face, there and gone so quickly she almost missed it. A corner of his lip tugged up into a half-smile at her question. “Of course not. Really, not many corpses have your vigor,” he responded.

Vaela rolled her eyes at his non-answer and waited for him to elaborate. He hesitated before finally continuing, “I may have needed to administer a healing potion to prevent your heart from stopping. I’ll admit I might have gone a little too far, but can you blame me? After all…” he cleared his throat, averting his gaze, “You were my first.”

It was her turn to stare with thinly veiled disbelief. “Your first? I don’t… What do you mean?“

He continued to look out over the water rather than meet her gaze. “Drinking the blood of thinking creatures has always been forbidden,” he said quietly, his tone bitter. A muscle in his face twitched as he clenched his jaw.

The silence between them stretched on. Vaela knew better than to continue that line of questioning considering the vampire’s stormy expression and tense posture. Instead, she looked up to the position of the sun to gauge the time. If the rest of their party weren’t returning until midday they had at least an hour to kill. She got to her feet and began to undress.

Astarion glanced her way at the movement in his peripheral vision, doing a double take as she stripped. “First dinner and now a show? You spoil me, darling.” His flirtatious tone was back, his body language more relaxed as he slipped back into his familiar role as the rake.

“Oh shut it, Stari.” Vaela laughed as she lobbed her balled up clothing at the vampire’s face. She dove into the water before he had a chance to respond or retaliate.

The chill of the water was invigorating as always. Instead of sinking to the riverbed and holding her breath until the point of pain, she surfaced and tossed her mass of wet hair out of her face. In all her stunted memories Vaela had never felt so light as she did now, buoyed on her back in the river. Not weighed down by physical exhaustion or pain, mentally clear headed in the absence of the whispered urges bubbling up from her subconscious crying out for blood. She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of the sun warming her face, contrasting the cool water lapping at her skin. All other thoughts and worries were pushed to the back of her mind to be dealt with later. For now, she indulged in the rare moment of peace.